#Not written by a Feanorian

[voxiiferous]

@melpomaen | Everyone else excuse the break from our regularly scheduled programming for some Tolkien nerdiness.

I Wanna Be In The Calvary Noldor edition (as sung prior to the Burning of the Ships)

I wanna be in the cavalry if they send me off to war I wanna good steed under me like my forefathers before I wanna good mount when the trumpet sounds and I hear the dragon's roar I wanna be in the cavalry if they send me off to war

I wanna horse in the volunteer force that's riding forth at dawn Please save for me some gallantry that will echo when I'm gone I beg of you sir let me lead the charge when the battle lines are drawn Lemme at least leave a good hoof beat they'll remember loud and long

I'd not a good foot soldier make, I'd be sour and slow at march And I'd be sick on a swan ship, and the Belegaer'd leave me parched But I'll be first in line if they'll let me ride, by god, you'll see my starch Lope back o'er the heath with the laurel wreath underneath that vict'ry arch

Let me earn my fleurs in the battle's blur where the day is lost or won I'll wield my lance as the ponies dance and the blackguards hit their drums A sabre keen, and a bow notched and an army at my back Where the minstrels lead with the cold, cold steel let me be a cav'lryman

Let 'em play their flutes and lace-up my boots and place them back to front For I won't be back on the Helcaraxë until I'm finished in my hunt I wanna be in the cavalry if I must go off to war I wanna be in the cavalry, but I won't ride home no more

-

I Wanna Be In The Cavalry: Reprise (Written sometimes in the late first age)

I wanna be in the cavalry if they send me off to war I wanna good steed under me like my forefathers before

Courageous at first we took their worst, our positions we held stout We clung to belief and we hung on the speech from our trusted leaders' mouths Overwhelming odds and a hopeless cause and our cities overrun There were them that said we was badly led and that were we outmanned

I lost count of the worthy mounts that from under me were cut My favourite mare with her head in the air took poisoned arrows in her gut In the first two weeks on the Ard-Galen my brother lost his arm Was only sixty years till all we prayed was get us home unharmed

O for the day that we changed our names and the well that we were wished The men's congrats and the pats on the backs and the ladies that we missed The band that played and the grande parade and the patriotic shouts All faded fast, didn't even last till the uniforms wore out

And there were none to replace nor to help us face the winters cold and bleak That chilled to the bone the pneumonia prone and froze our bootless feet Then the red-clad came with oath-bound fits, blood and stolen gem That proved in the end to have killed more men than the vilest enemy

We were finally forced to feed on horse and carcass we could scrounge When the wagons stopped and we'd burnt their crops to charred and barren ground With morale in doubt and our pride run out no honour did I see All I seen were a thousand dreams piled dead in front of me

I wanna be in the cavalry if the send me off to war I wanna be in the cavalry but I won't ride home no more

[thetiredprometheus]

Concerning Maiar

The Doriathrim: our Queen is from out of this world. She is elf-like, yet she is not. To look upon her is to look upon the divine, something beautiful and terrible alike, for she is a Maia, and thus incomprehensible to mortal eyes

The followers of the Feanorians, who've seen their Prince Nr. 3 yelling at a Maia to "get of the couch, you are shedding! And stop fucking licking me!" every morning for a few centuries now: ....right

[storkofyore]

Despite their tumultuous beginning, Elrond and Elros both knew that Maglor and Maedhros were not ones to be easily made angry. Annoyed? Sure. Irritated? Of course. But truly angry? It was a rare sight, even the twins knew.

But what Maglor knew was that ever since he had returned, Maedhros had been more ill tempered than was usual. His gentle, charming smile and kind, twinkling eyes were no longer what met the younger Feanorian when he gazed upon his elder brother’s face. What greeted him instead was a stoic,neutral expression, firm and austere in nature, with stern, cold eyes. Maglor trembled beneath them more than once, and shuddered at even the thought of them, only because of what he once knew. But despite his thinning patience and fraying psyche, Maedhros had never snapped at the twins beyond a mere chide or quick terror inducing glare when they were getting out of hand.

He had not once truly lost his temper with them.

Until that one night.

Maglor and the twins had been playing by the fire, and the twins had been getting rather rowdy as Maedhros made an attempt to ignore them and focus on his work. Anything to keep him from losing it. But then one of the twins accidentally knocked something fragile to the floor, and it shattered. Maglor made a quick move to clear the pieces so that the twins would not injure themselves, pinching their cheeks with a smile and a kindhearted “it’s alright, don’t fret yourselves over it. Neither of you are hurt and that is what is important. Do try to be careful next time.” And they were. But their voices grew louder. Elrond accidentally stepped on Elros’ foot, who in typical sibling fashion, pushed him with an angry comment. The moment they heard a loud bang from behind, and a booming voice, all of their blood ran cold as even Maglor turned in surprise.

“That is enough! From all of you!” Maedhros scolded, still working hand clutching a dagger in his fist that had been plunged into the table. Maglor gasped, before glaring back at his brother.

“That is mahogany!” He exclaimed.

“Would you rather it be you?! Or one of those.. those.. those vermin that you brought here?!” Maglor’s very heart trembled at his brother’s words, and the venom with which they were said, but he stood his ground and moved to shield the twins from his brother’s rage.

“Maedhros, you don’t mean that.” The darkness that shrouded Maedhros’ gaze said otherwise. Silently, the twins shuffled off and out of the room.

***

Terror. Unbridled terror. Maglor was asleep, of course he was asleep. Why wouldn’t he be asleep when he needed to be awake.

Maedhros shoved the thoughts into the back of his mind. He would deal with them later. He could feel his heart ramming against his ribcage in his ears as he frantically searched the keep for Elrond and Elros, turning over pillows and blankets, throwing open doors, checking in cabinets and below furniture. His heart dropped when he failed to find them. It was happening again. He frantically threw his cloak over his shoulders and grabbed his lantern. Against his better judgement, he grabbed his sword. The twins would be terrified of him if he found them, but if they were in danger he needed to be prepared. Without a glance back, he stepped out into the frigid night.

Frantically, in a panic and urgency he had not felt in millennia, he made his way through the thick of the winter, pushing branches, brambles and thickets out of his path as he called their names into the dark. He glanced in every direction, frantically, but there was no sign of the twins. Defeat cloaked around him like a blanket of stone, and he sank to the floor of the forest, his head in his hands as his breath seemed to be stolen in panic, the tears freezing instantly on his reddened cheeks. He had failed, again. He could hear the voices taunting him.

Somewhere, through the night, he heard a rustle. Looking up in a final attempt for hope, he stood to his feet and grabbed the lantern, following the sound with swift steps, tripping over a tree root in his haste.

The moment his eyes caught fearful eyes behind dark locks, powdered with snow, he felt his heart would stop beating. Slipping on the frozen earth, coated with a thin layer of ice, he threw down the lantern and his sword as he collapsed in front of the twins. They froze, and glanced back at him unblinkingly, as he stared with eyes overflowing with tears, hand gently resting against their cheeks. Before any of them had time to think, he was firmly pulling them to his chest in a tight hug, before throwing his cloak over them.

By the time they returned to the keep, Maglor greeted them at the door in a panic, scooping the twins into his arms like a mother hen as Maedhros refused to meet his gaze, standing afar off to the distance, wiping his cheek on his sleeve. Without a word, he pushed past Maglor and disappeared into the hall.

***

It was late, Elrond and Elros were getting tired, and they were still shivering from the cold. Silently, they sat at a table, yawning from time to time as Maedhros silently stood over a pot, stirring it and observing it with unbreakable focus. Without a word, he grabbed two bowls, scooping a hefty serving of soup into both before setting them in front of the twins.

“Eat. It will help to warm you.” He said, coolly. There was no anger in his voice, only heavy guilt and remorse that he hid rather poorly. The twins glanced at him, before watching as he walked off to another room for a moment. With a shrug, they ate. They knew it was an apology, and a way to make things right, as simple as it was. Elrond smiled faintly.

It was a hearty soup.

[eri-pl]

You know, what else would be hilarious?

You know, in AtLA the "Ember Island" episode? The one with theather? Imagine: After Doriath, the remaining Feanorians (M&M, A& maybe A depending on what you prefer) go spying among the refugees in one or another city (no, IDK how Maedhros is not recognizeable, elven illusions, ok? Maglor does it) and there is a theatre and it does a play about Feanor and his sons (mostly about the sons) and it has the budget of a Czech musical and historical accuracy of the Amazon series.

Most of the men are played by girls (because boys and adults are mostly dead or fighting), Maglor is the main character, portrayed as weeping all the time and talkieng about hope (see: Katara in the episode) and hating his brothers (also, a strong suggestion that he's actually Fingolfin's son). Maedhros is portrayed as an orc-like monster but also has a lot of evidently artifical muscles which he flexes all the time in a flirty way. Celegorm is shown eating people, beating his dog, and still somehow is a comic relief. Curufin is played by the same actor as Feanor, only wearing heels (yes, they do the "short Feanor" thing) and is basically the same character, only he screams less and speaks in whole sentences (yes, they somehow make Feanor dumb). Caranthir is somehow turned human to marry Haleth (who is an evil witch). Amrod and Amras are one character.

Oh, and the actor playing Maglor cannot sing well (for an Elf at least).

And they need to sit there unnoticed in order to gather information about the Silmaril later, or something.

[superloves4]

Lovers that leave.

Or how the Curufinwës’ destroy their relationships with their self-worth issues.

I was thinking about the concept of while Curufin tries to be Fëanor he is more like Nerdanel and it led me here. Nerdanel and Curufin being the ones that saw beyond the surface of Fëanor and Finrod, two restless spirits that can’t not leave to follow their beliefs.

But the one thing Curufin can’t escape being like his dad is the fear of never being enough and how it leads to their own destruction.

[sesamenom]

browsing stormlight art on tumblr and ran into a post about how different dalinars life would have been with a somewhat healthier childhood and i think someone tagged it 'kaladin adopts young dalinar au' or something

anyways i propose a Make Everybody Worse au. teenage dalinar and gavilar get dropped directly into formenos and unofficially adopted by feanor a few years before the flight of the noldor. they both participate in the First Kinslaying/Oath/Losgar and then feanor dies. maedhros adopts them and then thangorodrim happens. maglor adopts them for a few years until mae gets rescued. they participate in the first few decades of the wars of beleriand, after which they get dropped back into the middle of alethkar.

on the noldorin side of things, m&m assume the random children they sort-of adopted (300some years before Secondborn were awakened) got killed somewhere in the battle. the kidnap fam situation now has the additional context of m&m having known even more pairs of children who died because of the Oath - one pair killed in the Second Kinslaying, one pair who presumably died in battle because they swore the Oath

on the alethi side of things, dalinar & gavilar are now Oathbound kinslayers who just lost five-to-ten parental figures and all their friends, and spent most of their lives being actively encouraged in war and military strategy. they also skipped the entirety of the navani-related conflict and are probably somewhat closer because of that. violence ensues.

[iminye]

Do you ever think about how the Finwean fractions not only affected the main family but the entire people? Because I surely do. I cannot help but think about how much it must have divided the Noldor as a whole, even before Feanor went into exile (and Finwë with him), not to mention the literal ocean wide divide after the majority of the Noldor left. Just like ugh so much potential for tragedy!!

Like imagine you're politically relatively neutral, you like both of your queens and largely have no quarrels with the princes and princesses (though you believe that they sometimes go too far). Your daughter has become a cherished companion of Lady Findis, your son has joined the hunt of Oromë and is enjoying himself greatly. You're happy, you have gone onto the long journey to be happy like this. Nothing could threaten this paradise.

Everything's as good as can be, until it isn't.

Your son gets into his rebellious phase and becomes politically more and more radicalized. An outspoken supporter of Fëanor. You think it's a phase because every child goes through such a thing right? Right? You've never been a child yourself but your neighbors tell you that this is normal, nothing to worry about. Everything will sort itself out.

Except it doesn't and as the discord echoes among the people, the division between you and your child grows. The Trees are destroyed. The High King dies. The Noldor revolt. The kinslaying happens, your wife's cousins in Alqualondë are dead and you do not know whether or not your own child is responsible for killing them. Your child is gone. The ships burn. The new High King's brother leaves with the majority of your people across the ice. You do not follow them.

You swear allegiance to yet another new High King, the third in your lifetime. You hear nothing about your child for a long time.

Hundreds of years later you go across the sea once again. You follow your king to war in hopes to find that wayward child, to see if he regrets his deeds - only to then hear about even more atrocities he did: Aiding in the attempted coup of a kingdom, helping with the kidnapping of a princess, another kinslaying and then abandoning said princess's child-grandsons in the woods, and once more a kinslaying and more kidnappings. The list is long you cannot recall all of it. You do not want to recall all of it.

And then you find him, as he is slowly dying on the battlefield, abandoned by those he followed so loyally. He dies no glorious death, oh no, a stray orc arrow straight to the chest.

He barely recognizes you anymore.

You ask him: "Was it worth it?"

And he laughs, craze in his eyes: "Yes, every minute."

You know he is lost, even before his body goes limp.

[elentarial]

Last Line Game

tagged by @leucisticpuffin (thank you 💕)

“You still seek my favor, after everything that has transpired?”

Tyelkormo made a pained sound and peeled off his gauntlet to reveal angry, fresh scratches across his forearm, a hunter’s supplication to the Lord of the Hunt. 

Tagging @skaelds @dalliansss @fishing4stars

[peasant-player]

Omg this is so beautifully written!

I love the pov from melkor even if he never would say anything like that out loud!

Do you have one for Fingolfins house too?

I mean he must have some thoughts about Fingolfin haha.

Great writing I would print me that out that's such a good character description!!!

God it makes my fingers itch to draw

10/10

Morgoth hated the Feanorians. Or no, that's not quite it. He hated the Finwëans, he loathed them.

The whole line of Finwe had his hatred (and the hatred of Sauron as well, but that's a bit different pice of cake).

He hated them because that whole lineage, from Finwe himself to his very last descendants were the only ones of this world who could look him in the eyes and stand straight, to oppose him.

(Because Luthien doesn't count, now does she? She wasn't fully of the Eldar after all, no. She was other, and half. But the line of Finwe had no such advantages!)

Morgoth hated and feared them, thought not in ways that often could be perceived.

He saw weak, worthless elves who could look at him and say 'you are nothing'. Elves who could look the Darkness into the eyes and burn brighter, bright enough to banish the shadows.

Finwe, who stood between him and the Silmarils (Morgoth was wrong, Finwe wasn't protecting the Silmarils only). The High King of the Noldor who knew he will die and died with his head high and back unbroken, with eyes fearless and blood boiling with fire (where did you think Feanor got it from huh?).

Feanor, who slammed the door in his face, who spat and ragged and could not be contained. Feanor who he manipulated but couldn't corrupt. Feanor who lost only due to himself, whose death was his own no matter what Morgoth would give to be able to say that the Spirit of Fire was his at the end.

Maitimo, Maedhros, who endured torment and torture, humiliation and agony under which any other would break. Nelyafinwe who was rescued and came back, making himself the wall and shield between Morgoth and the whole world. Russandol who died by his own hand, because of his own pain and his own mind, his own actions. He who was never Morgoths, even at his lowest.

Maglor, a singer of such renown and talent one could be forgiven for mistaking him for a Maia. Makalaure who bend the reality in ways that should have been impossible to the elves and that were alien to Ainur. Kanafinwe who walks upon Middle Earth, enduring through his pain because it is his, his crimes, his mind, his hands. He is his own.

Celegrom who was hild, of the forest and rivers and streams, of the Hunt. Turcafinwe who rode against dark beasts and hunted in Oromes train long before Morgoths was released. Tyelkormo the Fair, the Cruel, master of his own soul, untamed and free as the wind. He who looked upon the shadows and walked right through them, he who looked at it and grinned with blood on his mouth and said at it 'i am better'.

Caranthir, never seen or heard but always there. Morifinwe who walked the thin line of Dark and Light with ease seen in none other before. Carnistir who burned with cold fire and walked in the shadows of others with skill unparalleled. He who was called The Dark, and he who carried that name with grace of the night sky. Unbending, master of his own life.

Curufin, so like his father and yet so different. Atarince who instead of jewels made draggers, he who forged armour that somehow was as unbreakable as the house that wore it. Curufinwe, The Crafty they called him, not knowing how close to the truth they were. He burned brightly, which made it all more tragic when he met his own end.

Ambarussa, one never without the other, red hair as the fire raging within. Amrod and Amras, wild as Celegrom, yet as silent as Caranthir. They who were twins, one an extension of the other. They who were so like their brothers, while being entirely different. They who burned the hottest.

[thesummerestsolstice]

A List of Very Convincing Reasons why Elrond Peredhel Cannot become Noldor High King after Gil-Galad, written by Dnorle Lehderep

He's like Finwe's great great great grandson; that's clearly too many generations away.

Also he's technically a Feanorian and they're like, super cursed and also dispossessed so maybe he shouldn't be in the line of succession.

No one can agree on whether his claim comes from the Nolofinwean or Feanorian lines. Clearly the best solution to this is for him to not be king.

Galadriel is right there.

He turns into a bird sometimes and everyone knows that birds can't be elf-kings that would be silly.

Yes, he does have one of the three rings "for elvish kings" but Cirdan also has one of those, and he's not an elvish king, so frankly it doesn't matter.

Gil-Galad's will, which states that Elrond inherits the crown, was clearly forged. I will not explain how. Trust me on this one.

C'mon guys he's not even technically an elf. Yes Melian was a queen over elves without being an elf. Yes Dior was a half-elf elf king. I don't see what that has to do with anything.

Do we really need a king?? Apparently some edain are experimenting with a new system called "democracy" and fraknly that sounds a lot better and cooler than having another king.

We'd have to get the crown resized again and that would be a lot of work.

He wears his hair partially down. In public. If that's not scandalous I don't konw what is.

I know his followers keep talking about how great of a leader he is, but they're mostly Feanorians, so clearly that doesn't count.

Galadriel. Is. Right. There.

He probably doesn't even speak Quenya. Don't ask anyone at court to confirm this.

He's very busy revolutionizing the field of medicine in Rivendell right now, please leave me him alone.

Clearly he doesn't wear enough jewelry to be a proper Noldor king.

[chaos-of-the-abyss]

i'm starting to wonder if maedhros either a). didn't know about celegorm and curufin's assault of luthien, or b). never actually sent communication to doriath demanding the silmaril, with celegorm and curufin being the main ones behind it instead. yes fandom has soured me toward the character, but i don't think he's meant to be taken as enough of a sheer moron to expect cooperation from a kingdom after his brothers tried to rape their princess. nor do i think he's written unsympathetically enough for tolkien's intent to have been to make him a rape enabler/apologist who genuinely doesn't care about celegorm and curufin assaulting a woman -- so either c&c lied about what they did and he took whatever version they told him at face value, or he never actually gave his approval for whatever letter was sent to doriath. and the silm does say "maedhros and his brothers had before sent to thingol" and that "maedhros made no answer" after thingol refused the feanorians' demands, which to me is as good as confirmation that maedhros was involved in the exchange. so maybe celegorm and curufin really did keep the true story from him. ...or maybe fandom's fixation on maedhros being some long suffering goodie two shoes is still skewing my perception of him without my realizing and he actually is the kind of person to brush off celegorm and curufin's rape attempt

[polutrope]

Mmm rotating the headcanon (not original) of Feanorians going counterculture and cremating their dead after Feanor's death. I mean, I've written this happening, read it happening, but never really processed how good it is.

Elves (all peoples of Middle-earth?) in general canonically seem to bury their dead, raise cairns and mounds, and so on. Just so right to me for the Feanorians to do something different that's shocking and disturbing to others. Purposefully destroying a hroa? What happens to the fea? You can't do that!

But if you believe you're destined for the Everlasting Dark (whatever that is -- I don't think it's the Void but that doesn't mean they don't), does it matter? Or think of how carefully the body of Miriel the Mother was preserved -- and for what? Never to return to it (so far as they know).

It feels so symbolically appropriate for them on many levels to turn their dead to ashes. And for Maedhros to end himself in fire... brrr (not very brrr actually but brrr for my brain).

[allbycharles]

Thank you

I don't get all the Earendil and Elwing hate. Like Earendil made an incredibly difficult choice to save Middle Earth. You know, the place where his family lived?

As for Elwing, y'all act like if she had just given the Silmaril to the Feanorians, they'd have said, "Thank you" and left.

Leaving Eluréd and Elurín to starve to death or die from exposure to the elements did absolutely nothing to get the Feanorians the Silmaril. It was done out of a sadistic desire for revenge.

The Feanorians had slaughtered people in Doriath and already begun to slaughter people in Sirion.

Lots of real-life serial killers have this "if only" story they tell. "If only she hadn't broken up with me, I wouldn't have killed women who looked like her." "If only my parents hadn't abused me, I wouldn't have raped and murdered people." "If only they hadn't called me a mean name..." "If only they did what I said..." Excuses all of it. An attempt to pin the blame on someone else.

Likewise, serial killers almost always have a point where they promise they won't hurt their victim if they just do what they say. "Just get in the car, and I won't shoot." "Just don't fight me, and I'll let you go."

Has it ever occurred to people that Elwing believed the Feanorians would kill her whether she gave them the Silmaril or not? That such fucking cruel people who had by then murdered her brothers and parents and hundreds of people would have taken the Silmaril and just kept on killing people? Or that maybe they'd spare her life but take her captive and torture her? And that if they were going to kill her and everyone in Sirion anyway, she might as well make sure they at least didn't get the satisfaction of getting the Silmaril?

[gffa]

Over the last week, I decided to go ahead with bookmarking all the fics I've recommended over the years on AO3 since I abide by tumblr poll results always (and man pour one out for all the fic that never made it to AO3 or has since been deleted, sooooo many gems lost to time!) and it was a bit more than the ~3,000 I was expecting:

Hopefully, this will be easier than browsing the hundreds of recs posts I've made, since you can filter for any of the author's tags now! These are mostly focused on Star Wars and DC fandom, but I did my time in the anime mines and occasional tours through some TV fandoms or movies. You can dig into everything unfiltered and start your own filtering, or the bigger fandoms you'll find:

MAJOR FANDOMS: Each of these should have 100+ at minimum and, in the case of Star Wars, literally almost half of them are in that fandom. Look, Star Wars fandom might be a trash fire in a lot of ways, but it is ON FIRE with some good fic. (Older bookmarks not guaranteed to match my current sentiments, especially re: the Jedi, but they did catch my fancy at that point in time!)

STAR WARS: - All Star Wars -OR- All Star Wars minus the Obi-Wan/Anakin ship - OR- Nothing BUT Obi-Wan/Anakin

BATMAN/DC: - DC can sometimes be tricky, but you can do a Batman* search and get most of them (though, sometimes Nightwing* or Young Justice* or Superman* will catch some of the others). Honestly, though, you might want to just do a search for what character or dynamic you like and have fun from there, because otherwise you're getting a face full of my Dick Grayson Is The Center Of The Universe And I'm Making That Everyone Else's Problem agenda. ;)

MARVEL/MCU: - Marvel* will probably get most of the various properties, though you may want to filter for Defenders* or Guardians of the Galaxy* if you're interested -OR- Marvel* without the Thor/Loki - These focus a lot on the Thor* fandom if you want to witness the results of like 8 years of constant voracious reading in that fandom (Minus the ship), because, seriously, I read a LOT of Odinson family fic. - Bonus, just do a search for Maximoff* to find some really good X-Men: First Class-verse because, listen, I have been ALL ABOUT the Maximoff twins since long before the movies or MCU brought them over and I will DIE ON THE HILL of "Marvel, make Magneto their bio-dad again or I'm never reading another comic of yours ever".

TOLKIEN/LORD OF THE RINGS/SILMARILLION/HOBBIT: - Tolkien* -OR- Hobbit* -OR- Lord of the Rings* searches will turn up most of my Elf-hunting, I primarily focus on the Sindar Elves, but look I can't resist my problematic Feanorian faves or that I will die on the hill that Fingolfin is the best ever. (You have NO IDEA how sad I am that so much fic on Stories of Arda or FFNET is not easily bookmarked on AO3, sob. I externally bookmarked a few of the bigger ones, but sooo many shorter faves are missing from my recs tag.)

CLAMP: - X/Tokyo Babylon legitimately bums me out because it's not a huge fandom and yet so much of what was written was pre-AO3 and lost when CLAMPesque went down or was never brought over from Livejournal, yet this fandom (well, the Seishirou/Subaru pairing) still burns brightly in my heart.

MINOR FANDOMS: Ones that probably only have under 100 bookmarks (often around the 20-30 bookmarks range), but will at least give you a place to start! ANIME/MANGA: Bleach | Cardcaptor Sakura | Dragonball | Finder no Hyouteki/Viewfinder | Katekyou Hitman Reborn! | Kuroko no Basuke | One Piece | Sailor Moon | Madoka Magica | Naruto | Princess Tutu | Trigun | Weiss Kreuz | Yuri!!! on Ice

BOOKS: Chrestomanci | Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint

DRAMAS: Nirvana in Fire | The Untamed -OR- Modao Zu Shi

TV SHOWS/MOVIES: Community | Game of Thrones -OR- ASOIAF | Good Omens | Hannibal | Highlander | The Old Guard | Our Flag Means Death | Stranger Things

VIDEO GAMES: Dragon Age: Inquisition | Final Fantasy 8 | Genshin Impact | Okami

BANDS: Arashi

All right, whew, that was actually a fun project, despite how much work it was to hunt down a lot of older faves to see if they were on AO3, hopefully you'll find this useful!

[hhimring]

A Common Blue

Maglor, having little will to live left in sinking Beleriand, is saved by tiny things.

Maybe it was the butterfly. Lost in a broken land, he could so easily have died. But at some point, it fluttered past his eyes, carried on a random gust of wind, like a small scrap of thin pale blue cloth. An ordinary butterfly, incredibly fragile to have survived so far among the forces of nature unleashed. The ocean roared. The earth rumbled, dunes sliding. The air was electric with lighting. The butterfly flew south, wafted by air currents. Maglor followed it some way, until he lost it, bereft again,  but then came other things, tiny hints pointing him onward.

100 words inspired by a SWG prompt, written as a late submission for Maglor Day of Feanorian Week.

("Common Blue" is the name of a kind of butterfly.)

@feanorianweek

[lamemaster]

The Monster Who Ate Words

Request: Hello (*^^*) Can i please request an Arranged Marriage AU story for Maedhors x Vanyar Reader? Let's say reader is a bit intimidated by Maedhors ( who has not shown much interest in her ). And Maedhors doesn't want to scare her so he keeps his distance.

Pairing: Maedhros x Reader

Genre: Arranged marriage au

Summary: Nelyafinwe was good. Good enough in your books. Good looking from the times you had met in childhood, a great politician if rumors from Tirion were to be believed, and tall enough to expect respectably tall elflings in the future. 

AN: Thanks for requesting! I hope you like this :3 I really enjoyed writing this. Unedited for now don't kill me pls I have 3 little fish to feed.

“He hasn’t bothered to show face even once!” You scowl adjusting the errant pendant. “So why should I be the one to write to him?” You turn to your father, who by now has folded into himself like a petulant sunflower at sunset. 

“He is a prince!” Your mother roars undeterred. “He probably does more than just writing children’s fables in his free time, daughter mine.” To this your father protests silently to your mother. Only to flail helplessly.

Such has been the case for your parents. Your father- the distressed damsel and your mother- a fire-breathing drake. 

And you were nothing if not her rage personified. Which was wildly out of place in most Vanya settings. Some astray friends of yours had even jested in passing about you taking after your father-in-law, Crown Prince Feanaro more than his eldest. 

An arranged marriage to Nelyafinwe hadn’t been the most unexpected. Born to Ingwe’s brother, you expected such. Given that you rarely held the passion and patience for sweet nothings for a romance of your choosing.

Nelyafinwe was good. Good enough in your books. Good looking from the times you had met in childhood, a great politician if rumors from Tirion were to be believed, and tall enough to expect respectably tall elflings in the future. 

Additionally, much to your ire and your friend group’s joy, if a certain Telerin minstrel was to be believed then, the son of Feanaro possessed worthy assets. A fact that you swore did not bother you to anyone who dared to bring up the topic. 

Your betrothal to him had been set up 2 loar ago. An agreement was established through embellished scrolls and a piece of jewel exchanged by each side. That jewel now the emerald that had been forged into the pendant that hung from your neck for the past 2 loar. 

Binding you to the Feanorian with the dignity less than that of a stabled mare. 

Love, you did not expect. But such coldness had hurt. Absence of even a single acknowledgement had hurt. This your mother knew well. Better than your soft-hearted father could ever understand. For even rocks nestled in the depths of Earth crack under the pressure of an unyielding hammer. 

“My letter or the absence of it will make little difference.” You whisper and what follows is your mother’s uncanny silence. 

You have written to him. For two loar, you have written. Every week at the beginning of your betrothal, letters about Vanyamar, about your favored writings, or scents and silks that you would like for your wedding. 

Those soon dwindled to monthly updates with perfunctory greetings and everyday happenings. Sometimes about stories that you wrote for the children in court. Or about elflings born to your siblings. 

No matter what you wrote, Nelyafinwe never once did reply. As if your letters by some sorcery never slipped past the borders of Vanyamar. 

The last one had been short. A last-ditch effort on your end. A simple request. To meet at the Feast of Trees. That is all you had wanted of your betrothed. And he had failed. 

Out of all of Finwe’s line, Nelyafinwe had been the one to not show his face. A fact that you bitterly swallowed with a forced smile and cheerfully chatted with your future in-laws.

At least Nerdanel and Feanaro seemed to possess basic decency of character to bear the Vanya thrust their way.

Nelyafinwe despised it. The lingering scent of a promise that his betrothal held. Unfailingly binding compromise. 

A business matter to be ended over correspondence. He hadn’t given it much thought. His resentment did not allow it. 

The piece of amethyst that arrived with the letter had been handed off to Curvo and his father, who within a week produced a hairpin that ended up somewhere in the mess of Nelyafinwe’s room or the drawers of his study on most days. Gathering dust away from his gaze. Next to the letters. 

He had desired a choice. Unlike the horde of brothers and cousins that fate had thrusted into his life, Nelyafinwe had desired love.

But that too had been stripped away from his hands when his grandfather in a matter of a single day roped his father, who on most days detested Vanyar to arrange a wedding with one for his eldest son. 

It started as a silent protest that soon became a habit. The letters from Vanyamar were thrusted into the farthest drawer where the light of the trees barely ever lingered. 

Why could you not understand his signs? Was it not clear that he did not desire such a connection? He did not want your words or get to know you. He did not want it because depriving himself was the only way of showing his father what this had done to him. 

For once, he did not wish to be agreeable, gentle Nelyo everyone had made him into. This was his rebellion.

Some part of him had protested such cruelty towards you. What fault was it yours that elders desired a marriage of convenience? How fair was it for you to be the scapegoat of his ire? But those voices remained quiet.

So it came as a surprise when one day, your words found him despite all he tried to run away from them. 

Crouching next to Ambarussar, who sat surrounded by the hurricane of their mess of toys and all the possible possessions, Nelyafinwe saw tiny books. Handwritten illustrated books that the twins read aloud as Kano snored next to them, sprawled on a chaise. 

“What are you reading?” Maitimo sat next to them, only for the twins to ignore their usual protocol of climbing all over him. Amras sighed, barely glancing up at his elder brother “The Monster Who Ate Words.” He replied, his eyes glued to the book.

The pages of the book, inked it a clean hand, next to the drawing of a long red serpent with blazing eyes caught Maedhros’s interest. “Sister-in-law wrote these,” Amrod looked up at Nelyo, thrusting the book in his hands. “She designed the serpent after you!” The twins giggled now sharing a book as Maitimo flipped through the pages.

A childish tale indeed. The story went- on a long lonely island lived a raging serpent with red mane and glimmering silver eyes. The serpent terrorized the island with his loud roars and ability to devour words. This left the world empty and elflings bereft of any tales or lullabies. 

The ridiculous tale further developed into a group of outcast elflings gathering the words hidden in their textbooks to fight the serpent that detested sums and numbers. 

Nelyafinwe scoffed finishing the book. He was perfectly capable of summing, and no, he did not hate numbers or mathematical calculations. 

It took a moment for him to spot the empty room. Ambarussar had fled to Eru knows where and Kano had left the room unnoticed by Nelyafinwe. Rays of Laurelin had dimmed casting a mellow light in the room. 

Suddenly Maitimo wanted to go far away from the cluttered room. He wished to get on his mare and wander until his mind calmed down. Until his heart rate evened out. He despised this restlessness. 

For his heart could not remember the last time he had held your letter. The last time he had the chance to thrust it into the drawer. He could not remember. 

He had failed to notice it. This settled like dread in his gut. That something had changed. Somehow, from a stranger he had become the monster in your stories. 

Nelyafinwe does not run away. He knows he cannot do that, no matter how much his heart craves for freedom from such obligations. He is the eldest-born Feanorian. Named after the high king of Noldor. 

So seated in the silent dark of his study he opens the drawer full of the same writing as his brother's books.

Picking up the Amethyst hairpin heavy in his palm, he pulls his hair back and uses his betrothal gift after 2 loar. It holds his hair with the comfort he is familiar with. His father’s work never fail their purpose. But this one in specific is achingly familiar as it settles into his hair. 

With a distant curiosity, he wonders what gem of his claim rests on your being. He cannot remember the conversations 2 loar ago. He had merely agreed to the first suggestion by Indis and his mother. 

One by one he reads through your letters. Words leave him heavy with guilt. His throat- scratchy with the fullness of his heart and eyes. 

He is one wretched betrothed. Worthy of all the villainy in your books.

He reads from the first letters of ill concealed excitement of introductions. Of likes and dislikes, ideas of works in progress, to rare fleeting letters about weather and courtly affairs. 

In a matter of hours, he goes through the process of getting to know you and losing you. But he does not stop reading. He does not deserve the respite of that ignorance. 

And so he picks up the quill and begins his labor. For days he sits in his study replying to the letters. His likes, dislikes, hobbies, courtly affairs, and a short review of The Monster Who Ate Words. 

To quell the heartache of his own making. This in the least was of his own choice.