#I hate him so much I will burn up like Feanor if I think of him ever

[imfromthemiddlekingdom]

I am going to refuse to engage in any content felony makes. I am not going to engage in media that makes me angry. I am not going to punch him in his stupid fugly face if I ever meet him irl because that will be assult and I do not want to go to jail. He deserves it but I will not jeopardize my own freedom to take him down a peg. Fucker needs to wake up and read the source material. The universe is not your sandbox to play with Dave. Write fanfics like the rest of us if you want an ultra op girlboss that will willingly ignore the atrocities her master committed because she is too busy blaming the council for her own actions during the wrong jedi arc.

[amethysttribble]

If You Hold a Silmaril-

Things might get a little weird.

On the night which Thingol first held the Silmaril, he dreamed of Finwe.

He saw his friend standing beneath Laurelin and Telperion, laughing in wonder. 'Elwe!' he called, 'Elwe, isn't it beautiful?'

Thingol didn't get the chance to reply, because the seasons of Valinor which he had never seen passed them by swiftly, and the light of the Trees which had so touched him changed and Finwe changed, too. His features softened, his stature lessened, the gleam in his eyes grew brighter.

In a soft voice, he asked, "Isn't it beautiful?" Laurelin and Telperion winter-dead behind him and a Silmaril cupped in his palms, presenting.

"Yes," Thingol agreed with a smile.

---

Beren never held the Silmaril for long; at least, not outside the wolf's stomach. He took the stone in hand once, twice, thrice, always just trying to convey it to its next location, it's new owner. He was fine with this.

He would never forget how his own hand had look in Carcharoth's stomach- first perfectly preserved, and then naught but dust once disturbed. Felagund had once recounted the Sons of Feanor's oath to him, and the line about 'mortal hands' had stuck out.

Beren did not trust the thing. He did not trust the lullaby that had teased his ears since he first pried the burning thing from the crown of darkness. Never could he hear the words clearly, but when he tried to provide reason to that sweet, haunting melody, he ascribed that Oath of Feanor. He was pretty sure he was wrong, though.

He was especially sure he was wrong about the lullaby when he draped the Nauglamir over his fingers and pondered what to do with it.

___

Earendil sang with the Silmaril. Old songs and new songs, Quenya songs and Sindarin songs; Elvish songs, Mannish songs, and songs from before either of their times. There was little else to do while sailing on the rim of the world.

They'd become friends, the two of them.

___

Melkor held three Silmarils, for a time. Even at his poorest, he possessed two. That voice and light was hewn into his very being. So much so that his eyes and ears- which were constructions, falsehoods, empty veneers- tricked him.

He grew used to the shadows haunting every corner of his eyes. The whispers which came from every direction.

For him, there was no singing, no memories.

There were taunts, jeers, and laughter, because he and dear Feanaro were cut from the same cloth, and there was nothing spirits like them hated more than being mocked. Melkor knew this well, had used this well, and so he did not react. Did not provide the satisfaction to Feanaro.

Because he had been the one to bring Feanaro low, he was the one who won.

So even when his feet were cut from under him, and that little fey thing that only he could see looked down at him, smirk split over his unreal face, triumph in those eyes, Melkor didn't care.

He didn't care, he didn't care, he didn't CARE-

Feanor laughed and all of Morgoth's screams couldn't drown it out.

---

The first time Luthien held the Silmaril was when her husband, brow knit in worry, handed her the Nauglamir.

"Interesting," she said.

"I think there is some fairy within it," Beren said, quoting the legends of his youth. "When your father and the Dwarves of Nogrod were moved to madness, I thought it a demon, but after holding it myself for a time... Perhaps not. Perhaps it has ensorcelled me as well."

"So not evil?" she asked, though already well-sure of her assumptions. No, not evil, just-

"Not good either," Beren grumbled, crossing his arms. "But, no. That's why I now think it to be a fairy."

"I agree," Luthien said, bringing the pretty thing up meet her eyes. She had never understood the allure while hearing tales or while retrieving this creation, but holding him, feeling him, she felt she might understand.

He was very warm, and very bright, and the scope of him was so very wide and colorful and varied. And this was just one Silmaril? Luthien was starting to understand how love for such a father could turn a son to such evil. This could also inspire greatness.

"Not evil, not good, just very strong in who he is. Quite the fairy, indeed. I think, if minded correctly, a great blessing."

___

Silmaril in hand, Maedhros heard only one thing: a call of recognition, wreathed in infinite sorrow and regret.

My son!

He wanted to hear no more.

___

Carcharoth burned. He cried. He wanted this to end.

There was something within that hated him. Furious and heated. It tasted like the sky at first, like the slight sting of stars except worse, and then it grew worse still.

At once, the fire within was both hot and cold, tasting of his master's Ainur fury and the slaps of the Orcs which fed him as a pup. Both his spirit and his flesh burned. It hurt so badly.

He wanted it to stop, why wouldn't it stop, wouldn't master return and make it stop?

What was this crystallized flame he'd swallowed, where had it come from, why would anyone make such a thing? Carcharoth could not understand, would never understand, especially when it cried, Foul imitation.

His bane rejoiced when the puny wolfhound appeared again, and Carcharoth's last joy was killing that holy lapdog. Then the pain flared even brighter, all heat and fury and hatred, and he faltered. He, the Red Maw. He howled in pain around the Man in his mouth, and his Elven prey struck.

He was almost grateful to the Elves.

___

Varda, completely taken with her own designs and creations, happily humming to herself, actually didn't notice anything of note.

___

Dior grew up on stories of the Silmaril.

Hearing of wicked Feanorions and the massive wolf and the Great Enemy's palace. The eagles and horseback duels and the hand. On rare occasions, his grandfather had showed the treasure to him, but it wasn't often and never for very long.

So, suffice to say, when he and his father recovered the Nauglamir bound Silmaril, he was awe-struck.

For the last year of her life, his mother wore that necklace, and he often told her that she was beautiful, and looked healthier in that light, and she seemed to keep laughing at private jokes. She'd wink at him. Luthien was very lively in that last year, especially for an old Woman, but it did not stop her from lying in bed with Beren as he died, and slipping away in the same heartbeat.

The Silmaril lay forgotten in a drawer when they went.

Dior retrieved it as he packed up their house, their life, and prepared to make for Doriath. This was the first time he'd ever held it, because his father was wary of the thing, his grandfather possessive of the thing, and his mother a funny kind of person. As he trailed his fingers over the warm, glowing gem, he did not think it deserved all the fuss.

His mother once said there was a fairy within that gave advice that was not strictly good or bad, just mad, mad, mad. And grand. As Dior entered beautiful, wild, Elvish Doriath, he felt he could use a little madness and grandness both.

He put it on.

And there was the lullaby his father spoke of, and there was the tricksy warmth his mother traded japes with, and there was the strength of will that always kept his revered grandfather's countenance so tall and straight. Dior smiled, and asked Nimloth how he looked, breathing a little bit easier. Feeling a little more confident.

Dior felt like a real Elf-king when he wore the Silmaril.

___

Mablung held the Silmaril for the briefest of moments, and still felt the world shift.

Or maybe the world did not shift. Maybe he shifted. Moved slightly to the left on the plane of Arda. Drawn slightly closer to his spirit, the world's; spirit of an Ainu.

Because after that brief moment of possession, the colors of the world were brighter. The sounds sharper. The smells richer. The tastes deeper. Was this how it was in Valinor, he wondered.

Or was this something unique. Was it the appeal of the Silmarils? Why they were so coveted?

He still did not understand why they were worth the death and blood and suffering of so many. So the world was greater and vaster and there was now a taste in his mouth that urged him to seek that world and understand it and bend it.

No, he would not do that. He was loyal to his king and home. And he would fight for the Silmaril if heeded, but it was with great reluctance. The Silmaril had touched him and he did not like it.

Mablung supposed some would feel blessed, but he just felt tainted. Violated. Who would want such a thing?

___

Hanar was a craftsman of Nogrod, a disciple of Gamil Zirak. Not as renowned as Telchar was he, but still respected, still well-known, still good enough to receive the invitation to King Thingol's court. He was given a special job.

Though his heart pounded with envy at seeing all his people had wrought occupied and hoarded by Elves, especially the Nauglamir- which bore that foul name for his people though they made that beautiful thing- he was a reasonable person. An honorable dwarflord. He accepted the terms of the deal and got to work. He accepted the Silmaril.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

This was delicate work, his hammer remained stored away, but his pounding heart filled the void. He evaluated the shape of the Silmaril, turned it over in his hands and contemplated how to hold such beautifully wrought facets without defacing it.

Hanar felt that the gem in his hands understood his task. His care in fulfilling it. As he unwound the Nauglamir and nestled the Silmaril within, it offered advice, as if from one craftsman to another.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Into the silver and steel, the twinkling gems and the burning Silmaril, he poured himself. He slaved over this project for many weeks, scarcely sleeping, eating. The Silmaril rejoiced with him, crying, So long its been since I helped make something! So much I have missed it! Thank you, thank you!

Together, they worked.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

When complete, Hanar held their new creation and wept. Such a masterpiece he created in the merging of two previous masterpieces. It surpassed the work of Telchar. Why, it might even have surpassed his master.

And his masterpiece, it had helped him bring itself to fruition. It thanked him for giving it life. They were friends now.

How could anyone ask Hanar to give this up to unappreciative hands? How?

No smith of any artistry could.

___

When Finwe first beheld the Silmarils, cupping each reverently in his hands one-by-one, he knew what he had been gifted immediately.

He kissed his beloved son and smiled sadly as he said, "Are you still so scared of your mother's fate?"

Feanaro denied it, but Finwe knew the truth.

___

If Mairon could grind the Silmarils down into dust, he would.

His beloved master returned home with them in hand, burning in hand, burning down to the soul so that the wound could not be wiped away. They were beautiful and powerful. At the time, the prospect excited Mairon. His master tasked him with forging a crown for his prizes, and he'd grinned in excitement.

What creations, what strange creations, smithed by an Elf? Mairon could not wait to break them down and build them back better and recieve praise for his genius.

Except... Except.

Except, that proved... difficult. Difficult, at first, it was just +difficult. Why couldn't he cut into them? Alter them with temperature? Remove that pesky burning? Why could Mairon not peer inside and break down the molecular structure and understand?

He didn't understand. What was he working with? He couldn't understand!

His master issued a warning when he took too long to make the crown, and Mairon was forced to retreat.

It wasn't a defeat. It wasn't impossible for him to alter, to better the Silmarils, it wasn't. He would recreate them.

Then master would see that he was the better smith than this Elf. Maybe the first try didn't work. Maybe the second didn't either. And the third, fourth, fifth-

Mairon screamed and raged and razed his smithy to the ground, taking a dozen servants with it.

He tried again. Not light, but darkness. Something more fitting for his master's reign! And then he'd give up on the Silmarils. He only had two now, why did he even still care?

He would keep trying and trying and trying and trying-

Mairon would dissect Curufinwe Tyelperinquar as many times as it took, physically, mentally, alive or dead, as many times as it took to understand.

___

Elwing really knew nothing of the Silmaril but what she learned herself.

There was no one to tell her what the Silmaril had whispered to them, shown them. Many hands it had gone through, and not one was around to impart any wisdom. She wasn't frightened of this gift, though.

On her twentieth birthday, her people draped the Nauglamir, Silmaril front and center- around her neck and named her queen. Elwing took on the Silmaril and was struck with familiarity.

It sung her a song that she recognized. It was the one that soothed her as she was spirited away from Menegroth, silver and diamond necklace weighing down her little body, family dead. A song that told her not to cry, to not be scared. Oh, how the Silmaril hated the sound of crying children.

She started to wear the Nauglamir often, more the sign of her queenship than any crown. It gave her people hope. It made her feel stronger. More... connected to something.

That night and many thereafter, she dreamed of shores she'd never been to, and started to recognize traits of Idril's as belonging to people she'd never met, and learned which songs Finwe would use to sing his children to sleep. Strange treasure, curious relic. It had life and memories of its own, and it communicated feelings.

The Silmaril was fond of her. Sometimes, in snatches, it told her of what it'd seen of her own family. That made Elwing happy. Their connection made her own soul brighter.

She told Earendil of all this and only him. At least, only her husband until-

Elwing sneered in the face of Maedhros, and said, "Why do you even want it? He would hate you as you are."

___

"You are not my father," Maglor said, holding the Silmaril before his face, collapsed upon the shore, defeated. His hand was still burning, though his flesh was long since ruined. At once, he wanted nothing more than to hold on and let go.

"You are a shadow. A remnant. An echo. But a piece of him, capable of communicating memories and the basest of feelings and impulses, but no higher thought. My father, distilled. But not him.

"Which is a shame, I- I never believed Curufin's theory about my father's spirit only being recoverable with the Silmarils, but I'm disappointed now that it is not him speaking to me. I have so much to say, but I find myself mourning only one lost opportunity thing: it would have been nice to debate poetry movements with him again.

"You're not my father. You're a will-o-wisp, a taunt. A false light, guiding us to our doom. Our fault. Our stupidity. Our end."

He ambled to his feet.

"Yet, I feel your love for me, and I'm glad. I feel your horror, and I'm ashamed. To sadness, I respond with anger, and to regret- Do you feel regret? Are you capable, strange little reflection? Am I seeing what I want to see or disregarding what I cannot stand? I don't know. I don't know. I wish I didn't know. To have died in pursuit and not know would be preferable."

Fury gripped Maglor's heart and hot tears came to his eyes. He pulled his arm back.

"You are not worth what has been done in your name!"

He screamed, and the Silmaril was gone. All was silent. Then, Maglor started to weep. He had not realized until this moment how much he had forgotten about who his father was, beyond the last words he said.

How much the world had forgotten about Feanor, beyond the scope of a Silmaril.

___

If you hold a Silmaril, you're going to get to know Feanor. When you get to know him, you're soul will brush up against his. When you possess his soul and he stains yours, you might just start to understand him.

[chaos-of-the-abyss]

as someone who has read your fics a lot (big fan hiiiii) and your tags (they're like easter eggs), i am now so curious about your controversial opinions and takes that piss you off because, i mean, i don't want to make a big deal out of it, but you seem to change your opinion on certain characters now hehehe

hi anon! thank you for reading my fics and the nonstop rambling in my tags, haha. i hope you have fun with them! i'm going to assume this is about the silm fandom because i've been rolling out the tolkien posts lately. i couldn't possibly go into all my controversial opinions or all the takes that i hate in one post, but since you're asking i'll give three of each. i'm gonna stick with things i haven't talked much about on this blog, because there are lots of opinions and takes (i.e. blaming thingol/b&l/dior/elwing for the kinslayings, claiming elrond and elros think of maedhros and maglor as their Real Parents, etc.) that i've already made my thoughts on abundantly clear, lol

controversial opinion #1: i don't think tolkien intended this to be the case, but the noldor have uncomfortably colonial overtones in their expressed intentions for middle-earth: 'long he spoke, and ever he urged the noldor to follow him and by their own prowess to win freedom and great realms in the lands of the east' / 'the words of feanor concerning middle-earth had kindled in her heart, for she yearned to see the wide unguarded lands and to rule there a realm at her own will. of like mind with galadriel was fingon fingolfin's son, being moved also by feanor's words, [...] and with fingon stood as they ever did angrod and aegnor, sons of finarfin.' these are finwe's family, his son and his grandchildren. there is no way they aren't aware that elves already inhabit beleriand, yet they express zero consideration for what said elves' opinions might be on their sudden arrival and claiming of the land. it is... a Bad Look

controversial opinion #2: according to the narrative, the sons of feanor lost their right to the silmarils. regardless of who agrees or disagrees, that's what the text posits. the silmarils burned morgoth. they didn't burn beren, didn't burn luthien, didn't burn dior, didn't burn elwing, didn't burn earendil, and didn't burn eonwe. they burned maedhros and maglor

controversial opinion #3: eol is not unreasonable for his low opinion of the noldor. eol is unreasonable for almost everything else about him -- he attempted filicide, is at best a creepy stalker and at worst a rapist (aredhel was not "wholly unwilling"... wdym tolkien explain tolkien what do you mean she was not wholly unwilling), and he accidentally murders his own wife while trying to murder his son. like wow, pick a way to be a terrible person. these quotes though -- "all this land is the land of the teleri, and i will not deal nor have my son deal with the slayers of our kin, the invaders and usurpers of our homes" / "no right have you or any of your kin in this land to seize realms or to set bounds, either here or there." -- he's not wrong about the highlighted portions and he has every right to dislike the noldor for the points he brings up. (though he is wrong for believing the noldor are at fault for morgoth, since morgoth would have come knocking with or without them.)

okay now on to the takes that piss me off!

stupid take #1: that thingol and doriath were bigoted assholes that turn away refugees for not letting aredhel pass through. this was not a very nice thing for them to do, obviously, but equating it with a case of refusing refugees is ridiculous. to begin with, the iathrim and the noldor (save maybe for the nargothrondim, whose king -- finrod -- has a respectful relationship with thingol) do not have the best relations with each other, which is hardly just doriath's fault. then aredhel, one of the noldo whom the iathrim have tensions with, wants to travel through their kingdom to visit her cousin, another one of the noldo whom the iathrim have tensions with. (the worst tensions with, in fact, as thingol is markedly, and rightfully, more disdainful towards the sons of feanor in particular.) why is it so unreasonable that this would not go over well? the iathrim didn't force her to go the way she did either; in fact they explicitly warn her that that road is "the speediest way," but that it is "perilous". she had other options and she decided to go with the one that was reportedly dangerous. and on top of it all, aredhel is not in the same dire situation as actual refugees. turgon would have given her ample supplies for the journey since he was already so remiss to her leaving in the first place, plus he gives her "three lords of his household" as guards/companions. how come this instance, which is not a case that concerns refugees, is treated by some people as sure evidence of thingol's isolationism and "racism" towards the noldor, while an explicit instance where he does accept actual -- noldorin!! -- refugees is swept under the rug? oh wait i know. because this fandom loves making doriath into this discriminatory, uniquely nationalist kingdom that it canonically is not. if you want isolationism, gondolin is right there

stupid take #2: that luthien's victories over sauron and morgoth are proof that she's a mary sue. tolkien calling her "luthien the mere maiden" is annoying, but more accurate than the complaints about her being op. she doesn't even fight either of them. with sauron he jumps at her and radiates so much Hatred that she faints, but she manages to cover his eyes with her cloak and make him sleepy for a moment. huan takes the opportunity to jump in and they start fighting. with morgoth, her disguise doesn't work on him. instead she uses his arrogance and lust to her advantage, bides her time, then seizes the opportunity to put him to sleep with her cloak. and when he stirs, she and beren run for their lives in terror! when people say luthien winning against sauron and morgoth is plot armor, what they really mean is that their faves don't have the guts she has to go up against extreme odds and the brains to effectively use what she has going for her to her greatest benefit ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

stupid take #3: that luthien cast an enchantment on celegorm to make him lust after her. or even anything adjacent like luthien's maia blood enchanted celegorm though she wasn't doing it intentionally. not even going to bother debunking this kind of thing because it's a genuinely braindead take that reeks of misogyny, victim-blaming, and desperate whitewashing. fuck all the way off

i get the feeling you're talking about the sons of feanor on that part about changing my opinion on certain characters? which you'd be right about, the fandom has majorly turned me off from them. they used to be nearly the center of my interest in the silmarillion and its events, and now, while i still like them as they are in the story, i barely look at fandom content of them because the apologism is extreme and ridiculous. also funnily enough, my ranking of the individuals within the blanket of "the feanorians" has shuffled a lot too. maedhros and maglor used to be my favorite, now i've had enough maedhros and maglor to last me... maybe not a lifetime, but a good long while. (i dipped out of the tolkien fandom about two/three years ago, which was the time i got tired of m&m content. to this day i'm still tired of them.) and celegorm, the piece of shit that he is, used to be among my least favorite and now somehow shot his way up to my favorite <3 he's ambitious. he's charismatic. he's impulsive and arrogant. he's a wreck. he's funny. he's the absolute worst. love him

[eri-pl]

Silm reread 12: Geography :(

Aaaand now it's the time for a geography lesson, says the narrative.

Nevrast (Turgon's pre-Gondolin kingdom) is a Noldorin-Sindarin mixed culture. Nice. I assume Gondolin will be like this, too? And still, Eol took an issue with it being too Noldorin.

Finrod is above his brothers, and has the most land and is allied with Cirdan. He deserves it all, he is awesome. <3 Except the part where he doesn't tell Thingol about the shady stuff.

Morgoth's servants all hate water and do not go near the sea unless they really need to. I wasn't sure that was canon.

Ungoliant is mentioned again. She poisons water and it makes people insane. Wait, is this the place where Nienor will later get lost?

Nargothrond's location and surroundings described in detail.

Maglor's gap has horses, oh, so that is why "Maglor the horse girl" is a thing?

Finrod travels a lot, visits Ambarussar and Green elves and what not. Who rules Nargothrond when he's away?

No Noldor go through Ered Lindon in the First Age. I'm not sure if I need this information for something, but maybe.

Chapter XV: more Noldorin drama

Tumladen the Hidden Valley. Mhm. I feel like I've seen this morpheme somewhere more popular. :)

Turgon's Ulmo-induced anxiety is also a thing that sleeps and wakes, because Tolkien's poetic language. (I like Eldritch Oath, but it is a hc with no stronger textual support than the alternative, I think)

Turgon works in secret. And it is not very bad. (He still ends up loving it too much and dies, but he's a very mild case of this problem anyway). also, it takes 52 years (4*13, like deck of cards; or 2*26 and 26 is on of the numbers of perfection in the Bible, iirc. Maybe it's just random logistics.)

Ulmo appears to Turgon (in physical form not in a dream, as he later "returned to the sea") and infodumps him. Gives him a manual on what to do + a prophecy + you will mess up anyway + but it's ok I will send you a reminder + so leave here an armor in this exact size and style. (Really, Ulmo does give Turgon the exact size for the armor, helmet and sword.)

I have a feeling that (at least in Ulmo's opinion) Turgon isn't the brightest fish in the sea.

Meanwhile, Melian asks Galadriel what the problem is and Galadriel doesn't want to speak about it. Also, if seems like the Hiding of Valinor hid it also from Melian's mental information-gathering abilities? She sounds like normally she should be able to see what happenned but now she's not. Huh.

Important points Melian says:

the Noldorin princes never mention the Valar

the sons of Feanor are arrogant and cruel (this is pre-Kinslaying!)

[later] fate of Arda is bound to the Silmarils

[later] the Eldar cannot recover them on their own

Galadriel tells her about the unrest and what Morgoth did, but not the murders, oath or ship-burning. And refuses to say more.

Melian goes to thingol, Thingol also knew something was off and had been thinking about it. Melian warns him against the sons of Feanor, Thingol says that Feanor was a great Elf (according to what he heard) and his sons are sus, but useful as allies.

So, we have a (sort of) answer why Thingol didn't want to talk with the sons of Feanor: they were behaving so badly that (based on gossip, but it migcht have been well-founded gossip) he did not want to deal with them. Huh. for 400-ish years? Not even talk to them to see on his own? Weird but ok.

Now Morgoth starts spreading gossip among the Sindar. how? I would assume Sauron and thralls. I wonder why didn't he earlier tell the Sindar about Alqualonde. Did he not know? So how does he know now? I can't figure out his strategy here.

So Thingol accuses Finrod of being a kinslayer. Finrod is very nice to his cousins and diplomatic. He prefers to be blamed for something he didn't do than to tell on his cousins. But Angrod is still angry at Caranthir (after a couple hundered years, I think. huh.) and tells on them.

Is this why his name is Angrod? Because he gets angry so easily? (+after-the-fact Elvish etymology)

Anyway, Angrod explains he before didn't mention it because of loyalty. Huh. the earlier chapter said something slightly different, but ok. And he talls on them… except the Oath? Kinslaying and ship-burning is mentioned, but no clear indication that anyone told Thingol about the Oath. Which is interesting. Gives a lot of space to my favorite type of conflict (where each side has some good points, but they do not fully know other side's situation).

Thingol kicks them out for a time, and does the Quenya ban, which is directed at the Sindar only. Nothing in the book suggests that Thingol tried to ban the Noldor from speaking their language. Just the Sindar. And they listened. And avoided those who spoke it (which confirms that the Noldor did speak it with no ill consewuences greater than social ostracism). Everyone started speaking Sindarin, only the Noldorin princes spoke to each other in Quenya and the loremasters used it.

And we end on Finrod's sad foresight.

[alexandra-scribbles]

So I was listening to Taylor Swift as one does when the song Castles Crumbling came on and I think that once I said that it was a Maedhros coded song… and I was very wrong. Upon listening to it several times in a row I’ve realized that song is entirely about Feanor (if he were to get a 150k words redemption arc in a fully developed fic and not my scrambled thoughts)

Like, lets dissect the song

First verse:

Once, I had an empire in a golden age

I was held up so high, I used to be great

They used to cheer when they saw my face

Now, I fear I have fallen from grace

Like, Feanor was born at the height of Aman, peaceful tree light bathed paradise where nothing went wrong and was actually the beloved prince of his people, referred to as the greatest of the elves and he basically free fell from grace without a parachute.

The chorus:

And I feel like my castle's crumbling down

And I watch all my bridges burn to the ground

And you don't want to know me

I will just let you down

You don't wanna know me now

I am pretty sure that Formenos was destroyed by Morgoth and that was a physical castle crumbling but like, Feanor’s metaphorical castle crumbled too. And he did burn all of his bridges, with his half-siblings, the vanyar, the teleri, the valar, the mayority of the Noldor. My main man was burning everything in his path including his son sorry Telvo so we can asume that he also let a lot of people down in his path.

The second verse:

Once, I was the great hope for a dynasty

Crowds would hang on my words, and they trusted me

Their faith was strong, but I pushed it too far

I held that grudge 'til it tore me apart

Power went to my head, and I couldn't stop

Ones I loved tried to help, so I ran them off

And here I sit alone, behind walls of regret

Falling down like promises that I never kept

This kills me, because he was supposed to be the guiding light of the Noldor, the flame imperishable come alive, and it is also known that Feanor was a great orator and could command crowds and that people followed him out of devotion and like he pushed it was past too far with the Kinslaying.

The grudge part, we all know who it would refer to. He disliked and mistrusted his half siblings so much that it was one of the main causes of his defeat. He thought that with his host and his anger he’d be able to destroy Morgoth and get back his Silmarils.

And he certainly ran his siblings off (and Maedhros too to a degree) when they tried to help and he ended up alone somewhere in Mandos never to be able to return to the world.

He also broke his promise to Nolofinwe so…

The bridge:

My foes and friends watch my reign end

I don't know how it could've ended this way

Smoke billows from my ships in the harbor

People look at me like I'm a monster

Now they're screaming at the palace front gates, used to chant my name

Now they're screaming that they hate me

Never wanted you to hate me

The first line speaks for itself, everyone who was there watched how Feanor died and im sure even he was surprised by it.

Then the line that screams Feanor… who’s ships are burning? People being horrified by the ships burning? That checks out.

People that once used to if not love, respect Feanor, now openly hating him and scorning everything to do with him….

… and perhaps, if Arda hadn’t been marred as it was… perhaps no one would have hated him.

So… yeah, thats about it. If you’ve read this far, thank you. Now please go listen to the song and think about our favorite extra crispy Noldor king.

[doodle-pops]

Sooo.. I’ve been thinking about this for a while and it’s been living rent free in my head for a while. What do you think an enemies to lovers trope with Glorfindel would be like (how could you hate this ball of sunshine, but I guess that’s why I wanted to ask)? I’m sorry if this sounds rude or if I was bothering you, thank you.

Glorfindel?! The resident ray of sunshine?! Anon, shame on you for wanting to bring hurt to our Golden Retriever 😟. Though, I can surprisely think of a few scenarios because that's unfortunately my ability as a single braincell writer 😖

Under the cut because it's A LOT. I gave two scenarios :)

Being a descendant of House Feanor

Let's give Glorfindel a sibling (and no, not Elenwe because I know lots of people headcanon them as siblings) who died on the ice while crossing. Tragic, I know 😓

As much Glorfindel puts on the façade of being cheerful, he's furious towards the House of Feanor for the ship burning which led to his sibling dying on the ice.

In comes you, whichever position you want as a Feanorian—their sibling or child—in the 2nd age where Glorfindel makes it clear that he hasn't forgiven you for your actions at Losgar and his sibling dying. As much as you attempt to settle the situation calmly, Glorfindel makes it clear that he doesn't forgive you.

Perhaps from there, the enemies to lovers troupe begin. The two of you constantly clashing despite attempts at distance yourself. Words and insults are flung at one another, more privately because he doesn't want people to witness his aggressive demeanour. And so, you begin to despise the ever fabric of his existence because he was ruining your peace you were attempting to find after years of chaos.

You are constantly left defending yourself, (whether you did burn the boats or not is up to you) because somewhere along the lines, either of you will begin to catch feelings like it's contagious. Perhaps an incident where you're missing after riding out on a trip and you went missing. Glorfindel is told to lead the search and rescue party and he's FOAMING at his mouth because you can't preform a simple task without messing it up. (Sir🤚, please stop being so aggressive. I'm a sensitive baby 🥺😭. Go easy on me 🥺👉👈)

And well, from there, it's pretty obvious how those end up. Spending days searching for you, he eventually does come across you on his own and has to fight off orcs/captors. He probably gets injured and you're left to nurse him back to health. As much as he resists, he's grateful, but tries to put up a wall to not let anything else occur. F A I L U R E. His sass doesn't cut it this time because you came prepared to handle his ass.

After spending weeks A L O N E and having to get along, ✨romance✨ is in the air and confessions are made. Not just romantic confession, but apologies as well. A little whisper of, “You're not as bad as I considered you to be.” OMG!!

And you both lived happily ever after when you returned and began pursuing each other and surprised the public.

For the other one, I can only think of enemy to lovers which is different from enemies to lovers. This one is a one-sided hate from reader's end.

Mortal reader

Reader is mortal and probably has an ongoing feud with elves in general. Maybe when one of her villages was being destroyed by an orc raid and help was needed, the elves never came. Eventually, once day reader becomes injured too close to Rivendell and wakes up in the healing wing.

You can just imagine how much confusion and disgust they're experiencing in that moment. Lord Elrond would introduce himself and attempt to calm them, and then in the wonderful moment of reassuring reader's safety, he mentions it was Lord Glorfindel who was responsible for military service that found them.

Well would you just look at how reader's blood is going to boil at the realisation of being saved by the people who they had hoped to help their village when it was under attack. Ah, yes! Reader starts hating Glorfindel before they even met.

Let's say that during their choice to remain locked up in the healing wing, Glorfindel wants to know if the mortal he saved was secure, so an unfortunate visit was made. And reader, upon learning of his identity through harmless introductions, becomes enraged that he would even attempt to visit.

Because of the orc raid, reader's family died, hence the reason for the hatred. Glorfindel, now, is confused but also saddened at the accusations being made towards him and his kin for their lack of support and care to other races apart from themselves.

Attempting to dissolve the tension doesn't go as planned because reader refuses to accept any apologies despite Glorfindel's plead to understand their reason for not coming on time to help. They were basically held back by ambush but reader isn't buying it.

Lord Elrond would inform reader to dwell a little while longer until their wounds were healed. Reader chooses to stay indoors and out of sight however, Glorfindel persists on making reader see his POV. And so the chase begins.

Reader hating Glorfindel and avoiding him while Glorfindel isn't backing down (Never back down never what?! Never give up!) and pursuing reader to be reasonable and understanding. It's not an easy task, but this is the renowned Lord Glorfindel, the Balrog Slayer. He never gives up.

Perhaps insert reader slowly having their views of the elves hospitality changing during their time there which opens up their horizons. Lord Elrond having an input when he comes across reader sulking in the gardens during a check up an ear of advice to which reader contemplates.

Then suddenly, well being prepared to face Glorfindel once again, he doesn't show up. In fact, he stops showing up and pursuing reader finally concluding that his presence was making things worse. This brings a pang of disappointment as reader was looking forward to conversing with him. Even when they search for him, he keeps things short and distances himself with an apology and bow. 😭 (I'm not okay)

G U I L T eats at readers soul because throughout the angry back and forth banter, they were enjoying it and his presence. Even as they go over their shared conversations, it makes them slightly giddy as they find themself laughing. This makes them realise where they stand on their thoughts and feeling towards him.

Eventually (after swallowing their pride), they receive help to make an apology to Glorfindel. It's not a romantic confession, but more a platonic thing at first. Something along the lines of a friendship before it graduates into romance. It's all about overcoming their hate and reasoning with themselves and not blaming others instead of being understanding.

[zealouswerewolfcollector]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

@sallysavestheday and @grey-gazania, thank you so much for tagging me! This seems like fun.

1. How many works do you have on Ao3? 55 non-anon works under the username HewerOfCaves. (122, counting anon fics and my previous usernames).

2. What’s your total Ao3 word count? 168.204, but if I count my previous lives on Ao3, probably around 400.000

3. What fandoms do you write for? Silmarillion. I'm an one fandom kind of writer.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Idea Dump - 20-chapter collection of random ficlets and drabbles

For the World's End - My very first fic in the fandom! Post-canon Maedhros angst

We Live a Lie - A slightly disturbing ficlet about Fëanor in Arda Unmarred

A King Uncrowned (A King Enthroned) - Maedhros and Fingolfin on the day of Fingolfin's coronation

Ages of Secrets - Russingon and the people who knew their secret through the ages. Tbh, I'm still baffled that this is among my more popular fics.

5. Do you respond to comments?

Yes! I can't rest easy until I've responded to all my comments.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Heh, I thrive on angst, so this is a very hard question. I can't choose just one. It's a tie between Monomachy (Maedhros and Fingon cross paths during the Third Kinslaying), Happy Ending (Maedhros daydreaming, it's just... bleak) and Alone in the Unknown (Maglor reaches his breaking point, Maedhros reached his a long time ago; this entire series is angsty, but this part is the angstiest of all).

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? I went looking and was surprised to discover that I've written fewer happy endings than I thought :D But I still have some!

Peculiar Spiritual Connection - QP Russingon and their happy, carefree post-canon ending with just a smidgen of angst.

Greetings Without Farewells - Teenage Maedhros and Maglor, kid Celegorm and Fingon are happy in the bliss of Valinor.

What's in a Name - Debatable because the protagonist, Turgon, is decidedly not happy, but everyone else is, so...

8. Do you get hate on fics? Hasn't happened yet, thankfully. I hope it never will.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? I actually started writing smut and am actively trying not to be embarrassed about it. As to what kind... What kinds are there? :D So far, I've written two kinds - wouldn't this be fucked up and wouldn't this be hot. Here's what I have:

Proxy - Maedhros/Fingon, unrequited Maedhros/Maglor. Wouldn't this be fucked up kind of fic. All characters are definitely fucked up.

The Hunters - Maedhros/Aredhel and they are both women. Wouldn't this be hot kind of fic. It would.

Kaleidoscope - Fingon/Sons of Feanor, M-rated but still fucked up.

Purification - Maedhros/Thingol. Actually, I think this is both wouldn't it be fucked up and wouldn't it be hot.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written? My only attempt at writing a crossover crashed and burned. It was supposed to be SPN/Silm :/

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? I hope not! I'm not aware of it at least.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? Yes! Very nice people have translated some of my fics into Chinese and Russian.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? Once, in a different fandom. It was a reincarnation AU, and me and the other author took turns writing each life of the characters. It was very fun.

14. What’s your all time favorite ship? It's Russingon. No contest. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? Every WIP is a WIP I want to finish but doubt I ever will. If seriously, it's probably my Maedhros on the Thangorodrim fic. I started it about five years ago and haven't finished it yet. And it's not a long fic! If I finish it, it'll be 5k at most, I think. I don't know, I'm just over Maedhros suffering. I want him to be happy. That's a lie, but I just can't deal with the whole Thangorodim torture.

16. What are your writing strengths? Dialogue. Twist endings. Breaking people's hearts.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? Descriptions. Beautiful comparisons and metaphors. Also, I have a very narrow focus, meaning that there is only one fandom, one ship and very few characters I write for. I rarely diversify.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic. Not a fan. A few words are fine, but entire lines are too much for me.

19. First fandom you wrote for? I shan't say.

20. Favourite fic you’ve written? It changes all the time. Right now, I'm fond of To Evil End. Fingon lives, but will it change everything for the better? The answer may surprise you but probably won't.

Tagging @eccentricmya, @runawaymun, @echo-bleu, @searchingforserendipity25, @undercat-overdog

[quinthejester]

finally drew the twins! Amrod and Amras. Didn’t do as many sketches as usual because my hand has been acting up a lot lately, so I’ve been trying to take it easy. Regardless, I love these boys and have a lot of thoughts on them. 

Basically a lot of this is me looking at them and thinking ‘Oh, free real estate for making stuff up since not much is really said about them’. And I’ve done just that, so personality headcanons below:

(I ended up writing a lot oops, so decided to put it under the keep reading thing. TW: there is a brief mention of self harm at the end)

Links to the rest of the brothers before I delve into rambles: Maedhros, Maglor, Celegorm, Caranthir and Curufin

(In Valinor)

So, while they were pretty similar, being the mischievous twins of the family, the two aren’t all the same and have some very distinct differences, I imagine. I see Amras being the more extroverted and confident twin and Amrod as a bit more introverted and sensitive. Amras was the one who was more actively mischievous, while Amrod was more subtle- but when around his brother, he’d come out of his shell more and the two could cause a lot of chaos together. 

Interest wise, both are very outdoorsy people. Running around, hiking, probably liked playing with Celegorm a lot when they were kids. However, Amras was always more into hunting and animals (and hunting style wise, he’s stealthy and great at setting traps; in contrast to Celegorm, who I see enjoys the chase more), while Amrod is more gardening and plants. 

Skill wise, Amras is a great hunter, but also a really good artist. He often sketches animals, plants, buildings, lots of still life, but often with notes which basically deconstruct the things he draws. And I see Amrod as being good at gardening, but very scientific about it as well, often seeing if he can crossbreed plants etc. Basically both take their interests in a very Noldoran scientific creative way, and their father is very proud. 

The two are each others best friend, and when together they act in a way that is nearly indistinguishable, and they were almost together. Though catching them on their own will make their differences more clear. Amrod is quieter, more gentle, and more shy, and while Amras is more imaginative and reckless. And while back in Valinor, Amras often seemed more carefree, he was the type of person to hide his true feelings behind a smile and people could rarely tell if he was upset- except for Amrod, who can always tell and push his brother to open up to him. 

(After the first Kinslaying to the ship burnings)

So, with my headcanon of Amrod being the more sensitive one, I also just see him as overall the most sensitive, empathetic and pacifistic of all the brothers. As a result, he was the most effected by the first kinslaying. Completely guilt ridden and horrified, wanting to stay home, atone, etc. Complete emotional wreck after the fact. Amras on the flip side kept his feelings pent up, but seeing how his brother looked, ultimately convinced Amrod that, when they arrive at Middle Earth, Amrod should just stay on the ship and Amras will just try make it seem like both he and his twin are there until Amrod is long gone. Amrod ends up agreeing to this, despite not wanting to seperate from his brother. And then the ship burnings happen, Amrod dies, and Amras both blames himself for coming up with the idea, but also blames his father, because what the hell. As a result, Amras grows to kind of hate Feanor, and the death of his brother causes Amras to just lose his old happier personality. 

(Just Amras headcanons, post Amrod death. TW: Mention of self Harm) 

Amras overall just becomes a more distant and cynical person. I imagine he does grow to sometimes pretend to be Amrod as a way of coping/or as a way to make it seem like the Feanorians haven’t lost as much as they have, convinced by the rest of his brothers, so that their enemies can fear all seven sons (idk if that makes sense, it’s hard to explain my thoughts). As a result, sources are mixed on whether Amrod is dead or not.

With my headcanons of Amrod being into plants and stuff, I see Amras as going out of his way to learn all about middle earth’s flora, sketching them and writing notes, all that. He learns the lands the best out of all his brothers, becoming highly skilled at surviving in the wilderness, discerning dangerous plants from safe ones, hunting. He very much became one of the best hunters and survivalists of his time.

I think out of his brothers, I see him as the most disillusioned with the oath and Feanor’s will. He’s bound by the oath, but holds a massive distain for his father and their cause. This anger and grief at what happened leads to him burning and scarring his hand, which has a tattoo of the star of feanor on it. All done in an unhealthy way to deal with his grief, anger, an attempt to regain some sort of control, to show his anger to his father for killing his brother, and to get rid of his father’s mark on him. 

I probably have more thoughts and I do really love these two, these are all my thoughts at the moment. 

I hope my rambles made sense. I am tired and have a lot of feelings. 

[youareunbearable]

Thinking about an Age Swap!Grandchildren of Finwe, haven't thought where I would like to go with it but I have a few concepts I'd like you to consider:

Feanor and Nerdanel’s first birth being Ambarussa, twins which exhaust Nerdanel to the point where Feanor is now Freaking Out, but then she gets her Mother Vision and is screaming and crying because all she can see is her youngest twin and Flames. She's so weak for so long after the birth that she hasn't even named her sons yet and everyone is so Worried that this is Miriel all over again

Feanor would be so scared to try again for another child and when they do he puts more of his fear into the creation to help take the burden off his wife that neither are surprised that Curufin ends up looking like a little clone of his father

Big Sister Galadriel, you thought she was Powerful as the cherished baby sister??? Her final and most powerful form is about to be unleashed

Imagine little nerd Curufin and all his Big Jock cousins and older brothers (the hunting trio of Aredhel and Ambarussa, the Jock Argon and the Scary Powerful Galadriel) and Hating it so much like they are all kind to him but if he is told to Go Bond With Your Family Members and is forced to wrestle or go hunting once more hes going to Scream

Ambarussa and Aredhel cheering when Celegorm is born and is also Very Much a hunter too and are so proud when he becomes favoured by their patron Vala

Also, just picture the ramifications when Nolofinwes Heir, the Second In Line to the High Kingship of the Noldor goes MISSING in Eol’s kingdom???? On her way to visit her younger cousins??? Oh Maeglins story would be So Different

Turgon and Finrod being born a little after Celegorm and Turgon being So Jealous over the fact that his older sister "clearly" likes their Feanorian cousin more than him so when Fingon is born he is Such a helicopter smothering Big Brother that Fingon will never question he's loved ever

Instant betrayal when a couple years later Fingon takes one look at their youngest cousin and Falls In Love with tiny baby Maedhros

Maglor singing his little brother lullabies to go to sleep and hes so excited that HE gets to be a big brother that he vows to never leave his side ever. He breaks that vow several times over the course of their lives.

The first is when Maedhros, the youngest of all the Finweans, is taken by Morgoth and tortured and none of them can do anything about it, and their king, Nelyafinwe who had just lost his twin in the ships set on fire by their own father, is too grief-stricken to want to lose more men to retrieve another dead brother.

The second time is when its just them left, just the two youngest of Finwes grandchildren (except for Galadriel but no one has seen or heard from her in centuries) and Maglor looked away for just a second, got lost in the burning of his hand from their stolen Silmaril for just too long and when he came back too it was to his baby brother tilting himself over the edge of a cliff, crying and clutching his own burning Silmaril. Maglor would haunt the shores knowing that he failed his own baby brother time and time again.

I think Caranthir would be the same though. He was a (pleasent) surprise in either timeline for his parents.

[avantegarda]

Some Small Atonement: A Gates of Summer Exchange Fic

Happy @gatesofsummerexchange ,@the-seaworthy-muffin! I'm your gifter for this delightful event. You requested something involving Glorfindel, Maglor, and Elrond's sons, and while I'm not sure you meant this, I have written Maglor and Glorfindel dealing with some old grudges (with encouragement from the youngsters).

Glorfindel was, by nature, a forgiving person. When one had lived as long as he had, holding petty grudges was, at best, an utter bore. 

That said, even he had trouble letting go of some things.

As beautiful and peaceful as his new home of Imladris was, and as much as he adored Elrond—the great-grandson of his former lord, and grandson of one of his dearest friends—he did not quite care for some of Elrond’s friends.

Well, one friend, really.

Or, according to Elrond, his father.

Glorfindel, in his previous life, had never spoken to any of the sons of Feanor. He’d glimpsed them from time to time at the camp around Lake Mithrim, but had always been guided firmly in the opposite direction by his mother. “Those ruffians who caused your father’s death,” she would mutter in disgust. 

Glorfindel’s father had died on the Helcaraxë, not in the Kinslaying, but the boy took his mother’s point anyway. Had Fëanor and his sons not started a revolution, there would have been no ships to burn, and no ice to cross. And now one of Fëanor’s sons was here, in Imladris, being called father by Elrond.

The trouble was made worse by the fact that Glorfindel’s beloved honorary nephews, Elladan and Elrohir, adored their adoptive grandfather. As they grew older, they also grew more and more aware that Glorfindel did not adore him.

They finally got up the courage to raise the subject at the age of twenty-two, during one of Maglor’s unscheduled visits to the valley. 

“Why don’t you like Grandfather Maglor?” Elladan demanded, climbing onto Glorfindel’s desk gracefully. “We think he’s excellent.”

“He gave us knives from Harad,” Elrohir chimed in. “Proper ones. Even though they aren’t sharp.”

“I do like him,” Glorfindel said unconvincingly. “He… makes your father very happy.” Though Varda alone knows why.

“But not you,” said Elladan. “You look at him as though he’s an… an orc.”

“And what do you know of orcs, young sir?” Glorfindel raised an eyebrow. “Let alone how I look at them.”

“I know enough,” said Elladan with a shrug. “Saw a picture in one of Father’s books once. They have horrible eyes and they’re covered with blood and filth, and…”

“That is quite enough,” Glorfindel interrupted. “You’ll put us all off our dinner. Your grandfather is not an orc, that much is very obvious. Still, I will admit we have some unfortunate history.”

“What’s that?” asked Elrohir.

“That is something you will need to ask your father about,” said Glorfindel. “It was all… a very long time ago. But some things are difficult to forget.”

Elladan frowned. “Have you ever talked to Grandfather about it? If you’re so cross with him, you shouldn’t keep it all inside. That’s what Mother always says.”

Glorfindel very briefly entertained an uncharitable thought about Celebrian, before pushing it away firmly. “Your mother is… very wise. However, she may not quite understand the complexities of this situation…”

Elrohir rolled his eyes and gave Glorfindel’s shoulder a push. “Go on,” he said. “Go see Grandfather and talk things over. It’s horrible, seeing you hate someone. It’s like seeing a fish walk on land.”

“I am not a fish,” Glorfindel said primly. “And I will not go and see Maglor.”

--

Glorfindel did, of course, go to see Maglor.

He still did not particularly want to, but it seemed like the honorable thing to do. If they could have an honest discussion with each other just once, perhaps any tension could be eased before it started to hurt Elrond.

Maglor sat quietly on a bench on a high balcony, looking up without surprise when Glorfindel entered. He had changed out of the rough traveling clothes he usually wore—probably at Elrond’s request—and now looked reasonably presentable in a burgundy tunic. Still, there was something about him that seemed distinctly wild.

“Good afternoon, Lord Glorfindel,” he said mildly. “How are you today?”

“Well enough,” said Glorfindel. “Are you…” He cast about for a suitable question. “Enjoying your time in Imladris?”

“Very much, as always. Elrond and Celebrian have worked wonders with this valley.” Maglor looked out across the balcony, golden in the sunset, smiling wistfully. “Reminds me of home.”

“Likewise,” Glorfindel said quietly, although he was fairly sure he and Maglor were thinking of different places when they said home.

What did home mean to Maglor these days, anyway? Glorfindel couldn’t help but wonder. Tirion, perhaps, or the old lands of Beleriand?

Not that Glorfindel cared.

“The uncharacteristically fierce look on your face,” Maglor commented, “makes me think you have something on your mind.”

“So I do,” said Glorfindel. “So I do.” He hesitated, before taking a seat on the bench. “I believe it is only fair for me to state the truth: it disturbs me, seeing you here.”

“If it helps, I doubt you are alone in that,” said Maglor, not noticeably offended. “Nearly everyone here who was alive in the First Age must want to throw me into a well every time I drop by.”

“So why do you keep coming back?” Glorfindel demanded, the words sounding harsher than he’d intended. 

“Why don’t I sod off and leave this nice respectable valley alone, you mean?” Maglor grinned. “No need to look shocked, I could read your subtext. Your job is to protect Elrond, thanks to some promise you made to my densest and most boring cousin, and having me about the place is undoubtedly corrupting his soul. How close am I?”

“I’m unsure why you feel the need to mock me,” Glorfindel said stiffly. “I do wish to protect Elrond, and there is nothing unreasonable about that.”

“No, there certainly is not,” said Maglor. “Forgive me, mocking was not my intention. But I haven’t yet answered your question.” He sighed, and looked out over the valley again. “Elrond has lost so many people, Glorfindel. Of course, I don’t have to tell you that. And for whatever reason—I have tried to talk him out of it, believe me—Elrond does not want to lose me. Perhaps it would be better for me to disappear entirely, But I can’t bring myself to hurt my son like that.”

Glorfindel winced slightly at the words “my son” — Elrond was Earendil’s son, damn it all, Glorfindel had known Earendil! —but nodded. “I suppose I can understand that.”

“I hoped you would.”

“I must admit,” said Glorfindel, “that I had a vague idea of finding you today and asking you to leave Imladris. I had even considered a bribe.”

Maglor snorted. “And what, exactly, did you plan to bribe me with?”

“I never quite reached that part of the plan. Besides, the point is moot now. I find I have… changed my mind.”

“Have you?” asked Maglor. There was a faint smile on his face. “My charm won you over, then?”

“I’m afraid I must be impervious to your… brand of charm. However, I think I may slightly understand by now why Elrond cares for you.” Glorfindel stood and yawned. “I believe I’m in need of a drink before bed. Care to join me?”

Maglor’s eyebrows went up in surprise, but he nodded. “If you like,” he said. “Despite being a famous villain, I can promise that I will not poison you.

--

It was no surprise that Maglor and Glorfindel ran into Elladan and Elrohir on their way back through the house. The little imps seemed to be everywhere at once. At the sight of the two older elves not only walking together, but conversing, both boys’ eyes widened in delight.

“Uncle Glorfindel!” Elrohir exclaimed. “Are you and Grandfather friends now?”

Glorfindel and Maglor looked at one another hesitantly, before Glorfindel slowly nodded. “I suppose one could say we are becoming friends. We are at least getting to know each other now.”

Obviously relieved, Maglor nodded as well. “An excellent way to put it.”

“Oh, good,” said Elladan. “Can you play Find the Flag with us, then? It’s not nearly as fun with only three people. Especially because Elrohir always cheats.”

“I do not!”

Glorfindel turned to Maglor, a wry smile on his face. “Well, it appears we’ve been challenged. That drink will have to wait. Shall we choose our teams?”

Maglor grinned and half-bowed. “After you, my friend.”

[cqlfeels]

Honestly I need novel Wwx to meet Feanor

Oh anon why do you hate the world so much that you want to see it crash and burn? Catch WWX taking the kinslaying personally even though it's got nothing to do with him, and proceeding to like, try and reverse engineer Silmarils just out of spite. Can he succeed? Probably not! Will that stop Feanor from wanting his head on a spike for the audacity? No. And I don't know the official Valar stance on a man using music to reanimate the corpses of elves to kill other elves, but I'll go ahead and say that's probably a big no-no, so I wouldn't be surprised if a Vala personally sent word to WWX saying "Yeah this won't end up well" only to get lectured by this mortal, who will then proceed to go surprised pikachu when his sister ends up dead, etc.

(Having said that. If you write a modern AU where young LWJ reads fantasy novels - what are you doing if you don't have him have Feanor as his ultimate fictional guilty crush he won't admit to under torture? I just think it'd be absolutely hilarious because he'd be so very angry that in a book full of righteous gorgeous musically talented people he's going for This Guy.)

[dialux]

I’ve been going on a reading binge of all your Tolkien Women fics, and I cannot stop thinking about Indis. As a consequence I’ve created a headcanon that hurts my heart and I am going to inflict it upon you because this is clearly your fault.

Indis is one of those people just meant to be a parent, it fits her so well everyone knew it was just a matter of time before she became one. And once she gets married she tries so hard to be there for Feanor despite her own grief, but he won’t let her in. She has her kids and everyone congratulates her on having four (four!!) wonderful children, but in her heart she has five. Because Feanor might not have let her into his heart, but she certainly let him into hers, and she will always think of him as her eldest son.

It will haunt her to the end of all days and beyond, that he was always her son but she could never truly be his mother, and on her bad days she thinks that every catastrophe and death of the first age can be laid at her feet for not succeeding in the one thing everyone said was her speciality.

Okay, so a) fuck you, b) fuck you, c) fuck you. This story is basically just saying that, only in more euphemistic terms, anon.

...

Once, there were three: a woman with fair hair, a man with fair eyes, a woman with fair skin. 

...

The woman with fair skin is captured and taken by the Dark One to his fortress, where she languishes for long weeks in grief and agony. She is not turned, even as those captured alongside her become evil beings, twisted and gruesome and cruel. Melkor wonders why this woman- this limpid-eyed, weeping girl- can withstand what no other has managed.

He does not get the chance to find out.

The woman with fair hair storms Utumno. She drags her sister out alongside whoever is left of their people. But the fair-skinned woman collapses only a few days’ from the chill of Utumno, and she shows her sister the secret she expended all her fea upon: a child, a fair-haired, fair-eyed, fair-skinned girl.

Intyale the Fair-Haired buries her sister Indis in a cave of glittering light. Then she takes the child down to her people, and she bids her brother, fair-eyed Ingwe, to watch their niece. Indis he names her, for the mother she will never know, and he raises her as his own daughter, this girl who bears the brightest things of all his family.

...

She is the daughter of all three of them. Of Indis the Slain, and Intyale the Bright-Speared, and Ingwe the Grand. Indis bears one woman’s name and another woman’s steadiness and a man’s strength. She is the princess of the Vanyar. She will always be that.

She will always remember how desperately her mother fought to keep her alive. Hidden in Utumno, chanting song after song of hiding and cleaving and darkness, straining for one more moment- one more moment- to keep the little babe at her breast alive- defying Melkor himself- 

The Vanyar suffer the greatest of the losses to the Dark One before ever Orome comes to them. They- none of them, not from the eldest down to the youngest child- will ever trust Melkor ever again.

She was born in grief. 

The Doom that Namo places- it is shocking, it is pitiless, it is cruel. But then Alqualonde still rings with the laments of the Teleri. But then, Finwe is dead. Melkor has taken not just one from Indis’ life. 

She was born in grief, and, as one by one her children too learn that taste, she wonders: Perhaps the doom is my own.

...

When she is very young, she asks Intyale: What did I get from my mother?

And Intyale- this, Indis remembers very, very well- had paused, and considered, and then said, Her silence.

...

From Indis her mother, she receives silence. From Ingwe, she receives the knowledge of ruling and leadership. From Intyale- 

-from Intyale, she receives the strength of will to remain unbowed.

...

Indis loves Miriel with the kind of love of a calf for its mother: overwhelmingly, adoringly, all-consumingly. She spends hours with Miriel, learning to weave those tapestries, hands tangled in thread of silk and cotton and wool, eyes affixed to the wall just as often as she watches the silver spirals of Miriel’s hair.

The Noldor tend to craft to show their passion for the world, but Indis has nothing of that: she is a fair dancer, a well-versed scholar, a singer of surpassing talent. None of them call to her more than the rest.

She aids Miriel often, now that the building of Tirion is almost complete. Indis enjoys sitting with her and with Finwe, sipping a salty-hot tea as the light changes from gold to silver; she often falls asleep there, slumped over in her chair, and returns only at the second Mingling to Ingwe’s abode.

...

This is what they all forget about Miriel’s death: it was slow.

Slow and lingering and painless. She had dignity unto the end. Finwe clutched her hand until it could not be held. Little Feanaro is the only person in all of Aman, they say, who has lost his mother.

Indis bites her tongue until it bleeds, and does not speak.

...

Intyale dies upon the hills of the Ered Luin. Indis is still young in those days, not quite an adult and not quite a child. Three children are gamboling near the water, and there is- something. Not quite something, but not quite nothing either. Intyale realizes before anyone else, and flings herself forwards, bare-handed.

Bare-chested.

The water boar is driven backwards into the river. Indis grabs the children. Two maiar run, grasp the situation, calm the boar down with songs. Intyale emerges from the river dripping.

She collapses upon the sand, and Indis is there in heartbeats: Intyale is the only mother she remembers, distant and proud though she may be. When she dares to let her eyes drift to Intyale’s chest, everything tightens up inside of her. Her mother is rent open, from breast to belly. 

“No,” says Intyale, and reaches up, and grips Indis’ chin tighter than she ought to be able to, so close to death’s door. “Look at me, little one. We are more than our flesh.”

“You are dying,” whispers Indis, trembling.

“Yes,” says Intyale bluntly. “Call for Ingwe.”

Not for the maiar, who might save her. And not for the Valar either. Intyale has given up: Indis doesn’t realize this until later, but her mother- her aunt- would not have called for Ingwe had she not been determined to join the sister she watched fall.

Intyale forces Ingwe to swear to care for Indis as he would his own daughters. Then she asks for her spear, and to be burned until even her bones show no ash. She tells everyone who her sparse belongings must go to. And then, fingers clutching the bone-spear, she dies.

...

(Feanor, too, burns. Half her family burns to death, Feanor and Fingolfin and Fingon and Turgon and Maedhros and- and- and-

That fire is not of Finwe alone. Fire can be taught to catch, and Feanor never burned quite so brightly to anyone else as he did for Indis and her usurpation of his sainted mother. No: the fire is Indis’ inheritance, and Indis’ gift.)

...

Intyale does not tell anyone who her bone-spear should be given to. Indis finds herself holding onto it, and somehow never lets go.

...

This is what they forget: Miriel was the first to die in the peace of Valinor. 

The second is Finwe.

...

Feanaro has lost his mother, but Indis will become that mother if he will allow it. She would wish for nothing more. Of course she wishes for nothing more. 

But he does not.

Indis watches him when he does not realize. She can see it- the grief, the loneliness. He is a little boy, and Finwe is not half the father he would wish to be, and there are impossible things in this world that Indis wants- her mother, her Miriel, her peace- but most of all she just wants little Feanaro to be happy, to know happiness and joy and trust in it instead of fearing the joy will turn cold and dead in his arms.

...

Miriel had been- quickly angered.

So had Finwe. So do most of the Noldor. Indis is patient enough not to pay much attention to it. 

Well. She is patient.

...

Miriel had been easily provoked into greatness. A few insults, a carefree comment- Miriel would sit at her loom and weave, something ever-greater and ever-better. Even now, the finest gown in Indis’ keep is one that she received from Miriel the day after she spent hours insulting Miriel’s taste in fabric.

Indis would have done that to her in those awful weeks after Feanaro’s death. She would’ve gone in and insulted Miriel to within an inch of her life, made her so breathless with rage that Miriel would have levitated out of her bed to strike Indis about the face. 

But Este’s healers- called in when the labor lasted for more than two days- refused to hear of it, and Indis could only watch as Finwe’s face went whiter by the hour and all they heard from the sickroom were little Feanaro’s wails and the healers’ murmurs. She obeys the Valar: she watches Miriel fade into Lorien, and never return.

Little Feanaro is all that’s left of Miriel. 

She is certain that he’s very much like her, too.

...

Feanaro thinks that his dislike of Indis comes from her marriage to his father. Perhaps the dislike deepened into hatred then; Indis does not know. What she does know- for she’s ensured it- is that Feanaro hated her well before her marriage.

...

(“I expected better of you,” says Indis, once.

Feanaro is three years old. His eyes are Miriel’s in shape and size and beauty. Indis, determinedly, does not flinch. 

“I’m just doing with Rumil taught me!” he exclaims.

“In Valmar,” says Indis, “children learn their letters by the time they turn a year old.”

Feanaro flushes red. “I don’t like these letters. They don’t make sense.”

“Then make your own,” says Indis, careful not to let sympathy seep into her voice.

She does not smile when the news percolates through Valinor of Feanor’s Tengwar. She does not smile, but oh, oh: how she wants to!)

...

This is what they do not see: Feanaro is young, and while fire is forever dangerous, while fire is forever alluring, it is too easy, far too easy, to stamp it out. Especially when it is young. Especially when it is small.

Indis would have been the shelter to that little flame if he would have allowed it. But he will not, so all she can do is throw fuel onto the fire. Chaff and dross and dried straw: insults and backhanded compliments and petty slights. If Feanaro will not let her protect him, then she will build him so high that none will ever be able to strike him down.

(Letting him die was never an option.)

...

Finwe dies, and they leave, and then Feanaro dies, and then Findis disappears, and then Nolofinwe dies, and then Arafinwe comes to her, for the first time since his father’s body burned in Tirion’s courtyard.

“We have been given leave to go to Beleriand,” says Arafinwe quietly, solemnly. “Morgoth shall be defeated and thrown into the Void. The Vanyar shall all come, by King Ingwe’s decree.”

“Is there something you wish to ask me, then?” asks Indis gently.

Arafinwe swallows, one reflexive jump of his throat. “Will you join me?”

Indis rises. Steps away. Goes to her bedroom and plucks it from the wall, and returns in time to see her darling son’s shoulder slump with frustration. 

“I will not,” she says. Arafinwe jumps, startled. Indis steps closer to him and presses the bone-spear into his palms. “I will not return, Arafinwe, to that land. Already it has taken much from me. I will not offer it more.”

“But-”

“Take this,” says Indis. “It is your grandmother’s.”

Surprise glitters in his pale eyes. “I have a sword.”

“This has already held off Morgoth once,” says Indis. “There are tales that will never be told, of the courage of the elves that never saw the Blessed Isles. Intyale Bright-Speared was your grandmother named, and well-named was she! This spear held Morgoth back long enough to release prisoners in the depths of Utumno before ever Orome saw us, long enough to let Intyale’s sister flee. Long enough for Intyale’s sister to hand the child in her arms over to Intyale.

“The sister’s name is Indis,” says Indis. “I was that child. I was named for her.”

Arafinwe stares at her. “You speak so rarely of them.”

“I’ve no desire to relive tragedy for the rest of my life,” says Indis flatly. “Now come. You’ll need to learn how to use that, if you wish to hold Morgoth hostage!”

...

Perhaps she began this, when she chose this path.

Perhaps she could have averted this.

But Indis is the daughter of Intyale, and it will be her bone-spear held to Morgoth’s throat at the end of this awful, deathful road, and if nothing else- if nothing else- she has the will to remain unbowed, this girl born in the shadow of Utumno, this woman who watched all those around her fall as wheat before a scythe, this mother who would rather her children loathe her than die, this daughter who has lost both mothers and knows, bitterly, the whole of that unfathomable loss.

...

That is what she tells Feanor, finally, when he returns to life.

There is something thoughtful in his gaze. He nods, and returns, a week later, and when she blithely tells him that his sons have inherited his monotonous fashion sense, Feanor flushes, and then pauses, and then says, carefully, “I’d rather it be monotonous than Finarfin’s gaudiness,” and Indis drinks her tea- salty-hot, just as she likes it- and she says, smiling, “I am glad you can be taught.”

[arofili]

hi! do you have any head canon or just general idea on how the relationship between Fingolfin and feanor may be? or just about how the relationship between the families are? I like to stray away from canon regarding these things but it's not that common to find feanor-sympathizing views!

Yes, I do! I really love a contentious relationship between them - but not wholly based in hatred. My Feanor actually does love Fingolfin, deep down - but he hates that he does, and he compensates for that by being aggressively mean/distant to him. But at the same time, he will defend Fingolfin from other people; he very much has a "only i am allowed to bully my brother!!!" attitude about it. And every now and then they'll have a softer moment. Feanor's attitude toward his other half-siblings is mostly to ignore them, but from time to time they'll experience the Fingolfin Treatment™.

I love Finwean family dynamics where they're a big extended family who are frequently in contact and generally friendly with each other. There's ABSOLUTELY drama and interpersonal conflicts, but they're family, and that means that there's no question that they're stuck together. Feanor and Fingolfin will fight, but they put that aside for the sake of their kids' friendships. Finarfin and Fingolfin's families are very close, but Finarfin lives in Alqualonde and so growing up the Nolofinweans saw the Feanorians more often because both families were in Tirion. It's not until the Arafinweans are a little older and start spending more time in Tirion as young adults that they really bond with their Nolofinwean cousins.

Feanor is a good dad and I will die on this hill - he cares deeply about all his kids (though he isn't always the best as showing it) and for a very long time he wouldn't try to discourage them from befriending Nolo's kids, even if he's not psyched about the idea. It's not until Melkor starts hanging around the Noldor and spreading lies that Feanor really starts to grow paranoid and aggressive; this is made much worse when he makes the Silmarils, and his obsession is focused into physical objects. (That also contain a not insignificant part of his own soul, which makes him even more unstable...) And that's the point that family relations really start to deteriorate, first with Nerdanel (though things had been going downhill with her for awhile) and then with everyone else.

I think Feanor's fall is so much more tragic if he wasn't always Like That - before Melkor got to him, he would never have burned the ships, for example. And deep down, Fingolfin really believes he can fix things with his brother, that Feanor will return for him - which is why the ship burning is so shocking. It's not until after the ships are burned that Fingolfin really realizes that his brother is beyond saving. He crosses the Helcaraxe because he swore he would follow Feanor, and because he can't go back to Valinor, and because he needs to see Feanor again and kick his ass. He's not planning on a happy reunion. But of course, he doesn't get a reunion at all.

I think, if they are given a second chance, either in Mandos or after their rebirth, that they might be able to work things out. I don't think they'll ever be friends, really, but I do think that after spending an eternity in Mandos, Feanor..."mellows out" isn't the right term, but he gets some perspective. He spends a long time raging and furious, but he's there for a very long time. (He can't leave until the Silmarils are broken and his soul can become whole again...which is gonna take Literally Forever.) And he sees how much pain his kids go through, understands how much of his fault it is, and really grows as a person. But it really does take him FOREVER to get there - it's not in his nature to admit he was wrong. It's an incredibly long process, and one that needs to happen (for him) mostly on his own. But I do think he can get there.

[eri-pl]

I would like to see your fic anyway.

As for hallowing them: If we're going non-canon the discussion losses its point, I think, because it all gets Schrodinger. I don't have a stone-set HCs on things. I do have a preferred HC but that's it. And I don't want to fall into arguing whose HC is better. I accept you read it as you do, but I don't.

But I'm curious: do you assume they didn't burn Morgoth, it that did because Feanor hated him and cursed him or...?

Regardless of hallowing:

I wonder if Dior and all knew the wording of the oath and the darkness thing, or was the correspondence just "give back or property"?

If they knew, I dislike it too, but I can see how this comes from their cultural context. "Throwing people under the bus because they did a large enough evil" is a rather common way of thinking. Which I hate. And so is "throwing people under the bus because I did a large enough evil and want to avoid the consequences". But I get it that Dior and others wouldn't lose much of they have up the gem.

But if they didn't know, the whole thing gets suddenly more understandable. (and I can see why M&M wouldn't tell them: shame, trauma, some strange superstitious not wanting to talk about it...)

Also, I think a lot of traumatized blorbos world be fine with a lot of things, like the dog on the meme is fine. It makes me kind of sad.

I realized something about the Silmarils again and now I am sad again.

So, Gil-Estel, Star of (high) Hope. The one that wasn't reclaimed/stolen* and lost by the Feanorians.

And there are three of them. You know what else comes in a set of three and contains Hope? Faith, Hope, and Love, the... Whatever it's called in English. Anyway we could have three stars, for three beautiful things.

Even more sad: the one that got away was Elwing's. She originally had two brothers. We could have a star per each of them. Somehow. (Yes, someone would have to steal them, but let's ignore this so I can blame everything on Celegorm, because I don't like the guy)

*your opinion may vary

Ok, this post seems not very interesting so let's add a poll

[beautifulterriblequeen]

For the ask game: tdp and lotr ;)

Ohoho I see how it is, fam! Gosh, okay uhhhhhhhh

TDP

blorbo (favorite character, character I think about the most) - Runaan, my angsty long-haired neurodiverse stabby honorable hot elf son who is hopelessly in love with his husband and cannot say feelings to save his life

scrunkly (my “baby”, character that gives me cuteness aggression, character that is So Shaped) - Bait, tubby lump o' grump, a rainbow of colors and feelings

scrimblo bimblo (underrated/underappreciated fave) - Opeli, Queen of Order and President/Founder of the We Hate Viren Club, what is their combined backstory like, gosh

glup shitto (obscure fave, character that can appear in the background for 0.2 seconds and I won’t shut up about it for a week) -Crow Master, my emo son, what is up with his corvid-shaped shadow, he tries so hard to do a Good Job!

poor little meow meow (“problematic”/unpopular/controversial/otherwise pathetic fave) - Viren, High Mage of Katolis, Bi Disaster Man, Irredeemable(?) Asshole, Horny On Main For Elves Power, Stealer of Shirts, Eater of Orange Peels, Swiper of Crowns, Locker-upper of Children, Devil-Dealing Dumbass, Reluctant Blood Ritual Performer, Just Generally Thirsty, Researcher and Schemer Extraordinaire Yet Still So Foolable, Smooth-kneed for Saleer, First of His Name

horse plinko (character I would torment for fun, for whatever reason) - ahaha no this would also be Viren if I wanted to break someone, but usually I torment Runaan because he can take it

eeby deeby (character I would send to superhell) - you might think I will say Aaravos, but it's actually whoever is responsible for the Moonshadow elves having to deal with the angst of blood promises/binding ribbons and having assassins in the first place. Someone set this precedent, and it's still here, ruining human and elven lives/families alike. So if that's a dragon, like Luna Tenebris, fine. If it's Bloodmoon Huntress, fine. If it's still Aaravos, fine. May every step they take on the path to superhell land on a Lego.

LOTR

blorbo (favorite character, character I think about the most) - Elvenking Thranduil, yes I have a type, stoic white-haired queer badass leaders who protect their people in problematic ways while looking hot, what about it

scrunkly (my “baby”, character that gives me cuteness aggression, character that is So Shaped) - Kili, he's literally a chibi dwarf, come on

scrimblo bimblo (underrated/underappreciated fave) - Celebrimbor, the elven smith who got fooled into making the Rings of Power. He's kinda a Feanor 2.0, except way better than the OG redheaded disaster elf because his heart was in a much better place, and realistically who wouldn't fall prey to the charms of Sauron? Anyway, he makes pretty magic artifacts, he's an artificer and that's freaking awesome

glup shitto (obscure fave, character that can appear in the background for 0.2 seconds and I won’t shut up about it for a week) - gotta be the Mouth of Sauron, he's freaky and gross but somehow weirdly compelling

poor little meow meow (“problematic”/unpopular/controversial/otherwise pathetic fave) - Denethor, Steward of Gondor, for the sheer amount of family and cultural angst he can carry all at once, he's an idiotic drama king steward and he drives so much of the plot with his dumb slanted perspective... He's basically a Viren

horse plinko (character I would torment for fun, for whatever reason) - Gimli son of Gloin, because he howls so horribly and Generally Emotes With Overkill, but also so his gentle elven prince, Legolas Greenleaf, can show up to help calm him down and set things right again

eeby deeby (character I would send to superhell) - Smaug! He's a sad little king of a sad little hill, petty and cruel, a tiny little bitch and a coward, pathetic but not even in an interesting meow meow way like Denethor. Just fall, burn, and perish already, you paper airplane lightweight. Ugh.

DUDE this was fun, tysm!!

[outshinethestars]

A Love of Ashes, Burning (Silmarillion fic)

In after years, in days of men when elves are fading, historians looking back sometimes call Feanor a monster, and sometimes a tragic hero.  Often they paint him as a father who loved his children too little or too harshly.  Often they imagine he must never have been soft, must never have been quiet, that he never quite knew the correct way to love in the peace of his home.

This is a pretty lie.

Feanor loved his silmarils like the sun at midday, like a wildfire roaring, like ice that cracks stones unpityingly to pieces.

Feanor loved his sons like a father loves his children.

What other metaphor can compare to that?

With his half-brother Feanor was cruel, with his elders he was petulant, with the rest of the population he was proud and arrogant and scornful with enough skill and power and general magnetism not to be loathed.

But with his wife he was loving, with his children he was patient and kind and soft, and his laughter was quick and bright and his smiles were frequent and beautiful to look upon.

(When Feanor and Nerdanel became estranged, it was because Nerdanel estranged them.  It was not because Feanor mistreated her in any way.  Feanor was never a bad husband, and Nerdanel had no grudge with him for herself, but he was not a good person and in the end, Nerdanel could not love him, or more truly, could not support him if his kindness extended only to herself and her children and his father.  Feanor never understood this, his children did not understand until they were older.)

When Maedhros showed no interest or proficiency with smithcraft, or indeed any other art of making, Feanor did not mind it, and was proud of his son in the quiet way of good fathers who do not demand anything of their children but that they are.  When Maglor showed a talent only in music (and in that a talent never before seen among the noldor) Feanor put aside his hatred a little for the love of his son, and found for him tutors from among the Teleri and the Vanyar.

This is the texture of the past.

Can you not feel it?  Can you not taste it?  

It is bitter on the tongue, beyond the smoke of burning.

Truth is so much uglier, so much less kind, so much messier than the stories we tell ourselves, than the straight lines and clean threads of histories.

Feanor loved his sons well, and he loved his silmarils badly (and he loved his father jealously, because his father had loved Feanor as Feanor loved his silmarils, far too much and not nearly well enough), and he loved the rest of the world too little, and nothing of this is simple, thusly are the children of Iluvatar made.

And so Feanor swore an oath, and his sons leapt up to swear it with him.  And they swore because they loved him, because their love was without ends and without limits, because that was the love he had taught to them, good love, generous love, love that Eru grants his children to give because it is the surest resonance of the eternal, most beautiful music.

Feanor’s children did not swear because they feared him, they did not swear because he had taught them not to think of themselves, they did not swear because they were cowed or enthralled, they swore because they loved.

That is the ugliness.  That is the horror.  That is the truth.

And in that moment, as Feanor looked at his sons with pride, he had two loves in his heart.  One was his love for his sons, and it was warm and whole, and one was his love for himself and for his silmarils, and it was twisted, and in that moment the twisted love shone brighter.

This is the truth that Nerdanel knew, that neither her husband nor her sons could see until it was too late: you cannot be a good husband, a good father, and a bad person.  The roads of kindness and selfishness follow different courses, and you cannot hold to one with your right foot while following the other with your left.  In the end there is conflict.  Feanor’s silmarils, in the end, shone for him more brightly than his children.  And so he led them into ruin.

Can you not smell it, the burning?

Those historians of later days often ask, “When was the fall of Feanor?”

A fall is a gradual thing, and for Feanor perhaps it began even in childhood.  But there is one moment when his fall was complete.

It was not the swearing of the oath.

It was not the kinslaying at Alqualonde.

It was not the burning of the ships.

As Feanor lay dying, he burned, and all his sons stood around him, their love as great and steadfast  as the seas which never dry or drain away.  Feanor lay dying with his sons around him, and he did not see them at all.

And there, in that moment, before his spirit consumed him, he saw the world as it would be, laid out in the clarity of death.  And he understood how futile his vengeance was, and he saw how it would destroy his children.  And his heart was filled with hate, and he cared nothing, nothing for the happiness of his sons.

He made them swear again.

Knowing that it would kill them, body and heart and soul.

He did not care.

How much farther could a father fall?

Many years later, near the end of the sons of Feanor, a child, kidnapped and adopted by two sons who knew how to love sons well, will ask, “What was Feanor like?”

“He loved us,” Maglor will say, because that is a truth and it is simple.  And then he will add, “He was a monster,” because that is also nearly truth, and it is the story that the sons of Elwing and Earendil should be told.

“He was brilliant,” Maedhros will say, “He burned.  I think in the end it burned out the heart of him.”

(And in the dark, when the boys are asleep, Maglor will turn to Maedhros and say, “I thought I was the one who spoke poetry.”

“It isn’t poetry,” Maedhros will say, “It is far too ugly for that.”

And Maglor will think about words and think about burning, and he will think how it is Maedhros, out of all of them, who burns most like their father.  But he will think that Maedhros will burn until his heart is all that is left of him.)