#amrod fanfic

[theelvenhaven]

Daily Reminder:

Amrod and Amras I know are the stand alone babies in Beleriand who stuck to the forests and hunted and we love them. But it doesn’t change the fact they committed acts of evil:

- They took the Oath

- They participated in Kinslaying #1

- They helped steal the swan ships

- They burned the swan ships

- They participated in the Kinslaying #2

- They died at Kinslaying #3 in which they probably still killed a lot of people.

These are all events that they WILLINGLY participated in.

I get it- they’re the babies, they’re talked about the least in the Silmarillion. But ignoring that they were thieves, liars, and mass murderers 3x’s over perpetuates that same stereotype people like to give to Maglor about him being “baby” and “harmless”.

Amrod and Amras are still cold blooded murderers.

[aylen-san]

Maglor: Curufin, I understand your resolve, but attacking Doriath will only worsen our situation. Deaths and fratricide are not what we should aim for. There are other ways. Why not try a different approach?

Curufin: We’ve tried everything. Dior will not negotiate. We cannot allow them to continue tormenting us and our allies. We need to act decisively.

Maglor: I understand your anger, but this could lead to great bloodshed and discord. Maybe it’s better to think of an alternative strategy? For example, bribing their allies or finding a compromise.

Curufin: Negotiations? They do not listen to us, Maglor. Conversations waste time, and we need to prepare for the next strike.

Maglor: We cannot act without considering the consequences. If we win the battle but lose everything we’ve built, it will not be a victory. Think about a strategy that will bring us long-term benefits.

Curufin: Alright, what steps do you propose? How can we prepare for a more favorable outcome?

Maglor: Remember how the Silmarils were obtained? We could simply steal them. The girdle of Melian is no longer there. It’s better than openly attacking Doriath. I have a bad feeling about the attack.

Curufin: I understand your concern, but Dior is not an easy target. He is smart and cautious. If we attempt to steal the Silmarils, we need to plan every detail carefully, or we risk falling into a trap.

Maglor: Therefore, I propose we prepare thoroughly. Let’s study their defenses, find the weak points, and develop a plan. If we do everything right, we can avoid open conflict and losses.

Curufin: Alright, but how exactly should we act? What steps are needed for success?

Maglor: First, we’ll gather intelligence about Doriath and its defenses. We need to find out who is in charge of security and where the weak spots are. Then, we’ll prepare tools and resources for a stealthy entry. We can also use allies for diversionary tactics.

Curufin: That sounds reasonable. We must be very cautious and use all resources to avoid mistakes. If everything goes according to plan, we’ll achieve our goal without unnecessary casualties.

Karantir: Maglor, your plan looks promising. Amras, Amrod, and I believe this is indeed the best approach. Moreover, we could make it appear as though it is the work of Morgoth. This will divert attention and create additional pressure on Doriath.

Amras: We’ve already discussed possible methods. If we create the appearance of Morgoth’s attack, it will distract Dior’s forces and create chaos within Doriath. This will make it easier for us to approach our goal.

Amrod: I agree. We can use old tricks to forge the evidence. It will require careful preparation, but with our skill and attention to detail, we can succeed.

Maglor: I’m glad you support the idea. We need to create false evidence pointing to Morgoth and ensure that our actions look like part of his plan. This will require detailed planning and coordination.

Amrod: I will handle the preparation of fake evidence and diversionary tactics. Karantir, you’ll need to ensure everything is ready for the start of the operation.

Karantir: Agreed. I’ll handle the coordination of all resources and preparation of necessary means. We’ll act quickly and carefully to ensure the success of the plan.

Maglor: Alright, let’s begin preparations. We need to act cautiously and strategically. If everything goes according to plan, it will improve our position and reduce losses.

Karantir: I would also like to add that the Dwarves of Nogrod could become our allies. They have a long-standing grudge against Doriath, and they could provide significant assistance.

Amras: Great idea. If we enlist the Dwarves, they could provide the necessary resources and help organize the operation. Their hatred for Doriath will be useful for distraction and creating chaos.

Amrod: Agreed. The Dwarves know the mountain paths well and can assist in developing the plan. They can also supply us with necessary equipment and materials.

Maglor: If we enlist the Dwarves of Nogrod, we’ll need to discuss the terms of their participation and ensure they are willing to work with us. This will require additional negotiations and planning.

Curufin: We’ll consider their demands and interests. If they feel their involvement will bring them the long-awaited revenge, they will work resolutely. We should also discuss how we will coordinate our actions.

Karantir: I can take on the negotiations with the Dwarves. We need to offer them the benefits of our cooperation and convince them that it will bring them satisfaction and gain.

Amras: With this ally, we’ll significantly strengthen our position. We need to create a clear plan for joint actions and distribute tasks to ensure everything goes smoothly.

Amrod: I will handle the technical aspects—creating fake evidence and ensuring we have the necessary means. We’ll also ensure our actions are synchronized with the Dwarves.

Maglor: Alright, if the Dwarves agree to help, it will be a powerful addition to our plan. We’ll start with negotiations and then continue preparations, considering their involvement. We must be ready for unforeseen circumstances.

Curufin: Agreed. Let’s prepare everything necessary and act quickly. Time is on our side, and we must use it as effectively as possible.

[eloquentsisyphianturmoil]

I am being so productive

[stormchaser819]

Are there any fics where all the feanorians are captured by Morgoth? I found one once but I can't seem to find it again. If anyone finds it can you send me the link?

[chaos-of-the-abyss]

to listen to what was consumed

Mbelekhūrūz = Melkor (V) Melyanna = Melian (Q) Mânawenûz = Manwë (V)

___

Mbelekhūrūz is dozing when Grogmar brings the news of Doriath’s end. So the kingdom has fallen – most of its folk exterminated, the rest broken and dispersed. He thought to subjugate Doriath easily after Meylanna’s departure, but consistently had his deployed forces been repelled. To be sure, this was no work of his, though he is disappointed to say. He would have liked to take that kingdom off guard and ravage it himself.

Grogmar kneels still. Mbelekhūrūz watches him. He can feel the orc’s fear. Once he would have reveled in it; now it barely tickles. But nonetheless he delays, peering down without word, and Grogmar grows more terrified by the moment. Then, abruptly, Mbelekhūrūz finds his dread tiresome.

“And tell me,” he says, “what was the cause?”

“My liege!” The salute grates on his ears. “It was attacked.”

Mbelekhūrūz waits, but there is no elaboration. Damned fool.

“Ah, Grogmar,” he murmurs, “you test your luck.” The cretin blanches, but Mbelekhūrūz cannot find the bother to kill him. Impatient, he gestures. “By whom was it attacked?”

“My liege!” The salute is more hesitant this time. “A Noldorin host, led by the seven brothers.”

Keep reading on ao3

[beatles4ever65]

His fëa thrums with Song until he knows no more, their melody put to rest at last. As the lava burns his fëa away, Maedhros is reforged and returns to Valinor before the Darkening. But the Valar have something more in store for him, and Maedhros isn’t sure he wants to know what…

Chapter 3: Calm Before the Storm

Part of a time travel eldritch alternate universe about family, hope, healing, and redemption.

[cilil]

Amrod & Amras

⌔ Synopsis: Amrod and Amras Fëanorion, before and after the Oath. ⌔ Warnings: Loss of sibling, death ⌔ Double drabble

Ambarussa they called one another, and the name Ambarto was hardly ever uttered. The twins, the youngest princes of Fëanáro's house, were like two halves of a whole, closer than any of their brothers, inseparable. 

Within the company of the other the twins found strength and joy, understanding each other without any words needed. Wherever they went, they went together, whatever they did, they did it together. 

Their bond grew and blossomed, and while at times their connection was a mystery to those around them, to the Ambarussar it all made perfect sense. 

Nothing, they vowed, should ever sunder them. 

⌔

Amras is on his own.

His other brothers are with him, but Amrod is not, and his loss is the one that will forever hurt the most. 

He promised his father that he will recover the Silmarils, he promised his brothers that he will go with them, Amras reminds himself whenever he falters, but he knows he doesn't heal; he cannot. 

His twin was a part of him. Together they were everything, alone he is nothing. 

Thus Amras follows his brothers wherever they go, hollow and obedient. He loses some of them too. 

When he falls, it feels like relief. 

Thanks for reading! ♡

@feanorianweek

[zealouswerewolfcollector]

Tolkien Fanfic Reading Month - Day 2

Two E-rated fics today!

The Forlorn by @elentarial

2524 words, E, Maedhros/Amrod

A rarepair with such a juicy, messed up relationship. I'm really digging this Amrod.

arrangements for flute and harp by @jouissants

3442 words, E, Maglor/Fingon, Maedhros/Fingon

Great dynamics between all three characters! Focused on Maglor/Fingon, but Maedhros/Fingon and Maedhros & Maglor really shine too.

[whovianofmidgard]

Day 6 – Ambarussa – Childhood, Twin

for @feanorianweek You can also read on AO3

Begetting an elven child while is an act of love and the desire to cherish new life, it is also a harmony of two fëar meeting, an equal give and take.

Fëanáro and Nerdanel’s fëar found that harmony less and less as their relationship became more turbulent, and they barely saw eye to eye. That discord between two who should’ve been as one gave unexpected results, for what elven marriage would conceive a child when the parents were struggling to remember why they loved each other in the first place.

Throughout the pregnancy Nerdanel insisted that there was only one fëa growing in her womb. And she was very much correct. What none could anticipate was that single fëa being shared between two little bodies.

Healers and philosophers would much later hypothesise on how such an anomaly would come to be. That elves are only capable of creating a single fëa at a time, but parents being of two minds or at odds could perhaps affect the hröa. Such musings were futile in the end, since never before and never after were twins born to full blooded elves ever again.

-

Ambarussa had two bodies and they were fine with that. That way they were never alone!

Their father insisted that the two bodies needed their own names. And while both Ambarussa and their mother found that unnecessary, they had to concede that giving different designations to their vessels was easier to comprehend for others.

It took a while for their brothers and parents to catch up, but eventually they understood that separating the twins was not a good idea. Ambarussa needed to be together in order to be complete.

The body called Amrod had trouble hearing sounds. Yet Ambarussa could perfectly hear, since the Amras body had perfect ears. Amras didn’t have a voice of his own, but Amrod could perfectly talk for the both of them.

They often followed their brother, Celegorm, into the woods. He showed them colourful birds and squirrels in trees.

“Can you find the woodpecker, little brothers? Listen, and you’ll hear him,” he once asked. Then he watched as Amras’ ears twitched and swivelled in the direction of the rapid knocking sound, yet it was Amrod who looked up in the branches.

“We found him,” Amrod said, and Amras was the one who pointed directly at the woodpecker, his own eyes firmly fixed on Celegorm the whole time.

Celegorm showed them a cluster of mushrooms another time, and explained how they all belonged to the same single mess of root-like system, that each fruiting body above ground all fed from the same mycelium. Ambarussa’s bodies inspected the mushrooms closely, then each other with the same intensity. Finally they turned to their older brother as one and looked at him with large fathomless eyes.

“They’re just like us,” Ambarussa said. Celegorm looked back at them and shivered.

-

When Ambarussa got lost in their thoughts, people would call them rude for speaking to each other in ósanwë in front of others. That was all wrong. Ambarussa didn’t need to use ósanwë. Their thoughts were their thoughts, it was as simple as that.

When Ambarussa was first told of their Grandmother Míriel, they felt dread for the first time. What would happen to Ambarussa if one of their bodies died? Would their fëa split in half? Would it stay with the living vessel, or flee to Mandos? If Ambarussa were to go to Mandos would they be allowed to leave with their bodies or be forced to reembody into a single one?

Perhaps it was merciful that they found their deaths together, dispossessed, cursed, in the midst of acting out the sins of their Oath. What truly became of their soul, bound for Mandos or the Void, none save Námo and the One shall know until the breaking of the world.

[amethysttribble]

But Soon It’ll be High in the Sky

@feanorianweek Entry 2: Maglor (+Ambarussa) - Twins

The House of Feanor is summering in Formenos. Three brothers are paying more attention to the world around them than the rest.

This one’s fluffy! Maglor is not naturally good with kids, but he’s trying. By god is he trying.

The only thing worse than one sticky, smelly child was two of them and Macalaure’s parents were never to be outdone.

Set with babysitting his two youngest brothers, he had never more despaired being the second oldest. One of his old school friends, Ravennie, said he was lucky, being the youngest meant being talked down to, condescended to, and told how to run your life. But in Macalaure’s experience, being second oldest meant he had all of the responsibility and none of the authority.

“Come on,” Carnistir had joked as Macalaure tried to wrestle the pair of four-year-olds into shoes, “at least it’s not Atarinke. Ambarussa are little enough to actually listen to you.”

Macalaure had stuck his tongue out at him, and Carnistir walked away, laughing as he lugged a box of old papers around. 

Today, they were cleaning the estate. As Father said, if they were going to be in Formenos for a whole summer, they ought to arrange the palace to be fit for a long term stay. Servants and sons alike had been marshaled for the task, except for Macalaure, who had spent all night composing, all morning sleeping, and drew the chores short-straw.

“Kano,” Telvo whined from the ground, “my shoe’s on.”

“Oh,” Macalaure muttered, then dropped his brother’s fat little foot. He’d been so distracted glaring after Carnistir, he didn’t even notice it had slipped on. “I guess we’re ready to go then.” 

He stood up straight and reached down to take one already worrying wet hand from each twin in his, trying not to cringe. He had a small back of toys strapped to his back next to his harp, so hopefully the boys would mostly be able to fend for themselves. Pityo and Telvo were far more self-sufficient children than Tyelkormo or Carnistir or been- or, horror of horrors, Little Curufinwe.

“Come on,” he said, and started walking- slowly, so that their little feet didn’t trip- out the door and down the stairs. He guided the twins past the busy carriage entrance, away from the flower garden, and towards the grassy valley plains. Everything was flat and open there, which made it easy to keep an eye.

As they walked, Pityo and Telvo chattered back and forth with each other, in their little language that was half Quenya, half something from their own heads. Only Father could really understand them when they got like that, Macalaure didn’t even try to follow their baby babble. 

Instead, he sang quietly under his breath, the piece he’d been working on since they reached Formenos. This distraction was annoying, but he could work around it. He had a new masterpiece to finish, after all.

Once they were a suitable distance from the house, Macalaure plopped down in the tall grass and started unpacking.

“Alright, so I have some spinning tops and a wooden board, I have some stuffed animals, I have- can I trust you not to eat game board pieces?”

Pity and Telvo, standing hand-in-hand next to him, shared a look. 

“Yes,” Telvo said carefully, but Pityo’s big grin and little giggle gave them away.

“So, no board games. I’ve got some snacks here, nuts and fruit, and water. There’s also this… ball and cup, Eru, is this what kids play with these days? I don’t know, go wild and don’t bother me. I’m busy.”

“Boring,” Pityo whined, but Telvo fell to his hands and knees in front of Macalaure to look in the bag.

“Whatcha working on?” he said, slurring his words, though Macalaure knew his diction was good, even for his age. When they spoke to each other, though, they’re pronunciation and elocution slipped, and then it slipped when talking to everyone else. 

When Macalaure was young, Father enforced speaking properly- We must always strive to speak clearly and eloquently, or else where would we be as a society? A people?- but he was far softer on the twins and far more enthralled with their particular way of mispronunciation.

“Something that I think is going to be good,” Macalaure said. 

“Will ya’ play it for grandfather?” Pityo asked, as Telvo was partially swallowed by the bag of toys.

They were still young enough that playing for Grandfather, or presenting art to Grandfather, or going through recitations with Grandfather was the highest achievement one could have. For most Noldorin Elves, it was also the highest of achievements. For Macalaure, performing for his grandfather’s court and being praised by him had long since grown stale.

He had higher ambitions.

“Probably,” he said, instead of trying to explain all of that to the toddlers. “But first, I’m going to present this piece to Ingwion, and play for Manwe and Varda. If it’s as good as I hope it’ll be.”

“It will be!” Ambarussa chimed together, looking at him with massive grins and bright eyes. Telvo had emerged from the backpack with some small balls.

“Thanks,” Macalaure said, smiling slightly. He pulled his harp into his lap and started to tune. “Go play now.”

The twins dashed off without another word.

Macalaure let out a long, low breath, and sang slightly on the end of it, to find the pitch for his instrument. He repeated this movement some thirty times until all the strings were where he wanted them to be. 

Then, he closed his eyes and let himself feel.

Arda stretched out before Macalaure. There was the whistle of the grass that cradled him. There was the rumble of the earth that supported him. There was the whispering of the trees, the distant burbling of the creeks, the songbirds and the crickets and the critters. Formenos was singing.

And it was the song Macalaure was trying desperately to capture in his greedy hands, to hold on tight to and hammer into shape. To wring form into the formless. To take from the song of another and make it his.

His fingers began to play. 

Like a trickle, he started quietly, recreating the low drum of the world that was ever-present and rarely enjoyed. Then, he grew louder- not by much! That would ruin it. When Macalaure wrote the avalanche- or perhaps thunderstorm?- of a reprise later, then he would reach the highest heights, but for now, they were growing. Growing slowly, like the grass.

Louder, but lower, he dropped his fingers to the thicker strings. Thum, thu- thum, thum. The wind picked up. And up and up, until he reached the flowers blowing in the breeze, their voices high and lovely and thin, so his hand drifted back towards the thin strings.

And then it dropped.

Dropped down the stems of the flowers and into the earth. The sounds the first made were soft and pliable, and the roots loved them, and they sang in conjunction. 

For a moment, Macalaure’s fingers faltered as he was distracted by the thought, they talk like Pityo and Telvo, and then he dismissed it. No distractions.

Where was he? Where was he, where- Ah. Yes, the ever branching roots, which hummed like tunnels, reaching down into stone. And the hard stone of Formenos had tunnels of its own, mined for years by eager Elves, practically screaming with a thousand different songs. 

Gold sang, and silver sang, and copper sang. Across the mountains, Macalaure’s fingers traveled, and there sang, sapphires of blue and yellow and green. He found and stole opals, took and consumed the tune of turquoise, and he even touched on something even further down, bright like silver… and beautiful sound that not even his father had molded before?

Ah, but he was losing the tune again, so he went up.

Up and up and up and up, to the highest peak of Formenos’s grand mountains, until his harp strained so high it sounded like the string might snap and Macalaure’s finger smarted.

But a passing eagle picked him up, and they coasted down. 

Slowly, Macalaure brought his newest section of song to a close. He was not ready to discuss the animals so closely. He must- must write this down. While it was fresh. He reached past the children’s toys to pull out paper and ink, and- finding the tops abandoned by his brothers- to the wooden board to write against.

Macalaure sank into musical notation, and the world outside of black and white lines and dots swirled into nothingness.

The rush of the morning had passed when he looked up; his stomach was grumbling and the sun was just passing noon. A new beautiful scene was emerging before him, but unfortunately, animals didn’t like to come out this time of days, when Elves were stomping about. Perhaps at dusk? He could ask Tyelkormo…

Macalaure sat bolt upright, dropping his harp and shifting to his knees as he suddenly realized something.

Elves stomping about. He didn’t hear Elves. He didn’t hear Pityo and Telvo.

“Oh, fuck!” he cried as he launched himself to his feet, spinning around wildly to try and catch a glimpse at two little redheads. He didn’t see anything. He didn’t see-

The grass was so high, it was taller than the twins.

“Oh shit,” Macalaure whispered, choking up. This was worse than when he lost Carnistir in the market of Alqualonde while free-styling with street musicians. This was so much worse, because Pityo and Telvo were toddlers, and there were so many unwatched bodies of water around, and animals. 

Macalaure picked a direction and ran.

“Pityo!” he screamed, “Telvo! Ambarussa! Where are you, you idiots! You know you’re not supposed to go far!”

Panic choked Macalaure up on the last words. He didn’t tell them where not to play, why didn’t he tell them? He was distracted, he was working, he was listening, but evidently not close enough.

Oh Eru, of Vaire, he was so busy listening to the wild, he completely forgot to listen for-

Laughter.

There was… laughter. 

Macalaure stopped running for a second, let his hand trace over the grass as he slowed. The grasses were laughing at him. And the sound of that laughter was louder… in that direction.

Macalaure went left.

He inched his way forward, listening to the grass and not his pounding heart, until another sound joined. The ever so slight giggles of an Elfling. Macalaure plunged his hands towards the ground.

His sore fingers wrapped around a squirming torso, a little body trying to crawl away.

“No, no, no!” one of the twins laughed as he was hauled up into Macalaure’s arms, unable to stop his amusement. Amusement! When Macalaure was near tears and flushed a violent red. 

Little Pityo- he knew which one it was because he was dressed in green today- was fucking laughing.

“You brat,” Macalaure cursed, shaking him slightly and then pulling him close. “You scared me! What are Mother and Father going to say about this, huh? Huh?”

“I napped,” Pityo giggled, hiding his face in Macalaure’s shoulder. “The grass is real nice, so I laid down, and then took a nap. You were singing so pretty, Kano. Had to nap. And then you were so loud, woke me up. It was funny, so I hid”

“It was not funny,” Macalaure whispered petulantly. “Where’s Telvo?”

“Uh,” Pityo mumbled, pulling back and sticking his filthy fingers in his mouth. “I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do,” he snapped. “You always know where he is, don’t lie to me. Where’s Telvo?”

Pityo shook his shaggy head wildly and laughed, “Don’t know!”

And there began the game of Macalaure using one of his little brothers as a dowsing rod to try and find the other. 

Growing increasingly agitated and annoyed, he would hold Pityo out and ask, “this way?” If the answer was ‘yes’, he had to try a different direction. If it was ‘no’, he went that way. Unfortunately, Pityo caught on to what Macalaure was doing after he reached the tree line, where a thicket of pines cast shade, and just started saying random things.

Macalaure was also pretty sure by that point that Telvo was watching them and running away everytime he got close. 

After stumbling through the woods for fifteen minutes, desperately  trying to tell one set of identical, horrible giggles from the other, he didn’t know up from down or right from left. His head was spinning, half furious, half worried, and half terrified about what his mother was going to do to him. Macalaure was about to start screaming, when he was beaten to the chase, though.

A short, high-pitched wail hit the air, and the laughter went silent. Distantly, the sound of crying kicked up, and then Pityo, nestled in his arms, started to cry, too. He was clutching his cheek, fat tears running down his face, and Macalaure knew what had happened.

His heart clenched.

It was hard to hear where the weeping was coming from with Pityo screaming in his ear, but Telvo was stationary now. Macalaure was finally able to trace the sounds of a tiny Elfling heaving massive sobs. He found his baby brother hysterical and sitting next to a bramble bush.

As expected, he was holding his cheek, but he wasn’t surrounded by a puddle of blood and none of his limbs were in the wrong places.

Carefully, Macalaure set down the equally hysterical Pityo and kneeled in front of Telvo. He pulled him into his lap and tried to pry the fingers from his face as gently as he could. It took a little tugging, but he was able to inspect the wound. There was a red slash across Telvo’s face, but it wasn’t bleeding. Just red.

Still, it must hurt.

Macalaure leaned forward and placed a kiss on the wound, then said, “Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m going to sing a song, alright? A healing song, it’ll make you all better.” And slowly, Macalaure began to sing one of Father’s lullabies, no different or more powerful than he sang to put the twins to sleep. It didn’t heal the wound on Telvo’s cheek, but it did call Pityo to also sit in his lap and the two of them slowly started to calm down.

As the crying quieted, Macalaure held Ambarussa and rocked them back and forth.

“Shh, it’s alright,” he said, “I’m here, I heard you. I heard you and you’re alright now.”

[last-capy-hupping]

Have two chapters of AWY, documenting parts one and two of Solstice Day, which my blorbos have decided is a very important day for smut, fluff, and family drama.

[theelvenhaven]

Pretty Negotiators

Ambarussa x Vanifinwe

2.6k Words

****

Vanifinwë came running down the hallway as she spied Ambarussa walking into the household, squealing with excitement as she bounced and skipped in her run. A big beaming grin on her face, bringing the two from their conversation to see her coming full speed right at them. Pityafinwë leaned down to hold out his arms and lift her from the floor. 

“Vani! It is so good to see you!” Pityo said and Vanifinwë threw her arms around his neck as she hugged her hanyo snugly. 

“I misseded you so much!” Vanifinwë said to her Pityo before pulling away from him and leaning towards Telufinwë, who reached to take her from Pityafinwë. Her arms also came around his neck to hug him close to her, and Telufinwë rubbed her back tenderly as he held her. 

They had been gone on a hunting excursion for the last couple of weeks, missing out on a lot of the excitement that was going on in the household. So had Tyelkormo but Vanifinwë had seen her Tyelko already, who promised her that Pityo and Telvo would play with her when they got home. 

“Will you guys play with me?” Vanifinwë asked, Nelyafinwë was busy with their grandfather and Atya. Makalaure was gone for a recital today, and Carnistir was particularly in a mood now that Tyelkormo was back. And Curvo… Well Curvo never wanted to play with Vanifinwë. At least, not in the ways she wanted to play. 

“Of course we will nesa! We will have lots of fun together and everything!” Pityafinwë said not thinking about what she might have up her sleeve, and they both watched as a big and happy grin spread across her face at the idea that they were going to come and play with her. 

“YAY!” Vanifinwë squealed out, clapping her hands together and the twins began to chuckle at her reaction. The little one began to wiggle out of Telufinwë’s hold, forcing him to set her down and she was quick to grab both of their hands and begin to try and drag them along. 

“What are we going to play, Vani?” Telufinwë asked her and Vanifinwë thought for a long moment as they began their trek through the halls to her bedroom. Where there the games could begin and Vanifinwë had the perfect game in mind. She needed their help with talking to Tyelkormo and she was going to make them extra pretty for the occasion. 

“It’s a secret.” She whispered out to him, as she continued to drag them down the halls, the pair only exchanged a look between one another. They had an inkling as to where this was going and she didn’t want to get rejected. Both of them sighed out softly knowing that makeup was going to be involved undoubtedly. 

They only silently continued their trek through the hallway, both of them deciding it was best not to argue with her whims and desires seeing as she had been without them for so long. Before the finally came to her bedroom door, for it to open and there they saw chaos in her room. Stuffing was everywhere, dolls were torn apart, it looked as though her room had been ransacked, and the only thing that seemed to be safe was King Rabbit that she had Nelyo put up high when she left the room this morning. Knowing this was going to happen. 

“Vani? What happened to your room?” Pityafinwë asked as she continued to lead them in before letting go of their hands and pointing to the chairs for them to sit in. Both brothers exchanged another glance between one another and sighed out moving to pick up the knocked over chairs and sitting down in them. While Vanifinwë came over to her dresser to start pulling makeup out of it, before she came over to them with a palette in hand and stopped in front of them. 

“I needs to make you pretty, so you can talk to Tyelko.” Vanifinwë said beginning her explanation as she dug her finger into a copper shade on the palette and came to Telufinwë to smear it all over his eyelids. 

“And why do we need to talk to Tyelko? What does it have to do with your room?” Telufinwë asked her as she continued- generously- applying copper eyeshadow to his lids. Vanifinwë paused and sighed as Telufinwë opened his eyes, 

“Because his puppies keeps getting in here and tearing up my stuffs.” She said to him, before she moved over to Pityafinwë and dug her finger around in a deep chocolate brown shade and Pityo closed his eyes. 

“Have you tried talking to him about it Vani?” Pityafinwë asked her and Vanifinwë began to nod her head as she drug her finger over his eyelids and smearing the brown around wildly over his eyelids. Telufinwë only began to snort at the mess she was making on his twins face, at least now people would be able to tell them apart for a short period of time, 

“Yes, and he says I should just keeps my door closed. But Amme won’t let me close my doors ‘cause I can’ts open it by myself.” Vanifinwë said to him, and pulled away to march right back to her dresser indignantly, Pityafinwë shot Telufinwë a glare for his snorting. But it didn’t last long as he began to crack up at the copper bits all over his face too. At least he wasn’t the only one who looked crazy. 

Vanifinwë marched back over with a blush brush in hand and a palette of blush… or maybe bronzer as Amme had called it before. They knew enough about makeup now thanks to Vanifinwë and what little bit their Amme used, 

“Well that’s not very fair.” Telufinwë said with a frown as he watched Vanifinwë swirl the brush into the bronzer before she started on Pityafinwë’s cheeks, applying a heavy orangey brown to his cheeks, and jaw and temple. None of it blended in so he just had spots of “tan” applied to his face. Telufinwë grinned at the sight of him and his now orange face, oh this was just too good. Even if he knew he was next, it was hilarious to see what happened to his brother at Vanifinwë’s hands. 

“How do I look, Vani?” Pityafinwë asked her, and Vanifinwë paused to admire her work for a moment. 

“Very tan.” She said simply marching back to the dresser and pulling out a different palette of blush, this time it was absolutely a true orange. Telufinwë pulled his lips into a thin line as she dipped her brush in it and approached him and it was Pityafinwë’s turn to begin chuckling at the sight of what was about to happen. 

“Why thank you, are you going to make Telvo tan?” Pityafinwë asked, and Vanifinwë shrugged dragging the brush across his nose and cheeks. 

“No just blushes. But will you guys talk to Tyelko for me? Please?” She asked as she pulled the brush away from his face and looked up at him with big pleading eyes. Telufinwë felt his heart swell before he looked to Pityafinwë and they both began to nod. 

“Yes Vani, we will talk to Tyelko for you.” Telufinwë answered for both of them, and they both watched the way that she began to smile and jump up and down with excitement. 

“Thank you hanyo’s!” She squeaked out and they both began to laugh at her excitement, and probably relief that an adult was going to speak with him. Even if they only had eighty years on her, they were still indeed older than she. Vanifinwë hurried to go and put the blush away, before she began to dig around for jewelry in another drawer. 

Both twins held still as she attached clip on earrings and put necklaces over their head, layering so many that their necks felt heavy before she hurried off to her toy bin. Still they didn’t move, simply waiting to see what she would do, before she came out with a cape in each hand.

“Here put these on.” She directed firmly and they both took a black cape from her hands. A cape that was only Vanifinwë sized, but that didn’t stop them from doing as she said.Tying the cape around their necks and making sure the little bit of it draped down their backs. 

“How do we look, Vani?” Telufinwë asked, and Vanifinwë looked at them for a moment and hummed, placing a hand on her chin as her finger tapped her cheek. Her frilly pink gown swaying as she did so, 

“Beautiful! You looks amazing!” Vanifinwë finally decided bouncing in place for a moment, before she ran over to grab their hands and pull them up out of the chairs. The twins got up from their seats and let her pull them along out of the room and down the hallway. Vanifinwë didn’t say anything as she stood between them, holding each of their hands as they began to try and search for Tyelkormo. 

It was no secret to those that worked on the estate that the Feanorian brothers were an absolute sucker for their littlest sister and let her draw all over their faces very… um well creatively. But all they did was smile and snicker as they passed them by, or got the occasional awe from the lady servants who found it so cute that they’d indulge their little sister. It really was an endearing sight even despite how crazy and ridiculous the makeup looks might be. 

Finally Vanifinwë could hear Tyelkormo talking to someone and she hurriedly began to pull them along with her right in his direction. There he stood talking to Curufinwë, his back to them but Curufinwë’s eyes landed on Ambarussa and began to look them up and down, biting back the sneer at their appearance. 

“Tyelko!” Vanifinwë said, bringing the ner to swivel around on the ball of his foot and look at his siblings, with a grin spreading across his face. Laughing at the sight of the “well dressed” twins, and Vanifinwë the little ring leader in the middle. Oh this had worked out better than he thought it would by talking Vanifinwë into asking them to play with her. 

After all those weeks of being at her mercy it was nice to see that someone else was at her mercy for a change. His scalp felt relief at the sight of them, as did his face without having to wear anymore makeup. 

“My oh my Vanifinwë who do you have here?” He chuckled folding his arms over his chest as Curufinwë took his place next to Tyelkormo. Vanifinwë didn’t smile though, she pursed her lips and scowled some at him. Making him quirk a brow up at her reaction. 

“These are my neragotiatorers.” She said seriously, and it made Pityafinwë and Telufinwë begin to chuckle at her words. Trying to look serious as they cleared their throats and stood tall, nodding their heads in unison and in agreement of the little lady. 

“Negotiators? For what? To talk to me?” Tyelkormo asked with some surprise, seeing that they were going along with it. They only waited for Vanifinwë to nod her head again, 

“Yes, and theys can tell you why.” She said matter-of-factly folding her arms over her chest, and the twins looked down at her before looking back to Tyelkormo. 

“Well?” He asked, 

“We have come to negotiate on behalf of the Lady Vanifinwë, and her bedroom.” Telufinwë was the first to speak up as he oh so delicately steepled his fingers together. Pointing them in Tyelkormo’s direction, but he only raised his brows and began to shrug, 

“Allow me to elaborate, your.. Creatures.. Are wreaking havoc on the young Lady’s room.” Pityafinwë said and then it clicked for Tyelkormo, they were talking about his dogs getting into her room. Tyelkormo began to shrug his shoulders at her “negotiators” words. 

“So close the door Vani.” But Vani only stamped her foot down angrily and looked up at him in anger, but Telufinwë placed a hand on her shoulder. 

“The Lady’s mother has prohibited her from shutting the bedroom door as it is too hard for the Lady to open it.” Telufinwë said and Tyelkormo sighed out as he looked down at Vanifinwë who was staring intensely back at him. 

“I see, that is a problem.” Tyelkormo said nonchalantly, which only seemed to get a rise further out of Vanifinwë, but the twins kept her calm and relaxed. There was an air of reassurance that they were going to handle everything. That she’d be okay and alright to not have to worry about whether or not Tyelkormo would agree or not. 

“Yes it is, and you should help out by agreeing to keep the creatures at bay. We don’t need to lose King Rabbit.” At the mention of Vanifinwë’s new stuffed animal that had saved him all those weeks ago from being at her mercy his face dropped. Recognizing immediately where this could go wrong, like he needed another one of his pups to destroy that Rabbit. Carnistir would kill him too if his hard work was torn up and their sister heartbroken again. 

“Ah a favor for not only Lady Vanifinwë but for King Rabbit too? Well why didn’t you say so? I suppose I can take extra care to make sure that the pups are confined to a certain part of the estate grounds and keep you and King Rabbit safe.” Tyelkormo said to Vanifinwë who seemed to heave out a heavy sigh of relief at his words to know that she’d not have to worry about the dogs anymore. 

“Thank you hanyo.” Vanifinwë said in her relieved voice making everyone smile, though Curufinwë’s eyes were on Ambarussa still and not their littlest sibling. He didn’t and couldn’t understand how Vanifinwë could manage to rope them into playing such games with her. 

“Just one more final thing for negotiations, you should have to help pick up her room with our help of course… To make up for the atrocities.” Telufinwë added, and Vanifinwë perked up tremendously and unfolded her arms to go and grab Tyelkormo’s hand. Who didn’t look enthused, 

“Yes! I need help! Please hanyo?” She asked with big blue eyes, and Tyelkormo sighed out heavily and relented. 

“Alright, alright. Fine. I’ll help.” Vanifinwë released a shriek of a yay and began to pull Tyelkormo along quickly, practically running and making him speedwalk. Ambarussa only laughed and then playfully bowed to Curufinwë who began to scoff, 

“Why do you even let her bother? You two look ridiculous.” Curufinwë asked, almost looking down his nose at Ambarussa in their ridiculous makeup and costumes. But it was there turn to wear a darker expression on their faces, always was he making some underhanded comment about Vanifinwë dressing them up. Neither understood why it mattered to him, 

“And? She’s happy and that’s what matters.” Pityafinwë responded defensively, and Curufinwë shrugged at his words. Pocketing a small book that he usually kept on his person, a frown still on his lips as he looked his twin brothers over and their ridiculous makeup and costume. 

“Well I can say with confidence she’s never going to ensnare me in these childish games you all indulge her.” He said with a snort, before he brushed past the both of them. Telufinwë ground his teeth at his words, before looking over at Pityo. 

“I say we find a way to change that.” Telvo said in a soft voice as Curufinwë grew out of earshot. Pityafinwë turned his head to look at his brother with a smile at this, oh that was a perfect idea. 

“Let’s bring it up with Tyelko. After we help clean up the room as promised.” Pityafinwë said, beginning to formulate a plan in his head. They’d have to talk to him when they were alone, if not Vanifinwë would proverbially spill the beans about the whole thing and ruin their chance to get back at Curvo. 

****

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

[grey-gazania-fic]

The Lucky One

A young Nandorin woman is saved from death by Amras and taken in by his people. As the events of the First Age unfold, she must come to terms with the consequences of swearing her loyalty to the Sons of Fëanor. Find the whole Chosen Exile series here. This installment rated T.

FA 35

Linn was hunting with her brothers on the day she died. It was early autumn, and the sun kissed tops of the trees with gold as she walked on silent feet beneath the cool canopy of leaves. Overhead, squirrels busily gathered seeds, their chittering joined by the occasional cheep of a finch.

There were pheasants in abundance in this part of the forest, and Linn had three already in the rough sack slung over her back. Smoked and seasoned, the meat would help see them through the coming winter, and tonight they would share their bounty with their neighbors.

Perhaps the handsome Orn from across the river would join them. Perhaps he would ask Linn to sing.

She smiled to herself at the thought before turning her attention back to the forest. It was best not to lose focus. Dangerous things dwelt under the trees -- bears and wolves, and wild boars like the one that had killed her mother when Linn was just a child.

Bel, Aras, and Tor were spread out in a crescent ahead of her, but it was her sharp ears that picked out the sound of something following them. She whistled a three-note bird call, and her brothers froze in their tracks, each readying his bow.

“What is it?” Aras breathed in her ear once she had joined them.

“We’re being followed,” she murmured, her spine prickling uncomfortably.

Bel jerked his head toward the nearest tree and made the sign for climb, and Linn nodded. Dropping her sack beside the mossy trunk, she grabbed hold of the lowest branch and pulled herself upwards, careful not to snag her bow or quiver as she went. When she judged herself to be high enough, she stopped and peered out from between the leaves.

Her breath froze in her lungs. There was a pack of monsters behind them, moving low and quiet through the underbrush. Linn was young; she had never seen an orc. But she had heard the stories, and she knew what she was looking at. She whistled a warning, a shrike’s shrill shriek, and dropped to the ground to join her brothers as they ran. It was their only choice. They were outnumbered, armed only with light bows, but they knew the forest better than the orcs did. Hopefully they could lose them in the trees.

Linn had heard the stories. Orcs were vicious. Orcs were wicked. Orcs reveled in bloodshed and death. If orcs found you and you could neither kill them nor escape, you should pray that they killed you, because if they carried you north to the Iron Mountains you would become an orc yourself.

The stories didn’t mention that orcs were fast. The four elves ran and ran and ran, but the orcs were gaining on them. With each foot Linn and her brothers lost, escape slipped further and further away. As Bel and Aras ran ahead, Tor grabbed Linn by the arm, pulled her around behind the thick trunk of a tree, and boosted her up into the branches.

“Hide,” he hissed.

Linn climbed, her heart pounding in her chest as she watched Tor dash after their brothers. He’d almost reached them when he stumbled and fell to the ground with a pained cry. An arrow had struck him in the calf, and blood bloomed across his breeches, dark and wet.

Bel whirled around, an arrow of his own already nocked, and fired back at the orcs, striking their leader in the eye. It fell with a cry of its own, but its death only seemed to enrage the others. Even as Aras joined Bel in his attack, the orcs swarmed forward, trading their bows for heavy blades of iron.

Wounded, already grounded and vulnerable, Tor fell first, nearly hewn in two. Linn swallowed a scream and reached for her own bow, only to find that the string had snapped during her climb. She was unarmed. Her brothers were being slaughtered before her eyes, and she was unarmed and helpless to intervene.

Aras continued to fire, but his quiver was soon empty. He tossed his bow aside and threw himself at the orcs, only to be slain by the same blade that had killed Tor, his blood mingling with his brother's on the dull iron.

As she watched Bel struggle with the creatures, Linn made a decision. She would not let her brother stand alone. She leapt from the branches, landing squarely on one of the orcs. With a desperate grab, she wrested its dagger from the sheath at its waist and plunged the knife into its back.

It stumbled and dropped its sword, but quickly regained its footing and turned on her with a growl, knocking the knife from her hand and forcing her to the ground. She screamed and clawed at its face, but it only laughed. Then it grabbed her by the wrists, pinned her arms, and sank its teeth into her throat.

She struggled, but the creature was holding her tight enough to bruise, too tightly for her to escape. Again and again and again it tore at her flesh, ripping her neck to shreds. She soon went limp beneath it, choking on her own blood as she gasped for breath.

The leaves above her wavered and blurred. She could feel the earth shake beneath her, thump thuh-thump thuh-thump, but she didn't recognize the hoofbeats for what they were until a man charged past her on a horse, firing at the orc as he went.

The monster abandoned its attack on her and plucked the arrow from its arm, but before it could finish rising to its feet, a second man appeared, russet-haired, with eyes that shone like stars. He swung his sword and removed the creature's head with one blow.

Dropping to the ground beside Linn, he pressed his hands over her bloody throat. His lips moved, but she couldn't hear what he said. She couldn't hear anything at all. The world grew dim around her, until all she could see was the stranger's shining eyes.

Soon, the darkness swallowed even that.

continue reading on AO3

[meluiloth]

Moments passed like hours as she stared at the two Elves kneeling before her. A storming sea of emotions crashed in her mind: bewilderment, fear, a fair amount of relief that the dreaded attack had not come, but most of all, a well of anger was growing. Rage and bitterness churned at the sight of these two Fëanorians, these two monsters who were responsible for taking everything she had ever loved and then some. Her childhood had been devoured by the war they had started, her current life rotting away beneath the crown that had been forced upon her because of them.

"Lady Elwing," said the dark-haired Elf behind the twins, breaking her from her thoughts. "Do you accept this offering?"

She looked up at him with sharp eyes. She realized she hated him, and the one who sent him, perhaps more than she hated the two 'offerings' kneeling before her; what kind of a depraved wretch would willingly give up his family for the sake of an heirloom of a dead Kinslayer? The thought of the Silmaril in his hand was more disgusting now than it was before.

Still, she knew that she had to make the trade - she either kept the accursed gem, or her life. She took a deep breath and reached into her bag, pulling out the Silmaril and holding it up; though the morning was yet to grace the sky, the gem glowed so brilliantly that it looked like a miniature Sun in her palm.

The Fëanorians' eyes widened with hunger at the sight of it, and Elwing waited for a long moment - savoring the desperation in their faces - before she held it out to the messenger, who took it gingerly, with a golden cloth so that it would not touch his hand, and quickly placed it into his satchel.

"We thank you for your grace on behalf of my family, and my father," said one of the Ambarussa, taking a moment to look longingly at the gem.

"And we thank you for accepting our trade," said the other.

Not another word was spoken as the messenger turned and rode away into the darkness, the sound of his steed's hooves fading to leave the three remaining Elves on the beach.

After another long moment of silence, Elwing looked down at the Ambarussas, who were still kneeling. "Rise."

They obeyed her, their movements identical as they stood to face her directly. They were only a little taller than she was, still far smaller than the rest of their brothers, and thinner too. The ends of their red hair were dyed; one purple, the other indigo. Had she not known what they were and what they had done, she would have thought their faces pleasant.

But she did know who they were. Her anger returned in full force as she wondered, is this what my brothers might have looked like had they been alive? Would they too color their silver hair playfully, and walk along the beach with her?

Her sword had left its sheath before she knew what she was doing, pressed against both of the Elves' necks so quickly and so forcefully that thin trickles of blood slipped from beneath the gleaming blade.

Give me your two youngest. I have lost my twin brothers for this gem. You must do the same.

That was the price of her contract with the Fëanorians, and they had agreed to it - their lives were forfeit. She was judge and jury, and their lawful executioner.

The two condemned Elves knew this; they did not even flinch, remaining still and submissive as dogs with their master.

"You deserve to die," Elwing hissed, her voice low enough to conceal the tremble in it.

The look on their faces was not one of hatred, or indignance, or even fear - it was acceptance that bordered on agreement. They must know they were monsters as well as she did.

Still no one moved a muscle; they remained as still as statues, Elwing bracing herself to finish the two Elves patiently awaiting their death ... but heartbeats passed and her body and mind were in disagreement. Her grief and hatred cried for their blood to be spilled on the white sand, but the barest whisper of compassion stayed her hand.

Was this judgement or vengeance?

Elwing grit her teeth and shut her eyes - and thrust her blade back into its sheath. When she opened her eyes, the Fëanorians were still standing stock-still, not even wiping away the blood trickling into their gold-and-scarlet armor, but in their eyes was a mixture if confusion, relief, and something akin to reverence.

"Come," Elwing said stiffly. "Rain is on the horizon and I have better things to do than waste my time here." She waited for them to start towards the castle before she walked after them.

-

Elwing had the twins placed in the castle's prison under heavy guard, ignoring her councilors' protests, questions, and advice; the dominant suggestion was that she have them executed to eliminate any possibility of danger - the Fëanorians were masters of violence and deception, and just because they had gotten what they came for did not mean that Sirion was safe. "Far from it," they said. "Now that two of their own have successfully made it into our city, they have the chance to destroy us from the inside out!"

"While they are disarmed, in chains, and watched by twenty guards?" Elwing retorted. "I think not - while I am not against the idea of having them executed, I will not do it on a whim, and become as cruel as they are." She did not tell them of her earlier attempt to do this very thing, and how she had been too cowardly to finish it.

"At least send out scouts, to make sure the rest of their kin will uphold their end of the bargain," suggested one of her advisors. "We will be far more secure without a Noldorin army at our doorstep."

Elwing thought this sound advice, and she nodded. "Very well. As for now, nothing is to be done to the Ambarussa until I say. I must think very carefully about this."

This said, she retreated to her chambers - but rather than ponder the issue, she seized the opportunity to crawl into her sheets and rest for the first time in weeks. The bed felt empty without her husband beside her, but at least now she might rest assured that he would not return to a city in ruins and his people slaughtered. Tomorrow she would spend the whole day with her young sons, who would not understand how close they had come to losing everything, just as she had.

She dreamed of her brothers, and her father, and her mother. Their faces looked brighter without the Silmaril there to drown them in its own burning light.

-

The next day, when Elwing emerged from her chambers, she found her entire council outside her door. Their faces were pale and agitated, and one of them looked about to knock on her door.

"What is the meaning of this?" she exclaimed.

The officiaries exchanged nervous glances before one of them said, "Forgive me, your Majesty, but the scouts have returned and they bear news we think cannot wait."

Elwing's brow furrowed, and she looked at the three scouts in their midst. Worry overcame her indignation, and she folded her arms and nodded for them to speak.

"We spent all day and all night watching the Fëanorians' camp, waiting for them to leave; they received their gem, but this did not seem to placate them," one of them said.

"On the contrary," added the second, "the leader grew only more agitated - he refused to touch the Silmaril and ... and he slew the messenger who brought it."

Elwing's heart dropped. "That cannot be true. Why would they do that?"

"I know not, but they are not leaving and the leader stayed in his tent with his generals the rest of the time," the third replied.

Elwing pressed a hand to her temple, willing herself to stay calm. She must not become needlessly agitated, or risk frightening her people.

One of her officiaries stepped forward. "What shall we do, My Lady?"

Elwing thought for a long moment before a solution struck her. "We will speak to the Fëanorians we have in custody. If this is a plot of their making, we will wring it from them."

She strode past them and down the long flights of stairs, deeper and deeper into the heart of the Kingdom, until at last she reached the prison cells. Only torches lit this place, and the air was heavy with moss. It was not a large prison - there were few crimes committed in Sirion - so the sight of the twenty armed guards crowding the hall was almost ridiculous.

Almost.

Their charges had been placed in the farthest cells, but their gleaming gold-and-scarlet armor caught the torchlight magnificently. Identical pairs of eyes followed Elwing as she marched up to the bars, glaring back at them. They bowed respectfully, but she snapped: "Do not feign reverence, Fëanorians. I have some questions for you, and you will regret it if you lie."

"Forgive us, My Lady," said the one with the burned face, a flicker of confusion passing through his eyes.

"What do you need from us?" asked the other.

Elwing took a breath. "Tell me why your comrades have not yet left Sirion, and why your leader killed his messenger upon his return. We gave him what he wanted, so he should have no reason to linger - is that not so?"

The twins' brows furrowed, and Elwing could see by their faces that they were as bewildered as she - or that they were skilled at lying. Then their eyes widened with shock, and they looked back at Elwing with expressions that were a mixture between horror and guilt.

"My Lady ... I must confess that we have not been entirely honest about how we came here," said the first.

Elwing's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Though the stipulation you made in your last letter seemed to many among us a fair, if not difficult trade, Nelyo-"

"Our brother became enraged by them," the other interrupted. "He rejected the terms and forbade any of us to act without his express approval. He was unwilling to part with us, even for the Silmaril."

As he spoke, a sense of dread began to grow in her. She felt like she knew where this was going, but if her suspicions were correct, it would mean she and her people would be in even more danger than before. "Go on," she breathed.

"He went into his tent to reply to your letter, but we ... we decided that since we were the ones you wanted, the choice was ours."

"And we swore to do whatever it took to get our father's Silmaril back."

"So, we convinced Panyaro to help us, and ... we left before anyone else could discover our plan. You know the rest."

Elwing swallowed hard, feeling the blood drain from her face. She nodded slowly. "Maedhros does not know you are here, and ... he wants you back."

The twins nodded.

-

I came across this amazing story by @lordgrimwing and this scene came to my mind! It took me a while to write but I'm happy with how it turned out! (This au has ne gnawing carboard!! Great job @lordgrimwing)

How Elwing Lost A Silmaril

The first letter—sealed with an eight-pointed star pressed into red wax and delivered just before dawn—left Elwing trembling in her small office, stomach rolling and the taste of bile thick on her tongue. What was she to do? What could she do? Her parents’ murderers were coming here.

The letter didn’t say as much outright. The writer (Maedhros, she’d learned his name eventually, but he would always be the red-haired orcish monster that took her home away and haunted her worst nightmares) veiled every threat behind eloquent lines of meaningless placations and enteritis for the silmaril. He asked her, granddaughter of a thief, to return it to him, eldest son of its maker and rightful heir. But she could read what he did not say: that if she did not bend to his will he would do to Sirion as he did to Menegroth. He would come with his fell army and slaughter everyone in his way.

But how could she give up the jewel? It protected them, kept the forces of darkness at bay just enough for the refugees to eke out a living on the shores. And should Eärendil, her dear, brave husband, find a path to Aman, its light might be the only thing that could stay the Valar’s Doom long enough for them to listen to him. She could not give up their hope.

The second letter—sealed in red wax and delivered as the barley fields were harvested—brought more promises of horrors unnamed falling upon the settlement. She wept after throwing it in the fire. She could not do this on her own. The city council was terrified into inaction at the thought of what lay before then, and Eärendil was still out at sea. She missed him. She missed him so terribly when the councilors looked at her with fearful eyes and asked for her decision.

The fifth letter arrived in the hands of an underfed Mannish girl as the first winds of winter blew in from the sea. Elwing gave her food and a family offered a spot in their home, but the girl said her lord instructed her to go nowhere else until she had a reply for him. Elwing thought of banishing her from the city unanswered, of telling the guards with their rough-made weapons to see that the Fëanorian did not return. She regretted the thought nearly as soon as she had it. The girl was young and it was not her fault that her parents joined themselves to a mighty Elf lord. She could stay for a day.

Tell me whatsoever you desire, the greatest or smallest need of your heart. 

The letter said in handwriting that was fast becoming too familiar. 

I will give unto you that thing and greater still if you would part with my father’s Silmaril. I would bring you all the provisions of my camp, all the weapons of my army, every other precious thing of power left in this land if you would but willingly part with that one small thing that I must otherwise be driven to take by force in the spring. Tell me your desire, and I will give it unto you. Let this not end with blood.

She fumed in her office, angrily pacing the thin rug gifted to her by the weary-eyed wife of one of her father’s guards who fell in the tunnels of Menegroth. She does not need anything from the murdering bastard! Sirion has all it requires. They would be safe if only they were left alone. How can Maedhros think that he could ever give her anything to make up for what he’s done, to convince her to do what he wants? He’s a monster and a coward who wishes to soothe his conscience by acting as if the attack is all her fault, an inevitable consequence of her resistance. He wishes to absolve himself of yet more evil.

She will not let him. If it is the only thing she can do, she will defy him.

Elwing takes up precious ink and paper. She throws herself into her chair and leans over the beaten desk, pouring her anger and helplessness into the words she scratches across the page.

You’ve taken everything from my people. You wish to take everything from me again. You are monstrous, servant of Morgoth. May the Valar stand against you as I cannot. What would I have, you ask? I would have what you’ve taken from me restored: I would have Dior, my father, and Nimloth, my mother; I would have Eluréd and Elurín, my brothers, alive again and in my arms. But I shall never have them for they died at your hands and at your command.  You cannot give me my parents. You search for my little brothers but still cannot give them to me.  So, what would I have? I would have your brothers. Give me your two youngest. I have lost my twin brothers for this gem. You must do the same.

She signed the bottom with a vicious strike that split the quill’s nip, blotting the page with ink as dark as orc blood. Her heartbeat in her chest, thumped against her ribs under her breast as though it would escape fate. Her letter would change nothing and she hesitated for a moment before dripping wax from a flickering candle for the seal, tempted to throw the paper to the fire. 

She’d written in a tantrum, a final kicking of her feet against what would come in an impotent rage. But what did it matter? Did she not deserve to beat her fists against the Doom once? Everyone looked to her for leadership and guidance as Dior’s heir but she felt like little more than a child. This would be so much easier to handle with Eärendil at her side but he still had not returned and at times she doubted he ever would (what Doom had befallen him on the waters? What lonely fate for him and the crew on the waves?). She would send this letter then say goodbye to all childishness and face what came bravely as her parents and grandparents did. 

Resolved, she dripped the wax and sealed the letter. She’d give it to the messenger tomorrow with what small food they could spare so the girl did not starve on the journey. And then…

And then all would be out of her hands and fate would fall as it would.

The sixth letter came in the hands of two red-haired Elves on tall horses. The men sat straight and tall in the saddle, their heads held high. Elwing would have called them haughty if they hadn’t dismounted and bowed deeply before her, falling to one knee as one might before royalty. A third Elf, dark-haired and somber-eyed, rode with them, though he kept himself aside and astride his steed.

“Queen Elwing,” one of the red-heads said, his face fire-scarred. He paused, waiting for permission to go on.

She nodded and waved her hand impatiently, wondering what new trick Maedhros was playing or if this was how he announced an impending slaughter.

The speaker went on, looking up slightly though he stayed kneeling. “We are Ambarussa–” he gestured to the other– “youngest sons of Fëanor. We give ourselves up at your request in exchange for the silmaril.”

Elwing stood in frozen silence as he continued, icy sea breeze biting at her fingers and face. 

[beatles4ever65]

His fëa thrums with Song until he knows no more, their melody put to rest at last. As the lava burns his fëa away, Maedhros is reforged and returns to Valinor before the Darkening. But the Valar have something more in store for him, and Maedhros isn't sure he wants to know what...

Chapter 4: Doom Realized

Part of a time travel eldritch alternate universe about family, hope, healing, and redemption.

[cilil]

gift to: feanor

from: his boys

♡ To: Fëanor ♡ From: Fëanor's sons

𝓐 𝓳𝓸𝓲𝓷𝓮𝓭 𝓮𝓯𝓯𝓸𝓻𝓽

"Are you sure Atar will like it?" 

"Curvo, put more sprinkles on it."

"No, don't! You're ruining the entire composition!" 

"Maybe more candles?" 

"There are too many, actually."

"You're no fun –" 

"Enough!" It was unusual for Maitimo to raise his voice and slam his hands on the table, so his brothers went quiet immediately and stared up at him. Curufinwë was still holding the sprinkles and Carnistir clutched the piping bag defensively. 

"The cake is done," Maitimo declared firmly. "And I am certain Atar will like it." 

"After all..."

"... we put in a lot of time and effort!" the Ambarussar chimed in, grinning from ear to ear. 

"That we did. Now behave, he's coming!" 

Indeed, Fëanáro entered the kitchen shortly after everyone assumed their designated places, standing shoulder to shoulder behind the table with the cake proudly sitting on top of it. He looked at his sons, from one to the next, appearing slightly startled. 

"I was wondering who is causing all the noise," Fëanáro began. His gaze fell onto the cake. "But it seems you were... baking?" 

"We made you a cake, Atar!" Makalaurë announced. 

"Do you like it?" Tyelkormo added quickly. 

Fëanáro stepped closer to the table to examine the cake, smiling as he did so. "For me? Why, what a thoughtful gift!" 

"We had a hard time finding something we could all agree on," Maitimo explained. "Curvo wanted to forge something, Turko wanted to hunt –" 

"– Moryo told us we're stupid –" 

"– and Kano wanted to sing a stupid song, but nobody liked the idea –" 

Maitimo glared at the twins. "I said enough!" 

"Well then. It seems at the end you were able to find something to make for me," Fëanáro chuckled lightly, amused by the bickering he was witnessing. "Now, as lovely as it looks, I would very much like to taste your cake. Turko, how about you stop playing with your knife and cut it into pieces so we may sit down and eat together? And don't forget one for your mother too."