#Maedhros is shown to give up the crown

[eloquentsisyphianturmoil]

POV your girlfriend puts the devil to sleep and you opt to steal his treasure instead of killing him.

My dad casually says ‘[Beren] could’ve killed [morgoth].’

Yes, Beren wasn’t considering this possibility. But: why not? I will not call Beren self-serving. But he clearly was not serving the war effort.

Very few of Tolkien’s characters are proactively good, and very few are proactively evil.

One cannot seperate morally passive characters.

[eccentricmya]

It's interesting how, in the Maedhros poll, everybody believes he started out as a good person. Whether he later turns into a misguided soul, or an anti-hero, or an anti-villain, or straight up villain is up for debate. But the consensus on him being morally good at the beginning is unanimous (or that is how it seems to me, given how I favourably worded the poll).

I find this fascinating because I disagree. I don't think he was ever a good person; he wasn't evil but he wasn't good good.

He showed loyalty and care towards his loved ones, yet he never went out of his way to help others, nor was any particularly good deed attributed to him. Have we seen him interacting in good faith with people outside the Noldor? (But he looked for Dior's twins! Did he find them though? It's the thought that counts! Well, his thought might as well have been to capture them for ransom, who knows?)

Some examples of a character being good are Fingon, he gambled his own life to rescue Maedhros, swept in at Alqualonde thinking the Noldor were being unjustly attacked. Even Caranthir is shown to possess compassion when he rescued the Haladin. Maglor famously slew a traitor, fostered their enemy's twins, and argued to break the Oath. Finrod was often found mingling with Men and willingly walked into the enemy's lair and thus to his death, all to repay a life-saving grace.

Amidst all this, what has Maedhros done to be called 'good'? He stood aside at Losgar but did not take any action to stop it or remedy it. Indeed, he stood aside at all for Fingon, not for Idril, or Finduilas or any of the others. Then he 'begged forgiveness for the desertion in Aman' and gave up his crown to keep peace, but the question arises, why could he not ensure harmony between the factions if he was King and repenting? Was it fear of his faction's arrogance or the distrust of the other? But a king is he that can hold his own, and Maedhros knew he could not do that. I think this act was a play at leaving with his head held high than to have himself be dispossessed of it. He might not be power hungry but he was pride-driven.

Then came the Dagor Bragollach. Most of the Fëanorions are driven out of their strongholds. Where was Maedhros? We have Finrod trying to help his brothers, while he himself is saved by Beor in turn. And in the end, it is Fingolfin challenging Morgoth to get revenge, if not reprieve, for his people. Where was Maedhros? He did deeds of surpassing valour to defend his own fortress. The narrative never has him extending a helping hand to anyone.

Then comes the Union of Maedhros, the alleged helping hand. An attempt to gather Beleriand together to fight against Morgoth. But was it to defeat the Enemy once and for all, ridding the people of his tyranny? Or was it to retrieve the Silmarils? Here too, Maedhros was asking for help, not giving it. Maedhros and his brothers only ever stood against the Vala because of their Oath and personal vendetta. It was never about 'oh but Morgoth is the enemy of all free people'. Their reasons were not altruistic.

Maedhros was never portrayed as virtuous or kind or empathetic. His descriptions in canon (if we can rely on its consistency) all leaned towards how lethal he was. That is not the mark of a good person. It is easy to forget Alqualonde in light of Doriath and Sirion, but never was it said that Maedhros did not kill in the first kinslaying. If the text could note him standing aside at Losgar, if 'good person' Maedhros ever aimed to maim instead of kill at Alqualonde, we would've known. But it didn't happen. He willingly shed blood, made no attempts to diffuse the situation, and agreed with his father 'to seize all the ships and depart suddenly' while leaving the rest behind. All this before his capture and trauma induced personality changes.

He did repent some things: the desertion of Fingolfin, Doriath, Elured and Elurin (note the lack of Alqualonde and Sirion). His repeated offences though, minimise any redemptive value this could've held. Moreover, did he ever send aid to the refugees at Sirion? Did he ever compensate all those who lost their loved ones on the Ice? So did Maedhros truly repent or was it again the thought that counts?

Maedhros may not have started with sins staining his records, but he also did not start with virtues painting him golden. He was deemed a good guy, simply by virtue (one of very few) of not being a bad one.

[thelordofgifs]

Sending an ask rather than using the tags, due to length!

High-Kingship really hasn’t let Fingon shine—he’s a champion! Point him at a monster, he’ll slay it; show him someone in distress, he’ll save them; tell him about hidden treasure, he’ll even make a good effort at retrieving it. But he can’t go about as freely as he had as Crown Prince, he’s got too many responsibilities! And he can’t be everywhere at once, so he has to run around putting out fires, setting aside tomorrow’s problems for the more immediate ones of today.

Then M&M: Shall we ever save each other?

You previously posted about not being sure what the themes of TFS are, and I think I have identified one: inevitability, the sense that even knowing things is not enough, like how Namo had already revealed the Doom of the Noldor to them even on the eve of their exile, and even with such foreknowledge they could not defy their fate, and in some ways how their reactions to it only turned it into a self-fulfilling prophecy. Curufin can recognize that he’s making terrible decisions, but he can’t stop. Maglor knows the metanarrative of him and Maedhros, and he tries and tries but still can’t succeed. And on the flip side, you have also shown that it makes a difference how you face inevitability, from Celegorm’s redemption to Maglor’s desperate hope to Curufin’s ends justifying the means/sunk cost fallacy behaviour. And maybe also Maedhros’s future deliberate consideration of death, from the sneak peak into your future writing?

And to tell the truth, I actually feel as if Calaquendi developing execution as a final solution to problems actually makes sense? Like a sort of you’re beyond our ability to reintegrate into society, off to Mandos with you, let Namo sort you out?

I think that Thingol might see Fingon’s offer as a trap though, a sort of guilt by association thing, and if the Eöl incident comes out, then it’ll really look like a trap by tricking him into acknowledging the validity of the death penalty.

Firstly this made my day, thank you so much for this incredible detailed ask!!

Fingon’s characterisation was something that stumped me for a while, and even now my view on him is evolving as I write. When I introduced him into tfs it was more for what he symbolised than for how he might move the plot forward as a character in his own right: “hope beyond hope, music in the world’s endless discord, warmth unlooked-for in its frozen wastes”, which is a line as much about Maedhros’ feelings for Fingon as it is about Fingon himself. (Still one of my favourite lines in the fic, I’m very proud of it.) But the fact that Leithian takes place during Fingon’s brief reign is so fascinating to me: how did he react to it all? What was Fingon like, as a High King?

The early Quenta Silmarillion says:

"Of all the children of Finwë he is justly most renowned: for his valour was as a fire and yet as steadfast as the hills of stone; wise he was and skilled in voice and hand; truth and justice he loved and bore good will to all, both Elves and Men, hating Morgoth only; he sought not his own, neither power nor glory, and death was his reward."

Which, valid. (Also ouch.) Fingon’s great! Everyone loves Fingon! But is there scope, within this effusive praise of him, to give Fingon a slightly darker streak? I go back and forth on this – I am not trying to rewrite the silm as a modern grimdark fantasy, and the point here is not to give unambiguously heroic characters Moral Greyness. But, yknow. Fingon’s a Kinslayer. He isn’t as morally upstanding as his father. And you can’t really write honestly about him without acknowledging that.

Anyway, I tagged a post yesterday as “make Fingon fucked up 2023” and I think I was actually so right for that? By the time he’s become the High King, Fingon is amazingly lonely. All his immediate family is gone: Turgon and Aredhel vanished to Gondolin (and Aredhel is dead, though he doesn’t know that), Argon dead for centuries, and of course his father dead after suicidally challenging Morgoth to a duel.

In tfs I write Fingon as very angry about this. Why did his father leave him, after everyone else had already done the same? Why did he despair and throw his life away for nothing like that? (Fingon is always the antithesis of despair; his own death is not a futile one, he dies trying to do the right thing – and it’s only after his death that hope leaves Beleriand.) So then comes the idea that Kingship doesn’t come that naturally to Fingon – he’s a hero, a warrior prince, not a High King.

(I absolutely cannot take credit for this idea; there are many, many excellent fics that also take this tack with Fingon. I should probably make a separate post about the fics that inspired various parts of tfs at some point.)

Which isn’t to say that Fingon is a bad High King! He’s mostly sorted out Curufin’s mess quite effectively, after all. But he doesn’t enjoy any of it – he wants to be a fearless adventurer, a rescuer, a dragon-slayer, not a politician. And he has been trying, very hard, to put his duty above his personal desires: but the decision to execute Curufin is ultimately a failure to do that. (Does Curufin deserve it? Maybe. Would Fingon have made that decision if not for his anger on Maedhros’ behalf? Unlikely. Fingon is more willing than he should be to do terrible things for Maedhros’ sake. I drew the parallel with Eöl’s execution explicitly, because although I absolutely loathe and detest Eöl, I think Turgon’s decision to execute him was personal, motivated by the fact that Eöl had murdered Turgon’s sister and not some random citizen of Gondolin. Given the canonical taboo around Kinslaying, I don’t think elven realms executed people as a matter of course. Although that’s an intriguing point about how the Calaquendi might see it!)

This is already ridiculously long: putting the rest under a cut now.

M&M! My favourite tragic darling boys!! I’m so normal about them. Your points on inevitability are absolutely INCREDIBLE, you have somehow understood my fic better than I do myself so thank you so much! Although I will add that there are two vitally important characters you missed in your musings on doom: Fingon, who walked up to Angband with a bow and a song and a prayer and won back his beloved, who tells Melian that he is good at hope and tells Maglor that he is going to change the genre of story he is in (Fingon who canonically fails tragically at this and is beaten into the mire of his blood agdhsjdj); and Lúthien, who asks Maglor whether people have the power to rewrite their own dooms and asks Finrod how tight the strings of fate are after all, who rescues Beren from Sauron’s clutches and then wins the right to give up her immortality for him, whose story is titled Release from Bondage.

Anyway, I’m very glad you picked up on the line Shall we ever save each other? because what happened was I was staring at the screen going “say something cool and meaningful Maglor” and then he absolutely delivered. Maglor in tfs – well, my interpretation of Maglor generally, but I really lean into this in tfs – is absolutely defined by his failure to rescue Maedhros from Angband. It informs every single decision he makes. And so he knows that he is not good at saving Maedhros, that there is no particular reason why he should be able to pull Maedhros out of his delusion, but he tries anyway. And expends every single drop of strength he has left on it, and succeeds.

(A detail I’m proud of: the scene between them in part 15 is a deliberate mirror of the last time they met, back in part 3. There are a lot of small repeated phrases: fingers “idly combing” through hair, musings on that one particular line from the Doom of Mandos, the final significant decision to give the Silmaril away.)

But there is still so much mutual trauma in their relationship: the fact that Maglor didn’t rescue Maedhros and the fact that Maedhros went to the parley in the first place (“I dreamed you left me, or else I you”), that Maglor was injured trying to save Maedhros from Carcharoth and then Maedhros left him in Menegroth, that Maedhros has just spent several days thinking Maglor was dead and that he did actually stab him. They love each other a lot, but that isn’t necessarily enough. (It might be! Maglor successfully resisted the Oath for Maedhros’ sake, after all. But also: Maedhros couldn’t take Thingol up on his “the Silmaril or Maglor” offer.)

ok I’ve spent well over an hour on this jumbled mess of thoughts I’ll stop here. Thank you so much for this amazing thought-provoking ask! And I am always more than delighted to get tfs asks, so feel free to send more in! ❤️

[fuckingfinwions]

the end of a letter from Crown Prince Maedhros, lord of Himring, to his father, High King Feanaro, lord of Ethel Sirion, sole ruler of the Noldor

aka what if Harem-verse Fingon landed in the Rape Magic Slavery AU

In addition to the regular business discussed above, there is one more matter I must bring to your attention.

A week past, a second elf claiming to be Findekano son of Nolofinwe woke up in bed alongside the normal one. There are no other signs of intrusion into my fortress, though I have moved my bedroom and doubled the night watches to be sure. To all the tests I have devised, he is an Noldorin elf. (I have included a list of those tests and their results on the next page.) I do not deem the matter to be a threat at this time, and the second Findekano is much less skilled in combat than the one who has been here for centuries.

For clarity, I will call the new arrival “Cevamo” for the rest of this letter, and the one who has fought beside me so loyally and obediently “Fingon”. I admit it in inelegant to use a Quenya name in otherwise Sindarin writing, but given Cevamo claims not to speak the latter I deem it fitting.

Cevamo claims to be from a song that is similar to our own up through the arrival of the Noldor in Valinor, but changed melodies centuries ago. I have no source beyond his word, but I am skilled at telling when people were lying to me and I do not think he was.

In the Tirion Cevamo is familiar with, High King Finwe (may he soon walk again under the stars) saw that Nolofinwe would seek to usurp your place, long before Morgoth was released. Therefore he placed Nolofinwe in service to you, even from the day he came of age, to use even as you do now. That Tirion has never seen its people divided, with none to oppose thee in your rights.

In addition, Cevamo claims that male elves can get pregnant where he is from. (I have not tested this, but if you have a use for a grandson of Nolofinwe I will order Cevamo and Fingon to attempt it.) He claims that in the song he knows, he was born of Ngolfin and sired by Feanor, as were Aredhel and Turgon. He is aware though that he is not a prince or any sort of nobility, and instead exists for the use and pleasure of Feanor and his family. He also claims that the counterpart to myself bred him, and he bore a son. He is accustomed to staying in one wing of the palace and it’s courtyard, and speaking to no one except his father and brothers and the house of Feanor.

Cevamo is extremely biddable, and demands very little. He has stayed in my rooms the entire time save only for one trip to the training grounds to assess his skills, and has not complained about the restrictions. I have not attempted the spell on him for two reasons; I wished to wait for your commands, and I do not know what I could do that he would object to. Cevamo does not harbor any taboos, whether about acts or incest, though he expressed a fear of strangers.

The main weaknesses Cevamo has shown are that he has lived an incredibly sheltered life. He has never spoken to outsiders, for fear they would trick him into discontent with his lot. He has never held a sword, nor a bow, nor a spear nor can he fight with his bare hands. His horsemanship is adequate for a sunny day in a quiet field in Valinor. His education in music and dance is vast, but politics and history is very little. I am certain that Cevamo could not play the role Fingon currently does on our front lines, nor could he take over Fingon’s duties in court without Ngolfin or myself giving him every line.

Despite all this, I think Cevamo may be useful in the war. Morgoth does not have agents close enough to spy on our politics, but I have often routed orcs watching our fortresses. If Cevamo were to walk along the walls or go for short trips outside the city, Morgoth could be distracted from Fingon leading even a small army north to attack. In a year or so when Cevamo is a stronger rider, he could travel with me to Ethel Sirion, and Fingon could hold Himring; this would demonstrate to our people Ngolfin’s continued allegiance, while keeping the orcs hard-pressed. It’s true Cevamo would not know what Fingon would say, but he could be passed lines for a day or two and then retire with an “illness.” On a more personal note, Cevamo is very relaxing to interact with, and I hope to have him demonstrate to you and Ngolfin soon.

At the moment, the only ones who know of Cevamo’s presence are himself, my valet (who first saw him), myself, and Fingon. My valet does not know Cevamo’s alleged history, and does know better than to spread around what I’ve ordered him to keep private. I will keep this secret until I receive guidance from you on how to best use this strange occurrence for the glory of the Noldor and vengeance against Morgoth.

With deepest love and respect,

Prince Maedhros of Himring

[galadhremmin]

Fingon's vocal opposition and determination not to let Fëanor take full charge of the host (he's the one who shouts "Fools!" in response to the speech, and when the people support Fingolfin's claim of leadership over Fëanor's their condition is if he would go with them-- Fingon urges his father onwards) + Maedhros 'eagerly' springing forward to swear the Oath and apparently taking part not just in the kinslaying (there is not even a mention of his regret or hesitation here) but the following political struggle for control of the host while moving forwards (the Feanorians retain control over the ships from the start)...

honestly makes the importance they both seem to attach to their (at this point still more or less former, even!) relationship more remarkable and touching?

They do initially struggle against each other politically, they have entirely different opinions of the Valar (going by Fingolfin's + Fingon's "fools!"), but the moment Fëanor acts in a way that would separate them permanently (the ice is supposedly uncrossable) Maedhros refuses to participate. Note that there is no instance of his refusing to participate in the kinslaying. Now, to be fair to him (and Fëanor), the first kinslaying does not appear to actually have been planned as such. The plan was robbery, aided by superior, intimidating force; it escalated into murder when this was met by resistance. Though given how attached the Teleri had just explained they were to the ships fighting was a very predictable outcome... But no objection from Maedhros on the planned robbery. Or hesitation mentioned in the killing that ensues.

It's the separation that he objects to.

Staying in control of the ships, planning to sail first so the Feanorians would be the first ones to have arrived, giving them a tactical advantage and natural position of leaders in an unfamiliar, hostile land? He's with that. This is not, at this point, a character whose love for Fingon erases his belief that his father has the right to rule, not Fingolfin.

And yet.

The moment when dominating becomes abandonning he objects. Albeit passively.

Similarily Fingon is shown as if anything even more opposed to Fëanor (and Maedhros!) than Fingolfin is, though he unthinkingly rushes forward to save them anyway. When they are abandonned to 'whine their way back to the cages of the Valar' he presses onwards. He has, if anything, more reason to be angry. He is the one who rushed to their defense, though under the wrong impression it's true-- and now he's abandonned like 'needless bagage'? Well.

They might not even be alive without that needless bagage.

The preceding political struggle between Fingolfin and Fëanor for the Kingship might not make it look enough like treachery to Fëanor to care, he seems to consider Fingolfin's renaming and claim of leadership treachery itself-- but they absolutely owe Fingon their lives. He more than anyone else has reason to feel betrayed.

And yet he is the one who goes to search and free Maedhros, despite and because his people are so angry that there is peril of civil war. Okay this was supposed to be a Fingon Maedhros post but this is turning into a Fingon best boi post lmao. He truly shows altruism wrt Noldorin unification when at that point there was NO reason to believe Maedhros would relinquish the crown, and not just take up his father's kingship but with his gratefulness to Fingon hopefully preventing escalation while not really helping Fingolfin's claim to kingship at all. As well as love for Maedhros stronger than their different ambitions and beliefs and even what he at that point has no reason not to believe is full betrayal... ❤️

Of course a deeply cynical 'it's an official chronicle' read is possible in which he saves maedhros and holds him hostage with guilt as well as help in recovery until he can induce him to give the crown to Fingolfin in a public setting, stopping potential civil war from breaking out and gaining full control over the host for the house of fingolfin as he and his father wanted for the start but i'm not in the mood for that today. Proposed ship name for when you do feel like writing nightmare dead dove do not eat maedhros/fingon; russingohno!

[warrioreowynofrohan]

Vice and Virtue in Tolkien’s Works

I’ve been rereading Dante’s Purgatorio (easily my favourite of the three sections, both for having a very satisfying structure and for its themes of repentance and reform), and the structure inspired this post. Each level of purgatory has images, words, or both, associated with the vice being reformed and its corresponding virtue (the examples being drawn both from the Bible and Greco-Roman history and mythology) and it gave me ideas for a discussion of similar themes in Tolkien’s works.

The structure is: 1) Pride/Humility; 2) Envy/Generosity of Spirit; 3) Wrath/Charity; 4) Sloth/Zeal); 5) Avarice/Simplicity; 6) Gluttony/Abstinence; 7) Lust/Romantic Love.

1) Pride/Humility

Saruman: Our time is at hand: the world of Men, which we must rule. But we must have power, power to order all things as we will, for that good which only the Wise can see.

Frodo: I will take the Ring, though I do not know the way.

This is easily the primary emphasis in Tolkien’s works. The fall of all his main villains (Morgoth, Sauron, Fëanor, the Númenoreans, Saruman) and as well as other non-villainous tragic characters (Túrin, Thingol, Turgon, Thorin, Denethor) is characterized by pride - the desire to be the one calling the shots, the desire for greatness and others’ recognition of that greatness, the refusal to listen to the advice or views of others.

It’s there in Melkor’s desire for his theme to be the only one heard in the Music; in Sauron’s desire to rule the world and arrange everything as he thinks best; in Fëanor’s determination to take any advice, correction, or disagreement as a personal attack, his desire for rulership in Middle-earth, and his attitude that the Silmarils are more important than anything anyone else has done or created; the late-stage Númenoreans’ campaign of imperialist conquest. It’s there in Túrin’s, Thingol’s, and Turgon’s rejection of good advice; in Thingol’s attitude towards other peoples, whether it’s Beren or the dwarves; in Denethor’s conviction that Gondor is the only place and people of any account in the war against Sauron.

Humility, in contrast, is mainly seen in the form of hobbits. None of them have any idea what they’re doing when they leave Rivendell (Sam and Pippin don’t even know where Mordor is), and they know they’ve got no idea. They’re not going because they see themselves as specially skilled or qualified, but because it needs to be done. And that’s the very reason Frodo can resist the Ring so long, and Sam can resist it, because they don’t have any grand ideas of themselves.

The ability to say I don’t know what I’m doing, but I’ll try to do what’s right is pretty crucial to humility; even members of the Fellowship who are far more experienced, skilled and knowledgeable than the hobbits show it. Aragorn says it, in the search for Merry and Pippin when they’re captured by orcs. Pride could easily say I need to go with the Ring-bearer, that’s the most important task or I need to go to Gondor and lead the war against Sauron as their King. But Aragorn lets himself trust in other people doing their parts, and focuses on rescuing his companions - the thing that no one else is a available to do - even as the chase seems increasingly hopeless. It’s also seen in Gandalf, who openly admitted he was scared to go when the Valar first sent him, and wandered around as an old man in a battered cloak and hat, talking with everyone, rather than setting himself up as a Respectable Dignified Authority Figure the way Saruman did.

The Silmarillion has fewer examples of humility than LOTR (perhaps why things turn out so much worse there) but there are a few in the Leithian. Lúthien is another case of saying I don’t know what I’m doing, but I’ll do it because no one else will when she sets off to rescue Beren. Finrod walks away from his crown and realm to help a friend.

2) Envy/Generosity of Spirit

Denethor: I will not step down to be the dotatd chamberlain of an upstart.

Faramir: My lord, you called me. I come. What does the king command?

Envy is akin to pride, but I’m characterizing it as being specifically the resentment of being surpassed (or even equalled) by another.

Fëanor is again a major example of this, specifically in his resentment of Fingolfin and of the descendents of Indis more generally. Peoples of Middle-earth notes that he resented the name Nolofinwë (Fingolfin’s Quenya name, roughly means ‘wise-Finwë or ‘learned-Finwë’) due to regarding himself as not only the most skilled of the Noldor at craftwork (which he was), but also the most skilled at lore/scholarship (which he wasn’t), and likewise resented the name Arafinwë (Finarfin’s Quenya name). He’s in a mental place of resenting anything positive that can be said about his brothers as if it inherently detracts from him. And he takes the same attitude towards Men (‘No other race shall oust us!’), treating their very existence as a threat to the Eldar. Losgar is the peak of this: he’s willing to sabotage his own war effort to prevent Fingolfin from participating. This is contasted with Maedhros’ attitude after being rescued by Fingon, when he willingly gives up the crown and, later, moves across Beleriand to the most exposed section of the northern border to avoid conflict. His own status isn’t his priority; peace with his family and the best interests of the war against Morgoth are his priorities.

Denethor is another major example, seeing both Aragorn’s return and Faramir’s respect for Gandalf as personal affronts to himself. (Gandalf points out that the literal job description of a steward is to be in charge until the king returns. When the king comes back, that means you’ve done your job, not that you’re being demoted. Denethor is not interested in hearing this.) He’s also mentioned in the Appendices to have resented the respect and admiration recieved by Thorongil [i.e. Aragorn in disguise] during the days of their youth. In very similar ways, Saruman resented the high regard that some (like Galadriel) had for Gandalf, and saw Gandalf as a rival. Thorongil and Gandalf were not interested in rivalry; they were more interested in what was achieved than in who was achieving it. Faramir is the contrast here - he is interested in the good of Gondor, not his own status, and has no jealousy of Aragorn.

3. Wrath/Charity

Fëanor: See, half-brother! This is sharper than thy tongue. Try but once more to usurp my place and the love of my father, and maybe it will rid the Noldor of one who seeks to be the master of thralls.

Gandalf: It was Pity that stayed Bilbo’s hand; Pity, and Mercy, not to strike without need.

I would say that this is the third-most-emphasized of the vices in Tolkien’s works, after pride and avarice. And, of course, another Fëanor example: both his threat on Fingolfin’s life and his actions during the Return of the Noldor, the latter being driven by wrath primarily against Morgoth and secondarily against everyone else in his vicinity (Valar! Teleri! Fingolfin and anyone who supports him!). It’s the spillover that’s the problem, and the self-centredness; hating Morgoth isn’t a problem in and of itself, but Fëanor’s taking the fight against evil and turning it into a personal vendetta, with disastrous consequences.

Túrin is another example, most particularly in three events: causing the death of Saeros, burning the hall of Brodda in Dor-lómin, and killing Brandir. The former two are provoked, the latter isn’t, but all of them are sudden deeds of anger that only serve to make matters worse.

The contrasting virtue is charity, mercy shown to people that you have good reason to be hostile towards. Fingon’s rescue of Maedhros. Lúthien’s sparing of Curufin when he and Celegorm attacked her and Beren. Frodo sparing Gollum and treating him with kindness and compassion.

4. Sloth/Zeal

Guard Hobbit: It won’t do no good talking that way. He’ll get to hear of it. And if you make so much noise, you’ll wake the Chief’s Big Man.

Merry: Shire-folk have been so comfortable so long they don’t know what to do. They just want a match, though, and they’ll go up in fire.

This is comparatively less of an emphasis in Tolkien’s works than some of the other pairings, but I can think of some examples. The best one is Saruman’s takeover of the Shire and the subsequent liberation. Sloth is the characteristic hobbit vice (not gluttony; I’ll get to that); they tend towards being comfortable and complacent and don’t like being bestirred. Even Frodo dawdled around for half a year after learning about the Ring, mostly because he was reluctant to go. And under first Lotho and then Saruman, everyone (except Tooks) more or less puts up with an abuses because they don’t want the trouble or danger of standing up against them. It’s the return of Merry, Pippin, Sam, and Frodo, who have experience fighting evil on a much larger scale (and who can organize things) that spurs them to stand up for themselves and their home.

5. Avarice/Simplicity

Celegorm: For the Silmarils we alone claim, until the world ends.

Gandalf: I wonder what has become of [the mithril-shirt]? Gathering dust still in Michel Delving Mathom-house, I suppose.

Avarice is, I would say, the second-most-emphasized vice in Tolkien’s works, after pride. The central conflicts in both The Silmarillion and The Lord of the Rings are objects (they’re in the titles!): the Silmarils and the Ring. The Oath is almost the strongest possible expression of avarice, the most extreme statement of this is mine that a person can make; The Ring is an even more extreme expression, as Sauron makes an object that is literally part of himself. And both conflicts are resolved through the renunciation of claim on these objects, in Eärendil’s journey to Valinor (and the Silmaril becoming a star that is seen by everyone and owned by no one) and Frodo and Sam’s mission to destroy the Ring.

The Silmarils themselves are not evil; they are good and hallowed objects, and fights between elves, dwarves, and men are the result of the Oath (the kinslayings) and the connection with the dragon-contaminated and Mîm-cursed treasure of Nargothrond (Thingol and the dwarves of Nogrod). The Ring is evil, and inducing avarice is its most basic power, even among people like Sméagol and Déagol who could never actually wield it; letting it go is incredibly difficult, and Bilbo and Sam are the only people in the history of the Ring ever to do it.

Avarice is also a central theme in The Hobbit, and dragon-treasure is specifically noted as provoking avarice in people who are in any way inclined towards that vice. Smaug is practically a physical manifestation of avarice in his rage over losing one small cup that he has no use for from an immense hoard, and both Thorin and the master of Lake-town fall prey to the dragon-sickness.

I’ve given ‘simplicity’ as the antonym, and I thought of ‘generosity’ as well, but neither of those is quite right. The opposite of avarice is holding lightly to things, and it’s a particular virtue of hobbits. This is seen both in their birthday parties (the tradition of giving away possessions) and the Michel Delving Mathom-house, a museum for old heirlooms that people feel they don’t need to have around. The most beautiful example is Bilbo’s mithril-shirt (worth more than the entire Shire!) spending some time sitting around there.

It’s worth nothing that the vice of avarice in Tolkien’s works isn’t associated with having stuff, just with holding to stuff. Bag End being comfortable isn’t a problem. The Noldor having piles of jewels isn’t a problem provided that they’re sharing them and letting them go, as in the Noontide of Valinor (gemstones scattered on the seashore!) or Finrod giving them away in Middle-earth. The issue comes when the owning becomes what a person values; the signal that Fëanor is becoming too tied to the Silmarils is when he prefers to lock them away so no one else can see them.

6. Gluttony/Abstinence

Gollum: He’ll eat us all, if he gets it, eat all the world!

The lembas had a virtue without which they would long ago have laid down to die. It did not satisfy desire...and yet this waybread of the Elves had a potency that increased as travellers relied on it alone and did not mingle it with other foods. It fed the will, and gave strength to endure...

Gluttony is distinguished from avarice as the desire to consume things, not merely accumulate them. This is an interesting one, because Tolkien has no issue with the consuption of large amounts of food for enjoyment (which hobbits do frequently and enthusiastically!). As with possessions, enjoyment of physical things isn’t seen as problematic. The enjoyment of everyday pleasures is specifically discussed as morally desirable in a way that contrasts with avaricious accumulation (“If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world.”)

However, there is one large (very, very large) example of the concept of gluttony as unlimited consumption and appetite: Ungoliant. Ungoliant represents not the hoarding of things, but their destruction, and is continually described with very physical terms of appetite and devouring. Shelob and the spiders of Mirkwood are lesser versions of the same concept. There are other mosters in the same vein: Sauron’s werewolves and Carcharoth. On of the names for Carcharoth is Anfauglir, the Jaws of Thirst, specifically invoking the idea of insatiable consumption.

And gluttony can be described more broadly as an form of overconsumption which uses up or destroys things; pollution could be a modern-day example. Looked at in that way, gluttony can be considered the end-stage of all evil in Tolkien, in the same way that pride is its beginning-stage. The ruin of the Anfauglith, the Desolation of the Morannon, the trees of Fangorn used to feed the fires of Isengard or hacked down for no purpose (and even Losgar, if you like) are all its work. Gollum (heavily driven by mundane hunger) grasps this when he fears Sauron regaining the Ring: “He’ll eat us all, if he gets it, eat all the world!” Ungoliant is the final stage of all evil.

In the same way that hobbits enjoying ample meals isn’t treated as a moral flaw, abstinence isn’t particularly notable as a virtue. However, it does come up in forms like Sam noting that lembas provides more endurance as the hobbits rely on it solely in their final journey to Mordor. This indicates that Tolkien regards the ability to go without physical pleasures when necessary as a virtue (also symbolized by Sam’s heartrending decision to give up his cooking gear!) but doesn’t place value on ascetism for its own sake.

If we want to expand on the metaphorical idea of gluttony as overconsumption/destruction, then we can also see healing/restoration as its opposing virtue, in forms like the box of soil that Galadriel gives Sam, which he uses to restore the trees of the Shire.

7. Lust/Romantic Love

Celegorm became enamoured of [Lúthien]...they purposed to let the King perish, and to keep Lúthien, and force Thingol to give her hand to Celegorm.

Beren: Though all to ruin fell the world, and were dissolved and backward hurled, unmade into the old abyss, yet were its making good, for this - the dusk, the dawn, the earth, the sea - that Lúthien for a time should be.

Lust is often regarded simply as a term for physical attraction, and its condemnation as a type of prudishness, but I’m going to present a different take, one that draws on its connection with the two preceding vices (the three are consistently grouped together by Dante). Lust is when the two previous desires, of ownership and consumption/use, are applied not to objects but to a person.

It’s an extremely rare vice among elves, with only a few examples in Elvish history: Celegorm, Eöl, Maeglin. In all cases, there is sexual desire combined with the desire for control, turning to violence when that control is thwarted: Celegorm’s imprisonment of Lúthien in the attempt to force her to marry him, and the later assault on her and Beren; Eöl’s restrictions on Aredhel and murder of her when she leaves him; Maeglin’s attempt to kidnap Idril during the Fall of Gondolin.

In contrast, the examples of romantic love, which are primarily the elf-human couples and especially Beren and Lúthien, combine desire with value for the freedom and identity of the beloved, and with self-sacrifice (or willingness to take on risks) for their sake. Beren’s song before setting out for Angband is a celebration of Lúthien’s existence, irrespective of what may happen to him. Lúthien counters with the expression that she does not want to exist apart from him, and purpose of lovers is to act together and to guard and support each other. Elwing runs through the waves to Eärendil on the shores of Valinor because she would rather face the same risks he does than be safe apart from him. Eärendil accepts immortality for love of Elwing. Arwen accepts death for love of Aragorn.

[sweetteaanddragons]

Where Is the Power that Made Your Pride?

Title is from Rudyard Kipling’s “What of the Hunting, Hunter Bold?”

(Also, please note that the following story is from Celegorm’s perspective. All views expressed therein are Celegorm’s opinions, not necessarily mine.)

. . .

Curufin had always talked fast. His ideas flowed far faster than his mouth could move, but that didn’t stop his mouth from desperately trying to keep up.

Their father had done it to a certain extent too, but their father’s innate respect for language had at least kept him intelligible. Curufin had no such boundaries, and when he got particularly excited, his words had a tendency to run together into a block of sound that left intense impressions on the listener’s mind without imparting anything so mundane as specifics. 

Celegorm was the only one who could reliably translate those rants. He was well used to decoding messages no one else thought of as language. He was the one who could capture his little brother’s brilliant ideas and summarize them for everyone else. Language was Celegorm’s portion of the family genius, and he was never more proud of it than then.

What had finally slowed his brother’s lightning mouth was Sindarin. Curufin had learned to speak it carefully, even through his scorn. He had refused to give anyone grounds to mock him for his ability with the tongue, and so he was careful to speak it perfectly, which precluded speaking at his closest approximation of the speed of thought. By the time he had learned the language perfectly, he was out of the habit.

Celegorm still held a grudge against Thingol for that.

Curufin was talking slowly now, painfully slowly, and Celegorm cursed not only Thingol but every member of his line as he knelt in the accursed halls of Doriath and held his broken brother in his arms.

“It’s . . . dark,” Curufin managed. “So dark.” His voice shook.

“It’s just the torches,” Celegorm soothed. “The fire went out during the fighting. That’s all.” It had been pure luck that he had stumbled over Curufin as he called for his brothers. Caranthir hadn’t answered at all. He was trying not to think about that.

“No.” Curufin’s voice was barely more than a terrified breath. “The Void. The Void - “

Celegorm clung even tighter to his brother, hoping that the shared warmth would convince his brother that he was not yet in the eternal chill of the Void. “You will not go to the Void,” he promised. He didn’t say his brother wouldn’t die. He could hear the strange hitches in his little brother’s breathing. He could feel how much warm blood was even now soaking through his brother’s tunics to his. He couldn’t change that now. Only this. “Be he foe or friend, be he foul or clean, brood of Morgoth or bright Vala, Elda or Maia or Aftercomer, Man now born upon Middle-earth, neither law, nor love, nor league of swords, dread nor danger, not Doom itself, shall keep me from redeeming our Oath. Our deed shall not fail, I swear to you. You will not be left to the dark.”

He was the one talking fast now, and it was just barely fast enough. Curufin’s breath was thin and desperate now.

Thin. Desperate.

Gone.

. . . 

By the time his men had finally managed to catch up to them, thankfully with torches, Celegorm had carefully lain his brother’s body and crawled onward. It had been possible, after all, that Caranthir was merely unconscious and might need aid.

The torches revealed the truth.

Caranthir had fallen on the far side of the room. His throat had been slashed messily.

Terrible technique, a coldly distant part of him noted. Nimloth was dead by Celegorm’s own hand, so presumably the one responsible was Dior, wounded to the point of death by Caranthir’s side.

If things had gone differently, he might have been my son.

He could walk over and finish him off. The king had mere minutes to live, all of them promising pain.

His brothers’ blood lay thick upon the floor.

He turned his back on the scene and looked to his followers. “What news?”

“We found his sons, my lord,” the captain said, shoving two young boys forward. “We’ve searched them thoroughly. Neither has the Silmaril.”

Celegorm looked at them for a long moment and tried to think what to do.

It was like that first terrible battle when they’d lost Ada and nothing had made any sense at all. He had been glad, so glad, that it was Maedhros’s role to be king, and then Maglor’s. It had been his role to hunt - hunt for orcs, hunt for food, hunt for a way to figure out the dark tongue Morgoth’s creatures spoke, hunt for a way into the terrible fortress -

And nothing had changed, he realized with something approaching relief. That was still Maedhros’s role, especially now that all that nonsense about giving up the crown was over and done with and they followed no one but Maedhros once more. It was Maedhros’s job to work out what to do. It was his job to hunt.

“Take them to Maedhros,” he ordered. “If they don’t have it, my father’s work must be with the daughter. I’ll hunt her down.”

. . .

The woods were thick with shadows and webs. The darkness had moved in quickly, eager to make up for lost time when Melian’s protection disappeared.

Celegorm had learned his art in the shadowed places outside the light of the Trees. He was well accustomed to hunting in the dark.

These days, he was even used to hunting with only the ghost of a hound’s footsteps at his side.

He had heard some whisper rumors that no hound would have him after Huan left him. Celegorm always wondered why they thought he’d given any other hound a chance. There was no possible replacement for Huan.

How far from here had Huan died?

He pushed the thought to the back of his mind where Caranthir’s ruined throat and Curufin’s terrified rasps rattled and waited to haunt his dreams. Later, he could think of them. Later, he could find a spot beneath the trees to hurl knives at the twisted wood until something else had as many holes ripped through it as he felt like he’d gained.

Later. But there was no room for distractions on a hunt.

. . .

He found them within hours. There were only two guards with the girl; they must not have run into any other survivors yet. They were out there, Celegorm knew. He’d run into other panicked trails through the woods.

He shot the first guard without thought. It came easily now.

Don’t worry, brothers, Father. I will not leave you in the dark.

He had another arrow nocked before the other guard turned around, not that such haste was fully necessary. The second guard’s arms were full of a little elleth, not a weapon.

“Give me the gem,” he ordered, directing his words to Elwing, not the guard. “Give me the gem, or I’ll shoot your guard and search you for it myself.”

She would be all alone in the woods then, and by her frightened eyes, she knew it.

The guard pulled her closer. “She’s a child, just a child, please - “

“And I’m not going to shoot her,” Celelgrom said agreeably. “Just you, if I don’t get my father’s work back. Now.”

He wasn’t sure quite how young Elwing was, but however young she was, it was too young to prize even the precious light of a Silmaril over the safe comfort of an adult’s arms. She opened her clenched hands, and light spilled out from them.

“Princess - “ the guard said.

She threw it.

Her arms were too weak to throw it far. It landed halfway between them, the light clearly visible even through the undergrowth. 

“Thank you,” Celegorm said. He raised his bow a bit higher. “Now I suggest you run.”

The guard took off immediately, the princess still safe in his arms. Celegorm waited until they were safely out of sight before he dared lower his bow and put the arrow back in his quiver. 

The gem was so close. It seemed impossible that he could just reach out and take it.

He stepped forward. Reached down.

And jerked his hand back as the light burned.

He stared down at the gem for a long moment.

It made sense, he supposed. A Vala had hallowed it, and the Valar weren��t exactly happy with them at the moment.

He used one of his knives to cut a strip off his tunic and wrapped the cloth around his hand before picking it up again. It still burned, but it was bearable, at least for long enough to drop it into his quiver since he didn’t have a better container at the moment.

His hand still burned, but that was alright. He could get it looked at when he got back.

And they were one step closer to keeping their vow.

. . .

Maedhros was dead.

Celegorm stared down at the light spilling from the quiver at his feet and tried to understand that.

For so long they’d stood invincible, he’d almost convinced himself that Ada would be their last loss, and now he’d lost three brothers in one day.

But he still had two little brothers to look after and Maglor to follow. He had to focus on that.

This war was a hunt, and he had to keep his focus until the very end.

. . .

Maglor kept them headed vaguely north. The Oath pulled them in that direction, but Maglor showed little inclination to actually get there.

Celegorm chafed at the pointless wandering, but even he had to admit that they need a plan before they attacked. Plans were now Maglor’s job, so he left that to him. 

Until then, Celegorm hunted. The twins rode out with him most days, and they brought in badly needed meat that grew ever harder to hunt down, even for skilled hunters such as they. 

Celegorm could hear what the animals murmured to each other, though there were fewer and fewer left to do it. The land was dying, bit by bit, and at this point he wasn’t sure even stopping Morgoth’s poison at the source would stop it.

Celegorm wasn’t afraid of dying. 

Not so long as he fulfilled his promise first.

. . .

The first they heard of Sirion’s fall was when Celegorm realized they were being followed by someone, and Maglor turned their people back to encircle the other camp, if it could even be called a camp. They’d crowded under the lee of a small hill for protection from bitter wind, but there was little supplies to give them more protection that that. 

It turned out to be Elured and Elurin, who had shown up with their nephews and about two dozen other injured, starving, exhausted people with orcs on their tail.

Of course there were.

The Feanorians outnumbered them and had the additional advantage of being comprised entirely of warriors. The other group held a few children and those who carried their weapons like they still weren’t quite sure what to do with them.

Maglor had been the one to let Elured and Elurin go free with a few captured Doriathrim guards, so it was Maglor who stepped forward, presumably on the idea that the frightened elves would be less likely to shoot him.

He was also the most diplomatic Feanorian brother remaining, though Celegorm found himself wishing fiercely that Maedhros was here for this.

“We have nothing,” Elured - Elurin? One of the two - called from where he stood protectively in front of his nephews. “We have no desire to fight. Let us go our own way. We bring no quarrel to you.”

“We want nothing,” Maglor said, a hint of soothing power in his voice, hands raised high and without weapons. Celegorm, safely hidden in the trees, had that taken care of for him. “Nothing but news. What brings you out this way and in such a company?”

“Morgoth’s forces have brought down Sirion,” the other twin said, wary, but willing to talk. As long as they were still talking, no one was fighting. “Most fled to the Isle of Balar, but we were cut off from the harbor. We had no choice but to flee. His forces ride hard against us still.”

“Then are you sure you wish us to go?” Maglor asked. “They cannot be far behind you now. Will you not accept aid in defeating them?”

It was an offer the beleaguered refugees could not possibly refuse, no matter how wary they were.

Celegorm’s grin was fierce.

At last, a proper fight.

. . .

It was a proper victory too, and the refugees ended up sticking with them after that. It was an awkward experience all around, but there was safety in numbers, or at least as much safety as anyone could get these days.

Celegorm kept the Silmaril well covered. 

No need to start another fight over its brilliant light.

. . .

They found out the Isle of Balar had fallen when Amrod and Amras came running back to camp with a report of a group of orcs dragging a line of elvish prisoners, one of whom they thought might be Gil-Galad, though it had been years since any of them had seen him - not since he was a child.

They attacked because they didn’t have better ideas and because, Celegorm suspected, Maglor, Elured, and Elurin had the same rising lump of dread in their throats that he did.

The attack was a success, more or less. The orcs were dead, at least, and they managed to save five of the prisoners, though Celegorm suspected at least one wouldn’t last the night.

Gil-Galad might make it, though. The orcs had been careful with him, probably because their master had wanted the fun of torturing the so-called king of the elves himself.

Gil-Galad reported the fall of the city in a blank voice. Elwing’s fate was unknown, a fact that cheered up her wide eyed children and worried her more worldly-wise brothers.

Celegorm felt an unwilling spark of sympathy. He remembered all too well when Maedhros’s fate had been unknown.

Then Gil-Galad announced his next bit of news, and all sympathy for outsiders fled.

Celebrimbor was dead.

Gil-Galad talked about how bravely he had fought as if that somehow made things better, as if they wouldn’t all have a hundred times over preferred it for Celebrimbor to run at the first sign of trouble, or for Celebrimbor to have been a little less brave in Nargothrond, all those years ago.

Follow the leader, Celegorm had told his nephew once on a hunt, when he’d been young and impressionable and mostly done as he was told. Stay with the pack.

But little Tyelpe had grown into stubborn Celebrimbor, and now he was gone.

At least his nephew wasn’t counting on Celegorm to save him from the Void.

. . .

Celegorm confronted Maglor in his tent. The question of power had been tricky since Elured and Elurin showed up and had only gotten more so with Gil-Galad’s arrival, but Maglor maintained the majority of it by virtue of commanding the absolute loyalty of the majority of the people wielding weapons. 

Maglor was the rightful leader anyway, but at least this way Celegorm only had to convince one person of his plan.

“We need to attack,” he said, and Maglor startled from his position of leaning over the battered map on an even more battered table.

“We have less than a hundred men,” Maglor said wearily. “If we couldn’t take Angband at the Nirnaeth, what makes you think we can do it now?”

“We can’t,” Celegorm admitted. “But if we can create a diversion outside the gates, we can sneak in and steal the Silmarils.”

Maglor stared at him for a long moment. “It’s a suicide mission,” he finally said.

Celegorm waved that off impatiently. “The whole continent’s dying,” he said. “We’re not getting out of this, you know that. But we can still keep our Oath.”

“Our Oath,” Maglor said bitterly and turned away.

Celegorm grabbed his arm. “I swore it again,” he said. “I swore it again as Curufin died in my arms, I swore I would not let him be devoured by the dark.”

Maglor closed his eyes and breathed deeply. His hands shook.

“Alright,” he finally said. “Alright. We’ve fought Elda and those born of Maia and Aftercomer, defied bright Vala and every law ever written. It’s time we fought dark Vala too.” His eyes opened. “But if we’re going to do this,” he said, “we’re going to do it right.”

. . .

Apparently, doing it right involved talking the others into not wanting to go gently into Mandos’s good night and then riding out to find as many of the small, desperate bands of Aftercomer, Eldar, and Naugrim that they could. If they were going to charge on Morgoth’s gates, Maglor wanted to make as much of a show of it as he could.

Celegorm wasn’t sure what number they got up to. It was still far less than they’d had at the Nirnaeth. It was still doomed, in every sense of the word.

But it would be distracting, and that was the main thing.

. . .

Maglor ceded leadership of the expedition to Gil-Galad, and Celegorm said not one word of protest. Elured and Elurin eyed them warily, but Celegorm just smiled.

These days, no one wanted to look at him when he did that, he’d learned.

Maglor couldn’t lead the expedition.

They’d need him for something far more important.

. . .

Amrod and Amras were the ones left to lead their men because it was decided that was the slightly less suicidal job, and the twins were the youngest, after all. Maglor and Celegorm were fully agreed on that; it was their job to protect them, one last time.

Celegorm was a hunter, and he was well equipped at finding game trails through places thought to be impassible.

Even if this time, the game trail in question had been made by orcs.

Below them, the free peoples of Beleriand made one last glorious charge. 

Meanwhile, Celegorm quietly led Maglor up the winding trail into Angband itself.

. . . 

Most of Morgoth’s forces were focused on the gate, so it was surprisingly easy to slip unnoticed to the throne room where Morgoth sat directing this last stage of the war.

His throne was at one end of a long hall, with thick pillars carved to look like agonized Eldar and Aftercomers groaning under the weight. 

Celegorm was relieved. Elves were hard to spot in hunting cloaks, no matter what the environment, and he was more stealthy than most, but this was would help his purposes immensely. 

Morgoth himself hurt to look at directly, so Celegorm didn’t try. Instead, he sidled to the side of the room, softer than a breath and noticeable as a dust mote while Maglor threw his cloak off and strode forward.

His brother had been beaten down by the war, but he was still a performer at heart. Even in the shabby finery that was the pathetic best the Noldor could still produce, he still commanded every eye in the room as he strode forward.

He didn’t bother wasting time with a formal challenge. Instead, he just burst into song.

The force of it nearly pushed Celegorm over, and it wasn’t even aimed at him. It must be costing Maglor enormous effort - too much to keep it up for long. And though Maglor was holding his own for the moment, with the added force of surprise on his side, against Morgoth surely it wasn’t doing much. His brother’s power was great, but he was no half-Maia brat to contend with a Vala.

And Morgoth would be warier now.

Any moment now, he would grow weary of this novelty and strike. Celegorm’s feet flew across the floor toward an appropriate position. His bow was ready at his side. He just needed the right angle.

And then two bright presences in his mind - distant, but always noted because it was always important to know where the rest of the pack was - went dark.

Amrod and Amras had fallen.

Maglor’s song faltered, and Morgoth smiled, opened his mouth - 

Celegorm raised his bow. The arrowhead that was nocked against it was dull but heavy. Very heavy.

He let it fly.

He had no illusions about killing Morgoth with it, but that was alright. He hadn’t aimed for Morgoth. Not exactly.

He’d aimed for his crown.

The iron monstrosity with its twin stars clattered to the floor.

In the moment of stunned silence that followed, the orc chiefs and twisted Maia stood frozen. Even Morgoth only stared.

Maglor renewed his attack.

Celegorm was already running.

He heard it when others finally started to move after him, but he hardly cared. He was the only one who’d known exactly when this moment would come - one of only two people who had known it was coming at all - and it didn’t matter if someone caught up with him in a few moments. 

A weapon whistled through the air. Celegorm hit his knees and skidded the last yard to the crown.

His brothers were counting on him. His father was counting on him.

Celegorm grabbed a gem in each hand, never minding the burn, just throwing back his head in a yell of triumph as he felt the Oath’s chain snapped.

He had one in his belt and one in each hand. All three gems were united in Feanorian possession once more.

There was no chance of prying the gems out of the crown, not in the time he had left, but there’d been an idea he’d been playing with ever since he proposed this mission, and he had nothing to lose now.

He let go of one of the gems and drew the third out of its pouch. His hand felt like he’d stuck it in lava, but it wouldn’t matter. Not for long.

The Silmarils were almost indestructible. The Valar had thought they could break one, and they were probably right, but Celegorm was no Vala.

He did, however, have a substance just as hard and powerful as the Silmarils in the crown.

Namely, another Silmaril.

Please, Ada. Let me be right. Let me do this one thing right.

He brought it crashing down with all his might on the Silmaril he’d let go of.

His whole world turned to fire, every fiber of him screaming out as the sacred fire scourged him, fused with him, and burst outward.

The clawed hand that had just reached him turned to ash.

Morgoth screamed out, and the sound ripped through whatever remained of his eardrums and twisted the world, because this was light undimmed, light unfiltered, light so holy that it was the antithesis of everything Morgoth was, and Celegorm didn’t know if this would kill the dark Vala, but it certainly seemed to be coming close.

Maglor screamed too, and it went on for just one agonized moment before his last brother’s light winked out.

The light built and burned and Celegorm would have been screaming if there was anything left of him that could -

And then everything was cool and dim, and Namo was looking down at him with an expression so stunned that even dead, all Celegorm could do was throw back his head and laugh and laugh and laugh.

[thelordofgifs]

🌶 >:)

(drop a 🌶️ and optionally a character/subject in my inbox and I’ll give you one of my spicy Tolkien opinions!)

ok another free shot! Here’s something I’ve been mulling a lot lately, between the decisions polls and TFS – Celegorm and Curufin were not, to begin with, wholly wrong in Nargothrond.

Hear me out! I am NOT condoning the majority of C&C’s actions, they’re generally pretty despicable. But I honestly can’t pin all the blame on them for their initial reaction to Beren showing up. Thingol was SO audacious in asking Beren for a Silmaril. These are cultural heirlooms of the Noldor, and very specifically the property of Fëanor’s sons – what right did he have to demand one? I have a bunch of headcanons about how Noldor-Iathrim relationships might have worsened in the wake of the Dagor Bragollach, which I won’t go into here because they’re mostly speculation, but at any rate Thingol knew what he was doing when he asked for a Silmaril, and it was a complete slap in the face to the Fëanorians.

So Beren shows up asking Finrod for help in stealing one of their father’s jewels so he can give it to Thingol of all people. Of course C&C were furious! How else should they have reacted to that insult? If you take the Oath as magical in nature, at least to some extent, and accept that it had been “sleeping” during the Long Peace, then Thingol’s actions have also woken it again, which can’t be pleasant. And then, the absolute icing on the cake: Finrod agrees to help Beren steal their property. I don’t fault them for being angry with Finrod. He was their cousin, and nominally on their side, after all! He even specifically acknowledges that the Silmarils are rightfully theirs, AND that they had shown him “friendship in every need” – in some drafts, they even came to Orodreth’s rescue during the fall of Tol Sirion. In Leithian it’s easy to feel for Finrod, watching as his people are turned against him; but I think it’s worth acknowledging that C&C must have felt equally betrayed by him, and also that he was planning to lead his people on a suicide mission. (There’s no way that Nargothrond actually had the strength to storm Angband, the Union of Maedhros didn’t manage it!) Those aren’t the actions of a responsible king (which is why imo it’s a good thing that he abdicated/threw his crown on the floor).

Of course, pretty much everything C&C do after the Twelve leave Nargothrond is indefensible. But the blame for the original incident does not, I think, lie entirely with them. (It’s Thingol it lies with Thingol.)

[lendmyboyfriendahand]

Headcanon: Maedhros and Finarfin grew up playing together.

Feanor never particularly loved his step mother and half siblings, but he didn’t really dislike them either until Fingolfin grew old enough to be a political rival. He mostly viewed them as "people who are also frequently at many of the same places I am", like workers in a different department of the same  business in a small town. You nod and acknowledge them, but don’t think about them the moment they leave sight.

Finarfin is 61 years younger than Feanor, and we know that Feanor married young. Given how many kids he and Nerdanel ended up with, I assume they started soon.

So when Finarfin was born, Feanor thought “Huh, this acquaintance (Indis) has a kid only a year younger than mine. If we take turns watching the babies, I can get a lot more work done.” Indis figured this was a good way to get Feanor to spend time at least near his siblings, and hopefully work up to “interacting with them on their own merits.”

By the time Fingolfin was an adult, Maedhros and Finarfin were already close friends. And it’s not like the tension appeared overnight, so there was a while where Finarfin and Maedhros just kind of ignored that their parents knew each other at all.

(Fic under the cut for length)

Maedhros and Finarfin were lying in the garden.

“So, what are you going to be when you grow up?” Maedhros asked

Finarfin replied immediately with, “The most emotionally well adjusted child of Finwe.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

”I like it as a goal.”

 “But it’s not a life path, like smith or parent or farmer or embroiderer or king.”

“Well, I’m not going to be king, that’s for sure.”

“Well I mean, of course neither of us will be. Finwe is king, and if he falls headfirst off the palace roof my dad would be king for a month or two until he returns from Mandos.”

“Don’t even joke about that!”

“Why not?”

“How would you like it if I said that if your dad died, we would all have a month or two of quiet?”

Maedhros sat up sharply and opened his mouth to yell, then carefully relaxed again. “I would be very angry, but I understand how annoying brothers can be.”

“Oh? What did Maglor do now?”

“It’s not Maglor, it’s Celegorm.”

“Isn’t he still a baby? What trouble can he be getting into?”

“He's into climbing things now. He got on top of the china cabinet the other day and pushed a plate onto my head.”

“Did he fall after he pushed the plate down?”

“No, not even when I yelled because it hurt.”

“That’s honestly impressive at his age. Maybe he’ll be an acrobat.”

“What do you know about babies? You’re the youngest brother.”

“Lots. Fingolfin has been reading all sorts of baby books since he got married, and brings up random fact every conversation. Did you know that eighty percent of infants calm down when shown the stars, and only thirty percent do if you point at the Tree-lit sky?”

“I did actually, my dad says it’s more ‘proof that the Valar are not infallible.’ He’s got a list going, you know.”

“I don’t want to the see the list, because then I’d have to get in a shouting match about my mom. I think it’s just proof that it’s a smart idea to raise babies in Aqualonde.”

“That would make it easier. Is Fingolfin going to go there?”

“No, he thinks it wouldn’t be living up to our royal titles to run away. Besides, he likes Tirion, and so does Anaire. I’m surprised your dad doesn’t go though.”

“He’s got at least as much of a royal title to live up to.”

“Yeah, but he mostly shows up to the feasts and ignores public opinion the rest of the time. If it’s better to raise kids in Alqualonde, I’m surprised you’re still in the city.”

“They said easier, not better, and my dad doesn’t do things just because they’d be easier.”

“Not usually, but I thought babies might be a different matter for him.”

“We’ll be safe and my mom will be safe; if there was any question of that he’d make the whole city move out of tree-light if he had to.” Finarfin nodded, and Maedhros continued. “Besides, he likes to think his kids are smarter than the average baby, obviously too smart to be subdued by a panacea.”

“Well, I like having you around, so I certainly don’t your dad staying here. But when I have kids, I want starlight available.”

“Taking shortcuts?”

“Not denying myself useful things for the sake of pride. Most emotionally stable child of Finwe, remember?”

“That’s still not a job.”

“Oh, like you have one either.”

“I’m going to be Duke of Formenos.”

“Isn’t your dad supposed to rule that as crown prince?”

“I mean yes, but he doesn’t want to because it’s out in the middle of nowhere. So he said he’ll give it to me when I’m grown.”

“I’m pretty sure that only the king can redistribute governance.”

“Technically yes, but he’ll give it to me if my dad asks and it keeps him nearby.”

“Thank you so much for reminding me which kid is my dad’s favorite.”

“I mean, if you wanted to give a title to someone I bet he’d do it too. You just don’t have any kids who like politics yet.”

“A title maybe, but not a real responsibility. I don’t even have any real responsibilities to fob off on future kids.”

“I bet Finwe is just out of ideas. Five kids is too many to come up with great purposes for all of them.”

“So how many would you have then?”

“I’ve got little brothers, I think I’m fine without more babies in my life.”

“Not even if your wife wants one?”

“If she is truly my other half, she know babies are annoying. What about you?”

“Four or five, I guess. Depends on what they’re like.”

“So if the first three are no good, would you try for more to make up for it, or assume you’re terrible at making kids and stop?”

“That’s not what I meant!”

“It’s what you said!”

“Even if it was, I’m not going to tell you the plan. The kids would feel terrible if they ever found out!”

“But you admit there is a plan.”

“Fine. The plan for if the first couple kids are terrible is to drop them off on you, and start fresh with the fourth Arafinwion.”

“That is a terrible baby name, you should know.”

“Oh shut up, third prettiest one in the family.”

“Make me, tall brunet.” Maedhros said, pulling Finarfin’s golden hair over his eyes.

The conversation quickly devolved into a wrestling match from there.