#feänorian

[ego-sum-imperator]

What if Caranthir didn’t fled south with Amrod and Amras during Dagor Bragollach and earned his name of « Caranthir », « red face » at that moment?

To begin with, I’ll come back to the etymology of the name of Caranthir is the sindarized version of the name « Carnistir » which mean « red face »and which is the mother-name of the character. (Elves have three names: the mother-name, the father-name and the chosen name (the name they chose when they turn 20 and by which they’re known)).

We can note that this is a rare case of reuse of the mother-name, as it usually the father-name that is kept and considered the most important.

Caranthir (‘s father-name is Morifinwë which mean « Dark Finwë and later he’s known as Caranthir the Dark.

We don’t know exactly why Nerdanel named him « red face »

He was red when he’s born because he cried a lot?

Got a lot of freckles (later in life because we’re not born with)?

Presence of an angioma on his face?

I’m currently drawing the last two hypotheses, but I’ll put them aside for a new one I had for this « What if? ».

During the Dagor Bragollach in F.A. 455 (« Battle of Sudden Flame »), the siege of Angbang is broken and the armies of Morgoth were able to invade and ruin the Northland (Dorthonion, Lothlann, Thargelion, etc.).

In Thargelion, Glaurung come and burned the lands at the foot of Ered Luin while the cohorts of Orcs move more far in the North and took Caranthir’s fortress in Mount Rerir. And when it happen, Caranthir fled South with his brothers.

BUT!!!

What if Caranthir earned his name at that moment?

Before being known as «Caranthir», he was known as Morifinwë or by another name he choose and Carnistir isn’t his mother-name.

In y mind, Glaurung lead the orcs to lake Helevorn where the abode of //Caranthir// is. As a Lord, he’s insured that his people unable to fight were able to flee before leaving with the soldiers in oder to fight the dragon and the orcs. Without sucess…

This bring me to the essential point of this « What if? »

During the battle between Morgoth’s forces and those of //Caranthir’s//, the latter found himself in direct confrontation with Glaurung. A fight in which the elf was badly burned in the face, leaving him with a severer burn later on, hence it’s name « Caranthir », « red face ».

Wounded, //Caranthir// was taken prisoner with some of his soldiers by Glaurung and the orcs, and then imprisoned in Angbang.

No one would have known what had happened to //Caranthir// since neither he nor his soldiers returned from Mount Rerir.

No one would have known that he was alive (albeit in a bad way) in Angbang's prisons and would have been considered dead.

[elithilanor]

Elrond really said Please I beg you to take this ring to Mordor but for the love of all that is NO OATHS

[that-angry-noldo]

"elves should just get over the kinslayings 🙄🙄 feänorians aren't bloodthirsty murderers they have ✨motive✨😌😌 and besides why not just give up the silmaril and not get kinslayed 🤔🤔 ever think about that??" biting maiming murdering

[wanderer-clarisse]

"Mano po."

Pagmamano (Tagalog) - "honouring-gesture;" a sign of respect towards elders

A continuation of sorts, of this other drawing I made of the Feänorians, which was roughly inspired by Filipino culture. I originally planned on completing this for @nolofinweanweek, specifically the first prompt about how Fingolfin and Feänor's families got along, but life got in the way and I didn't finish it in time. More background/my long rambles under the cut:

Pagmamano - touching the back of an elder's hand on one's forehead - is not restricted to family, but it's usually done in the context of elder family members. I have many memories of attending family reunions and being told to follow the other kids to "mano po" a grandfather, aunt, or uncle. While Elves don't have elderly relatives, per se, I thought this image was too fun not to draw. Also, I love envisioning Feänor as that cool uncle who gives the most amazing gifts but like, the kids are intimidated by him, so they have to be told (and supervised) by their parents to line up and greet him properly. Fingolfin's just standing there making sure his kids all greet their uncle. (Maedhros, presumably having already finished his greetings, is sidetracking Fingon.)

All this to say, I think that these guys didn't have the perfect relationship. But. You can't convince me Finwë didn't get the whole family together from time to time on some sort of family reunion camping trip. And Feänor just has to begrudgingly tolerate it because he can't say no to his dad. While the kids, obviously, have a great time.

[comicaurora]

What are your thoughts on what I'll refer to as Feänorian Oaths? Promises so ill-advised (like the Oath of Feänor in The Silmarillion) that keeping them causes massive problems for EVERYONE?

"Average elf commits kinslaying" fact actually statistical error, Spiders Feänor who told the gods to fuck themselves, bound himself and his sons to a covetous oath that made the whole world their enemies, slew his brethren to steal their swan ships and instigated unquantifiable suffering is an outlier-

[austerlitzborodinoleipzig]

Flight Patterns

For @miriel-therindes for the @officialtolkiensecretsanta who wanted something about Elwing. Here’s a fic and the playlist that goes with it. Happy holidays, I hope you like it.

Four flights from the life of Elwing, what came after, and what came before.

I DORIATH

Elwing hates the trees. She hates the forest. Hates that suffocating feeling of being lost in a sea of green, drowned in sickeningly sweet mossy lime.

She learned to climb trees before she could walk. Her mother taught her. It served her well at the Havens, for she was the most agile of them and could climb trees and cliffs to find eggs. I want you as a crewmate on my ship, laughed Eärendil. I need someone to climb to the mast and you could do it blindfolded in the middle of a storm.

She hates the warm and humid smell of the forest, like the breath of a monster asleep after a feast.

She knows the guise and the song of all the birds in the forests of Beleriand.

She lost her family to the dark and cursed woods. She has no memory of it, but when she closes her eyes she can picture it, dark gnarly twisted trees, bending, crushing. Roots surging from the ground, naked, white and wet, like the bones of creatures older, and meaner and angrier than any elf could ever be. Branches bending, creaking, howling, slashing, swallowing stone, ground, flesh. The crumbling, dark, decaying realm of Doriath, caves collapsing on themselves until only dust remains of the fair kingdom of Thingol and Melian.

The forest starved and killed her brothers. The Feänorian killed her parents, but the trees gave them cover.

She is glad when the trees in the woods near the Havens are felled to build boats.

The Vingilot smells like the woods and hills around Sirion on a summer’s day. It smells of flowers and of grass under the sun.

 FLIGHT 

Faster, faster, amid the cries and the tears, the branches and leaves, clinging to the small boats, faster ever faster, until the forest is left behind, until the clamor and the song of steel against steel against stone against flesh fades away. Faster ever faster to the river, to the sea.

Farewell to the tears, the forest, to your family, to your childhood, even though you’re barely out of your crib but from now-on you’re alone.

 II THE HAVENS OF SIRION

Luthien was the fairest of the Children of Iluvatar, and Dior was the fairest man, but Eärendil seems stunned when he sees her with a bride’s veil, the Silmaril at her throat, and he laughs and calls her the fairest of them all, fairer than the Valar, and he should know because his father has seen one, and he kisses her and they are wed under the stars, when the night is so full of light and laughter, and Eärendil’s hair shines golden.

He’s old even for an Elf. He looks old, and cruel, his copper hair throws flames around on the walls of her hall. And he burns bright and cruel, but she’s Elwing, daughter of Nimloth and Dior, granddaughter of Luthien, heir to Doriath, so she grips the armrest, sits straighter, digs her feet into the ground. Maedhros Feänorion all but begs for the Silmaril and she says no.

Galadriel doesn’t want to see it. Never does. It’s not mine, she says. It brings death, she says. It is cursed.

Elwing knows she shouldn’t spend too much time looking into the jewel’s depth. And yet she can’t help it. The light inside. It’s infinite. It’s glorious. It’s alive. And when she wears it she feels its heat on her breast. Alive. Beating. Full of power. Her family died for it. Her family lived for it. Elwing exists because of it.

Maybe she’s deceiving herself but she feels stronger when she wears the jewel. Her songs are stronger. The greens, the flowers, the plants, all that grows under the sky, beasts and birds and Children alike, they all grow stronger. The fires in the hearths burn stronger and the houses are warmer. The people she tends to heal faster and better. She sings and the Silmaril pulses against her skin like a second heart.

She is tending Elros. The boy is unstoppable, always running away getting his brother into trouble. This time it’s a sprained ankle. She binds it and kisses him. The kiss will make it better. "How?" asks Elrond suspiciously, before running away shouting "Aunt Galadriel", followed by his brother, the boy will just not sit still. Galadriel is standing at the door. "Are you crying?" asks Elros. "Yes child I am", she answers, "but those are happy tears". And answering Elwing’s unspoken question she says: "I thought it could only bring death. I think I was wrong."

The people of Bor love their fires. She visits them at night, learns their songs and dances. To become a man they say, you must jump over a bonfire. Elros has begged to let her try. They always light a fire during the longest night of the year. To wait and remember, one of the Wisewomen explains. To carry us through the night to the other side. To remember that we shall see the light again, that the sun will return. Elwing thinks of Arien and Tilion sailing through the sky and wonder if from up there they can see the devotions of the Children of Iluvatar, if they can feel the love and care the people of Bor put into their fires, small sparks carrying their wishes and hopes and concerns guiding, urging accompanying the Sun, following it in its course. She thinks of her husband carrying their hopes, away at sea.

She stands once again in the middle of her hall. Fire has breached the city, flames are at the gates. The Feänorian have come to take by murder and crime, what she would not cede. "We’ll go through the night, and meet light on the other side". She doesn’t believe they’ll survive the night.

 FLIGHT 

Faster, faster, amid the shouts and the fires and the smoke, blood flowing through the streets, wind blowing through her ears, faster ever faster, her body falling from the cliffs, the liquid mass pulling her down, falling faster untill she doesn’t. Untill she soars!

Faster faster, on the wind and the waves, under the moon and the stars, away, away from the stench of death and ruin and betrayal and loss. Her children! Her sons! Sweet Elros and gentle Elrond. Lost to her. Taken, like so many years ago, her brothers were. Lost to an Oath and a Curse and Darkness and the Enemy.

Farewell to Beleriand, to her home. Farewell to her family. Luthien and Beren in their green grave on Tar Galen, where Morgoth himself dares not come. Dior and Nimloth in the Thousand Caves, with no one left to bury them. Elured and Elurin lost to the forest. Elrond and Elros, her sons. Her beautiful wonderful sons to whom the world was promised. Lost to the fire and the steel.

Farewell to all. Now the silence, now the vast emptiness, now the liberation.

III THE SEA

Water and wind carry her to her husband's ship. She lands on his breast amid spray, salt and tears. They killed everyone she tells him. And our children are lost. The Valar never came. And Cirdan’s ships arrived too late. The way ahead is shut. The way behind is destroyed. Eärendil takes the Silmaril in his hand and grips it. "Then we’ll make our own path."

She meets Eärendil, on the beach, on a sunny day. The retreating tides have left a myriad of little pools full of shrimps and there’s a boy her age, disturbing the water with a stick. She joins him and together they spend the morning observing the small universe, and it’s the most peaceful Elwing has ever felt and then she hears him sing.

You’re one of them! she shouts, spitting on the ground. Elf of the fire! You’re one of them! Noldor! They killed my father, my mother and destroyed my home! Eärendil stays still, eyes fixed on her. Then, in a voice so low she can hardly hear it: "the fire took my home too." And he adds, "if it helps, I’m only half-elven."

Oh, thinks Elwing. Oh…

She climbs the mast everyday. Falahtar says it’s useless. And he’s right. The sea at the limit of the world is dark, full of smoke, and ice, and rain, and mist. You can scarcely see the prow of the ship. Sailors start to despair. So many years lost at sea. With nothing around them but the liquid masses of the ocean, empty islands, and failure. Always fighting against the wind, the waves, the current, the blocks of ice if they go too far North.

Elwing feels safe. Here, in the middle of nowhere, clinging to a small boat, to the wrinkled skin of the water. Ice, storms, rains, the cold. She can deal with all of it. The sea is treasonous, but so far, no one has ever surged from the depth of the ocean to attack her. Ice and cold never hurt her, it’s the fire that kills. The sea saved her. Ulmo turned her into a bird and carried her to safety, to her husband. Ulmo sent Tuor to Gondolin, and later led the refugees to safety. The sea will carry them to their destination.

Elwing is of the water, and to water she shall return. She was born amid the foam of the riverfall, at Lanthir Lamath. She gave birth to her sons near a babbling brook, in a cave, with the water singing beside her, and the stars reflected on the glistening dome. The water took her away from Doriath, to the Havens, to Eärendil. And away from the Havens, to Eärendil once more. Always, it has saved her and cherished her. It will save her once more. Save them. Save all of them.

It’s getting dark and cold. Food and water are running low. But the Silmaril shines brighter. Almost alive and its light pierce the darkness. Steadfast, Eärendil presses on. Not far, he says. Elwing and him cling to each other. If we go down, we go down together, he whispers. Yes she says. And then we’ll fly. And even if we find them, what should I say? Elwing thinks of their children. That you have two sons left on Beleriand.

They are a sorry bunch at the mouth of the river. Displaced, miserable, starved, cold and ill. Refugees from Doriath, and Gondolin, and Ossiriand, and Nargothrond and Brethil, and Dor Lomin, Brithombar and Eglarest. Noldor, Sindar, Falathrim, Edain and Easterlings. All carrying with them their fears, hatred and distrust. They once came to blows. All naked, covered in mud, wrestling in the water, all beaten by life and the waves. It all stopped, only the tears remained, washed down the river. They were all brothers of misfortune, and brothers yet. And at the end that’s all they were. Naked children crying.

FLIGHT

Faster, faster, amid the rain and wind, the foam and the salt, riding the crescent of the waves, faster through the grey-rain curtain and the silver glass, to the fragrance and songs on the wings of the wind.

Faster to the white shores and beyond them, a green country under a swift sunrise.

IV VALINOR

On the beaches of Valinor, far away, stands a white tower, glistening in the sun. They say it’s the first thing the sailors from Tol Eressëa, of the Green Havens see when they reach the earth. All the birds of Valinor come to the Tower.

In the Tower, there’s a Lady. She’s the Queen of the Birds. They say at night she turns into a swan. Her songs are the sweetest and the saddest.

She sends seagulls to the lost mariner, and nightingales to comfort children, and falcons to the hunters, and sparrows to eat the crickets and protect the harvest.

They are greeted by the birds, the land isn’t yet in sight. Seagulls, albatrosses, and some strange birds, she’s never seen. Red, with a feathery tail like a flame. The air in Valinor is very still. And so pure it almost hurts to breathe. A gentle breeze carries sweet unknown fragrances.

Every night a nightingale comes to the Tower to sing. Some swear to have seen the bird turn into a woman. The most beautiful woman they ever saw, bearing a striking resemblance to the Lady.

She’ll find none of her family on Valinor, she knows it. But one day a couple comes to visit. She is barefoot, and he is tall, with the blondest hair she’s ever seen, and her heart skips a beat because for one blissful second she thought he was back again on the ground. And then she laughs, because of course they made it. Ulmo has always answered her prayers. And the next night she tells Eärendil she saw his parents, and her husband cries.

She lives alone, but is not lonely. She gets visits from all the folk that live nearby, for she is wise and has seen much. She tells stories of a country long gone, sleeping beneath the waves. They say Ulmo dines every week with her.

While Eärendil pleads, Elwing meets the Teleri. They greet her, the only surviving descendant of Elwë. She tells them of Doriath, and of Gondolin, of the sufferings of Beleriand. She sees Alqualondë and thinks it’s the fairest city she ever saw. Some ask about the ships. What happened to the White Swan ships? They burned, answers Elwing, crying. They burned. Everything burned. Her house got a Silmaril back, she doesn’t know if it is fair. Doesn’t know if the debt is repaid.

Why should we help them ? ask the Teleri, through clenched fists and gritted teeth.

We shouldn’t, thinks Elwing. And she thinks of her sons. Captives and more likely dead. And of her brothers, lost to the woods. No jewel could ever pay for that. And yet...

The Silmaril brought us here, she answers. My husband is of the Noldor. And she tells them of Cirdan and Ereinion. Of the Edain, of Beren and Luthien, of the people of Bor. Of the Tree-shepherd.

And when she’s brought before Manwë, the Teleri come with her.

She listens to the wind and the birds. They tell her the stories of those who still live across the ocean. Your husband killed a dragon. Of course he did. She catches Elros before he departs beyond the circles of the World. He is old, so very old, and so very wise, and she is so very proud. Forgive me, she asks. There’s nothing to forgive, Mother, he answers, and tries to kiss her, but his feä is slipping away.

FLIGHT 

Faster, faster, on the wings, her wings, on the wings of the songs. Faster through the skies and the clouds, over the mountains and the stars, to Manwë's domain, and past that to the Circles of the World.

Faster, to that small ship and the oceans of heaven. To the greatest sailor that ever lived, and the Star of Hope. Faster where the air is pure and everything is so vast even the Valar feel small. Faster, always faster, for miles and hundreds of miles and thousands of miles, through the night and the dark, faster to the new day, Arien and Tilion laughing and joining the race.

Farewell to all that was known or is. Now the space, now the heavens, now the light.

V THE BIRD AND THE STAR

There once was a star who fell in love with a bird. And they loved the Children of Iluvatar very much. Some say there were Elves before, some say they were Men. Perhaps they were both. And they had to choose, the Earth or the Sky. They loved both, so they didn’t. One lives on the Earth, the other in the Sky, and every night they meet halfway. The star shines over all that live in Middle Earth, bringing hope and strength. The bird greets all that come to the Undying Lands, bringing comfort and healing.

-------------------

And here’s the playlist that goes with the fic (I’m working on adding the link, it’ll be one Youtube, as I don’t have Spotify)

Part I Doriath

1 - Slow Motion Blackbird, by Chris Hughes

2 - Wild Swans Suite - Eliza’s Aria by Elena Kats-Chernin, performed by the Tasmanian Symphony Orchestra

3 - Le Chant des Oiseaux by Clément Janequin, performed by the Musica Intima ensemble

Flight : Those Free Butterflies, by Alfred Garrievich Schnittke

Part II The Havens

1 - The Lark, by Mikhail Ivanovich Glinka, performed by Mélanie Laurent

2 - The Nightingale (The Birds), by Ottorino Respighi,

3 - Hoopoe (4 songs from Hafez), by Sally Beamish, performed by Roderick Williams and Andrew West

4 - Uirapuru, The Enchanted Little Bird, by Hector Villa-Lobos, performed by the Paraiba Symphony Orchestra

Flight : Symphony n°3 in D Major, Scherzo, by Piotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky, performed by the Royal Concergebouw Orchestra

Part III The Sea

1 - The Dove (The Birds), by Ottorino Respighi

2 - Owls (An Epitaph), by Edward Elgar, performed by the Cambridge University Chamber Choir

3 - Swan Lake, Op 20, Act IV n°27, Dance of the Swans, by Piotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky, performed by the Montreal Symphony Orchestra

Flight : Push the Sky Away, by Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds

Part IV Valinor

1 - Le Merle Noir, by Olivier Messiaen, performed by Emmanuel Pahud

2 - On Hearing the First Cuckoo in Spring, by Frederick Delius, performed by the Royal Philarmonic Orchestra

3 - Crane, by Meredi

Flight : The Lark Ascending, by Vaughan Williams, performed by the London Philarmonic

Part V The Bird and the Star

The Butterfly Lover’s Violin Concerto, Adagio Cantabile, by He Zhanhao and Chen Gang, performed by Lu Siqing and the Taipei Chinese Orchestra

[ruthlesslistener]

Hi Aren! just wanted to say that I got really invested in the Silmarillion / Lord of the Rings partially bc of a post I read where you talked about parallels between Maedhros Feänorian and the Hollow Knight, and months later I watched almost all live-action movies from december 2021 to january 2022 and joined the fandom! I read a lot of fics and famillarized myself with the Tolkien Lore and all. And now because of it, I bought a illustrated 2021 edition of The Silmarillion and have now started to read it! I'm aware that the type of writing can be a slog for others to read through but I'm used to it and enjoying it so far!

So, Happy New Year!

Fuck yeah dude, that's super cool!!! LOTR is an amazing series for a very good reason, and reading the Silmarillion makes going back to the original trilogy super cool as you start to recognize names, relics, and past events referenced constantly within the books. It's also just really fucking cool to begin with and the tragedy of it all is just delicious

Happy new year, and have fun with your tragic dramatic elves!!

[elithilanor]

Hey have you ever seen avatar the last Airbender ,if yes then plz do the silmarilion and atla crossover.

HAVE I SEEN AVATAR THE LAST AIRBENDER

Yes 🥰

Okay I’d have to think of stories but some HCs right off the bat:

Feänorians: Fire benders and you cannot convince me otherwise. It comes from both Nerdanel and Feänor. (debating with Miriel since she fades so air but also could burn herself out? I’m kind of down with Finwë as an air bender who passes that down to his other children).

Ëarendil, Elrond, and Elros are water benders. Boat guy, HEALING homie, and island guy? Cmon.

Teleri: obviously water benders.

Doriath elves are earth benders. It has concentrated in the Mirkwood population.

Dwarves are metal benders.

.

.

.

That’s about where my hardcore knowledge of the silmarillion ends? I’m calling in some help for who may know. Sorry this sat in my drafts for so long!

@runawaymun @outofangband @fenharel-enaste @thesolarangel and any others who would have better hcs, please feel free to reblog this!

[cats-spilled-wine]

Haha, that's great😆 Darth Caranthir, Dark Caranthir, Caranthir the Darth...

And no indeed, Darth Feänaro and his seven apprentices is not a bad idea at all.

Except I'd seriously fear for Darth Feänaro to thoroughly search every planet in order to find his silmarils, or simply destroy said planets, because, well; if he can't have his precious gems, then nobody can!

Also, I have this weird feeling that letting bloodthirsty Feänorians run loose across galaxies and wreak havoc everywhere they went wouldn't necessarily be that good of an idea.

And thank you for the kind words :D

May I present... Caranthir the Dark.

Also, this was so incredibly satisfying to draw, even if it did take just a bit longer than my previous works. Plus it's my best digital piece as of now, and I'm incredibly proud of it!😁

[jockbots]

caranthir and curufin sibling dynamic

C2: Curvo.

C3: Moryo.

C2: Do you own anything not armoured or jewled?

C3: Do you own qnything not black or burgundy?

>~> <_<

[mothdalf]

First one for #MarchofMaedhros! I’ve got some young Nelyafinwë for you-

As a baby and learning to walk with Nerdanel

Learning to read (Tengwar and Sarati since I hc he was born during the transition period)

Helping little Kanafinwë (I like to think they’re close in age and then there’s a bigger gap in between Kano and Tyelkormo)

Learning some metalwork with his Atar

Studying as a teen (I’m not sure if elves have exams but they do have scholars)

I’ve still got so much lined up to post, so stay tuned and keep any Maedhros requests coming in for March!

Click for higher quality

[notesbyash]

05.02.22.

Sitting by the sea seeking solace in The Silmarillion when I should be studying statistics.

By all accounts I have this weekend off, having nothing due for several days, except that I have an exam coming up frightfully quickly and an unfortunately busy schedule lined up for the week ahead. Will likely start on my work soon, given that I brought my laptop, but really who wants to learn about factorial statistics when you can read about the Feänorians instead.

🎶 No Choir - Florence + the Machine

[lya-dustin]

so in the part with sauron where he talks about being converted to an orc, he mentions being one of the first elves, so he is not Feänorian but still a Noldor elf, related some way to Finwë who is the only other first elf patriarch to not have a sibling named besides Círdan.

Alatariel is the quenya version of her name which Celeborn gave her since Galadriel is a Sindarin name. it wouldn't be that they know each other since he's never been to aman and no one knew about him, he is just saying her name in a language the Noldor speak

YESSSSS......

I often write here on tumblr and on my twitter that I think Adar is Maglor

Adar's breastplate is the same as Gil Galad's, which speaks of his Noldor origin and royalty. He has jet black hair like Maglor's. Maglor is the only eldest son of Fianor and generally the only living successor of this house. He calls Galadriel by a name that his relatives could know. It remains to wait when the TV show will say exactly that he is Maglor. We are waiting.

P.sThe second screenshot is my Twitter account

[bihuux]

She spun back as he finally caught up with her, grey eyes filled with panic and dread. Maedhros felt his heart sink.

It was the same expression Aredhel bore when she was stuck on a tree, and keened for her cousin to rescue her; or when Idril found an unmoving bird on the ground, anxious and helpless, anxious for her uncle to help make it better. The thought that she could have been a cousin or even a sister to him was not one he could bear, not with his hands stained with the blood of her kin.

She was so young, still a child by elven standards though her human blood rendered her fully grown, yet physical maturity was never an excuse to put her under the burden of leading a broken people.

He remembered her father, regal and composed until the last moment of his life, but Maedhros could read the fear hidden under his resolution.

In the ruins of Doriath, he was almost relieved to find that the little girl has escaped, only for the news to be sullied by the disappearance of the Silmaril.

He suppressed the Oath, oh how he tried to not connect the dots between Dior's youngest and the jewel, to look away from Sirion, but when whispers spread about a gem of pure light, he could not ignore it further.

The light gleaming from Elwing's tight clutch was more than enough confirmation.

Her eyes were filled with a determination that pained him to see, knowing he was responsible for her hardship, and it pains him more to think of the life she led without protection from her parents, struggling to thrive in the remains of destruction and destitute, this was all we had left her with, what I did to her, another victim by my hand. She held the Silmaril closer to her chest and edged towards the window.

No child should deserve this, he thought, through the Oath's shrieking voice take it, take it, regain what is yours, that which belonged to your father and took your brothers away from you--

Elwing perched on the windowsill, her back leaning outside the window, it was then that Maedhros remembered they were in a tower, in fact quite a tall tower given the number of stairs he climbed chasing after her, and she was dangerously close to tipping over…

"Lady, whatever you're doing, it's not worth it."

"That is not up for you to decide."

"There is still a chance, if you would just come down, it is not too late."

"There is none left for me," her breath hitched as she shifted on the narrow ledge, but her focus unfaltering, "you should have known. You left me with no choice the moment you came here."

The soldiers arrived here, just outside the door, waiting for their lord's command. Any moment now, with a simple hand gesture, they would strike, trained to move as fast as hunting hounds, but would it be fast enough to catch her? Elwing's position is already precarious, any sudden movement could break the balance.

“Please,” he slowly laid down his sword and raise his arms, she traced his every movement intently, but not getting closer. “I promise no more harm will come to you, or your family. I will do everything in my power to keep you safe.”

He paused. “Whatever you want, I will do what is within my power to give.”

“Yet you are here to take the one thing I have.”

“No, not all is lost. You still have your children, and they need you.”

The tension in the room suddenly was stiflingly thick. Her face was drained of color, yet venom seethed from her voice.

“You dare to lay a hand on my children? Foul monster, villain, you are no better than the Enemy,” she spat, “What have you done to them?”

“Nothing,” he responded, “but you would not believe me, would you? I can ensure you that no harm will come their way, if only you would promise not to harm yourself.”

She laughed a bitter laugh, “Only a Feänorian would spur such elaborate lies!

“Who do you think I am, to fall for your deceit and treachery? We are of no use to you once you get what you want.”

“I fare thee well, King of the Dispossessed. May our paths never cross in the afterlife.” She leaned back, and Maedhros’ hope sank with her.

3/5 Edit: posted on ao3 as well!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/37524763