#all-of-arda-is-autistic

[raointean]

@all-of-arda-is-autistic

I didn't use any particular prompt for this one, but it's mostly about nice sensory input and water.

Fun fact! While scientists (to the best of my knowledge) still don't know what CAUSES autism, they generally agree that there's a genetic component. So, if you are autistic, your child has a higher chance of being autistic too!

"Nana, Nana!" Elwing attempted to bat away the tiny things pushing her towards wakefulness, but they persisted. She had been having a wonderful dream about floating on the ocean, blissfully alone.

"Nana!" At last, she awoke enough to recognize the voice of her tiny son… and his frantic tone. She shot up from her cot and immediately had to grab onto its sides so as not to be thrown to the floor. Rain drummed on the wooden roof and the whole house was... swaying? Oh. Sirion must have flooded again. It seemed that her dream had not been entirely fabricated after all.

The water had clearly already risen beyond the two foot allowance the chains that attached her house to the ground gave. Water was welling up through the floorboards. Her cot was still well above the water level, as was Elrond’s cradle, but Elros's pallet was soaked through. That was probably what had woken him, she determined.

Elwing cursed herself for falling asleep. She had known it was going to storm, but Elrond had been so fussy of late. Elrond, it seemed must have sensed the storm and decided to sleep for once, leaving Elwing unable to stay awake.

Still half asleep, she pointed Elros towards the ladder on the wall. "Go. Up." she grunted.

Elros scurried to do as he was told and Elwing rolled out of bed. She winced as her bare feet met the freezing water. Was she going to have to replace the floorboards again? She hoped not.

She made her way to Elrond’s cradle. He was sleeping peacefully and Elwing was loath to wake him, but wake him she must. She lifted him from the cradle and he started fussing immediately but curiously, he stopped after only a few moments. It was likely due to the storm, Elwing reasoned. That child loved rain and waves more than anything in the world.

She held him close as Elros climbed into the rafters, grateful that he was aging so much faster than his brother. She didn't know why they aged so strangely; she and Eärendil had aged at a pace between men and elves. Her children, however, had seemingly picked a race and mimicked them. They were both four years old and Elros was walking, talking, and beginning to learn his letters. Elrond, on the other hand, was still learning to stand.

At last, Elros reached the rafters and began lowering a bucket. It was wide enough for Elrond to lie down in, but tall enough so he could not flip it over or fall out during the night. When it reached the ground, floating on the now ankle-deep water, she placed her son into it. Grabbing the other end of the rope, Elwing pulled it up, up, up, until it swung just below the rafters. Above her, Elrond squealed in delight.

As soon as he was big enough, she needed to introduce that boy to a swing. She smiled to herself as she tied off the rope, envisioning it. Elros would push him, of course, and Elrond would fill the entire town with his giggles. She wondered if he would hold on to the ropes too tightly, or if he would flap his hands as she herself often did when she became excited.

The water began lapping at her nightdress and she shook herself out of her thoughts. Yes, the floorboards would certainly need to be replaced. Elwing sighed and hauled herself up to the rafters where Elros was crouching over the bucket, playing with his brother.

She scooped him up and laid down in the hammock she had hung after the first time it stormed. Elros squirmed in her arms for a while, but the adrenaline began to wear off and he dropped into a deep sleep.

Elwing began to feel more and more tired herself. The rocking of the waves, the rush of the wind, the drum of the rain, the darkness of the house; all wrapped her in a sweet cocoon of peaceful bliss. It didn't take her long to drop off to sleep.

[ladysternchen]

All of Arda is autistic- Mairon

His whole being convulsed with the laughter of the others, the noise going through and through, hurting his hearing, boring into him like a chisel, the narrow kind he used for delicate work. “There, my brethren, we have a… what shall we call it?”  Aulë’s voice was full of that hateful laughter as he held up something Mairon did not even want to try and name. In his opinion, mistakes were things to be hidden, not ever talked about, lest of all shown to others. He hated mistakes. Bad enough that Yavanna with her stupid plants and animals filled all Arda with things that were by nature imperfect, prone to mistakes, that grew and developed all over the place, following no rule. He hated it. And he hated it even more here in the smithy, the only place where Mairon had, until now, been safe from those nuisances, where he could control the substance of Arda, make it perfect. Also, the fact that it had been Aulë himself who had made this mistake made Mairon deeply uneasy, embarrassed. The Master was never supposed to make mistakes, if he was fallible, so were they all. And all the other Maiar were actually laughing…

All of a sudden, Mairon felt as if he were suffocating, and he left the others in a haste, trying to calm himself, to fight down the panic that started to well up in him. It had happened. The imperfect had entered their domain. Now all would fall apart… and then, suddenly, he heard a voice in his head. “You seem scared, little Maia? What happened to you?” “My Lord Melkor…” he said, uncertain what he should do, whether he should bow to him or not. He knew the Valar called Melkor dangerous, but then, weren’t they themselves? Had they not just proven that they would allow all their hard work come to nothing because they were just too lax? And before he knew it, he poured his heart out to the Vala, feeling already more at home with him than he had ever felt with Aulë, a feeling that deepened with every compassionate word of understanding Melkor uttered.

(note here: this is NOT supposed to be an excuse for Sauron’s later deeds, nor a POV that makes him the victim. Autism doesn’t make you an arsehole any more than it saves you from being one, but it does make you more susceptible to certain lures, especially if those lures promise safety)

[echo-bleu]

Painted Stars

For the @all-of-arda-is-autistic event, I couldn't resist writing some autistic!Faramir. (3.3k, gen, Faramir&Boromir h/c/fluff set before canon). Here on AO3.

The head archivist catches Boromir’s eyes as he walks into the main room of the library. He raises an open hand, makes a fist, raises three fingers, then nods toward the archive rooms at the back. After so many years, they can communicate silently, and the archivists have developed an entire system of hand signs to avoid disturbing the readers.

In fact, it’s what Faramir used to enlarge the Rangers’ use of signs and whistles to stay hidden. Boromir smiles to himself at the memory of his brother, barely twenty and still a lieutenant, exposing that particular idea to the Rangers’ then captain. He shakes his head in amusement and thanks the archivist with a nod, before making his way to his brother’s favourite room to read in, the rotund at the back of the archives.

It is a beautiful place, it has to be said. The room is entirely round, with long vertical windows set between stone pillars, overlooking the bend of the Anduin south of the city. Tall shelves overflowing with books line the rest of the walls. The high ceiling follows the curve of the roof, painted in dark blue with tiny white stars like the night sky. It’s Faramir’s favourite place in the city, and Boromir wouldn’t begrudge him that, if only it wasn’t so far from everything.

He doesn’t even know how his brother made it here from the Houses of Healing, halfway around the sixth circle and up four flights of stairs. But when he has his mind set on something, even a still-healing broken leg won’t stop Faramir.

At least he waited until the Warden let him out of bed.

“I know you’ve been utterly bored, but you don’t need to compensate for the month you spent in bed in a single day,” he says to his brother’s back, bent over a thick tome.

He feels a hint of smugness when Faramir jumps, because this is the only place where he still can sneak up on his Ranger brother. “Boromir!”

Faramir tries to turn around and stand at the same time, and curses aloud when his bad foot hits the table’s leg.

Boromir jogs down the steps to the rotund proper and leans against Faramir’s table. “Don’t hurt yourself on my account.”

“Valar, Boromir, what are you doing here? Wasn’t the council meeting supposed to last all day?”

“It did,” Boromir points out. “It’s past twelfth bell.”

In the height of the summer, the sun sets much later, but it’s already close to Minduollin, and soon its shadow will fall over the city. Faramir looks outside in surprise. “Oh.”

“When was the last time you ate, or even looked up from your book?”

“Er…”

“You’ve been here for eight hours.”

“Do you have people spying on me?” Faramir asks, attempting to look annoyed, but he only looks tired. Now that he’s realized how long he’s been sitting here, it’s like the weight of exhaustion is suddenly settling on him. He rolls his shoulders and his neck pops.

“Only Head Archivist Gannon, and he’s just looking out for you. Fara, you need to better take care of yourself. Your leg isn’t healed yet.”

“I was sitting all day. I even propped it up.”

There is, indeed, a small cushioned stool set under the table. Boromir sighs. At least his brother hasn’t lost all sense.

“I’m pretty sure that when Nîlo said you could take short walks, he didn’t mean you could come all the way out here.”

Faramir winces. “I was reading that book you brought me yesterday about the court of Tar-Minyatur and the building of Armenelos, and it got the dates all wrong, I had to check proper sources.”

“And that took eight hours?”

“Well, that book over there,” Faramir gestures toward another heavy tome, bound in crumbling leather, “said something about Elros Tar-Minyatur that I’d never read before, so I had to check that, and then I got caught up in the history of Númenor.”

He gives Boromir a sheepish smile, and Boromir shakes his head. Losing himself in old lore is so typical of Faramir. He catches the end of a thread and won’t rest until he’s unravelled the entire tapestry, forgetting to eat or sleep or even look up from his books. Father and their arms-masters had to punish him many times for forgetting his duties when he was a child.

Nowadays Faramir no longer forgets his duties, and very rarely lets himself get pulled into research. His first experiences in Ithilien and now his captaincy have turned his preoccupations toward the war effort, and sometimes Boromir misses the eager and passionate, if not quite carefree, young man that he used to be. There’s something of that man back in Faramir’s gaze right now, for the first time in years.

Maybe the opportunity to rest and lie idle for a while, although brought about by suffering, has been a blessing in disguise for him. Ithilien and Gondor may need Faramir, but Boromir knows that battle is not where his heart sings. It’s here, in this room full of books, that he finds his happiness.

Faramir yawns widely. “Sorry,” he mutters. “It’s funny, nothing robs you of your energy quite like lying in bed for weeks on end. Should be the other way around.”

“Your body is trying its best to heal, and you’re not helping it along.”

“I just got tired of staring at the same four walls.”

Boromir snorts. “You never seem to tire of these walls,” he gestures at the room around him.

“Well, I don’t spend much time looking at them. Plus, you’ll have to admit that this ceiling is far more interesting than the one in the Houses of Healing.”

“So if I have the ceiling to your room in the Houses painted with stars, you’ll stay there next time?”

There is no point in pretending that there won’t be a next time. The Rangers are out there alone in Ithilien, desperately trying to hold a land swarming with orcs. Even if their training is among the best and Faramir is putting all his cunning to the service of preserving the lives of his men, it’s one of the most dangerous postings there is for a captain. He’s taken more injuries than even Boromir, who is well-known to be reckless in battle.

It’s an ongoing joke between them that there will soon be a room in the Houses of Healing solely reserved for him. They’ve made plans for the decoration, and Faramir, in his utter boredom in the last few weeks, went so far as to sketch it out.

“I want the constellations to be accurate,” Faramir says, the quirk of his mouth betraying his serious face.

“Deal. Now how about I help you back to bed? You think you can make it there under your own power?”

Faramir has to actually think about it, which is a clearer answer than his words. “Probably.”

“Right.” Boromir bends down to pick up the crutch Faramir stored behind his seat. “Up you get, then.”

Faramir’s limp, even with the help of the crutch, is so pronounced that Boromir wastes no time ducking under his brother’s free arm. Faramir makes a noise of protest, but he leans most of his weight on Boromir as they slowly take on the steps back to the main library.

The head archivist is bent over a scroll at his desk, with his daughter and assistant Inzilbêth beside him. They both look up at Boromir and Faramir’s passage. Inzi’s raised eyebrow is eloquent – do you need help? Boromir shakes his head minutely, unsure that Faramir has even noticed them. He’s breathing heavily, focused on controlling the weight he puts on his leg.

Boromir makes a mental note to have Nîlo, Inzi’s brother, ask her to visit Faramir in the coming days. She’s even more passionate about lore than he is, and she’s perhaps the only one who could keep him distracted enough to keep him in bed. But right now, getting his brother back to the Houses of Healing seems more urgent.

The trek is long and slow, and by the time they make it to Faramir’s room, Faramir has beads of sweat rolling down his forehead. He collapses on the bed and lets Boromir untie his boots for him and place a pillow under his leg.

“Thanks,” he mutters without opening his eyes.

Boromir unceremoniously plops down onto the chair beside the bed. He has nowhere better to be, and for once, the quiet of the Houses is welcoming rather than stifling. After a whole day spent in unproductive council meetings, Boromir could do with no one speaking to him for a while.

“Hey.”

Boromir looks up to find Nîlo leaning against the frame of the door he forgot to close. Correction: he could do with no one speaking to him except Fara and Nîlo.

“Hey yourself,” he smiles as Nîlo bends to kiss his forehead.

It’s as close a display of affection as they allow themselves in public – a reasonable greeting between friends, if somewhat more intimate than most. But Nîlo has actually closed the door behind him, so Boromir reaches up to cup his face and kiss his lips.

“How’s my patient?” Nîlo asks in a low voice, a slight blush creeping on his cheeks.

“Being unreasonable, as usual,” Boromir says. Faramir doesn’t even protest.

Nîlo shakes his head indulgently. He was Faramir’s friend first – his best and quite possibly only close friend. They’ve known each other their whole lives, always holed up together somewhere in the Archives whenever they were free of duties and studies. Boromir only got close to Nîlo when he caught a spear to the side last year while Faramir was stuck in Ithilien, and Nîlo acted as both his healer and his brother’s eyes and ears on Boromir’s recovery.

Acknowledging their mutual attraction and becoming lovers wasn’t an easy decision for either of them. Not only because Denethor would be furious, expecting his oldest son to take a wife and continue their line, but because it strained Nîlo’s relationship with Faramir considerably. But it’s been almost a year, their father has yet to find out, and Faramir is finally coming around to it.

“I’m fine,” Faramir groans, though he has yet to move or even open his eyes to greet his friend.

“Clearly,” Nîlo quips. He sits down on the bed beside Faramir, smoothing out his healer robes. “I’m going to touch your leg.”

Faramir just nods, and Nîlo starts massaging the abused muscles of his calf, staying away from the healing ankle. Boromir can see the lines of pain on his face gradually relax.

“What did you do to get this tense?” Nîlo asks casually. “Run to Osgiliath and back?”

“Archives,” Faramir mumbles.

“Did you get lost in the labyrinth?”

Faramir opens his eyes solely to roll them at his friend. “There is no labyrinth.”

Nîlo gives him a bright grin and looks up at Boromir. “Did we ever tell you about the time Inzi and I convinced Fara there was a labyrinth under the Archives?”

Boromir leans forward. “Now that I have to hear,” he says.

Faramir hides his face behind his hand.

“I think it was after you started at the Academy,” Nîlo starts. “Fara and Inzi were trying to translate an old account of the building of Minas Anor in Quenya and Fara mistranslated hwinyatië as maze instead of shortcut. So Inzi looked him in the eye and told him there was a labyrinth underneath the Archives that is known only to the archivists. I backed her play, of course, and Father just straight up refused to answer Fara’s questions. I think Fara spent the next two years looking for it.”

Faramir groans in embarrassment, while Boromir bursts in laughter. “You really thought there was a maze under there?”

“I was eight! Besides, there are secret passages all over the city, why not a maze?”

“Secret passages, huh? Do tell.”

Boromir is mostly joking – few of the passages are truly secret, just handed down by word of mouth in case of emergencies. It’s likely that Faramir knows more of them than he does, as he’s certainly spent more time as a child exploring the city. Denethor’s relative disinterest in him and his status as the second son, and the lack of their mother to keep an eye on him, allowed him a level of freedom that Boromir never had. It’s not something he particularly resents, but often a turn of phrase like that reminds him of how different their experience of growing up was.

“They’re secret,” Faramir deadpans. “You’re not supposed to know about them.”

“And you’re not supposed to know about the labyrinth,” Nîlo says, poking Faramir’s shin before letting go of his leg. “On that note, I need to finish my round before it gets fully dark. I’ll have food brought up for you both.”

Boromir thanks him and gallantly sees him out, their hands brushing as Nîlo opens the door. Finding time together hasn’t been easy, and it will be even less so when Boromir goes back to the garrison at Osgiliath. “Come over tonight,” Nîlo murmurs before he leaves.

“What?” Boromir growls at Faramir, when he turns to find his brother searching him with his gaze.

Faramir immediately looks away, fiddling with the edge of the blanket under him. “Nothing. Just be careful.”

“Always.”

Faramir doesn’t respond. They stay silent for a while, and the quiet no longer feels as welcoming. Boromir gets up again to let in the servant coming with their daymeal on a large tray, which is set down on the small table. Too tired to move, Faramir lets Boromir serve him a bowl of stew, simply propping himself on pillow against the headboard.

“So, tell me about Tar-Minyatur,” Boromir prompts as they dig in.

Getting Faramir started on history is the best way to negate the silence, and to get him to eat without picking at his food. Boromir nods in the right places, asking a question here or there to keep him going – he’s become something of an expert in listening with one ear and appearing to give his full attention. Faramir isn’t fooled, he knows, but he’s too happy to be allowed to talk about his passion to mind. He often says that it helps him order his thoughts, that although he loves actually sharing his passion – the way he does with Inzi, and sometimes even with Nîlo – he only really needs someone willing to listen.

There was a time when Denethor indulged him, or even encouraged him, but that stopped around the time Faramir started arms training and showed little inclination for the arts of war. Boromir has missed this, has missed seeing that light in his brother’s eyes, seeing his hands move and gesture almost of their own accord. Faramir so rarely lets go of the tight control he keeps on himself.

The story is quite fascinating, too, once Boromir actually gets pulled in. Half-elven twin brothers, sons of a literal star, kidnapped by the Fëanorians as children? Why didn’t Boromir get to read that in history lessons, instead of memorizing the dates of coronation and death of all the Númenorean kings? Faramir, though he regularly loses his thread in digressions, is so passionate in his storytelling that Boromir can almost picture the brothers, growing up in a war that started before their birth, pulled between two people and having to choose, and ultimately being separated – Elros the mighty Númenorean king, the first of the house that Boromir will one day keep watch for, and Elrond the elven healer, herald of the High King of Lindon.

What Boromir says, once Faramir hits a hull in his storytelling, is: “You’re lucky that Father didn’t have a mind to visit you today. You know what he thinks of you getting so engrossed in your reading that you forget to eat.”

What he means is: I’m glad to see that all that passion hasn’t yet been snuffed out of you by the war and your duties. But those are thoughts he will not voice, even to his brother, his best friend and closest confident. Not when Faramir is the one he worries about.

“He would no doubt decree that if I can walk to the Archives, I can make it to the Citadel, and stop visiting altogether,” Faramir says.

It might be better for all of our peace of mind, he does not add. His relationship with Denethor is difficult at best, these days. There are simply too many matters on which they do not see eye to eye.

“Well, I suspect you’ll rather be feeling the effects of your little escapade tomorrow, and won’t be eager to try again just yet.”

Faramir winces. “I don’t look forward to it.”

“I’ll see if Inzi can come and bring you some more books. And you might use the time to keep up with your correspondence, Uncle complained again that he hasn’t heard from you.”

“I wrote him two weeks ago!”

Boromir shrugs. “You know he worries.”

“I know. I’ll write to him. Hopefully by the time he and Lothíriel arrive I’ll be fully back on my feet.”

That might be overly optimistic, but Boromir doesn’t say it. Imrahil will make sure that Faramir doesn’t overdo it once he’s here, and no one will mention that his visit to Minas Tirith has been suspiciously timed right after Boromir’s departure back to the garrison.

“You can tell him about Tar-Minyatur, I’m sure he’ll know anecdotes about him that aren’t in the Archives.” Their uncle is every bit as learned as Faramir – or more, since he has the advantage of his years – and he always seems to pull knowledge out of nowhere.

“You know, we don’t have any record of the elves past the end of the Second Age, but Elrond Peredhel was there, fighting alongside Elendil. He might even still be alive.”

“Seems like a long time to live without a brother,” Boromir says.

Faramir shudders. “Six thousand years. Can you imagine?”

“Nay. I had five years before you were born, that was more than enough.” I hope I never have to live without you. I pray that this war won’t take you from me forever. He reaches out to ruffle Faramir’s hair, seeing the same thoughts mirrored in his eyes. “You might be a menace, but you’re my menace.”

Faramir bats his hand away. “Oh, I’m the menace, now, am I? Who was it again who raided Uncle’s wine cellar when he was thirteen, got so drunk he could barely walk straight, ended up running from the gate guards and slept it off in my bed?”

“Well I didn’t sleepwalk into the Archives, babble to Mithrandir about a dragon with a missing scale, and accidentally damage a five-hundred-year-old scroll!”

Faramir blushes, but his shoulders shake with suppressed laughter. “I miss being able to see you every day,” he says.

Boromir nods in agreement. It’s been more than a decade since he got his first post out of the city, but he still misses living in the same house, playing around the Citadel and reading together late into the night. “You have me for another week.”

“Let’s make the most of it, then.” He looks down at his leg and grimaces. “Well, you make the most of it while I sit here and watch.”

“You’re allowed short walks. If I can get out of those accursed meetings before dark and you haven’t overtaxed yourself, we can sit in the gardens, like we used to do with Mother.”

“I barely remember,” Faramir admits in a low voice, staring down again, fiddling with his sleeve.

Boromir clasps his shoulder until he looks up. “Then we make new memories. Together.”

“Together,” Faramir repeats.

Boromir bends over to kiss his brow, like he used to do when Faramir was little. He resolves to treasure every moment – with the way the war is going, who knows how many more of them they’ll have? Already they only seem to find time for each other when one of them is injured or ill, and it will only get worse.

Eru, please see him through this darkness unharmed and unbroken. I would do anything for him.

Comments and reblogs make my day!

[outofangband]

I actually wanted to repost this ramble about Morwen with edits now that I’m almost done with one of the relevant posts 

It’s been awhile since I’ve rambled about Morwen being accused of witchcraft so I just thought I’d confirm that I’m still absolutely obsessed with it and all its implications and possibilities. It remains one of my very favorite details for so many reasons. 

I love that Morwen is genuinely feared by awful people and I love that their prejudices and superstitious, almost certainly ones Morgoth would foster and encourage as a being who delights in spreading discord and turning people against each other, actually work to protect her, at least in part. It’s thematically appropriate

I’m probably going to make another post about the linguistic implications from the line “Witchwife they called her and shunned her: Witchwife it is but elf friend in the new language”. I made one here already but I’ve done some more research to add. It’s such a fascinating word and the fact that human sorcerers of any kind are rare (in Arda) and the use of the word witch with with those gendered connotations is even more rare just makes it more intriguing 

Anyways as always my tag for this stuff is word ran among them if you want to blacklist it

[ladysternchen]

Aaaaaand of course

- Túrin (no explanation needed I think)

- Fëanor, who has imo both ADHD and ASD

- Finwë and Elwë, who are a perfect example of why someone with ADHD benefits greatly from a friend with ASD and vice versa. To see this, one probably needs to go a bit into the background-stories. Finwë is very bright, has a heart of gold, is a loyal and loving friend (and later father), but he also is swayed to believe things easily. (Like believing Morgoth’s lies about the Valar back at Cuiviénen). He’s passionate about what he does, and quick to act, but fails to see where his actions may lead. (Like re-marrying.) Elwë on the other hand is so cautious, so very unwilling to talk anyone into anything (”I can but decide for myself and ask all of my people to do likewise”) and if he has one thing he cannot tolerate at all, it’s change. Change is freaking terrifying. Also, when feeling cornered, he’ll lash out and then later be horribly sorry about it. Also this getting fixsted on one part of the problem and overseeing the obvious. They needed each other.

- all the sons of Fëanor can, I think, be diagnosed with ADHD or co-morbid ADHD and ASD, as can Celebrimbor

-Morwen, of course (same as her son)

-Lúthien. Perfect presentation of ADHD in females.

-Mairon/Sauron. Eeeeeeeverything needs to be in order. And I know the best way to do it.

HOW have I only just now seen the "this is a blog for autistic people"!? SO *cue listening face* happen to have any headcanons?

well let's clear one thing up: as an autistic person it is my right and duty to headcanon every character i love autistic, bc if they're not then i literally can't imagine what their brain is like. also it annoys the worst alistics and like fuck them!!

with that out of the way!!! yes!!

frodo and bilbo. this is why they bond so hard it's like the Fellow Autistic feel. they share special interests too which makes it twice as easy!! i feel like they both prefer visual or textural stims rather than moving or sounds ones

merry, his pipeweed obsession.... sounds like a special interest to me hunny. verbal/audio stims

pippin bit he's also adhd (i don't have much to back the autism side of this up i just like it) i just feel like him and merry have autistic&autistic friendship vibes. unafraid to stim in public, even if alistics think it's causing a nuisance (his mom was definitely the type of mom that would aggressively use her Can I Speak To The Manager energy to make sure he always felt comfortable expressing his emotions despite what other people think)

faramir, the scene where eowyn is like i'm in love with a man who's noble and just or whatever while she's stood looking at him wearing his cape after spending like a month growing closer to him and he's like yeah everyone loves aragorn. also his researching and like stuff he did with gandalf. poor understanding of social cues AND he's obsesses to the point of being a wizards pet? autistic and proud babey!!! motion stims but repressed :( i feel like textural stims would also be a big one for him

arwen. literally no reason i just like it. like aragorn's learning all of these tricky elven social rules to impress and court her and she's just like :) i have no idea what any of this means :) she passes really well bc elrond put her in theatre classes when she was young. sometimes she'll just sit silently near aragron and he'll be like sweating omg she's judging i do she's so wise and beautiful and i am but a mortal and she's just there like this bonding time is so great!! dating is easy!! audio and visual stims.

legolas because he's seems like a man with poor spacial awareness and like the kind person who would struggle with the perception of time and like, he thinks he's good a social interaction bc he can make eye contact but everyone else is like fantasy google searching whether intense kinda creepy staring is a elven thing or if this is a personal problem (it is) doesn't stim prefers to space out

im probably missing somebody so feel free to add!!

[ao3feed-tolkien]

the house i grew up in (it breaks your heart)

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2r4y16n

by sadexcitedcorvid

The gleaming point of Carnistir’s needle winked up from the cloth in his hands, a woefully inadequate wool that was yet the best he had to offer. Warm, and soft, and perhaps, pretty, a deep red, but not anywhere near the quality of clothing that a convalescent required. This cloak would be for later, when Maitimo’s skin was not yet paper-thin and prone to tearing, and the weight of the fabric could be borne without the bowing of his neck or any stumbling. ~ A triptych.

Words: 1731, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: Gen

Characters: Caranthir | Morifinwë, Maedhros | Maitimo, Fëanor | Curufinwë

Relationships: Caranthir | Morifinwë & Maedhros | Maitimo

Additional Tags: Autistic Caranthir | Morifinwë, All of Arda is Autistic 2023, i decided to rate this t due to one instance of slightly disturbing imagery, which i then put in the summary, Maedhros is his own warning, Good Older Sibling Maedhros (Tolkien), good younger sibling caranthir, brief mention of an oc?

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2r4y16n

[ao3feed-thehobbit]

All of Arda if Autistic 2023 ficlets

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/g9mUL6E

by Camille_LaChenille

All the ficlets I wrote for All of Arda is Autistic 2023 challenge. Featuring neurodivergent Elves, Dwarves, Hobbits and Men

Words: 3121, Chapters: 7/30, Language: English

Series: Part 5 of Neurodiversity in Middle Earth

Fandoms: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien, TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: Gen

Characters: Frodo Baggins, Drogo Baggins, Primula Brandybuck, Celebrimbor | Telperinquar, Narvi (Tolkien), Thorin Oakenshield, Original Child Character(s), Original Elf Character(s), Rose Cotton, Sam Gamgee, Elrond Peredhel, Bilbo Baggins, Elrohir (Tolkien), Legolas Greenleaf, Gimli (Son of Glóin)

Relationships: Drogo Baggins & Frodo Baggins & Primula Brandybuck, Celebrimbor | Telperinquar/Narvi, Elrohir & original child character(s), Rose Cotton/Sam Gamgee, Thorin Oakenshield & Thorin's mother, Gimli (Son of Glóin)/Legolas Greenleaf, Gimli (Son of Glóin) & Legolas Greenleaf

Additional Tags: All of Arda is Autistic 2023, Family, Autistic Character, Sensory Overload, autistic characters, Autism, autism acceptance month, writing prompts, Ficlets, neurodivergent characters, Friendship, Fluff, Autistic Meltdown, Acceptance, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Dissociative Episode, Neurodiversity

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/g9mUL6E

[finmoryo]

Tolkien Characters I Headcannon as Autistic (#3)

Elrond

I know this isn’t usually someone headcannoned as neurodivergent, but it just hit me and now I’m not letting go of it.

As a child, he asked Maglor to play the same song repeatedly and got mad if Maglor stopped singing to put him to bed.

Has a beautiful and strong singing voice (Lúthien’s genes) and often uses it to help heal others. Still sings Maglor’s old lullabies when he’s writing letters.

Most people assume his “weirdness” is because he’s part maia.

Pined for centuries before Celebrían had enough of waiting and ordered him to ask to be betrothed to her. Didn’t realize she liked him too and was flirting with him.

The most empathetic person in Arda. Cried whenever an animal died as a child. Maglor and Maedhros had to figure out how to feed him without making him upset.

Tried to look and act exactly like Maglor at one point. Created a small, badly made harp and walked around camp singing for days.

Fell down a couple hills because he walked on his toes a lot yet never broke a bone.

Incredibly steady hands when it comes to healing or fighting but pretty bad at physical activities otherwise.

Sometimes Glorfindel finds him sitting in the Hall of Fire, staring into the flames. After Celebrían sails, he’s there for days.

A great leader to the people of Imladris, but has very little confidence in himself. Just wants others to be happy and prioritizes them over himself and his own health.

Gets very little sleep. Will stay up immersed in books or other writings and not realize that it’s daytime.

Very reserved and tends not to display many emotions unless the other person knows him well enough to know what to look for.

Did show surprise when Glorfindel and Erestor kidnapped Maglor from his seaside lamenting location and brought him to Imladris. Sat by his foster father for hours healing all the cuts and scrapes his father had not cared to do anything about.

Incredibly protective over his family, yet many of them were still taken away from him.

Has an amazing memory. If there was no paper handy, Maglor would tell him lyrics of his music to be written down later. 

Watched Elros try to take the silmaril from their mother as a child, multiple times, because he liked how shiny it was.

Really likes stories. Sometimes he would convince Maedhros to tell him of his youth in Valinor, and all the antics he got up to with Fingon and Finrod.

Likes learning new words. Read all the books that the Fëanorians had on hand and then offered up strange suggestions for lyrics whenever Maglor was singing.

His favorite accessory is the 8-pointed star pin that Maglor gave him before leaving. Makes sure not to wear it around Galadriel. Gandalf likes to make subtle hints about it during meetings of the White Council.

#1 - Caranthir

#2 - Maeglin

[kaukomieli]

Tolkien and Ableism

There's nothing quite like getting the impetus to write down thoughts that you’ve been mulling over for a month. This is especially true when that impetus comes out of a painful and alienating conversation about your favourite author with one of your favourite groups of people. That Tolkien might have some dodgy ableist stuff in his work is not a new idea to me. That Tolkien fans behave in ableist ways sometimes, often unconsciously, is not news either. To find myself confronted with it by people I trusted in a space where it is part of my job to make it safe and friendly for all present, though, was a big, uncomfortable kick towards writing this stuff down.

This post is mostly a slightly-less sweary rewrite of a tweet thread I wrote in the immediate aftermath of that conversation, with the added bonus of not having to write it in 280-character chunks while stressed and upset. The idea is to get some of my ideas in one place, in public, and to try and help open up the conversation about Tolkien's work, disability, and ableism. From what I've been able to find so far, it's not a very big conversation at this point in time - there is a small scattering of academic works, one or two folk talking about it in blogs and such, but otherwise it's early days. I hadn't anticipated that I might be stepping into something of a niche when it comes to discussing these aspects of Tolkien's work, but here we find ourselves.

The more I look for representations of disability (which I am using in a very broad sense to include physical and neurological disabilities as well as mental health problems) in Tolkien, the more I find. Starting with the obvious examples of Maedhros, Frodo, and Brandir the Lame, you then move out to people like Sador, Miriel, perhaps Nienor and Nellas, and of course the physically deformed orcs and goblins. The intersection with Tolkien's Catholic theology, regarding “Arda Marred,” and “Arda Healed,” presents some uncomfortable possibilities regarding the undesirability of disability and illness in the world that is at odds with how many disabled people today see ourselves and our place in this world. Additionally, what is not included is also quite telling: for example, I have yet to find a good character who is born disabled in some way, rather than acquiring their disability during their life.

To say that Tolkien is an ableist and therefore “bad” is to put too broad a stroke on this whole conversation, and it's certainly not a statement I will be making any time soon. His treatment of Frodo and his illness is, to my mind, sensitively and beautifully done, right up to his departure at the Grey Havens. I find his approach to Maedhros after he loses his hand a little bit too much like inspiration porn for my tastes, especially in the light of the fan-art that insists on altering his experience as an amputee, contrary to what Tolkien himself says (hat-tip to Diverse Tolkien and their survey respondants for that one!). For the most numerous and obviously physically deformed peoples to be orcs, and that this deformity is somehow symbolic of inner deformity, is troubling. The conflation of The Fall and its resultant corruption with physical disability and illness is not a new thing to those of us who have been engaged with Christianity while disabled, but that doesn't make it less problematic when it appears in Tolkien's mythologised version, which it very much does.

The complexity of Tolkien's world is reflected in and reflective of the complexity of his mistakes and choices. With regard to disability, there is no suggestion his intent was to display a deep, unshakeable hatred of disabled people; it is very clear that that is not happening. But that isn't all that ableism is. Ableism comes out in the unchecked privileges, the ill-thought-out comments, the way that characters are built, and the implications of that; the assumptions of those in the fandom as to how people can access Tolkien's material or how they express their love of it, and a thousand other ways that grind on disabled people on a daily basis. It is intensely personal, as a disabled person, to be told that you and your kind do not or should not exist in Arda. As an autistic person whose special interests include Tolkien, Arda is home to me in a way that transcends a lot of the more usual extents of fandom. To then be told that the very thing that shapes my love of Tolkien is something that excludes me from parts of experiencing his world is, to say the least, painful.

Ultimately, for me, the crux of the matter is this: we have no problem whatsoever acknowledging the good points in Tolkien's work and their applicability to real life. The oft-mentioned values of love, fellowship, courage, and beauty are things that we see in and take from Tolkien all the time, which is a wonderful thing, especially in 2020. To ignore their counterparts such as exclusion, hatred, and ugliness, however subtly implied or unintentional, is to whitewash Tolkien's work in a way that I find quite disingenuous. Not every person's experience of Tolkien is always smooth and painless, and to deny that truth because it is uncomfortable to those who have never had to consider it, or who choose to ignore it, is to exclude and tone police marginalised people.

Tolkien is both ableist and not ableist, at different times and in different ways. He is sensitive and blundering. He includes and excludes by turns. His work is comfort and balm, but also jarring and saddening. He was always intensely human, and thus intensely imperfect. There are excellent, illuminating, and challenging conversations about Tolkien's problematic treatment of race happening at the moment, thanks to folk like itariilles, Diverse Tolkien, Alliance of Arda, and others. Disability presents another lens on his work and fandom that will sometimes be uncomfortable or unpleasant to look at, but I think is vital in seeking to understand the man, his work, and his impact on our world and thinking.

[ladysternchen]

All of Arda Is Autistic- Maeglin

Maeglin looked up from the newly-forged sword he had just showed to his uncle, praising it’s many assets, only to stare straight into Idril’s eyes. Immediately, he felt his face growing hot and lowered his gaze, hating himself for his insecurities. 

“I think I never heard you talk so much, and with so much passion.”

It was a statement, nothing more, but Maeglin was sure he discerned a note of accusation in his cousin’s tone. 

“It is a good sword, Maeglin, the likes of which you will not find often even here among the most skilled smiths of Gondolin.”

Maeglin nodded, encouraged once more by his uncle’s earnest praise.

“It is the alloy that makes it special, lord! The mountains are rich with may different metals, but no-one seems to have delved for them in earnest yet!”

“No.” Turgon agreed. “Indeed we have had no knowledge of the strengthening of swords by using different metals. Our interest in those were mainly so to make jewellery and other fair works of art.”

Maeglin bowed courteously, while he could practically hear his father’s voice in his mind, scoffing. What use were fair trinkets, when there were blades to be wrought cunningly, so that they would become near sentient?

Turgon returned the small bow and left, but Idril, to Maeglin’s great surprise, did not. 

“Why are you so, cousin?” she asked, and Maeglin tensed at once.

“How?”

Idril eyed him thoughtfully for a while, then said: “I’ve never heard you talk of your parents’ deaths, nor have I seen you shed a tear for them since. For long, I thought you incapable of any such thing as emotions, but yet here you stand and explain the alloy of metals with such reverence in your voice that it borders on love.”

Maeglin considered what she had said for a moment, then answered: “It is not so that I do not grieve them. My mother, mainly, but also my father. But what good is there in speaking about those grievous things, when they cannot be undone?”

Idril nodded after a while, apparently lost in thought.

“How was it, growing up in the dark? I cannot imagine it being anything but horrible.”

“Yet it was not.”

She looked at him wonderingly, and Maeglin could not help but feel heartened by her interest in him, so he told her of his childhood and youth, something he could never have imagined doing.

“… you see, whatever the common conception, my father was not some kind of monster. He was caught in his own mind, and often so, and never felt at home among the Eldar, but in his strange way, he loved us, my mother and me. He cared for us. All this, the lore of how metals work, I learned from him, and he learned it from the Lords of Nogrod, among whom he was held in great respect. He was a fabulous smith!”

Idril wrinkled her nose.

“Well, but love does not excuse imprisoning others.”

“’t was only in the last years that Amil grew weary of Nan Elmoth. My father could never stand the light of the sun, he said it hurt him. But we wandered the forest by starlight, and we were content.”

A smile played about her lips.

“Aredhel never stayed long anywhere, I guess.”

Maeglin shook his head.

“No.”

“But you know, had he truly loved her, he would have let her go!”

He stared at her, aghast. How could letting go mean love? Idril stared curiously at him and he held her gaze, even if it made him very uncomfortable. After a while, she turned away with a sigh, leaving Maeglin behind, and he sensed that he had somehow said something wrong, but how and what was a mystery to him.

[echo-bleu]

I am going to finish this fic tonight I am going to finish this fic tonight I am going to finish this fic tonight I am going to finish this fic tonight I am going to-

It's been sitting in my WIP folder for days just needing like one more paragraph. It's a pretty light-hearted, slice of life kind of thing with autistic!Faramir for @all-of-arda-is-autistic. I'm not sure where the struggle is.

Anyway here's a snippet.

“I know you’ve been utterly bored, but you don’t need to compensate for the month you spent in bed in a single day,” he says to his brother’s back, bent over a thick tome.

He feels a hint of smugness when Faramir jumps, because this is the only place where he still can sneak up on his Ranger brother. “Boromir!”

Faramir tries to turn around and stand at the same time, and curses aloud when his bad foot hits the table’s leg.

Boromir jogs down the steps to the rotund proper and leans against Faramir’s table. “Don’t hurt yourself on my account.”

“Valar, Boromir, what are you doing here? Wasn’t the council meeting supposed to last all day?”

“It did,” Boromir points out. “It’s past twelfth bell.”

In the height of the summer, the sun sets much later, but it’s already close to Minduollin, and soon its shadow will fall over the city. Faramir looks outside in surprise. “Oh.”

“When was the last time you ate, or even looked up from your book?”

“Er…”

[outofangband]

for @all-of-arda-is-autistic

I talked about why I read Morwen as autistic here but this is just a collection of headcanons rather than meta. That being said a lot of this is supported by canon!

cw: implied ableism and internalized ableism (implied/mentioned enforced self consciousness about stimming). It’s not a significant part of this post but still wanted to warn

I themed this collection vaguely around the senses.

Morwen has a very keen eye for detail and notices easily when things have changed or are out of place. She is very observant. (I’m thinking here of Morwen being the one to notice that the wrong number of people were in her group with Mablung)

She dislikes eye contact but when she maintains it, she often does so unblinkingly and people will tend to be unsettled, uncomfortable or downright terrified (ahem, like Brodda)

Morwen has very sharp hearing, especially for picking up on faint or distant sounds. She tends to have more trouble with cacophonous sounds or sounds coming from multiple sources and will either focus on one specific piece of input or tune everything out completely. She gets agitated if spoken to in loud or crowded environments by anyone.

Morwen dislikes touch from most people and is very specific about what kinds of touch she prefers with her loved ones. (For example, only Aerin is allowed to hold her hand for any length of time. Húrin and Rían both pull too much and she doesn’t like that!)

On that note I have many thoughts about how neurodivergence effects sexuality for Morwen but I’ll leave that for later if there’s any interest

As a child Morwen would pull at her hair when very upset. As an adult she still does on occasion though she tends to do it privately.

She is very hypo sensitive to temperature, especially cold, and to many forms of pain.

She is also quite under sensitive to strong smells. Though her actual sense of smell is normal or high, she doesn’t tend to be affected by most smells and doesn’t tend to register them as particularly pleasant or unpleasant unless they have significant and long term associations for her; burning smells for example Morwen hates and clean horses she likes because it reminds her of Húrin and Aerin. She doesn’t like most persistent smells regardless of quality. Her preferred smell is just a neutral clean or fresh one.

Morwen prefers simple foods without many flavor combinations especially different kinds of tastes (sweet and savory for example).

Morwen is very still. I think she tends to have very rigid and seemingly unnatural posture and if it's uncomfortable for her, she doesn't notice.

As always please feel free to ask more

[saurons-pr-department]

Head Canon Time! Mairon’s Autistic and Melkor has ADHD

So, I mentioned recently that that these two are ASD/ADHD solidarity and I’ve decided to elaborate on that a little. (Is this just me wanting them to be neurodivergent because I am? Yes, yes it is. We’re all about the self-indulgence here)

Mairon:

As we know, Mairon likes order. There are certain ways he likes things to be done or to be arranged. Changes without warning to any of the systems of how Utumno/Angband/Tol-in-Gaurhoth are run distress him.

He manages much better with change if there’s a warning. It’s not unusual for him to change protocols himself with the aim of making things as efficient as possible. Even then though, things just feel wrong for a while and so even though he may be happy with the results of his changes the change itself still makes him uncomfortable.

Early on, he realised that he related to the world and people somewhat differently to his fellow Ainur. Out of curiosity he studied other’s behaviour in order to understand them better. Later on, he used this in depth knowledge of other people’s behaviour in his schemes and manipulations.

Due to often assuming various alias or impersonating other people, he is very good at masking.

He doesn’t mask though, unless his plans require it.

Cold things are a big sensory nope. Just nope.

Fluffy things are a big sensory yes, especially on his face. He finds few things more soothing than burying his face and hands into the fur of one of his wolves.

His clothing often incorporates fur 1) to keep him toasty in the northern fortresses and 2) so that he can touch it throughout the day, sometimes for soothing purposes, sometimes it’s just a nice stim.

He also likes shiny things for visual stimming. It’s a trait he shares with Melkor.

His special interests include illusion magic, necromancy and all things forge related (as in ores, metals, techniques, the history of metal work etc.). He’s written volumes and volumes on his research into these topics over the course of his millennia-spanning life.

Infodumping: In Almaren it was mostly Eonwe he’d start infodumping to. Eonwe had absolutely no understanding of the resources of the Earth and what could be wrought with them, he just liked seeing his friend excited.  In the early days Melkor liked to listen to him, but this decreased as Melkor’s condition began to deteriorate. Thuringwethil was happy to listen too, but just like Eonwe and Melkor, she didn’t actually share his interest in these topics. Now, Tyelpe! Tyelpe became equally animated once they got on to their shared love of all things metal craft. Once they got started they often forgot to go to sleep.

I present to you the image of Mairon happy hand-flapping after speaking with Pippin via Palantír and thinking that the Ring was finally within his grasp. Please enjoy this flappy, giggly Maia.

 I feel like he’s not big on eye contact. Mainly because I love the power move of adopting the symbol of the red eye for his heraldry. (They want eye contact so much, I’ll give them eye contact! All the time. They won’t be able to escape it! *proceeds to paint his eye on everything* Mwahahahahahahahaha!)

Melkor:

I mean...surely this is canon?  [Mairon] thus was often able to achieve things, first conceived by Melkor, which his master did not or could not complete in the furious haste of his malice. Constantly coming up with great ideas and then not seeing them out because you move on too fast is such an ADHD mood. (Quote from Myths Transformed, Morgoth’s Ring)

When did Melkor ever do anything in the Silm that told you he had good impulse control?? (Yes I am talking about the fact that he couldn’t just leave Valinor and go back to Middle Earth and instead had to kill their trees, steel the Silmarils and then nearly get himself killed by a giant spider). Impulse control is Mairon’s job.

Like Mairon, he loooves looking at shiny, sparkly things (including Mairon XD)

Staying still is just not his forte. But he’s not up and about much. He’s just very fidgety with his hands and feet.

He’s full of thoughts. They don’t stop. Sometimes they just swirl round and round and can’t be kept up with. They are always there.

Some hyperfixations he’s had include: 1) The Imperishable Flame 2) the shaping of Arda and all the things it could become 3) Mairon 4) the creation of new forms of life 5) The Silmarils

RSD* baby! He does not take well to rejection or criticism. He often responds explosively.

All his emotions are BIG and yet so hard to pin down...

He has absolutely no sense of time. Immortals have wonky senses of time under the best conditions, but an immortal with ADHD? He didn’t stand a chance. What’s a time?

He’s not good at controlling the volume of his voice, usually on the side of being loud.

He has lots of little hand stims like fidgeting with things in his hands.

He often forgets words and blanks mid-sentence. 

He loves to tell Mairon all about whatever new plan he’s hyperfixated on. It’s usually accompanied by lots of hand gestures. He gets quite animated. He really looks forward to the ‘tell Mairon all about it’ stage of plan forming. 

 I think I’ll stop there because otherwise I would just keep going and going XD

*RSD= rejection sensitivity dysphoria: an increased sensitivity to real or perceived criticism or rejection experienced by many people with ADHD.

[disabled-tolkien]

hooo boy where do i start. i have this really expansive modern tolkien au and everybody is disabled basically. frodo? ptsd from their parent's death and later on from their experiences with dealing with sauron. gimli? wheelchair user. elrond? autistic. thranduil? limited vision in one eye and substance abuse disorder. thorin? bpd. frerin? also autistic. dain? amputee. the list goes on and on and i love them ALL

All of these make so much sense! Ah I love it. You've also reminded me that Dain Ironfoot is another disabled character who I'd completely forgotten about. Clearly that was a grievous mistake, Dain deserves better.

I'm also loving they/them Frodo, you're definitely making me 👀 Have you published any of the AU? Everyone can promo their disabled Arda fanfic at any time 👍 

[ao3feed-tolkien]

Nobody Bullies a Baggins!

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/5t93ySk

by FriendOfTheFellowship

Frodo gets into trouble, and is gotten out again by an unlikely rescuer.

Words: 1464, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 15 of Audhd Frodo AU

Fandoms: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: Gen

Characters: Frodo Baggins, Bilbo Baggins, Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, various OCs

Additional Tags: All of Arda is Autistic 2023, Autistic Frodo Baggins, ADHD Frodo Baggins

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/5t93ySk

[ladysternchen]

“Have you ever, just for the tiniest moment, considered what you are doing?” “What do you mean, have I considered what I am doing? Of course I have!”

Fëanáro saw his wife glaring at him, looking back at her with equal anger. Of course he considered. Only nobody else ever did, judging by their behaviour and their apparent blindness to what was going on around them.

“Then explain to me, please, why you are prepared to tear our family apart, and your people. You. Are. King, Fëanáro!”

He scoffed.

“Do you think I don’t know that? And I’m doing what a king is supposed to do, I lead my people to safety…”

“To safety?” Nerdanel cut across him, with an incredulous look on her face. “No, lord. You’re leading them to their doom, away from safety, undoing all the work your father…”

“Atar was fooled. He was fooled and brainwashed and…”

“Brainwashed? Brainwashed? Are you out of your mind?”

Sentences were randomly finished when they were rowing, and the fact faintly amused Fëanáro. He laughed.

“Yes, you are mad. You must be, because you laugh in a situation such as this! You are tearing our marriage apart. You are murdering our children, you…”

“I? No, Nerdanel, you do that. You are the one to betray me and my sons, you decided to side with the murderers of Atar, your King, Nerdanel!”

She took a few steadying breaths, and when she spoke again, her voice was calm, which made Fëanáro hope that she might be prepared to see sense now. A hope that was swiftly destroyed.

“The Valar did not murder your father! Morgoth did. They kept us safe…”

“They wanted us as their pets. Eru knows I loved my father, but he was weak in that point. Shortsighted. Unable to see through their lies…”

“No!” Nerdanel screamed now, looked deranged. “You idiot! You are the one to believe the lies! Your father saw sense! At least until he started listening to you and valuing gems more than family!”

“Don’t you dare…”

“Dare what? Tell you the truth?”

Fëanáro reached up into his hair, tearing at it. How could Nerdanel be so stupid? He had always thought her quick-witted, but apparently, he had been mistaken. Or she was just as brainwashed by the Valar as all the rest of them were. Did she not see? That they had lured the Eldar into coming to Aman? Robbed them of their native lands? Probably so that Morgoth could have them, he thought derisively. Oh, what a clever plan that had been, taking three boys and showing them Valinor. And like children offered sweets, they had gone back and persuaded the rest to follow, that dim-witted bunch. Oh, how they irked him with their imprecision. They had no sense for subtlety, no pride in their heritage, no desire to challenge themselves each day anew. They were lazy, lulled in by the Valar. But that was over now, he, Fëanaro, would see to that.

“You are talking nonsense!” he stated coldly. 

At this, Nerdanel reached out to him, grabbing the front of his robes. He pushed her off him.

“Don’t touch me!” He snarled, yet he had overdone it, had actually pushed her to the floor. He hadn’t meant that, but then, she knew perfectly well that he didn’t like to be touched unasked. It took him a moment to realise that she was crying, which confused him. He couldn’t possibly have hurt her that much?

“Our sons, Fëanáro, our children… please let them remain here, where it is safe.” Nerdanel sobbed. “Oh, I beg you, leave at least the twins. They are so young, they still need a home…”

He only snorted.

“You, Nerdanel, chose to desert them, not I!”

And with that, he turned, never to look back.  (There again, being autistic is no excuse for being an arsehole, which Fëanor is at that time)