#Maglor unable to answer that:

[thetiredprometheus]

Tbh Elwing's fate sounds a whole lot like smt you would tell a kid when somebody died, along the lines of "your cat moved to a nice farm upstate". So just imagine that at some point the Kidnap fam had this conversation:

Maglor: and then your mother turned into a bird and flew away

E&E: you know, we're not children anymore, we know that's not true

Maglor: no I'm not lying that actually happened

E&E: yeah right, let me guess, she also found dad and they're very happy and not at all dead

Maglor: I... yes, kinda???

[sillysistersusi]

Her Own Choice

Fandom: The Silmarillion

Summary: When Elrond sails to Valinor, he isn't sure how to tell Celebrían that Arwen isn't with him. So he avoids her. Luckily, Maglor is there to talk some sense into him.

"You should talk to her." Maglor said and even though Elrond was startled, he did not flinch. He had got used to having Maglor back by now. He had searched for him for years and had at last found him a week before he left for Valinor.

It hadn't taken long to persuade him to come along, but that was largely due to the fact that Elrond had left him no choice at all. Not after he had searched for his Atya for so long.

Elrond stared at the ceiling of his room, feeling incredibly young again.

They had only arrived in Valinor a few days ago, but instead of visiting relatives and friends like everyone else, Elrond had hidden himself away and hadn't seen the light for two days.

Because he was afraid. What should he tell Celebrían? After everything that had happened, she had certainly not expected Elrond to be incapable enough to not persuade Arwen to come to Valinor. He simply did not know how to make his wonderful wife, who had already been through so much, realise that she would never see her only daughter again.

But instead of giving a voice to all these feelings and explaining them to Maglor, he simply turned on his side, away from his father. For Elrond was sure that Maglor knew what he was feeling anyway. He was Maglor and he knew Elrond better than most.

He heard his Atya sigh. "Look, I know you blame yourself, but you did not do anything wrong." Maglor sat down beside him and began stroking his hair. "Arwen is happy and that is what really counts. Just like Estel being happy. If they need each other for their happiness and want to be mortal, then you cannot blame Arwen."

"I don't at all, Atya." Elrond said quietly. "Arwen has chosen mortality for more than just love. I have spoken to her at length and her reasons have made me very- " He swallowed hard and Maglor sucked in his breath sharply, for he knew what was to come. "Her reasons reminded me a lot of Elros."

"Finding out that one of my beautiful children is mortal was hard," Maglor admitted quietly, "but it was his choice, and my feelings would never stand in the way of his happiness. And from what you've told me about Celebrían, I do not think she feels any differently."

"Galadriel has probably already told her," Elrond said, rubbing his eyes. "But what- "

The problem was that Elrond did not know 'what'. He was afraid, yes, but especially-

Maglor realised it at the same moment, for he whispered, "You have not forgiven yourself."

Elrond pressed his lips together to stifle a sob but even then, no tears came. "If she is angry or disappointed- I - I do not know what I would do then, Atya."

Maglor's hand stopped briefly in his hair. "Yonya, if what you told me about her is true, then she won't blame you. Especially since it is not your fault."

Elrond turned slightly towards him and just looked at Maglor for a while, unable to believe that he was really there.

His thoughts briefly wandered to everything Celebrían and he had been through. Together.

"Maybe you're right. I - I go, in a few days - "

But Maglor shook his head. "I know you, Elrond. Do not put this off, or it will only make you more upset."

He wrapped an arm around Elrond and gently pulled him into a sitting position. "You can do this, Yonya. I know you can." Then he placed a hand on Elrond's chest, just above his heart. "And I'm sure deep inside you, you know you can, too."

~•~

Celebrían was even prettier than he remembered her. A memory was only ever half as good.

Her hair glittered in the sunlight as if it was made of precious jewels and her eyes were so full of love that Elrond wasn't sure if he hadn't just fallen in love with her all over again.

"Dearest Elrond," she said joyfully when she saw him, tears of joy welling up in her beautiful eyes.

He wanted to answer, so much, but a lump had formed in his throat. She would lose her joy if he told her that he hadn't managed to bring Arwen with him.

Or perhaps she already knew, and her joy at seeing him would be short-lived and would soon turn to disappointment.

Elrond felt his knees trembling and he looked around desperately for something to hold on to. But it was in vain, for they were in a meadow, far away from buildings or trees that could have served as support.

The last time he had felt so helpless was when Maglor and Maedhros had sent Elros and him away.

Without being able to prevent it, he sank to his knees before Celebrían had reached him. She stopped just right before him, arms outstretched, and it apparently took her a few seconds to realise what had happened.

She blurred before his eyes as he whispered softly, "I am so sorry." And finally all the tears that he had been holding back since he left Minas Tirith ran down his cheeks. His chest had always felt so tight, as if something had been trying to escape from it. He had lain awake at night because every fibre of his body seemed to worry.

He felt a hand under his chin, trying to get him to look up. He followed the movement and blinked away his tears as best he could.

Celebrían looked sad, but not in the way he had expected. "What are you apologising for?"

"Arwen." he said quietly, barely managing to hold her gaze as he said it.

Celebrían also sank to the ground and took his face in her hands. "It is not your fault. It is no one's fault that she made her own decision."

"But- " He sniffled and involuntarily pressed his face harder against her palms. "But I promised you I'd look after our children."

"But you did," she said softly, stroking his cheeks with her thumbs. "Arwen chose her own happiness. You would only have hurt her if you had forced her to come with you. And I think you know that."

Yes, he knew it. He had always known it. From the moment the fellowship had set out from Rivendell, he had known it. Deep down, he had probably always known, but it still made him so sad. Of course he was happy that his daughter was happy. But being happy for her and actually feeling happy were just such different things. Being happy for her and knowing that he would never be happy with her again was so hard for him to understand at times that he preferred to bury himself in self-pity.

"I miss her, Elrond," Celebrían whispered. "But I am happy that she has found and chosen her own path."

Elrond nodded, unable to say anything because he was sure that if he opened his mouth, all that would come out would be a sob.

Celebrían leant forward a little so that Elrond's head was soon resting on her shoulder and she could wrap her arms tightly around him. "I do not blame you, because it is not your fault. You acted in Arwen's best interests and I do not see how that could be a mistake."

Elrond sobbed quietly and clung to Celebrían. "I love you so much," he whispered softly.

"Oh, I love you too, dearest." She kissed his hair. "I love you too."

[thelordofgifs]

Congrats on 300 followers! Fic prompt if you want: Maedhros has been released from mandos because of Reasons but maglor is still MIA in middle earth and mae has Some Thoughts about this

Thank you for the prompt, anon! Sorry it's been *check notes* a month and a half.

-

Maedhros was almost the last of his family to return to life; only his father still lingered in the depths of Mandos, and would, some said, until the end of the world itself.

Maedhros found he cared very little about this. He had spent too long, in his first life, reminding himself that he was Fëanor's son, and Fëanor's heir, with all that entailed; and it had led him in the end only to ruin. Perhaps, this time around, he might do better. If even Curufin could walk again with the wife he had disavowed, and the son who had disavowed him – if Celegorm, who had wronged an elf-maid so cruelly, could hunt with Aredhel of all people once more – perhaps there was hope.

Well, there was more than hope: there was Fingon, who had been waiting for him when he first emerged from the Halls of Mandos. With the solid weight of Fingon's warm hand in his, Maedhros had begun to believe that living again would be possible. It was a belief that lasted until the first tear-filled reunion with his mother and brothers was over, and he asked, "Is Káno yet to return from Mandos?"

Everyone went very quiet.

At last someone – he did not later recall who – informed him that Maglor would not be returning from Mandos. Maglor had never died; and, as far as anyone knew, he wandered Middle-earth yet, although the Grey Havens were long since abandoned and no ship had sailed the Straight Road for many Ages of the Sun.

"I searched for him," Elrond told him, later, when Maedhros sought him out to ask. "I looked everywhere, for thousands of years. Galadriel, too, although she won't admit it. He did not want to be found."

The Maglor-of-memory was a laughing, sociable creature, whose dark eyes had always flashed brighter in company, and whose voice had always soared most sweetly before an audience. In the days of their youth – strange, now, to think that Maedhros had ever been young, although his skin was as soft and unmarred as it had been when he was a babe – Maglor had delighted in dragging him along to every concert's after-party, every impromptu poetry reading and outdoor picnic gathering as Telperion bloomed.

He had come to the Mereth Aderthad because Maedhros had asked it of him, and Maglor had always done as Maedhros asked; but he had enjoyed it, too, in a way that Maedhros, then not two decades free of Thangorodrim, could not. It was his clearest memory of the feast, now: not the careful diplomatic work he had put in between course after course of too-rich food, not the unclouded kindness of his uncle's smile, not the moonlight gleaming silver off the lake as Fingon embraced him where no-one else could see, but Maglor's clear bright laugh sounding above the chatter of the partygoers.

And even after everything had been lost, he had still loved the children they had stolen deeply; he had been happiest in their company, with one on his knee and the other nestled into his side, or as they grew older in the schoolroom learning their lessons and in training-yard as he taught them how to fight. Their few remaining followers, too, had increasingly turned to Maglor when they ran into small difficulties, for he did not shudder in disgust from those he had led into slaughter, and could yet summon up a smile when they spoke to him.

That Maglor, then, could ever choose solitude willingly! What had been done to him, who had always taken solace in the society of others?

Maedhros knew the answer to that, actually.

"I really did try everything," said Elrond, who was a venerable elf-lord now, and yet did not sound so different from the six-year-old Maedhros had met long ago.

"Yes," he said, and then he went away, unable to offer any better comfort.

It had always been Maglor who had offered comfort.

He would not be welcome in Alqualondë, even now. But the Bay of Eldamar was long, and there were beaches enough for lonely wandering here, within sight of the Sundering Sea. Long ago Maedhros had stood on the shores of Losgar and thought that name apt indeed – and although all the world was changed since that moment, the breach in his heart remained.

He knelt to dip his fingers in the salty water. Perhaps far away Maglor was doing the same. The brine would sting the burn on his blackened, withered hand, although the soft uncalloused skin of Maedhros’ palm did not protest its own submersion. Perhaps Uinen, weeping yet for the slaughtered Teleri, called up storms to disturb the glassy water as Maglor drew close; perhaps the seagulls of Elwing’s acquaintance swooped squawking at his head if he lingered in one spot too long. And did he not deserve it?

The Halls of Mandos were supposed to heal one’s spirit of its wounds, and there were few wounds deeper than those left by self-destruction. Although Maedhros knew, theoretically, how he had died, he had not thought of the moment since his return to life. Now the memory came rushing back to him: the terrible pain of the Silmaril in his hand, and the same holy light charring Maglor’s slim clever fingers as they curled around the jewel. Maedhros had led Maglor to it; he had pushed Maglor into stealing the Silmarils from Eönwë, and Maglor, unwilling, had done what Maedhros had asked of him.

“He does deserve it,” Maedhros said aloud, to the vast unfeeling Sea. “But – I did too, and—”

It had been too much to bear, the knowledge of what he had done to Maglor. Maedhros had jumped rather than face it. But he was alive now, and must reckon with this last and greatest crime: he had left Maglor. He had led his brother all throughout their miserable, bloody decline, and then he had abandoned him.

With some surprise he realised he was weeping. He had not yet shed a tear in this life; nor had he cried once in the last since the Nirnaeth Arnoediad. Maglor had wept for him, instead, had readied every brother for burial and bathed their dead faces with tears, had sung Maedhros to sleep with the laments written for their funerals. He had not been crying before Maedhros had jumped, but perhaps he had after.

Maedhros could not ask him. He would never see Maglor again.

Here, then, was the bitter truth: there were hurts yet past healing, and wrongs that the fire could not sear away. Maglor was gone, and it was Maedhros’ fault – and though he might mourn here forever, wandering the shores of Aman in some fruitless attempt to shadow his brother’s steps, it would not suffice to bridge the endless waters that lay between them.

What was left, then, in the face of that terrible self-knowledge? Only the sound of the lonely wind, which, try as he might, would not carry the sound of Maglor's voice to his ears, and the tang of salt upon his lips, and his tears falling vainly in the thankless Sea.

[animatorweirdo]

When the Dragons Fly (Book 3)

Maedhros nearly believed he had caused your deaths. You and your host finally leave for the mountains. However, someone important is not coming along.

[] = High Valyrian

Chapter 3

Warnings: mentions of dead characters, Nirnaeth Arnoediad, angst, Maedhros is sad, destroyed village, everything is burned, some hope in the heart, leaving, someone not coming along, Aelon and his friends being sad.

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

The sky was grey, and the land lay lifeless and scorched, further ravaged by the war that had taken place upon its surface. At the heart of the battlefield stood a large hill, erected by the orcs who had gathered the bodies of elves, men, and dwarves, piling them high to form what had come to be known as Haudh-en-Nirnaeth, or the Hill of the Slain. The crows were feasting on whatever was left on the bodies, and the wind blew on the banners that were torn and stained with blood. 

Kneeling against the yellowed grass, Maedhros stared at the hill with a heavy heart, thinking of all the dead who died on the battlefield, killed because of his cause and union. 

In his hands, he held the blue cloak and the broken blade. All he could recover from his dear friend, whom the balrogs had hewed beyond recognition. 

Questions haunted his mind as he continued staring at the battlefield. 

How could he have let this happen? 

How could he bring so many people to die? 

Why did he fail so spectacularly? 

The defeat was so great that he had to abandon his own fortress Himring as he had lost too many people to be able to defend it. He could barely even stand, holding onto what was left of his cousin. His eyes stared at the haunting hill that could be seen miles away. 

“Maedhros…” Maglor started as he had come with him with a couple of others. 

Maedhros did not react or answer to his brother in any way. He continued staring at the hill like a statue. At that moment, he did feel like a statue, unable to move and take his eyes off the very thing he had helped create with all the people who trusted him and believed could bring victory. How could he have been such a fool? 

“We need to go. It’s not safe for us to stay here for too long,” Maglor explained quietly. 

“How did it come to this?” Maedhros uttered. 

“I thought I planned everything right…” he said. 

“I thought we had a chance…” he continued

“If I had not come up with this then maybe Fingon would have…” Maedhros uttered, looking down at the bloodied blue cloak in his hand. 

Maglor looked at his brother sympathetically. 

“Don’t blame yourself. Morgoth’s schemes know no bounds, and we only lost many because of the Easterlings and their betrayal,” Maglor stated.

“But all of them still died because of my idea. I am responsible for all of this,” Maedhros said. 

“I am responsible for my best friend’s death,” he said as the tears finally forced their way out of his eyes, dropping to the ground and the cloak in his hands.  

“Oh Maedhros…” Maglor looked at him with pity as Maedhros wept quietly.

Maedhros cried in anguish, remembering his friend’s smile and noble deeds. Even the deed when his friend saved him from Morgoth and returned him to his kin, a deed he was never able to repay. 

Maedhros then looked toward the mountains near Himring, toward the land where your village should be.

His heart ached at the thought of your village being attacked, but since it had only been a few days since the battle. There was still a chance your home had managed to stay hidden and be untouched by the orcs that continued expanding all over the north. 

He dried his tears and picked himself up, carrying the cloak and the broken blade in his arms. 

“Maglor. There is a place we need to go before we leave,” he stated as he approached his horse Bathor, who he had left in Himring before the battle. 

“Of course. But where?” Maglor questioned as he followed him. 

“I tell you later. If we go now. There is a chance they’re still safe,” Maedhros answered, unable to think of anything else than to get to your village. 

Maedhros rode to your village with his brother and guards as quickly as possible. He had the path to your home memorized so the ride didn’t take any valuable time. However, he was then devastated when he found your village burned to ashes and there was no sight of you or Aelon. 

“No…” Maedhros uttered as his eyes darted around the village, looking through all the burned bodies and houses. 

“Let me guess. This was your special place. And there was a special someone?” Maglor questioned sorrowfully as Maedhros looked at your house, finding it ruined and ravaged by the fire that had burned it to the ground. 

It was like the blood within his veins had turned frozen cold as he fearfully looked around for your and Aelon’s bodies. His heart felt like it was being stabbed with a blazing knife as he began to believe he was the indirect cause of the destruction around him and possibly your and Aelon’s death.

You and Aelon were capable fighters, but even you two would not have a chance against hoards of orcs. 

“Maedhros. Look there,” Maglor gently nudged him and pointed toward several footsteps. 

“Those seem like the footsteps of those who lived here. There is a chance that they made it out before the attack,” Maglor explained as the two stared at the footprints that led to the woods. 

Maedhros stared at the several footsteps. His heart was momentarily lifted. He could not find any bodies so there was a chance you two made it out, but now he could not help but ponder and dread where you two could have gone.  

“I find it strange though,” Maglor stated as he looked at the scorched ground. 

"There are a lot more dead orcs and wargs here. Some had been killed with arrows so the villagers most likely fought back, but the rest had been burned to death,” he said, staring at the ashened corpses.

“And it’s not just them. The grass, the trees, the houses, and everything had been burned,” he continued. 

“What exactly happened here?” Maglor questioned. 

Maedhros took notice of the unusual burns around the village, but his mind was still filled with the thoughts of you and Aelon. 

“But let’s have hope, your friend here made it out and is on their way to south,” Maglor looked toward Maedhros. 

“We need to get going. We can’t stay here,” he stated and Maedhros slowly nodded. 

Maglor turned his horse around and Maedhros shared one last glance toward your burned house. 

“(Name), Aelon, forgive me…” he uttered then rode after his brother. 

As morning rose over the hills, you and Baelen began preparing your people for the journey through the mountains. Helena and her family assisted most of the people in packing their belongings, while Eda and Dwenn loaded the wagon with supplies. Surprisingly, even Figwitt was ready to join you with Greeny.

To your relief, the last surviving Watchmen decided to join you instead. In their eyes, you were a capable leader and despite your secrets, they wished to follow you. And Rodrick had managed to convince his mother, who felt skeptical toward your dragons to join you.

You and Baelen reviewed the map. You were explaining to him the road and helping him memorize it until someone caught your attention. 

“Lady (Name). Chief Baelen,” someone said. 

You two looked up and to your surprise, it was Lady Deanna and her people. 

“Do you have room for me and my people for this journey?” she asked with her people behind her. 

“Chief Deanna. Of course. You are very welcome to join us,” you said with genuine surprise as the chief had not decided who to choose in the meeting. 

“That’s a relief,” Deanna smiled. 

“I’ve decided that your plan makes more sense than Horren’s, and if Chief Baelen is willing to put his trust in you, then I can as well. I want my son and people to get out of the north as safely as possible as I had lost many during the ambush in the pass,” she said.  

“I will give you my word that I will try anything I can to ensure your and your people’s safety,” you said, and she nodded. 

You surveyed the people who were coming with you. There had been many more until the ambush reduced their numbers drastically. Combined with yours, Baelen’s, and Deanna’s people, your host barely consisted of fifty individuals. Nevertheless, it was better than you had initially expected. It was unfortunate that so many more had decided to join Horren’s host instead. 

“Have your people already made preparations?” you asked. 

“Yes.” Deanna nodded. 

“Then I guess we are ready to leave now. Tell your people to start the journey through the mountains,” you said to Baelen and then all of you began leaving. 

Aelon was helping Eweniel and Helena’s family pack the rest of the items to Dwenn’s wagon. “Is that everything you have?” Helena asked. 

“That should be it,” Eweniel said, then looked toward Aelon. 

“What about your things?” she asked. 

“I will be flying on Falconer. (Name) said I will need to scout the road ahead from the air. To watch out for enemies, “ Aelon explained. 

Aelon then noticed Ramuel, who was not packing or doing anything. Aelon frowned as his friend and his family looked like they were going elsewhere. 

“Ramuel!” Aelon called out. Eweniel and Rodrick looked toward their friend as Ramuel looked back. 

“Are you not coming with us?” Aelon asked. 

Ramuel seemed to hesitate. “No… My parents said it would be best for us to stay with the bigger host,” he finally answered. 

Aelon’s eyes widened. “But they’re going to the dangerous path. Please! Come with us!” he said as they looked at their friend. 

“I wish but… my mom doesn’t really trust your dragons,” Ramuel answered then looked at Smoke, who looked confused and whined at him. The dragon stepped toward him. 

“No. Smoke. You can’t come with me,” Ramuel gently petted the dragon. 

“I’m sorry…” he uttered, and Smoke only looked more confused. 

Ramuel’s mother then walked over to him. 

“Ramuel. Come on now, and do not touch that beast. You do not know where that thing had been,” she said. 

“He’s not a thing. His name is Smoke,” Ramuel mumbled. 

“I do not care what the name of that thing is. Now come along. We need to get going,” his mother said, glaring at the dragon. 

Ramuel then looked toward Smoke and his friends. 

“Goodbye… I wish you good luck,” he said, leaving with his mother. 

Smoke whined, intending to follow him. Aelon sighed, looking away before looking at Smoke. 

“[Come here, Smoke!]” Aelon called out. 

Smoke hesitated, looking back at him and then at Ramuel. 

“[Come here now!]” Aelon said more strictly and the dragon finally obeyed, running up to him and his siblings. 

Aelon, Eweniel, and Rodrick then stood among themselves. Their faces heavy as they wondered about their predicament. 

“We already lost one friend. Do we have to lose another?” Eweniel questioned. 

“Well, there’s nothing we can do now,” Aelon said. 

“Let’s get going. I need to get on Falconer,” he said as he returned to Falconer. 

Your group finally managed to pack everything, and with you, Baelen, and Deanna leading the way, you began walking up the road through the mountains. Aelon climbed onto Falconer and, with a command, soared into the sky, flying ahead and keeping watch from above.

As he flew, Aelon glanced back at the parting host going another way, feeling a heavy heart as he saw one of his friends among them. Despite his inner turmoil, he pushed his emotions aside and focused on his task as your host began its journey through the mountains.

Taglist: @natchayaphorn@kimnamnu@thatrandomidiot182 @springfountain @maedhrosiseverything2me

[thescrapwitch]

It's Talk Shop Tuesday! (The idea is to ask fanfic authors/fan artists/etc. questions about their writing or art.) I absolutely loved your snippet from Multiple Words Monday for Psalms for the Strange, another eldritch!Maglor story. Can you tell me more about that? Because I would LOVE to know more :D

Thank you!

Psalms for the Strange is another bonus story for my eldritch!Maglor series, and can be seen as a sort of fluffy epilogue-like tale for the whole "eldritch creature in Valinor" arc. Maglor's been allowed to stay in the blessed lands by the Valar, but that doesn't mean its going to be easy to fit into the larger society.

The basic set up is this: Lindir finds out about a music competition, and decides that he and his eldritch bff should join in. There are a few problems, such as Lindir needing a new instrument and Maglor's skills are VERY rusty after thousands of years of not playing, but there's also the issue of expectations. Valinor is a land of perfection, after all. How do you fit a kinslayer-war criminal-eldritch monster (once the greatest bard of all the Noldor/the world) into such a place?

Like the rest of my eldritch stories, the answer comes through friendship and family and love (and having a friend who won't let anyone exclude you, no matter how terrifying you may become)

Staring: Finrod and many other bard characters, the horror of perfection and rigid standards, LINDIR POV, the power of friendship, and lots of fluff.

I was worried about writing it for a long time, because it is very light-hearted and much less horror-ish compared to the other fics in this series, but if you can't write a fluffy epilogue-ish story about your own eldritch AU, then what can you do?

Here's another little snippet:

No. Wrong again! Despite the frustration in his tone, Maglor smiled. For thousands of years he’d been unable to play any instrument. Being able to make music again, even terrible music, brought him joy. I just can’t get this scale right. 

“You were closer this time,” said Lindir. Harps could be tricky for someone who had to relearn how to use their fingers with such careful precision. “You’ll get it eventually.”

Sooner rather than later I hope. I had this mastered before I turned a hundred. Have you decided what to write your next song about?

“Not yet,” said Lindir. “But I’m seeing my parents for lunch today. Perhaps I shall find some inspiration along the way.”

Maglor’s fingers froze over the harp, and he sent Lindir a worried look, the music around him softening. You haven’t spoken about them before.

“There isn't much to say,” explained Lindir. “They sailed during the Second Age after they were sure I could take care of myself.” Maglor was still staring at him. “What?”

They left you?

“No.” Lindir had talked about his parents once to Erestor, many years ago, and had run into the same sort of worries. “It's not - it's not a bad thing, Maglor. They love me, and I love them. It's just a distant sort of love. We’re just very different and lead our own lives. It's not like you and Elrond, or you and your parents.” Lindir patted his arm. “It’s fine. Really. We’ve always just been a couple and a child rather than anything else. I will see them for lunch, have a pleasant time, and then leave to work on more exciting things.”

If you’re sure. But call me if anything unpleasant happens. I’ll hear you, no matter where you are.

Lindir smiled. Maglor’s face could change a thousand times, but deep down he would always be the same. “Yes, I know.”

[elanna-elrondiel]

OC Questionnaire Tag Game

I don't know if this will be interesting or comprehensible since I'm not practicing english at all lately 😢 I was tagged by my lovely @linden-leaf and my dear @yellow-faerie, thank you both a lot ! I had a lot of fun reading about your OCs <3

I'm not very good at writing so here's my answers for Mentelossë (I think she's my more known OC) Maybe I'll do it again for other OCs later :D I want to write and talk more about my non Tolkien OCs as well !

1. What’s a core lie your character believes about themselves or the world, and where did it originate? (e.g. if they believe they’re unlovable, was there a particular person or pattern of people that taught them to think so? If they believe the world is fundamentally fair and just, what society or institution taught them what fairness and justice meant, and what the rules for them were?)

Mentelossë believes she is the one who has to protect others. She thinks she needs to make a difference even when it's impossible. It's because she was often powerless in what happened to her as a child and she lost a lot of people in various ways which makes her very protective of her loved ones and thinks she has value only if she can provide security.

2. Who are/were the most important people in their lives? Did they choose those people for themselves (and would they choose them again)?

The most important person in Mentelossë's life is her husband Glorfindel. She choose him quite literally, at first it was all fun and shenanigans but it soon turned into a deep relationship and they became each other's confidant. Mentelossë spend a long time alone after his death but choose him again when he came back to Middle Earth. She would choose him again but she wishes she was less hesitant before his death to enjoy more time together before everything fell apart in the late First Age. She wishes they had married earlier

3. Is there a choice they’ve surprised themselves by making? (And did they learn anything about themselves through making it?)

She chose to go with Maedhros and Maglor after the Third Kinslaying. At the time she thought she was doing this for the twins but at this point she had lost all of her meaning in life and desperately wanted to reconnect with Maedhros, someone she knew in her youth.

4. What is their biggest regret, and why?

Not marrying Glorfindel before his death against the Balrog and not learning how to fight earlier in her life and being unable to protect the ones she loves.

Mentelossë also feels very guilty about not recognising Annatar as Sauron earlier, she feels like she was an idiot for not seeing it and becomes really suspicious in the Third Age (She didn't give a warm welcome to the istaris apart from Gandalf whom Glorfindel knew)

5. Do they have a craft? When and where did they learn it, and from who, and why?

Mentelossë's craft is architecture !! She learned a bit with Turgon when she lived in Gondolin but mostly spend hours learning by herself or finding herself tutors. She liked to follow Gondolin's architects and asking them a thousand questions. She is fascinated by the grandeur of Gondolin's buildings and later by the differences of styles in different cultures. She thinks the architecture of a city is the basis of its organisation and she wants to be able to be a good ruler like her grandfather (Fingolfin) and be able to understand and help her family of Princes and Kings.

She learned a lot of things out of the frustration of being left out of her father and grandfather's life. That's why she also took an interest in war startegy, comptability etc (yes she's good at maths)

6. How do they sleep? Is it restful, or full of nightmares? Do they only sleep in short bursts or are they the sort to sleep deeply all night?

She usually sleeps really well, she likes to rest, nap and sleep. However she had some rough periods in her life when she had a lot of nightmares especially after the Fall of Gondolin and Third Kinslaying. Today at Imladris she only has nightmares after triggering events but Glorfindel is there for her and they find comfort in each other when something hurtful from their past resurfaces

Tagging @merilles @cilil @petitedilly @chipeanuts @brouniecas @firesn0w @fishing4stars and whoever wants to do it ! I really want to counter tag @linden-leaf and @yellow-faerie too but this game would be endless 😂 No pressure it's only for funsies 💙

My questions :

What was an achievement that your OC felt worthy of celebrating? Was it a personal victory or a big impact on everyone around them?

Does your OC have recurring themes in their nightmares/dreams ?

What was your inspiration to create your OC ? Which characters, stories, aesthetics, irl persons inspired you for this character ? What was the first thing who helped you create this OC or something you added to their story/personnality/appearance inspired from something else ?

[actual-bill-potts]

and all his towers cast down makes me jumpy in the best of ways. I am not usually an AU person, much less an enjoyer of this sort of extreme canon divergence, but this one really works for me. Can you talk a little about what motivated you to write it? Have you sorted out the endgame yet? That tag How to cope when ten ppl got eaten alive in front of u is so rich in potential! Thanks very much :)

adfkldsajk thank you so much for this ask, my answer is going under a cut cuz it's gonna be LONG

first off thank you so much for your kind words, it always makes my day to hear that someone is enjoying my work!!

Second off, this AU was motivated by a variety of things. Some of my thought process is actually laid out in this post: I originally wanted to see Maglor and Lúthien girlbossing together (bc people always pit Daeron vs Maglor when Lúthien is clearly the superior singer...) and then I thought "omg I bet Maglor and Lúthien together would fuck up Angband" and then I thought I have to write this. Originally Finrod wasn't even going to play much of a role - rescuing him was just a catalyst for the plot!

But I am Finrod's #1 stan and the more I thought about his death/possible rescue, the more I realized just how much fell apart with his loss, and how cruel his death was. The guy most famous for having friends everywhere rode near-friendless to his ending and died after losing everyone who stuck with him. I decided: he deserved better, and thus the story took its current form, with one thread following Maedhros and Fingon dealing with the political fallout of the Nargothrond debacle, one thread following Beren, Luthien, and Maglor on the Silmaril Quest, and one thread following Finrod's recovery.

I have sorted out the endgame, although this fic continues to grow in scope. Originally it was going to be 10 chapters max and just feature Maglor stealing the Silmarils; now it is semi-plotted all the way through to the War of Wrath and I'm considering starting a series to fully cover all the themes I want to hit. Suffice to say this story is going to be going on for a very long time, haha.

I am proud of that tag you mentioned, because for all that Finrod wasn't initially supposed to feature that prominently in this AU, I think the tag sums up at least a third of what I want the story to be about. Finrod's story is particularly tragic to me because he loses so much of what defines him as a character in Tol-in-Gaurhoth. He's the Friend of Men, but nearly all of the Bëorians died in the Dagor Bragollach, and Finrod dies believing that he was unable to protect the one remaining descendant of Balan. He's a noted diplomat, but with one request Thingol has entirely torn apart any future hope of complete allyship/harmony between the Noldor and the Sindar. He's the King of Nargothrond, except the Nargothrondrim turned away from him. He went across the Ice for love of his cousins, but Turgon is gone and the Fëanorians betrayed him. The symbolism isn't subtle - he literally dies in the tower he built, that's been turned to evil and destruction...

So what I really want to explore in the Finrod part of this fic is: how would that have changed him, if he lived? Could he recover, from being torn apart so thoroughly? Would he want to? What would he choose to do about the whole Thingol situation, about Nargothrond, about the Union of Maedhros (should it arise)? And of course, there's one person who underwent a similar experience of being torn apart and unmade: what would Maedhros think about all of this? Would he be able to help?

Writing this story has been a true joy and a discovery, because the characters have come so fully alive in my head and I keep discovering things they would be concerned about/do/say that never occurred to me during my (minimal) outlining. For example, Beren was not initially even intended as a POV character, but he's such a fascinating kind of blank in the Lay that I felt an overwhelming curiosity about what he would have thought about in the wake of his rescue. Fingon wasn't really going to make an appearance in this fic, but then I thought - he surely helped with Maedhros' recovery, could he help with Finrod's? How would he respond to the Nargothrond debacle? And he must have been devastated to learn about Finrod's death, coming so close after he lost Angrod, Aegnor, and his father; how relieved he would be, to see Finrod at least saved! So there are many threads that emerged (and are still emerging) from this story that have been so much fun to weave into the narrative.

Thank you again for the question, and I hope you continue to enjoy the fic! <3 <3 <3

[fuckingfinwions]

Elrond hadn't believed it at first. Not that he thought Celebrian was lying to him, but the claims were so extreme, and she had been so disturbed when she left. If no one in Tirion had helped her heal, and therefore had not let her leave the city for fear she'd be in danger - well, it was terrible, but it would explain a lot.

That thought was thoroughly disabused when he went to visit Celebrimbor's room, and found Gil-Galad gagged and tied to the wall naked. Celebrimbor had simply said that he knew Gil-Galad and Elrond had a lot to catch up on, but he was busy now, and his own plans would take another day or two. "I'll send him straight to your quarters when I'm done though, so my uncles don't delay him. They're generally more interested in their own generation, but he is awfully beautiful, and Maedhros sometimes has feelings on the War of Wrath to work out."

That had been the most awkward lunch with Gil-Galad that Elrond could remember, including the one where Elrond had just returned from two centuries in Numenor pretending to be his one great-great-great-nephew.

But after a few months, Elrond was used to the type of conversation that might happen at lunch or around a card table in the palace. He didn't like it, but could see no way to change it. If it had been only the chance of his own disinheritance he risked, Elrond would have spoken up, and even fought. But with Celebrian's safety dependent on her being more Maglor's daughter-in-law than Finarfin's granddaughter, and their sons due to arrive in the middle of this mess with no way to warn them, he stayed silent.

Elrond was trying not to tally up how many members of Finwe's house he saw each day, but still there was one whose absence was conspicuous. Last week Fingon had been sitting next to Maedhros even as Elrond's wife sat next to him, somewhat more quiet and subdued than the stories said, but answering questions and generally treated like another noble rather than a page or a servant. The last three days, Fingon was nowhere to be found, and Maedhros was in a foul mood.

Celegorm was apparently tired of the king glaring at him. "Look, I'm sorry I broke his leg! I wasn't trying to mess with your things, I was just trying to hold him still."

"And yet, you've never 'accidentally' broken any of the other page's legs."

"None of the rest of them try to get away. And the rest of his body is fine, you don't need to act like I've blue-balled you."

"You're supposed to be a skilled fighter, can you really not subdue one opponent without serious injury? And also I can't believe that you really think it makes no difference if your sexual partner is unable to walk, stand, or kneel for you."

"I did nothing that won't heal! And most opponents I'm not fighting naked, I'd love to see you do better."

Elrond broke into the argument, "Pardon me, but is this about why Fingon wasn't down to dinner yesterday? I'd be happy to take a look at him as a healer."

Maedhros: "That would be wonderful, thank you. The injury is only indirectly why he's not at dinner, but it would be far more convenient."

"Can I ask what you mean be indirectly?"

Celegorm said, "He means Fingon's staying locked in his room until he pouts enough to persuade Maedhros to let him out for another year."

Maedhros glared. "I'm sure that's very illuminating to Elrond."

Curufin looked up from his scone and rolled his eyes. "If we're being illuminating to Elrond, let me try. Maedhros generally keeps Fingon to himself, as you've seen. A few times a yen, Fingon decides that the way we've been treating him is evil, or that Maedhros is corrupted by Morgoth, or that his grandmother will declare war for the sake of his family if only she knew, and tries to run away. The palace guards always stop him and bring him back, usually before he even reaches the city. Maedhros lets all the rest of us take a turn to remind Fingon of his place - you weren't offered a chance because you've been so solely obsessed with Celebrian. Fingon will spend a few months or years staying in Maedhros's room, then a few years only allowed out chained to Maedhros like a dog on a leash. Then Maedhros will get soft-hearted, and say Fingon's been behaving so nicely, and he'll sit nicely at the table. And in not too long, Fingon will try again."

"Curvo, that was wholly unnecessary to say."

"Why? If Elrond is family, it's relevant news about his household, not gossip."

"I am the king, and how I treat my consort is no one's decision but my own. I didn't ask for advice on how to keep Fingon from doing stupid stunts, so don't interfere."

"If I was interfering, you would know it."

__

Elrond went into the room to assess his patient. Maedhros had explained that Fingon was receiving basic medic's care, with a splint and such, but had not seen a proper healer. "He's in a dark mood, but no less charming for that. If he persuaded someone to try and help him leave... Besides, most healers look into the mind to fully understand what ails the body, and I'd rather not have my sex life seen by strangers."

"Trust me uncle Maedhros, I have no desire to snoop on that side of you. I do intend to fix as much wrong with his body as I can."

"That's very kind Elrond, but please don't tire yourself out. And make sure he's always cuffed to the bed - given he tried to leave so recently, I'd hate to have him leap for the window and re-injure himself."

"Certainly."

Maedhros had offered to stay in the room, but Elrond had said it was unnecessary, and ruling a kingdom was a very time consuming task (even if both your nearest neighbors rarely sent diplomats).

Fingon was lying on his back with his right arm and leg chained to the bed posts. There was a sheet pulled up to his waist, but even so Elrond could see the odd lumps of the bandages and splint on Fingon's lower leg.

Elrond reached over and pulled the sheet down.

"What do you think you're doing?" Fingon pulled the sheet up with his one free hand.

"I need a closer look in order to do this properly."

"You missed your chance to run a train on my ass, you don't need to stare at my cock."

"I suppose you might not get much of the gossip. I'm accounted the greatest healer of my Age, and I told Maedhros I'd take a look at your leg. I assure you, I have no interest in your sexual prowess or equipment."

"Fine." Fingon let go, but didn't take his eyes off Elrond for a second. "Are you really comfortable supporting this?"

"I am a healer, and will help the patient in front of me. How you got here, or if you will just end up here again next week, should be discussed when you're a bit more recovered."

"Even if you're helping my torturer as much as me?"

"If you don't want me to heal you, I will leave. I don't help anyone who wishes to die, or to heal the slow way instead, though I admit I have fixed those on death's door before stopping to ask them. It's an easy enough mistake to fix, at least."

Fingon's leg had been set properly, and Elrond only needed to whisper briefly to the tibia for it to settle properly within the leg muscles. He could do more to speed the healing, but he decided to check for other injuries first that might need attention more urgently. Elrond replaced the splint and the bandages wrapped to keep it in place.

"Roll over now, please."

"No."

"If your leg is getting in the way, I can help turn you the rest of the way if you give me your hand."

"I'm not going to turn my back on any Feanorians, even if you are Turgon's grandson."

"I'm not. But I want to check for other injuries, and I suspect your asshole might be irritated."

"Yes, from being raped by seven people in a row. Why should I let you near my ass?"

"As I've assured you before, I'm a healer."

"Still not happening."

"I must insist then on a verbal list of symptoms. First, do you have any cuts or scrapes on your back?"

Fingon sighed, but said. "No."

"Have you noticed any blood on the sheets?"

"Not after the first few hours."

"Hmm, hard to say what that indicates. Have you noticed blood in your stool?"

"I haven't been shitting because I haven't eaten in the last three days."

Elrond was taken aback. "That will certainty delay your healing. Is this a specific order of Maedhros's?"

"Not that he's told me, but he hasn't brought me anything either."

"That's easy enough to fix." Elrond rummaged in his bag, and pulled out a leaf wrapped bundle. "Have you been drinking water, by the way?"

"Yes. The servants refill the pitcher when they come by to tend the fire." Fingon took the item from Elrond and unwrapped it, but didn't eat it. "This isn't lembas."

"No, it's not. It's a mixture of rice, apples, and sugar designed to be edible to even the most upset digestive system."

"Nothing's wrong with my belly."

"Sure, after three days of no food and possible internal bleeding."

"I'm not still bleeding from their rape, I know what that feels like. But why not lembas, are you afraid it will burn your hands like the Silmarils?"

"I've never held a Silmaril and have no desire to do so, and find lembas perfectly edible. I've grown tired of asking for it from my mother-in-law though, and their are some who find it unpalatable. I've had orcs turn on their masters before, and they're generally in a poor state by the time I find them. Now, eat."

Fingon did so. "You realize that this means I'll have to shit sooner or later, and combining that with urine in the bed pan will smell rank."

"I'll ask Maedhros if you can be escorted to the lavatory. If not, either deal with the smell or shit on the floor. Do NOT shit in the sheets, it will not only irritate any wounds you're hiding, but may cause sores in itself."

"This isn't my first time being injured, you know."

"It amazes me what people manage to forget for basic medical care. Now, if you are comfortable with it I am going to speed the healing of your leg. I will use mostly my own energy, but you will feel drowsy afterwards."

"I'm going to be tied to this bed for the next month whether or not my leg is hale, but it would be nice to be able to move it without pain."

"So you are agreeing to let me heal you?"

"Yes, get on with it. Your conscience can be clear that you have a slave's permission to fix his wounds, even if you will do nothing to free me."

"Your relationship with Maedhros is certainly not the relationship I have with my wife, or what I'd do if she asked to leave me, but I don't know if I'd call it slavery. And of course the circumstances are very different."

Fingon lay back on the pillow and closed his eyes, clearly wishing to be done with the conversation.

Elrond leaned over Fingon's leg and hummed. Some healers had memorized chants for every different malady, but Elrond preferred wordless melodies. He let the notes drift until they became dissonant and jagged as bone scraping against bone, then brought the tune back to something more harmonious, the abrupt highs and lows becoming swift runs up and down the scale, earlier rhythms that stopped halfway complete being repeated as whole motifs. He let his hand rest on Fingon's knee as he did so, not touching the injury directly but reminding his power what the song reflected.

Eventually, Elrond drew the song to a close, the last notes dropping like pebbles into a still pool. Fingon's leg was healed completely, such that even another healer would be unable to see where the break had been. Elrond set himself to unwinding the bandages and splint once more.

Fingon said, "You would be amazing to have by my side in battle."

"Thank you, but I'm not interested in fighting."

"Of course not, you're too happy of a lapdog."

"Sleep now, and let your body adjust to the healing." Elrond picked up his bag and left Fingon's room.

[theelvenhaven]

Halloween Decorating

Maglor x Reader

1.7k words

* * *  You smiled widely as you carried your box through the Halls headed directly back to your apartment here in Rivendell, feet stepping upon crunching orange and brown leaves that swept in from the openings of the outside walkway. Today was absolutely perfect for the start of autumn with cool temperatures, and even cloud coverage hiding Anar. All that was missing was the warm smells of cinnamon and apples that you did in a simmer pot in your living area. 

Something you were more than ready to do in your apartment, some place you had lived since just after you came of age. Your parents having departed for Lindon to live there, and giving you the option to stay in Rivendell or go with them. Master Elrond had been more than welcoming of you staying in Rivendell, and provided the space for you. Happy to have you as an addition to his home. 

Every year did you partake in the human traditions you had picked up when you had left Rivendell to explore further with the twins. You had always been fascinated by their pumpkins with expressive faces, candles lit inside making them glow in the dark. The decorations they hung from trees outside or on their houses, with wreaths, costumes and other traditions you had never taken part in until then. 

Now it was a month before October came, with cooler days and changing leaves in the Valley and you were more than ready to prepare for the occasion. Something you’d have done a couple of weeks sooner, but your newly budding courtship with Maglor had kept you occupied as of late. This was something you had hoped to include him in now that you two were together, wanting to share in something you found fun. 

Quietly you opened the door to your home, entering the living space to find your partner staring pensively at what you knew were your pumpkins on the table. He seemed to jolt some at the sound of the door closing before turning to face you, his navy blue eyes finding yours before landing on the box in your hands. 

There was only one thing, you hadn’t exactly explained what it was you were doing nor why you were doing it. So Maglor was perplexed at the sudden need for four pumpkins and a box filled with black, orange and from what he could tell purple looking trinkets all inside what you were holding. The confusion was clear on his face, 

“Y/N what is all this?” He said in his gentle yet musical voice, sounding like a far cry from what he sounded like a year ago or so when he had been brought home from wandering the beaches. Healed and still healing. You kept your smile, setting the box on the table watching as your partner peered over to look inside the box, unable to contain his curiosity or patience. 

“Decorations! For Hallow’s Eve.” You said simply, leaving it open for him to ask questions as his navy blue eyes watched the way you began to pull things out of the box. Little black cats, strange little white blobs with eyes… Not to mention the clear cut outs of bats, and even more pumpkins but these had faces on the vellum that you had clearly painted to be orange. 

“What is… Hallow’s Eve?” Maglor asked, reaching in for what he saw was a cut out of spiderwebs, frowning as to why you would want fake spiderwebs… Considering you were afraid of spiders… 

“It is a celebration of sorts, to keep the spirits at bay as well as to celebrate them!” You answered him honestly, as you pulled out a box of tacks. Maglor’s clear look of confusion still hadn’t left his face, 

“But Y/N… All spirits go to Mandos.” Maglor argued weakly, pulling out another trinket, a little sculpture of a pumpkin with a menacing sharp toothy grin. You shrugged at his words, knowing it was mostly true, but you had heard the other accounts of humans and elves encountering spirits that hadn’t. But it had been a long time since Maglor was around to hear or recall such stories having been told to him. 

“Perhaps, but the humans seem to think otherwise.” You answered simply, deciding not to press the subject and cause unnecessary distress between the two of you over differing beliefs. Maglor then reached for the white blobs with big black beady eyes… Or at least that is what he figured they were. 

“What are these?” He asked that curiosity finding his voice, and you handed a small box of tacks, 

“That is a ghost.” You answered, and before he could ask you continued, “What the humans say spirits look like.” Yet it didn’t help as Maglor only continued to frown even deeper, his brows furrowing harshly as he looked back at it. Maglor couldn’t even begin to fathom how humans could decide that this was what “ghosts” looked like. 

“What do I do with these?” Maglor said trying to relax and flow with the fact that was what you did to celebrate the autumnal celebration and season. He liked that it seemed to make you so happy and excited, and that was enough to attempt to make sense of the well… nonsensical human festival. He was sure you’d explain more of it as you went along.

“Well I figured we’d pin some of these to the wall! And then set up the trinkets on the shelves and then carve pumpkins for the front door.” You smiled to him, bringing to him to smile softly at the plan you seemed to have in mind. Picking up a big bundle of paper cut outs, Maglor followed you, deciding to watch you enact your creative vision.

“The humans do this too?” Maglor pressed, watching as you opened the little box full of tacks before you pulled a few bats from the stack. You shrugged some at his words,

“Not all of them make as many cut outs as I have.” You said growing sheepish realizing how overboard you went for the festivities. But you loved it! Maglor smiled at your words,

“But yes there are humans who pin things to their walls too.” You answered him honestly, watching as he moved to set the pile down on a table in front of you. Reaching for one of the many bats and a pin before he looked up at the wall.

“Is there a specific way you are doing this?” He asked, and for a moment you paused in your pinning to look at the bats you already had on the wall. Looking it over in thought for a moment, before you began to shake your head, 

“No I don’t think so, why do you have an idea?” You asked him thoughtfully, looking over to him as you grabbed another vellum bat. Maglor seemed to be lost in his thoughts for a moment, staring at your little cluster of bats before looking at the one in his hand. He hesitated to say what was on his mind, used to keeping his ideas to himself for so long. Something that he was working through with the Healers here in Rivendell. 

“Yes.” He breathed out, looking to you almost sheepishly as he spoke before you could see him trying to muster up some more courage to speak what was on his mind. 

“What if you put the bats like this?” He said motioning in a swooping manner before his hands climbed up in the air pointing to higher on the wall. You thought for a moment, 

“Like… They’re flying up from the ground?” You asked him, and he nodded.

“Or we could have them flying down from the ceiling to the ground.” Maglor suggested, wondering if that made more sense to you. He watched you mull it over, looking over your bats on the wall and the rather large pile you had on the table in front of the wall. Before you nodded with a smile, and the tenseness Maglor felt waiting for you to answer left him. Relief taking it’s place especially as he watched a warm smile that found your lips. 

“That is a wonderful idea, I say we have them look like they’re flying up from the floor and to the ceiling. Makes it look like they are trying to escape.” You said flashing him that smile that made his heart stutter in his chest, Maglor felt a warmth tinge his face. Grateful you couldn’t see the blush on his face, Maglor adored to see you so happy. 

And in no time did you two begin in the endeavor of pinning tens of little cut out bats to the wall, with you starting from the floor and Maglor pinning them more towards the ceiling and at the higher points on the wall. Before finally you both came to meet in the middle, spreading them out and wide, making it looked as if there was a flurry of bats trying to find their way out. Maglor peeked over at you to see how giddy you were as you stood back, 

“It looks wonderful!” You breathed out happily, clasping your hands together as you looked over your handiwork. If Maglor were being honest, between your happiness and seeing the fruits of the shared labor this was kind of fun… Even if it was something others might consider to be a chore. As he came to stand next to you, he felt you lean up and press your lips to his cheek. 

“Thank you for your wonderful idea, meleth.” You said to him in a gentle voice, making Maglor blush again, growing a little bashful. 

“It was of no issue, meldanya…” He breathed out softly, before turning to see you move to the next pile of cut outs and trinkets. 

“Do you want to help hang up the rest? And then when we are done we can carve pumpkins!” You said to him, the first part certainly made sense, but carving pumpkins? A slew of questions met his mind, but this time he opted for it to be a surprise, wondering just how you’d explain it to him. 

“Of course. I could find no better way to spend time with you.” Maglor answered, and you grinned bringing him a few more cut outs, Maglor certainly could get used to this celebration. Seeing how happy it made you, it was certainly growing on him. He couldn’t wait to see what else this celebration had in store for you two. 

* * * 

Tags: @saviorsong @lilmelily @dicksoutformtl @fandomhoe101 @celebrimbor-telperinquar​ @red-riding​ @miriel-estelwen​ @ta-ka-shi-ma​ @nerdysimpy​ @thegirlwithoutaname87​ @anunexpectedsideblog​ @spidergirla5​ @eunoiaastralwings​ @eternalabysss​

[yellow-faerie]

From prompt list 3: #12 for Daemags. Fluff and/or angst :D

Ooh, yes! This is so wonderfully chaotic for Daemags. I guess this is vaguely based in those early years in Time and Music that Daeron and Maglor lived together at the Gap? That's the vibe I was going for anyway - although it's not based in the actual fic because I'm not so happy with some of the headcanons and the like on it anymore.

From this prompt list.

12 - "I'm waiting for the ground to swallow me whole. What does it look like I'm doing?"

"What are you doing?" Maglor asks, stopping short as he steps out of the their bedroom as he finds his husband lying face down on the fluffy rug in the drawing room.

"I'm waiting for the ground to swallow me whole," he says, a little muffled by the fluff. "What does it look like I'm doing?"

The sun has yet to rise over the plains so it is definitely too early for whatever nonsense Daeron has on right now. But Maglor cannot sleep and decides he shall take pity on his husband.

He drops onto the ground beside him.

"What happened love?"

"Aelineth."

"And what did Aelineth do?"

Daeron makes a despairing noise.

"It surely cannot be as bad as you are making it out to be."

He mumbles something into the carpet.

"Daeron."

He spins onto his back and dramatically throws a hand to his forehead. "They left me in the hold of Mírneledh all night. I thought they had begun to like me."

"It's alright dear," Maglor says, gently stroking through his husband's hair. "Aelineth is a force best left undeciphered - you will never be able to know whether they like you or not."

Maglor did, in fact, know that Aelineth did actually have a great deal of respect for Daeron and had decided that the best way to make sure Daeron never realised this was to be as horrible as possible to him at every opportunity. However, Maglor was not going to be the one to inform his husband of this because he appreciates living his life without constantly having to look over his shoulder.

Daeron throws his hands into the air and sits up sharply. "But could they at least give me a heads up if they didn't want me to sleep at night? Do you know how much gossip I had to listen to? Do you know how much pointless nonsense I had to listen to instead of sleeping in my lovely, warm bed with you? Do you?"

Daeron has an almost manic gleam in his eye.

"Dae-nín," Maglor says, reaching out to take his husband's hand. "I'll talk to them. And Mírneledh. Although I can promise nothing because they are both elves who answer to no-one."

"Thank you." And at the realisation that there was some sort of justice in the world, Daeron fell forward to lean his head against Maglor's shoulder. "I'm going to sleep now," he mumbles.

"Not here you aren't!" Maglor tries to extricate himself from the situation but Daeron gets a firm grip on the front of his sleep shirt and he is unable.

"Dae, I'm going to lose feeling in my feet."

Daeron doesn't move and Maglor thinks he might have actually gone to sleep. He contemplates the merits of waking him up but ultimately decides that it might be tad cruel after the night he must have had.

So Maglor just adjusts how he's sitting with a small sigh and a wince as the scar on his leg pulls uncomfortably for a moment, and pulls Daeron more comfortably into his lap.

The keep can wait for him a few more hours, he decides, looking at how low the sun is in the sky and begins to gently card his hands through Daeron's hair.

[jee-eun]

The Cost of Victory: 06

They never got the chance to put the plan into action. 

On the sixteenth day, they sent a scouting party to Angband to observe and report. 

The party didn’t even make it to Angband before they returned.

“Morgoth, he has a dragon and an army of orcs, marching on us at this very moment!” one of the scouts reported, breathless.

“Raise the alarm!” he called out, others taking up the call.

“How many?” he asked the scout.

“How many?” he gasped out.

“How many dragons?”

“One,” the scout answered, “Just one.”

“Good,” Maedhros said, mostly to himself, “Good. Now go!”

They were not ready. Their men were prepared for battle physically but not mentally or emotionally. 

But that didn’t matter. They’d have to fight. 

“We’re going to have to retreat,” Maglor spoke to him in hushed tones, “We aren’t prepared to fight against a dragon.”

“We’re not,” Maedhros agreed, “But we’re going to have to be.” 

Morgoth’s troops came quickly and without their scouts’ warning, they would have been overrun. Nonetheless, they stood and fought. Their blades were soon stained black with the blood of orcs. 

The wave of orcs was seemingly unending. Stab, slash, dodge, stab, dodge, slash, slash, dodge. An endless loop of violence. 

The dragon had not yet appeared but it was only a matter of time before it arrived. 

He continued to fight, a stream of black blood growing on the ground, the bodies of orcs and men and elves and dwarves appearing as obstacles as time went on.

Maglor and his cavalry rode on, taking out hundreds of orcs. Doriath’s archers shot with a terrible accuracy, taking out the back of the army. The dwarves of Belegost fought with a fierceness left unparalleled, their axes sharp and eyes sharper. The men fought with a fire he had only seen once before in Fëanor himself. 

It wouldn’t be enough. 

The dragon came, raining fire from above, uncaring of friend or foe with its deadly fire.

‘Please. Just a little rain,’ he all but prayed. 

It was no use.

“Retreat!” he called, his remaining men and women taking up the call.

There weren’t many places they could go. They chose Dorthonion because it would bottleneck Morgoth’s forces. Now they were the ones bottlenecked. 

In the heat of the retreat, he found Thingol and Turgon, fighting side by side.

“We need to retreat!” Turgon called to him, “We cannot hold the line!”

“I have already started the cry,” he responded, “Where are we retreating to? We’re bottlenecked here.”

“Make for the Pass,” Thingol called out in turn, “We can take the rivers to Doriath! Melian can protect us!”

Melian wouldn’t be able to protect them forever. Even she was not strong enough for that. But she could delay Morgoth long enough for them to regroup.

“Retreat!” Turgon began the cry among his own people, Thingol following suit. 

“Go to the front,” Maedhros ordered them, “I’ll take the rear.”

The two began to lead the retreat. He stood strong, holding the line and giving the others an opportunity to leave before he himself began to move back. 

It was a long retreat, making their way to the Pass of Anach. The dragon flew above them, raining fire down on them, but the majority survived. For two days they fought their way back, taking rounds on the rear. Unable to bury their dead. Unable to burn them.

He saw men and women fall, unable to walk any longer. He saw men and women fall from wounds that could be healed, but they were unable to recover them in time. 

Then, once they reached the pass, the orcs just stopped. They just stopped their pursuit with a loud cry of victory. They paused for a moment, staring unbelieving at the sight. Their cry was deafening and frightening.

“Go, we must go,” he urged the men surrounding him. 

The journey through the pass took another two days, slower without the hot pursuit of the forces of Morgoth on their heels. They tended to the injured that survived, took stock of all their remaining supplies, and began the process of building boats. 

Then they reached the River Mindeb. 

“We need to build even more boats,” Thingol urged, “We can travel by water, making the journey faster until we reach where the Esgalduin drains into the Mindeb.”

“And what, go to Doriath?” Orodreth scorned, “Nay, I refuse. We should travel West, to Nargothrond or the Falas.”

“No,” an injured Huor interjected, “Doriath would be safer. We would be under the protection of Melian. We could rest, recover, and regroup before making our next move.” 

“I agree,” Fingon stated after much debate, “We know Doriath to be safe for now. Melian can protect us while we regroup. We need to recover and rest as well. We have too many injured. For all we know, Nargothrond is no longer safe.”

“How do we know that Doriath is?” Orodreth asked.

“Doriath’s safety is derived from Melian, a maia, one aligned with the Valar no less. Morgoth is not yet provoking war with the Valar. Nargothrond’s safety is derived from secrecy, one that is not confirmed,” Maedhros interjected, “Gondolin’s safety was also derived from secrecy. Morgoth still found them.” 

Orodreth’s eyebrows furrowed, “Then we must at least send word to our remaining people, tell them where they can find refuge should they also be attacked.”

“Aye,” Dulgin nodded, “We should also send word to our allies. That Cirdan fellow should be informed among our other allies.” 

After that, they were in for a long journey to Doriath. The first day was spent building rafts, not the strongest but enough to get them where they needed to be. 

It took them four whole days to get enough rafts for their people. All four days were spent caring for the wounded and letting them rest while every bodied person either hunted for food or helped build the rafts.

Then they set sail. 

They sailed for three straight days, taking turns sleeping and catching fish from the river itself to eat.

Then they arrived at the mouth of the Esgalduin. They reused the boats to act as  sleds, using them to carry the wounded to make better time. Then they followed Esgalduin. 

For five days they traveled. Thingol and his people surrounding them like a wall, keeping them on the path.

The protections of Doriath made them confused and disoriented. Dizzy and unable to remember where they were going. 

Then, on the sixth day, they saw the lights of Menegroth. 

[superloves4]

I answered something mythology because void doesn’t make full sense to me but I’ve thinking about it for a bit and hear me out, hear me out for a sec: what if Feanor made it up on the spot/meant literal darkness considering what was happening, but the moment he swore on eru the narrative itself became the everlasting darkness, that regardless of what they did they would be fated to end as the darkest blight of their former selves

Feanor the creator burns down others creations

Maedhros becomes an evil to those he wanted to protect

Maglor alone after being unable to stop hurting others

Celegorm robbing innocents of their freedom

(I gotta admit I dunno what for Caranthir, maybe truly trying his best but failing every time: Angrod, Haleth, the Easterlings)

Curufin leaving no great creation, losing his son, deedless

(Dunno the Ambarussa either, but in non crispy Amrod aren’t they the reason thing go worse in Sirion? Maybe that)

[animatorweirdo]

Good morning/evening! It’s muffin anon and I have yet another weird idea for you.

So, what if Reader is a universe hopper? Like, they were just a regular person who happened to step on a crack in the universe and landed in the multiverse. They wanted to get back home but didn't know how to, so they just started to try out every single universe until they could find their homeland.

Also, in this multiverse, you cannot die unless you are in your homeworld and you do not age no matter how much time passes. Because of weird space-time shenanigans.

While they travel across the multiverse, the Reader stumbles across Arda, a very weird place as it is flat and not round like most other worlds. They know that this is definitely not their world but they decide to go in and see what this is about anyway.

They first land in the First Age and meet the Feanorians. (I am too lazy to write their reactions and it would be a delight if you could.) and one more time, after they have traveled a multitude of different worlds in the Third Age, during the War of the Ring. Surviving elves are very surprised to see the reader again, but they are delighted nonetheless. Reader takes a particular liking to Frodo and decides to be his guardian during his perilous quest.

BUT! There is a BUT!

The gods of the multiverse decide that Reader has been messing around with the balance of the multiverse and punish Reader by making them bound to Arda, meaning they become immortal. In a world that is losing all magic and immortality.

Reader helps to complete the quest and lives with their loved ones until they die. Then Reader goes to the very few elves remaining in Middle Earth to live with them as long as they can before those elves too, inevitably sail West.

After all elves either sail West or fade, dwarves delve too deep into their mountains and hobbits diminish, Reader starts to travel all across Arda as they are missing their freedom in the multiverse horribly. They only now understand that ‘going back home’ was only an excuse they used to travel around. And now that they are bound to a single world, they feel trapped.

Into the 5th or 6th age, Reader is very lonely and depressed. They try to talk to the gods of the multiverse and beg them to allow them to travel once more. But there is no answer.

For thousands of years, Reader traverses Arda alone and despairing until they meet a lone elf who did not sail or fade. Maglor. I can’t imagine what their reunion would be like. Both of them thought they would never see anyone they never ever again, and here they are.

From then, the two of them continue traveling together. They become very close as they bond over their shared trauma of the world going to fast and them never cathing it.

After that, I can imagine two endings:

Maglor and Reader’s burden becomes to much to bear and the two of them build a ship and sail to Valinor.

Reader’s punishment is finished and they are allowed to travel through the multiverse again on the condition they do not mess with anything. Reader asks if they can take Maglor. The multiverse gods take one look at the miserable face of Maglor and allow the two of them to face the eternal infinity together.

So, that was a lot! What do you think? Did I give Reader and Maglor too much trauma? Also, which ending do you prefer? I would love to hear your thoughts! (And possibly read a detailed reaction if that wouldn't be too much of a burden?)

Oh, dear Muffin. I can trust you to come up with sad stuff. You certain you aren't a bit of an angst demon?

I can definitely see reader and Maglor falling in love since living for centuries unable to die might not do well for mental health. However, I do not see Maglor willing to leave his world behind since his family is still bound to it, so maybe reader decided to make Arda their forever home and stay for Maglor. Also, they probably live long enough to catch up with the final battle with Morgoth, so maybe after that, they are allowed to live in happiness.

Or maybe during the final battle, Morgoth discovers the way of the universe hopping and intends to escape, and reader has to prevent it by breaking the bridge from the other side which results in reader being unable to come back.

But for the happy ending, reader travels through several universes to find a path back to Arda and reunite with Maglor.

(And for the reactions, the elves would probably feel weirded out by the whole universe hopping thing.)

[halfelven]

The post is from June, but you posted about Elrond meeting Earendil again and seeing his scars, and Earendil asking “were you loved enough?” Anyway, I kind of interpreted that to mean that Mae and Mags must have loved the twins in their own way? Or that Earendil knows Elrond may have some attachment to them? I’m rambling but I was wondering what your headcanons about how Earendil/Elwing/The Twins etc feel about everything that happened? I know people have different interpretations of Sirion/afterward, and I like to hear other people’s thoughts :)

I know you probably weren’t asking for an almost 4,000 word ‘essay’ but you hit one of my special interests (seriously I could go about this forever) Okay I wrote out like my reasoning first but I’m going to put it after because it’s long and concentrate first on the questions asked with longer explanations and thoughts below.

So yes, Eärendil was talking about Elrond being loved enough, especially in childhood, especially by Maglor and Maedhros, since he had to leave him and was never allowed to return to him. So here are my headcanons (and places where I’m not entirely sure on what version I like best...) for the aftermath and how it goes over the long years:

Elrond never forgets the violence he saw on the attack on Sirion. He is more desperate to live afterwards, and is the one who leans faster to Maglor and Maedhros, trying to get them to keep them alive, being fed, etc. He also allows himself to be ‘comforted’ in whatever way Maglor can manage. It’s not much. Maglor’s a mess. He’s choking out apologies and unable to answer the question ‘will you kill us’ because he doesn’t know. All he can say is he’s sorry.

Elrond never forgets this. He is faster to lean into Maglor’s love when it is given, but he never forgets that people will do desperate things that they would never dream of until they’re pushed. It leaves him the sort of person who will say things like, ‘don’t ask someone how they survived unless you’re prepared to hear the answer.’ And when people say they would never, never do something terrible or cowardly no matter what situation they’re in, he’s just like ‘you don’t know that.’ Hence why the fellowship of the ring weren’t bound by oath to their quest.

Based on Bilbo’s poem on Eärendil, I like to think that Elrond had some contact with Eärendil either during the war or after it, though I don’t have a firmly set idea for exactly when Elrond and Elros get joined with Gil-galad’s people. I do like to think that Eärendil was the one who told them about their choice of mortality or immortality and that he was allowed to at least see or speak to them, even though he isn’t allowed to return home. Ever. As punishment for saving the world…

Elros gets really fucked up by the attack as well. He resists loving Maglor and Maedhros longer. He is very protective of Elrond because he sees a gentleness in Elrond that he knows but also doesn’t know. He’s also gentle, but he has a desperation of not having enough time that Elrond never has. Elrond sees pieces of a future that Elros isn’t in. Elros think he’s going to die. He thinks they’ll both die. He hates that he pities the despair in Maglor’s eyes until he doesn’t. Then he realises he’s older, and he knows suddenly he’s going to make a choice he might regret and he’ll trust to something he doesn’t know for sure – that when he dies there will be a peace in the end. He begs Maglor and Maedhros to seek for forgiveness from Eru. He begs them. He says there is no way that Eru or the Valar would rather they continue to kill for the Silmarils. That there is a way that their words will be heard. He knows it. He has a faith that Elrond never has. He fights with Maglor and Maedhros. Elrond does too. They both grow up too quickly.

Neither of them ever hate anyone completely, not even Morgoth. Not even Sauron. They grew up watching their captors (their fathers) falling to pieces around them, dying as they lived, hopeless, despairing, the world torn to pieces, the sea flooding lands, on the run, captive, loved, thrown around, hungry, starving, praying to their father because they both felt him in the Star of High Hope.

When Maglor and Maedhros choose to kill for the Silmarils in their last despair and Maedhros dies and Maglor disappears, they both go into mourning. Everyone is in mourning. No one asks them for an explanation.

Eärendil sees they are alive for the first time from the heavens when they are little children still with Maglor, and he weeps with joy that they are alive. He can’t stand. He weeps and watches them. He knows he will never set foot on their land again. (And he fights in the war, and Elros fights beneath his banner, and Elrond beneath Gil-galad’s and they are too young, but he was younger, and nothing about it is fair, so he’s just glad they’re alive.)

(They meet Gil-galad’s host in a battle? Maglor finds a safe way to send them away because they’ll be safer then? They run away? I wish we had more concrete answers on this but I haven’t made up my mind what happens with them yet.)

I like to think there is a way that Eärendil saw them before he left back to the skies. If he had real wings, as Bilbo wrote, that he carried them up to the heavens and spoke on his ship, but there is a nature to tragedy that might make that just a dream. (Or it might be real. He floats on angel’s wings and lifts his children – one for the last time, but he had thought before it was the last time, so it is enough.)

Of course, Elros would never see his mother again. He does hear how she convinced the shipbuilders to make the ships. He loves her. He loves Eärendil. He loves Elrond. But his duty lies with the mortals who he feels connected to, who have faced so much, died in such great numbers. He sends her his love. So does Elrond.

Elrond chooses to live forever because he sees a vision of hands he holds, he sees grey-eyed babies in his arms, and lives he will save. He sees a life that will be riddled with pain, but he thinks he is strong enough to endure it. Besides, all choices of the world have their own griefs.

And maybe it aches inside Elrond and Elros because they know that they aren’t as important as the world, but they know they aren’t. It’s a tragedy, after all. If Eärendil didn’t leave, they would be dead. If Elwing didn’t have the Silmaril when she jumped, they would be dead. There’s something noble in being able to give up everything you love to save the world. There’s something bitter in being the loved one left behind. It hurts, but so do many things.

When Elros dies, Elrond is there. And Eärendil and Elwing watch from his ship and weep together again for the death of one of their children, for sure this time. Eärendil wonders if he will ever meet Elros again. Maybe, maybe, at the end of the world. Maybe he will be free then, no longer bound to carrying light through the darkest and coldest parts of the sky, watching the pain and joy of a world he cannot reach. (I’m going to write Frodo meeting Eärendil soon. I know it.)

When Elrond leaves the grey havens, Eärendil watches, follows their ship. He can touch the ground of Valinor, so he can hold Elrond again. And he wants to know if Elrond was loved enough. If he was, if he was. If Maglor or Maedhros or anyone could give him enough love, and Elrond says he did, softly, though the love he got was patches and pieces, and it wasn’t enough, not really, and they left (Maglor left.) But he doesn’t say it out loud because his father is there but he’s also like a stranger, and his body is scarred because he nearly died fighting in the sky over a land he could not reach, as punishment for saving it.

It’s a tragedy. He doesn’t say that either.

When he first sees his mother her runs to her and hugs her so that she won’t question if he loves her. He does. Even in the distant way that it is, it is love. Maybe not how one loves a mother, but it’s enough, all in all, isn’t it? So he says, ‘I love you.’ and kisses her, and she weeps, and he weeps too, and that’s the first meeting.

And later he asks her, he has to ask her, why she left, why she didn’t try to save the. She thought he was dead. She thought he would be dead. It’s long and complicated and those are questions you aren’t supposed to ask (how did you survive? You don’t ask that, remember?)

She thought they were dead. Both dead. She threw herself into the sea on the chance that there was mercy from the Valar. She was right. She was right.

And it worked. It saved them. It saved the world. And there’s nothing else to it, in the end. What’s done is done.

Elrond hopes he’ll stop breaking down crying over everything lost, over everything taken, over everything, but he never does. It’s a tragedy. And Eärendil sails the frozen skies, and sometimes Elrond goes with him for he can endure the cold. He’s strong enough. And his sons, too.

It’s still a tragedy, no matter what light you paint it in, but the light of the Silmaril might be the most beautiful of all.

Here are my reasonings:

okay so I wish tumblr would let me tag answers before I post them but I’m gonna talk a bit about childhood trauma, child abuse, suicide, and unplanned pregnancy

(side note here that I pick and choose literally anything I like from the silm or home since I read the unfinished tales and the book of lost tales before the silmarillion and I can’t always remember which version of the story is from which) 

anyway, in this case, the “were you loved enough” is mostly relating to their childhood since Eärendil left them when they were very young. 

(by my calculations that I’m not getting into a lot of depth here with but draws from ages of elves, ages of mortal humans, and ages of the rangers would put Elrond and Elros at approximately 1 year old in human terms when he leaves and approximately 3 years old when they are captured. 

this ALSO makes Eärendil and Elwing a child marriage but I can’t see how they wouldn’t be given that Gilraen is mostly mortal and was still considered young to marry at 24 (which like I’m not going into the whole thing of how that connects to Tolkien’s personal relationship with marriage and his wife but it’s an interesting little note)) 

this also puts Eärendil and Elwing as teenage parents/rulers and Eärendil equivalently a teenager when he leaves on his search for Valinor and both of them in their early 20s when they do reach Valinor

(again this is based on a lot of estimates of aging for half-elves that we don’t have full answers to, but it does carry into how I view the entire situation)

anyway any way it comes out, they are extremely young parents (I also think that the pregnancy wasn’t planned, given their situation and the war and it happened in such a way because they didn’t realise Elwing, being partly mortal, wasn’t as in control of her body as elves seem to be and got pregnant in the middle of a war where they were all felt like they were doomed to die.) 

so these teenagers, basically, are trying to keep their people together and from losing all hope and etc. and Eärendil now has babies that he has to leave because the world is ending and they’re all going to die and his only chance at saving them is to go on a suicide mission to beg for help, even though he’s a direct descendent of the cursed Noldor and also would know that no attempts to reach Valinor have been successful and also pretty much all end in almost everyone drowning (not going to go into an essay on the connections between Eärendil and Frodo’s characters right now but there’s a Lot) 

so Eärendil looks at the world falling to Morgoth and that they have not enough strength to save themselves says basically I’m going to save the world or I’m going to die trying and leaves his young family in the hopes that somehow they’ll be able to live, even if that means without him 

so now we have Elwing, a young single mother basically, with twins, trying to keep her people from dying and losing all hope with the One thing that she thinks might protect them being the Silmaril and her people agree

now this is taking place in a world with curses and holy objects, ropes that burn, swords that glow around enemies, rings of power, etc. so when she says this Silmaril is holy and burns all evil that touches it she’s like actually right because we see that the Silmarils were hallowed and do burn everything evil that touches them 

kind of want to do another side-note here that it includes “mortal” flesh alongside evil and so forth which is Interesting “ Varda hallowed the Silmarils so that no mortal or evil hands were allowed to touch them without being burned and withered.” like Okay Then I guess mortals are evil or unholy~ 

(headcanon that Elros touched the Silmaril after he already chose mortality and it didn’t burn him) 

anyway so we have the half-elves, half or part mortals (!!!) trying to save the world or keep their people alive while also having babies in the middle of a war where they all are doomed (I could write an entire thesis on “fool’s hope” in Tolkien and the concept of “sisu” in Finnish culture but I won’t here) 

then the Fëanorians are like hey, Elwing you must give us this Silmaril the only thing you think will save your family and people and also we’re the people who killed your family/people and threw you out of your home but now give us this holy object that you’re praying will save you all from dying 

and Elwing is like um no I don’t want my people and family to die??? and doesn’t give it to them 

(could write another essay on how people blame Elwing for being attacked and how that is often deeply rooted in sexism bc it’s always like “hey how could this woman have prevented herself from being attacked” rather than “hey maybe this army shouldn’t have attacked these civilian refugees” and I’m not going into how people justify Boromir’s despair turning him to grasp for an unholy but still powerful object with force of violence for the literal same thing of “save my people” and are still like Elwing brought this on herself) 

so yeah they get attacked and all that Elwing has the Silmaril and throws herself into the sea, turns into a bird, etc. and then flies to Eärendil and becomes herself again. this is interesting because it means she had the Silmaril with her and also that she... threw herself into the sea without any real plan (also that very few people survived that attack) she also knew her sons had been taken but didn’t try to bargain for them with the Silmaril, which is interesting, but given that her brothers were killed by these people, she probably wouldn’t think they could be bargained with and since she thinks her sons are slain and there’s confusion in the battle I’m guessing that the Fëanorians didn’t offer a bargain? 

it’s a really confusing and messy battle with some of the Fëanorian’s soldiers turning against them because of the cruelty of it which is another Interesting point (because like they’re already the hated. where are they going after? do they get pardoned now? do they think they will? like I keep going off on side notes but this is really fascinating)  

but anyway I’m reading it like it’s a very messy battle, they’re probably taken by surprise, most of them die bc again most are civilians, Elrond and Elros seem to be taken quite fast, Elwing knows they are taken and thinks them dead, and then jumps into the sea (which is like... Elrond’s parents really lean into suicide) which is like really desperate and seems to be either she has a bit of foresight (runs in the family) and thinks she won’t die and the Silmaril is needed or she thinks they’ve lost everything and will all die, her sons are dead, so she’s going to die too and hopefully the tides will take her and the Silmaril away from them forever so they at least don’t get that 

okay so that’s how I view the attack on Sirion. like absolutely fucked up, despair on both sides and I know this is long but this is one of my favourite things to talk about 

okay so that’s where Elrond and Elros are taken. again because I like to pull things from different drafts, I go with the Maglor and Maedhros both take to them. (I’m really against the interpretations of Maedhros wanting to kill them bc I literally can’t imagine him wanting to kill Fingon’s great grand nephews. like even at that point. there’s no way I can picture it since he still is able to talk reasonably/rationally his points of why they have to do these terrible things or they will be forever doomed. I don’t have time to get into the theology here but it’s Fascinating as well) 

Elrond and Elros are somewhere around three years old in human terms but they’re half elves and part Maiar and we know that elves alone are able to talk well by one year old and have amazing memories and they’re six so I’m going with they are Aware they are captured and do have memories of their parents (though they can’t remember what Eärendil looks like)

However children are programmed to survive. and for reasons I will not get into in great depth but like this is where the warning for real life child trauma comes in I have taken care of children who were less than two hours before taken away from their parents by the police at gun point (also I was 17 so it is a bit fucked up all the way around) and yeah like it’s...

it’s literally like at one moment they’ll be like “I need food” and a minute later “are you going to kill me?” and Very protective of one another even though they /know/ they need you so it’s like this very fucked up point where kids will be grasping for help from people who they think might also kill them

it’s also noted that the love between them doesn’t come right away and grows after, which makes sense, since Elrond and Elros probably would have been at first like please keep us alive and Maglor is very sick in his heart from the oath and the violence and evil he’s committed

but yes that they do grow to love one another. there’s a gap of four years before Eärendil and Elwing reach Valinor during which they still think their children are dead, and then Eärendil refuses any of his crew (and Elwing) to set foot on the shore because he thinks that it will be death and he doesn’t want anyone but himself to die (again, they lean so hard into the suicide) and of course there Elwing refuses to part from him and also goes on shore but the rest of his crew never see them again (not really noted what happens to them. I’m assuming they go back to Middle-earth) but anyway my point here is that Elrond and Elros both really take after their parents in terms of like sheer bravery. And also fascinating that Elwing is immediately like if you die I die, and Eärendil later wishes to die as a mortal but takes immortality for his wife’s sake. 

Anyway the point of all this is that they love each other in a desperate way that is like on a level of tragedy with any of the great myths of our world. there’s another three years before the hosts of Valar reach Middle-earth after this and then a really long war and it is unclear at what point Elrond and Elros return to their own people (well, what’s left of them…). But they would be under Maglor’s care for at least seven years and most likely longer

anyway I know Tolkien has messy timelines and everything but there’s a slight problem in that Elrond mentions in the fellowship that he saw the hosts of Valinor and all their glitter and beauty but he also has enough memory of Maedhros and Maglor and the sickness of their hearts. So I don’t have an actual concrete timeline in my head that’s like canon on when and how they part from Maedhros and Maglor. I switch it all the time.

What I do have concretely is the idea that Elrond and Elros love their parents and count Eärendil, Elwing, Maglor, and Maedhros as their parents. (there’s also quite a bit of like subtext or just blatant Fëanorian symbolism in both Elros and Elrond’s symbols and associations that can back up they do count themselves as Fëanorians in some ways)

However Elrond has so much Eärendil symbolism in his household also that I don’t think he’s like “fuck you. You abandoned me.” notably with his daughter named after the evening star, and that he and his sons both wear white gems on their heads like Eärendil (both mentions are in rotk iirc)

I also don’t go with the idea of either of them hating Elwing for abandoning them either or the idea that she valued the Silmaril over the lives of her children or people. Again, it seems like she thought they were dead (like y’know her brothers.) And both Eärendil and Elwing have incredibly rough childhood trauma so it does feel slightly strange that Elwing decided to be counted as the Eldar (it just says “because of Lúthien” so maybe she thought she had to balance out Lúthien’s death?) And then Eärendil for his love of her chooses the same. Which is interesting because it goes back to the whole she chose to die with him when jumping after him into the foam and then the shore. Which is like just another side-note but mmm it hurts so bad that they were punished for all of that. Also Elwing is the one who convinces the Teleri to create enough boats and sail them over the seas to send the hosts of Valinor to save the world, even if the Teleri will just sail the ships and not themselves fight. Like, she has an important part in the whole “saving the world” that I don’t see often mentioned.

Also unless Bilbo was just making things up or it was metaphorical, both Elwing and Eärendil have wings and can fly (Eärendil’s wings coming from Varda, Elwing’s coming from learning from birds.) Just very cool that Elrond’s family is so associated with birds and flight (and Lúthien being called “nightingale” is just fun for me since a nightingale was my first part in a play.)

[selenite85]

Whose Voice is Heard over the Seas: Part II

(Part I. here)

Decades turned into centuries, and Maglor managed to avoid the Atani quite successfully. He almost started to feel certain he had long ago stopped caring about them, until he saw something familiar.

Fishermen.

He was used to seeing them – always keeping his distance – but this time it was different. They were shipwrecked after a long, cruel storm, wounded and exhausted. Starving.

And he could not forget, no matter how he tried. Once again, Maglor approached the Atani, returning the old favor. Again he was forced to speak, and even though it was hard to communicate at first, he still managed to help these people, to soothe them and secure them, until he could bring help from the nearest settlement.

Maglor promised himself he would leave soon. The very next day. Or the day after. Or as soon as he made sure his new friends had all fully recovered. Or after he saw them to their home safely...

These thoughts were in vain, though.

He already knew he was caught again, as he was simply unable to oppose this feeling – this strange temptation to become someone else. These people had no idea about Maglor's past; they took him just for another wandering elf. So why shouldn't he be one? Wasn't he just a lost wanderer anyway? Did his past really matter now? Certainly not to them.  

And thus, after some time, he could not resist anymore and started a new life among the Atani, not just beside them.

A very different life from what he had once known, indeed. Instead of staying outside, he became a link in their society, and sometimes, especially during the busy days, he felt as if this was meant to be his life all along. Sometimes he was close to forgetting about where he once had belonged, what his wishes and cravings used to be... who he used to be. All of this was suddenly gone – his name, his past, as if it had never really happened. Only somewhere deep inside, at the very back of his mind, in the most remote corners of his heart, he knew he was merely fooling himself. He realized that sooner or later the reality would seek him out mercilessly again. But until that moment, he felt content with his current situation.

Of course he knew his friends would grow old and die, watching him remain always his same self, intact, untouched by time. He tried to prepare for it, but life seemed to be a few steps ahead again.

No wonder, as the Atani were much quicker to anger. Such was the reality, even though he refused to accept it, or understand it. How come they drew their swords so lightly, when their lives were so short and fragile on their own? Could the answer to this ever be found?  

One thing was for sure though – he got involved. He merely defended at first, but then attacked and killed. Again.

The blood was too real. Even more so as it stuck to his hands. It didn't matter how fast Maglor ran to the nearest fountain to wash it away. The images were already before him, burning their way back into his consciousness. As he rubbed his hands frantically, all he could really see was more blood, more suffering. All these dreadful memories emerged from the oblivion and took over everything he could perceive. He was in Alqualonde again, in Doriath and in the Havens of Sirion again, and all he could see was rage and death, all he could hear were cries of despair and madness.

Madness.

It was with raw madness that he grabbed the nearest horse by the mane. No bridle or saddle were needed, they just ran, flying through the fires, over the fallen walls, away from something that could never really be escaped.

His right palm already felt on fire when they reached the shore. The horse halted before the waves, throwing Maglor down from his back, and ran away, into the night.

Maglor, however, ran wildly to meet the sea, stumbling and sobbing, crying. His voice was raw and rasping, and he could not actually sing, even if he wanted to. Instead he just screamed at the sea, as if accusing someone in the distance of all injustices of the world. He went further and further, feeling the chill of the cold waters, choking on the barrage of waves...

Seaweed, he realized in the morning, as he looked around him. The sea had not admitted him, as expected. His kingdom were the endless shores. His reality was in the past again.

Yes, it still existed, after all, and now it was all here to haunt him, to remind him where he belonged. The past.

But of course he had a past.

He looked up and for some reason recalled a similar sunrise, somewhere else, long ago.

Smells of herbs and roast fish. And two faces, young, terrified, and confused. It had been with caution, but also with something very close to trust as the little siblings accepted the food and ate. They had viewed him silently, crouched and huddled together. And he had kept his silence too, not wishing to disturb them in any way. Instead, he had turned to the sea and started singing a quiet, wordless, soft tune. He had not stopped as the boys sat beside him. He had just put his arms around them, promising to himself he would always protect them, always, against all odds, even the Oath.

And if something could ever tie him to life again, it was this resolve, now recalled and renewed.

-End of Part II. (Part III. here)

(written for the @aspecardaweek)

[thatfeanorian]

4 and 26 for Makarato please 🥺

yes yes yess! Featuring just a tiny hint of brat Maglor at the very end because bratglor is bestglor.

Ice Play & bondage + Makaráto

Maglor whined, a trail of freezing cold water dripping down his side. Finrod’s burning lips followed, licking up the dripping icy water, a smug smile curving over his lips as Maglor tugged at the silk ropes tying his arms to the head of the bed. He was dizzy with lust, his cock dripping onto his stomach, and yet somehow, desperately, it wasn’t enough.

“Findo!” He wailed, squirming as much as he could in his bonds, and Finrod lifted his head, blazing blue eyes meeting Maglor’s,

“What ever is wrong, my darling?” Finrod asked innocently and Maglor moaned in frustration, unable to form any thoughts coherent enough that they could be made into sentences.

“M-more?” He asked pathetically, shifting his hips upwards to try to get his message across to Finrod who simply sat back on his heels and tilted his head to the side.

“More what? We talked about this, Macalaurë, I’m not touching your cock or taking you tonight, you have to do this all by yourself.” Maglor squeezed his eyes shut, his entire face crumpling in on itself as he whined,

“Please?” But Finrod simple chuckled and reached up to give his inner thigh a playful slap, so so close to where Maglor needed contact and yet somehow so far away.

“No.” He grinned and then a deviously thoughtful expression fell over his face, making Maglor’s breath catch in his throat as Finrod murmured,

“Well, I suppose something else could go inside you… would you like that?” Maglor nodded eagerly his breath coming in short pants and his body feeling so hot and desperate that it was nearly on fire.

“P-please, need more, need anything!” Finrod reached up, crooking a finger under Maglor’s chin and regarding him, clearly holding back an excited smile and Maglor shivered, his hips twitching.

“Okay, love, I’ll give you what you need.” Maglor let out a sigh of relief as Finrod settled down between his legs the tip of one of his fingers circling Maglor’s hole and Maglor screamed, his voice cracking as suddenly something new pressed against his hole, not at all what he had been expecting. It was about the size of Finrod’s finger but burning with cold. There was a tiny stretch and then suddenly, before Maglor could even register what had happened, the thing sat inside him and his eyes were flying open as his entire body jerked against his will, writhing against the sheets in an attempt to rid himself of the freezing burning too much pain-pleasure sitting inside of him.

He needed it out. He needed more of it. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t stop twitching. He couldn’t breathe. Belatedly, Maglor realized he was getting quite dizzy and forced a painful breath out of his mouth, shakily panting and whining as the ice chip moved within him. Maglor could feel it melting, moving, shifting and brushing against his walls filling his entire body with shivers of delight and horror but most of all he needed more.

Above him, Maglor distantly heard Finrod chuckle though he couldn’t quite bring himself to understand how he was supposed to respond.

“Did you like that, darling?” Finrod asked gently, reaching down and probing Maglor’s hole again, reaching inside with one finger and swirling the ice chip around inside of him as Maglor writhed on the bed, a filthy moan escaping his lips and he felt himself tumbling over the edge as Finrod leaned down and grazed his teeth over the head of his cock. Maglor’s vision went white and he spiraled down into a haze of pleasure that was broken only by the still overwhelming cold shifting inside his ass.

When he finally became aware of his surroundings again, Maglor shifted bonelessly, making a half-hearted attempt to roll over on top of Finrod as he slurred out,

“Good. Liked that. You need me to suck you off?” Finrod laughed fondly, wrapping his arms around Maglor’s waist and pulling him up so that Maglor’s head could lay on his chest,

“Oh, Káno, I came ages ago, didn’t you notice?” Maglor blinked sleepily, nuzzling into Finrod’s chest and asked,

“What? Why?” Finrod rolled his eyes, tangling his fingers in Maglor’s loose hair and pressed a kiss to his forehead,

“Oh please, as if I could possibly have resisted such a gorgeous nér trembling under my fingers as if I were about to unmake him.” Maglor shivered happily,

“You almost did.” He admitted quietly and he felt more than heard Finrod’s answering chuckle.

“Good. Maybe you’ve finally learned your lesson about being so needy?” Maglor sniffed haughtily and scowled in Finrod’s direction,

“If you think you can tame my misdeeds so quickly, beloved, you are sorely mistaken. I will need that lesson taught to me at least twenty more times.”