#early quenya

[outofangband]

Elven word of the day, 43/?

kandóra from early Quenya

Meaning dawn or red sky in the morning

Derived from primitive elvish roots and words for shine including KṆÐṆ (root) and kṇdōrā́ (word)

[sesamenom]

apologies for the lack of art lately, i just got new glasses and am still adjusting :(

in the meantime, anyone have thoughts about lomion and tyelpe's relationship in the reverse gondolin au?

[urwendii]

Valarin Word of the Day #02

in the middle of merging early primitive elvish (that initially was the language the Valar taught the elves before Tolky revised this headcanon) and actual Valarin and boii is that not the funniest thing to do with my free time (it's not)

we have this word in early elvish: I̯ǝƀánna -> yavanna(Q) [yāva(eQ) = fruit]

so I could turn this in Valarin like: Iaþānnaz

[sesamenom-sideblog]

actually i changed my mind i'm inflicting my tags upon all of you

Damn good XKCD today if you haven’t seen it, lads.

[thyras]

→ the bearer of fruits

PAIRING → mairon | halbrand | annatar (sauron) x f!elf!reader

WORD COUNT → 8.9k words

WARNINGS → 18+ mdni - dark!reader, mentions of abuse (sauron kind of manhandles reader and threatens her, while she throws stuff at him), mentions of trauma, some fluff (if that can even be associated with him), manipulation, dark deeds, unprotected p in v, implied smut, handjob, pregnancy

SUMMARY → after your husband’s departure of Eregion, you are left hollowed and sorrowed. you find solace in your work and planting your seeds until an unexpected visitor shows up at the gates of Eregion.

AUTHORS NOTE → wow this took ages to finish, sorry about that. i've been so busy with school and mom life that i just was so drained of inspiration for this part. i wanted to touch more on reader and his background as it really defines how their relationship works. they are very hot and cold with each other, she may be really dark at times, even darker than him at times, but she is good at hiding it and even can suppress it. idk i hope you guys enjoy as well be reviving up in the next few parts. @sansaorgana you asked me to tag you, so here you are my friend ❤️

FIC MASTERLIST → NEXT PART

The fire crackled against its fuel as you flipped through a volume from the First Age. You had dove into anything that could take your mind off the sorrow you felt with his departure again. This time, you thought of starting to sow some seeds for your husband’s plan. For weeks, you had been coming after all the smiths had gone home, and you would be left in silence, hoping that one person would see you.

Which had not happened once.

Your hand fanned across the page. The silver band on your finger caught the light and shined its beautiful blue hue in the moonlight. A smile crept up on your face as you twisted it around your finger. The bluish inscription appeared in Sarati lettering, the ancient written form of your kin.

You rarely spoke Quenya anymore, but the inscription on the ring was something you always remembered.

Fairest of maidens, in the moonlight, you shall find me, for we are never truly parted.

You had been there in that elven forge of old when he crafted the ring. When you bound yourselves in mind, body, and soul. The Beauty of the Woodland was no more, for she had become his Wicked Beauty.

You snorted softly at the name. The Beauty of the Woodland. That’s all you had been to your kin, a goddess crafted by the Valar and sent to honor your family with your fair beauty. Your life before your husband had been nothing but pure subjection to fill that role and heal your kind.

For you were perceived to be an emissary of Valar in fair form.

But that was hardly true; you were just an elf gifted with refined beauty, which a woman of no consequence birthed. No fair powers filled you other than the gift to heal.

As you had done with him in those days.

The morning was bright, reflecting on the golden leaves down onto your glittering hair. You pushed some behind your ear as you bent down to gather some fungi to take back with you. You had ventured alone early in the morning, not a wise thing, but with years on you and a keen sense for danger, you always carried a blade concealed in your sleeve.

You started humming a sweet song while moving through the woods, peeling off fungi and picking medicinal weeds you could not grow. Your humming grew into a lovely, silvery song.

You hesitated a moment, though, when you reached for a mushroom nestled in a small patch by a tree. A certain iciness came over the forest, the gloominess of a rain cloud crawling over the once bright forest. You stood up and swallowed hard as the eeriness fell even more over the forest.

The hairs on the back of your neck rose suddenly as if you turned and looked behind you. Nothing. Your pulse raced. Your hand reached under the sleeve of your robe for the blade. Your eyes closed as you took a few shallowed breaths before a shadowy breath crossed your ears. Its disembodied voice caused you to shiver. You took a few breaths before opening your eyes and throwing the blade at a tree behind you.

You turned and saw nothing but the shining blade in the tree. As the sun was shining once again and the iciness over the forest lifted, you walked over and pulled your blade out before saying some Quenya words to the tree in sorrow for the damage.

You turned and went back to pick the mushrooms quickly. The darkness was gone, but you still felt its lingering touch on the shell of your ear—the caress almost as seductive as the taste of the finest wine or fruit. You licked your lips as a dark smile rose on your lips.

The darkness had touched you as a little girl; watching your father turn mad at your mother’s lovers, killing her in front of you, had changed you before you even were a teen. In later years, you plotted to kill the man for killing your mother.

Each day, you waited.

And watched.

Until you struck one night, holding a pillow over his face as you plunged his dagger into his heart. The pillow muffled his screams. You leaned in and spoke;

“For the Valar have forsaken you, Commander, and I am their justice.” You paused and took the pillow off so he could look into his daughter’s dark eyes. “See my face, and know it is I who have ended you.” The shocked look crossed his eyes before the light of the Valar left him.

You had been so dramatic in the following days, playing the part of a grief-stricken daughter. Only to hold back the triumph and satisfaction of ridding this world of the man who abused you and your mother enough to stray.

You returned to the road that would take you to your village. It would not take long to get back into the confines of those walls.

Your cage.

Your shackle.

It only brought more blackness to your heart lingering there. But you could hardly protect yourself on a long journey to find another set of kin. Your feet stopped as you felt a whisper of a breeze and turned to see a man walking, well limping, just ahead of you, hand covering his leg as the fabric of his pants was tainted with blood. His reddish hair glistened in the golden sun, much like a flame would as it would against its fuel. The strands were long and braided on the sides.

He stumbled, and you raced to grab his frame before he hit the ground. The weight of him caused you to collapse onto the dirt road. You looked down to see he was an elf, from what kin you did not know. His face was of the fairest beauty, someone to rival even your own. He smiled weakly.

“By the Valar,” he breathed hoarsely. “Have I reached Valinor?” You shook your head and told him your name and that you were a healer. He repeats your name back as if it was the sweetest of nectars. His hand reached up to touch your cheek, eyes fluttering as he swallowed hard.

You looked down at his leg and saw the deep puncture of something in his upper thigh. He had fashioned a tourniquet above the wound to stop the blooding, no doubt. His eyes looked up into yours, pleading almost.

"Boar," he breathed hoarsely again. You nod and smooth your hand across his clammy cheek in a comforting gesture.

"I'll get you well again; it's the least I can do." The man nodded, and you smiled before trying to help him get up. He tried greatly not to put all his weight on you as you walked, but it would only cause him even more great pain. So when you reached the outskirts of your village, you signaled for a couple of men to help you get him to your home.

Once the stranger was laid on the bed, you thanked the other men and began mending his wound. Throughout that time, you could not help but feel the warmth of his eyes on you, watching as you cleaned and worked tirelessly in your craft.

"You are so beautiful," he said through labored breaths, "like a star from the heavens." Your face warmed, and you finished bandaging his leg carefully. He reached up his shaky hand to push some of your hair behind your ear. The touch sent shivers down your spine and caused you to look over at him. You knew he was probably delirious from the blood loss and infection. He would not remember a thing when he woke up, but you prayed he would.

"Get some rest; I'll be here when you wake." You smiled, took his hand, and gave it a light kiss of reassurance. A smile touched his battered lips before his eyes closed. You laid his arm across his chest and rose out of your chair to start the clean-up.

Hours later, when he awoke again, you sat a bowl of stew next to him on the small table and a glass of wine. He sat up, took the bowl, and began eating eagerly as you moved back to the small kitchen.

"Thank you," he said, inclining his head to you.

"You're welcome," you paused. "You should be well enough to travel by morrow's eve; your kin must be worried about you." Something in his eyes changed as he lowered the bowl to his lap. His eyes turned dark like yours had when you murdered your father. A touch of your darkness rose as his did.

"I have no kin," he said softly, his eyes still staring at the bowl in his hands. You nodded before turning back to the worktop, where you continued to mash your herbs.

Silence grew over you both until he spoke again moments later. "They perished in the war." You nod. Many of your kin had as well, but again, it was not even sorrowful to you. These people had stood by and let their commander abuse you and your mother.

"I'm sorry," you said with fake sorrowfulness. “To lose one's kin is a tragedy that most of us do not heal from.

"You speak as if you know of this," he said, reaching to grab the glass. You nodded in an ever-convincing gesture toward his question. If it was not for the darkness of the hour, you swore you saw a nebulous smile touch his lips.

"My father died in the war; his company was ambushed, and before the rest of the force could reach them, they all but perished." You lied while staring at him in those dark eyes as he watched you. Your secret still hidden.

"I'm sorry," he breathed, inclining his head toward you. But before he could continue, you spoke again.

"Don't be; he was an arrogant, abusive man." You flashed him a dark smile. He could not help but chuckle. "I was more sorrowful for the men under his leadership, and I thanked the Valar for freeing me of his abuse." You looked down at your stone, knowing you had already told him too much of your despise of this place and its memories. But it felt good to touch the darkness again, that part of you that you forced into submission to keep your facade of the virtuous, sweet, elven healer.

You heard him stand up and move over to you. His fingers cupped your chin and brought your face to meet his gaze in the dim light of the candles. His eyes were dark as night and full of desire, and you gave him an equally dark smile.

His grip tightened on your chin, and you let a sharp breath fall out as you closed your eyes. His hot breath crossed your face and sent shivers down your spine. Before his lips could meet yours, you pushed on his chest. Your hand was placed against his fluttering heart as his gaze watched you, waiting for you to make the next move.

"I hardly know you,” You said, giving him a playful look. “And it would look less than virtuous for you to be seen touching me." You continued, fingers gripped onto his shirt as you raised your brow to taunt him more. The darkness in his eyes seemed to come alight with an animalistic presence. A growl rumbled through his chest as you ran your fingers down his chest. “Now, you would not want to take a fair maiden’s virtue?” you said with a fake pout. The mischief in your gaze made a nebulous smile touch his face again. It sent your pulse racing as every inch of you heated up.

“Temptress,” he breathed. Releasing your chin and running his warm fingers down your neck. “For you have deceived an even greater deceiver.” In an instant, you had your fingers wrapped around his throat and backed up against the wall. A blade hovered above your fingers, cool Valinor silver pressed against his jaw. You felt the tension in his neck as he swallowed and lifted his chin to give you better access to the skin, his eyes closing as you leaned in slowly.

“You think you have deceived me?” You said, watching his eyes flicker open when a laugh of disbelief left your lips. “I knew you were watching me. The second I walked into those woods. I played the fair innocent maid, oh so sweet.” You tightened your grip as you leaned in to run your tongue against the skin of his jaw. His muscles tensed under your grasp again, your teeth grazing his chin. “I bet the singing got you real hard.” You tempted, his eyes closing again as his nostrils flared. “Hard enough to do my bidding and be rewarded with a taste?” Your lips ghosted over his. His hands kept perfectly still next to him, fists clenching as he struggled to stay calm against your grasp.

“Little one, you have no idea who you are bargaining with,” he growled.

“I have an idea,” You run the blade just underneath his jawline. A trickle of black blood fell to no surprise to you. You leaned in and lapped the sweet nectar, coating your lips as you took in some of his essence. It tasted godly, giving you a taste of his malice and power. You craved more and wished to allow this being to cover you in it so you could know what true power felt like, not the innocent power of one's flesh but the over someone's mind and soul—morphing them into what you wanted. “So what shall I call you, my lord? Or do you want me to scream out your true name as you have your way with this fair maiden?”

He reached up and pushed more of your hair out of your face. The touch was so gentle for a man who had murdered so many of your kin. You should have been scared of him, terrified even. But you knew you were just as black-hearted as he was, which probably drew him to you.

You were an expert manipulator and temptress.

A true dark widow leading any unsuspecting man to her web of deception. This time, though, you had caught the Great Deceiver in your web; he was yours now. Your two dark souls were finally connected, yearning for release and pleasure.

"Mairon,"

The clinging of a glass brought you out of your musings before looking over at the source of the sound. Celebrimbor strode up the staircase with a glass of wine for the both of you and a pile of parchment between his left arm. "May I join you?" he asked as a smile touched his lips.

You nodded and motioned to the chair. Finally, your plan bore fruit. He set a glass down in front of you. You reached and brought it to your lips, drinking the liquid as he moved to lay his papers out on the table across from you. Designs, no doubt, for more rings. You turned back to your reading, delicate fingers turning the large page as you read the old words.

"I see you have taken an interest in First Age magics." You look up at him as he took a drink. "It is a delightful read, even for someone who was there."

"I never experienced those magics, only the ones to destroy." You said truthfully, but you hid your dark smile at the mention of the shadowy being who had taught you many of those dark things.

“I forget myself. You lost all your kin to him.” You gave him a sorrowful look before turning back to reading. Celebrimbor raised a brow at you as your left hand moved across the page. His gaze fell when the moonlight from the window caught your ring, causing the inscription to reappear. He moved to pick up your hand as a missing piece of his puzzle had probably been solved, but before you registered what he was doing, he had the ring of your finger in haste.

Your body weakened with age, and signs started to appear on your once beautiful, serene face, showing how your choice to stay in Middle-Earth had affected you. The air in your lungs grew cold, and your mind became lonely as you could no longer feel his power and dark thread against you—the life force to your beauty and enhanced healing abilities.

Celebrimbor watched you shift and change, then glanced down at the ring. Even more surprise crossed his face as he stood and walked quickly to the window, hoping to see how it worked. But the inscription all but faded as it was not connected to your essence anymore. Your husband's blood had given you vibrant beauty for the rest of your days, but only if his gift was placed upon your finger.

The bond you shared and promised to keep had been laid into that ring, blood mixed with blood. His vow was recited and dropped into the molten Valinor silver ore as you recited yours. He forged it under the starry, moonlit night in love and promise for more. Thus, it created the final piece of your bond, gave you access to some of his abilities, and gave the beautiful silver its blue hue.

The Valar were displeased with his creation and choice to massacre your people, citing that if he genuinely were remorseful for his deeds, he would return to Valinor to pay for his crimes. At the same time, you paid for yours in loneliness and longing for the Undying Lands that you would never meet.

You both turned your backs and knew no road to redemption did not leave you separated from one another. So you both agreed to cleanse and heal this world in your image so that you may sit upon your thrones and finally have peace from the looming threat of the Valar’s wrath.

You were sure he had just felt the parting, and soon, his shadowy form would be upon you—or worse.

"How–ho–" he stuttered out as he tried to get the blue hue to show again. Your frail body stood and snatched the thin silver ring from his hand before slipping it back on, and you shifted back into your youthful, beautiful form again.

The air in your lungs returned, and you felt a tear fall from your eye. The comfort of his mind and soul returning, the pain of silence and separation becoming too much. You gave the little thread a soft tug to tell him it was alright and just part of your plan. "Teach me," His eyes were blown wide almost as he moved over to the table quickly almost knocking the wine glasses off. "Tell me everything or show me how you did it,"

"I did not do anything, Lord Celebrimbor," You said, covering your hand so he would not have another chance to snatch the ring off your hand. "It was a gift from my late husband to torture me," you said with slight anger; though this was about to be a clever story, your beloved was probably about to be very disappointed in you slandering his name.

Celebrimbor looked at you, confused. "His dying wish was to see me live an immortal life tied to this." You hold up the ring to him. "For being unfaithful to him. It is my shackle, my lord, and I doubt you wish to craft something as such." You look back down at your book, hiding the pain in your face as you tell such lies about your husband, but this was needed to keep Celebrimbor going. Keep him thinking about the other rings, sowing your husband’s dark web in even his absence.

"But you wear it proudly? And your reaction earlier tells me he means more to you." You cursed at your earlier slip in disguise, but no one had ever tried to take it off your finger. So it caught you off guard, and your mask had faded. You had not expected him to do that.

"I wear it because my immortality depends on it; my gift to heal depends on it. I wear it so I can live." You finally look up at him, and your eyes gaze into his. "Wouldn't you do the same, my lord?"

"But you have used your ring for good," You held back the snort at his comment. "Healed Eregion for centuries and been an utmost loyal friend to my family." All for your husband's benefit, he had an in and a watchful eye here. He had what he wanted, and you had a warm place to sleep while you waited for him.

"You flatter me, my lord," Your eyes turned back to the page as he touched your shoulder.

"I am sorry, my friend; I did not mean for my impoliteness. Forgive me." You placed a hand over his and smiled softly up at him, your charming, deceitful self on full display.

"It is quite alright." He released you before going back to his chair. He picked up a quill and began scratching out notes. You returned to your reading until a cool breeze entered the room from the window, causing your senses to heighten as you felt the shadows come to life. A small smile touched your lips, knowing he was about to play one of his little shadowy games. His ghostly hand wrapped around your throat, fingers trailing against your soft skin.

"Don't worry, there is an illusion over you," his voice said against your ear. "You will appear to be reading."

"And what do I owe the pleasure, husband?" You felt the pain on his form at how you did not hide your irritation, or it was coming from him for another reason. He was not allowing you to see where he was for whatever reason.

“Can a husband not check in on his wife?” You swatted his shadowy hand from touching you. The Black Speech curse that floated across sent a nebulous smile, touching your lips, knowing he was not in the mood to play games. But neither were you.

His hand moved back to your throat, hand tighter as his lips went to your ear. “You would do right to remember who—“

“I tire of these excuses, husband.” You closed your eyes, trying to keep yourself in complete control. “I also tire of these lies, " he growled.

“You are such a burdensome woman,” he said as his fingers grabbed your hair, yanking it back. You could see the dark embers of his eyes encased by his shadowy form. “Always speaking of things she knows nothing of.”

“But that’s why you love me,” You reach up to touch his shadowy face. “Without me, your immortality would have been oh so tiresome.” you teased. Your finger ran across where his cheekbone would have been. “But you’re right; I am only some innocent maiden who knows nothing of the plan she helped mold.” Another growl went through his shadowy lips, fingers tugging even more on your hair, pulling a whimper from your lips.

“We both know you are far from innocent, little one.” You had to laugh at that. “For you deceived the Great Deceiver at his own game,” you hum as his hand ran down your chest, ghosting over your breasts and down to your ripened core. You grabbed his wrist and held it up.

“It would do you good to remember that,” you growled. “It would also mind you well to tell me where you are.”

"Sowing seeds,” you rolled your eyes at his even more cryptic answer. "Just as you are, my little temptress," His shadowy lips wrapped around your ear. "Though I warn you if he touches you or your ring again, I will take pleasure in killing him right now.” You whimpered at the thought and bit down on your bottom lip as his hand met your skirt again.

“You spoil me, husband,” his dark chuckle filled your ear. “Do not forget that I can only stall for so long," you bit back at him. “He will keep hammering me about the ring,” he hummed in answer to your statement before the brushes of his tongue ran across the shell of your ear. Your walls and stomach fluttered in anticipation of your reunion once again. He was playing dirty, but whenever did he not?

"I'm aware," he whispered before nipping at your ear. A whimper left your lips in response. Through this whole interaction, you had not as much as glanced at Celebrimbor through the illusion until now.

He was working away, taking a sip of his wine occasionally. Utterly undisturbed by you and your husband’s interaction. “Only if he saw you right now,” your husband breathed against your shoulder. “In all your dark glory, wanton with desire for the very man they fear. Oh, the scandal it should cause.” He kissed your shoulder lightly before moving up your neck and back to your ear. “That innocent elven maiden disguise you have carefully constructed, completely broken against my cock.”

His lips nipped at the sensitive tip while his hand ran back to your stomach, cupping it softly.

"I will it," he breathed.

And like a gust of wind, he was gone. Illusion falling.

The lingering sadness mixed with his words caused another set of tears to fall onto your face.

He willed it.

Sunrises turned into sunsets, and each day felt like an eternity. Since his appearance that night, you had grown longingly for him even more, knowing he was still alive and well, to some extent. 

But you had waited centuries with even less uncertainty. It was always a game of patience.

Though you had grown tired of it now.

You tried your best to distract yourself with the mundane tasks of being a healer, such as setting broken bones and healing minor cuts. Sure, your assistants could do such things, but it helped busy your mind and distract you from the aching in your heart as you longed for his touch and his breath on your ear. 

It drove you mad when he tortured you in the night, shadows bringing you almost to the brink, only to leave you hanging like he wanted to build up the tension of your separation. You had many a thought to take your ring off so you could stop the torture, but you knew that was not the brightest idea. He would only make it worse for you after he arrived.

You bared it, though.

As you awoke this morning, something in the air told you today would be different. The air was crisper and tasted like the electricity of a storm rolling in. A smile touched your lips as you felt the lingering touch of his caress on your lips. You brought your thumb to meet your bottom lip as he had the night before, tracing across it in sweet memory. Your heart filled with what little warmth you had left in it, only reserved for the dark shadow that filled your dreams and drove you mad with his ghostly touches.

You threw the blankets off your body and got out of bed, feet walking across the stone floor toward your balcony doors, opening them to see the bright morning light into your chambers. Back when you had a semblance of pureness in your heart, you would have probably enjoyed this sight, the singing of the birds flying across the river to the sounds of the city waking up. 

But that had long left you.

You found solace in the dark, stormy days and long, cold winter nights. Something about them made you feel like he was there with you after settling into Eregion. The only warmth you sought was his embrace and the dark aura that always seemed to follow him, encasing you and bringing out the life in you. Never light, just life.

He completed you in so many ways, just as you completed him.

Your arms leaned against the railing as you took in a familiar scent, one you had not smelled in many centuries—blue daises. They used to grow around that first city you and your beloved made your home in. The name had long since been forgotten through the ages. But you could always remember that smell.

When you both tried to seek peace and redemption for your dark souls, you settled down into a slower way of life. One where you tried to suppress the darkness and power-hungry souls that lived in you both, hoping it would be enough, wishing that your deeds to help the people would wash your slates clean. When there was still a tiny part of you both that was still pure of heart.

As always, you had taken on a life as a healer, and your husband did what he did best.

Created.

He created beautiful things for you at that time—things you still had tucked away in the soft confines of your jewelry box, even if they did burn when they touched your cold, dark being now. But nothing surpassed the ring you wore on your finger even though it was both your undoing.

His fingers pushed your loose strands behind your ear as you sat on one of the many flower-covered hills surrounding the city that you both had made home. Your cheeks warmed against his gaze. It was not uncommon for you both to find solace away from the city limits, as you both kept to yourselves in hopes that your dark souls would find the space to heal.

“Tell me about your day,” you asked; a smile touched his lips as he looked down at your hand, reaching to take his. “I know he has you busy, as you are so gifted.” Your husband nodded and he began to tell you about his day. You hung on his every word and gesture, getting glimpses of what he would have probably been like before his corruption. The brightness in his eyes, playful and gentle touches that he would give you at times.

You had noticed that darkness falling away in his eyes the more he did good. 

The more he healed that dark part of him.

“I do have something for you,” he said, bringing you out of your musings. You raised your brow in suspicion. He moved to cup your chin, pulling your face to meet his briefly as his pillowy lips moved against yours. A giggle escaped your lips as he broke away and laid his forehead on yours. “I promised you that you would never want for anything; if you asked, it would be yours no matter the cost.” Your fingers moved to cup his face and nod.

“I remember,” He released you before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a beautiful piece of jewelry. Blue stones hung in a setting that looked reminiscent of the blue daisies that surrounded you and grew in front of your home, that you had tended so carefully to over the years. The stones shined in the sun's light and pulled you in more. It was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.

“Crafted for my beautiful wife,” you turned and lifted your hair so he could lay the necklace on you and clasp it closed. “Forged with silver from Valinor and blue gems of the mountain. All made for the beautiful woman meant to wear it.” He leaned in and kissed your neck as your fingers touched the stones, his fingers skating across your stomach and caressing the white silken fabric you wore. 

“It’s beautiful,” you breathed as his lips lapped at the skin of your neck and down to your shoulder. “Thank you,” He hummed against your soft skin and continued to nip and suck on the skin he exposed when his fingers pushed down the silken fabric that rested on your shoulders, exposing your skin to the warmth of the sun. “I want to remind you that children come up here, my love.” He did not reply with words but with a grip on your breast before pulling you into him. His other hand traveled down to your core, only to make a symphony leave your lips as he fucked you into a withering mess as he always did.

You both lay bare against the warmth of the swaying grasses and flowers, intertwined still as your post-coitus bliss still hung against you both. He slid one of the blue daisies behind your ear as you kissed him passionately, fingers moving up to cup his face as he wrapped his arms around you.

Hearts and souls as one, once again. Full and warm.

“I have been thinking,” he started as he propped himself up on his elbow, looking down at you. The sun had become your greatest friend in your time here, you glowed again and seemed to fill with even more peace than he had ever seen in you.

“That is never a good thing with you,” he glowered down at you as you made the jab. “But go on,”

“I want to forge you a ring,” he breathed. “One that will bind us immortally.” You swallowed hard and moved to place your hand on his cheek, his head leaning into it as his lips kissed your wrist softly.

“We have been here before, love,” you started as he sighed. “Our hearts are still so black that even the slightest taste of power could set us off.” He continued to lay his head in your hand, only now his eyes were looking at yours.

“I know, and we have worked so hard in trying, but–” You cut him off with a passionate kiss. 

“No more talk of this,” you breathed against his lips. “We promised to leave it all behind. We have built our own little bits of peace here. They have not noticed or wish to not meddle in our progress.” They, being the Valar, which you both wished to please in this time, hoping they would renounce both your crimes and allow you to live in a world of bliss and longevity together.

Though you felt that lingering wish for power and control deep inside him still. The lingering tendrils of Morgoth’s weavings were still embedded in him, fighting with the pureness that was trying to show itself again. “I know you wish to lavish me something so great, but it would be a creation built in the dark. The magic used would not be of light as we wish but of darkness.”

“Divine,” he breathed, leaning into you again. “Let’s try,”

The hairs on the back of your neck stood as that once eerie feeling resurfaced. Telling you the peace here would be limited once again.

Limited it was.

The darkness crept back in. 

Slowly at first, only with signs that were noticed by you. His mind elsewhere while yours tried to keep on moving forward. Late nights in the sitting room doing whatever had been consuming his mind, to the irritation he had about his work.

On one occasion, you walked down to see him muttering to himself and scratching away at something. You moved over to him and placed your hand on his shoulder causing him to jump as he had been so consumed by his task. Your eyes swept the page to see designs for a ring. Your ring.

“I thought we were behind this?” You said, trying to take the parchment from him, causing him to rip it from your hands, tearing the parchment in half. His eyes darkened as a growl rumbled in his chest.

“And I thought you trusted me?” You looked at him, bewildered by the boiling temper in his eyes. For the last few centuries, nothing but a lovelorn look had been in his eyes. 

“I do, but love, this ring does not prove my love and loyalty to you.” you breathed, holding up your half of the parchment. “It will only drive you down a path I cannot follow.”

“Cannot follow?” He yelled. You flinched and looked down at your feet, hoping not to upset him more. He moved over to you and wrapped his fingers around your throat. “You follow me; remember, I took you from that place and gave you the revenge that you sought. All because I love you.” Tears kissed your cheeks as he tightened his grip, dark eyes blazing.

“I love you too, but they will take you from me if we do this.” You cried. “A separation greater than any we have experienced before. Do you want that for me?” He sighed, loosening his grip on you, and ran his finger across your cheek.

“Then let me just make you this one ring so even if we are ever parted, you will still feel like I am there with you.”

That one choice, one singular choice, had changed your relationship forever. You agreed and he forged the bonding ring and the darkness now awoke in you again after centuries of it being only a quiet hum.

He grew obsessed and consumed by the desire to create more rings to bring order to this world. You watched as he drove himself mad with this all-but-consuming task.

Power over the flesh.

He kept saying. In those times he did not seek your comfort, grew cold and distant towards you. Each time you would walk to that hill and the flowers would wilt and die against your touch until there was none left. A personification of what was to come.

You stopped going until the darkness in your heart returned. Things began crumbling in your lives; he lost his temper more, filled people’s minds with his sickness, and fell so much further into his obsession.

The day everything changed, you watched as he stood in the doorway and told you he was going back to Fordowaith and taking up his place in Morgoth’s wake so he could finish his work. He asked you to come with him, take your place by his side, and be his queen, but you told him no. 

You told him that there was no path you would not follow him. Told him that you would continue the plan, but you would do it your way. A way that kept you together.

You left him standing there.

And went on your way.

You stood back up and turned back towards your chambers, the sun becoming too much for you as your mind dove even deeper into the maddening memories. It was too much at times, and you tried not to let it affect you, but it did.

It broke you to part yourself from him, but you knew somewhere in your heart he would find you again. And he had.

As you got ready for the day, your hands skated across the fabric over your stomach. The skin had yet to stretch, but you knew they were nestled deeply in your womb.

The greatest creation he had ever made.

You had known for a bit as the dizzy spells overcame you and heightened smells that sometimes nauseated you. Life grew a little brighter in his absence, but not enough to quench the need to feel him there beside you, sharing in this joy.

After your musings had ended, you got right to work and attend to your duties. You made your rounds and finished just before lunch. You started back to your home when you felt the lingering pull of that dark thread crawling up your spine. You turn and see guards walking up the road with a man on a horse.

Your heart nearly leaped out of your chest when you saw him. The coppery strands glistened in the sun as he continued towards the gatehouse. You moved out of the way and watched as his green eyes met yours, a smile touching his lips as your face warmth. Your heart fluttered in your chest as you bowed your head in response before he passed, and you were only left with the lingering warmth of his shadowy thread wrapping around yours.

You rushed back home, knowing he would probably visit after speaking with Celebrimbor.

But nothing came of it.

And the night rolled in with not much as a word. The claps of thunder and flickers of lightning filled your darkened chambers. With the rain spilling moments later.

And you could not help but add tears to the sound of the pattering rain.

Heart aching at his rejection, yet again.

Slap.

Your hand connected with his face, sending shivers down your spine as his elven head turned in response. Hand shooting to his face as you seethed with anger. Your pulse raced as he looked back up at you, eyes burning with a fire you had never seen in him before. You stare at him with your seething gaze. He was so stunned by your reaction that he moved up to you with a pace unmatched by any mortal being. His fingers gripped in your hair, yanking your head back. Those elven eyes seared into yours as he snarled at you.

You did not flinch or pull away from his grasp. The pain was only temporary, and the satisfaction of seeing the red mark coming up on the pale face caused a smile to touch your lips before you spoke.

"You dare not hurt me, husband," His hand gripped harder, pulling at your roots. You struggled not to whimper at the action like you always did. Your desire to not give into his temptation and prolong this argument until he was buried deep inside you and taking you like the feral animal he could be at times. Though this time, you knew he was deprived and wanting, so this would only make his restraint last so long before he gave in to his desire to control you.

"Do you want to test me?" He growled. "Because I have killed people for less."

"And I've killed people for the fun of it, my lord," your eyes burning now as his grip loosened just a tiny bit. A chuckle left his lips, knowing you were fully capable of wreaking havoc on entire cities and his heart. "You leave without a word and only appear in my chambers again when you see fit. In a whole new disguise, may I add." You spat out at him. "What web are sowing now?"

He released you and moved past you into your chambers, speaking words that were inaudible to you. "I am protecting you," he finally said.

"Protecting me?" you say in disbelief as you move over to your desk where your books and papers are. "That's all I get?"

"The less you know, the more believable you can be." You gripped a book. The anger in your bones at his lack of faith in you had you seething for an even grander fight. You wanted to slap, punch, or kill him for even believing you could not be believable at your own game. You had spent centuries here building relationships and trust that it was laughable for him even to consider himself of more importance than you at this moment.

Your hand gripped the thick leather volume harder before your anger boiled over, and you tossed it at him, but before it could hit him, he pushed it out of the way with his abilities.

"The more believable I can be?" You roared. You grabbed more and continued to throw it at him, anger surging even more. Your pent-up heartache at his mistrust poured into each onslaught. His eyes watched you as he moved out of the way of your blows, books, quills, and jewelry box hitting the wall behind him. The pain in your eyes did not affect his emotionless face in the slightest. "Are you doubting my skills?"

"Are you doubting my judgment?" He roared back at you. "Because as I see it, you questioning me tells me they have gotten into your head." You moved quickly and pushed him over onto your bed, using all the darkness in you to overpower him. He sat up, looking at you with disbelief at your action. You had never dared to touch him in anger in all the centuries. Sure, you had been close before, but this was different. He was questioning your loyalty to him. 

"How dare you question my loyalty," Tears touched your cheek. "How dare you threaten me and treat me like one of your little puppets when all I have ever been to you is faithful."

"That's not what you told Celebrimbor," he taunted, trying to sit up, but you moved to straddle his hips, holding him in place before wrapping your fingers around his neck.

"If you believe the words of a lie," You growled at him. "Then surely you've gone mad." You leaned down over him, the other hand pulling up the skirt of your nightgown over your hips while delicate fingers hungrily searched underneath his robes.

“This argument bor—” his train of thought stopped as your hand found what it was searching for. Your eyes watched as his closed against the grip of your hand. Fingers sliding up the length till your thumb traced against the tip, pulling a low hiss from his lips.

“This bores you?” You taunted, pumping lightly against the hardened flesh that filled your grip; his hips arched into your tugs as you rolled yours softly with your motions against him. You finally lean into his ear, motions growing. “If this bores you, then you have gone mad.” The tension lines in his neck tightened as you ran your teeth against them, nipping the pale skin as you went. You were in control for the moment, trying to get him to remember who he belonged to.

Your strokes grew in intensity as you could tell his peak was coming, his deprived state causing his body to fail him. “My sweet,” You breathed into his ear. “My oh so sweet Mairon, in all those centuries apart, you still believe you have control.”

His eyes opened, and he growled as he quickly had you on your back, his painfully hard cock at your entrance. His eyes burned into yours as he thrust into you quickly, pulling a moan from your lips as you closed your eyes. He leaned down to your ear. “Control is only an illusion, wife. I let you believe what you want, but you bow to me, no one else.” You whimpered against the sickly, sweet words. His thrusting grew in intensity as he took pleasure in the way you silenced the control over him, letting him take you as he saw fit.

You were a devious creature that was as slippery as a serpent. But he was only but a mirror of that. He never had to command your mind or inflict his magic on you. You surrendered so willingly, already kissed by the darkness ages before he crossed your path. Desire drove this relationship at times, a sickly sweet desire he had never fully understood until he felt those hips against his fingers, guiding you through the movements. It was maddening as the sounds of your climax repeated over and over throughout that tiny home in that long-forgotten elven city. The night you both had given your souls to each other.

After that, there was nothing he would do for you. He would murder whole cities and move the oceans just to please you. He only wanted to give you everything you desired—jewels, clothes, even a child.

The thrill of the chase, of the fight for dominance, never bored him. Even if he told you otherwise, these ‘arguments’ were sometimes needed to remind you who pulled the strings to your heart and who pulled his. The anger and heartache only fueled your desire to seek control and dominance over him, trying to hold him close to you as if he would sleep away into the abyss again.

You had left before.

And it broke him.

You sought the rational solution to lie in wait. Let them come to you. Build relationships, reputations, and trust in those you wish to subjugate.

Greed had chased you away. He paid dearly for that and spent centuries as a pile of omniscient form of liquid goo. As he regained his mind, he thought of you and how he wanted to find and surrender himself to you—telling you how you had been right. He would never doubt you again.

But you had taken your ring off.

You took the one connecting piece off, and you were nothing more than a distant memory in his mind. He had no idea where you were or if you had perished. He sometimes cursed himself for using the ring to bind your bond. But he never thought you would unbind yourself to him.

So when your mind disappeared again, it weakened his weakened state even more. He needed to feel you, and it angered him that you would even think that was a smart idea, but he had asked for trust in those first years.

And trust was a two-way street.

Your whimpered pleas for more brought him out of his thoughts. He looked down at you, all unmade under his fingertips. Hair tousled and lips swollen from biting down on them. You looked so beautiful and ethereal as he drove you mad with lust. Your fingers clawed against the linen of your bed, silver band shining in the moonlight as he tore you down with his thrust. Only to remake you once again.

It was not long before you both reached your respective highs. Climax found you both as calls of your names filled the stone walls, echoing into your hearts. His lips moved with yours as you gripped your fingers in his blonde hair. Delicate fingers took their time to ruin the perfectness of the strands. A memory finds you, causing a giggle to leave your lips. The last time he appeared like this was when he first saw you. Though his hair was much different back then, you felt slight sorrow at the choice of blonde hair.

“Red suits you more,” you breathed against his lips. “This,” your fingers moved over the shell of his ears, running up to the pointed tips, causing him to hum at the stimulating touch. “Is how I remember you each and every time I close my eyes,”

He chuckled. “I can change it,” you shake your head.

“No, my sweet Mairon,” you grabbed his face. “I am selfish and wish to be the only one to gaze upon that form.” He hummed and kissed your lips again briefly. Eyes locked as you both sunk into your post-coitus bliss. When the thought crosses your mind. A smile rose on your lips again. “Lord of Gifts,” you breathed, pulling him out of his thoughts. “I have a gift for you.” You took his lip between yours and sucked down on it.

“What kind of gift would be greater than gazing upon my wife?” Your face warmed before you ran your fingers across his cheekbones. You felt the tickle of uncertainty touch your heart. It was still so early, and you could be wrong in your assessment. But deep in your heart, you knew that you both had created something in the light of that morning when he had willed it.

“The gift of creation,” A darkness flashed across his eyes as you spoke. That earlier worry filled his cold heart. “The fruits of our union.”

“Divine,” he breathed, but you cut him off.

“You are not happy?” He sighed and ran his fingers through your hair. He smoothed out the strands as he tried to find the words to tell you how he felt. In truth, he did not know how he felt. All kinds of emotions crossed his mind until he spoke again.

“It will grow on me; I’m concerned.” You nod, and a weak smile fills your lips before moving to sit up. Fingers running through your hair as you struggle with what to say to him. This was not the reaction you had expected at all. In your belief, you thought he had wanted this as much as you did. His change of heart was sincere, but that was not the case.

“You willed it,” You whimpered. He caught your chin, bringing your gaze to his. His gaze was as soft as he could ever get it to be. Tears brimming in your eyes as you both searched for the right words. He knew you were hurt, and you could sense the fear of the unknown on his dark thread.

“Like any father, I’m surprised and shocked that it happened so quickly,” he finally said. You stifled a loud laugh of amazement at his statement, knowing it was probably not the best right now. But to know he was surprised was shocking; you did not even know he could be that.

“I did not know the Dark Lord could be stunned for words.” A thin smile touched his lips, fingers pushing your hair behind your ear.

“There is a first for everything,”

[the-elusive-soleil]

My new favorite Halenthir idea:

Haleth does battle, meets Caranthir, feels some feelings, heads west per canon and eventually reaches Brethil...and becomes acquainted with Finrod Nom Felagund as he tries to talk his kinsman into letting the Haladin settle in the area.

At some point, Haleth and Finrod are talking and he compliments her on her mastery of elvish languages, and she's like "oh yeah, the lord of Thargelion and his people taught us". (Note: this is not the AU where Caranthir only teaches them Quenya.) And Finrod's like, "hey, that's my annoying grumpy cousin!"

And they chat about Caranthir a bit, because Haleth also thinks Caranthir is annoying and grumpy and is willing to joke back and forth with Finrod on the subject, but she's not willing to go along with it once she feels that Caranthir is being insulted/mocked. And somewhere along the line Finrod clocks that "oh, there's something going on here".

Which is confirmed when, at one point, she mentions that Caranthir wanted her to stay and as good as proposed marriage.

She's about to reel off her usual list of rationalizations for why she couldn't possibly have, but Finrod gets there first with "oh, but of course it was for the best in the end that you left him, elves and Men are just too [dramatic gesture] metaphysically different to ever be together, it's always destined to end in tragedy", and basically tries to Athrabeth her.

Except that Haleth doesn't particularly care to be Athrabethed. Like, yes, she made the choice to do what needed to be done for her people instead of what she maybekindasorta wanted, but that was her choice. She's not really into this smarmy know-it-all elf patiently explaining to her like she's a child that she can't have Caranthir because ~*Fate*~ said so.

And, well, her people have a safe home now. Her sister-in-law will make a good enough peacetime leader until her nephew is grown up.

So she gathers the Haladin, explains what she's going to do. Most of them, naturally, opt to stay in Brethil, but a few adventurous or Thingol-averse sorts join her on the trip she ends up making back to Thargelion.

Where she marches up to Caranthir and essentially says, "I'm going to marry you to spite your irritating blond cousin."

Which is the best reason Caranthir has ever heard of for doing anything.

(They're married for like seventy years and ridiculously happy and in this one, Caranthir's brothers find out fairly early on because he won't stop sending smug letters to Finrod every year with updates on his marriage to his amazing adaneth wife and sketched peredhel baby pictures and so forth.)

[morganas-pendragons]

The Prophecy | Celebrimbor

Guys. The brainrot is all consuming. Send help.

I was listening to the Tortured Poets Department the other day and felt like this really fits with what I’ve written for him so far. I know I’m writing this plot out of order, but it will eventually all make sense. I am still training at work, and while that constitutes nothing for me, it means I have too much time on my hands.

This will fit into the 3 part fic called Where Are You? that will cover 2x06-2x08. I haven't rewatched 2x08 yet, but that's coming. I have so many ideas for you guys that I may just start rapid fire releasing the drabbles first.

next fic is for High King Gil-Galad

Secondly, this concept is turning into an OC fic. It will be on Ao3 by the end of this year!

Tag: @pentaghasm @celebrimbormylove @thesolarangel @wild-typo-turtle @ladyoflindon @sandwichmustbetasty

Song inspiration: The Prophecy - Taylor Swift

Prompt: You ruminate on what little you remember in your purpose of being in Eregion while Celebrimbor sleeps at your side. The Valar may grant mercy on occasion, but you wonder if this ends in doom for you both.

***

Things are beginning to come back in pieces. You aren’t exactly sure why. There are flashes of gentle eyes and gray hair. Whispered words in Quenya as you perfect your natural healing ability. Your name, the real one given to you, but you don’t remember by who. Not yet.

You prefer the name given to you by Celebrimbor.

Said elf lays beneath your palm, breathing steady even as he sleeps. You had been the one to seek him out for comfort this time. It was a rare night of him succumbing to sleep early, and so you had sought him out in desperation, aching for the comfort of Celebrimbor’s embrace to shelter you from your memories.

You’d forgotten until you’d fallen into his bed how far away he was. It didn’t matter that you could feel his heartbeat, or touch his skin. He was worlds away from you.

And all because of Annatar.

Now you lay here, head pillowed against his chest, fingers tracing shapes against his abdomen, too distracted by your racing thoughts to sleep. Annatar’s constant demands and high expectations in the crafting of the Rings had put you both on edge. Celebrimbor had been elusive as well. So much of his time was spent locked away in The Forge, just out of reach.

He’d never deny you. Not even with the distance between you both.

No one but you could feel the dark magic in that room. The shadows that shrouded the elf you love, even now, so suffocating that it remains difficult to breathe.

“Please,” You whisper. No one may be listening. You have no idea. You would beg whatever entity did listen for this. “Please do not let this end in doom.”

With the trajectory of what was occurring, you had been trying to fight the impending sense of doom lingering in your heart for weeks. The nagging feeling in the back of your head that you are to be preparing for a funeral for you or Celebrimbor by the conclusion.

Or both of you.

You shiver at the thought and bury your face in Celebrimbor’s shoulder. His arm tightens around you instinctively, like the elf you’ve fallen in love with still resides deep within the recesses of the mind he’s been made prisoner in.

Please, I’ve been on my knees

Change the prophecy

“He’s so good,” You whisper. “Everything he does is from the goodness of his heart. A kind heart.” You hold your breath as your tears collide with Celebrimbor’s skin, causing him to shift beneath you and press his face into your hair with a quiet grumble. You don’t dare speak again until you’re sure he’s asleep. “All of Celebrimbor’s intentions have been pure. He wants to do right by his people and rectify the sins and shortcomings of the House of Fëanor. This should not end in ruin. Not his.”

Don’t want money, just someone who wants my company

Let it once be me

You wish you could pull him out. Use your magic to break through the darkness that has settled upon this city, settled upon him, and force your way through the walls Annatar has erected to keep him complacent. It is Celebrimbor’s own chains that keep him prisoner.

Chains built by pride and ambition.

No. If anything, Celebrimbor will have to awaken from the depths of this illusion when the stakes are too high and he has something to lose.

Who do I have to speak to

About if they can redo the prophecy??

You run your free hand to rest your fingertips against his temple, smiling against the curve of his cheek as Celebrimbor begins to stir beneath you. Heavy lidded eyes flutter open to meet your own. In those few moments of silence, you can see him.

“Why-“ Celebrimbor starts, cut off by a yawn as he buries his face in your neck and rolls to slot a leg between yours. The action has you blushing as you raise your hand to tangle your fingers in his hair. The action usually puts him right back to sleep. “It isn’t even dawn yet, love. Why are you awake?”

You contemplate an answer for several seconds. Part of you wants to tell him, to confide in him about that underlying fear of ruin, but you don’t. You don’t know what he’ll say if you directly mention Annatar.

You don’t even know if you could trust in him not repeating what you’ve said to Annatar.

So you instead allow him to place a lingering kiss at the corner of your jaw, humming softly as his fingers soothe your body's aches by massaging at your hip.

You’re so tired.

“Too much to ruminate on. My mind will not let me rest.” You reply. Celebrimbor frowns, the furrow in his brow deepening as concern flashes behind his eyes. “I will be fine. You sleep, my love. I will be here when you wake.”

Celebrimbor does not complain. He can't. Too many times have you been the one to hold him, to shelter him from the storm of his own mind as he wakes briefly enough to seek you out. Too many times have you been the one to leave food at his table, to bring him tea, to offer him your company when his solitude becomes too great to bear.

Too many times have you fallen back asleep while Celebrimbor wept in the silence.

You hear Celebrimbor whisper his, "I love you." before settling again, this time with his hand pressed against your stomach and his hair tickling your nose. The sheer vulnerability of being so willing to sleep in a position like this when you've been apart for weeks has tears burning the back of your eyes.

Who do I have to speak to To change the prophecy?

You hold him there on the precipice of sleep and allow, for just this moment, your fear to breach the surface.

"Please," You whisper. "Please, just this once, grant us mercy."

***

And far above the reaches of Middle Earth, she heard you.

The Lady of Mercy and Grief did not ignore the suffering of those who dared to reach for her.

[thesummerestsolstice]

In my post about the strange residents of Rivendell, I mentioned a Feanorian die-hard and an old bodyguard of Thingol. I recently hit a thousand reblogs– which is amazing! So in honor of that, I'm writing their stories out. This is part one, I'll get the rest out over the next couple days.

The Feanorian Die-hard: Hrivossa

Maedhros' right hand at Himring, a dedicated captain with an axe and a burning hatred of Morgoth

Laiquendi former thrall, captured during the First Battle of Beleriand; when the Laiquendi king Denethor was killed

Was refused entry to Doriath after escaping from Angband– at this point, most escaped prisoners were thought to be sleeper agents sent to get information for Morgoth

Wandered for the next few years, mostly alone, occasionally finding Elvish towns that feared her because of the marks of Morgoth's torture and thought her one of his puppets

Ended up stumbling across one of Maedhros's orc hunting parties in the Early First Age, and jumped at the chance to actually fight Morgoth

Maedhros was also one of the only lords willing to help former thralls at that point; he gaze Hrivossa a new home and purpose, fighting alongside him against their shared tormentor

It's not hard to understand why she became so loyal to the Feanorian cause

This is also when she took the Quenya name Hrivossa, "winter wall," because she was as frigid and unbreakable as Himring's walls

(her original Nandor name is mostly for her close friends)

Between Denethor's death and hiding in Doriath with Melian instead of doing anything about Morgoth, Hrivossa absolutely hates Thingol

She's generally a cold person around strangers, but she warms up around her friends, and her wits and tongue are as sharp as her sword

Part of the general morbid humor culture that built up in First Age Himring

She does not have a soft spot for the Sindar claiming that the Silmaril belongs to them now

She does have a noticeable soft spot for small half-elves who keep pestering her for stories about what life was like in Beleriand before the sun and moon

She fought with Maedhros until the bloody, bitter end, being forcefully brought into the custody of Valinor's forces late in the War of Wrath

She was the leader of the Feanorian faction who chose not to submit to the Valar's judgement, or to willingly go to Aman to do penance

They generally made themselves trouble while in custody

To avoid any more ugly conflict, Elrond eventually took responsibility for this faction, becoming their lord (though Elrond did NOT become Lord of the House of Feanor) and promising to keep them from committing any more violent acts

Hrivossa and the others, all of whom had lived in Amon Ereb and helped raised Elrond, found this agreeable

All of these elves are still very much see Elrond as their Lords' child, who must be protected at all costs, so there's that

And that is the story of how Elrond became responsible for the remaining Feanorians, but only the really fucked up ones

Seriously, they don't do any other murders, but they do cause all sorts of other trouble

Also, how Elrond inherited one (1) extremely determined bodyguard

[earthshine-moon]

The Fëanorians’ names

I’ve been thinking about this a lot recently and I wanted all of their names and etymologies in one place so I thought I’d share it ❤️

Feel free to let me know in the notes if I’ve missed any or gotten anything wrong

Maedhros

The Tall (sobriquet)

Nelyafinwë (fn, Quenya) - ‘third Finwë’

Nelyo (s fn, Q) - ‘third’

Maitimo (mn, Q) - ‘well-shaped one’

Russandol (epessë, Q) - ‘copper-top’ (from russa - ‘red-haired’). Given by his brothers due to his red hair. He also wore a copper circlet

Maedhros (Sindarin) - from maed - ‘shapely’ and ross - ‘red-haired’. Derived from Maitimo and Russandol

Maedros (S) - proper spelling of Maedhros due to the etymology

Maidhros/Maedhros (Noldorin) - ‘pale-glitter’ (from maidh - ‘pale’ / ‘fallow’ / ‘fawn’ and rhoss - ‘flash’ / ‘glitter of metal’)

Maglor

The Minstrel (s)

Kanafinwë (fn, Q) - ‘strong-voiced Finwë’

Kano (s fn, Q) - ‘commander’ / ‘crier’ / ‘herald’

Macalaurë (mn, Q) - ‘forging gold’ / ‘gold-cleaver’. Prophetic reference to his harping skill with laurë being poetic and not referring to the metal

Maglor (S) - ‘forging gold’ (from Macalaurë)

Magalor (pure S rendition) - presumably ‘forging gold’ (from Macalaurë)

Maglor (N) - ‘gold-cleaver’ (from Macalaurë)

Celegorm

The Fair (s)

Turcafinwë (fn, Q) - ‘strong, powerful (in body) Finwë’

Turco (s fn, Q) - ‘strong, powerful (in body)’ / ‘chief’

Tyelcormo (mn, Q) - ‘hasty-riser’. Reference to his quick temper and habit of standing up when angry (from tyelka - ‘hasty’ and (I think) ormë - ‘haste’ / ‘violence’ / ‘rushing’)

Celegorm (S) - ‘hasty riser’ (from Tyelcormo). North Sindarin as it keeps the m

Celegorn (N) - presumably ‘swift-impetuous’

Celecormë (Q) - early form of Quenya version of Celegorm. Relating to Oromë

Caranthir

The Dark (s)

Morifinwë (fn, Q) - ‘dark Finwë’. Referring to his black hair inherited from Finwë

Moryo (s fn, Q) - from morë - ‘black’ / ‘dark’ / ‘darkness’

Carnistir (mn, Q) - ‘red-face’. Referring to his ruddy complexion inherited from Nerdanel

Caranthir (S) - ‘red-face’ (from Carnistir)

Cranthir / Cranthor (N) - ‘perfect’

Curufin

The Crafty (s)

Curufinwë (fn, Q) - ‘skilful Finwë’. Fëanor’s father-name. Given because Curufin was his father’s favourite and most like him in looks and mind

Curvo (s fn, Q) - ‘skill’ (from curu)

Atarincë (mn, Q) - ‘little father’. Referring to his resemblance to his father in both looks and mind

Curufin (S) - from curu - ‘skill’ and fin - Sindinarised Finwë

Cyrefinn Facensearo (Old English) - translation of his name in The Earliest Annals of Valinor. Defined as cyre - ‘choice’, facen - ‘deceit, guile, wickedness’, searu - ‘skill, cunning’, facensearu - ‘treachery’

For reference: Amrod is noted as the older twin for most of the legendarium. Inverted in a later story when Tolkien was working out the etymology of their names when he also changed Amrod’s fate

Amrod

huntan (s) - ‘the hunters’. Collectively known as in The Earliest Annals of Valinor

Pityafinwë (fn, Q) - ‘little Finwë’. Name of the older twin

Pityo (s fn, Q) - ‘little’ (from pitya)

Ambarto (mn, Q) - amba - ‘up’ / ‘upwards’ / ‘top’ and arata - ‘high’ / ‘noble’ / ‘exalted’ / ‘lofty’ / ‘excellent’

Minyarussa (Q) - ‘first-russa’. Called by others

Ambarussa (Q) - ‘top-russet’. Name they called each other

Umbarto (Q) - ‘fated’ (masculinised form of umbar - ‘fate’. In the 12th volume of The History of Middle-earth, it was given by Nerdanel after Fëanor begged for their names to be different. He changed it to Ambarto and gave it to the youngest twin. Used by no one

Damrod (Q) - Noldorin translation of the Qenya name Nambarauto (from namba - ‘to hammer’ and rauta - ‘metal’). Used in earlier Silmarillion material

Déormód (OE) - ‘brave-hearted’. Translation of Damrod

Amras

huntan (s) - ‘the hunters’. Collectively known as in The Earliest Annals of Valinor

Telufinwë (fn, Q) - ‘last Finwë’. Name of the younger twin

Telvo (s fn, Q) - ‘last’ / ‘final’ (from telda)

Ambarussa (mn, Q) - ‘top-russet’. Also the name they called each other

Atyarussa (Q) - ‘second-russa’. Called by others

Diriel (Exilic Noldorin) - derived from the Old Noldorin name Dirghel (from dîr - ‘adult male’ (of any race) and gel - ‘joy’ / ‘shout’ / ‘triumph’)

Maithog / Mailweg - possible initial names for Amras before written over with either Dinithel or Durithel

Tirgeld (OE) - from tîr - ‘glory’ and geld - ‘gild’ (in names meaning ‘of worth’)

[eri-pl]

Silm reread 24A (the long-expected continuation): The Gift

Or: the Fall of Númenor

TW: well, it is Númenor. I will not give more details than the book does.

It is said among the Eldar (because where else :þ) that Men fear and worship the Darkness (which is a word the Eldar use as a synonym for "evil" which is a bit inconceivable but let's move on).

We get a recap od what we know of Men, also in the War of Wrath Morgoth was "ultimately defeated" ok I know you can't make your mind, (both Jirt and Pengolodh probably), I like this better than "he's going to fight Túrin and Fefe in a van".

Men in the East are in a bad situation, the Valar abandoned them for a time (until they send the Blue Wizards I guess) because they obeyed bad people. Generally the East is wild and bad and … :/

OK, so now we are told Manwë imprisoned Morgoth and the language strongly suggests "but he will eventually break out and do Ragnarok stuff". Huh. I did say something about not being able to make your mind, right?

Now there's the weird part about "the will of Morgoth" which sounds like a somewhat separate entity?… I get the general idea, it's hard to have him booted out and explain why there's still evil in the world. Still it all feels odd.

OK, quote (emphasis mine):

But Manwe put forth Morgoth and shut him beyond the World in the Void that is without; and he cannot himself return again into the World, present and visible, while the Lords of the West are still enthroned. Yet the seeds that he had planted still grew and sprouted, bearing evil fruit, if any would tend them. For his will remained and guided his servants[…]

Huh. Any thoughts?

Eonwë personally taught the leaders of the Edain. What did he teach them? I don't know. We are not told. But it suggests that Eonwë may have better social skills with Men than I have assumed.

It was Ossë who raised the island of Númenor (at least he does something nice and non-violent ;) ) + the Valar upgraded it and only then did the Númenoreans sail. It is almost as the history of Arda in miniature. Just make it better (Morgoth is not there, Men live longer etc), what could possibly go wrong with this?

[Yes, I read the situation as "the Valar are trying to jump higher than their heads here".]

The Númenoreans don't get sick. I forgot that part. Well, they don't until they get under the Shadow. They are taller than normal people and their eyes shine like stars. TLDR: they're like offbrand Elves and Tolkien likes shining eyes.

And they don't have many children. Why? It makes sense for Elves, but why the Númenoreans, even early?

No temples, only the open mountain. OK. and we get the mention of the graves of kings at the mountain's base even now. Does it mean that even the first kings had big decorative graves?

It was the Valar who chose Elros to be the king. I wonder why, but "he could be an Elf but preferred to be a Man" seems like a --- yes, this is a good reason.

We get a recap of the peredhil. Again.

The Númenoreans learned Quenya during the alliance with Elves, so again: they speak Vanyarin Quenya, or maybe non-Exilic Noldorin Quenya. So either they do read "ty" as "ch" or they read the "th" as "s". I don't remember which one it was. Anyway later they spoke a lot with the Elves so they probably settled with some kind of pronounciation based on whom they spoke with the most.

Nobody later reached the sailing awesomeness of the Númenoreans. The book is written in, what, late TA? Early FA? Makes sense that they sail less.

We get an explanation of why the ban. It makes sense, but also I get that it seems very arbitrary (especially with Númenor existing).

Also, a quote:

For in those days Valinor still remained in the world visible, and there Ilúvatar permitted the Valar to maintain upon Earth an abiding place, a memorial of that which might have been if Morgoth had not cast his shadow on the world.

OK, maybe it's just me adding to my little box of arguments, but this sounds to me as "Ilúvatar permitted them because they asked intensly but it wasn't a great idea". Also, a memorial. Of what might have been. This does not sound good. This sounds like the vibe of the Elven Rings.

Also, again we have mixed messages about whether Valinor was moved to the orbit or into the unseen world (made purely spiritual somehow)?

Sigh. the Númenoreans civilize the people of ME because they need it. *sigh* at least they're goodwilled about it.

Aaaaand, who could guess, with time they grow more and more focused on the bright thing that is nearby (Valinor). Just like it was with the Silmarils and almost everyone who saw them.

Also, they don't like that they die, and they murmur. And they are upset that the Elves don't die, even the ones who disobeyed the Valar and it's so unfair, the Noldor went to ME and did all kinds of bs and still they don't die and we never even get— I mean, and we die. How unfair.

Seriously, almost everyone in this book is so predictably stupid and the worst part is that knowing that all does not make us less stupid. anywa, let's continue with the reread:

"Aren't we the greatest?" Huh. :/

Manwë is sad. Relateable. I want to hug him, and it's not even from a fic. My guy [affectionate], my poor birb.

He sends emissaries to the king. Oh, he's learning from his mistakes around Feanor! <3 You'll eventually learn how to deal with the Children. <3

The Earendil argument (and as was discussed, no tuor arguement, at least not quoted in the book). And a recap of how Men and Elves work. <3 some vague Athrabeth-ish tones. <3

Thirteenth king and we're already deep in trouble. :(

OK, now we get the big graves. And colonialism. The good guys visit Gil-galad and figth Sauron together. The bad guys colonize the South.

We get a recap of Sauron. Who wants to be an overking and worshipped by Men and hates the Númenor for pretty much everything including "their ancestors fought against Melkor and me in the War". And he is afraid of them.

More kings. Some of you remember their names… 23rd king hates the Faithful the most… huh, he is not the one to burn them so I would argue with the narration here. The Elves from Tol Eressea still visit, but in secret. This has a lot of fic potential. (Also, don't tell me that nobody ever at any point of Númenorean history tried to sneak into an Elven ship and go to Aman with them. not at this point, probably. But earlier you could have someone who both doesn't like the Ban, and has contact with the Elves)

Then the Elves stop visiting, because the Valar get angry. i'm not sure why now, what exactly was the tipping point.

A recap of Andúnie, the, ugh, situation of Inzilbêth, we get a good older brother and bad younger brother— wait, maybe the Men have this scheme inverted in general? I'll need to investigate this.

Tar-Palantir. Whose remorse is too late because the Valar are already angry— excuse me, Pengolodh, my guy, what? I'd get it if you told me that the problem is that the whole nation has already been gone so far and the king could not convince them, but I really don't like what you said about the Valar here. But yes, ok, it;s probably because the nation is still full of bs. Pengolodh. Please, be so kind and spare us your opinions. Especially on questions like forgiveness. go handle your exilic trauma somewhere else. I can't find a quote for this, sadly.

So, Tar-Palantir gets a healthy dose of the typical Silm "sad about my brother" especailly that he (the brother) dies early. Aaand we get Pharazôn. Yay… :/ People love him, because he's a great general and gives out riches.

The 25th king. As I have already speculated in one post, the number 5 is not a good number.

Sauron provokes him to war. When the Númenorean fleet arrives, everyone is so scared that they run away and the army marches through an empty land, which gives me echoes of Earendil, but this makes no sense, I think tolkien just likes the image of someone (or an army) walking through a deserted land/city. I agree, it has a lot of atmosphere. they march for seven days, with trumpets, and in red and in gold.

So Sauron does his thing, but Ar-Pharazôn is not a fool—well, not this kind of fool—and doesn't trust him. which plays very well into Sauron's ringed hand.

Sauron sees the capital of Númenor and again we have someone reacting to a beuiful city with envy and hatered. (First: Melkor to Valinor in general; second: Maeglin to Gondolin; third: here.)

He tells the king a lot of secrets, and "he knew many of the things not yet revealed to Men". Like… what things? I wonder. Many of the Elf-Friends get confused and scared and switch sides. I wish I knew why exactly. It is before the violence started.

Something something Darkness and Sauron's peak bs.

Amandil and Pharazôn have been friends in their youth (yes, Pharazon liked him too!) → Fic. Potential. So much fic potential. Amandil gets higher on my "I like him because he has a lot of things to be sad about" list. So, Amandil—

We've had many, many instances of characters cursing things/characters/themselves/whatever. Now we get the only instance in the Silm of an Incarnate blessing something. (Amandil blesses the seeds of the White Tree.) which is very interesting.

OK, warning: it gets dark from here.

Sauron. The language. I know the style of description of the thing is not Sauron's fault… I suppose the style is, again, illustrative of his general vibe (which is a very smart writing btw), so, ugh. Seriously, Professor, you never give the dimensions, so we all know why you gave the dimensions here, and … yes I do get your stylistic choices, they make me want to punch him which i assume is exactly what you were aiming at.

I'm sorry, I should probably elaborate more.

So, to elaborate more: the temple which sauron built is described in a language that is vaguely reminescent of the Temple of Salomon (ie giving the exact measurements, and yes, this is very noticeable because tolkien is always very poetic, about sizes too) and the juxtaposition makes me feel offended, and this helps, because this is how we should feel at this point in the book. So, this is brilliant.

They didn't burn only the Faithful, I would assume also some criminals and maybe random people. Also, there were some anti-king conspirations, the book almost says that.

People die more, everything is awful, and of course the people of Númenor are "it's fine" (as you do). In addition to Sauron's main temple of Melkor, people have private temples. Where they burn people stolen from ME.

madness and sickness availed them; and yet so they were afraid to die and go out into the dark, the realm of the lord that they had taken; and they cursed themselves in their agony.

I really wish we had an idea how this came to the chronicler. anyway, an Elf repeating things he hard from some escaped Númenoreans about what their friends/lords/whomever were thinking. And still it sounds very much like what they would be thinking.

No, wait, there could be a better source. Imagine a noble and depraved lady (or nobleman) who left Númenor for the colonies, thinking it'd be just for a short time, and in the meantime— the whole thing happenned. Great fic potential for survivor's guilt leading to remorse and later this person as an old woman telling this stuff to an Elvish chronicler, or maybe not even so old, maybe telling the story in the times of the Last Alliance and fighting against Sauron to do at least that, and I'm not a fan of the "redemption equals death" trope, so living into old age, but without a leg or something. Maybe ending up in rivendell. that would be fitting. The guilt of it all. And yet you chose to live and to do what you can.

Anyway back to the story. Amandil. Nobody even speculates about what happenned to him. (Well, I do, but)

The Faithful prepare to sail and the seven Seeing Stones (all but one of them) given by the Eldar— by whom? I hope it was Nerdanel. Or someone wlse who actually had the right to give them away. Yes, I will assume it was Nerdanel.

Lightning strikes kill people on random hills… I would prefer to assume it's either Sauron or gossip. especially that just a bit later we learn that Sauron is immune to those lightnings. So yes, i think some elements of the "wrath of the Valar" is just Sauron trying to make people even more desperate.

I can't imagine Manwë killing people just like that, even in this context. Especially with how later he doesn't do anything to Pharazôn's army until given a very explicit leave to do so.

Logically, it is sauron killing those people.

The armada… they sail for 39 days (where did I find that information?) which I'm sure means something, but what. 40-1? 3*13? Both?

40 is a number of transformation, so 39 would be a failed or false transformation maybe?

Also, black and gold coloring. Beautiful but in the Silm, vaguely evil-coded.

Just as they break the ban(? but I think it is this moment) they get a strong wind. I guess it's Manwë saying "ok, if we have to, let's make it quick".

They pass Eressea, I think mostly ignoring it? Pharazôn sees Taniquetil and gets one good idea (to cancel his idiotic thing), but nope, he's too proud. Seriously. That's… "my guy" is not enough of a wording.

The Eldar have escaped from Tition… this makes me smile a little, because assuming the ex-exiles did move back to tirion, they do deserve a little fright. For Alqualonde. I know I know. But. It's not like any harm happenned to them. they were just terrified. Of an army of Men. Which is encamped around their island.

So yea. The world is round now. And again it sounds like Aman is moved to the unseen world. Huh. Mixed canon.

Oh, here is the 39. 39 days from the fleet leaving Númenor to the destruction. Including also a volcano and earthquake.

And speaking of numbers, 9 ships of Elendil, Isildur and Anárion.

Also, all the sea shorelines are changed.

So, back to Sauron. Idiot. He is terrified by what happenned, because he expected Pharazôn and everyone to die, but not something like this. So, he is sitting on his black (of course) throne and laughing. What had I said about Sauron being somewhere high up and laughing? So he laughs three times and just as he does the third time his throne falls down into the watery abbyss. "Not noticing a divine tsunami" level: pro. I am not surprised. I mean, I read the book before, so of course I am nor surprised, but anyway, that is nor surprising.

Loses his beauty. Just. The amount of mercy. "I convinced Men to sacrifice other Men to Morgoth, and put the Valar into a trolley dilemma and all I got was this ugly face so that I maybe finally learn" — he needs a t-shirt with this. I need to draw him in a frigging t-shirt.

I want to punch him in the face again.

Yes, i know, i know. It's not my fault he gets more infuriating descriptions.

Oh and the peak of Meneltarma is maybe an island, and people want to find it and have visions of Númenor's past glory… *sigh* Call me old and grumpy but focusing on that doesn't seem like— ok oh. they don't have anything better to focus. This is also true. Huh. I just realized that this makes the whole "focusing on unreachable shadows" things so much more tragic. anyway…

Oh, they do not find it. Good for them. I am sorry, I know it's sad, but it is good for them.

The Dúnedain seeking this island is peak amdir. (This is neither a compliment nor a accusation, or maybe both).

But explaining this would need a long tangent of "amdir" meaning etymologically "looking up" and of the gneral idea of looking in the wrong place. I know I shouldn't be quoting motivational posters when talking Tolkien, because they are much less profound but generally "Stop Looking for Happiness in the Same Place You Lost It"

So anyway, The Land of the star is lost, and the Straight Road is no more and Tolkien is sad and pretty much everyone is sad and we are growing up.

Still, there is a shortcut for Elves who want to use it.

Huh. this reread felt more profound than the others. Not so many facts I've been missing, but the vibe. I think I understood some vibes I didn't understand before. But this may be just the autumn.

[outofangband]

(another) Early Quenya board!

x x  x x  x x 

Early Quenya was one of the first stages of development that the language went through, prior to 1930. At this stage, it was spoken only by the elves who would become the Vanyar as the Noldor spoke Gnomish, a protolanguage to Noldorin which is more related to Sindarin than later Noldorin Quenya.

[dfwbwfbbwfbwf]

I'm really excited for this poll actually! I hope a lot of people vote so I can get a good idea of what y'all think.

[tar-maitime]

bring myself to hold you

Rating: G Characters: Maedhros | Maitimo, Maglor | Makalaure, Elrond, Elros Relationships: Maedhros & Maglor, Maedhros & Elrond & Elros Additional: post-Sirion, questionable adoption, slowly becoming a family WC: 1k

“What’s the Quenya word for ‘mother’?” Elrond asks.

The question is a little out of nowhere, but ever since Maglor started with his insistence on teaching the twins Quenya, one or another of them will pipe up with a random vocabulary question at odd times. Maedhros shrugs, and tries to not let the mental image of Elwing falling with the Silmaril clutched to her heart take over.

“There are several,” she says, not looking up from the maintenance she’s doing on a pair of daggers. “Ontaril is perhaps the most technical of them - it only means ‘she who begets’. The most commonly used is amil, although there are several variations on that, as well as a couple of...warmer diminutives - ammë and amya.”

Elrond nods, looking serious, thanks her, and goes his way. 

Maedhros doesn’t really think about it afterward. Even if it’s been pretty much assumed that they’re keeping the twins indefinitely ever since the new star rose, she doesn’t like to let them occupy too much of her thoughts. She helps Maglor with them as needed - probably everyone who’s left has at some time or another - but she won’t play along with his fantasies of parenthood, won’t get too comfortable. If Maglor can fool himself into thinking he’s unmonstrous enough to raise children, good for him, but she can’t.

“Really, Nelyë? I know you weren’t like this with Gil-galad,” he’d said to her once, early on.

She’d stiffened at the mention of her no-longer-son. “That was entirely different,” she’d said shortly. “I was not responsible for his first home’s destruction. And even he wants nothing to do with me now.”

And there is, after all, plenty to concern herself with besides the idle questions of children, if they want to keep on surviving here in this poorly-manned fortress in the midst of the wild, so she’s almost entirely forgotten the conversation a few days later, when Elrond says casually over supper, “Ammë, would you pass the bread?”

At first, Maedhros ignores him entirely - it’s been decades since ammë meant her. When he nudges her and repeats, “Ammë?”, it finally dawns on her who he’s talking to.

She continues to not look directly at him. “I don’t know who you mean,” she says evenly. “No one’s mother is here. Yours is...in the West.”

“Naneth is in the West,” Elrond agrees. “You’re here, though. Do...do you not want us to call you that?”

“I told you she wouldn’t,” Elros mutters from the other side of the table. 

“It was worth a try!” Elrond retorts, with a brief glance at Maglor, whom Maedhros has been trying not to notice gaining the title of Atya occasionally from the twins. Maglor, for his part, is a study in neutrality, although she knows him well enough to see the hope seeping through the cracks.

“If you insist on giving me some kind of familial title,” she manages, “I would have thought you would try atarnésa.” ‘Aunt’ is still not something she thinks anyone ought to call a kinslaying kidnapper, but it would make more sense if they insisted on calling Maglor a father.

Elros shrugs. “We’ve never had an aunt, so we don’t know what it’s like,” he says. “And you - you’re like Naneth.”

Aside from them both being female, Maedhros cannot think of anyone else she would be less likely to be compared to.

Elrond seems to sense his brother’s floundering and picks up the thread. “You’re busy a lot, and you’re always working to make sure everyone stays safe and has enough. You don’t like to stop and rest in case somebody thinks you’re broken, but you will if it’s to spend time with us. That’s how it was with Naneth, too.”

Maedhros is unable to speak for a moment, and when the ability returns, she rasps, “I drove your mother off a cliff. I was part of the reason she was hurt like she was.” She doesn’t usually lay it out that baldly for them, but there doesn’t seem to be anything else for it.

“We know,” Elros says, not casually, but calmly. He shouldn’t know how to sound like that at his age. Just one more thing she’s broken. “It’s...marred. So is everything. But we’re all here now, and it would only make things worse to hate each other, so we might as well try the other thing.”

“We don’t have to call you Ammë if you don’t want it,” Elrond says quietly. “I just thought it might be nice to try.”

Maedhros is silent for a few long seconds. She’s not sure how to explain that Ammë isn’t supposed to mean her, Ammë is supposed to mean strong, gentle, chisel-callused hands and a warm smile and the smell of clay and dust and someone who can comfort and fix things. The name had only barely started to sit right with her when she had to send Gil-galad away, and now it chafes against the sticky new blood on her hands.

But the twins seem to think it would make them happy, to call her this, and doesn’t she owe them that, after everything? She took away their real mother; she can deal with them using her as a substitute, wrong as it is, if they consider it some kind of restitution.

“It’s all right,” she finally says. “You can call me that if you want to. Whatever you like.” 

The children’s eyes go wide with delight, and a hopeful smile slips onto Maglor’s face.

[ceescedasticity]

Discovered today that "Mandos in the early writings had a hound, Gorgumoth".

It's not glossed at all and is from early writings, but according to Neo-Sindarin vocabulary list…

gor -> "horror, dread, fear" or "to warn" or "hard, difficult"

gu -> "(together) with" [neologism based on phonetic evolution, but, whatever]

moth -> "dusk"

What I am getting from this is Námo named his dog "Dread-and-dusk". Based on what I understand to be conventional wisdom, a dog with such an ominous name is likely to be a total sweetheart [at least in a grooming or veterinary setting].

I therefore conclude that the reason Gorgumoth is not mentioned in other accounts of Mandos is that Gorgumoth turned out to be inadequate as a guard dog, was fired, and is probably asking for pets somewhere. Maybe he or she lives with Nienna now. Possibly under a different name.

[*Obviously I know the actual reason is Tolkien was moving away from the paganesque versions of the Valar, but this is more fun, so.]

Edit: I think the Quenya equivalents would probably be umbë, yó, lómë, so… Umbilómë, maybe? Haven't checked the phonetics.

[edennill]

(Because I've seen too many posts about how Boromir doesn't speak Sindarin)

Which members of the Fellowship (+ assorted other LotR characters) speak which languages:

(canon, interpolation and headcanon mingled, so beware)

Boromir: Westron, Gondorian Sindarin (many Gondorians and certainly members of the nobility are billingual), probably at least a little Rohirric given how much he seems to like the Rohirrim and vice versa, any random Quenya words Denethor hammered into him before he decided military training was more important that he hasn't managed to forget yet (few)

Aragorn: Billingual in Westron and Sindarin since very early childhood, Quenya, Rohirric, definitely several tongues spoken in Harad and Rhûn

Frodo: Westron, some Quenya and Sindarin

Sam: Westron

Merry: Westron

Pippin: Westron

Legolas: Mirkwood Sindarin (with Silvan elements), Silvan, Westron

Gimli: Khûzdul, Westron

Gandalf: Westron, Quenya, Sindarin, Rohirric, wouldn't be too surprised if Khûzdul + an immense number of other languages - more rather than less

Faramir: Westron, Sindarin, Quenya, some Adunaic* (dead language), if he doesn't know Rohirric yet, he will learn it from Éowyn

Elrond: Sindarin (likely his mother tongue), Quenya (with Feanorian accent?), Adunaic* (dead language he learned before it was dead), Taliska* (even dead-er language, same), Westron, countless more

Theoden: Rohirric, Westron, Gondorian Sindarin (everyone is sleeping on the fact that he spent his childhood in Gondor because his father did not get along with his grandfather at all, enough to move to another country)

Éowyn: Rohirric, Westron, if she knows any Sindarin at all, it would be a few random words, but she will learn upon moving to Gondor

---

(* If anyone wants to know, Adunaic is the predecessor of Westron and Taliska is the predecessor of Adunaic)

[cycas]

Numenor and Quenya

Elros was, presumably, captain of the Edain during the War of Wrath.

That's when the Edain took revenge for all their fallen leaders, and their efforts during the War of Wrath were the reason for the Valar giving them their own special island and extended lives.

By the end of the War of Wrath, Elros (and Elrond) were 53: considerably older than their parents were when they were ruling the Havens. Definitely not children. It's difficult to see how Elros could have become leader of the Edain if he had sat the war out, and since we know Elrond was there to see Thangorodrim broken (he mentions it in LOTR) there's no reason to suppose Elrond and Elros were not there leading Men in the War of Wrath as soon as they were old enough. So regardless of how Elros felt about Maedhros and Maglor (I like him to be fond of them myself), Elros probably decided on Quenya as his Royal Language because he'd spent the last 20-30 years fighting side by side with Finarfin and his Noldor host, who came to fight the War of Wrath, then spent years after that settled beside them after the war while everyone was building ships to go West: whether that was to a new home, or an old one.

Early Numenor, Elros-era Numenor, was regularly visited by Elves bringing gifts from Valinor.

Some of them might be Teleri, or members of the Vanyar host that also fought in the war visiting old friends and their families. But the Teleri have nothing against Quenya. They provided the fleet to take Finarfin's Noldor and Ingwion's Vanyar to the war. But Elros is not only the heir to Doriath, he's also Idril's grandson. Turgon's particular friend was Finrod Felagund, and even if you don't think Finrod was re-born in time to visit the heir of Beren, you can see that Finrod's parents would have a great interest in Turgon's descendants. So many children of their family have been lost! Turgon was their eldest son's best friend, born in the same year!

The Noldor of Aman were never banned from speaking Quenya, never switched to Sindarin. Quenya is a living language, in Valinor. So I think the use of Quenya in Numenor is a remnant of that early time when Numenor felt culturally more part of Valinor than it did Middle-earth.