#LUTHIEN IS HIS GREAT SOMETHING GRANDMOTHER

[inthehouseoffinwe]

Thingol, Luthien, and Dior’s claim to the silmaril bugs the living daylights outta me and I’m gonna break down why. This goes a bit beyond ownership laws.

Starting with basics. What are the silmarils? Gems created by Fëanor that hold the light of the Two Trees. Who in Beleriand saw the light of the trees and no doubt misses it like a limb? Are here in part to avenge their destruction? The Noldor.

The Sindar never went to Valinor. They might find the gems beautiful but that’s it. There’s no cultural or emotional connection to them beyond ‘pretty stone, look how awesome our princess was.’ There’s no appreciation for what they hold. No understanding that this stone is one of the *last* things that holds the ancient light of the Trees.

The Noldor meanwhile not only saw the Light, they had entire festivals surrounding it. Grew their entire culture, their lives, under and around it. Now the trees are destroyed, their king killed defending these jewels. And this last beacon of hope, a piece of the home they can never return to, a piece of light that will never come back, is being kept by people who can’t even begin to understand the significance of what they keep.

Now imagine being the sons of the one who made this jewel from a culture of people who value craft above all else.

Not only is it light, it’s the result of years of toil and experimentation of your father, the one who managed to do what no one had ever even thought of. Fëanor’s sons would have been the first to see these jewels, probably saw him make prototypes, work equations whilst they worked on their own crafts. Provided what relief they could to his ever working mind and inadvertently gave him ideas that helped solve problems he encountered along the way. Suddenly it’s not only a key part of their culture, it’s something core to their family.

Then Fëanor is killed and in many ways it’s the most important thing they have left of their father. Now it’s a source of memory too, for someone doomed to the Halls for eternity. Who they’ll likely never see again unless they’re killed.

Now from what I’ve heard, Tolkien says the Fëanorions lost their right to the Silmarils when they killed for them. Which makes no sense considering the Silmarils were *created* by Fëanor. Yes the light was created by the Valar, but what, you’re gonna say ‘I created electricity so that lightbulb you made is actually mine.’ That’s not how it works. Fëanor made the casing for the stones and figured out how to hold the light, without aid from the Valar. It doesn’t matter what actions they take, the right to the Silmarils remain theirs and theirs alone. The jewels hold no power of their own, they’re literally objects. Healing objects at most. Morals do not dictate their ownership, hallowed or not.

Tolkien going on to say the right of Doriath’s Silmaril actually goes to Beren and Luthien for taking it from Morgoth gives me frankly coloniser vibes.

‘Oh this thing I stole was originally stolen from you? Too bad. I took it so it’s mine now. Don’t care how important it is to you, your entire culture, and your people.’

Get where I’m coming from?

All in all the whole situation gives me Bad Vibes and I really don’t like the attitude the Sindar have to the Silmaril. In terms of Elwing, I can partly forgive her purely based on trauma response. Fine. Doesn’t make it right, but I understand. But that never would’ve been a problem if her father, grandmother, or great grandfather had the sense to acknowledge the silmaril was never theirs to keep. Don’t like the Fëanorions, (too bad) at least give it back to the Noldor.

[melorambles]

Elrond as Gil-Galad's Herald should be portrayed more often as a polite political fiction. Like, Elrond's heritage should put him in a very important political position, given exactly how many lineages of kings he's related to. But he's basically allergic to being in charge and every time a council member mentions Elrond getting named the heir, Gil-Galad has to spend half a day talking Elrond out of a tree. But they can't disregard it completely because there are plenty of elves whose loyalty is tied closer to Elrond than Gil-Galad no matter how publically Elrond defers to him.

So, they compromised and made him Gil-Galad's Herald, which is an important position that tells everyone he has Gil-Galad's explicit trust but also means he spends more time playing diplomat and messenger than expressing his own political opinions. Also, it'd be funny if Elrond spends more time essentially pioneering healing techniques than anything else and Gil-Galad sending him out on Herald work is essentially him saying "you're not allowed back in the library until you've eaten at least three meals (diplomatic dinners) and talked to ten people, you're the healer why do I have to tell you this."

Also, something with the two of them going to great lengths to try and get people to forget that Gil-Galad isn't actually that much older than Elrond. And at least one political dinner where a bard is about to sing the Lay of Luthien and has to make awkward eye contact with Elrond, because that's his grandma. And the public consensus that Elrond is probably the most forgiving person on middle earth given he acknowledges his technical kidnappers as his technical foster fathers. And how that acknowledgement technically makes him and Celebrimbor cousins (as opposed to the more distant cousin relationship through his grandmother, Idril, daughter of Turgon, son of Fingolfin, brother to Feanor - aka the guy who made the first jewelry wars were started over, Celebrimbor's grampa).

[curiouselleth]

Veil of Starlight (ao3)

Chapter 1; Beginnings

Nightingales had always been a part of their heritage. Their great-grandmother created them after all.

It had been so bitterly cold, they all should’ve migrated south months ago. But they were there, and they guided them out of the cold, chilling them to their bones down south where the sun still shone strong, and melted the frost on their clothes and dark hair. But not their hearts. 

Everyone they knew was gone. Slain in the halls their father had brought life back to. Dead in the snow. Their mother slain trying to find their little sister and get them out. Friends all gone. Their father slain before his throne as he tried to defend his home and people. They didn’t know what happened to their little sister, but she likely lay in the halls or snow like all the others. 

Everyone was gone and their home was gone and they were gone to the south away, away away away and they wanted to leave it behind. 

The nightingales stayed with them for a time. Teaching them where to find food in this new place. Showing them a small cave to shelter in. But it was still hungry, still cold. They clutched each other every night, small bodies shivering. They didn’t know how many cold nights they spent in that cave before some avari found them. But by then they were thin, wild and fey. One of the avari still bears the scars from their teeth, from these strange little children. Not wholly elf, nor man, nor maiar. An unheard of ancestry, only a few of a kind. But the avari did not know, barely whispers of their grandmother Luthien and her victory against the enemy had reached that part of the world. 

But nonetheless, the green elves took in these wild fey children whose moods stirred the wind to fury and whose laughter brought flowers into bloom in the dead of winter. In their small village in the trees they grew, faster than the eldar, even faster than the edain. So strange, it was. Such a light burned within them, and only ever increased as they grew. 

In those years, time moved faster around them, and somehow, they had nearly reached full stature and maturity and had learned nearly all they could from the green elves. The only thing they had not learned was to control their strange powers. And how to fit in. 

So the twins left. 

They packed, said goodbyes, and moved on. 

Journeying in Ossiriand, avoiding any and all other elves and edain. They had a lot of excuses for avoiding others. They didn’t want to be dragged back into the violence in the north. Didn’t want a crown or responsibilities to be forced upon them. Didn’t want to remember. 

It was so subconscious at first, they didn’t even realize. But they had slowly woven enchantment over themselves, over each other to hide who they were. To hide the features they shared with Luthien. To hide the edain features. The otherworldliness in their eyes that they inherited from Melian. The proud bearing that called Beren and Thingol to mind. To make others see what they wanted to see, or expected when others looked upon them. 

They would always come back to the forest of Taur-im-Duinath. To a little shared talan perhaps a days travel from the avari village where they grew up. Or at least a day's travel across the ground. Closer to a few hours when the twins raced through the branches in leaves with the skill of elves many millennia old. Not long after, as they seemingly could never have quiet for long; a young Noldorin woman arrived. 

Tired and beaten, drifting on a distributary from the Gates Sirion on a half sinking raft. The younger twin found her and pulled her from the river, and brought her to the twin’s small talan. 

She had woken up screaming that night. The twins understood.

As the week passed, the peace of the forest brought her comfort. She wasn’t ready to speak of what happened yet. The twins understood this too, more than they could put into words. 

From this understanding something wholly new began to grow between her and Elurin. When she was despairing, he made her laugh. And she balanced his overly carefree, inattentive personality with maturity… and an unforgiving streak of sarcasm and knowledge of pranks.

Eventually, she told them a little. How she had lived in the hidden city Gondolin. That it was attacked and destroyed, and she escaped. Drifted downriver because it would be faster than running. And how she had overheard some of the men attacking her city saying how they couldn’t let any of the people of Gondolin escape to the Havens of Sirion like the Doriath survivors had.

The twins froze and paled at this last statement. They excused themselves, and the moment they were out of her sight they fled into the branches, and they ran and ran and ran and ran and ran until they reached a large clearing and ran out of branches to leap through. 

They returned the next morning, salt streaks down their cheeks and staining their clothes. 

“Elured, you don’t have to do this, not alone!”

He reaches out and rubs Elurin’s shoulders, “yes, I do. I’m older, and you have Gwingloth here.”

Elurin blushes and tries to interrupt, but Elured continues “oh you know you cannot lie to me brother. I have seen how you two look at each other when you think I don’t see, the love, how you practically melt in her gaze. We all have been through so much. You two deserve happiness, with each other, if that is what you two wish for. Stay with her, I will go to the Havens, even Balar if I must. I will learn what has become of the last of our people. I will be like the wind, in and out and returning to you with the winter rains. At the latest in the spring. I will find our people.”

Elurin blinks away tears, “I shall hold you to that. And if you return a day after spring ends you shall never hear the end of it,” he pauses, “take one of the swords. We are safe here, you will need one more than us.” 

“Are you certain? I can take one of the avari swords or bows instead…”

“No, take one.” Elurin turns and kneels down, pulls out a dagger and pries up one of the floorboards. He sets it aside and stares at the cavity for a moment, before pulling out the silver twin swords. “They are the last of our heritage and family that we have, take it with you and remember me. I knew ever since the avari found them, they were not destined to stay together forever. Just hide the inscriptions…” he runs his fingers over the cirth runes; For my beloved great-grandchildren, may you wield these swords in a better world than the one you were born into. And the maker's mark, a tall thin “T” with a small crown above it. 

Elured slowly takes one, and he too runs his fingers along the runes. But as he does, they shimmer, and fade away, making the sword appear blank and uninscribed. “I’ll be back before you know it. I promise.” He looks up to Elurin and smiles mischievously, “and perhaps by the time I return you can tell me about the proposal.”

“Huh? Whatever are you talking abou- NO Elured, it is far too early, no, and in case your ears were clogged the first time, no no no you daft creature!” 

“Who is a daft creature?” A female voice icily asks from behind him.

“Oh just my foolish broth-” his voice explodes into an undignified shriek as Elured grabs him from behind and starts mercilessly tickling him. 

“Do not worry Gwin, I shall only be gone for a few months at most, just to see if any survived Doriath, and I shall leave as soon as I teach this child a lesson!” he laughs and continues poking and tickling Elurin. 

“You know I do not like it when you call me that, ‘red” she laughs.

“Fair point, I shall endeavor to use your full name when I return, so long as you do not call me that.”

“Gwin! Rescue me please!” Elurin begs between laughs.

“Ah you are the more foolish brother, not Elured. Did you not hear my wish not to be called such? Alas, I am afraid I must leave you to this torture unless you apologize!”

Elurin was laughing too hard to even try. 

Before dawn, they saw Elured off. He wasn’t bringing any bags, just whatever could fit on his belt and in his pockets without impeding his movement. He didn’t want to be weighed down by too much.

“There and right back, brother. Please, find out if any of our people survived but come home.”

“I will, I promise I will return to this very spot.” He pulls Elurin into an embrace and whispers “I promise.” Eventually they pull apart. “Gwingloth, make sure he doesn’t get into too much trouble, just the right amount!”

“Of course.”

Elurin lightly pushes Elured toward the edge of the talan, “Go! For the sooner you leave the sooner you’ll be back! May the sun shine on your path, and may the nightingales help you find it!”

“Farewell!” Elured calls as he leaps into the branches and quickly disappears before the coming dawn.

Sirion was flooded, and raging like he had never seen. The ford was washed away. Swimming across would likely be a death sentence. Elured thinks about the map he and Elurin made last summer. If this ford was washed away, they all likely were. So there were only two options; trying to find a path through the mouths of Sirion would be the most direct, but likely a fool’s errand. Sailing obviously was not an option, he had sailed rivers on the small craft the avari made but the ocean was too risky. Which left the North. He could pass over the Gates of Sirion to the North, and hope that the Nargod wasn’t affected by the same weather that flooded Sirion. It would be a much longer journey, but the least difficult. 

He tucked a stray braid behind his ear, then sighed, irritated, as the wind immediately tossed it back out of place. 

“Well, I suppose there’s no good thinking on an empty stomach.” He mumbled.

A few handfuls of berries and a bit of bread later, he sighed, this time content. 

Gwingloth would likely scold me for such a meal he thought as he looked out over the river over his perch in a lone tree. Even at its narrowest it was still a massive river, and in some places leagues wide. There would be no crossing, of that he was now sure of. North would be the only option. 

He resolved to set out in the morning, laid down on one of the larger branches of the tree, and fell into dreams with Elurin.

“How fares your journey, brother?”

“Sirion has swelled with floods, there is no crossing. I travel North at dawn, to pass over the Gates of Sirion,” he replied.

He could feel Elurin’s concern twist around him restlessly, “are you sure? That is a long way, you do not have to do this, not alone. If you stay there for a few days perhaps I can catch up and we can go together?”

“I can do it. Please, stay in the forest with Gwingloth. She is not fully recovered no matter how much she may deny it, and you have more skill in healing than myself or any of the avari. She needs you. And I’m your older brother, I can do this.” He wanted to, had to. Had to see if their sister lived yet. 

“Just because you are mere minutes older, does not mean you have to bear this alone,” Elurin’s concern remained, but was now vibrantly colored by love as his fëa swirled around.

“I know, brother, I know. I just feel as though… this is something I have to do, I am fated for. I do not know what awaits me at the Havens, but something does, and I have to find it.”

“That may be,” Elurin deflated a little, “but after you find it, come back. You promised.” Elurin’s fëa gently brushes him, and fades back into the waking world, out of their small world of dreams. 

Elured lingered a little longer yet. They had never been so far apart, and he feared that if they were much farther they would not be able to walk in their dreams and visions together. To be disconnected from each other in such a way, Elured feared that he would become lost as a boat tossed in a raging storm. 

But slowly the sun began to peer over the blue mountains, and it was time. He drifted back to waking.

He ran with the wind in his hair and the sun on his face, his feet quickly and silently impacting the grass as he raced northward - he had been traveling for a few days and the Gates of Sirion were in sight. 

He could see where the river gushed forth from the twisting caves under the hill, and traced over the hills above with his eyes. He wanted to cross over as close as possible, the river being flooded had already brought him many leagues in the wrong direction. As the hours passed the hills grew larger, then slowly, slowly smaller as he turned back south. 

Eventually he grew near the forest of Nan-tathren, and just in time as his food began to run low. He hated foraging in the hills. Not nearly enough berries for his taste. 

Something was wrong. He had frozen before the thought fully reached his mind. There were people in the forest. He slowly resumed approaching the forest, using every trick he knew to stay silent. It was harder to remain unseen in the grass. He had to get into the trees. 

He moved barely breathing, tense as a bowstring, he slipped under the trees. He was back in his element, whoever was here would never see him, he thought as he leapt into the branches. Perhaps he could figure out who was here… to better avoid them , he rationalized. After all, he needed to forage and could find areas they had not been in if he knew their numbers. 

He flew through the branches, much faster than he had traveled across the ground, though leaping down here and there to gather berries, roots, and a particularly good bunch of mushrooms. 

But once more he slowed, the trees whispering growing louder. He was getting close to them. They were getting close. Perhaps a half dozen of them, a hunting party perhaps… or a band of warriors and scouts. He sunk further into the shadows of the tree and listened as voices approached.

He grew more tense as he recognized their accent. Faint as it was, it was the very same that Gwinloth had. Noldor. He loosened his sword in its sheath, fearful that they were the same who destroyed his home. Who killed his family. Who left him and his brother to die. 

He remained still as they got closer and closer. As he listened, it seemed like more of a hunting party. Likely tracking game. 

He resolved to wait until they passed. They obviously had little experience in the forest. Either they had not been here long, or there weren’t many where they were from. Either way, they were not native here, and spoke of building up stores for the remainder of their journey South. 

South. It rang through his head, to the Havens of Sirion. They are likely refugees from Gondolin then. He briefly smiled, Gwinloth will be overjoyed to hear some of her people survived.  

He continued waiting for them to pass, they nearly were agonizingly slow as they discussed what kind of game the prints seemed to belong to, or how many, and seemingly to him at least, could not tell a rabbit track from a deer. Eventually, what Elurin would call his “older brother exasperation” kicked in, and he slowly moved from the tree and onto the game trail behind them.

“About a fifth of a league further down the path, there is a small herb of deer. A little farther and you will likely find some rabbits if you are capable of being quiet. And for Orome’s sake be careful! There are two fauns in the herd of deer who are not ready to leave their mothers.”

The hunters spun around, drawing their bows, and he remained just long enough to smirk, but before they could even blink, he had disappeared into the trees again. 

His mirth at this little trick stirred a wind in the trees as he raced away, further South. He had enough food, it was time to continue to the Havens.

[legitimatesatanspawn]

What if Beren and Luthien were genderbent?

Ooh, that's an interesting question.

Now, forewarning: this is just a bunch of theories and personal thoughts on the matter so don't take this as canon. It is rooted in what we do know of the families involved and a bit in how social structures work in the setting, but in this case it is completely me talking out of hand about this.

Names. This is a big thing to me because I love names and this will help me keep the idea separate from canon. Luthien is Quenyan for "flower-daughter" so let's go with one of the Quenyan suffixes for males… Luthion sounds good if a bit too on the nose. Another option for flower are Lot/Loth from Ninquelótë, Númellótë, and Vingilot. So Lótëmon? Now Beren was named after his maternal grandfather, but since I don't know his grandmother's name we'll go up the tree for his great-grandmother Adanel. I'm guessing his mother Emeldir got naming rights to go with Beren instead of him getting named after Bregor. Admittedly Lotemon and Adanel might not roll off as easily as Luthien and Beren but they work for this post.

Brief Discussion of Upbringing: Beren and Luthien Beren, or Adanel now as this will be easier. While Artanis (or Galadriel as we know her) is the biggest Noldorian female who stands out in my memory with the next one being Nerdanel who was the wife of Feanor who deserves her own loredump post, the laws of succession in Numenor which in turn are basically spread to the civilizations of Man to varying degrees in the known lands of Middle Earth are cribbed off of those of the Noldor. Which is why I'm bringing two Noldor elves up here. Basically titles go paternally to the nearest male descendant although in the case of a female eldest child she still receives family heirlooms as her birthright. (Doesn't make up for it but whatever.) Although I do remember there being a case where there were several older daughters onto whom one of the Numenorian kings tried to pass the title to but their grandmother spooked them like some grammas tend to do, so they refused and the title went to their younger brother. Now here's the fun bit: Beren's mother (much like Luthien's Melian) Emeldir is a BAMF. Her name and her title both basically were "the man-hearted woman". So Emeldir without doubt kicked ass, lived to at least 50 going by the events surrounding Dagor Bragollach (the Battle of Sudden Flame), and I like to think she raised Beren to understand important stuff like consent and a refusal being just that. So while I think that "Adanel" would be treated just as Beren would, she wouldn't get exactly the same equal treatment. But given her mother, her father would likely try anyway. So Beren's life as a woman would be largely unchanged. Luthien, or as she'll be here "Lótëmon", is still the only child of Thingol and Melian. Still half-maia, still likely beautiful and fairer beyond everything. Still probably has a thing for tall, broad shouldered, and golden-brown half-feral people spotted in the forest. Maybe a little more leeway when it comes to things and hopefully not kidnapped (which would mean no Huan) but considering he'll still be Beautiful and how beauty is often coveted in the setting… I suspect that "Lotemon" will also live largely the same life.

Quest and Future Rather than demanding the Silmaril as the brideprice, perhaps it is instead just a proof of strength or resoluteness or something. Again, Thingol would've probably thought Beren/"Adanel" would actually be able to do it but the sheer balls to go through with it and return with that damn bold claim of it being indeed still in hand when they return… The knockoff effects for the future will be different though. Luthien and Beren's story was fairly unusual and set the stage for an elf choosing a mortal, and a mortal pursing something dangerous in the name of love. A man may be viewed as brave in some societies/civilizations by their fellow men while a woman instead deemed foolish for the same actions which is disgusting but there it is. A woman using beauty to bewitch her enemies would be 'sexy' while a man doing the same would be different and perhaps seen as underhanded. Although it would be one of the goodside counterparts to Sauron's wiles and paint the idea that cleverness such as that is not always in service of selfish cruelty. It's possible that instead of singing of Luthien's beauty they'd be singing of "Lotemon" and his cunning. There's also some slightly different implications of the mortal woman dying and waiting for her love who when he joins her has to fight for the right for them to stay together in death or in life. This also means that Thingol taking in Turin would have a few more connotations of replacing his lost son instead of caring for a second child who is different from his daughter. So maybe Turin would be even more eager to run out to fight since he doesn't want to be seen as a pale shadow to "Lotemon".

TLDR Different names, slightly different upbringings, somewhat different after effects, but since the Song is a thing and the Silmarils are still a big big thing with the characters then the story would likely stay largely the same.

[maryellencarter]

The Elrond and Thingol thing absolutely slays me every time though okay, because he absolutely did that on purpose. Look.

Thingol:

* Is the ruler of a hidden Elf enclave trying not to draw the attention of the Dark Lord

* Has the most beautiful daughter in the world

* Some mortal dude falls in love with his daughter and asks permission to marry her

* Thingol says "only if you steal one of the three jewels from the Dark Lord's crown", intended to be an impossible quest

* Mortal dude (Beren) goes off to get his ass killed doing the impossible, but due to help from Thingol's daughter (Luthien) and some other people, actually winds up succeeding

* Thingol has to let them get married

* Eventually Luthien chooses to become mortal so she can die when Beren does instead of living forever without him

Elrond:

* Is, crucially, the grandson of Beren and Luthien and very aware of this whole sequence of events

* Is the ruler of a hidden Elf enclave trying not to draw the attention of the Dark Lord

* Has the most beautiful daughter in the world, who is also the spitting image of her great-grandmother

* Because they're part human on Beren's side, Elrond knows all along that his children will eventually have to choose whether to become mortal

* Some mortal dude falls in love with his daughter and asks permission to marry her

* Unlike Thingol and Beren, Elrond knows all about this mortal dude (Aragorn), specifically that his ancestors have been kings-in-exile for the last thousand years or so, and have not very much attempted to stop being in exile

* Elrond knows the story he's in. He knows that whatever impossible task he sets, it's quite likely he'll just motivate Aragorn to go achieve it. So instead of choosing the most *impossible* task available, to go attack the Dark Lord directly like Beren, he chooses a task that's both suitable to Aragorn's skills/role as the heir of Elendil, and that will have the best possible overall effects if Aragorn does succeed. He tells him Arwen can marry the King of Gondor and Arnor -- knowing that Sauron is unlikely to put up with having a King of Gondor on his doorstep. So if Aragorn gets to marry Arwen, it will be because Something has been Done about Sauron (whether or not Aragorn was personally the one to do it; historically, getting the house of Elendil to do leadership shit has gone much better than getting them to poke Sauron with swords directly), and that will be worth losing his daughter over.

So Elrond knows the genre he's in, knows how this story goes, and makes a calculated decision to hedge his bets. Either Arwen doesn't become mortal, or Sauron gets defeated. Win-win.

(Elrond is much smarter than Thingol, but knowing how this story went the first time is also a huge advantage.)

On a scale from Turgon to Elrond, how well did “raising your sibling’s offspring/descendant in your hidden valley and having them fall in love with your daughter” turn out

[malkaleh]

Honestly, I really really do not like movie!Elrond. That is my salty fan opinion. (He is Not My Cake/Elrond). 

[an-eldritch-peredhel]

I am having multitudes of eucatastrophic emotions about death in Arda.

Beren dying and Luthien following out of rage and grief and love and the firm conviction that No, it won't end like this, and coming back and dying again by their own choice but not their own time, Luthien pulling Beren behind her curious for what comes next, saying a final farewell to their elven dead, and how Leithian means release from bondage.

Celegorm kills Dior who kills him who killed Nimloth who killed Curufin and Dior has a human spirit and cannot bear it and he and her sing for a Choice before death and they succeed and live in Aman's wilds by Melian's city and become something like friends with their murderer.

Elros who is like his great-grandmother, Arwen who is like her uncle, who free themselves of immortality for life and love and a kingdom, meeting and meeting her who is like them both in a place beyond the universe.

Amrod and Argon, united only as youngest sons killed first by their fathers (directly or not, intended or not, it doesn't stop what they feel), half hating each other and healing together.

Miriel, who dies because she had no other choice, who stays for her Lady and her husband, Finwe, who dies because of broken trust, who stays for anger and his wives, Indis, who lives because she must, who stays for her children and her spouses, and healing even for those left behind.

Tar-Miriel, the Witch-King who should have been Queen, angry and shaking and killed by a girl so much like her, so much better than her, meeting her namesake who wove her story and a smith who does not judge her- whos story played counterpoint to her own as he loved and fought and lost the Deciever, even as she hated and fought and joined him, moving on not at peace but getting there.

Maedhros, seeing no other way out, dies in fire to match his spirit with a gem in his hand and gold around his wrist, sent to the void through nothing but his own conviction, Fingon who thinks how dare he and through nothing but his own conviction (and a familiar harp) brings him back.

That's the thing about death in Arda- it's never, ever the end. And in the end, the Dagor Dagorath is not yet more death- the Battle of Battles is the end of a Song and the re-Singing of the world by anyone who wishes to enter it, an old Song, a new Song, a love Song, a sad Song all. The Battle of Battles is healing and growth and reunions and redemption, and a world where the only wounds are old scars... and possibly the results of a particularly stupid boar hunt.

[adanedhel]

Re 'im kind of having A Day, if anyone would want to send me asks or prompts of any kind i'd love something to keep me busy.' How about a (possible) AU scene during Turin's childhood in Doriath where he meets/befriends Dior? Turin's only six years older so it's possible they knew one another...

thank you for the prompt! this came out a little longer than i intended but i hope you like it <3

Up until now, Túrin had not met another child since he left home. In fact, he had not seen another human being in that time. His foster parents brought him along on one of their rare trips outside the Girdle, outside of Doriath itself. He was not sure how far away they actually were, only that they were definitely farther than it seemed. Melian’s strange magic seemed to bend the world around them as they traveled.

Túrin had also had no idea where they were going, only that the Queen had insisted he come along for some reason.

“It will be good for them both.” She’d said, but Túrin had no idea who they were.

Not until they came to the little cabin, in a woods that felt almost as dark and thick as Doriath. Thingol and Melian’s guard left them and formed a barrier between the tiny home and everything outside, while Thingol held Túrin by the hand, bringing him inside.

Somehow, without being told, he knew exactly who he was looking at when a cheerful older man greeted them at the door. Beren. They had never met, but Túrin knew plenty about him. He’d heard the story from his parents, (with more or less embellishments depending on who told it) about him winning the love of an elf-woman. His father had spoken about Beren’s quest with awe and no small amount of reverence. It was the very inspiration behind the battle his father had been lost in.

His mother spoke of him with no such praise, though with no amount of bitterness. She called him both brave and a fool in equal measure, and though she did not blame him in any way for the loss of her husband, she did seem to have some kind of disapproval.

Beren kneeled before him, and put a hand on Túrin’s shoulder, “So,” He said, “Here is my little kinsman. Túrin, is that right?”

Túrin said nothing, but Thingol answered, “Túrin is right. He has been in my charge now for three years. We thought it might be good for him to meet some of his own, and for yours as well.”

As he spoke, out from a room came a tall woman, with a child on her hip. The woman looked a great deal like Melian, and Túrin knew her to be Luthien. The child, about half Túrin’s age, had his father’s bronze skin, and his grandfather’s silver hair.

Luthien greeted her parents, and they greeted her, and the child, in turn, the adults talking amongst themselves for a few moments before he was set before Túrin, and introduced as “Dior.”

Túrin and Dior were let outside to play, though Túrin mostly followed behind little Dior, watching him as he played alone.

“Are you my uncle, or my cousin?” Dior asked idly while he began to weave his plucked wildflowers into a chain.

“Cousin, I suppose.” Replied Túrin, sitting down next to him.

Dior scrunched his face up, and paused his hands, “But you’re my grandfather’s son, aren’t you?”

“Foster-son,” Túrin said quickly, and flushed, “He is not my father. My father is… away.”

Dior frowned, but continued weaving his chain, “But he loves you like one.”

“I cannot speak for him.” Túrin shrugged, and reached across to help Dior fix a missed loop, “He is kind to me, and so is Queen Melian, but I doubt they see me as anything more than a stray human child.”

“I am a human child, and they love me,” Dior shrugged now, and was quiet until he finished his chain, typing it into a closed loop. He stood, and placed the wreath over Túrin’s head like a crown, smiling.

The gesture reminded him so much of when he would do the same for his younger sister. He had tried to teach her how to weave for herself, but at the age of 3 her motor skills just weren’t refined enough to tie knots. She loved the crowns though, and he wove her a new one nearly every day, golden flowers looking dull compared to the shine of her hair.

“Are you sad?” Dior’s little voice pulled Túrin out of his sullen thoughts, “I would be sad if my father was away… Is your mother away too?” Dior sat down again, and started weaving a second flower chain.

“She is,” Túrin nodded, and reached up to feel the wreath around his head, “I… I am sad, sometimes.”

“Well, I am sad when grandmother and grandfather are away, but I see them again, eventually,” He smiled when Túrin reached across to help him fix a loop again, “You will surely see her again.”

Túrin felt at peace in a way he hadn’t since he left his mother’s side. He found a sense of hope in himself, that he would see her again. And he found a comfort, too, beside Dior. Like an emptiness in him was filled, at least for now.

[babybarrie]

A Lover’s Lament

A very very long ago requested fic by @deepestfirefun

I’m so sorry I never got to this sooner! I hope you can forgive me. 😥 And I hope that what I wrote is to your tastes. I did my best to keep to your request.

Warnings: Minor angst? Some cute fluff at end.

Request: I stumbled upon this one song on YouTube and idea struck me. So Fili x reader (Dunedain) Everything was falling apart around you. Thorin had agreed to take you with them because of your experience in battles, you were one of the Dunedain race. But now Thorin has fallen into dragon sickness and is forcing everyone to search for the Arkenstone. Feeling exhausted and sad you slip away from the others and start walking through the halls of Erebor. You remember one particular song that your grandmother used to sing to you when you were little and started to sing. You don't know that Fili is slowly following you and listening to your singing. He is fallen in love with you but the sake of the quest, he has kept his feelings locked in his heart. But now when he sees your sadness and pain, he decides to tell you that you are his One. Lots of fluff 😀 song the Silmarillion "Luthien's Lament" by Eurielle

"A Dunedain you say?" Thorin slowly approaches you.

"Yes, that I am my lord." you bow

"What weapons are you proficient in? How many battles have you won? If any..." He muses. 

"Many and many master dwarf. If you don't want a woman in your company you should just say so Oakenshield..." You smirk as you lift the hood from your head.

A few chuckles go around the room and Thorin is embarrassed. 

"Oh, I like her." Dwalin remarks

"She is with us then." Gandalf states with a small smile

You weren’t always sure how to handle Thorin when he was his normal, grumpy self, but now?  Things were getting worse, second by second, hour by hour, everyone watched and feared as the noble king, Thorin became the gold-crazed fool of Durin. To you, it felt like Smaug’s greed never left the mountain with him. Instead, it took on a new appearance, one that none of the company were happy to see. You walk among the gold, gems, and stained treasures of Erebor. “Searching” for the king’s jewel in hopes that your “work” satisfied the sicken dwarf. Things were growing more and more bleak as Thorin grew more and more unhinged

"Lass you look lost and tired. Why don't you go and take a break? We'll handle it from here." Balin slowly rose from his crouched posture

“Are you sure? He’s been very...” You look to the masses of money at your feet, saddened by the reminder of what drowned the king in greed.

“We’ll be fine dear. Just go get some rest. Make sure he doesn’t see you though...I’m sorry.” Bofur tries to smile at you then goes back to rummaging through the gold.

“Ok...Please be careful friends...” 

You slowly tread across the large room, making sure that you don’t slip on anything. You head over to gold cover floor. The thought of drowning Smaug was certainly an idea but one that didn’t work in any favor. Now the town burns and the floor is covered in more gold. This isn’t what you wanted. Not your leader falling to such a state, not the town burning and humans losing their homes, not the company being in such disarray and panic of their own king, and not you fearing the on the coming war. This isn’t how you thought it would go. You know that there would be tough trials and hard times but this ending wasn’t what everyone deserved. 

“Grandmother...What will come of all this? This pain and fear.” 

You reminisce on the memories with your family. Your grandmother lying in her bed and singing to you whenever you were feeling sick or when you’ve had a tough day. Your mother rubbing your back and smiling. Your father outside smoking his pipe. and your adopted little brother curled up in your lap, slowly falling asleep to the soft voice of old song.

Oh great Mandos High among Valar I come to you in sorrow And with a broken heart

Long has been my journey That led me to these halls But now I kneel before thee As grief, my spirit calls

I seek a man named Beren Whom I bid await me here I pledged that I would find him Before he leaves this sphere

This man of whom I speak He gave his life for me But thence my soul grew weak And at last, it too broke free

So borne upon an urgent breeze I traveled to this place Where only one thing could appease The torment I now face

Oh tell me I am not too late To see my love once more For that would be too cruel a fate I beg him be restored

That we may take a little time To bid our last farewell And remember all we shared erstwhile Such joy no one could quell

For never was a greater love Than that within our hearts Once born, forever binding us E'en though through death we part

Once born, forever binding us E'en though through death we part

The voice echos in halls. Grief and an odd sense of confusion flow through your notes. Each note, another step you take, another horrid thought flashes through your mind. War, blood, agony, rage, battle cries dissipated to death, and the final blow of a horn. Clutching your arms as you hug yourself tight, nearly losing yourself in the song as each utter emotional definition splits through you.

A small choke of a gasp reverberates in the hallways, turning around you catch a glimpse of what looked like golden sunlight. Ah, your little lion has come for you to take you back to comb through those cursed coins and jewels.

“Do they need my help again little lion?”

You smile as you see Fili come out of the shadows and into the cold light that dances across the golden flooring cast by the large opening in the wall.

“No, I...I just heard someone singing and followed it...I’m sorry to disturb you.”

He’s fidgeting with his hands and feet. Looking down, embarrassed for hiding in the background like a creep.

“Don’t worry, I was just thinking back on my older days as a child. It is one of my favorite songs.” You smile thinking of your grandmother.

“For such a sad song, why do you favor it?”

His eye holds a curious look in them. But there’s more than just curiosity gracing them.

“Indeed it is sad... But it’s the memories that make it so special. My elder would sing it to us when we were young. It was her little way of telling stories. I used to enjoy them immensely.” You sigh with a breath of melancholy.

“I see. I take it that you have many fond memories like that too?” He smiles.

“Yes...Many...But not enough...”

You look down not wanting to press any further into your past. You miss her greatly but you treasure what she has given you. A gift. A blessing. A story to tell.

“I...May I hear that song again?” He gazes at you in wonder.

“Of course, sunshine.”

You sing and sing till you are near the end of the song. You feel calm, almost serene in a way. Being around him always did make you feel at peace. You wonder why...

“Wait...” He stops you before you finish.

You look at him with minute confusion.

“Please...I...I know that this may be sudden and perhaps not the right time but you must know. I have come to care for you these past times. I care for you far more than I will ever admit to anyone else. I always thought that there was something interesting about you aside from the fact that you bested uncle back in the Shire.”

You both chuckle at this recollection. He continues once you’ve calmed.

“But there is far more to you than being interesting. You...you are amazing. You make me laugh even when things are going awry and you make me feel calm even in the most crazed moments. You show kindness even when it shouldn’t be given, you hold a sharp tongue against those who wish to harm those who are important to you, you give the wisest words that even Gandalf would look on and ponder. There is so much about you that I couldn't even put into words.”

You gaze at him with adoration as he studies you with intense loving regard.

“You are everything to me...And I couldn’t hold my heart back from falling in love with you. Amralime. Please. I love you. You are my one and I would give anything and everything to be with you. I will love you even if you don’t return my feelings. I will not trap you with this but I only wish to be at your side for as long as you allow me to be. Protecting you would be an honor, even if you could take me down in one fell swoop.”

You smile and lean down to kiss his forehead and then his cheek. Resting your head against his,

“I return your feelings, love. And yes, I can take you down in one swing. But I’m sure that I could do other things to make you do as I wish.”

You both smirk at the thought and kiss one another.

“I love you, my one.”

“I love you, my little lion. Shall we get back to the company?”

Sighing he nods,

“Yes, we should. I’m sure uncle wouldn’t want us to be taking a break right now.”

Walking back to the treasury, hand in hand, you lean your head on his shoulder.

“We’ll get through this, love...I won’t leave you. I will make sure of it for both of us.”

[silverwingsandoceanthings]

Headcanon: Idril and the Manipulation of Prophecy

‘I am still going through things very slowly, but there were some bits that I sort of wanted to talk about somewhere for a while and wasn’t sure how. I may at some point tidy this up, and I may also at some point make a seperate post looking at the instances of prophetic knowledge Idril had herself, rather than this. Which is using other people’s prophecies for her own ends.

Then I saw a reference to how in Greek Tragedy the heroes - and sometimes other characters - often are prophecised to do something, or know an event will happen, and seek to circumvent it. And they always fail, because they seek to avoid the prophecy via strength of will and a force of their own. And its as beautiful as it is heartbreaking, knowing they are bound to fail.

Idril... Doesn’t. To my reading it is pretty clear that she knows Gondolin will fall. Not might, will. Once she knows it will happen, she never seems to try to stop Gondolin from falling. What she does is take the knowledge that it will, then act to minimise the effect. Gondolin will fall, but I will make means for some to escape and live on.

(I tend to think she has known it will fall since Eöl’s execution, but that is a topic for another day. there’s a tldr on it in the tags.)

And now a cut, as I got carried away and we progress into ‘textually-inspired headcanon’ instead of ‘interpretation of text’. The TLDR: Idril was making plans to save the Noldor via circumventing the Doom of Mandos, using other prophecies to find ways to get a message to the Valar and make them feel bad, but in the end they were unnecessary as she fell in love with Tuor (who she needed to marry for it to work, and had resigned herself to a duty marriage without love so unheard of for an elf, but known to men), he with her, and he named the child what the child needed to be named without her needing to use her mother-naming to give said child such.

In FoG we get the following line, which becomes relevant to the rest of this brain-dump:  ‘Know then that Idril had a great power of piercing with her thought the darkness of the hearts of Elves and Men, and the glooms of the future thereto - further even than is the common power of the kindreds of the Eldalië’ ie, not only does she have a talent for reading people, but also an understanding of how the future works, and given some of the other stuff going on in that text, actual prophetic dreams and visions and all that wonderful stuff.

She’s also 90% of the time absolutely in control of everything she possibly can be. And there’s a lot of prophecies and dooms and such floating around from other people, most of which I find it hard to imagine she would not have known about. Given her status, tendancies towards control and information gathering and knowing what is to come and all those things. Even if people did not approach her to say, she would do her best to keep herself aware of things. There’s three bits I sort of want to talk about, though there are a few more I am aware of that can contribute to this, these three sort of are enough to put it together.

Let us start, as things often should, with the Doom of Mandos. I’m not copying all of it. There’s also some other bits I now realise need to go into my braining on the execution thing, but aside. The bit I’m looking for here is: ‘the Valar will fence Valinor against you, and shut you out, so that not even the echo of your lamentation shall pass over the mountains’. Also all of the awful things it promises, but the specifics of those are unimportant.  What Idril knows from this: the Valar have blocked them from Valinor, and if they try ask for help it will not cross the mountains. If the request for help were on the other side of the mountains, it would not need to cross them, but its a moot point if they cannot. Maybe uncle Finarfin might manage to bed help from the other side of the mountains, but he hasn’t yet so its not really feasible.

Second we leave the silm proper for a while, heading over to the Statute of Finwë and Miriel as found in Morgoth’s Ring. I’m never quite certain if it is part of Laws and Customs or not, but in it if Finwë can remarry is the point of the debate. With other bits involved. The section in question comes near the end, and involves the fact that ‘but Indis’ descendants will be amazing and she won’t have kids with anyone but Finwë so we she totes let her marry him’ (very tldr and absolutely not a direct quote). It mentions at a point that both elves and men will have a part to play in her descendants and also great deeds. Then we get this gem: ‘When he that shall be called Eärendil setteth foot upon the shores of Aman, ye shall remember my words’ (I have a whole other ramble about the rest of this section, but that’s not for here or now).  Idril brain remembers this - there’s no way I can concieve of her not having been exposed to this report of great importance to both her family and legal history - connects it to the previous bit and goes ‘there is a pre-existing prophecy that a descendant of Indis, who is my great-grandmother, named Eärendil, will set foot on the shores of Aman. Not just be in Aman - setteth foot upon. That’s a pre-existing prophecy specifying someone who can break the fence. This person does not exist yet. But should I ever marry, I can make it so, then they can go beg the Valar for help. Given even Mandos seems to think this relative will be a good thing.

Third, and finally though there’s a lot more that could be used but I have things to do today, is the prophecy Huor makes as he tells Turgon to go and willingly faces down his own death: 'Yet if it stands but a little while, then out of your house shall come the hope of Elves and Men. This I say to you, lord, with the eyes of death: though we part here for ever, and I shall not look on your white walls again, from you and from me a new star shall arise.’ (I like to think that death prophecies from mortals are just a thing that happens sometimes, like pregancy prophecies for elves. Something about Mandos being both the guardian of the dead and also a prophet, but anyway this is one that exists canonically. Silmarillion-as-published canon even.) Well, that’s interesting. The Hope of Elves and Men comes from Gondolin, but is not there yet. I do not think at the point people get back from the Nirnareth and Idril would have heard this she would have the context for the new star, but a prophecy is a prophecy, and the prophecy speaks of unifying Huor’s line with Turgon’s. Well she is all of Turgon’s line left, and unifying is easiest via marriage. Luthien happened, so children of elves and men can occur. Presumably Huor has children (well his wife was pregnant at the time of the fighting but Idril wouldn’t have had the specifics there and already have a child seems like a logical conclusion). Which basically means, she has to marry Huor’s son. If she ever tracks him down. And have a kid. May as well make that kid the Eärendil from earlier - hope of Elves and Men is a little more than hope for the Noldor, but hey Noldor are elves and men are also affected by Morgoth. The plan just expanded to include more people. 

They low and behold Voronwë shows up with him at the city gates not too long later. At which point the plan goes something like: get Tuor to marry me (hmmm might take work), have a child (hopefully easy enough once married), name the child Eärendil (mother names are a thing so that’s very easy to control), escape the inevitable fall of Gondolin (a lot of work, but we also have much more notice on that one), get the child from here to Aman (Ulmo will probably help out), make sure child is loud enough to convince the Valar to do something (that’ll be a problem but with good enough tutors...), congrats your people are now significantly less damned than previously.

Of course none of her manipulating the sitatution bar the tunnel in the end proved necessary in my headcannon as well. She spent the time between hearing about Tuor and meeting him going ‘right this is the man I will have to marry for the sake of the Noldor I must prepare myself mentally for the duty I have taken upon myself to fulfil the prophecy to save my people’ only to meet him and go ‘oh no he’s hot’ followed by  ‘oh no he’s also sweet and adorable and I want to see him happy’ followed by ‘well I guess this isn’t so much duty afterall’. Then most of her pregancy going ‘why the fuck did I have a dream about seeing my baby with a silmaril of all things and beyond Arda of all places’ (See: the names of Finwë’s descendants in the Shibboleth of Feanor, Peoples of Middle Earth), and so forgetting to discuss with Tuor the fact the child needed naming Eärendil for prophecy reasons, only for Tuor to name him Eärendil while she was recovering from giving birth anyway. Due to something Ulmo said about a son who was good at boats. So in the end most of this was completely irrelevant anyway, and more than a little exasperating on the ‘I put in all this thought and effort then it just *happened* like this was the actual plan and I’m not trying to manipulate the situation’, but that doesn’t change the fact my Idril did it anyway.

[bailesu]

A Story Excerpt for Legendarium Ladies April

This is from an unfinished project.  The opening is set at the end of the Seventh Age, as the Dagor Dagorath is approaching and Aegnor and Findulias are having a talk.  This is in Nienna’s halls, where Aegnor dwells; Cemnaron is one of Nienna’s maidens and Alassanyere is the child of Aegnor and Andreth, who has slept since his parents died and his recent awakening is one of the heralds of the end of the world; he is a very small child.

**************

“The war is over on Arda; things should return to normal, though Mandos will be overworked for years to come, I think,” Finduilas told him.  “I will be staying until the crisis is over.”

He was in his office; Cemnaron was playing with Alassanyere, letting him grab and play with things, while he worked on a table with a model of the defenses he hoped to build.  Several masons stood nearby; he was consulting with them.  He was Noldor, but more warrior than craftsman.  

“It is likely to be months before all of the dead are found.  But the world is not ending yet,” Finduilas continued, studying the model sadly.  “But it comes.  The end comes soon,” she almost whispered, reaching out to touch a proposed wall.  “Must this become a place of war?” she said sadly.

“I know.  But war will come to us, not by our choice but because the end of days is here,” Aegnor said sadly.  “I regret this.”

Finduilas sighed.  “I wonder if we will even recognize them, when we see them.”  She did not have to explain who.

“Will they recognize us?  Neither of us is the same as when we were parted too soon,” Aegnor told her, trying to see if his design had any flaws.  “I have not killed anything but animals since the last day I saw her; I must become a warrior again but for so long, I have lived in peace.”  His son was that peace, but the model before him showed he could not stay in peace, as he had hoped.  Much as he resented every moment he couldn’t be with his wonderful son.

“And I have become among the Wise,” Finduilas said.  “As Luthien became.”  She licked her lips nervously, her right thumb and index finger rubbing together.  “Did you ever meet her?”

“Only once,” he told her.  “Did you?”

“When she came to Nargothrond.”

*********************

Finduilas had spent a very long time worrying about her uncle Finrod, when he laid down his overlordship of Nargothrond and rode out to honor his oath, leaving with a few men and the handsome human, Beren; he was the first human she had ever seen, and though he was ragged and battered, his mien was noble and his gaze strong and she approved of him.

Her father ruled now, but Celegorm and Curufin dominated the land now, and the way Celegorm looked at her sometimes bothered her.  He sent her presents, and if he had not been so wrong… but there was something wrong about him. He bothered her.  She had another suitor, lower in status but brave and strong and honest and not twisted and bent, Gwindor.  

She was in the forest with him, gathering herbs which would be used to treat those injured in defense of Nargothrond; she agreed with Celegorm that the best policy was ambush and stealth, even if she rejected his advances.  

A dozen men ringed the clearing, hidden well enough she could not see them, as she checked mushrooms and began uprooting some of them and putting them in a bag.  Gwindor paced beside her.  “Do not fear, dear Finduilas, any foe who should strike will be laid low by my men without hesitation or fear.”  He swished his sword at a tree as if it might suddenly grow fangs and strike.  But he would be ready.

“I always know I am safe with you,” she said and he smiled brightly, a light in his brown eyes.  He was both strong enough to protect her and safe in ways that Celegorm was not.  Not as exciting as some tales of love would claim, but she was content to be his lady love, and one day they would eventually be wed, once they were sure and hopefully when things were more peaceful once more.

“Sir, a party led by Lords Celegorm and Curufin are approaching with some woman I do not know they did not leave with,” one of Gwindor’s men said, emerging from the shadows under the trees.

He frowned, then hid his men again and moved with Finduilas behind him to hail them; the woman was the most incredibly beautiful person Finduilas had ever seen.  Celegorm led her by the arm and she smiled broadly at Finduilas, though her beautiful black hair was an ungroomed, tangled mess, her dress torn and stained in strange ways… was that blood?  Despite the mess, the woman looked regal, a queen.  Huan bounced along by Celegorm, his tail wagging; he was big enough for a person to ride if they chose, a huge… not monster, but a grand dog.  The greatest of dogs.

“Huan!” Finduilas said, and he bounded over to her, nearly knocking her down; he wanted to be affectionate but he was so large it sometimes took even an Elf down.

“Princess, this is Princess Luthien of Doriath,” Celegorm said cheerfully.  Curufin looked somber, but then, he always did.  “She has come seeking aid for our cousin Finrod and his Edain ally, who lie in the prisons of Sauron.”

Gwindor frowned.  “We must act soon, then!”

“We go to see the King,” Curufin said smoothly.  “On this issue.”

“Luthien, this is our cousin Finduilas, Princess of Nargothrond and daughter of the King,” Celegorm said to her.

Finduilas clasped Luthien’s hands in hers.  “I’m sure Father will aid you.  This is my dear friend Lord Gwindor,” she continued, smiling warmly at her old friend who one day she would marry, she was sure.  When the time was right, not in this time of war.

If this time of war ever ended.  But she tried not to think about that.  

“It is a pleasure to meet you,” Luthien said and Finduilas shivered.  There was something about her voice which just drew you in; it was like a good tea with honey and lemon.  So smooth and… Luthien’s smile was like the sun rising in the east, a promise of a glorious dawn.  Finduilas felt overwhelmed, just being near her and her whole body was almost entranced from head to toe.

She remembered the stories of how Thingol had been entranced by Luthien’s mother and suddenly wondered how anyone in Doriath got anything done.    She wanted… she didn’t know what she wanted, just to look at Luthien until she died.

And then it passed or died down or she got used to it enough to just blush and smile and say, “I will arrange quarters for you.  We have lived so close for so long and never even met each other.”

“Father has never let me leave Doriath; I had to defy him to do so,” Luthien said to her.  “But it is a pleasure to meet you, cousin.”  For they were kin because Earwen, wife of Finarfin, was the daughter of Thingol’s brother Olwe of the Teleri.  And Earwen was Finduilas’ great-grandmother.

And so they gaily conversed on the way back to Nargothrond.

Where Celegorm and Curufin locked up Luthien and tried to force her to marry Celegorm, until Huan rescued her and they escaped.  From that time on, the decline and fall of Nargothrond began, though only in hindsight could Finduilas see it so.  

******************

Aegnor shivered.  “I never met her, but… I see,” he said softly.  Then he looked at his son and wondered if his son would be like that when he was older.  He could see some of Nienna in Luthien… the power and glory of the Ainur.  Even the Valar usually cloaked themselves somewhat when dealing with the Children of Iluvatar, but he had seen their glory uncloaked.  You could see it all the time now as Nienna sang to the dead.

Alassanyere now pointed at Finduilas.  “Mama, pick me up.”

She started, then smiled and came over, picking him up.  “Mama,” she said, her voice sad, though she smiled at him.

“Papa,” Alassanyere said, pointing at himself.

He was getting close to where they would have to teach him the proper words for men and women.  But not yet.  Let him be this way a little while, Aegnor thought.  It would pass quickly.

“I wish we could take him outside,” Finduilas said, and sighed. But the dead were still numerous and some still showed up in odd places and he had seen far more of them than a child should.

“The gardens are usually clear,” Cemnaron said.

“I must work,” Aegnor told her.  “But feel free; he should get to know all his kin and everyone is so busy.”  He sighed and studied the model again, feeling guilty.

And so they went, leaving him to his work.

*******************

This is from Neon Genesis Silmarillion, my unfinished Evangelion/Legendarium story.  

(The dead she references are the giant tide from the war which came after ‘Second Impact’, which in this story is Earendil being pulled down from the heavens by a balrog and crashing to Earth.  Half the Earth’s population died and the Halls of Mandos overflowed with the dead roaming the countryside)

“

[aragornsrockcollection]

Ok, but I also have thought for ages that Maglor, who is already wandering endlessly alone in penance, should be given something useful to do, like relieve Earendil of his endless duty!

Pity it would burn his face off… but the Silmarils also burnt Morgoth, and him wearing them as a crown worked!

Earendil’s fate feels so much like a punishment, let him go home! Let him be with his family! And let Maglor make up for taking his children by taking up his role so he can know the one he has left!

I always interpreted Elwing choosing immortality “because of Luthien” as a little bit pointed.

I actually have a fic started (I have never finished a fic in my life I am a disaster) which is just a one-shot of Elwing talking to Earendil about her feelings about her grandmother, and how she got her happy ending, and that’s great for her, but did she think for one second what position she was leaving her son in, or the world?

Arguably Elwing grew up an orphan because Luthien chose mortality- Melian probably would not have left Doriath if her daughter was still around, Luthien herself scared the crap out of the Feanorians. Luthien chose being with her husband over using her power to make the world safe for those who came after, and on the one hand, yeah that wasn’t her responsibility… but on the other hand Elwing makes exactly the opposite choice, but without the power to make a difference. All she can do is let her husband go to sea again and again to try to get help.

Her actions separate her from her children but ultimately there is only a world for them to live in because she brought the Silmaril to Earendil.

If Elwing had Morgoth under a spell, and Earendil was close to his face with a knife, I think she would have been very disappointed in him if he took the Silmaril instead of stabbing him in the eye.

And the Silmaril was Thingol’s fault really, but Luthien was the one who made it happen, and it certainly made her life no easier.

Elwing and Earendil are very well suited because they both choose duty over rest, and lose their chance to be with their family to make the world safe for them.

Saving the world wasn’t Luthien’s responsibility, but I think it chafes Elwing a bit that because she didn’t chose to make it so, Elwing had to make it hers, with considerably fewer resources at her disposal.

Silm Characters - Who Do They Hate Most (for cases where the answer isn’t ‘Morgoth’)

(Note: the people for whom it’s Morgoth include, but are not limited to, Fëanor, Fingolfin, Fingon, and practically all of the major Edain characters.)

Turgon: The Fëanoreans, collectively and individually. They got his wife killed, they got his sister killed (by not showing up when she went to visit them, leading to her getting entrapped by Eöl), they got his best friend killed, they got his brother killed, then they decided to murder the only remaining intact kingdom in Middle-earth outside of Gondolin, and then they murdered the remnant of his people who survived the fall of Gondolin.

Aredhel: Eöl. Not before her death, she’s got somewhat conflicted feelings up to that point (she does beg for his life), but once she hears of her son’s fate she’s convinced that it never would have happened if he hadn’t been an orphan. And Eöl’s the reason he’s an orphan. After that, you could power a nuclear reactor with how much she hates Eöl.

Finrod: Now I know what you’re going to say, “Finrod’s a perfect cinnamon roll, he doesn’t hate anyone,” well you’re wrong. It’s Sauron. Not even primarily because of having Finrod’s people devoured by werewolves, or for killing Barahir and his people, though those are contributing factors. Primarily, because of Númenor. Because Sauron takes the Edain, who Finrod loves, and turns them into something utterly evil, and brings them to their destruction. Finrod’s angry at everyone after the Akallabeth, the Valar and Eru included, but most of all he’s angry at Sauron.

The end of the third age is very satifying for him.

Orodreth: He’s unhappy with a lot of people for the events surrounding and leading up to the Fall of Nargothrond, including himself, but at the top of his list are Celegorm and Curufin. He was very much a king-in-name-only during their attempted coup; he knew he was powerless to bring Nargothond to Finrod’s rescue because he didn’t have the people’s support and Celegorm and Curufin would overthrow him if he tried, and the charge Finrod left him with was to hold the kingship so that’s what he did; but they made him, through inaction, complicit in his brother’s death and he will never forgive them for that.

Thingol: The Fëanoreans, as a whole. They killed his grandson. They killed his daughter-in law. They murdered his great-grandsons. They slaughtered his people. They should all be in the Void.

Maedhros: Maedhros. Come on, this one’s not even difficult.

Maglor: He is so very done and he doesn’t have the energy for hating anyone any more.

Celegorm: Dior. Practically canon.

Curufin. Lúthien. Fuck her for sparing his life. Fuck her for humiliating him like that. Fuck her so very much.

Nimloth: Celegorm and his followers, for obvious reasons.

Elwing: Maedhros and Maglor, also for obvious reasons. In a contest of “who hates Maedhros most,” most of fandom would give the award to Maedhros, but I think Elwing has a slight edge.

Eärendil: Eärendil, by the point that he petitions the Valar, doesn’t hate anyone. But Maeglin is the one person he dislikes. He can’t shake the memory of being a child, being grabbed by him at the side of a cliff, and looking in his eyes and seeing something that very much wasn’t an elf anymore. It’s unsettling; it gave him nightmares for a while as a kid. He pities Maeglin, but he’d much prefer never to see him again.

Elrond: Sauron, for similar reasons to Finrod, but aggravated by the fact that those were his brother’s people, and he was in Middle-earth and still poweless to stop it, and also aggravated by Celebrian’s torture.

Galadriel: Sauron, primarily for Finrod and Celebrian reasons, as well as because of the Third Age generally. She recognized that the Númenoreans were trouble well before Ar-Pharazon and isn’t sentimental about them.

[garden-ghoul]

return of the blog, part 8

“mmmmmmm”

THE LAND OF SHADOW

Sam and Frodo are trying not to look suspicious by fleeing the scene of the crime. They jump off a bridge and into some thorn bushes. Sam is sleepy; Frodo is exhausted from running around in a mail shirt. All they want is daylight and water. Better than any jewels, Sam imagines telling Galadriel. Ah, but it’s a long way to Lorien.

At some point Sam says “Ah, there’s a black rider above us,” and they both sit really still for half an hour. I’m kind of like... proud of their skills... their ultraspecific survival skills, like ‘discerning which kinds of fear are normal for Mordor and which kinds mean there is a Nazgul flying overhead.’ ‘Orc psychology.’ Stuff like that. I really love that thing of skills that help you survive exactly one very specific situation and once you get out of it they are useless or actively detrimental. I like reading about relateable trauma content. Another very specific skill they have acquired is being able to tell what emotion a Nazgul’s scream conveys. In this case, because the Witch King has just been killed over in Gondor, the emotion is “dismay.” Well done Eowyn and Merry!

On the way north they come across a little stream, and Sam tries to drink it first so only one of them will get poisoned if the water is bad. But Frodo wants them to be blessed or cursed together, so they drink at the same time.... aw....  And fall asleep under a bramble bush. Also I’m really interested in how Sam in his narration keeps referring to places in Mordor by name, like the ridge just east of the Ephel Duath, the Morgai. Did their maps... include a map of Mordor? Who would have possibly made such a thing? Did elves, maybe green elves, ever live here, before Numenor fell and Sauron set up shop here? ARE SOME OF THEM STILL ALIVE AS ORCS? I actually don’t have any ideas on whether orcs are individual corrupted elves or like, corrupted genetically. I really dig the idea though that some of the original inhabitants are still here.

Far above the Ephel Dúath in the West the night-sky was still dim and pale. There, peeping among the cloud-wrack above a dark tor high up in the mountains, Sam saw a white star twinkle for a while. The beauty of it smote his heart, as he looked up out of the forsaken land, and hope returned to him. For like a shaft, clear and cold, the thought pierced him that in the end the Shadow was only a small and passing thing: there was light and high beauty for ever beyond its reach. His song in the Tower had been defiance rather than hope; for then he was thinking of himself. Now, for a moment, his own fate, and even his master’s, ceased to trouble him. He crawled back into the brambles and laid himself by Frodo’s side, and putting away all fear he cast himself into a deep untroubled sleep.

Varda enchants Sam Gamgee so he can get a good night’s sleep for once in this awful place.txt. The very next line after this is “Varda has neglected to enchant Frodo, and therefore he did NOT get a good night’s sleep.txt.” They climb up onto the ridge of the Morgai and look out over Gorgoroth (another name that, like, how do they know it?). Orodruin is still forty miles away. For a human in good health that’s probably 3ish days, but our friends are very small and decidedly not in good health, so. Also I have a question, are the Ered Lithui named in a different language than the Ephel Duath? Or are there two words for “mountains” and there’s some nuance I’m missing? YES I could look this up on the wiki.... oh all right, I will. They’re both Sindarin--Ered is the traditional name for mountain ranges, it’s Ephel that’s different. It means outer fence, and this range was presumably named (or renamed) after Sauron set up shop there, because everyone was hoping the Shadow Fence would keep him fenced in. OH here’s some good stuff on how Mordor actually operates:

Neither he nor Frodo knew anything of the great slave-worked fields away south in this wide realm, beyond the fumes of the Mountain by the dark sad waters of Lake Núrnen; nor of the great roads that ran away east and south to tributary lands, from which the soldiers of the Tower brought long wagon-trains of goods and booty and fresh slaves. Here in the northward regions were the mines and forges, and the musterings of long-planned war...

The dark sad waters of Lake Nurnen! Fields of actual crops! Exciting stuff! Sam is being very practical and discouraging about their chances of crossing the open plain; Frodo just keeps stubbornly repeating “guess we’ll have to try and hope! stop talking Sam I’m busy HOPING. SHHHH COULD BE WORSE.” They pass a tiny village, and then some orcs who are looking for them. They’re tall elf-warriors! No, they’re little dwarves. No, they’re an entire pack of rebel uruk-hai! We are SICK of tracking these guys. WHATEVER. Though, can the scent-trackers really not tell the difference between a single elf warrior and a band of orcs?

Sam and Frodo discuss how they’re gone out of their way--it will take at least another week to reach Orodruin, and now they’re nearly out of food. Oh, I’m so worried for them. OH. And Frodo says that “in Rivendell before I set out I was shown a map of Mordor that was made before the Enemy came back here; but I only remember it vaguely.” WHO MADE THE MAP! WHO MADE THE MAP!

...Ahem. They’re planning on taking the road down from Morannon to Barad Dur, it looks like. Might as well go along the road as anywhere else!! Also Gollum is back. Hell. Because the road is so narrow, and on a cliff, they end up being incorporated into a line of marching orcs. It’s awful running with orcs--not a pace designed for hobbits--but they manage to escape eventually.

With a last despairing effort Frodo raised himself on his hands, and struggled on for maybe twenty yards. Then he pitched down into a shallow pit that opened unexpectedly before them, and there he lay like a dead thing.

me coming home from classes. but now finally we’re getting to

MOUNT DOOM

...our heroes are taking a horribly circuitous path toward Orodruin, but I supposed there’s no help for it. Sam finally accepts that he’s going to die on that mountain. But there’s no help for that either, he guesses! I like the descriptions of the lembas that is keeping them going: it doesn’t satisfy the appetite, and only feeds the will. It seems like the enchantment peculiar to lembas was designed for field rations in the war with Morgoth. ALSO of interest to me is the fact that it seems to have been invented by Melian (iirc...), whose daughter was a pioneer in the field of materials magic. Alls I’m saying is, Melian figured out how to imbue food with enchantments, Luthien figured out how to use food to imbue other objects with enchantments, they are both wonderful witches. Just another point where their story connects to Luthien’s--I’m kinda thinking of Melian as the grandmother of Frodo and Sam’s story. Waybread like grandmother used to make.

Our heroes are too tired for “carrying things,” so they throw away almost everything they own. Honestly, you should have done this so much sooner. Sam, my dear, did you really think you would need those pots? Maybe for something concrete from home. It would have been a comfort if you could keep them. Ah, I’m really digging the emphasis (relative to the movie) on how difficult it is to get through Mordor. On the last day before they begin to climb the mountain, Sam is too dehydrated even to cry. And the Ring is so heavy that Frodo can no longer walk. So Sam carries him. Halfway up the mountain he carries Frodo, and then together they crawl up to the road that goes to Sauron’s smithy. Gollum jumps down on them as they walk, but after he’s fended off he grovels, and Sam can’t bring himself to kill him. You poor fool!

He himself, though only for a little while, had borne the Ring, and now dimly he guessed the agony of Gollum’s shrivelled mind and body, enslaved to that Ring, unable to find peace or relief ever in life again. But Sam had no words to express what he felt.

‘Oh, curse you, you stinking thing!’ he said. ‘Go away!’

I love this passage. The feeling of having some kind of deeply held and important emotion, but all you can say is “Ugh! Go away!”

When Sam catches up with Frodo in the smithy, Frodo is standing on the edge of the chasm, like stone. He doesn’t have the will to finish the job he came here to do. Instead he claims the Ring for his own, and vanishes. Gollum springs. Sauron suddenly sees. The Nazgul, as one, sprint through the sky toward Orodruin.

You know how this bit goes: Gollum bites off Frodo’s finger and is so delighted with himself that he falls over the edge. Gruesome as it is, I like the image of him bursting into flame and burning away before he ever hits the magma: only the Ring is left, falling in a cloud of ash that used to be its thrall. And then there’s this image, which is so wonderful I just have to reproduce it whole:

A brief vision he had of swirling cloud, and in the midst of it towers and battlements, tall as hills, founded upon a mighty mountain-throne above immeasurable pits; great courts and dungeons, eyeless prisons sheer as cliffs, and gaping gates of steel and adamant: and then all passed. Towers fell and mountains slid; walls crumbled and melted, crashing down; vast spires of smoke and spouting steams went billowing up, up, until they toppled like an overwhelming wave, and its wild crest curled and came foaming down upon the land. And then at last over the miles between there came a rumble, rising to a deafening crash and roar; the earth shook, the plain heaved and cracked, and Orodruin reeled. Fire belched from its riven summit. The skies burst into thunder seared with lightning. Down like lashing whips fell a torrent of black rain. And into the heart of the storm, with a cry that pierced all other sounds, tearing the clouds asunder, the Nazgûl came, shooting like flaming bolts, as caught in the fiery ruin of hill and sky they crackled, withered, and went out.

The first three times I read this, I thought Sam was having a vision of the fall of Numenor. Gorgeous, gorgeous, though. Tolkien does such good work with cataclysms.

And then they’re on the side of the mountain together, and Frodo is relieved of his burden. He’s just plain old Frodo again. Here at the end of all things.

ooorgh.

[the-woodland-realm]

Thranduil’s Queen Headcanons

Okay everyone, sit tight, because I’m going to unleash a year’s worth of headcanons. 

General Headcanon about Elves

Since Tolkien did say that Middle Earth was our Earth in the distant past, the geographies should roughly line up. the twilit mere of Cuivienen would roughly be situated around the Caspian Sea area in Central Asia. Thus, I’d imagine that the earliest elves as well as the Avari who refused to depart from Cuivienen to have more Asian features, with slanted eyes and darker hair. 

Following the same logic, the Silvan elves who settled east of the Misty Mountains, and that area would roughly correspond to Central Europe, which is dominated by, you guessed it, temperate forests. The Sindar elves who settled in Beleriand would occupy Western Europe. 

The argument becomes a little more tenuous for the Vanyar and Noldor, most of whom (or in the case of the Vanyar, all) sailed to the West, which, pre-eleventh century, was considered the Great Unknown. 

Though blonde hair is not particularly prevalent in Central Asia, it does occur, and I’d like to think that the Vanyar were a group of elves who had such genetic predispositions. 

As for the strain of silver hair that runs in Telerin royal houses, that might just be due to a genetic lack of pigmentation.

Regarding Thranduil’s golden hair, he might have had an ancestor who was a Vanya (we can assume that elves married outside of their clans with the case of Indis and Finwe, a Vanyarin lady who married the High King of the Noldor). 

If only I put this much effort into my actual research. 

Okay, so this brings us to the main topic of this post: Thranduil’s queen. 

Since Thranduil in the Third Age relocates his kingdom and builds an underground cave complex/palace not unlike Menegroth, it’s safe to say that he was alive and lived (not just born) in the First Age. This makes sense because his father, Oropher, is described to have come from Doriath. 

Thranduil’s queen is Tatharel, a Sindarin noble and a daughter of Doriath. She was born in F.A. 472. 

Her father, born on the Great Journey and to whom Cuivienen was only a backwards glance. Her father, a particularly skilled marksman, by electing to wait for Thingol and thus be sundered from his own parents (who joined the host of Olwe), gained Thingol’s favor and was name High Councilor along with Saeros before the latter’s death. 

Her mother was of the house of Elmo, the same line as that of Celeborn. Tatharel's maternal grandfather, Galathil, was killed in the First Battle of Beleriand, and her grandmother faded from grief. Her mother was taken under the tutelage of Celeborn, Galathil's brother. Tatharel's mother is therefore the sister to Nimloth, Second Queen of Doriath, and Tatharel herself is first cousin to Elwing, mother of Elrond.

With such a lineage and her father's position in court, Tatharel is well-versed in diplomacy and is taught to bear herself with dignity and pride befitting of her position. She values logic and intuition, as well as a quid pro quo method of handling affairs.

Oropher was born in the Year of the Trees and occupied a minor position in court. His wife and son lived in East Doriath. In F.A. 495, when times grow dark, Oropher moves his household to Menegroth, and that's when Thranduil and Tatharel met.  

In F.A. 495, Oropher moves his household to Menegroth. Thranduil and Tatharel meet for the first time, and Thranduil mistakes Tatharel for Luthien. 

Tatharel’s initial impression of Thranduil is that he’s a country bumpkin, but comes to appreciate his quirks and finds them refreshing from the splendor and excesses of court. Similarly, Tatharel doesn’t fit Thranduil’s idea of a court lady and finds her to be intriguing. 

They spend more time together and become friends, though solidly denying any rumors of being lovers. 

In F.A. 502, Thingol is slain due to the quarrel with the dwarves of Nogrod over the Silmaril. The court is severely disrupted, and Tatharel’s father maintains control until Dior and his family arrive the next year. 

Since Tatharel’s aunt is the queen of Doriath, she gains considerable respect and jealousy 

Thranduil and Tatharel survive the sackings of Doriath, first by the dwarves of Nogrod and then by the Feanorians, and flee to the Havens of Sirion. There, they basically wait out the rest of the war.

Tatharel, regardless of her later titles, has always considered herself to be foremost Doriathrim. The destruction of her home and the sinking of Beleriand contributes to her eventual melancholy and her bitter regret.

At the end of the First Age, her parents and Thranduil's mother decide to sail West. However, Tatharel, wishing to see more of Arda, decides to remain and with the other Sindarin survivors, join Celeborn's fiefdom in Harlindon. Celeborn (perhaps because she is kin) offers her a seat on his council, of which Oropher is also a member. Unsurprisingly, since Harlindon is technically under the rule Gil-galad, the Noldorin councilors have more political clout. Oropher, disliking this power imbalance, decides to migrate east to Rhovanion. Tatharel follows because she has started a tentative relationship ("friends") with Thranduil.

As the Second Age passed, Oropher continuously moved the capital north, from Amon Lanc to north of the Gladden Fields then to Emyn Duir. She saw this as the beginning of isolationism, but held her tongue. However, the memory of Doriath, the Fenced Land, lingered her mind, for it was that same isolationism and hostility that led to its ruin.

Tatharel and Thranduil further pursue their relationship, and towards the end of the Second Age, he was hinting at a marriage proposal. When Oropher decides to join Gil-galad in the Last Alliance, Thranduil proposes, but she hesitates. Only when the Woodland army was preparing to depart did she run in front of Thranduil, promising that when he returns, she would marry him.

When Thranduil came back from the war, he was haunted by his father's death and the horrors of war. He delayed the issue for two hundred years before marrying Tatharel who was crowned the Queen of the Woodland Realm.

After the War of the Last Alliance, the Silvan elves suffered a significant decrease in their population, particularly able-bodied males, who were the usual demographic to partake in politics. The Sindar, with their experience of warfare and positions as officers, experienced little decline. The ratio of Sindar to Silvans increased, and that's what mostly triggered the Sindar to actively demand more rights. 

So up until now, the Silvans and Sindar have coexisted peacefully, for it was the Silvans who gave land and lordship to the Sindar, a social contract of sorts.  The Sindarin rightists followed Oropher east because they were eager for power. These elves were by no means a majority, but they were a considerable plurality and were mid-tier at Thingol's court. In Harlindon, despite the population mostly being Sindar, they were often overlooked in favor of the Noldorin lords, and it was only powerful Sindarin nobles like Celeborn and to a lesser degree Tatharel, one of the few who can claim kinship to Thingol, have their voices heard. But in a new realm, these rightists would see an increase in their power without the presence of the Noldor. It was a fresh start. Obviously, when they first entreated the Silvans, they couldn't assert themselves too highly because the Silvans, seeing the inequality, would refuse the Sindar to settle on their lands. They had to settle for relative equality at first, but that seed of ambition always remained.

Now, the Sindarin rightists want more privileges and sought to do so by making the Silvans second-class citizens. Sindarins would receive the upper government and military positions, would be taxed less (regressive income tax brackets, oh my), etc. Tatharel opposed such a policy, as did Thranduil, for such a course of actions would undermine his father's original intentions. This earned Tatharel some enemies.

Thranduil, like Tatharel, is torn about the growing gap between his people. On one hand, he understands his father's intention in sincerely adopting the Silvan culture (c.f. rightists who take advantage of Oropher's actions to elevate themselves). On the other hand, he sees the reasoning behind having more Sindar in positions of power because they were more experienced with warfare and statecraft as well as they supported his father in Doriath and Harlindon.

Rather than taking action, Thranduil becomes passive, first granting more Sindarin military officers to protect the realm. Then he offers more council seats to the Sindar who had such experience previously. It's not something he does intentionally; he acts with the welfare of the kingdom in mind, but his actions quickly become a slippery slope which benefits the rightists.

Although Tatharel is a bit more forgiving towards the Noldor since some of them are kin by marriage (e.g. cousin-in-law Earendil, grandaunt Galadriel), Thranduil's not particularly fond of the Noldor. He, like many Sindar, believe that the wars that ended the First and Second Ages were caused by the meddling of the Noldor. In fact, due to the massive losses of the Woodland army in the War of the Last Alliance, he believes that he was shorted by Gil-galad. He doesn't like Galadriel very much, even though she's technically related to him through marriage. This anti-Noldorin worldview and disdain for their meddling causes Thranduil to ban correspondence to the west where the Noldor dwelled.

Thranduil isn't as right as the rightists but he's much more right than Tatharel who's centrist.

The politics at Thranduil's court is really a holdover from Doriath. Ironically, Tatharel held a higher position than Thranduil and the rightists in Doriath, and she knows them better than Thranduil, who lived in Doriath for a very brief time. She understands them, their motives and potential underhandedness, and is not obligated by a bond of gratitude like Thranduil is.

Regarding Tatharel's stance on the cultural-political divide, she isn't against the Silvans. In fact, she's divided on whom to support, but she knows that Thranduil's passiveness and the slippery slope that's happening is wrong. She doesn't actively support the Silvans because to her, they with their wild ways contradict everything she's been taught in Doriath. Yet she doesn't believe that they should be subjugated in order for an elite Sindarin class to emerge.

A potential cause for her disfavor of the Silvans would be that they pushed forward a Silvan as a candidate for queen during the two centuries between Thranduil's return from the war and his marriage to Tatharel. The Silvans also recognized that the Sindar would begin to attempt to grapple for more power and wanted a Silvan queen as a reassurance of their continued prestige, even though it was widely known before the war that Thranduil and Tatharel were quite close. 

In the end, Thranduil married Tatharel because she understood him, braved the fires of the Second Kinslaying with him, and followed him east though her immediate family departed for Valinor. It was this loyalty and intimacy that compelled Thranduil to choose Tatharel. The Silvans saw this rejection of their plea, and both peoples contributed to the growing divide.

Despite Tatharel's personal aversion for the Silvans, she knew rationally that this rift was dangerous and could prove to be disastrous if it were to be manipulated by outside forces.

Around T.A. 1000, Thranduil and Tatharel's marriage became strained. She was tired of seeing Thranduil granting more and more privileges to the Sindar as if he was repaying them for an old debt.

When she was heavily pregnant with Legolas, she and Thranduil had a particularly nasty spat, in which Thranduil, scarred from war and in a moment of fury, struck Tatharel. She, in retaliation, told him that his court was filled with a nest of vipers and that he should have married his Silvan queen (basically reneging their marriage). That marked the beginning of the end of their relationship. Both regretted their words and actions later, but the deed was done.

Thranduil’s retreat to his underground palace, built in the memory of Menegroth for his queen causes Tatharel to fully see an echo of Doriath, and when Thranduil forbids all correspondence to the west, she can no remain silent. She drafts a letter to her kinsman Celeborn expressing her concern regarding Thranduil's isolationism, the divide between the people, and how Celeborn manages a similar situation in Lothlorien. The cultural divide, her troubled marriage, and the growing darkness she included in her letter to Celeborn. She lamented the glory days in Doriath, how Thranduil was so blinded in his rule, and how she felt so suffocated in the Woodland Realm. She wondered if she would have been better off if she sailed after the War of Wrath, among other grievances and regrets. Her letter is intercepted, and she is charged by the council for treason as well as insubordination, for which the punishment is death. However, considering that she has been a wise and just ruler, the council agrees to lessen her sentence to exile. She agrees, much to Thranduil's dismay, and goes into self-exile, leaving the king with an infant son. 

This letter wasn't treasonous in its intent, which was to seek advice from Celeborn, but the rightists twisted it to make it seem like an act of treason. Also, the fact that she directly rebuffed Thranduil's edict and sent a letter west didn't help. 

To escape and forget her plight, Tatharel travels east, past Rhun and the great deserts to the magnificent cities of the Far East. It’s only after two thousand years did she return to Middle Earth near the end of the War of the Ring. She lives with her kinsman Celeborn for a short while. When Celeborn meets Thranduil to redraw the boundaries between their realms, she accompanies Celeborn and meets Thranduil. 

[peremadeleine]

My Best and Worst Books of 2016

Best

Tam Lin, Pamela Dean (Fantasy)

The rest of my picks are listed in no particular order, but this one definitely takes the top spot. Dean’s lyrical prose, her enchanting and authentic little universe, her genuine, three-dimensional characters, the way she interweaves the mundane and the magical and slowly builds up to the big fantasy reveal…it all had me hooked from the beginning. Tam Lin is also as much a loving homage to a four-year liberal arts education as it is a folklore retelling, and as a slightly “homesick” graduate only two years out of college, I loved it all the more for being both.

The full list is below the cut. A few more categories and complete reviews of all books listed are also on my blog, Luthien Reviews.

Three Dark Queens, Kendare Blake (YA Fantasy)

This book is, as I said in my recent review, “really something.” Strong world-building, a suspenseful slow-burning plot, and some great characters all add up to a wonderful read.  And unlike in a lot of YA books that are marketed as “dark,” I appreciated that Ms. Blake proved herself willing to “kill her darlings,” as the saying goes. That went a long way towards making my reading experience far more gripping. While some element of Blake’s world and some of her characters need more depth added to them in the sequel, I still ate this one up.

House Broken, Sonja Yoerg (Contemporary)

I picked this one up for personal reasons thinking it would be a bit light-hearted, but in reality it’s a sobering multi-generational tale that revolves around the consequences of substance abuse and family secrets. The three main female characters–grandmother, mother, and daughter–are well-drawn. They come across as both realistic and sympathetic even at times when they aren’t likable. The revelations contained within the last hundred-fifty pages are difficult to swallow, to say the least, but are nevertheless handled deftly and delicately by the author in an excellently crafted debut.

Dark Triumph, Robin LaFevers (YA Fantasy, Historical Fiction)

By turns dark, funny, and romantic, this book shows up its prequel, Grave Mercy. This book, not that one, is the top-shelf historical fiction about lady-assassins that I wanted to read  when I started the His Fair Assassin series in the first place. The sharp-witted and sharper-tongued heroine, Sybella, is a delightfully active narrator–she gets stuff done–and her story bursts with action and intrigue. Apart from a slightly weak ending, Dark Triumph is intense, entertaining, and sets the trilogy up for a (hopefully!) excellent conclusion.

Still Star-Crossed, Melinda Taub (YA Historical Fiction, Romance)

This “sequel” of sorts to Romeo and Juliet boasts a much more engaging plot than the play upon which it’s based. Believably sixteenth-century characters, well-executed Shakespearean-inspired dialogue, and overall solid writing come together to create a unique novel with a lot of charm and humor. Even a few implausible plot twists and a (sigh) love triangle failed to spoil Melinda Taub’s terrific debut for me. I’m still hoping that she’ll put out something new in the next few years.

Cleopatra’s Shadows, Emily Holleman (Historical Fiction)

Lush with rich historical details, political intrigue, and wonderfully compelling characters, this novel tells the stories of Berenice and Arsinoe, sisters of the (in)famous Cleopatra VII of Egypt, and of their struggles following the coup that makes Berenice the queen of an increasingly unstable kingdom surrounded threats from all sides. Berenice is fierce but troubled, while Arsinoe begins as a naive child but grows into driven and determined young woman. Shadows is a well-written, well-researched debut for Emily Holleman whose sequel comes out this year–hooray!

The Midnight Dress, Karen Foxlee (YA Fantasy, Mystery)

I never reviewed of this beguiling little book properly. It’s two parts coming-of-age story, one part fantasy, one part murder mystery. It offers poetic language, a breathtaking setting, and sympathetic and somewhat tragic characters. Though I can’t honestly remember the finer details, I remember getting swept away by Foxlee’s lyricism and the magical realism that transforms the plot from merely sad to something truly haunting.

Worst

The Boleyn King, Laura Andersen (Historical Fiction)

What a total waste this was. It was one of the only books I “DNF’d” last year. The premise is great: what would have happened if Anne Boleyn had given birth to a son and had never been executed, therefore reducing Henry VIII’s number of wives to an unremarkable two? But the writing is juvenile at best, clumsy at worst; the characters, both real and imagined, are simply awful (Anne Boleyn is portrayed as a shrill, short-tempered egomaniac, surprise…); the plot centers around a ridiculous love triangle, and there are so many anachronisms and unbelievable conversations that I had to give up a hundred or so pages in. Really, really bad.

Blackhearts, Nicole Castroman (YA Romance, Historical Fiction)

More trash historical fiction! This one reads like a poorly-written, melodramatic high school TV show. It’s dressed up with some very vague (“floppy hat,” “powdered wig,” etc.) historical details, but those can’t hide the forced teen angst at its core. Oh, and it’s marketed as being about a young Edward Teach, aka Blackbeard–the infamous pirate–even though almost nothing (much less any pirating) actually happens. I didn’t care about a single one of the characters; they’re all arrogant, selfish, and spineless. To make matters worse, the writing itself is choppy and bland, and the author herself comes off badly in her (inaccurate) author’s note at the end. Suffice to say, the whole experience of reading this ] left me with a bad taste in my mouth.

Hold Me Like a Breath, Tiffany Schmidt (YA Romance)

This was the first book I read last year, and it was such a let-down. Despite its crime-family marketing, it has nothing to offer besides a dull, meandering plot led by a remarkably inactive, clueless, whiny “heroine,” as well as a love triangle about as interesting as plain toast. Even if it was doomed to fail as an organized crime story, I felt that it should’ve at least had something worthwhile to say about disabilties, given that the MC has a rare debilitating blood disease. But no; she walks around feeling sorry for herself and crying, and that’s about it. What little plot there is relies on unbelievable coincidences to work, meaning I spent a lot of time rolling my eyes. It is, overall, a very weak, very boring novel.

The Darkest Evening of the Year, Dean Koontz (Crime/Thriller)

A less-than-thrilling thriller full of underdeveloped Very Good characters with haunted pasts pitted against over-the-top Very Bad ones. Also dogs…a lot of dogs. The plot is contrived and, again, relies on a bunch of coincidences to work at all. The back cover declares that it’s “The Silence of the Lambs meets Marley & Me,” but that’s total hogwash. Silence is legendary. Meanwhile, I can’t recall the name of a single character from this bloated and uninspired book.

The Star-Touched Queen, Roshani Chokshi (YA Fantasy, Romance)

Purple prose does not a good fantasy novel make (in fact, sometimes it gets in the way of actually telling a story). Despite the interesting premise and beautiful writing, the actual world-building and plot are paper-thin and often confusing, which is a real shame, because Indian and Hindu mythology are so fascinating. A retelling based on those ideas, set in that culture, should be something special. But here, all the characters and the heroine in particular are forgettable. The romance falls flat as well, which makes it difficult to buy into the rest. The second half is so chock-full of rushed, underdeveloped backstory that I completely lost track of what was going on. Fortunately, though, the one character who did interest me is getting a stand-alone novel of her own. I’m hoping that Chokshi’s hot mess of a debut is just a fluke and that her genuine talent will make the companion to this book a pleasure to read instead of a chore.

[youareunbearable]

Aasddgjkfdd 🙈🙈🥺🥺 thank u for ur kind words!!!! And honestly its such a great idea like im sure u had a stunning concept to go with it!!!

This idea also works with descendants too! Elrond inherited Mae's cloak which keeps him hidden from death, and thats why Rivendell is hidden and safe from evil/Sauron. A cloak he could pass down to Arwen to help protect her kingdom and family after he sails.

Aragorn would obviously have Finrod’s ring, something that is much better in the hands of mortals as the Elven kind would fade from grief like how the tale of the Resurrection Stone goes.

The Elder wand would be difficult, but i have two options that I like. First option is that, true to tale, when Fingon dies Gothmog takes his weapons as prizes: Glamdring, Orcrist, and Sting- his main blade, a back up short sword, and a dagger. Gothmog has these weapons when he dies and Ecthelion of the Fountain claims them before he dies. Some poor survivor picks them up off his corpse and carves names into them when they settle in Sirion. The first age happens and they are lost in the War of Wrath and fought and killed for by goblins and humans and elves and Orcs and trolls until their new owners are killed by Thorins company and taken. These blades meet death again and again, and the cruse of them having a hand in killing their owners remains. Thorin is buried with Orcrist, Glamdring is there when Gandalf the Grey dies fighting the Balrog (and is quite displeased when he returns curse free with Gandalf the White), and Sting is laying in the depth of Shelobs lair after frodo cheats death and is rescued with the power of love and a little song (something Fingon would approve of)

Another option would be after the failed union, Maedhros claws his way to the corpse of his king, his cousin, his everything. He takes a single golden ribbon and a sword- a sword that Feanor owned and was given to him along with the crown upon his death. One that Maedhros had in turn given to Fingon, one gift of many, to symbolize his right to the crown and to show the Feanorians support. A blade that was the doom of his father and that of his dearest everything. Maedhros would cradle that blade, Narsil, and pass it down to Elros when the time came, unknowingly making the twins the Masters of Death for a time (which is why Elros is able to choose to be mortal). The sword passes down heir to heir, killing and spilling blood wherever it goes. Every one of its owners, including the immortal kind, die in some way: by Balrogs, by suicide, by war, betrayal, accidentally, or by mortal age until the curse is broken when it shatters at the end of the Second Age. With its curse broken, none can become a Master of Death anymore, which would be a shame since Aragorn and Arwen would be one again just like Elrond and Elros.

But maybe, during their wedding, Elrond wraps his warm, red fur lined cloak around Arwens shoulders, the ends trailing behind her from the sheer size. Aragorn will spin his ring three times then slide it onto her finger and willingly offer her Anduril. When she grasps the hilt of the blade, Arwen can feel the warm Fea of her ancestors, all of those across the sea in Valinor who sailed or took the express trip like her mother, her grandparents, the past owners of the Deathly Hallows. All those who were blessed with the Mortal's Gift and are in places unknown shiver down her spin with their presence. She feels her mother kiss her brow, uncle Elros squeeze her shoulder, great grandmother Luthien running a comforting hand down her hair and whispers "oh, he's a keeper." She'll step away from the ghostly fea and into her husband's arms. When she reaches up to kiss him again, she does so as a mortal woman. As the last Master of Death

"Harry Potter"'s The Tale of the Three Brothers but it's Maedhros, Fingon and Finrod