#because kinslaying

[peasant-player]

Curufin on a hunt

Here is the next one of the clothing I personally really liked for curufin from @curufiin polls!

And yes of course even the elven horses have great hair

[sesamenom]

third kinslaying version of this

[bidmoth]

I’ve been debating what the funniest, most fan-fury-inducing thing any hypothetical Silmarillion movie/show could do would be, and I think the answer is to condense the sons of Feanor. There are so many of them! And they aren’t particularly individualized! You could just… cut a few. Who needs seven whole kinslayers? You get get it down to three or four, easy.

[softlysilverfountainsfall]

Anyway, I think Elrond had a breakdown on Elladan and Elrohir's sixth birthday because they're so young, which means that he and Elros were that young when—

[eloquentsisyphianturmoil]

Every take about Dior is juicier than the last. He bested all three Cs in single combat before Maglor felled him in a mighty rage? He was sent rabid after seeing Celegorm kill Nimloth and skewered him bloodily? He was more feral than Feanor and there are gratuitous paintings of him facing off with balrog-like feanorians? Don’t mind if I do. 

[death-of-cats]

Sansa VII ASOS

The Prince of Winterfell, ADWD

Girls among the ruins.

A little bit obsessed with the Sansa-Theon-Jeyne triangle. It's about loneliness. It's about a home you can't return to that maybe wasn't ever your home. It's about being cut off from who you are but maybe the cut doesn't go as deep as you think. It's about knowing your name. It's about stories and lies and all the stories are lies but maybe you can make your own story. And if it's yours maybe you can make it true.

[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. 

[wilwarin-wilwa]

a relationship that i don’t contemplate enough is the one between Maedhros and Manwe

does Maedhros feel indebted to Manwe for saving him? or does he hate him for keeping him alive when he had begged to die? when he looks at Eonwe, does he remember that debt? does he relive that moment—Fingon’s desperate prayer and the immediate, unexpected swoop of the eagle?

and why does Manwe interfere to save Maedhros in the first place? is it for Fingon’s sake or out of pity for Maedhros? is it because he sees something in him—some kind of virtue or potential? does Manwe ever regret giving Maedhros a second chance?

[gwaedhannen]

[Excerpt from Sorrow Beyond Words: Collected Testimony of the War of Wrath, 4th Edition; ed. Elrond Peredhel. Archive of Cîw Annúminas, inaugural collection]

“Simply reaching Menegroth was a struggle. Doriath had become a twisting nightmare of overgrowth and rot and mists, as Morgoth’s power warred with the remains of the Girdle and our old songs. Ai, our home, our haven! I know the name of every holly in Region, before the exile. We found deadfalls surrounded by dozens of animals who’d lain down beside the trees and rotted before they died. Blind moose more antler than flesh staggered towards us even after a dozen arrows. Vines covered in dripping thorns reached for our eyes. The cherry trees were overladen with fruits that smelled like gangrene. Deildhod stumbled into a nest of maddened vipers, and only escaped because their tails were all tangled together into a festering mass and could hardly move. We never saw or heard a single bird. I’m amazed we lost no one in that whole push through Region. No, I speak a lie. I know how we passed through with nothing worse than scrapes. Elrond was with us, and the ghost of Melian’s love still recognized her kin.

“Esgalduin had nearly been dammed by one of Hírilorn’s fallen boles, but the bridge still held. We crossed and reached the ruined gates, wrought twice and broken twice. Within there was only darkness to be seen; we knew not what manner of horrors Morgoth had sent to infest the city, but Ingwion was unwilling to leave them at the rear of his forces as he moved north, if it could be helped. Celeborn stood at Elrond’s right and myself at his left. Far less an honor guard than the heir of Elu Thingol and Melian Besain deserved. Yet in those dark days it was all the honor we could muster. King Dior Eluchíl had known thirty-six summers when he was unrighteously slain. Queen Elwing Nimaew thirty-five when despair took her to the sea. Lord Elrond Peredhel beheld the city of Elu for the first and only time in his twenty-ninth summer.

“Elrond stood before his inheritance and Sang. He sang a lament, for the lost endless years of joy and peace, for deep halls lit by birdsong and echoing with wisdom, for the Forsaken People who awoke the forest and earth with many voices, for the works of beauty never to be seen again on this side of the sea. He sang a promise, that the glory of Menegroth will be remembered in the songs of Middle-Earth for as long as its children endure. He sang thanks, for the protection the halls granted us until it could shelter us no more. As his song at last ceased, I thought I heard nightingales answering him.

“Stars shone on his brow, and his hair glistened as the vault of night, and the memories of our once-eternal bliss in the woods of Thingol’s realm under Elbereth’s gifts arose in my mind. Let Oropher dream of a deep hall for his own; let Celeborn reign where he will at his wife’s side! I knew in my heart, as the echo of nightingale songs faded, that there was no lord or king I would ever stand beside save Elrond Elwingion.

“The living stone in which our kingdom once thrived knew his voice, and at long last laid down its burden and passed. The darkness over Menegroth was lifted, and we went forth into its corpse, and no beast or orc could stand before us. I do not sing of what we found and left behind when we cast down the bridge and gave leave for the river to flood the caves. It is not worth remembering.”

[conundrumoftime]

So I don’t think Rings of Power will do that theory about Celeborn actually being dead and getting sent back Glorfindel-style, BUT: if they did, that sounds like it could be a pretty horrific thing from his POV?

The horror of being returned to a world you don’t recognise, prince of a kingdom that no longer exists. Every soldier you see reminds you of those you couldn’t save; every bright banner recalls those of yours you saw trampled into mud.

You have no scars from the orc-blade that once struck you down. Your skin is untouched by the dragon-fire that killed you. You sit alone for long, long hours, staring at your unmarked body, wondering why, wondering if your death is something you’re meant to make amends for.

Galadriel backs away from you, calls you a deceit of Sauron’s sent to torment her. You don’t really have any way to convince her she’s wrong and part of you starts to think, maybe she isn’t. Maybe you wouldn’t even know.

[lendmyboyfriendahand]

Finwe in the third age part iii

Finwe could tell when information was being kept from him.

To be fair to Elrond, the lord of the valley was not trying very hard to hide that there were secrets. Glorfindel had given history up to the rising of the Sun with only a few obvious elisions - Glorfindel had apparently walked to Middle Earth, but Feanor had gotten there years earlier with his sons. Feanor and Argon had "died fighting Morgoth's servants", while Elenwe and Amrod had died in "accidents". The capture and rescue of Finwe's eldest grandson was covered in two sentences as if Glorfindel hoped that Finwe would miss it. (Though how could he - capture by the Dark Hunter had been the greatest fear of his youth, and one that he had thought his kin safe from in Valinor!) The summary had lacked some details, but it had seemed like a reasonable first pass at history.

Glorfindel casually saying "Gondolin was isolated and I died when it fell, so I didn't witness much of the first or second ages. I was sent to aid Rivendell and the elves around two thousand years of the sun ago..." though was incredibly blatant. "Not much" was far from "none", and the fall of a city seemed newsworthy as well.

Finwe asked outright how Gondolin had fallen, and Glorfindel had said "it's a distressing topic let's wait until you've recovered". Glorfindel said that a lot, and after an hour left the room for his guard duties. Finwe was sadly too weak to follow him and demand answers.

He would just have to listen, and bide his time while he recovered. Whatever terrible thing had happened to his family, a few more days would not make much difference after the decades or centuries that had passed. (Finwe was not sure he believed that it had been Ages, but such a great undertaking as the Sun was not the work of a year even for the Valar, and Elladan was undoubtedly both his descendant and a fully grown adult. So it was at least fifty years since Finwe had been in Formenos, given none of his children or grandchildren has been expecting a child when Morgoth attacked.)

_____

Over the next week, Finwe learned more. What Feanor had done at Alqualonde was a tragedy, and it sorrowed him that such a great city was known now only for the pain and evil that had been done there. He shared stories of the city as it had been with his great-great-grandsons when they came to visit, and they listened eagerly even though Artanis-called-Galadriel could have told them just as much. Elrohir was unguarded enough in his speech for Finwe to learn a little bit more about the years immediately after his death, though the topic was quickly redirected to the present.

Finwe asked for more people to talk to and to fill his days, but was told that few in the city spoke Quenya, and none spoke Gnomish as he had in his youth. Instead most spoke Sindarin, which Finwe was not enough of a student of languages to follow along with in conversation. Elrond provided him with a Sindarin language history of the so-called Last Alliance to practice reading (written in Feanor's tengwar rather than Rumil's script, he noted), along with a dictionary obviously designed for those fluent in Sindarin reading older texts. That the word "kinslaying" and "unbreakable vow" were each given a paragraph of cultural context was concerning, but it was still a useful exercise. (While figuring out that his old friend Elwe had taken the title Grey-cloak, Finwe skimmed past the word "Therinde" and noticed his own name. He deliberately did not read that entry, as he was gaining plenty of reasons for new pain without reopening old wounds.)

The War of Last Alliance was not easy reading, but it was very informative, and not just about the years described. Finwe learned that even two Ages after his death, he was still seen as the standard for royalty and the authority by which later Noldorin kings derived their title. Elrond was Turgon's great-grandson, but had been taught by Maedhros, who was seen as both a villain and a powerful warrior opposed to Morgoth. (Finwe paused for a moment to boggle at his descendants have children with each other. It was not particularly strange after a few generations, but he did not feel nearly as old as Tatye or Imin!) The Secondborn and Aule's children had been found, and things had not always been easy but they became allies in time. Geography had changed some in these lands since Finwe's youth, both in ways as small as the course of streams and in new mountain ranges to the south.

Oh, and there was Sauron. Morgoth's second in command who had taken on his master's mantle and much of his army. The Valar had apparently not learned from letting Morgoth walk freely in Tirion, as Sauron had the run of a whole continent for many years. And even at the conclusion of the battle, Sauron was only beaten back, due to the difficulty of truly unmaking Maiar by incarnates.

Finwe asked Glorfindel if Sauron was still around, and got the unreassuring answer of "probably yes, but he's still building power and we aren't certain where."

Difficult was not impossible, though. And though Finwe could not get vengeance against Morgoth personally, it was clear that Sauron had done much harm to his family. If Sauron dared show his face again, Finwe would be ready.

[eri-pl]

Current mood: Gil-Galad son of Maglor and some poor Silvan woman who had no idea that this handsome guy with a beautiful voice was a kinslaying prince, and when she learned about that (by pure chance) she showed him the door, but she was already married and pregnant.

[zhoudadudugongjin]

It's funny because most people who have not read the Silmarillion would expect the fandom to be somewhat stuffy, boring and intellectual, but in reality it is the most Unhinged group of Tolkien fans

[deer-with-a-stick]

The more time I spend explaining Tolkien lore to my brother the more I realize that Tolkien was just batshit insane

[softlysilverfountainsfall]

Bear with me while I rules-lawyer the spirit of the Oath of Feanor because I'm pretty sure that's exactly what Maedhros did.

The Oath is specifically targeted at anyone who "hideth or hoardeth, or in hand taketh, finding keepeth or afar casteth a Silmaril" which I do not believe means anyone who touches a Silmaril, despite "in hand taketh" because all the other stipulations are targeted specifically at people who keep the Silmarils away from the Feanorians, by hiding, hoarding, keeping, or even throwing it far away. It would also just be bizarre if, say, a Feanorian follower returned the Silmaril to their lords and the Oath required that they kill them.

However, the strongest evidence for the Oath only applying (or being interpreted to only apply) to people who deliberately withhold the Silmarils from the Feanorians are Maedhros'/the Feanorians' actions before the 2nd and 3rd kinslayings: in both cases, they send a letter demanding the return of the Silmaril. Now, if by touching/posessing the Silmaril, the deaths of Thingol, Dior, and then Elwing are already demanded by the oath, why in the world would they send a letter (losing part of the element of surprise), not even to declare war, but demanding the Silmaril's return? Sending that letter implies that this can still be resolved peacefully if the Silmaril is handed over.

It's my interpretation that Maedhros/the Feanorians are rules-lawyering this tiny loophole in the oath (regardless of whether the oath is present magically/compulsive/just their own dedication) by deliberately closing their eyes to the fact that the current holder of the Silmaril definitely believes it to be their possession and is deliberately keeping it from the Feanorians---which lasts as long as that holder hasn't confirmed that desire.

After all, Thingol, Dior, and Elwing didn't steal the Silmaril, they received it from family members. If the Feanorians ignore the intent behind their keeping it (before that intent is confirmed by the holder's response to the Feanorian's demand), then they could consider Thingol et al to simply...coincidentally...happen to be holding a Silmaril, not possessing it for themselves and therefore not liable to the oath.

Actually, one line in the text from after Thingol refuses to return the Silmaril even hints that even after that, the situation might be salvageable if the Silmaril is returned by free will: "Celegorm and Curufin vowed openly to slay Thingol and destroy his people if they came victorious from war [this is pre-Nirnaeth], and the jewel were not surrendered of free will" (emphasis mine, Of the Fifth Battle, The Silmarillion).

Of course, the Oath drives the Feanorians to reclaim the Silmarils, and so I view the letters to Thingol, Dior, and Elwing as last-ditch attempts at solving this peacefully (via exploiting the above loophole). (Note: this is not necessarily meant to make the Feanorians more sympathetic, this is just me trying to figure out why they sent those letters.) However, this also dooms them to a kinslaying, because as soon as Dior and Elwing reject returning the Silmaril, they have explicitly or implicitly claimed it for themselves and have now "in hand taketh" the Silmaril instead of just touching it and happening to have it around, which means their deaths are now demanded under the Oath.

[eloquentsisyphianturmoil]

Okay, but there were Vanyarin guards who actually drew swords with Maedhros and Maglor. There were some honest to goodness random bitches who had experienced one (1) of Beleriand’s wars and purported to know who deserved the Silmarilli. Imagine how tired you would be as Maedhros, knowing that everyone was against you for no sake in particular.