#WHY IS HE GIVING HIM FEANOR'S HAMMER

[sauronism]

new footage of celebrimbor and annatar ( source : x )

[land-of-holly]

Rings of Power Episode 2 Liveblog

The opening credits are pretty cool

Where's you're God now, Galadriel? (Literally)

So is the cold fire supposed to put us in mind of the torches from the previous episode?

POKE!

So this meteor guy is obviously a Maia of some kind

Nice that he fell from the sky with a scrap of cloth to protect his modesty.

I love Poppy, the sane friend.

Poppy! None of the elves are handsome! Why would you taunt us like this??!!

I'm surprised they actually kept him hidden successfully

Some people have wondered if Meteor Dude is a Blue Wizard, but I can't imagine them not arriving in a pair. (Spoiler, my guess is Gandalf if they're playing fair, Saruman if they're pulling a switcheroo)

I guess it was useful to have Bronwyn along after all.

Eregion! Where did that giant lake come from?

Feanor's hammer!

"True creation requires sacrifice" That's not ominous at all.

Hypnotic Silmarils confirmed! Didn't expect that.

Stop sucking up, Elrond.

YES I am all on board for Celebrimbor's super forge project! He sounds so excited!!

I love how he talks about the dwarves too

Gonna admit, it took me a sec to figure out why Khazad Dum only has this tiny little gate on the western side of the mountains.

Guess my dream of non Scottish dwaves simply wasn't to be

I love the dwarf masks!

Knowing why the dwarves are so surly makes this make a lot more sense

Oh dear. Your strange giant dude has run off. Who could have foreseen this?

Always a fan of magic powers that you can't really control

The little ear tug is a cute bit of body language

It's not a silly question, Maiar actually only eat on special occasions

Snails, yum! Cronch.

JESUS ow, cool it with the sympathetic magic!

You can hide your ears, Galadriel, but what about the light in your eyes?

So where did these castaways come from?

So obviously the hot one is the one that's gonna survive.

Corsairs prowl these water? The Numenoreans are slacking on the job.

RIP other castaways, we hardly knew ye. We didn't need your deaths to raise the stakes but we sure got em

And obviously I'm not gonna nitpick Galadriel having that name from the beginning, with nary a Celeborn in sight. But, you know. I could.

Elrond stronk. Got those Maia genes. You know, they haven't really mentioned the whole halfelven thing at all yet? And they can't exactly pretend it doesn't exist. He's kinda famous for it. Makes me wonder how much they're gonna build on that.

I choose to believe Elrond did not intentionally throw that challenge, but he did pick one he couldn't win.

"Has it been only twenty" Oh, buddy.

YOU MISSED HIS WEDDING ELROND.

Always working the diplomacy.

I love that the halls of Khazad Dum are spacious, but Elrond still has to duck sometimes.

Oh, I love Disa with my whole heart. Her hair is so cool!

"Gamli" the diffident attempts at naming OCs continue.

Disa and Durin's courtship story is so! cute! I like their dowsing technology too.

He has a tree!

But what *kind* of tree is it, Elrond?

Everything about Elrond's actions is sincere, yet calculated. He certainly is something.

What exactly is Galadriel trying to do with that rope, anyway? There's no sails.

If he's from Bronwyn's hometown how did he get to the Western ocean?? Is she not from way farther East??

Oh man, just watching Arondir crawl through that hole is giving me claustrophobia

Either it's not an Orc, or Arondir's knife is faulty

Again I'm not gonna nitpick names too much, but Theo's is kinda weird; Tolkien didn't generally import Greek and Latin names to stand in for Middle Earth languages (except for some of the Hobbit women's jewel and flower names I guess)

I suppose I understand Bronwyn's instinct to stay with her son and hide instead of running for help while she can.

Lol, fail orc got taken out by two level 1 commoners

Yow, Galadriel was raised by sailors but I guess she never really trained in seas this rough. She should know how to tie a better knot, though

There are A LOT of plotlines in this show, it's hard to wait for everyone to come back around the carousel

Would a lantern full of fireflies actually...work? Very Aesthetic, though.

Could be Radagast, I guess

Nori has a lot of dreams in her head, doesn't she

Is it in Sadoc's book? Is that where you can find the stars?

HE KILLED THE FIREFLIES!

I heard a theory that Durin III is actually just an illusion or hallucination. Interesting if true.

I SWEAR TO ERU IF THERE IS A SILMARIL IN THAT BOX I AM CALLING MAEDHROS ON THE PHONE RIGHT THE FUCK NOW

Evil vampire sword!!! Oh, poor Theo, I don't want you to become a ringwraith

Elendil?? Are we finally getting Numenoreans? Maybe??

See y'all next Friday!

[absynthe--minded]

because @actuallyfeanor made a post joking about how Lúthien/Maedhros is “the Silm as written by Christopher Paolini”, I wound up talking with @thefifthbattle and we discovered that it is in fact possible to hammer out what that story would look like.

so, without further ado, The Silmarillion: An Epic in Four Parts by Christopher Paolini

Maedhros is the eldest son of Fëanor and Nerdanel, and the only one of his brothers to share his mother’s red hair. She died giving birth to her youngest twin children.

Feanor is the king of a small mining kingdom in an isolated mountain valley, and is massively abusive, and controlling. when his prized Silmarils are stolen by the evil emperor Morgoth, he and his seven sons and their armies set out to defeat Morgoth and retrieve the gems

Feanor dies thanks to fire magic cast by Morgoth’s sorcerers, and Maedhros fails to save him and is captured himself. He is tortured by Morgoth, and at last left to hang by one wrist from the outer walls of Thangorodrim.

He’s rescued by Lúthien Tinúviel, a beautiful Sindarin princess, and her bonded eagle companion Sorontar. She’s been having visions of him for months, and snuck away from her hidden kingdom to rescue him. He goes to Doriath with her, and is nursed back to health, and learns to fight one-handed and learns about their culture.

They are in an alliance with the dwarves, three houses of Men, and the elven-king Nolofinwë, who rules the hidden city of Gondolin, to overthrow Morgoth, who rules Beleriand with an iron fist. Maedhros learns the politics of this resistance movement and he and Lúthien fall deeply in love.

All Sindarin elves have the ability to bond with the great eagles; it’s preserved in their bloodline since they’re descended from a goddess. Maedhros discovers that he has the ability to bond with one of them, and doesn’t know what this means, until he sees a portrait of a long-lost Sindarin prince who looks exactly like him

Nolofinwë reveals that Gondolin is under siege and calls for aid, and Maedhros and Lúthien and their eagles fly ahead of Doriathrin reinforcements to aid in the fight. Nolofinwë is killed fighting Sauron, and then Maedhros kills Sauron by using a magic he doesn’t fully understand.

Part two is mostly Maedhros trying to find out the secrets of his past, with asides to his brothers, who think he’s dead but are befriended by a mysterious elf who knows everything about their family and pushes them further and further toward single-minded obsession with the Silmarils.

Maedhros finds out that his father is a Sindarin prince who committed suicide when his mother Nerdanel was forced to break off their love affair and marry Feanor, who her parents preferred as a husband. This is why he can bond with eagles.

Nerdanel was the true genius behind the Silmarils; she crafted them to send to her lover, but they didn’t reach him because Feanor took them. This caused him to assume he was unloved and slay himself in grief.

Maedhros goes to reveal to his brothers that he’s alive and that he’s only their half-brother, and they turn against him when they find out he’s no longer interested in retrieving the gems.

There’s a lot of political drama between elves and men and dwarves that is technically really important but isn’t treated with the same seriousness as the main plot/romance

The mysterious elf is revealed to be a secret eighth son of Feanor, the product of a Morgan-and-Arthur-esque tryst with Sauron in a female form. He was sent as a sleeper agent for Morgoth. He kills himself, but reveals to Maedhros that the mysterious Sindarin magic he used to kill Sauron can be used to defeat Morgoth if he properly activates his powers by chanting a spell and holding the Silmarils.

Lúthien and Maedhros and their eagles work together to steal the Silmarils whole a massive battle is going on outside, led by Nolofinwë’s heir Turukáno, who hates everyone not from Gondolin and who has been a major political pain but who will fight Morgoth to free his people. They’re successful, and Maedhros is on his eagle chanting the spell when his brothers attack.

They’ve enchanted six eagles of their own using Maglor’s music, and they do battle with Lúthien and the eagles for the gems while Maedhros goes after Morgoth

There’s a final somewhat anticlimactic confrontation between Maedhros and Morgoth, ending with the Dark Lord being defeated

Maedhros sees the body of Sorontar as well as several other eagles and assumes Lúthien has been slain, and almost casts himself into a fiery chasm that was torn open by the battle out of grief, but then she appears with the Silmarils on the back of his own eagle, bearing the news that his brothers have been stripped of their magic. They kiss.

Lúthien becomes queen of Doriath, Hador Haleth and Bëor rule all the Men, Azaghâl takes over the Dwarvish throne, and the elves of Gondolin bury a dead Turgon and then are left with no leader.

Maedhros realizes he must be responsible, and he cannot abandon his people for love; he takes the Gondolindrim back to his father’s mining kingdom, and vows to rule them well and never love another.

End of saga.

[sweetteaanddragons]

Wire and Code

A science fiction AU in which the elves are still immortal and bad at it, the Noldor are still making things without stopping to consider all possible implications, and the Valar still really wish they would stop.

A note on names: For the real elves, I used the name most often used for them in canon. For the androids, I used whichever name I thought most likely to have been given to them due to their circumstances in this AU.

Feanor wasn’t the first to make a successful android; that had been their father, who’d started the business. He hadn’t even been the first to make one that could pass for a real elf when seen; that was Nerdanel.

He was, however, the first to create artificial intelligence that could pass for the real thing, a fact that some attributed to Feanor’s brilliance and that Fingolfin personally attributed to his brother being insane.

The unit his brother had installed it in was as small as a child, and it sat on the edge of Feanor’s workbench with its mechanical legs swinging aimlessly and a half completed arm held steadily out while Feanor adjusted something inside.

“Exactly how are you going to market an android this small?” Fingolfin demanded. “No one’s going to want an AI this untested near their children if that’s what you were thinking.”

The android’s eyes widened. “Father?”

“Father?” Fingolfin choked. “You programmed him to - “ A new meaning in the childlike form suddenly struck him, and his heart sank. “I know you and Nerdanel wanted children,” he began carefully.

Feanor’s grip on the small hammer in his hand shifted until it looked more like a weapon than a tool. “I’m not marketing him. We’re keeping him.”

The android’s shoulders actually slumped in a semblance of relief, and Fingolfin wondered just how ridiculously complicated his programming even was. “This isn’t healthy,” he tried.

“Your concern is noted.” Feanor snapped the last arm panel into the place, and suddenly the android could be a real elven child. Fingolfin repressed a shudder. “There you go, Maitimo. Why don’t you go show your mother?”

Fingolfin barely noticed the machine’s departure. He was too caught up in the name. “You named it well-made,” he said. “Of course you did.”

“Nerdanel did, actually,” Feanor said tightly. “And I would prefer that you not refer to him as an it.”

“It is literally an object,” Fingolfin snapped before taking a deep breath and reigning himself in. Their father had enough to worry about with the Valar’s  increasing oversight of their business without the two of them getting into another scandalous fight. “Fine. But you had better not have programmed him to call me ‘uncle.’”

Feanor scoffed. “As if any child of mine ever would.”

Because Feanor apparently never knew when to stop, he kept building Maitimo progressively bigger bodies and reinstalling his personality chip in the upgraded form. Fingolfin avoided it as much as possible.

Then Feanor and Nerdanel - and why he’d ever had any hope she’d reign his brother in, he didn’t know - apparently decided one wasn’t enough and made another one.

“He can sing,” Feanor announced proudly at their latest attempt at a family dinner. Maitimo was there and talking eloquently to an enthralled Finwe. Fingolfin had no idea who had loaded food onto the machine’s plate as it wasn’t as if he could actually eat. The newest tiny android was perched in Nerdanel’s lap and looking around at everyone in a creepily convincing display of curiosity.

“All androids can sing,” Fingolfin pointed out. “The sound systems have been perfected for years.”

“You mean they can play recordings on command,” Feanor said scornfully.

“Well . . . yes,” Finarfin said with considerably more tact than Fingolfin would have. “What have you done instead?”

Nerdanel stroked the thing’s synthetic hair. “He’ll get better in time,” she said. “You still need a bit more training, don’t you?”

“I can sing,” it protested, and then -

The problem with androids singing, of course, was that no matter how perfect the pitch, they could never manage to endue a song with power the way an elf could, and the music always came out a little lifeless as a result.

This one’s power rang throughout the room with a force and beauty that brought tears to his eyes.

When the song ended, they all sat in stunned silence, except for Maitimo, who clapped dutifully, and the singer himself, who looked smug.

“I can sing,” he repeated. “I’ve been practicing.”

Fingolfin wasn’t really surprised to learn they’d named him Kanafinwe. Strong-voiced was rather hard to argue with after that. 

The third time Feanor announced he and Nerdanel had crafted an AI together, Fingolfin finally learned how his brother had been managing to do all this.

. . . Sort of.

He squinted at the brilliant gems skeptically. “They’re beautiful,” he admitted, “but how exactly are they the secret to all of this?”

Feanor shrugged defensively and moved to put them back in the safe. “I don’t know,” he admitted shortly.

“But if you made them - “

“I had been awake for three days and hadn’t left the workshop once. I had an idea, a brilliant idea, and when it was done, I had these, three pages of illegible notes, and almost no memory of what had happened. If I craft the personality chip and the programming under their light, then it works. If I don’t . . . ” Feanor’s tone did not invite further comment.

That had never stopped Fingolfin before. “If you don’t know what you’re doing, then how do you know you won’t accidentally craft murderous robots that’ll snap and kill us all?”

“I’m not murderous,” a small voice said from behind a pile of scrap metal. “I have all standard anti-violence programming installed. Also, Huan says he’s bored. Can I take him for a walk?”

“Take Maitimo with you,” Feanor said absently while Fingolfin tried to recover from nearly jumping out of his skin.

“You crafted Turcafinwe to think he can talk to dogs?” Fingolfin said incredulously.

“Of course not,” Feanor said. “I gave him the data he needed to actually talk to dogs.” His eyes shone with triumph. “And I knew you’d warm up to them eventually.”

“What - “ 

Fingolfin abruptly realized what pronoun he’d used to refer to Tyelkormo.

They weren’t people, and it was dangerous to think of them as such.

But -

Well. How much harm could it do?

The next creation was named Morifinwe, supposedly for the color of his hair. 

Judging by the look on Feanor’s face, calling him “Dark Finwe” was actually about being spiteful at the Valar’s increasing concerns that all of these too-intelligent, too-real androids might someday go dark and snap, but that wasn’t Fingolfin’s problem.

Fingolfin thought he had made his peace with his brother’s creations. He had even quietly started his own attempt at making an advanced AI, a serious break from his usual work in PR, but he still remembered all his old lessons. It would take a while, but maybe . . .

Then the next little android showed up at family dinner. 

For a moment, Fingolfin thought his brother had gotten bored with androids and decided to take up cloning.

“Why?” he finally asked Nerdanel, pain in every second of the drawn out syllable.

Nerdanel beamed at her creation. “I think he’s adorable, don’t you?”

Fingolfin remembered that this was the woman who had willingly married Feanor and instead took comfort in Anaire squeezing his hand under the table.

Still. However . . . disturbing . . . Atarinke was, he kept working on his project with Anaire’s help. He was very pleased with how Findekano came out. He might not have that mysterious extra something the Silmarils added, but he was a creation to be proud of.

His only hesitation with the programming was the designation to give himself and Anaire. Were they parents? Creators?

“We are not having it call us its parents,” Anaire said flatly. “It’s creepy enough when Feanor’s do it, and we all know he’s a bit eccentric. You’ve been complaining about it for years. Why is it suddenly a question?”

It was a question because suddenly looking at the tiny, almost perfect body on the table - small for safety concerns, small because it would make it easier to subdue if this went horribly wrong, not because he was thinking of it as a child, surely - looking at it, Fingolfin suddenly had a harder time fully believing that he was making just a machine, nothing more.

But Anaire was right, of course, and Feanor would never let him hear the end of it if he conceded at last. They would be designated by their titles within the company, nothing more.

Finarfin announced not longer after that he’d gotten so intrigued that he’d talked Earwen into helping him build Findarato. Feanor must have felt threatened because he announced that he and Nerdanel had decided they were going to build two at once in an attempt at an approximation of twins.

Fingolfin was disturbed less by the concept of that than by the aftermath. He was never entirely sure whether Feanor had actually merged the two’s memory banks or if they were just eerily good at mimicking it. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

It got almost normal after that. Finarfin had apparently enjoyed the challenge so much that he went on to build Angarato, Aikanaro, and Artanis; Fingolfin raced him for the creation of the first ‘female’ by talking Anaire into helping him with Irisse and made Turukano and Arakano for good measure. It was fine. It was all fine.

Until he walked into Feanor’s shop, saw the parts, asked, “Another one?” and heard - 

“This one’s Atarinke’s, actually.”

Fingolfin froze. “You mean it’s . . . parts for him?” Please let it be that. Please, please, please . . . 

“That’s not what I said,” Feanor said irritably. “It’s his. He decided he wanted to build himself a son. I think he’s getting someone to help him with the detail work of the programming, though. He always did prefer the hardware side of things.”

“You programmed them to be self-replicating,” Fingolfin said faintly.

“Of course I did,” Feanor said. “Didn’t you?”

The Valar were going to riot.

Fingolfin hadn’t, of course he hadn’t, but he had programmed them to take in their environment and as much as they could learn, which was presumably why young Dr. Elenwe ended up approaching him tentatively at the end of a project where she’d been allowed to use Turukano as a resource.

“He asked for my help on a personal project,” she said hesitantly, “and it sounded very interesting, only I wasn’t sure if it was allowed . . . “

Fingolfin frowned. “Does he need an upgrade?” He’d seemed to be functioning fine.

“No, no,” she assured him. “He, um. He wanted my help to make another one. A little one.” When he continued to stand frozen, refusing to comprehend it, she continued on helpfully. “He wanted its designation to be Itarille?”

“Right,” he said faintly. “I’ll . . . get back to you on that.”

In the end, he sent her a signed project approval form.

He also sent Feanor a memo that said If they build an army, I’m blaming you.

In general, the Valar were exactly as . . . concerned . . . with this development as he had expected, but Melkor was the exception to the rule and was instead merely genially interested.

Or was genially interested until Feanor shut the door in his face upon his request to see the Silmarils.

Once, just once, could his half-brother try not to be a PR nightmare?

“I don’t blame him for wanting to see them,” Turukano said wistfully. No, not wistfully. Androids couldn’t be wistful, just approximate it.

He had to keep reminding himself of that if he didn’t want Anaire to shoot him more annoyed looks when she caught him referring to them as real.

“They’re beautiful,’ Turukano continued, and Fingolfin blinked.

“You’ve seen them?” Feanor had kept them locked up and more and more, much to Nerdanel’s annoyance, and Fingolfin couldn’t think when Turukano could have glimpsed them. Unless he had hacked the security feed?

That was concerning.

“We’ve all seen them,” Turukano said in the blank voice he used to communicate simple facts programmed into his database. The sky is blue. We are in Finwe Incorporated’s headquarters on the planet Aman. We’ve all seen the Silmarils.

Fingolfin thought of how that slight but noticeable gap in the realism of Maitimo and Findekano had slowly disappeared.

He felt a sudden need to go storming into Feanor’s workshop and demand to know what he had done.

That urge was somewhat hindered by all the lights abruptly going out.

Sir, I have some bad news. There’s a planet wide power outage, and they’re having trouble with the back-up generators . . . 

Sir, I have some bad news. Someone broke into Dr. Feanor’s workshop, and it looks like they took the Silmarils and most of his notes . . . 

Sir, I have some bad news. Your father was in the hallway outside of the workshop and - 

When the backup generators finally kicked in, and Fingolfin felt slightly less of an urge to scream, he went to find Feanor.

When he found him, there was blood streaked on his brother’s knuckles and leaking down to the keyboard he was frantically typing on. Line after line of code filled the screen.

With a chill, Fingolfin realized he recognized the code. “That’s the anti-violence programming,” he realized. “Why are you dismantling it?”

“I’m going after Melkor,” Feanor said hoarsely. 

“The Valar said - “

“The Valar don’t control the largest collection of androids on the planet,” Feanor snapped. “We do.”

That Feanor intended to change the programming on the countless androids awaiting shipment in their warehouses without so much as consulting anyone surprised Fingolfin not at all. But - “You’re doing this to all of them? Even yours?” Feanor hadn’t touched their coding once since he’d finished it, preferring to let them work things out on their own.

Feanor actually paused. “I made them a separate program,” he finally said. “Code named Oath. I’ll send it out as a potential update. It’ll be up to them if . . . “

It wouldn’t be up to them. It would be up to the original software he’d installed and whatever developments it had made since. There was no real choice involved, just long strings of code.

Fingolfin didn’t say that. Instead, he said, “I’d better work on something for mine then. And see what Finarfin thinks.”

Feanor blinked. His eyes were bloodshot. “What?”

“He killed Father,” Fingolfin said, and finally let himself feel every last bit of his grief and rage. “I’m coming too.”

[eigwayne]

Like a Silver Night

Fictober Prompt: 5-  “I might just kiss you.” Fanfiction Fandom: The Silmarillion Rating: PG for a suggestive thought at the end Warnings: None Characters: Curufin/his future wife (OFC I guess? ‘cause Tolkien didn’t tell us much about Celebrimbammë) Other Tags: Years of the Trees, Quenya names, footnotes as long as the fic oops Summary: A serious discussion about a problematic Vala somehow leads to playing footsie under the table (Noldor gonna Noldo~).

“He hasn’t been talking to any of the Teleri craftspeople,” Onalindë said over tea one day. “Just the Noldor.”

Curufinwë looked at her over his teacup. “Father is right to be suspicious,” he said in a tone like someone had questioned that before (unheard of in his eyes; even at sixty-something, Curufinwë was an Atar’s-Boy). “If Melkor was so concerned about spreading knowledge, he would have seen some of the Teleri when he was spotted in Alqualondë.”

“He stopped by my father’s shop, but Atta’s been on about making lace designs with metal wire and thread-of, and it’s all very wave inspired. I don’t think Melkor realized we’re Noldorin at all.” She sounded just as indignant as Curufinwë had.

Onalindë -better known as Lindë; a short name for a short girl- shifted and Curufinwë could see the light sparkle off her headpiece- a swirling, lacey sort of wreath or reverse-tiara that clipped above her ears and looped behind her head. There were pearls strung through the silver like stars or flecks of seafoam. The piece smoothed down the top of her hair, leaving the lower parts to tumble around her shoulders. At least, that was the design. Her thick curls were already escaping in a way he found distracting.

Curufinwë took a sip of his tea, to soothe his suddenly dry mouth. “Is that your father’s work?” he asked with a nod at her hair-jewels, once he was certain he wouldn’t choke on his own tongue.

“I helped,” she said proudly, and she turned her head again to model it for him. The silver and pearls gleamed among her black hair and he recalled stars in the night, in the far north where the Tree-light faded.

‘Telperillómë,’ he thought, calling her by her father-name in the secret (and not-so-secret) recesses of his mind. ‘And they say father-names are not name of foretelling. How rightly he called you Silver-Night!’

“I can teach you, too, once things calm down a bit,” she was saying of the lace-smithing technique. “But it’s hectic now. Mother follows Manwë, you know, so she thinks we’re all being ridiculous, but the rest of us can tell that Melkor is up to something. Teaching people who have no business about swords and armor, and only Noldor, too!”

“I’m grateful you believe us,” Curufinwë said, sipping his tea to calm himself. ‘She was made for me,’ he thought. ‘Wise and lovely and of like mind.’

“I’ll keep an eye out, of course,” Lindë said. “But it’s safer if he thinks we’re more Teleri than we really are. I hope you don’t mind. I’m not ashamed of being a Noldo, but my brothers are young still and I have to look out for them. And I have kin who remember what he did to Endorë.”

Old Noldo blood, she had on both her parents’ side, and Teleri lineage from a great silversmith. Yes, she was made to be his match.

“Of course,” he told her, thinking instead of the silver ring in his workshop. “He doesn’t dare approach Father, but I will be wary as well, if he does.”

“As if you could ever not be Noldo!” she laughed. “You and Prince Fëanaro are the most Noldorin Noldor ever to Noldo.” Her foot brushed his under the table. Accident or purposeful, he didn’t care.

“And what will that make our sons?” he teased.

Color bloomed in her cheeks, as if she hadn’t declared her intention to have eight children herself, ever since they were kids playing jewelsmiths together.

“The most Telerin Noldor to ever Noldo?” she suggested.

“Or the most Noldorin Teleri to ever Noldo,” he said.

“Definitely more Noldor than anything else!” 

Curufinwë watched her laugh and thought again of the ring he was making. “Grandfather is having a banquet in two weeks’ time,” he said, out of nowhere to her but perfectly calculated to him. “Our families will be there, and I thought, maybe you should wear silver. Perhaps that hairpiece?”

He could see the exact moment her breath caught, the way her eyes widened and her pink lips parted. He gently tapped her foot with his toe.

“I suggest you choose silver as well, then,” she said, voice husky.

“Of course,” he said again. He imagined those lips under his, that silver-lace hairpiece glittering on his nightstand. He could finish the ring in two weeks, and a gold within the year.

‘My Silver-Night,’ he thought, and touched her foot under the table once more.

After-Notes: You can skip these if you don’t care about name notes and such.

My apologies(?) to avantegarda, for having the same name for Curufin’s wifey. It was unintentional. I developed the name Onalindë with a nickname of Lindë some months ago during long-fic planning and now I can’t make myself change it. For the curious, Lindë means “singer” or “songbird” in Quenya, so you can see why this is a fabulous name for an Elf. Lindir (from LOTR) is a masculine Sindarin form. The Ona- part of Onalindë comes from old Qenya “onin” or “anvil”. I have my reasons but it’s not relevant to this story (unless you want to make hammer and anvil innuendos but I was saving that for another time).

While we’re on names, Telperillómë was created from “telperin” and “lómë”- “like silver in hue or worth” and “night/dusk/twilight”. It refers to her hair color and is ridiculously poetic and long for a baby, so she’s always been Lindë instead. Lindë’s whole family (a certain line, at least) has “silver” in one of their names, but that’s also a fic for another time.

Lindë’s hairpiece is like movie!Gil-Galad’s open-front circlet, but wider and silver and elaborately lacey and clips into the hair so it doesn’t emphasize the size of one’s forehead as much. I’d call it a ríë-nuquerna in Quenya, a reversed-crown, but if there’s a real name in English for what I envision, I couldn’t find it.

Re. rings. This is from The Laws and Customs of the Eldar. In short, Noldor give each other silver rings as tokens of their engagement. This is usually done at a feast with the family in attendance. After a year, they trade back the silver rings for gold ones, and say their wedding vows, also preferably at a feast with their family. The physical act of consummation makes the vows binding. Thoughts on what exactly that means are, yet again, outside the scope of this fic.

Re. character ages: I know there are notes around that Elves come of age at either 50 or 100. According to one timeline, Finarfin got married right at 50, and him and Earwen had Finrod when he was age 70. So Curufin thinking about marriage in his sixties is entirely within the realm of possibilities. In the backstory I didn’t get into, he decided he was going to marry Lindë when they were still children. She held out for a real proposal, which as you can probably tell, hasn’t come yet.

For all that Curufin thinks Onalindë was made to be his match, in this timeline she is older by two years. It’s possible Eru has a sense of humor and that he was given to Feanor and Nerdanel to be her match. Or it’s like a Bon Jovi song and she was born to be his baby and he was made to be her man.

And finally, a glossary: Celebrimbammë: Celebrimbor + ammë (mother), because I think I’m funny. Curufinwë: Curufin. Atar/Atta: Father. Atar is Quenya, and Atta is the Telerin form of “Dad/Daddy”, reflecting Lindë’s mixed heritage.  Endorë: Middle Earth. Fëanaro: Fëanor. There’s another long mark in there but I haven’t memorized it or the keyboard shortcut for it yet.

[arianaofimladris]

Time for everything

This short story was written for Silmarillion Whump Bingo. Takes place a few months after Nirnaeth.

Prompt: cry into chest.

Time for everything

Dolmed was a curse and a blessing. The dwarves offered them help and shelter – two things they were in dire need of. There was enough food for everyone and they got some rooms for their wounded, allowing them to heal and rest. There were many things to do, shelters to build, weapons and clothes to mend, precious horses to take care of – enough to keep them all too busy to think.

It was also suffocating. The rooms carved in the mountain, too small for the Eldar. The forges hidden underground, hammers working tirelessly, their banging echoing on the corridors. No chains accompanied the work of both elves and dwarves, but it was only a small relief.

Maedhros never thought he would miss the ever cold Himring so much, but he did. He missed terribly the plain lands visible from his fortress, the high hills and even the grim chain of the mountains in the North where the Enemy dwelled. It was a harsh place to live, but it had been his home for the past few centuries, a place where he could keep his watch and make sure Morgoth would not go south to wreak havoc.

It was all gone now. The hills, the fortress, the other strongholds they had kept for so long. Gone was their strength and their hope, their armies scattered and broken beyond repair. The despair was lurking in the corners, creeping on them and his folk wherever he looked.

And gone was Fingon. Maedhros did not believe at first, would not believe, that all the plans he had crafted so carefully with his friend and his king, all their alliances would in the end bring nothing but death and destruction. And that Fingon would die. This, this just wasn’t supposed to happen.

Having all his brothers around was a small mercy. They reminded Maedhros that there were still things to be done and they kept him busy. After having been their own lords in their own lands, crowding again in such a small place was taxing at best. Disastrous, more likely. But even with all of them ready to argue over the smallest matters, it wasn’t enough. After a busy summer and autumn, which they had spent in the wilderness, winter brought snow and frost that forced them all to hide in their hastily built houses. And what was worse, winter brought idleness. Oh, of course Curufin and his craftsmen continued their work, of course Celegorm and Amras escaped on hunts whenever they could. Maedhros, however, suddenly found himself with more time than he ever wished to spend on his dark thoughts. Everything he had been pushing aside during the last few months just came back to plague him.

His brothers tried to keep him occupied, sometimes without even hiding their intentions. This time Curufin had yet again dragged him to the dwarven forges to discuss their progress and show him what had been done so far. He probably didn’t notice that the underground workshops were the last place Maedhros ever wanted to see; a place where he felt utterly useless, unable to perform even the simplest tasks with just one hand. The eldest son of Feanor came anyway and listened to the plans his brother presented, aided surprisingly by Caranthir, who had apparently grown bored enough to join the work by Curufin’s side and recall what Feanor had once taught each of them. But Caranthir could actually do something useful. Planning was all that was left for Maedhros and he found himself drifting away as Curufin spoke. This one matter could be left in his brother’s care, Maedhros would trust him with that; anything that would not force him to come to the forges he hated so much. It took a lot of effort to hide his dismay; it would do no good if he betrayed his feelings and offended their hosts.

“You are going to bore us to death, Curvo.” Caranthir’s impatient voice broke through Maedhros’s thoughts. “Just get things going, brother.” He spoke to Curufin, but as the eldest son of Feanor glanced up, he saw that Caranthir was watching him closely. Too closely and too perceptively, the way he tended to. Right now he made Maedhros wonder just how successful he was at hiding his urge to flee. Whether Curufin noticed that as well, he couldn’t tell. The smith just looked properly irritated.

“Don’t get upset just because you hardly have things to keep records of,” he snapped back. “You are free to leave if you wish.”

“Are we both?” Caranthir pointed at his eldest brother.

“If you need Nelyo so much... But I can’t think of anything else you could be doing right now.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Caranthir shrugged and rose from his seat. “The blizzard looked unusually charming today,” he claimed mockingly. “Are you coming too?”

A friendly poke in the ribs made Maedhros reach for his knife before he could think what he was doing. With an enormous effort he eased his hand back on his lap and looked apologetically at Curufin.

“I don’t think you need my expertise here, as I can hardly compete with you on that field,” he said. A bit of flattery usually worked well for Curufin, and with all of them being grim and frustrated, it wouldn’t hurt to ruffle his feathers. And probably take Caranthir away before they start arguing over nothing.

“Very well.” With a half-offended huff, Curufin pointed at the door. “Enjoy your blizzard.”

Caranthir didn’t give Maedhros time to think, he simply pushed him slightly and left close behind him, sending Curufin a knowing glance. The smith nodded slightly, though he still looked offended.

“Idiot,” muttered Caranthir when they were far away from the forges, heading towards the main entrance.

Maedhros quirked an eyebrow. “Who?”

“I haven’t decided yet.” Caranthir looked at his eldest brother challengingly. “Curvo for dragging you down there or you for being so stubborn – it is a hard choice,” he said bluntly and regretted it instantly, as Maedhros realised at once what he was doing and why he insisted on leaving. Shame and anger appeared on his weary features and he stopped.

“I can’t always hide away from my demons, Moryo.” Clearly it cost him a lot to say it aloud, but Caranthir decided there was no point in pretending the problem didn’t exist.

“Nor do you have to face them all the time,” he replied. “Shall we see that blizzard?” He asked in hope to get a ghost of a smile, but to no avail.

Maedhros ran his hand down his face and sighed. “Is it so visible?” The question was but a whisper. Caranthir didn’t like that Maedhros tried to hide his feelings from them, but he hated that bare, vulnerable side of his brother even more. Maedhros should not have that urge to hide in the first place...

“If it was, Curvo, wouldn’t have dragged you down there.” He claimed with more confidence than he felt. “He can be a pain in the behind, but he’s not that much of a jerk.”

This time he forced some kind of response. Maedhros stopped staring at the ground before him and the look he sent his brother was properly disgusted. “Language, Morifinwe.”

“It isn’t rude to state the truth.” Caranthir shrugged and pushed himself from the wall. “And I know you won’t tell him,” he risked a flash of a crooked smile, but Maedhros didn’t bother to return it. “Let’s go outside,” he added with unusual softness. His brother again had that look of a trapped animal, much like he had had in that human village they were forced to stay in.* No good could come from that.

The blizzard was far from charming, decided Caranthir as soon as they left the protection the dwarven caves provided. They could hardly see the nearest houses in the snow. The wind blew the icy snowflakes right into their faces. Still, Maedhros looked better despite the dreadful weather. He pulled up his hood and kept the sides of his cloak, but otherwise seemed indifferent to the cold.

“Where are you going?” Asked Caranthir as Maedhros passed their house and just kept walking with no apparent intention to seek shelter. “I’ve seen enough of this snow, Nelyo,” he added pointedly.

“I’ll go keep watch,” replied Maedhros absent-mindedly. “You go home.”

“Oh no, you don’t.” Caranthir grabbed his arm. “I’ve got better idea.”

“Moryo...” Maedhros shook his head. “I appreciate your perceptiveness and I’m glad of your excuse. But please, let me be.”

“Not today.” Caranthir crossed his arms on his chest, hoping his brother could not hear his chattering teeth. “I’m going with you, and I’d appreciate it if you chose a place where we would not freeze.”

“It’s not that bad...” muttered Maedhros. His eyes went glassy as he stared at the snow dancing before his eyes. “Finno would claim it’s not even cold really.”

This was the first time Caranthir heard him speak of Fingon since he had shared the news about the king’s death. Seeing that his brother no longer seemed to acknowledge his whereabouts, he grabbed him gently by the elbow and steered him into the nearest stable. Maedhros let himself be led inside. To Caranthir’s relief, the building was empty save for the horses, which welcomed them quite enthusiastically.

“They looked bored,” remarked Caranthir casually. He leaned over the fence and reached to pet the nose of a young black mare, one of the few Celegorm had managed to save.

“No wonder.” Maedhros walked past him. His own mount was looking over the doors, eager to greet his master. The eldest son of Feanor went into the box and caressed his stallion’s neck, indifferent to the muzzle nagging him in search for treats. His eyes were still unfocused and even though he had been usually so careful to guard his thoughts, right now Caranthir could sense his despair.

“You know,” he joined his brother and leaned against the wooden wall separating the boxes for the horses. “You don’t always have to be the eldest.”

“Carnistir... don’t.” The plea came out as a muffled sob. Maedhros rested his forehead on his stallion, his hand clenching at the mane.

“There’s nobody here save for you and me.” Caranthir moved closer and put his arm around his brother’s shaking form. He wasn’t Maglor, who would probably know how to soothe Maedhros and calm him, but of one thing he was certain – burying the feelings never worked for anyone in this family. Maedhros was no exception. Even if he was more restrained since his captivity, letting him suffocate with his grief would result in a disaster.

“We screwed.”

The sound that escaped Maedhros’s throat was half a sob, half a mad laughter. “Screwed? It’s over, Moryo,” he whispered. “Fingolfin was too quick to judge Dagor Bragollah as our end. He may consider himself lucky he didn’t have to face this.”

“We are still alive. And we are still together.” Caranthir dared to point out. Maedhros whirled from under his arm to face him.

“Are we? I don’t feel alive,” he spat out. “I don’t know whether I want to.”

The grief in his voice made Caranthir shiver. He’d rather face Maedhros’s outburst, wrath even; anything but that dead voice. He wanted his brother alive. “You can mourn him, you know,” he said softly. “I might not have been the closest friends with Findekano, but I do regret his death.”

He could have slapped Maedhros and he wouldn’t have got more violent reaction. His brother looked ready to flee, but then he just sank down the wooden wall separating horses. He covered his eyes with his shaking hand, no longer able to control his emotions, as if avoiding to speak of his deceased cousin and friend was the only reason he had been able to keep them at check.

Caranthir hesitated. He achieved what he wanted, he made his brother open up, or rather he forced him to tear, so leaving was not an option. Nor was calling for Maglor. Caranthir slipped down next to Maedhros and pulled him into an awkward hug.

“You don’t have to be the eldest all the time,” he muttered again. To his surprise, Maedhros didn’t push him away, only leaned to the touch and rested his head on Caranthir’s shoulder.

“It’s my fault he’s dead. They all,” whispered Maedhros after a while. “Don’t deny it. I was blind and I didn’t see traitors among my men.”

Cheeks flushing with anger, Caranthir snapped. “They were my people too. My people who turned against me and tried to stab me in the back.” He took a deep breath, then another, trying to wipe away the images his mind brought before his eyes. “But we are still here, Nelyo. He had not got us all yet.”

Caranthir could swear Maedhros whispered something like ‘what does it matter?’, but his brother just snuggled closer and wept silently, for the first time since the battle. The burden of long months of tireless working and pushing the grief aside weighted him down and as they sat there on the hay, Caranthir doubted they would be able to rise. He didn’t really want.

But there were only so many tears they could shed. In the end Maedhros collected himself, his breathing slowed and the despair Caranthir could sense dimmed.

A snort startled them both. Maedhros’s stallion turned towards them and sniffed, as if intrigued what the two elves were doing. Seeing that they would not be left alone much longer, Caranthir stood and offered his brother a hand. Maedhros reluctantly pushed on his feet and blinked in surprise as Caranthir handed him a brush.

“I think he’ll like it,” Caranthir gestured at the horse, which had lost hope for any treats, but demanded attention. He was pleased to see a ghost of smile as Maedhros picked the brush and started combing the black mane of his horse. Perhaps he didn’t have such a bad idea after all.

This story, as well as other whumpy bits, can be found here: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/silmarillionwhumpbingo

[elvesofnoldor]

tonight’s mood is thinking about my mage lavellan, finley, developing a passion in runes/crystal/gem crafting and blacksmithing and being an...inventor of sorts, cause i remember how much i like blacksmith elves. like, its one of the reason why i love noldor elves--obvs they arent the only tolkien elves who knows how to do smith works, but feanor is a noldor prince and yeah hes the way he is but he is famous for smithy work and craftsmanship and im sprinkling like 10% of feanor into my lavellan, like im straight up building my lavellan like he’s a noldor elf at this point cause i have accepted what my subconscious has been doing all along dont @ me.  kinda sucks that in da only dwarves can work with lyrium, but mages can still enchant and craft items like rings etc, i imagine doing the aforementioned works simply takes up a lot of resources. i’d like to think that my lavellan’s research as First of the clan mainly focused on herbal/potion related areas, cause he’s a healer, but he’s healer out of necessity. he gotta help his mama (the keeper) to make sure, like 50 something people aren’t going sick. in the clan but once he’s become the inquisitor, he’s got the resources he wouldn’t have access to otherwise, and he can actually develop his true passion. Not to mention, aside from going to the undercroft  A LOT to request crafting of weapons and armours and such, inquisitor would have eventually lose a hand, and like everybody else, i headcanon that my lavellan works with dagna to make a metal-based skeleton-like prosthetic for his hand, it’s just that in his case he would be using this prosthetic as the base to summon a “fade hand” to it (aka using his knowledge as a rift mage to shaping fade essence into “memory of the hand”/phantom limb). He’d have lots of opportunities to develop a passion into metal-work and runes/crystals.  plus finley’s got a...lmao...a rich boyfriend (dorian) now? and he would eventually move to tevinter with dorian. i can just imagine him converting like, the entire basement in dorian’s house into a damn forge/medieval “mad scientist’ lab. And whenever he’s not out and about learning more about lost info about ancient elves in tevinter and tracking s*las’ movement, he’d be crafting better weapons and armours for himself since he’s trying to be discreet in passing himself as a warrior more instead of carrying a staff around in tevinter. Also he’s trying to recover more of the way of arcane warrior since he’s always had a passion in fighting in the style of battle mage (he and my warden gonna get along lol), which partially what led him to become so passionate about smithy and metal-work in the first place. He would even go out his way to better crystal technologies (there are sending crystals, memory crystals, there is one panel in a earlier da comic that shows what looks like holo projections, seems like tevinter is quite proficient with their crystal crafting and utilization). i bet he can make the sending crystal that dorian gave him into an actual phone and fucking...holo-facetime him, lmao.  Also the concept of the night is finley lavellan wearing an apron and medieval  fantasy safety helmet with visor, hands dirty from drilling crystals and hammering metals. the concept of the night is finley lavellan being an artificer with “dwarvish obsession with crafts” (just like celebrimbor ;-;).  honestly finley literally let his hair went wild during his time at the inquisition, after three years, his hair gonna grow from shoulder length to half way down his back lol. he’s gonna look like a real elven lord (well, if he’s gonna get called lord lavellan he might as well look the part). i cant believe i give dorian a noldor-looking elven lord for boyfriend, im being too kind. finley only let his hair grow long 1 and half year before inquisition, so this is definitely new to him too--but he would eventually cut his hair into a basic short side-part soon.  i think like her brother, valerie lavellan would be interested in some smithing too, considering that she is the warrior here, but i think she’s more interested in wood work since she likes to make flutes and wooden toys for the kids in the clan. 

[host-of-chthon]

Elf Headcanons: Curly hair

Curly hair are a rather unusual feature, since most elves have either straight hair or, at worst, wavy hair

Especially in Noldor elves, curly hair are considered unflattering, because it is so hard to keep them in order and brush them -and we all know how the Noldor are obsessed with things being in order.

In other elf kins, though, curly hair are a symbol of beauty -especially the Teleri who worship Ulmo and Osse. Curly hair remind them the waves of the sea and they like their untamed nature, because it reminds them of tempests and how life is regulated by elements beyond their control.

That is why most Noldor elves who have curly hair (for example Fingon) spend an obnoxious amount of time to braid all that mass of hair into tiny braids and then braid those into a larger braid.

Of course, there are also elves who do not give a fuck, (for examle Nerdanel), who just wear their precious, huge, curly mane au naturale -mostly because noone will dare to tell them anything. lest they get their face smashed with a hammer-.

Instead, the Teleri like to adorn their rich curls with jewellery, pearls and shiny seashells.

Not caring for common beliefs, Feanor LOOOVES Nerdanel’s hair because “wow she has so much hair and they are so soooft like a pillow and i can almost tangle myself in that hair, aaaah it is like raining copper~~~”

Similarly, Maedhros loves Fingon’s curls because “oh man, your hair looks like mom’s hair, it is like a smol pompom, how cool is that”

..and Fingon goes on a rant on how much of a trouble curly hair are, hoe he struggles to keep them nice and soft, how much time it takes him to comb them and braid them, and “MAN IF YOU LIKE THEM THAT MUCH I’D BE GLAD TO EXCHANGE”

...whereas Nerdanel just giggles and pokes Feanor’s butt like “I swear i have caught you burying you face in my hair and sniffing it with a dreamy expression when you thought i was too absorbed in whatever I was doing to notice at least THRICE today.”