#feanor s mom

[thelien-art]

Miriel Therinde

I´m curently working on a background for her as I feel like I need a new computer background and Tumblr header but here she is finished by just herself :)

[thelandswemadeofpaper]

Another Feanor and Rhaenyra Parallel

I caught myself wondering the parallels of Feanor pointing his sword at Fingolfin and Luke taking Aemond's eye out

Of course HOTD was worse, a child lost his eye, while Feanor just pointed a sword at his adult half-brother, but there are similiarities, one of them begin Finwe taking Feanor (older child from first wife)'s side

But I now have this idea of this happening in Silm, maybe not the sons, but between the grandchildren of Finwe

A descendant of Miriel taking a descendant of Indis's eye out in a fight

Maedhros and Fingolfin? To keep the 'uncle and nephew' theme?

Maedhros and Finarfin? Since Aemond is the youngest son?

Maedhros and Fingon? Because of their friendship?

Celegorm and Finrod? To make Nargothrond more dramatic

Celebrimbor? And who? Galadriel?

But why? What would be their 'Vhagar'? What they possible could do similar? Start embroidering? It need to be something Indis's kid 'stole' from Miriel's kid mom?

[the-elusive-soleil]

Okay, all I wanted to know what which Quenya words originally had þ instead of s, and instead I stumbled on this thing, and now I need to make it other people's problem.

So I knew a large part of why Feanor was so...twitchy about the þ vs. s thing was because of his mom's name, Miriel þerinde. What I did not know was that, while the verb þer- means "to sew", which means that "þerinde" is "seamstress", there was also a verb ser- before the þer- verb changed.

The original ser- means "to rest". So after the pronunciation shift, "Serinde" could mean either "seamstress" or "she who rests".

Considering that Feanor lost his mom because giving birth to him took so much out of her that she essentially had to permanently rest...I can see why this would be such an incredibly sore point with him.

It's not just about "hey, quit mispronouncing my mom's name", it's about "quit calling my mom 'the one who couldn't hack it and had to go away forever' and use the name that describes her as a craftswoman, you complete troglodytes".

[polutrope]

Beleria New Year's Eve Special!

For the modern AU holiday prompts. Seven prompts combined into one big New Year's bash.

Relationships: Daeron/Maglor, Fingon/Maedhros, Aegnor/Andreth, Edhellos/Angrod, Celeborn/Galadriel, Feanor & Fingolfin Characters: All of the above and Nerdanel, Finarfin, Earwen, Anaire, Rumil, Orodreth. Rating: T Warnings: Swearing, sexual content, recreational drinking and drunkenness Words: ~5.6k

On AO3. Beleria Cast of Characters

Maglor propped his elbows on his knees and leaned over the board. If he moved the bishop to take Daeron’s pawn, he’d expose his rook in three moves; but no, that would expose his other bishop first.

“Oh my god just make a move already,” Daeron complained. He threw himself dramatically over the arm of his chair.

“Shh,” said Maglor. “I’m thinking.”

“You think too long. Just make a move.”

“Fine.” Maglor took the pawn. Two seconds later, Daeron took his bishop with a knight.

“Goddammit!” said Maglor. “I’m so bad at this.”

“You’re not going to win,” Daeron said without mockery.

“Maybe not, but I’m still seeing it through to the bitter end.”

Daeron sighed loudly. “I think one of your New Year’s resolutions should be knowing when to quit.”

“Yeah? Are we writing each other’s resolutions now? Fine.” Maglor withdrew his attention from the game and considered. “I think you should resolve to have more fun.”

“What? I have plenty of fun. We’re playing a game right now. Games are fun, aren’t they?”

“We’re playing chess, on New Year’s Eve when everyone is out getting drunk and kissing people they shouldn’t.”

“Is that what you want to be doing? Kissing people you shouldn’t?” Daeron pouted.

“No.” Maglor grinned. “Just you, Dae-bae.”

Daeron rolled his eyes at this, and just as Maglor was considering leaning over the coffee table to grab him and demonstrate the veracity of his statement, his phone buzzed against the tabletop.

Maedhros SOS. Dad’s at the party. Sunday, Dec 31 • 8:05 p.m.

“Oh shit,” Maglor said aloud. He began typing a reply.

“What is it?” Daeron asked.

“It’s my brother.” Maglor glanced up from his phone. “Maedhros,” he clarified. “Remember I told you he and Fingon were going to that big New Year’s party hosted by Hithlum Properties at the Lómin Hotel?”

“Yes…”

“Well apparently my dad went.”

“Oh,” said Daeron.

Though Maglor tried his best to guard his boyfriend from the family feud disguised as a property development war between his father — the adopted, but elder, child — and grandpa Finwë’s biological firstborn, Daeron was, after a year of living together and six months in a relationship, well-aware of the significance and danger of Fëanor and Fingolfin being in the same room.

“Why??” Daeron asked.

“I have no idea, just asking my brother now.”

Maedhros Rúmil talked him it. Something about networking and a promising investor for the app. I dont know. But he’s here with mom talked him into it*

Maglor chuckled, recognising in the missing punctuation and typos the signs that Maedhros was approaching a state of inebriation.

Maglor Shit. how’s it going?

Maedhros they haven’t spoke to each other yet. spoken* we’re gonna get out here before it gets bad out of*

Maglor Gonna bail on the big party hey? Where?

Maedhros Finarfin and Eärwen;s place Angrod and co are having a party there

Maglor You’re gonna go to a house party with a bunch of 20 year olds?

Maedhros Shut up. Maybe I’ll forget about my rapid aceleration towards death Acceleration*

Maglor More likely you’ll be made acutely aware of it

Maedhros Come pick us up.

Maglor huffed and shook his head.

“What’s going on?” Daeron asked.

“One sec,” said Maglor.

Unappeased, Daeron stood and came round to plop himself at Maglor’s right and read over his shoulder.

“No, we are absolutely not picking them up,” he said.

Maglor No way. Take a cab. Daeron and I are having a quiet New Year’s in.

Maedhros Come on its like a 50km drive

“I’m not going,” Daeron said decisively.

Maglor pressed a quick kiss to his cheek before typing his reply.

Maglor And how do you intend for us to get home? If I’m gonna go to a house party with a bunch of estranged cousins ten plus years younger than me then no way am I not drinking.

Maedhros Angrod says everyone’s staying over. Finarfin and Eärwen are here at the hotel, they won’t be there til tomorrow. House is ours.

Maglor lowered the phone and folded one leg onto the couch, pivoting his body to face Daeron, who was frowning deeply.

“Okay,” said Maglor, setting both hands on Daeron’s thighs and affecting his most alluring puppy-dog eyes. “Before you say no — again — hear me out.”

*

When he spotted Rúmil at the coat check, Fëanor waved off a passing caterer and strode confidently towards his friend.

“There you are,” he said, forcing his way into the pleasantries Rúmil was presently exchanging with some young man in an obviously-rented suit.

“Ah, Fëanáro!” Rúmil exclaimed, his eyes alight beneath the droop of his wrinkled lids. He had always looked old, even back when they had met in university, but he wore his age well, appearing more wizened than weary. “You came! I suppose I owe thanks to your lovely wife?”

“You two always did enjoy uniting against me,” Fëanor said jovially, then drew his mouth back into a line. “So where is this investor?”

“Oh, he’s here.” Rúmil winked as he handed his coat to the clerk. Then he took Fëanor’s arm just above the elbow and guided him towards the centre of the hall.

Rúmil paused along the way, shaking hands with every other cluster of people they passed. He was a good business partner, Fëanor admitted. Frankly he was the only person alive Fëanor could still tolerate collaborating with, besides Nerdanel. But Rúmil, whom Fëanor had met as an undergraduate during his brief flirtation with the humanities, was an Ideas Man. Not particularly driven towards results and the perfection of those ideas (which was why he’d retired last year without ever making full professor). Results, then, were Fëanor’s role in the development of the app — a highly intelligent business communications translation tool — that they had been working on for the past year. For his efforts, it was agreed that seventy percent of all profits would go to Fëanor. Income he greatly needed if Ambar Metta was to claw out of its legal debts.

Catching sight of his son across the room, Fëanor frowned. Maedhros had been one of those people he’d tolerated collaborating with, when he’d been the company’s chief legal officer. Then the young man presently clasping Maedhros’ shoulder and doubling over with uninhibited laughter had stuffed his head full of values. The only value a corporation needed to uphold, in Fëanor’s opinion, was the cash value of its bottom line.

Well. He supposed he was glad Maedhros had not altogether turned against him: he was doing good work building community relationships for the company now. Fëanor just hoped it wouldn’t come at too high a cost.

And, as baffling as it was to Fëanor that a spawn of Fingolfin Noldoran could make a pleasant conversation partner, never mind a satisfactory domestic partner (or whatever new-fangled thing they called one another) Fingon still seemed to make Maedhros happy after all these years. And Maedhros’ happiness was, Fëanor admitted, also a valuable thing. He’d come to accept the change.

Turning his gaze from his son and smiling to himself, Fëanor sipped from his champagne flute. As he lowered it, his eyes landed on someone his heart would never, so long as he lived, be moved to accept.

The evening’s gracious host smugly grinning down at him.

“Fingolfin,” Fëanor said coldly.

Before Fëanor could react, Fingolfin had seized his hand and was giving it a firm shake. Fëanor drew back as if he had been burned.

Fingolfin’s expression betrayed no acknowledgement of the slight. “Brother,” he said. (The audacity!) “I am so glad you came!”

“Please do not call me that,” Fëanor whispered through clenched teeth. “I’ve never had a brother.”

He felt Rúmil’s long fingers curl around his shoulder and was aware at the same time of Nerdanel’s auburn head making its way through the crowd towards them. She flanked his other side.

“So, I suppose Rúmil told you?” Fingolfin said.

Told him what? Fëanor wondered, beetling his brows. But Fingolfin did not wait for answer.

“As a lifelong admirer of your business acumen, I am needless to say thrilled that we will finally be working together. Mr. Finvesen.” Fingolfin winked and an image of his champagne breaking over those chiselled cheekbones flashed across Fëanor’s mind.

“What do you mean?” asked Fëanor. “Is this some kind of joke? I have no intention of working with Hithlum Properties.”

Fingolfin laughed but looked nervous. “No! On the app! Rúmil,” he finally released Fëanor’s eyes to look at the other man, “don’t tell me you failed to mention my name.”

Fëanor had lurched to the obvious and odious conclusion before Fingolfin had finished speaking. “You are the investor?” He jerked out of Rúmil’s grasp and cut a glance at Nerdanel. “And you both knew this?” Nerdanel opened her mouth to speak but Fëanor cut her short (that would cost him dearly but his blood boiled too hot to care). “No,” he said, raising a hand to silence them all. “I will not abide this indignity. I do not need your charity, Noldoran.”

“Charity!” Fingolfin chuckled, a little too shrilly. “Is it charity to invest in a brilliant concept?”

“I don’t need your flattery, either,” Fëanor snarled. “What is your game here, Fingolfin? You think Finwë’s restless ghost is waiting for our reconciliation? Hm? Leave it be already. He’s a corpse in the ground on the other side of the world.” Fingolfin’s lips and the skin around his eyes twitched, betraying his distress. Good: That had been Fëanor’s intent.

“Unhand me!” he said to Rúmil and Nerdanel, though neither of them had a hand on him. “I will not do business with this man.” He jabbed a finger in Fingolfin’s direction. “I don’t care how much money he lays out in front of us like a greasy block of cheese, as though we were some mangy rats he wants to entrap in his network of ‘friends’. I am not his friend and I never will be.”

With that, Fëanor spun on his heels and stormed out of the hall and did not stop until he was standing outside the hotel in the dark drizzly night without a coat.

*

In the passenger seat of Maglor’s hatchback, Daeron impatiently bonked the headrest with the back of his skull and slumped lower in the chair.

“Where are they?” he complained.

He needed to get to a place with wine as soon as possible, and that place was still an hour’s drive away. An hour that he would spend tying himself in knots speculating on every possible social misstep he could make that evening among dozens of people he’d never met before. He could not believe he was doing this. But ultimately it had been impossible to refuse a whole week without having to prepare a single meal — plus certain… other favours he had negotiated.

Maglor frowned and pressed his palms into the steering wheel. “I don’t know. Maybe I should go in and find them…”

“Yes,” Daeron agreed. “Do that.”

“But if anyone sees me—”

“Put your hood up,” Daeron said, and did for Maglor as he’d suggested. Then he pulled sunglasses from the ceiling compartment. “And wear these.”

“Ow—” said Maglor, as an arm of the sunglasses nearly struck his eye. “I’m not wearing these,” he said, pushing Daeron’s hand away. “Fine, I’ll go in. But I’m warning you — it could be a while if anyone spots me.”

“Fine. I’ll be taking a nap,” said Daeron. He reclined his seat and put the sunglasses on his own face. Maglor sighed, then the door thumped shut behind him.

No more than two minutes could have passed when his heart nearly launched itself from his chest at the sound of fingers tapping at the window.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, and sat bolt upright. The shadow of a face obscured most of the driver’s side window. Daeron yanked the sunglasses off.

“Yes?” he said, affecting as much calm as he could. “Can I help you?”

The stranger mouthed some unintelligible words and pointed at the seat. Then the door swung open.

Daeron recoiled. “Get out!” he screamed.

“Oh, sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” the stranger said in a polished, level voice. “I’m Fëanor.” A long hand plunged out of the dark and into Daeron’s personal space. “And you must be Daeron. Pleased to finally meet you.”

“Uh, hi,” said Daeron, and not knowing what else to do accepted Fëanor’s handshake.

Fëanor gave an approving grunt. “A solid handshake, that’s a good sign.”

“Excuse me?”

“Never mind,” Fëanor laughed. “I apologise for barging in on you like this. I assumed it was my son when I saw his car and had to find out what he was doing out here— he came with you I assume? Where is he?” Daeron opened his mouth to answer but Fëanor forged ahead. “But when I saw you there, well easy enough to put together who you were, and I have been dying to meet you. I was beginning to wonder if Cáno had made you up to get us all to stop trying to set him up with someone. We just wanted him to stop moping around! Which is why I knew he hadn’t made you up, because he stopped moping. As much.”

Fëanor chuckled. Daeron did not. He decided not to remind Fëanor that they had, in fact, met already — the day Daeron signed the lease to rent the room in Maglor’s place. But then he was just a tenant, not his son’s boyfriend.

“Yep,” Daeron said, “believe it not, I’m really dating your mopey son.”

Fëanor let loose a peal of laughter.

“A solid handshake and a dry wit! I like you already, Daeron. Isn’t it funny, though, that my two eldest sons are dating the sons of the two men in Beleria who cause me the most grief? By the way,” Fëanor pivoted towards him, “why didn’t your father come to this soirée of Fingolfin’s?” Fëanor smiled smugly as if this pleased him. “I suppose the Mayor of Beleria is in high demand on a night like this, though. Did Elu have somewhere better to be?”

“Uh, no, actually,” said Daeron. “He’s at home.”

“I see,” Fëanor said, and smoothed his tie. “Not giving any special speeches for the people or anything?”

“Nope,” said Daeron.

“Interesting. Elu is usually into that sort of thing, isn’t he? Pandering to the masses?”

Daeron scowled.

Fëanor laughed again. “Good, good. I like people who wear their feelings plainly. You’re a very transparent person, I can see why Cáno likes you.”

“Thanks?” Daeron said, half-sincere. No one had ever remarked on this trait of his positively before.

“He’s rather transparent, too, you know. That could be a problem between you.” He puckered his lips thoughtfully and looked Daeron up and down. “Just make sure you remain your own people. Separate entities, don’t bleed into each other. That’s what happened with his ex-husband. He was a musician, too, as I am sure Cáno has told you.” Maglor had told Daeron, at more length than Daeron thought necessary. He was not keen on hearing about it again from his father. “They were in the same band — don’t start a band with him!”

“Oh, there’s no risk of that,” said Daeron. “I only do solo work.”

“Good! I am an individual competitor myself. Everyone tells you you have to be a ‘team player’ to do well in life.” Fëanor wagged a finger. “Wrong. You have to be a strong leader. You have to know your ideals and stick to them. Actually, before I came out here for a breath of fresh air, I was put in a very unpleasant situation by a fellow I am ‘collaborating’ on something with—”

“Dad??” The driver’s door swung open to reveal Maglor, mouth gaping in an expression of horror and concern. “What are you doing in my car?”

“Oh, hello, Cáno,” Fëanor said cheerfully. “I was just getting to know your boyfriend you’ve refused to introduce me to.”

Maglor’s protest was cut off by Fingon, then Maedhros, piling into the backseat, laughing.

“Hello!” said Fëanor, craning his neck to look at them. “Are you two leaving already?”

Daeron could not see, but he could feel the despair settle into the sudden silence behind him.

“Don’t look so horrified, Nelyo,” Fëanor said. “I wish I could leave this damn party! All right, all right, I know when I’m not wanted!” He swung one leg out of the car and turned his body back to shake Daeron’s hand. “Very nice to meet you, Daeron. We’ll have to continue this conversation again soon. Good night! Good night, Cáno,” he said as he stood and gave Maglor, still stunned, a quick embrace. “Good night Nelyo, Fingon, happy New Year!”

He trotted back into the hotel, arms swinging at his sides but visibly shivering.

“I’m so sorry,” Maglor said. He was pale with panic. “Are you okay? What did he say to you?”

“It’s fine,” said Daeron, and chuckled. “He seems like an interesting guy. I think we’ll get along well, actually.”

Maglor’s eyes widened while his mouth contracted into a tight ball. He looked deeply perturbed by this idea.

“Come on!” Fingon shouted from the backseat. “Let’s go!”

*

“They really need to build a bridge here,” said Orodreth. He huffed impatiently. The tunnel was backed up for kilometres, bumper-to-bumper traffic crawling down the Sirion Expressway. He just wanted to be home. Well, his parents’ home, which was the only permanent home he had.

The drive from the base at Minas Tirith had been a nightmare. Having already missed Yule after his deployment was extended by a week, he and Lorneth had then been stuck at the base for two days due to a blizzard. When they finally got out, there’d been a road closure on the Sirion that had them zig-zagging through the countryside for three hours longer than it should have taken them. And, of course, entering Beleria and nine p.m. on New Year’s eve meant going through three DUI checkpoints. (“No, officer, we don’t drink. Just going home, sir. Asleep before midnight if we can manage it, sir.”)

No, Orodreth was not ‘fun’, and that was how he liked it.

Thirty minutes later, they rounded the bend toward the cul-de-sac where Finarfin and Eärwen had the sprawling beach home he and his siblings had grown up in.

“Someone must be having a party,” Lorneth said. “Look at all these cars parked.”

Orodreth grunted. “Hopefully not one of the neighbours.”

But as they drew nearer to the house, a feeling of dread took root in his stomach.

Lorneth voiced his fear. “No, not a neighbour. Looks like it’s at… your place.”

Indeed, rolling slowly past the packed driveway, the house pumped so loudly with music he could feel it through the car’s metal casing.

“Fucking hell,” he said.

*

Aegnor slumped further into the Adirondack chair on the deck and tugged his wool coat across his chest. It was a beautifully clear night. Thanks to the shot of whisky Fingon had insisted they take to inaugurate the auspicious arrival of a “former party king, out of retirement for one night only!”, the stars glittering over the dark ocean swam in and out of focus. It reminded Aegnor of a painting. Straining to hear the slow rise and retreat of waves against the shore, he was almost able to tune out Angrod and Fingon’s karaoke rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody as it deteriorated into chaotic screaming.

“Mind if I join you?”

Aegnor startled and looked towards the voice. It was the cute brunette he’d been stealing glances at all evening. Words congealed on his tongue.

“Yeah, sure,” he managed.

Stay cool, he thought to himself. Unlike his siblings, Aegnor was terrible with girls. He knew he was, objectively, attractive enough, but he was entirely lacking the charisma that came so naturally to everyone in his family. Well, except Orodreth: but Orodreth had found himself a marine as boring as he was to marry and that was that.

“I’m Andreth,” the woman said, slanting him a smile.

“Aegnor,” said Aegnor.

“Yeah, I know.”

“You do?” Aegnor sat upright.

Andreth shrugged and took a moderate sip from her red plastic cup. “Edhellos gave me everyone’s names.”

“Oh. Are you friends with my sister?”

“I have a class with Galadriel, yeah. But I mostly know Edhellos. She wanted me at the party as her wingman. But seems she’s doing fine without me.”

That was when Aegnor noticed a woman’s voice had replaced Fingon’s on the mic. There was more giggling than singing on her part.

“Yeah,” said Aegnor, and smiled. “If it’s my brother she’s after she won’t have any trouble with that.”

Andreth’s laughter wasn’t like most girls’ Aegnor’s age — all high and airy. It was genuine, a little wry, a soft low roll of amusement. He felt like a helplessly flopping fish being reeled into her orbit. Realising that half his torso was, in fact, reaching towards her, he pulled back sheepishly.

“So what class are you taking with my sister?” he asked, for the sake of saying something, but also because he was bursting with the desire to know everything he could about this person.

“Existentialism,” she said.

“Wow,” said Aegnor, then idiotically added, “you’re really smart.”

Andreth laughed again but didn’t deny it. “What do you do?”

“I, uh…” I’m a dumb jock, Aegnor thought. Definitely not good enough for you. “I play volleyball.” He didn’t mention it was for the varsity team. People tended to judge when they found out their athletic fees went towards your tuition.

“Cool,” she said, and the clenching beneath Aegnor’s ribs loosened when she didn’t scowl in distaste. “Your family is pretty athletic, huh?”

“Yeah, they are. Except Finrod. My oldest brother. He’s not here. I think you’d like him. He’s into deep shit, too.”

Then Andreth did scowl. A charming sort of scowl. “I don’t know, I find most philosopher types pretty annoying. Besides, what’s the point of filling your life with people who are just the same as you?”

Aegnor stared at her, seeing his own reflection in her big round glasses. His hair hung in his face, and he had a stupid grin plastered across it, but the openness, the warmth of Andreth’s expression put him entirely at ease.

She sipped her drink again without breaking eye contact, then licked a dribble of red wine from her lips. “Wanna go for a walk?” she asked.

Aegnor leapt up from his seat, and his head spun with the suddenness of the motion. “Yes, definitely!”

*

Fingolfin found his brother on the balcony, his forearms resting casually on the railing as he contemplated the street below.

“I don’t know why you bother with him,” Finarfin said, straightening. His bright green eyes caught the glow of the city light.

“You saw, eh?” Fingolfin sipped his champagne.

“Heard more than saw,” said Finarfin. “What was it about this time?”

“I extend my hand for him to take!” Fingolfin replied, exasperated. “I offer my help, and he hates me even more.”

“What did you do?”

Fingolfin sighed. “I offered to invest in his project. His translation app.”

“Oof.” Finarfin shook his head. “What were you thinking?”

“What do you mean? I thought to show my admiration of his ideas, I thought to build a relationship with him around something that wasn’t real estate-related.”

“You insulted him,” Finarfin said.

“How?!”

“Come, don’t be so naive. You think he wants your charity?”

“Charity. That’s what he said.”

“You know,” said Finarfin, “if you’re looking to dispose of money you have a brother whose always in need of producers.”

“I’ve told you before I’m glad to support your ideas, any of them.”

“Good! Because I was thinking of making a short documentary about the housing crisis in Beleria…”

Fingolfin glared down at him, and Finarfin grinned.

“I’m kidding, of course. I have no interest in getting involved in any issues, least of all yours. Nope. I’ll stick to the important stuff: staying behind the camera making romantic comedies to keep the masses distracted while my brothers pull at the edges of a fraying society.”

“Arvo…”

“I know, I know. You’re different.”

“I am,” Fingolfin asserted, as much for himself as for his brother. “In fact, I have been thinking of resolutions.”

“Have you?”

“Yes — and I think in the New Year I am going to conduct a company review. See if we can afford to do what I’ve always wanted, since the beginning. Affordable housing.”

“Really? That’s what you’ve always wanted?”

“Yes. And — I was thinking of mentoring one of my senior staff as a replacement and making a transition to politics. Elu has hinted that he intends to retire after his current term. I’d like to run for Mayor.”

“Huh,” said Finarfin. “That sounds like a great way to butt heads with Fëanor ten times more often than you already do.”

“Maybe I could inspire him to change, push him towards a more benevolent—”

Finarfin laughed, loudly.

“What’s so funny?” said a new voice.

Behind them, Fëanor loomed, arms crossed over his chest.

“Oh hello, Fëanáro!” said Finarfin. “We were just talking about you.”

Fingolfin shot him a look. “We were not. Finarfin is drunk.”

“I wish,” Finarfin muttered, and frowned into his empty glass.

“Never mind, I don’t care,” said Fëanor, and flicked a dismissive hand in Finarfin’s direction. “I’d like to talk to you about your investment offer,” he said to Fingolfin, jutting his jaw forward proudly.

Fingolfin nearly dropped his drink. “Oh?”

“Yes. I’ve had a moment to consider.” (He’d spoken to Nerdanel, Fingolfin guessed, and had to bite his cheeks to keep from smiling.) “And I think it might be a sensible…” he squinted, as if the next word pained him— “partnership.”

*

Even though Celeborn had come to this party expressly to talk to Galadriel, it had taken him two hours to work up the courage to do so.

“Hey,” he said, coming to stand beside her. “I saw your drink was empty, and I uh, got you another one.”

He held out the cup for her to take. Vodka soda, right?” he confirmed, even though he’d conducted thorough research beforehand.

“Do I know you?” she asked, looking him up and down.

A lump of dismay lodged in Celeborn’s throat. But of course, why would she remember him? He might have been thinking of her for weeks, he might have contrived to find himself at this party for the sole purpose of crossing paths with her again, but she was… well, way out of his league, like Galathil had said. He wished he could sink through the floor.

“Yeah,” he managed to squeak. “We met at the Nordic spa, a few weeks ago. It was your birthday, I think.”

“Oh!” Recognition lit up her face and she accepted the drink. “Right, I remember. Tel-something, right?”

“Celeborn,” he said, and heaved a sigh of relief. “Yeah.”

“Nice to see you again, Celeborn. How’ve you been?”

*

“I don’t do karaoke,” Daeron had said, when Maglor had tried, shortly after their arrival, to drag him to the stage set up in the corner of one large room.

Some time later (who knew how long, time had blurred about half-way through the third beer), Daeron bounced beside him, belting, “Hey, I just met you, and this is crazy! But here’s my number, so call me maybe?” while Maglor’s attempts at harmonising were increasingly marred by fits of laughter. The alcohol helped, certainly, but Daeron was no less immune to the thrilling effects of an approving audience than Maglor.

After Angrod had disappeared with that vapid redhead and Fingon had escorted his sloshed redhead away from the festivities (Maglor had not seen Maedhros let loose like that for years and was happy both that his brother was having fun and that he would be Fingon’s problem in the morning), no one had contested Maglor and Daeron’s monopoly of the karaoke equipment. Which was good, because Maglor had no intention of ceding the spotlight to anyone else — besides, of course, Daeron.

*

“I’m worried,” Anairë said, then scraped an olive from her martini stick with her teeth. She chewed it thoughtfully.

“Oh, forget about them, girl!” Eärwen gave her a light smack. “Arvo will keep them under control.”

“I don’t know, they seem to be completely unaware of your husband’s existence,” Nerdanel said to Eärwen.

“Poor Arvo,” said Eärwen. “Maybe I should rescue him…”

“No.” Nerdanel extended one long braceleted arm to stop the other woman from stepping forward. “You’re right. He’s a tempering influence, even if they are ignoring him.”

“I can’t tell if they’re arguing or aggressively agreeing,” said Anairë, squinting. “The latter seems extremely unlikely, but…”

“One can hope,” said Nerdanel.

*

“Eeee!” Edhellos squealed, and stamped her feet excitedly.

“What was that about?” Angrod smirked at the delightfully rosy-cheeked girl he’d just pinned against the back of his bedroom door.

“I can’t believe it’s happening!” she gushed.

“What?” Angrod asked, though he had some idea. He nuzzled at her neck to bury his smug expression.

“You’re gonna be my midnight kiss!”

“I plan to be doing more than kissing you by then,” said Angrod, and dropped to his knees. His hands lingered over the curve of her ass. “God, you’re so hot.”

*

Across the bay, a single firework boomed and burst into a hundred golden rays.

“Must be almost midnight,” said Andreth. It was the first thing they’d said to each other in a while — ever since their hands had somehow found each other on the log between them.

“Mmhmm,” said Aegnor. He thought about checking the time on his phone but was too scared to move and break the spell of the moment.

“You wanna go back to the party for the countdown?” Andreth asked.

“I don’t think we’d have time,” Aegnor said.

“No, probably not,” said Andreth, and shuffled closer to him so their shoulders brushed.

Aegnor held his breath.

*

“Ger ready, folks! One minute to midnight!” a musician announced from the small stage at the front of the hall.

Anairë tutted. “This is his party, Fingolfin should be leading the countdown.”

“Shh. Leave them,” said Nerdanel, attention rapt on their husbands still locked in conversation.

*

“Well,” said Finarfin, pocketing his phone. “It’s almost midnight, I’m gonna go kiss my wife.”

Fëanor and Fingolfin were far too intent on each other to notice him leave.

*

“Hey guys! Twenty seconds to midnight!” someone screamed over the music.

“Shit!” said Maglor, abruptly interrupting a very entertaining rendition of Single Ladies.

“Someone dim the lights!” Daeron shouted.

“Ten, nine, eight…” Maglor yelled into the mic, a few seconds off.

*

“Do you hear that?” Angrod asked between gasps. “I think it’s midnight.”

Edhellos bent over him and shoved her tongue down his throat.

*

“… seven, six…”

Celeborn stared ahead, his cheeks bright pink.

“You okay?” said Galadriel.

“Hm?” he said as she tugged on his hand.

“…five, four…”

Not bothering to wait out the last three seconds, Galadriel grabbed his face between her hands and kissed him, drawing a surprised squeak from his throat that quickly slid into an adoring sigh as his hand found her waist.

*

“… three, two…”

“Why is everyone shouting?” Maedhros groaned, blearily blinking awake to see Fingon sprawled beside him on a strange bed. “Shit, did I fall asleep?”

“You did.” Fingon handed him a glass of water. Rivulets dribbled down Maedhros’ neck as he poured it back.

“Ugh. I really can’t do this anymore.”

“No. But I love you any way.” Fingon kissed his mouth, which must have tasted awful. “Happy new year, babe.”

“…one.”

*

A bouquet of fireworks exploded over the lights of Beleria in the distance, and nothing had ever seemed more natural to Aegnor than leaning in to push his fingers into Andreth’s dark hair and capturing her lips in a kiss.

*

“Happy New Year!!” chorused a hundred voices.

“My god, is it midnight already?” said Fëanor, pressing a hand to Fingolfin’s chest in his surprise. He had not realised they were standing so close.

“Guess so.” Fingolfin laughed.

“Well, brother,” said Fëanor, holding out a hand, “shall we seal our deal with a midnight handshake?”

A reckless, wicked smile, one he had never before seen, now leapt to life on Fingolfin’s face. “Am I not good enough for a kiss?” he said, and before Fëanor could protest Fingolfin had him in both arms, swooping him low and planting a firm kiss to his lips.

*

“Oh my god,” said Anairë. “Are you seeing—”

But she didn’t finish because Nerdanel’s lips had sealed off her throat.

*

It had been sloppy and broken up by giggles, but Maglor could not remember a more exhilarating kiss in his life.

He stared at Daeron. Daeron stared back. It was strange: they’d lived together a year, been sleeping together half that time, and yet, perhaps because of the haste and ease with which they’d fallen into a domestic rhythm, they’d neglected many of the customary milestones of a new romance.

Maglor said it first. “I love you.”

“Really?”

Maglor laughed. “Yes, really. Obviously.”

When Daeron continued to stare, Maglor nudged him. “Well? Are you gonna say you love me?”

“Yeah. Just… kiss me again first.”

“Gladly,” said Maglor, and did so, longer and less messily this time. Someone in the crowd whooped.

“Happy New Year,” Daeron said when they pulled apart. “I love you.”

The prompts for this were: Daeron/Maglor + Board games from @searchingforserendipity25 and same + Enduring the in-laws from @melestasflight (who also requested Russingon hooking up), Orodreth/His Partner + Winter driving from @acretosorien, Feanor & Fingolfin + Kissing at midnight (it's platonic) and Fingolfin & Siblings + Reflections and resolutions from @ettelene, and Aegnor/Andreth + Kissing at midnight from @emyn-arnens. I also included some bonus follow-up on this fill for Celeborn/Galadriel and Angrod/Edhellos. Whew!

[tar-thelien]

Is Miriel (Feanor´s mom) a silver girly or a gold girly? Asking for a friend...

And any ideas for what gemstones (or just color scheme) she would wear?

[raointean]

Funniest responses* to the "What does "Mary Sue/Gary Stu" mean?" question

(In reference to my silmarillion fandom linguistics project, the results of which you can find in my "survey says" tag)

*not necessarily the full response, some are just fragments from longer responses. Also, I'm not filtering by "correct" or "incorrect" responses

Like a China doll that has been polished so much it’s face has worn off.

an overly idealized self-insert, one who exerts a black-hole like effect on the surrounding story and characters

Typically a derisive term.

It's like, an OC in a fic who is written to be "too perfect". All the canon characters fall in love romantically or platonically with the Sue/Stu, and they're given uncompelling and unexplainable abilities to solve all problems and be better than anyone else in the story. Often associated with self-insert OCs.

Everyone likes them. They're often instantly good at anything they try. The narrative's darling

Mary Sues are way more common than Gary Stus because people like to shit on girls having fun i guess

even my mom has heard about this one)

Often has a tragic backstory and unusual physical features

Very op character, too flawless (luthien)

OC

often this is used pejoratively against self-insert characters

everyone likes them (except the villain for arbitrary reasons)

Originated from Star Trek fan fiction

May have a comically tragic backstory. Usually in a relationship with the authors favorite character. May be a canon character a fan author has twisted beyond recognition.

Annoyingly perfect female protagonist (Mary Sue been used to mock and belittle stories about women. I've never seen Gary Stu in actual use: male characters with the exact same abilities are just 'strong')

Unrealistic, overpowered, or flawless main character, usually assumed to be a self-insert for the author. However some of the best characters are Sues and Stus, so the term is considered not very nuanced

has little canonical reason for being Like That excepting that it makes the author happy.

A term for an overpowered wish-fulfillment avatar

with a host of "desirable" traits (lustrous hair, shining eyes (sorry I mean orbs))

Overpowered perfect character in a bad story; always negative

Sweet harmless prim rule-following vanilla

super over powered oc who the plot revolves around usually female sometimes self-insert blah blah misogyny. i don't think this term should hold much weight.

idealised character, probably original. Think it was invented by people who enjoyed bullying younger writers on LJ

Batman, gender swapped, would be accused of being a Mary Sue.

they have no flaws except that "theyre just too perfect and thats hard uwu (sad face)"

Sue if female, Stu if male

An OC who is better at everything than the existing characters, unusually beautiful, and often "fixes" all the difficult/sad parts of the plot by Being Amazing and Knowing Everything. Usually written by immature writers. "Tenth Walker" fics and "So-and-so's other/secret daughter" fics are nearly always "Mary Sue" stories. (Also a phrse that gets thrown at any interesting and powerful female character by insecure and sexist men.)

Overpowered (often self insert) character that is loved by everyone

The feminine is much more often used, because sexism

I think the term was often used in a very demeaning way in the past, but it can still be s useful term in modern fandom

Self-insert in an overdone, heroine kind of way. Was originally a derogatory term, but diesnt really have much reason to be.

overpowered, flawless character who has reasonable justification for every Really Stupid decision they make

warp the plot and other characters around them due to their need to be The Most Awesome

Also Feanor

(and also no one ever wants to admit canon characters are already Like That, especially in comics)

for example, a girl's only "flaw" is that she's so small and petite she needs help from the big strong male character. This could be developed into a "serious" flaw with her easily becoming codependent, but with a Mary Sue, this idea would not be pursued (#226)

As for Gary Stus, I think I would also consider a male character a Gary Stu who NEVER shows emotion but still gets the girl in the end. (#226 cont.)

I think the terms are very gender stereotypical in their nature so it kind of makes sense that the descriptions I gave play into those same stereotypes - not to say this shouldn't be questioned, but when I'm asked to define a Mary Sue/Gary Stu, it's very connected to gender stereotypes to me. (#226 cont.)

self-inserty character... over cool

Special Origins (mixed race, super powers, one of a kind etc)

Term used by haters to criticize a character they interpret to lack flaws but without having to do any literary analysis.

A negative connotation word about a character who is unbelievably talented

not every op character is a ms/gs, only the ones that are perfect

(disproportionately applied to women)

someone with a level of pilot-armor so thick it breaks immersion

Bunnies hop at their feet. Darkness flies before their sunny aura. And then everyone appplauds

A self insert character with a protagonist halo

Practically perfect in every way

usually get a romance with The Blorbo

You're asking for an essay here...

Often feels like someone's first D&D character.

considering the source material, I wouldn't use it for a silm fic

I kind of enjoy these sometimes lol

A self insert in a fandom who is you but the idealized version to an unintentionally hilarious degree, often to the point of being awkward and poorly written, “passed off” as an OC

Often associated with preteens (writers and characters)

Central common traits include lack of consequences, unjustified competence or skill, and poor social skills.

what if i was the coolest person on earth

The "Oh, yeah? Well, I have a shield that can block laser bolts" of fiction.

An OC who is too perfect/has no flaws, usually written by someone just starting out

OC thats a bit... inept at doing things in their New World

similar to the og star trek fanfic Mary Sue

there has been criticism in recent years of the term Mary Sue being used in a misogynist (and just plain mean) fashion

& occasionally parenthood.

/ refers to the fact that these two people are portrayed to be in some sort of relationship in the fic

The tea is SMOKING, y'all! 🍵

[doodle-pops]

How would the elves react to their s/o suffering from sleep apnea for the first time?

I suffer from this as well, but it eased up a lot over the years. Mine was severe and used to last for longer than the regular duration it should. Gave my mom a fright whenever she came to check up on me.

Since your elf didn't sleep much, it usually left him the one to stay awake and observe you as you slept. Watching the way you twitched, breathed, rolled around the bed or talked and got his laughter. Unfortunately, it wasn't until he noticed that your chest wasn't rising for some time and suddenly, large intakes of air would happen. Resting a hand atop your chest and feeling your heart beating, he didn't feel the rise and fall of your chest for a couple seconds before you inhaled. Kiss your peaceful slumber goodbye, "Y/N, Y/N, Y/N! Wake up! You're not breathing...well you weren't breathing for some time. Are you sleeping or having a nightmare? Are you alright? Why is this happening?" They would be so confused by the entire ordeal, they would think something was definitely wrong with your lungs and you required medicine. Because there isn't any treatment for this (freaks them out) they would label themselves as your sleep monitor to ensure that your breathing isn't interrupted.

FEANOR, MAEDHROS, MAGLOR, CELEGORM, CARANTHIR, CURUFIN, CELEBRIMBOR, FINGOLFIN, FINGON, TURGON, ARGON, FINARFIN, FINROD, AEGNOR, GLORFINDEL, GALDOR, ECTHELION, ROG, MAEGLIN, EGALMOTH

[bluedancingkittykat]

I just found out that after she died Míriel was referred to as Fíriel; “She who sighed” or “she who died.” like WOW. what shitty thing to do. I understand Fëanor a little more now. 

[ferithtolkienesque]

Nobody talks about the Shibboleth of Feanor enough.

That is, nobody talks about the Shibboleth of Feanor enough correctly.

  Feanor did not decide to pronounce things weird, what he observed was that over the millennia, language gradually changed, and he Did Not Like That.  Feanor decided that the language Shouldn’t Ever Change for various reasons, including being the fun police, and being emo about his dead mom, but explicitly, one reason that Feanor wanted everyone to try to speak as close as they could to the same way they did when the first elves awoke is so that there wouldn’t be a language barrier if they ever met the Sindar again.

Now, if we assume that most of the Exiles were around Feanor’s age or younger, and if we assume that Feanor froze his version of Quenya at the point that Miriel died, then we can further assume that everyone who spoke mainstream Quenya did so natively from childhood, learning to speak the language with several of the sound changes that Feanor objected to.

Meanwhile, the younger generations of Feanor’s faction will have grown up speaking the old-fashioned, Feanor approved version of Quenya.

We know, specifically, that one sound change that Feanor personally cared about was the s/th merger, because the th appeared in his mother’s name, Miriel s/therinde.  Th is a weird sound, it’s hard to pronounce and is rare across world languages, so it makes sense that Quenya would do away with it.   However, Sindarin kept the th.  And while Feanor’s Quenya wasn’t the same as Sindarin, both because Feanor froze it at an arbitrary point, and because Sindarin changed probably as much as Quenya did, it stands to reason that it would be closer than the standard version.

Which is all to say, that given the ban and general politics in Beleriand, I find it deeply ironic and hilarious that the Feanorians are the ones who naturally find it easiest to learn Sindarin and have the best Sindarin accents.

Or, TLDR, the sons of Feanor are the only Noldorin leaders who can pronounce “Thingol” correctly, and everyone Hates That.

[silmarillaure]

Feanor headcanons because I’m having feelings about him.

He didn’t hate Indis for who she was really, just what she represented which to him was killing his mom. Same goes for her kids, as they only existed because his mom died.

Finwe was a bad parent, not horrible but he was bad. He doted on Feanor but didn’t care about what his son wanted, like at all. This is clearly seen in canon when Finwe changes “Th” to “S” despite Feanor objections.

Feanor grew emotionally distant from Finwe after Indis started having kids. It was a part of the reason Finwe gave Feanor the most attention because it would kill him on the inside to see the last living part of Miriel despise him. Yeah, I kind of think Finwe’s love for Feanor was an extension of his love for Miriel, who despite the fact that he doomed her to eternal death was the person he loved most.

The “compliments” he got about his looks ticked him off. He wouldn’t mention it when someone told him he was handsome but it annoyed him because he didn’t care about his looks, because he didn’t earn them.

Miriel was his inspiration. One of the few things he knew about her was that she was a genius and that reflected in her work.

Was very lonely growing up. Finwe brought him around everywhere which unfortunately included lots of trips to Indis’s home and the only children he was exposed to were Ingwion & Ingwe’s daughters, who were too different from him for him to really befriend.

Manwe was one of the first to notice his talent and Feanor while he was usually grateful when someone appreciated his work, this was f*cking Manwe, a Valar who he deeply resented for the whole keeping Miriel dead thing. His standoffishness didn’t stop Manwe from growing fond of him though.

A part of the reason he didn’t stop Celegorm from befriending Orome was that he didn’t want people reducing his son to his looks like he felt people did to him as a child. Celegorm already earned the epithet “the Fair” as a kid btw.

As for why he let his sons befriend the descendants of Indis, well it was a) doing wonders for the Feanorians reputations and b) unlike his dad, he actually cared about his children’s feelings.

He was actually crazy when he started the whole Kinslaying shit. While it’s what he was most remembered for, it wasn’t close to what he was like for the duration of his life.

[tolkien-feels]

For the character ask game: Fëanor Fëanor Fëanor! I love your balanced approach to him!!

Oh, thank you! I was just talking about his mom so that's timely!

one aspect about them i love: His talent to make the worst choice possible at all times? I don't say this to be mean. I say this because I find it fascinating that he's objectively brilliant and he has the courage to pursue any course of action, but he lacks the heart-wisdom even timid and sheltered hobbits have, and that ruins his life. At the same time, I'm not sure that if I were in his shoes, and had his personality, I would be able to avoid his mistakes, because they're all about small choices, and avoiding one mistake only opens the door for different mistakes. He has the same temptation as Melkor once had, but with 500% the trauma, and I love the intellectual challenge of trying to figure out what, if anything, could have changed Feanor's downwards spiral.

one aspect i wish more people understood about them: I don't think he was a bad father. I mean, unhinged, for sure, he's unhinged about everything, but I feel like one of the last things about him to be corrupted is his genuine love for his sons. He ruins their lives because he can't quite wrap his mind around the impact his actions has on others, but not because he simply doesn't care if they get hurt

one (or more) headcanon(s) i have about this character: When he was young, he thought of course he could write poetry and songs. Of course! He's eloquent, he's smart, he's full of emotions! But nah. That's the one talent he doesn't have and he's not happy about it. Any mortal would think his teenage-era poems were great, but for an elf they're embarrassing and Feanor actively tries to forget he's ever written any.

one character i love seeing them interact with: Nerdanel. Not for shipping reasons (though it is a good ship) but because I feel like with her, we get to see a side of Feanor he doesn't usually show

one character i wish they would interact with/interact with more: Finarfin!!! I get that Fingolfin is more of an issue due to being Indis's firstborn son but Finarfin is also clearly hated, but we know comparatively little about what form that takes.

one (or more) headcanon(s) i have that involve them and one other character: This involves seven other characters but oh well. There's a window when a new kid is born where Feanor's life sort of stops. He's creating nothing, he's exploring nowhere, he's got a new puzzle and it's This Baby. Elves are all over the top about children, of course, but Feanor is as extra about this as he's about everything else. Unfortunately for everybody, his track record at predicting personalities based on jumps of logic from absolutely meaningless things is... annoyingly great. He may or may not be convinced he's reverse engineered Elvish Motherly Intuition™. He hasn't, but data is on his side :/ (Side note that Maedhros is also convinced he's got this down too. Data is not on his side, though.)

[thelien-art]

Miriel Therinde

Now with a background! w/o backgound

[onehandedly]

for the salt asks meme, about the Silm fandom <3 1, 5, 19 and 12 !

Salty ask meme

3. Have you ever unfollowed someone over a fandom opinion?

Sadly: yes Once, a very long time ago, I tried never to do so because I had much more patience and liked to think it was fun to see a fandom that had many different opinions and could play with them freely. I still do, but I have much less patience now and I noticed how sometimes some people tend to get nasty in their way of defending their position making comments not about the opposing opinion/interpretation but against the people holding it: comments based on the sole fact they do not agree with them. That is something I cannot stand and which, sadly, somehow poisoned my well. Besides: there are some opinions that are just not fun or interesting for me and some I find irritating, so, if I think any conversation I might have with another person about them wouldn't be in good fun, I just unfollow. So we can all keep having fun.

1. What OTPs in your fandom(s) do you just not get?

For the Silmarillion? Paradoxically some of the canon ones. First of all: Beren and Luthien. To me they feel like cardboard cutouts that have no characterisation outside of the obsessive love story (begun with a flying tackle) that makes the grand total of their narrative arc. They have nothing remotely interesting going on aside from wanting to marry (and they could have more, the narrative would definitely allow for that, but: no) and being shameless self inserts "teh best" which, in turn, makes their relationship feel incredibly empty to me since: you have to be a character to be interesting in any interaction with another character. Zero plus zero is still zero, even in binary. What else do they want to do aside from marrying? Do they have any other dreams, desires, ambitions, conflicts, responsibilities they need to fulfil? Apparently they don't, which cheapens everything for me. For my tastes a good love story is not one where you isolate yourself in a bubble with another person for the rest of your life. Not even in literature.

5. Has fandom ever ruined a pairing for you?

It came very near to making me loathe two of my OTPs, Maedhros and Fingon and Feanor and Nerdanel. The first one through sheer mischaracterisation of both Maedhros and Fingon. Or by making the ship just another angst fodder with MOAR angst on top and a side of angst that: come on, if I wanted overblown soap opera I could just watch Italian tv series. The second by turning Nerdanel, one woman in the Silmarillion that is described as being strong of mind and staying with her husband only as long as he values her opinion, into "long suffering USA sitcom mom" or "Poor Victim™".

19. What is the one thing you hate most about your fandom?

Some people being sanctimonious and making fandom opinions into political points. Can I justify and enjoy murder in literature without doing so in real life: yes. To me it is fun, because nobody is actually hurt. No, appreciating an angel woman written by a conservative catholic writer less than a male character that he actually gave nuances to because he wasn't too busy trying to turn the latter into some perfect little madonna is not about feminism. Nor is doing the contrary about feminism, if you like madonnas in literature: go ahead, knock yourself out. Heartbreaking, I know, but: sometimes other decent human beings just do not agree with you and that is fine. I mean: I strongly disagree with Tolkien and yet I read and like his works.

12. Is there an unpopular arc that you like that the fandom doesn’t? Why?

Not really an arc, but I would love more attention being payed to Caranthir and east Beleriand (outside of Nargothrond, I am kinda bored by Nargothrond XD). He has so much fascinating sides! The collaboration with dwarves, the lake Helevorn dwelling, the economic theory, Haleth, the Easterlings. MATHS. And Himring, I love Himring. The fortress that stood the Bragollach and its siege, that saved A&A's people (like Celegorm and Curufin saved Orodreth and his people). People just like to ignore the part when it speaks about multiple fortresses built by both Maedhros and Celegorm and Curufin. I always loved the hints of how the Feanorians were making a new homeland for themselves and their people. Not a copy of Tirion, but something new. Despite the curse. And Bòr and his relationship with Maedhros. And Maedhros and Azaghal. I feel the fandom ignores it because the Silmarillion just mentions those things in passing, which makes sense given that Pengolodh is sour and was locked away in Gondolin, still: there was a continent fighting and resisting outside of the hidden realms and the groups that had to do with them.

[courtjester69420]

feanor and thranduil would be rival moms at a PTA but then at night they get together to get absolutely shitfaced on wine and cry about their kid(s)' love lives

feanor, choking up: my eldest son is dating his half cousin who's the eldest son of my least favourite half brother

thranduil, double fisting bottles of vintage red: my son is dating a dwarf.

[aeondeug]

the shibboleth of feanor for those who do not know is this fucking. in-character in-universe linguistics essay about the change of the thorn to a fucking s in the exilic dialect of quenya. this change was highly controversial and had no real solid theory behind it but people thought it was sexy sounding and also they hated feanor. feanor who supported the conservative position of not fucking changing the thorn to s because it is what his mother would have wanted. and thus many elves came together to make a collective your mom joke at poor feanor in the form of calling his mother serinde.

[comparativelysuperlative]

Of the Flight of the Noldor

(essential context)

[FINGOLFIN] Yo, I’m Ñolofinwë and I’m kind of the King. Two thirds of our people will all say they agree. Fight Melkor, that’s reckless you see— But I'll be damned if I let you try without me! [FINGON] Aye, oui oui, mon ami, je m'appelle Findekáno I’m Nolofinwe’s heir and I got him signed on, yo. We need Melkor gone; just don’t tell Fëan- -áro that he’s insane...and I’m dating his son. [GALADRIEL] Brrah, brrah, I'm Artanis of Eldamar, Pushin’ for leavin’ like my friends the Teleri so seldom are. Aye, let’s get the charts and the horses, of course, It’s hard to cross over borders and seas need traversin’ No more oaths, but this world’s gettin’ wider Let’s found a couple states, fight the evil Ainur! Well, if it ain’t my father with a sep’rate army Arafinwe, welcome to the Leaving party! [FINARFIN] I guess I’m in, you all carry on, I’d vote talk to Manwe, but I’ll come along.

[FEANOR] But the revolution’s here, so why wait on the Powers? Morgoth killed dad, and you’re just going to cower? [ALL, with FEANOR looking more annoyed than usual] Ooh, who are you, who are you, who are you? Ooh, who is this kid, what's he gonna do? [FEANOR] I am not throwing away this plot! I am not throwing away this plot! Hey yo, I’m just like the Noldor,  My tale will shock beholders And I am not throwing away this plot! I’m the force that’s here doing all the driving. I probably shouldn’t brag, but dag, I invented writing. The problem is that these calamities are coinciding I got to try and lead us ahead, my father’s dead, you’re all dividing. I’m a famous orator. A master over words.  Aiming for remoter parts. My tongue has art, power over hearts.

My mom was a queen, but she died and stayed dead That’s even though we Elves all get rezzed, the gods said. If the Valar gonna keep her dead so Finwe gets rewedded And it’s all what they intended, I hate their damn heaven! You’re seeing— I’m being a spirit of a flame And Valinor’s been darkened so I’ll spell out my name. I am the F-E-A-N-A-R-O (That’s in tengwar’s English mode.) And all we’re owed is a free and open road But the Valar claim all our works in their abode We’re oh so low, just accept what they bestow Till we mourn here all deedless as a shadow-folk. And when we accomplish something out of their tableau? Then the fact we did it here makes it theirs, you know! Silmarils! (He shouts, like we knew he will)

Tried to take my greatest works, but not unopposed! And while Morgoth who took it may be their foe, Don’t forget he’s a Vala, one of theirs to own.

And I am not throwing away this plot! I am not throwing away this plot! Hey yo, I’m just like the Noldor,  Our tale will shock beholders And I am not throwing away this plot! [FINGON]

It's true our future is what we'll fulfil But obsessed is this dude with his Silmarils Silmarils, how you say, oh you say Thilmarils "Linguithtic" "inthithtenth" is more insane overkill Than this plot!

[GALADRIEL]

Yo, I’m the golden-haired princess And I loathe this knucklehead but damn right I’m in this I’ll leave the Valar’s gender roles, join the Noldor’s new spring, And I’ll be crowned a king, instead of sporting some bling I’m going to rule a plot!

[FINGOLFIN]

And but you gotta aim catapults And bro, Fëanáro kind of does need a real adult See that's why We'll all ride Let me stop all of your reckless gross errors With my sweet steed named Rochallor Turning 'round the plot!

[FINARFIN]

All of you, slow it way down, guys, We don't get our goal here if the whole Noldor crown dies. I'm with you— but have any of you even thought That us having fought like we ought Some part could just be Morgoth's plot?

[FEANOR]

Fine, stay home and rot. And you usurper guys, who even needs you lot. I'll do my own onslaught I've got the throne you sought. I'll give a swat to you and let you write your own damn plot.

What are the odds the gods could keep us all in one spot? Not when we're launching a mission to go hop 'cross the pond. Our people all are first-in-class, the top of brass and kicking ass, If only cowards take a pass we'll leave the streets to growing grass!

Oh, am I talking too loud? 'Cause if I am then suck it up; I'm wearing the crown. You know I'm Finwe's eldest son and we're a people tall and noble and proud. [ALL]

I hate what this guy did with our crowd.

And I am not throwing away this plot! I am not throwing away this plot! Hey yo, I’m just like the Noldor,  Our deeds will shock beholders And I am not throwing away this plot!

[etc.]

[ALL]

Rise up! When you're living on your knees you Rise up! Tell your brother that he's gotta Rise up!

[FEANOR, FINGOLFIN, and FINARFIN] Tell your half-brother he's gotta Wise up!

[ALL]

When are these colonies gonna rise up!

[FEANOR]

When are these wannabes gonna wise up!

When are these colonies gonna rise up! / When are these wannabes gonna wise up!

Rise up.

[FEANOR]

I've seen more of death than any Elf on this side of the sea. Is it going to get me? On a quest, seven sons to side with me? If I see it coming, do I count on Mandos' guarantee? Is it like a hall without a tapestry? See, I never thought I'd live forever. Even if some Elves use words like "never." So Nerdanel and I married young, got lots done, no song unsung, Can't run, our life had just begun, together.

Scratch that, happiness is not for us to target Not when we're facing down an evil god incarnate. Behold untold stakes, gotta complete this Quest. We roll like Olwe, sailin' out from the West.

And? If we win our independence? Is that a guarantee that Morgoth would face our vengeance? Or will some traitors like that dumb Artanis Check out a kingdom— then leave and not help end this?

I know all the action we'll see is exciting But while we’re before all the bleeding and fighting I'll be seeking uniting We need to settle on a final destination! Let's all go take down Morgoth, and reclaim what he's taken!

So all monsters or Valar, The Maiar or the Eldar or unborn Aftercomer You'll be capped if you keep my creations! The Silmarils are mine or else Eternal Dark and sorrow— It's an oath that I'm swearing past just Varda—

And I am not throwing away this plot! I am not throwing away this plot! Hey yo, I’m just like the Noldor,  Our deeds will shock beholders And I am just kicking off this plot!