#Maedhros is in meetings for the day

[inthehouseoffinwe]

A Meeting in Valinor

Elrond comes back from his first real meeting with Eärendil tired and unsure what to do. He gets some help from an unexpected source.

Dw this isn’t hating on any of Elrond’s parents. Pure fluff :)

Elrond had returned to his house and was lying with his head in Celebrian’s lap. He’d told her how the meeting had gone and flopped on the sofa, drained, before she’d soothed away some of his oncoming headache as she’d done many years before. Now he lay with his eyes closed, soaking in the summer rays as she read.

Celebrian jerked suddenly, and Elrond shot up, hand going to the knife in his boot. Some habits wouldn’t change.

“Ai! relax! It’s just me!”

Elrond’s face slackened.

“It cannot be...”

Celebrian looked between the two, eyes lingering on the semi-familiar features before her. Round ears. Beard. Warm grey eyes, wise yet playful. Elven cut, navy tunic with silver embroidery, and brown hair brushing his shoulders. She tensed at the closed expression on Elrond’s face, reaching for her own dagger as the figure shuffled nervously.

“Hello, Ada.”

Elrond released a strangled sound and the man ran to his open arms, desperately clutching the elf. Elrond pulled back, hand smoothing down unruly hair as if he’d done so many times before.

“Estel, how- You’re *dead.*”

Celebrian relaxed at the name, a gentle smile lighting her face as the human spluttered between tears. So this was her lost son.

Aragorn smiled tremulously as he replied.

“Exactly as you used to say Ada, Illuvatar’s mind is unknown in regards to the fate of men, and I guess I was allowed to come here.”

Elrond hugged him again.

“How’s Arwen?”

“She’s doing well, recently became good friends with Andreth.” A strange look came over Aragorn’s face and his foster father laughed, kissing his forehead. He turned to his wife, and it was then that Aragorn froze, seeing the elleth before him. He shot to his feet, bowing low before her.

“Milady, I-“

Celebrian shot the half-elf an exasperated look and grabbed one of the man’s hands, pulling him up. Aragorn looked at her, confused.

“Mil-“

“Call me ‘Milady’ again and I’ll toss you out the front door. Elrond said you used to call me Naneth.” Aragorn flushed, eyes on his boots and Celebrian laughed. “I take no insult, son of Elrond! It is only right considering you were not only adopted into the family, but also married my daughter.”

The Dunedan gaped, and she pulled him onto the sofa between herself and her husband, voice softening at the sorrow in Aragorn’s eyes.

“There is no need to feel guilty Estel, I long foresaw Arwen’s choice and understand she was loved and taken care of by the best of men.” She pulled him into a tight hug. “Thank you for giving her happiness. She was so sad after the orcs, I feared she’d never smile again.”

Aragorn froze for a moment, then buried his head into her shoulder, apologies spilling out his mouth. Celebrian rested a hand on his head.

“None of that now, I’m glad Arwen was able to find her strength again, even if it led her down a different path.” She pulled back and squeezed his shoulders. “And I’m glad to meet *you.*”

Aragorn bowed his head then settled back against the sofa. A comfortable silence filled the space until Elrond spoke.

“Not that I’m not glad to see you, ion-nin, but why are you here?”

Aragorn turned to face the half elf, a mischievous glint in his eyes as Elrond raised an eyebrow.

“Well this should be interesting.”

“I had some... unfinished business to attend to.”

“Is that so?”

Aragorn sat on a chair in front of the elves, and both of them straightened. He winced at the expectant look on his foster father’s face, reminded of every scrap he’d been pulled out of in Rivendell, then later as a ranger.

“It may have had something to do with your earlier conversation.” The look didn’t change and he sighed in defeat. “Ok fine. It had everything to do with it. I had a conversation with Earendil. Interesting man. Surprisingly relaxed.”

Elrond smiled tiredly and Celebrian took his hand.

“Interesting indeed. He… wasn’t what I expected.”

Aragorn’s laugh echoed, loud and warm and *human* in a way Celebrian knew her husband missed dearly. So many of Elrond’s friends had been mortal, so much of his family.

“Now that’s an understatement!” The man smiled wide. “In any case, I had a quick conversation with him after you left. He says he’d love to take you sailing and have a proper heart to heart.” The smile dropped to something more somber, more gentle. “He also says he understands if you need more time, and will wait as long as he needs.”

Elrond seemed to simultaneously age and relax.

“If you’d take my advice…” Aragorn began hesitantly, waiting for Elrond’s warm nod before continuing, “I think you should take him up on the offer.“

Elrond gave real thought to the words and Celebrian wondered just how well this man judged characters that Elrond was willing to take another chance. Any elf would have been shut down by now. Had been in the past.

“I do not know if I can.”

A familiar stubborn glint entered Aragorn’s eye. A fearlessness Celebrian was delighted to see.

“I say this with respect Adar, but you have to stop running away from this.”

The half-elf startled at the sharp words, but Aragorn continued before he could fully recover. Smart kid.

“For your own sake, you must face him. Just as you must one day face Elwing, Maedhros and Maglor… but this is a good place to start.” He leaned forward to take his father’s tightly clenched hands. “What did you tell me when my heritage was revealed? When I was terrified the weight of my past might drown away my present?”

A suspicion began to form in Celebrian’s mind, threatening to break out in a bright laugh and smothering hug for the son she’d never met. Of course. Of course.

Elrond closed his eyes and took a deep breath, wryness and pride in his eyes when he looked up at Aragorn.

“The past is but a small part of you. You are so much more your history, no matter what anyone else says.”

“Wise advice, no?”

“Seems a little narcissistic to agree, but I suppose it is.”

Squeezing Aragorn’s hands back, Elrond sighed and slumped back, eyes closing for a long moment. Aragorn glanced at Celebrian, who returned a small, reassuring smile. It was about time someone smacked some sense into her husband’s head, and this one knew how to push all the right buttons.

“I am afraid, little one.” Elrond finally whispered.

Aragorn grinned boyishly, and Celebrian’s suspicions were confirmed.

“That’s why I’m here.”

[nailsinmywall]

i am not dead by the way

i’m just having a hard time getting into the elf drawing mood in my new flatshare (i moved last month)

i did half-heartedly participate in hashtag feanorianweek, though, by posting wips and low effort doodles every day on my twitter 💀 they include sketches of curufin (+ celebrimbor) with dwarves, sleepy teen caranthir brushing his teeth, feanor/nerdanel doodles from 3 years ago, little tyelko antics and Maglor VS celegorm 

[mahtariel-of-himring]

Silm Headcanon:

Battle braids were common amongst the Noldor when they first arrived in Beleriand. The tradition of braids had transitioned from Valinorian family, friendship or marriage braids into ones for battle. New styles were invented and quickly spread across the Noldorian community.

The length, placement, thickness and beads that were added or not added told stories of survival and hardship throughout time.

The most common ones were the following:

First battle braids, a simple three strand braid with a black bead marking that an elf had spilled their first black blood.

Partaker braids, for different big battles that simply marked a soldier as having been apart of said fight.

Fealty braids, openly showing who one’s loyalty lies with.

And at last survivors braids, these were worn by those who survived any type of imprisonment by dark creatures, there was also a more complicated version of this braid for former thralls of Angband.

There were also very rare braids which brought the wearer great respect and honor if an elven warrior wore said braid in their hair.

One of the rarest and most admired was the braid marking the survival of an encounter with Sauron, which on its own was feat enough.

It was a complicated four too five thread braid with multiple smaller or larger beads depending on the length or severity of the meeting.

Another was the one worn by Balrog slayers. This braid however only really surfaced after the first age when Glorfindel returned from Valinor since there were no surviving Balrog slayers to wear it.

One of the few braids that stayed the same from Valinor to Beleriand was the braid of the High King. Having only ever been worn by Finwë, Fëanor, Maedhros, Fingolfin, Fingon and Turgon.

Gil-Galad did not continue this tradition due to his decent from the house of Finarfin who‘s braiding traditions, just as many other elven houses, had faded over the years.

But since braids were mainly worn by the first to arrive in Beleriand after the flight of the Noldor, therefore fëanorians and their loyalists over time battle braids became a symbol of their house which quickly resulted and a fast decline of elven battle braids being seen on daily basis.

After the second and third kinslaying they had nearly completely disappeared in all but those still loyal to the remaining two son‘s of Fëanor and the son‘s themselves.

There were also unique braid, only ever worn by one person.

One of those was Maedhros‘ side braid.

A simple but elegant side braid on his left with no beads or pearls or any decorations whatsoever.

He wore it always after his rescue from the cliffs of Thangorodrim.

This braid was neatly kept, closly against his skull and tightly braided.

The braid of Maedhros became a symbol for the Lord of Himring and only ever associated with him and his qualities.

His formidable talent as a warlord, his unchallenged title as the greatest and fiercest swordsman of Beleriand, his fëanorian heritage and his standing as leader of the followers of house Fëanor.

The orcs, goblins, werewolves and evil men began to fear the braid of the red haired elf and his name became even more devastating to them than it already was.

After Maedhros died none dared ever wear his braid, for it stood for a fury no one dared claim as their own.

The centuries went by and braids got fewer and fewer. The second age was nearly at its end and the war against Sauron in full go.

But then came the day on which Sauron’s forces marched with Celebrimbor‘s dead body used as a flag.

And the infamous fury of the Lord of Himring was set ablaze in another, one who deemed himself close to the deceased elf to this day.

Elrond.

When he saw his beloved cousin’s body, defaced and dishonored that fire his foster father had carried was lit within him, and something snapped.

The next day the entire army was in shock and disbelief as their King‘s herald walked onto the battlefield wearing said infamous side braid, paired with a set of armor made by Celebrimbor, and an ear cuff also known for having once belonged to Maedhros.

That day the orcs of Sauron learned to fear the fury of the half elf, for they had already forgotten what true Noldorian spirit was. Elrond cut them down one by one, killing hundreds of orcs by himself and struck terror into the hearts of his enemies as they watched their companions fall to his blade.

Elrond didn’t stop until nearly all orcs were either dead or had fled from his wrath.

Then he went to find his cousins body. He freed him from the wooden pole he had been bound to and carried him away. Far off into nature, away from Lindon and Eregion, far away from all they once knew and laid him to rest in a peaceful spot where many flowers grew and old trees surrounded them.

To this day Lord Elrond visits his cousin often, for his final resting place is no far from Imladris, and to this day he wears the braid once associated with Maedhros, and he would do so until his arrival in Valinor.

[thesummerestsolstice]

I absolutely love the idea that Elrond took one look at Annatar and immediately disliked him. He just instantly failed the vibe check. And the best part is about that is that there are so, so many reasons Elrond might've immediately mistrusted Annatar, ranging from drama to comedy. I've compiled a few of my favorites below:

Vague, Luthien-related "not this motherfucker again" senses (always a classic)

Something about Annatar reminded Elrond of Maedhros's description of Sauron, even if he couldn't quite connect the dots at the time (good if you want to be emotional about Kidnap dads)

Annatar's general attitude really didn't fit with his story that he was an emissary of the Valar (if you want to be pro-Valar)

Alternately, Elrond fully believed that Annatar was from the west, but had serious problems with the Valar and didn't trust anyone they'd sent (if you want to be anti-Valar)

Vague foresight visions (for a metaphysical reason)

Elrond thinks that Annatar's appearance in Lindon is just a little too politically convenient (for a very practical reason)

Galadriel had warned Elrond that something like this might happen (I would also listen to Galadriel)

Annatar was being really, really unsubtle about being evil and Elrond was just the first person to point out that maybe the guy asking around about the best way to poison an elf without being caught shouldn't be allowed to stay in the city (Annatar got better at the whole 'evil in disguise' thing in Eregion)

Elrond has already heard enough traveling salesmen in his life and doesn't have patience for another one (Lindon really needs a 'no soliciting' sign)

Annatar made a vaguely offensive comment about Elrond being a half-elf and Elrond ran out of tolerance for that roughly an Age ago (good for him!)

Annatar said that Lindon needed a Maia, and excuse me, Lindon is already under Elrond's protection, it does not need another Maia wandering around causing problems! (Maiar territoriality my beloved)

Annatar said that Gil-Galad needed a Maiarin advisor, and, excuse me, Gil-Galad is Elrond's king, he does not need another Maia to whisper jokes to him during meetings, or to tenderly braid his hair, or to be his messenger bird. Elrond does all that perfectly fine, thank you! (Maiar territoriality, good for them edition)

Annatar and Elrond would've gotten along fine if Gil-Galad had bothered to introduce them properly, but seriously, you can't just toss them in a room together! Everyone knows that Maiar need time to acclimate to each other's presences first! You have to use a wall to separate them for a couple days! (did Gil-Galad even do his research before allowing a Maia-adjacent being to be his herald?)

Elrond absolutely refused to explain his reasons but everyone still listened because at that point they knew nothing good came from ignoring his warnings (smart choice)

[doodle-pops]

Echoes of Healing Hands

Maedhros x modern!reader

Request: How about Maedhros x reader from modern world, where reader was a med student from her world and somehow ended up in Middle Earth. Reader makes use of her skills and becomes one of the well known healers. The two meet and reader creates a specialized prospethic hand for him. The two kinda gets close and reader reveals how Angband was the first place where she ended up, having been forced the thralldom and use her knowledge and skills to escape. A bit angts where she is still traumatized by the experience (Maybe that's also how she regognized he had been a thrall himself) One shot might work with this and you can decide where the relationship goes. - @animatorweirdo

A/N: I chose to leave the relationship ambiguous between Mae and reader, so you all can decide if they’re friends or something more.

Warnings: modern reader in Middle Earth, fluff and comfort, humour, small touches of reminiscing the past, reader had spent time in Angband, consumption of alcohol

Words: 2k

Synopsis: You spend a moment with the Lord of Himring, demonstrating your skills while he returns the favour with a touch of gratitude and sympathy.

“It might be tight at first and slightly discomforting, however, give or take a week or two, you’ll merge and become one with it,” you explained as you fastened the straps of the prosthetic hand to Maedhros. “For now, practice holding small and light objects before advancing to larger and heavier ones. So, what do you think?”

The light from the fireplace flickered against his porcelain skin, casting hues of golden swirls which seemed to highlight his brilliant head of red, loose curls. They cascaded around his shoulders and stopped at his chest now that the moon had risen to signify another day had come to an end. You watched as he cautiously lifted his right hand, grimacing at the notice of the additional weight before attempting to curl his fingers and admiring your craftsmanship. Maedhros inspected your newly designed gadget with slight apprehension despite the feeling of gratitude arising.

“It does bear a slight pinch around the wrist, but I assume that is for now,” he replied. “The colour, red and gold, an excellent touch!”

“You’re lucky I didn’t paint it pink and purple with a touch of flowers since we’re in spring,” you snickered under his glare. “It would match the aesthetic of the season, and you. Come to think of it, I’ll make for the other seasons.”

“Please,” he begged with a worried expression as he looked away from his hand to meet your amused expression. “I beseech thee to not. One is fine, plus, you do not have any other projects to complete. So I think it is worth sharing a drink with me on this fine night, do you not think so?”

Scoffing as you sink yourself in the seat opposite him, you reach for the flask of wine and pour two glasses. “You do know that drinking leads to intoxication, and your idea of ‘a drink’ normally implies bottles.”

Taking the offered glass from your hand using his gifted hand, he carefully held the glass, finding a secured grip and brought it to his lips for his first deep swig. There was an evident glow on his face the longer the glass remained confidently in his hand. “Rest assured, ‘a drink’ in this case implies one, for your kindness. Thank you for creating this. While I do not believe that I am deserving of this gift, especially after all that I’ve—”

“You seem to have a problem saying, ‘thank you’ without reminiscing on the past, don’t you?” you smirked over the rim of your glass as you took a sip. “You elves and your million fancy, flowery ways to say, ‘thank you’ and then proceed to depreciate yourselves. However, you’re welcome.”

He frowned with a bemused expression on his face. His mouth was opened and ready to counter, yet the smirk you sent his way made him reconsider his choice of words and left a faint heat on his cheeks. “You…” he began as he struggled to spit out his words, “you have a strange way of speaking ever since I met you. You seem to despise the manner in which we elves speak.”

“Yeah, I definitely do,” you muttered and laughed, causing him to frown deeply. “Where I’m from, we just say what needs to be said without a bunch of mumbo-jumbo attached. No beating around the bushes.”

Maedhros’s frown morphed into scepticism as he listened to your scolding on their dialect while making a mental note to be more direct and upfront anytime he needed to speak to you. “Mumbo-jumbo?” he puzzled while furrowing his lips before he straightened in his seat. “Where are you from, if you do not mind me asking? You had not exactly told me other than your time in the Iron Fortress. Where is this ‘where I am from’ you speak of?”

“While isn’t it obvious?” you stated in a matter-of-fact tone to which he awkwardly shook his head. “I’m not from this world, duh! I’m from a far, far, away place where all these things still exist, only ten times worse. The only difference is that I was never involved in anything the way I was forced to…”

The air between you two fell into silence with the crackling of the firewood in the background. Neither of you spoke, causing the let the moment of reflection to resurface. Your memories, despite not facing anything tormenting as Maedhros suffered, were still frightening. Appearing in Angband decades after his escape and being forced to find a way to save yourself from being harmed, you offered up the skills you earned from being a medical engineer to design new artillery. Anything to prevent that bitch-ass redhead from feeding you to the wolves, literally.

The constant fear you felt in the short time you were there was enough to surmount the volume he felt. They were evident in your eyes and on your skin beneath your heavily adorned garments.

You and Maedhros were in the same water, at different depths, yet still drowned.

“I…Accept my condolences for what you might have experienced,” he gingerly whispered, setting the glass on the table.

“Yeah, I’m sorry too, but what’s done is done,” you half-heartedly chuckled and took a deep swig, wincing as the wine burned your throat. “It is what it is.”

Pausing with his mouth hanging open at your unapologetic, coping statement, he muttered, “That is an odd thing to say given your trauma, however, I shall not judge. But what I want to know is, how did you get here from this other world of yours?”

With the change in topic, you glanced over to witness his eyes swimming with eagerness. The possibilities of another world existing were unheard of by the Valar, so could it have been an untold work of Eru? Another realm that dwelt beyond the Timeless Halls?

“That’s something I really can’t figure out to this day. Cause all I knew was that one day, I was taking a long nap after my stressful exams, and then bam! I woke up on a table with that bitch-ass of a redhead hovering and asking his dumbass questions. I felt as though I could have strangled him, and then he made me abuse my medical practices.”

“Mairon! You appeared in Angband out of thin air and the first person you met was him?!” you gasped.

“Yeah, and it was pretty scary. I thought I was dreaming at first because no way in hell a place like that could exist in real life. But when things got heated, I realised that it was real. I had never prayed so much to wake up, especially when I told him my whereabouts but he didn’t believe me. He was going to throw me to the wolves.”

“I’ve heard of his cruelty from others. I was fortunate to not have met him during my…”

“Trust me, you were bloody lucky,” your voice trembled. “If I ever saw that bastard again, I’d feed his ass to the wolves. Never thought that I would hate redheads so much!”

The moment your last sentence slipped past your lips, Maedhros’s face morphed into dejection. What little light that shone in his face, vanished, as did the glow of his hair. As much as he tried to focus on the rest of your words, the loudness of your hatred towards redheads resonated exponentially in his head, prompting him to sulk. However, he was far from subtle since his dejection was visible to the eye which you eventually noticed.

Gasping with an apologetic expression, you vomited a whirlwind of words. “Oh God no! I didn’t mean you! I don’t hate you; I hate him—he’s the only redhead I despise! But you, you’re nice! I like you a lot; you’re so sweet and kind. I like you, Mae. So don’t take it to heart; you’re cool.”

He puzzled. “You like me?”

Your body’s natural response mechanisms were taking over, replaying all those embarrassing gestures you used to perform when you dwelt in the modern world around your friends. Unable to resist, your fingers lifted to form finger guns, as you aimed them at him and made a clicking sound with your tongue. “Of course I do. Why else would I make you that prosthetic hand and indulge in all your temptations even though I complain? It’s obvious, isn’t it?”

He felt his lips tugging at the corners to stretch into a smile. Maedhros couldn’t say when last he felt like this for it had been too long that the pure feeling of bliss overcame him. Dropping his eyes to the floor as his dimples became prominent, it didn’t matter how hard he bit his lip, the smile kept forming. The little awkward nods of his head followed as he accepted your words, wanting to keep things light.

“I like you too; you are very nice,” he finally managed to spit out with a goofy grin which left the both of you flustered like two teenagers.

“Cool,” you murmured and swallowed the last bit of wine before reaching for the flask to refill your glass to the brim. Anything to wash away the awkwardness that unfolded.

Entertained, Maedhros made a tsking sound and wiggled his prosthetic finger at you. “Did you not scold me for wanting to share a drink with you, and now you are consuming two glasses?”

“Oh shut up! The conversation is going too well to deserve one glass, plus, I can do whatever I want. I’ll just suffer the consequences of a hangover tomorrow. I’m a doctor, I can nurse myself back to full health,” you quietly chortled with a roll of your eyes.

Unbiasedly staring at you as you drank the wine with heaviness, he glanced over your humane features and felt a wave of sadness that this could indeed be a strange dream. One day, he too could wake up and you would be gone forever. Or what if he had never left Angband and the image of you was a conjured coping mechanism? “But what if all this was a dream and you had to wake up, would you want to leave?”

Prying your lips off the glass, you fell into a contemplative silence that left you fretting. You would admit, life here wasn’t the best nor was it the worse, but there was something that existed which wasn’t present in your world. You helped and taught your medical practices while learning the ropes of incorporating magic and natural remedies into your etiquette. Life had its ebbs but they brought you forms of adventure no one would ever experience.

“I don’t know; I can’t answer that honestly. I’d be lying no matter what response I give,” you supposed. “However, I will say that I am grateful to have met and helped you. It was an honour to utilise my knowledge to build you a hand and form a bond with an elf. I never thought I’d meet one, so tall and wasn’t Santa’s little helper, and get this close, thanks to my medical abilities.”

“Likewise. You have been a great companion during your time here with me in my lonely castle. You have given me something to look forward to each day with your strangeness.”

“Of course you would enjoy my company. I’m far better than the ghosts living here,” you snickered. “But I too, enjoy your presence. It’s nice to connect with someone who understands.”

Maedhros offered a genuine smile as he fought to ignore your jest, and reached for his glass with his prosthetic hand and gingerly lifted it to make a toast. “I propose a toast to your hands then. Worry not about what they were forced to do, but the great things they have achieved. Perhaps that is your purpose here, to use your gifted hands.”

“You elves and your poetic words,” you jokingly scoffed while reaching out to knock glasses with one another. “But yes, to my hands and yours that can be detached and thrown at someone who annoys you. I am thankful they have gotten me this far and for meeting you.”

“Good, now make haste and finish that glass of wine. The night is still young, we have much to celebrate and I have a new blend for you to try. Might be too strong for a human, regardless, I want you to try it.” He sauntered out of his seat and towards his wine showcase where dozens of flasks sat, some still sealed for decades, leaving you appalled. You couldn’t help but wonder if this was the downside to using your talents. Becoming his new drinking buddy.

You scowled as he returned with a flask while showing off his strength to hold the bottle with his new hand. “I should have sent your hand instead of bringing it myself if I knew this was to be my fate.”

“I would have visit your chambers nonetheless.”

“One glass, Maedhros. Just one glass.”

“Of course. One glass as prescribed,” he grinned with the intention of finishing the entire flask tonight in one sitting with you.

Masterlist

Taglist: @lilmelily @ranhanabi777 @rain-on-my-umbrella @mysticmoomin @asianbutnotjapanese @batsyforyou @sakurayaxd @involuntaryspasms @ladyenchanted @mcwentfandomtraveling @stormchaser819 @aconstructofamind @addaigio @lamemaster @hermaeuswhora @elficially-done-with-life

[thelien-art]

Day 6: Ambarussa for @feanorianweek

Anger｜Patience & Gluttony｜Temperance

Amaranthus Caudatus: Amaranthus Caudatus symbolizes hopelesnnes and heartbreak but also immorality from the Greek name "Amárantos" which translates to "one that does not wither", "eternal", and "everlasting".

Elven twins share one Fea so I believ they where always close and when Amrod almost died in the fire of Losgar and looses the abilti to talk because of his burnt thoat Amras took over for him and they became even more one than they where before. As if one being with two bodies. Which freaks out almost everyone they meet. I drew Amras in darker colors as I think he was always a hunter and Amrod in lighter since he was a scholar and philosopher (positivism), where it was only when they reached Beleriand that he and his brothers always were together no matter what he really got into hunting

Maedhros｜Maglor｜Celegorm｜Caranthir｜Curufin

[theconstellationprincess]

Whumptober day 13: familiar curse.

Celebrimbor had resigned himself to being the last descendant of Feanor, the end of the line, and then he met Elrond. Kind, wonderful Elrond who calls Maglor and Maedhros his fathers. Perhaps he is not alone in his standing after all.

-

When he first meets Elrond, he is unsure of what to expect, because while he trusts Gil-galad to not send him someone dangerous or untrustworthy, it was Celebrimbor's uncles who took Elrond and his twin from their family, who kept them for a number of years, away from elven society.

During that first day, neither of them bring up Feanor, the Silmarils, or the oath. Celebrimbor allows himself some peace when Elrond seems more nervous about the fact that Celebrimbor is a well-known smith than that he is related to the House of Feanor. His fascination with Celebrimbor's work is flattering, though uneccessary, and Celebrimbor finds himself thoroughly charmed by the peredhel.

This ease is why, when Elrond enters Celebrimbor's office the following morning wearing a cloak embroided with the star of Feanor, he promptly chokes on his tea and sputters, unable to tear his eyes away from the design. Elrond is worried, rushing over and checking on Celebrimbor with concern in his eyes and a frown on his lips.

Waving his concern off, Celebrimbor straightens and sets his tea down. Now that Elrond is closer, he can see the design even clearer, and it is most certainly the 8-point star that Celebrimbor is still fond of, even with all of its... associations. Elrond must notice his gaze, because he follows it to the cloak, and to Celebrimbors surprise, blushes.

"I apologize, I had only thought-" Elrond takes a shuffling step backwards, hands grabbing at his sleeves and turning his face away from Celebrimbor and towards a bookshelf. "I cannot wear them in Lindon." Oh. Oh. The explanation offered is hesitant, unsure, and absolutely heartbreaking. Most of the elves in Middle Earth do not take kindly to those who bear the symbol of Feanor, but Eregion is a settlement unlike any others. A large remainder of those who are still loyal to Feanor and his sons reside in his city, loyal now to him.

"You have no need to apologize, Elrond. It simply... surprised me. I was not aware you held any love for the Feanorians." Celebrimbor replies slowly, taking another sip of his tea while he waits for Elrond to respond. Celebrimbor observes his face, which rapidly transitions between confused, distressed, and then finally settles on slightly manic humour.

"Lord Celebrimbor I-" He laughs, running a hand through his hair. Celebrimbor begins to feel worried when by the end of the laughter it sounds more like sounds of anguish than joy. "I suppose I should have rather asked for your permission before counting myself among those of your house."

"Permission before- Elrond what are you talking about?" Celebrimbor asks, standing and approaching the half-elf, whose legs seem to falter beneath him for a moment. Celebrimbor rushes forward, supporting his weight- far too light honestly, does Ereinion not take care of his herald?- for the moment it takes for Elrond to recover.

"It is well known, in Lindon. As a child I found little sense in censoring my words. I used to only refer to them as atya and atarinya, but that is reserved now for certain company." Elrond clearly sees something in his expression, because he squints and then speaks very slowly, as if to a child. "Maedhros and Maglor. Elros and my foster fathers. I belong to the house of Feanor- though I can... I cannot, if it makes you uncomfortable, Lord Celebrimbor. You are the last of the blood relatives in the family." Elrond's smile is bitter, the light in his eyes dimmed, and Celebrimbor can't have that now can he?

"Forgive me, Elrond, for making you question your place. I was not aware that you viewed Maglor and Maedhros as more than those who haunt your dreams." Celebrimbor speaks softly, backing up and taking his seat once more. He nods to the seat across from him, waiting for Elrond to sit, because he still looks peaky, before continuing. "Though you are not related by blood, if it is as you say and you consider Maedhros and Maglor your fathers, than I see no reason why you should not have claim over the title of descendant of Feanor."

Elrond looks relieved, and Celebrimbor momentarily reflects on the fact that this might be one of the oddest mornings he has ever had. Only yesterday he had been worried over the fact that Elrond may try to claim reparations for the wrongs Celebrimbor's house had done to him, but instead he has gained a... cousin. A relative.

"Lord Celebrimbor, I apologize. We got very off track and I do not seem to recall my purpose for coming to your office." Elrond says after a few moments. He looks lost, and Celebrimbor- who had already decided he quite liked this peredhel yesterday- finds himself with the desire to prevent that look from ever being on Elrond's face again.

"It is of no matter, Elrond. And you may drop the title, after all we are cousins." The blush returns to Elrond's cheeks, a pleased smile twisting the corners of his lips despite the way he clearly tries to stop it. Celebrimbor smiles back, taking a sip of his tea and grimacing, for it has grown cold. He sets it down with a sigh, and he intends to make polite conversation, but what falls from his lips is instead, "How much do you know of the oath?"

The smile on Elrond's face falters, and Celebrimbor curses his clumsy words, he should not have asked that. He is not sure he even wants to know, for he would not wish the up close experience of wrath the oaths caused on anyone.

"I know enough," The reply is quiet, contemplative. "They took us. They left us. Twice. I will not get to see them, even when I sail west." The last sentence seems to be the undoing, and Elrond's voice falters, thick with emotions. Celebrimbor nods, once, and then clears his throat.

"You will have me, cousin." Celebrimbor assures, blinking rapidly to clear his vision. He has long accepted that he will not be able to reunite with his family, but it is fresher for Elrond, and it makes the old wound feel as though it has begun to weep anew.

Elrond sniffs, tries to discretely wipe his eyes, and then steers the conversation towards Celebrimbor's broach. Celebrimbor indulges, how could he not? And they resume the easy manner of discussion from yesterday.

-

"You will have to let me forge you one," Celebrimbor insists over dinner, as the topic of the broach is brought up again. Inspired by their conversation this morning, Celebrimbor had shown Elrond some of his recent work, because he is not above seeking praise. Elrond is very generous with his praise, and Celebrimbor asks to see Elrond's recent work, if he has any to offer.

Written works are hesitantly handed over, a mixture of what clearly works for the High King and personal projects. "You are a gifted wordsmith," Celebrimbor had muttered out, reading through the pages. He is glad that he looked up for a moment, because the smile on Elrond's face shone brighter than any silmaril.

At Elrond's suggestion, they move away from his works and back to Celebrimbor's. They discuss matters of forging and metals, matters that Elrond is surprisingly educated about, until dinner. Celebrimbor catches Elrond staring at the broach, and so offers to forge one for him.

"You will do no such thing," Elrond protests, taking a sip from his wine. He is relaxed, smiling, and Celebrimbor knows then that he must forgore Elrond something, a souvenir for his time in Eregion.

"I will," Celebrimbor states simply, chuckling when Elrond continues to protest. Feanorian stubbornness knows no bounds, but Elrond cannot stop Celebrimbor from forging, and Celebrimbor knows that Elrond is far too polite to refuse a gift. He will win, in the end.

-

The day Elrond is set to leave Eregion, Celebrimbor presents him with a small jewelry box, smirking. Elrond glares at him, but it is short lived, when he opens the box to find the broach. It is beautiful, Celebrimbor knows, but the reverence with which Elrond looks at it is unexpected.

"Thank you," Elrond says, voice suspiciously thick. Celebrimbor chuckles good naturedly and hugs him, tightly.

"You're welcome." He replies softly, "You can repay me by coming to visit again soon."

"Very well." Elrond agrees, pulling out of the hug and looking at Celebrimbor, deep into his eyes. "I will see you soon, cousin."

[mur4sak1]

How would elves behave during an argument?

A/N: Remember that English is not my first language so I hope I wrote in the best way <3

Characters: Rog, Galdor, Glorfindel, Maedhros, Legolas (bonus)

Rog: guys, this elf would be really scary. Contrary to what you might think, he would lose his temper very easily; he works all day in the darkness of the forges and when he leaves he just wants to have a good rest, so further stress from an argument would drive him out of his mind. He's the typical person who screams without thinking twice and says things he doesn't mean in anger. His way would destroy you every time, making you burst into tears from how bad he made you feel... but as soon as he saw a small tear running down your face he fell silent, forgetting everything that was happening; Was it him who made you like this? He was making the only person who loved him and who had always supported him in his darkest moments cry. He would stay still for some time, with a thousand thoughts in his head when a louder sob from you would bring him back to reality. He would apologize to you but he would do it without meeting your gaze, he is suffering too much for what he did and he wouldn't have the courage to see your destroyed expression. But you knew that he loves you more than anything after all. With difficulty you would get up and hug him as tight as possible, telling him that everything was fine, that you knew he didn't think those things and that you loved him... You couldn't see his face, but a tear fell from his eyes.

Galdor: NOW LET'S ALL GIVE A HUG TO THIS WONDERFUL ELF TOGETHER. He would always try to find a solution peacefully, without discussions and the need to argue, but if this happens you should not fear anything from him. He would NEVER scream, he would NEVER raise his voice, he would NEVER say anything mean to you just to hurt you or win the argument. I mean, it would be fantastic. Maybe due to particular circumstances you would have become so upset that you felt angry against the elf, but in any case he would have spoken to you in a calm and reasonable tone, making you understand that you didn't need to react that way. If the pain brought you to tears, he would hug you and console you like a defenseless child, helping you and trying to get you to vent so that he could fully understand what was troubling you so as to avoid misunderstandings. Galdor would have been able to understand and love you more than anyone else, always.

Glorfindel: It was rare to argue with the blond elf, but sometimes it happened and the situation became quite lively. Glorfindel always tried to keep his problems to himself and not involve others because he was convinced that difficult moments should only be faced with those you love. Furthermore, he certainly wanted to avoid all that useless gossip that many elves had on any topic that might attract their curiosity. Although his character was often extroverted and playful even in the saddest situations for this reason, when he argued with you it wasn't uncommon to hear shouts and snorts coming from your rooms. They would not be screams that expressed malice, but screams that asked to be listened to; it was natural for him to raise his voice when he wasn't listened to and in that way he expressed all his frustration and the pain that the discussion with you was bringing him. He always acted for your good and feeling attacked made him suffer, he wondered what he was doing wrong, what more did you want from him. But the intense mix of emotions inside him prevented him from acting rationally, forgetting how to express them and focusing only on everything you said. After a long time arguing like this you would have reached the point of being exhausted and progressively raising your voice would have left you breathless. You would stop to breathe for a fraction of seconds, with the certainty that everything would soon start again. But after rubbing your eyes, you looked at your elf's face and saw in him all the pain that he was trying to say to you through his tone of voice; his fists were clodes, his head was bowed, his forehead shiny with sweat and a few blond hairs stuck to it. In an instant you understood everything... You breathed a heavy sigh and quickly approached him to hug him, starting to beg him to forgive you and sobbing heavily between one apology and another... Caught off guard, after a few seconds he relaxed his arms and reciprocated the hug. Finally he let himself go to his feelings; he rested his head on your head and the wet of sweat combined with the wetness of a few tears. So he was able to express everything he felt and only at that point would you be able to clarify and return to being happy and in love as always "I just want to always be perfect for you".

Maedhros: I'm sure fights with the red-head would be very peaceful. Having grown up in a large family and in the role of an older brother, he had developed a lot of patience thanks to which he could easily handle any type of conflict with you. Contrary to what many might think, after Angbad Mae would not have vented the pain on you with shouts and insults, but quite the opposite. After the terrible torture he suffered, the only thing he wanted was to feel accepted and in you he found his salvation; in all the darkest moments where his mind couldn't differentiate reality from dreams you were there by his side to help him, without ever making him feel wrong and making him understand how strong he was to have overcome such a trauma. For this reason, he would feel like a terrible elf during arguments. He only wanted to offer you the support that you represented to him every day but instead he felt more like a burden to you. This would make him cry a lot, but in silence and alone, because he feared that with every little clash you would abandon him. He just needed time, time to understand that you would never, ever abandon him; you always told him that you loved him more than anyone else and that he needed your support to be able to return to the sweet, confident elf he once was, and you would do anything to help him. Needless to say, every time the arguments were resolved without even face them... there was too much love that bound your hearts to ruin it for superficial reasons.

BONUS. Legolas: So, I honestly see Legolas as the kind of elf who would be capable of walking away during an argument. Perhaps due to stress, lack of patience or lack of desire for confrontation, he could stop the conversation, pick up and leave the place where you were. But in reality his behavior would be the solution to the problem. In fact, the much anger that you had accumulated would have faded with distance and the passage of time and would have made both of you understand how much you cared for each other. Solitude would have helped Legolas to think clearly about the problem and find a possible solution to make them both happy. When you met again you would have made peace, both apologizing for your abrupt ways and organizing something to spend the evening together.

[lamemaster]

The Curse of Bloodlines (Epilogue 😔)

Request: For the annon who sends me this request every day. You know who you are and you have my respect fellow gremlin.

Pairing: Thranduil x Reader

AN: I never wanted to write this. But alas for those who cannot live without a happy ending go thrive. Please no more requests for this AU after this.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Epilogue |

"Atyo!" You peel Celegorm's hands off Thranduil's throat. At once your uncles are at the task of taking him to another room as you follow them. Not daring to look back at him. Too scared that you might not be able to leave if you do.

Perhaps it was the fear of finding the same disdained look you had witnessed in Arda. The fear of being subjected to it had left your eyes anywhere but, Thranduil.

So you focus all your attention on your father, who almost escapes the grasp of 4 of his brothers, including Uncle Maedhros, who towered over the majority in Valinor.

"Ata, not now," your voice cuts through the din, surprisingly firm despite the tremor in your heart. Your father's face contorted in a snarl, but something in your voice, perhaps the raw emotion, caused him to pause.

"Let me go!" he roared, his voice thick with fury. "I won't be mocked by that… that…" he trailed off, his tongue failing him to find an insult that wouldn't ignite another confrontation.

You shake your head and lead him out. "Let's leave. Grandfather is waiting."

You clenched your jaw, the weight of the situation pressing down on you. This meeting, the one you'd dreaded since your days in the Halls of Mandos, had been a disaster. And the worst part? It was just the beginning.

Meeting your father was something you had wished for forever. An unfulfilled yearning you grew up with. The same yearning Legolas grew up with. Absence of a bond that made the entirety of an existence.

Settling in his arms was a comfort unknown to you in life. Death had been kinder in many ways.

The agony of right and wrong seared on both you and your father. Ignorance of the bond that is most priced above any other. Blood that had cost you the love of your husband and the chance to watch your son grow.

But things that once shredded your heart into pieces now were distant worries. The sting of betrayal and the ache of lost years paled in comparison to the warmth of your father's embrace. His tearful apologies, whispered promises of redemption, were a balm to your wounded soul.

You met then, your uncles, your grandfather, your great-grandfather, An entire clan doomed in the halls of death. And so the task of stitching back together the House of Finwe began.

From uncountable days spent sharing stories by the pillar of your Grandfather, Feanor's firey pillar, to bringing along the souls of your troubled cousins Aegnor and Maeglin. Finweans started healing.

And you became the princess of Noldor. A title that came with a hefty price.

Legolas' friendship with Finrod wasn't a surprise. Both, you realized, carried the weight of a love lost to time – a grief you could never fully understand or soothe.

Legolas, however, found solace elsewhere. Celebrimbor, with his gentle spirit, became his closest confidante. He regaled Amrod and Amras with tales of Middle-earth, earning their playful grumbles about being called "grandfathers." Feanor, a name whispered in legends, became a complex figure he learned about through stories and perhaps, even fleeting glimpses of him to and from the forge.

Your interactions with Legolas were tentative at first. You were a stranger to him, a face from stories whispered in hushed tones. He longed to know the woman who carried him.

Awkward silences hung heavy in the air, punctuated by whispered stories of his life in Greenwood. He spoke of Thranduil with respect, but a flicker of sadness lingered in his eyes. He spoke of a man named Estel, a human who had become a dear friend, a story that filled you with bittersweet joy.

Then came the inevitable – a meeting with Master Gimli. Their shared tales of their unlikely friendship brought laughter to the once desolate House of Feanor.

Finally, after much coaxing, you managed to convince Legolas to attend Oropher's feast. You knew a march to invite the entire Noldorian royal family was a tad excessive, even by his standards.

Noldor marching was almost always was a perilous idea.

"Apply this twice a day," you mutter, handing him the small vial. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, you allowed yourself to meet his gaze. "For the bruises," you clarified, pointing to the dark marks of your father's grip on his throat.

A flicker of surprise crossed his face, then settled into a mask of stoicism. His eyes, those same eyes that once held the warmth of a thousand sunrises, seemed distant, etched with the weight of untold ages. They held an emotion you couldn't quite define - a far cry from the hatred that burned in them during your last moments together.

His hand brushed against yours as he reached for the vial, sending a jolt through you. The grief that had settled between you, heavy and suffocating, felt like a tangible presence in the air.

"I apologize for my father," you began, your voice barely a whisper. "He is…"

"Troubled," he finished the sentence, his voice surprisingly gentle. "As are we all."

A heavy silence descended upon you once more. He spoke, breaking the quietude, his voice laced with a weary resignation. "I do not know what penance I shall bear to ever right the wrongs I have committed. I have searched for ages, scouring the world, but I cannot find a path back to the past I crave."

"I do not know what repentance I shall bear to ever right the wrongs I have committed," he continued, his voice barely above a murmur. "This yearning for what we once had consumes me, yet I detest it, for I do not believe I am worthy of it." His voice cracked, and for a moment, the once proud king you knew of was now stripped bare, revealing an elf consumed by regret.

The air around you seemed to crackle with unspoken apologies and unspoken yearning. You gathered your courage, forcing the words from your lips. "I do not know much of right or wrong," you began, your voice surprisingly steady. "Neither do I understand the intricacies of penance or forgiveness. Yet, from all I have learned in this strange realm, one thing resonates."

He averted his gaze, his back turned to you, his broad shoulders slumped in defeat. All the air seemed to have been sucked from the room, leaving a hollow ache in your chest.

Your mind raced, searching for the right words. "No act is set in stone. No grievance can hold its power over the relentless march of time. My kin, they wronged many, yet even they found a measure of peace." You thought of your uncles, of your father, finally released from the burdens of their choices.

"They were able to return to the light of Aman because they allowed themselves to seek forgiveness," you continued. "Beyond mine or Legolas', it is your own that you require the most." You reached out then, your fingers brushing against his cheek.

"We have all the time in the world." You leaned in, your lips brushing against his in a whisper of a kiss. A flawed marriage, a flawed separation, and a flawed reunion, yet, nothing had managed to make it any less sweeter.

[the-elusive-soleil]

Silm AU with the Feanorian death order reversed

I apologize in advance, but:

Maglor regrets the Oath and kinslaying on the voyage over. He stays aboard the ships, meaning to stow away back, but falls asleep (it's been a long day) and wakes up on fire. His brothers and father become aware of the situation when they hear the screams. Maglor's cries become a permanent echo in that area, much like Morgoth's at Lammoth.

Maedhros does not have the clearest head in the ensuing battle. He gets separated from the others and is beaten into the dust by balrogs. His family isn't even able to retrieve a body.

Feanor is very shaken and very mad. He doesn't parlay with Morgoth, not even for the Silmarils. He and his remaining people spread out across Beleriand and establish fortresses.

Things are chilly at best when the Helcaraxe group arrives thirty years later. Feanor does not yield the crown. The two groups don't fight, because Morgoth's a bigger problem, but they're not working together. Partially because Fingon refuses to speak to the Feanorians after he hears what happened to Maedhros, and Finrod won't even be near them after what they did to Maglor.

Feanor is very careful with his remaining sons.

Time goes on, the Bragollach occurs on schedule, and so does the Silmaril quest, except that C&C aren't in Nargothrond because of the Finrod-hating-them thing, so Celegorm never meets Luthien. She doesn't get Huan, but still manages just fine.

We do still eventually get to the point of "Silmaril at Doriath" + "no Girdle" + "stubborn Dior" = Second Kinslaying. But this time Celegorm's not grudge-fueled and Curufin's not having to cover for Huan and watch his back, and... Amrod and Amras die instead.

Elwing escapes to the Havens. Elured and Elurin aren't left to die, but Feanor has no interest in keeping around Sindar reminders of his dead sons. He has them sent away. (They don't know where Elwing and the Silmaril are, so ransom isn't an option.)

Then they do learn where the Silmaril is, at Sirion. They attack. Caranthir dies.

Curufin has been doing increasingly badly since Celebrimbor forswore him right before Doriath. Celegorm decides the solution is to pick up Elwing's twin sons and get Curufin to help parent them.

Feanor isn't thrilled, but he can't say no when he sees how Curufin latches on.

Love grows after between them, as little might be thought.

War of Wrath happens. Feanor keeps his tattered family out of it, but contributes weapon designs via courier. The Host uses said designs, because even if he's problematic they need this stuff.

Afterward, the claiming and theft of the Silmarils proceeds. Curufin sends the twins to Celebrimbor to preempt another rejection.

He's hollow, disillusioned, attacking the camp. The guards don't have to work very hard to kill him.

Feanor and Celegorm escape. The Silmarils burn them. Celegorm starts laughing and laughing and can't stop, and backs away...right into a chasm of fire.

Feanor flings the Silmarils after him, hating the things he chased so long at the cost of his sons, and staggers to the shore as the sea encroaches.

No one knows what happens to him.

[inthehouseoffinwe]

Ok a lil hc for why Curufin is so close to Fëanor and why the twins went to Beleriand.

So idk how many of you have seen twin pregnancies, and no doubt many of you will know more than me. But the ones I have seen were *exhausting* for the mother. Constantly tired, unable to do a whole lot, usually in some kind of pain be it back, ribs from the kicking babies, legs, hips, you name it. Not to mention the nausea. Nerdanel would have been absolutely shattered for most of her pregnancy, but by this point Fëanor is confident enough (has been reassured by Nerdanel over the last five pregnancies) that he’s ok leaving her to her own devices.

What this means though is Nerdanel doesn’t have a lot of energy to spare looking after her other children. Caranthir is old enough to happily stick with his brothers or sit with his embroidery, but little Curvo is around 5/6 equivalent and is very attached to his parents. Nerdanel suddenly not being able to do much creates a distance, neither of their faults, in which Fëanor steps in. This time spent with his father shapes Curufin’s interests and personality to make him embody his mother name. Atarinkë indeed, in more than just looks.

Now this temporary distance that should’ve started to close by the time Ambarussa were two or three is furthered because now is when Fëanor and Nerdanel start getting into arguments. At this point they’re small spats at most, nothing too serious, but Curufin who’s very attached to his now primary caregiver and distanced from the other, immediately takes Fëanor’s side. Again at this point both parents are still trying to get him close to his mother again, but it’s not going well and with how heated both parents get, it’s difficult to keep disagreements behind closed doors.

Then Curvo becomes a teen and it’s his father above all else. The time for change is passing, Fëanor and Nerdanel have started to spend days apart, days in which Maedhros and Maglor often take care of the twins so their mother can have a break, and Curufin sees this as another sign his mother isn’t worthy of their family. By the time we get to the banishment to Formenos, Curvo refuses to speak to Nerdanel, and whilst his brothers still send letters and occasionally go out to meet her, he burns the letters as soon as they come.

On a side note, the twins end up very very close to their oldest brothers because of this. It’s why they decide to go to Beleriand: their brothers, their primary caregivers, are all going. So they are too. They don’t know their mother well enough to stay.

Disclaimer: I adore Nerdanel and think she’s absolutely brilliant. You have to have some guts to not only marry Fëanaro Curufinwë, but then stick to your guns and refuse to follow him. And successfully wrangle seven very skilled, very opinionated sons. She’s the best and was no doubt an amazing mother, but the way things turned out just didn’t work in anyone’s favour.

Also to still be known as ‘the wise’ after marrying Fëanor and everything he did? Insane.

Fëanor was also a great father ok. At least until Morgoth really got in his head towards the end of their time in Aman. There’s a reason all his kids followed him to Beleriand.

[animatorweirdo]

Feanorians: Being Their Soulmate...

Different soulmate troupes with the Feanorians.

Requested by Anon

Hi animatorweirdo!

Can I send in a request for different soulmate tropes for the Feanorians and when they find their soulmate? (for example, tropes like the red-string of fate, timer countdown, having a tattoo that symbolizes them on your body, etc).

Thank you so much and I can't wait to see what you come up with!!

(Author note: I didn't do Curufin and the twins as I could not come up with anything with them. )

Warnings: mentions of the book events, mentions of Maedhros's captivity, loss of a hand, separation, reluctance, the oath, doom, and rejection.

--------------------------------------------------------

Maedhros —  Tattoo 

- Maedhros would have a small tattoo on the back of his right hand, right below his thumb and index finger. He would have been confused the first time it appeared, but then he would be excited when his parents or someone else told him it was the mark of his soulmate. 

- He had been given a tattoo that represented his soulmate. His soulmate would bear a tattoo on the same spot that represented him and he would know once he had seen them. 

- Growing up in Valinor he would check people’s hands to see if they had a tattoo on the same spot as him. 

- If you two met in Valinor, he would find a small star on the back of your right hand below your thumb and index. 

- He would be delighted to have finally found you, and most likely would have not hesitated to get to know you and start a relationship with you. His family would be happy for him. 

- However, if you two met in Middle Earth. His feelings about finding his soulmate would be much more complicated. 

- For example, the great enemy mocking the mark of his soulmate and threatening to find them would have left him reluctant to ever find his soulmate. Losing his right hand would have solidified his decision. 

- He would stare at his missing hand from time to time, remembering the mark of his soulmate. He would hope his soulmate would never find him as his reputation would certainly tarnish theirs. 

- If you two did manage to meet, he would feel strange pulling toward you. If you two clicked very well, he would mistake it for simple crushing or fondness. However, that would not be the case when he sees the star on your right hand. 

- Realizing you were his soulmate would cause him to distance himself away from you, startled and anxious to realize you were his one. He would then make a hard decision, to either give himself this chance to feel your love or push you away and possibly save you from the doom that followed him. 

- If he decided to embrace the fact and allow himself to be selfish just once, Maedhros would not reveal you were soulmates but enjoy your company. He would have decided to enjoy it while it lasted because relationships would not last during wars. His feelings for you would have grown but he would have kept it as a good friendship, and it would have hurt less when you two had to separate. 

- If he decided to distance himself and cut ties with you, his soul would ache for your presence and he would feel miserable for causing you to feel sad and confused by his sudden distance. He would have most likely been harsh and explained that you two couldn’t talk to each other, growing the drift between you. 

- Making you leave would be the hardest decision he had ever made. However, it would ease his soul to know you would not be doomed by him and his oath. 

- If there was a chance Eru took pity on you, he would either allow you to meet again in better circumstances or let you have someone else for a soulmate. 

Maglor — Red string of fate

- (Because I think Maglor would love tragic love stories, the red string of fate would be fitting for him.)

- Maglor would be blooming with excitement when one day he saw a red string attached to his finger. He would have read all about the red string of fate and would have most likely been eager to go on an adventure to find his soulmate, the red string being his guide. Unfortunately, he was too young to go on his own. 

- Growing up, he would occasionally check on the red string to see if his soulmate was nearby as the red string would extend or become more clear when his soulmate was near. 

- If you two met on Valinor, it would have happened during a party or one of his performances. He would be surprised to see the red string suddenly become visible and lead his eyes upon you. However, it would not have been an unwelcome surprise and he would have jumped on the first chance to talk with you. 

- His search would finally be over after meeting you and his family would have to suffer his constant serenading of finding his soulmate. 

- However, if you met on Middle Earth, his feelings would be slightly reluctant, but not opposed to it. 

- After the whole kin slaying and burning of the boats, he would have wished he would not find his soulmate. The red string went more distant, but he would be surprised to find the red string showing itself more one day. 

- He would be curious to find them and one day when he met you, he would feel happy. 

- He would be more open about revealing being his soulmate and having a relationship with you. However, since he and his kin were at war with Morgoth, the relationship would have to be kept as a secret. 

- However, if he decided you two would be better off without each other. He would send you away with good wishes and hopes that fate would allow you to meet again, and thus ends the tragic love story.

 

Celegorm — Dreams/Led by your pets

- As a hunter, I think Celegorm would have a prophetic dream about an animal that would lead him to his soulmate. 

- In his dreams, he would see an animal he is meant to find and follow to find his soulmate. He is a free spirit so he might find the dreams and the thought of having a soulmate slightly annoying. 

- However, if he came to meet with the said animal from his dreams he would not be opposed to following it and seeing what would happen. And when that happens, Huan would go missing and ignore his calls. 

- He would then find you with the animal and Huan who had led you to him. Perhaps that time, he would be more open and excited when he locked his eyes with you, especially if you two met in the woods of Valinor and the animal turned out to be your companion. 

- However, if you met in Middle Earth, I do not think Celegorm would not hesitate to have a relationship with you. If you both were hunters I think the relationship would go pretty smoothly. 

- But, if the oath comes between you, Celegorm might let you go in order for you to be safe from danger, or if you do not agree, and that he made it clear he would not give up the oath even for you. 

- Separation from you might cause him to become slightly more violent, but the thought of you being somewhere safe might ease it just a bit. 

Caranthir — Timer

 - A timer would suit Caranthir. 

- He would have been very confused when one day he found a clock drawn on his hand and it would not go away no matter how much he washed. 

- It would take both his parents to explain he had received a soulmate clock, which tells how long it would take to meet his soulmate: the more hours and minutes the farther away and the less how close his soulmate is. 

- The idea would not wrap around his head for a while, especially if the clock showed several hours, which only meant his soulmate was nowhere near. 

- He would be thrilled to find out when his clock reveals fewer minutes and would look around in curiosity till he found you. 

- I think he would be slightly shy, but would not avoid you. If you two click and you show your timer, then it would be the start of a beautiful relationship.

- However, if you two met on Middle Earth, he would be skeptical about having a relationship with you. 

- Seeing there was no hope after his reputation as a kin slayer and war with Morgoth, he saw it would be best not to seek out his soulmate. 

- So, imagine the shock he would feel when he finds his timer running toward the end and eventually finding you. 

- In some parts of his soul he would have been thrilled, but due to his unfortunate circumstances, he might avoid revealing about being your soulmate. However, due to the tugging in his soul, he might make a friendly relationship with you. 

- He would feel ease from his anger, and it would slightly hurt him to know he might have to separate from you. 

- He would enjoy it while it lasted, before sending you off with heartfelt goodbyes. 

Celebrimbor — A strand of hair

- Celebrimbor would be surprised to find a strand of his hair had turned into a different color, but would be delighted when he learned it was the clue of his soulmate and that his soulmate would have a strand of his hair color. 

- He would not mind walking around with the new color and sometimes styling it while searching for the one who had his hair color. 

- If you two met on Valinor, it would be joyful. 

- However, if you two met on Middle Earth, his feelings on the matter would have died down. 

- But when he suddenly meets you one day and sees the dark strand of hair across your hair. He became frightened as he could feel tugging from within his very soul. 

- He should feel happy by his kin’s standards. He had been blessed by chance to meet his soulmate, but his past and the reputation of his house had left him reluctant. He had hidden the color of your hair in hopes he might not accidentally meet you or anyone who might figure out who his soulmate is. In his mind, you were not worthy to get tarnished by his house’s past, but fate, of course, has worked against him. 

- However, if you were not intimidated by his past, Celebrimbor’s fear might vanish and he might entertain the idea of getting to know you. It would take a lot of time to convince himself to finally reveal your hair color on his hair, and wait for your reaction as your hair colors would match and return to normal.

- If you were happy by the reveal, Celebrimbor might then be confident enough to have a relationship with you. However, he would let you go if you weren't eager by the reveal and decided to leave. He would not blame you, but he would feel a painful aching for your presence and heartache for your rejection.

[tanoraqui]

I’m in Maine again, so naturally I was thinking about Reccarfinwë the war-moose, and I realized there must have at some point been a scene like…

The scouts brought word to Himring at dawn one early winter day: the night had brought not just a fresh sprinkling of snow, but also that pale beauty’s instant marring, in a regiment of armored orcs approaching from the northeast. Maglor, breakfasting with his brother the lord of the fort, immediately offered the strength of the troop that had accompanied him on this visit. A single orc-regiment wasn’t a real threat—this was a test of the Siege-line’s defenses; they still came every few years. But it was enough to serve well as a trial for the joint capabilities of Himring and the Gap.

Thirty minutes later, Maglor was striding into the forecourt in full armor, looking out for his people and half-listening as Maedhros gave additional orders to his aides and captains. Maglor was certain that Himring ran like Aulendilin clockwork no matter who was in residence, yet Maedhros always seemed to find extra orders to hand to his staff—especially when there was a training battle to be had!

“…the arrows. Remind Beorwen to keep the lines—I’ll take my moose; her squad must adapt to—”

Maglor had been beckoning his own lieutenant, about to instruct her on how they’d fit into the riders of Himring. He gasped with joy instead.

“Good Reccarfinwë yet lives? I thought moose only had fifteen years!”

Maedhros, armed and armored for battle, shot him a stern look. “Nenpadron passed away some twenty years ago. However, we managed to find him an acceptable mate ere the end, and so on. Today I ride his grandson, Guruthos.”

Maglor felt alight with, if possible, even more glee. The orcs were completely forgotten.

“Nelyo-Reccarfinwë?!”

A hint of an older brother’s scowl crept into Maedhros’s cool commander-face.

“No. Guruthos.”

“Nelyo-Reccarfinwë!” Maglor countered.

“No.”

Yet even Maedhros at his sternest could not silence the greatest Singer of the Noldor. Maglor called after the departing aide with a voice that rang like crashing bells across Himring’s muster-ground and beyond, “That honorable moose is named Nelyo-Reccarfinwë!”

“For stars’ sake,” Maedhros hissed, “at least use Sindarin!”

“I mean Nelregfin!” Maglor corrected hastily—then dodged, no less hastily, his brother’s kick to the back of his knee.

“Hey,” he complained. “Leave something for the orcs—ah! Okay! I must attend to my own troop, now!” He narrowly dodged an earnest Himringer’s attempt to grapple him for their lord, ran toward his own horse and called over his shoulder, “We’ll ride ahead and meet you at the ambush! I can’t wait to see your new mighty steed in action!”

[mahtariel-of-himring]

When Elrond stepped upon the ship that was to take him, Galadriel, Gandalf, Bilbo, Frodo and a few others to Valinor he was nervous. So long had imagined what it might be like, and for some time even questioned if he would ever sail.

But here he was, stood upon their ship with the undying lands finally in sight after months of sailing across the unending ocean. He might be a mariners son but he certainly had no great love for boats, he didn’t have a problem with them, but the knowledge of not having ground beneath his feet still made him uneasy.

At their arrival many awaited them, to welcome the newcomers into the blessed lands.

High King Arafinwë, in Middle Earth better known as Finarfin, and his other children had come to welcome Galadriel.

Gandalf reunited with some old Maia friends of his and then escorted the hobbits that had joined them to a nice little cottage for them to spend their days in.

He himself recognized many of the faces in the small crowd. First he spotted Gil-Galad, who welcomed him with open arms. Then his beloved Celebrian, who pulled him into a hug the moment he saw her, she was much better now.

A few soldiers of Rivendell were there as well, happy to see their Lord again.

Elrond ended up settling in Tirion with all the others and moved into Celebrian‘s home. It was a nice house with a good view and easy access to the marked and other nearby shops and market places.

Tirion was flawless. The white towers with their pointy roofs, the elegant guards with their silver spears, the marked place with its various stalls and merchants.

He met many of his ancestors, some he got along with and some he didn’t.

The first he met was Turgon, it took half an hour for them to end up in an argument about the moralities of handling delicate situations within one‘s own city and when to help those in need.

Luckily his second meeting went much better. His great grandfather, Fingolfin, was much more sensible and they got along quickly due to their shared knowledge on leadership and experience of hardships throughout their lives. Though the late High King did comment to his wife Anairë later about how he was sure he‘d bite his teeth out on Elrond eventually, comparing his stubbornness to someone else’s.

When he at last met Fingon it took the elf exactly five minutes to ask if he had been raised by Maedhros. To this day Elrond didn’t understand how he did it, for he himself wasn’t aware of the small details. Like how he did his hair exactly like the fëanorian had or that he held himself with something of Valinorian regalness he definitely didn’t pick up in Lindon.

But as time went on Elrond began to realize something.

Tirion was truly perfect.

Too perfect.

Everyone seemed to have collectively decided to ignore any pains and hardships experienced in Middle Earth or Beleriand and live their lives as if everything was perfectly fine.

When bringing this up to Gil-Galad he just said that they preferred it that way, even if it wasn’t perfect, not everyone had made the journey and seen war, and those who didn’t weren’t comfortable of discussing or displaying it.

The more time Elrond spend in the white city the lonelier he felt. It seemed as if he was the only one prepared to speak of or even mention anything of the things that happened to so many of them.

The more he realized that the more he felt out of place.

Because he wasn’t perfect, he was far from it actually.

He had gone through things most couldn’t imagine in their worst nightmares and had seen horrors he wished he could forget.

He had seen his city attacked, had been kidnapped, even though that did turn out positively in the end. Had witnessed war and bloodshed from young on, had served as Herald and later taken on the mantel of Lord. He had seen so much that he just couldn’t ignore.

So one day he mounted his horse and rode out of Tirion. He didn’t have a destination or any idea where he was going but he just kept riding until he was exhausted.

When he looked up he saw a large city with high towers, but no pointy roofs were atop them, instead there stood guards. The walls weren’t made of white stone and marble but steadfast and resistant cobblestone and tall pillars.

The front guards let him in after he explained his situation, and the moment he stepped through those gates it was as if he had entered another world. No excessive jewelry was worn, but rather detailed braids and head dresses or simple circlets.

Scars of all types were openly portrayed instead of covered up and hidden as if they were sometimes to be ashamed of.

Elrond saw elves with walking sticks and missing limbs and crippled bodies. They were warriors, they were survivors, they were the ugly but real truth, and it felt so relieving too see them.

He had no idea where he had ended up in, but he already knew it was much better than Tirion.

No one was putting on a fake mask of perfection and instead just acted as they truly were.

Elrond walked through the streets, talked with some of the locals and listened to their stories.

He heard everything from ex soldiers to healers like him to guards and even some escaped thralls of Angband.

It was so much better than the flawlessly perfect white city. It wasn’t fake.

Elrond ended up in what seemed to be a throne room. At the end of it stood a elf, dressed in a long robe, his hair littered with many braids and a elegant silver hammer in hand.

His eyes were of piercing grey and his hair as black as the night, but his gaze familiarly gentle.

Elrond knew before he spoke.

Elrond knew before he looked up.

Elrond knew before he stepped closer.

Elrond knew before he even acknowledged him.

He knew where he was, and he knew he would stay.

[fflewddur-feanorion]

“There is still hope for you,” Eönwë says out of the blue. He has approached silently, and now stands behind Maglor with his hands carefully folded. (He’s trying to look unthreatening. This would work better if he remembered to put away his wings.)

“Oh, really?” 

“Yes.” Eönwë’s eyes are piercing, but not in the usual way. They cut right through Maglor unimpeded, like an arrow fired from extremely close range. “I heard your conversation with your brother. I know you have considered breaking your Oath.”

Maglor’s heart leaps with pride. He– not Maedhros– was the one to suggest abandoning the Oath. Maedhros has always been the good brother. He did not burn the ships. He searched for the children in the forest. But he has turned out to be just as stubborn and desperate as the rest of them, and that gives Maglor no small amount of happiness. “What would you have me do?” he asks carefully. “If I left the Silmarils behind, do you honestly think Valinorë would welcome me home with open arms?”

“No.”

“You are exceedingly persuasive,” Maglor drawls. He drapes himself over a nearby rock, partly because he is extremely tired and partly to see the scandalized look on Eönwë’s face. Inexplicably, Eönwë blushes. “I am trying to help you.”

“Unsuccessfully, I’m afraid.”

Even now, Maglor can feel the Silmarils tugging at him. Maedhros described the feeling as hunger, but it’s more like an itch that won’t go away. Like walking through a tunnel with a too-low ceiling. Hunger kills. The Oath does not. He could walk away right now and survive. (He won’t walk away. That might kill him in the end.) 

“Look,” he says at last. “We both know what will happen tomorrow. You should just… stop talking to me. Try to salvage your relationship with the other elves.”

“The other elves do not like me,” Eönwë says gloomily. “They say I am unsettling.”

Maglor laughs, then tries to cover it up with a cough. Eönwë is unsettling. His words always echo. He never seems to tire. And then there are the wings… “Don't worry,” he says. “You're good. Genuinely good. They'll learn that eventually.”

Eönwë glares. Static crackles in the air. “Why won’t you listen?”

Maglor is listening. Maglor listens to everyone. He takes note of their desires, hopes, and dreams– and then disregards them to do as he pleases. (Most people think him careless. He isn’t.) “I have a question,” he says. “Are you able to leave Manwë?”

Judging by Eönwë’s horrified expression, Maglor might as well have told him to cut his head off. “I would never.”

“Of course. I’m not insinuating anything.” Maglor doesn’t know where this line of questioning originated, but he is determined to follow it to the end. “I just want to know if you could.”

“Possibly.” Eönwë stares at the horizon. The air is thick, like soup. A few stars twinkle through the smog. “A bond between a Vala and Maia is extremely powerful. But it is meant to be a partnership, not an entrapment. Not like your Oath.”

“I’m not trapped,” Maglor protests. He feels his face heat. “I could break the Oath if I wanted to.”

“Then leave.”

“You leave.”

There’s a tense, awkward silence. They both look at the horizon. For once, Maglor knows exactly what Eönwë is thinking: they could run away right now and no one would stop them. They could wander deep into the heart of the forest and stay there until the world forgot about them.

But at the end of the day, neither of them want to run. 

Maglor will keep his Oath. He is the captain of a sinking ship, and Eönwë has offered him a lifeboat. But Maglor would rather go down with the ship than face the open ocean.

Eönwë meets his eyes— really looking at him for the first time— and nods solemnly. Maglor nods back. Then he ambles off to find Maedhros, humming a tune as he goes.

[finmoryo]

Tonight's random horrible Eol/Curvo AU that came to me (sadder and more violent than usual)

Celegorm and Curufin have an argument in Himlad about Curufin's failed love life.

Curufin disappears after a fit of rage that sends him into the forest to be alone.

After a few days, he sends out search parties, to no avail.

Celegorm keeps trying and eventually sends a letter to Maedhros. Maedhros is furious and worried.

They send out more search parties. The one to the borders of Nan Elmoth never comes back.

Celegorm goes to search himself and finds the edges of the forest silent and devoid of animal life, with thick trees blocking any path forward.

Further beyond those trees, he sees a glint of silver. All that remains of his scouts is a single sword wrapped in vines.

Celegorm tries to push past, climbing over every obstacle, but the enchanted forest refuses to grant him entry. He's forced to give up. Maedhros's forces gave up years ago, having the Siege of Angband to occupy them instead.

He grieves for his brother, until one day when some of his soldiers report Curufin riding north out of Nan Elmoth.

Celegorm meets him halfway. Except, it isn't Curufin. He struggles to say a word when the elf appears, a carbon-copy of his younger brother in all but the eyes, which are dark and troubled. Against his chest is a small elfling with a cold stare and Curufin's frown.

The elf, barely an adult, introduces himself as Celebrimbor and the younger one as his brother Maeglin. Curufin's sons. He has Curufin's sword by his side and Curufin's favorite rings on his fingers.

He claims that Curufin is dead, slain by Eol months before. He'd told his sons of their family and the silmarils before he led them to escape. The forest was too tainted by evil, and the three were caught by vines and roots before they'd gotten far. Eol had killed Curufin in a fit of rage then and taken his sons back and locked them up. Clever Celebrimbor bided his time, then took his brother and escaped whilst Eol was away and spilled his blood on the trees along the way, satisfying their dark urges.

Celegorm invites them back to the settlement and has rooms prepared for them and a healer brought.

He waits until they're settled in and safe before arming himself to the teeth and setting up watches around the border.

A few days later, Eol appears. Celegorm strikes him down without a word, planting his spear through the other elf's heart. Eol curses him and his entire family as he dies.

The body is burned and Celegorm goes back home. Celebrimbor stares when he sees the blood covering his uncle's hands but says nothing.

Celegorm writes to his brothers and raises his nephews like his own sons. They're spoiled and praised by their uncles. Relations with Doriath have never been worse.

In the end, death and darkness claims them all. Maeglin dies during their escape in the Dagor Bragollach, and Celebrimbor's kind heart brings him to ruin in Eregion.