#feanor: hear me manwë! varda!

[istaricelebelasse]

Feanor being handed a baby or toddler whenever he starts to rant bc it’s the One Thing guaranteed to stop him shouting.

Finwë discovered this quite by accident when Feanor was first presented with his baby sister because as soon as she was pressed into his arms he stopped complaining and started cooing.

Fingolfin going around armed with a baby (his own children, his brothers’ children, and grandchildren) whenever he knows he might say something that will upset Feanor. (Such as ‘hello’)

Feanor getting ready to swear the Oath and having Baby Idril (or Toddler Tyelpe) instantly pressed into his arms. The Oath doesn’t happen, the baby is comforted from the Dark and Scary Noises. It’s a win win situation.

[eri-pl]

Feanor and "Thou": Quenya addition

Tagging @dfwbwfbbwfbwf and @eloquentsisyphianturmoil because we've had a nice discussion in the first one and I think you may be interested.

So I checked, and Quenya indeed has polite 2nd and familiar 2nd person (as I have remembered)

tye = thou = familiar

lye = you (singular) = polite

le = you (plural) = independent on social status plural form

(more grammar and some ranting below the cut)

tyet = the two of you (familiar)

But also, Quenya has a dual! (= a form you use for exactly two of people or of something. It is a thing in some languages. Here in Polish we have some vestiges of it.)

let = the two of you (polite)

I wonder what you say to a pair of mixed social status? My guess would be let.

Also, based on the data we have, I would assume that the "On the holy mountain hear in witness and our vow remember, Manwë and Varda" used 'tyet' to address them. And not to be affectionate.

Also, some Tolkien quotes from the abovelinked site:

In CQ [= Classical Quenya, more commonly labeled PQ] tye had gone out of use except in colloquial language where it was used chiefly among kinsfolk, but also as an endearment (esp. between lovers). When used by parents to children there was nothing “imperious” about it — for children used tye to parents and grandparents etc. — to use the adult lye was more stern (Quenya Pronominal Elements, 1968, VT49/51).

Slight tangent, but Quenya also distinguishes inclusive "we" (we including you) and exclusive "we" (we but not you), both in plural and in dual.

Also, of course, each pronoun has more of it, like even in English "I" has "me", "mine", and "my". In Quenya there are even more of those. But I don't know Quenya and I don't feel competent to wrap my mind around all those pronouns.

Also, I fell into a research-hole...

In his own translation of Pater Noster to Quenya (yes, Jirt did things like this) Tolkien uses... the polite you?!? What?!?

Excuse me sir, what. Just what. I mean English does it with 'thee'... I guess you don't like it? But. It actually uses the very familiar / baby-ishword for "daddy" in the original... It's very obviously familiar second person? Oh, Jirt, you got me confused rn. Unless you wanted it to sound official not colloquial? But still. Why. Like... I feel like it's just missing the point...

[pearlescentpearl]

the wording of the Oath of Feanor drives me nuts, I mean look at this shit;

“Be he foe or friend, be he foul or clean, brood of Morgoth or bright Vala, Elda or Maia or Aftercomer, Man yet unborn upon Middle-earth, neither law, nor love, nor league of swords, dread nor danger, not Doom itself, shall defend him from Fëanor, and Fëanor's kin, whoso hideth or hoardeth, or in hand taketh, finding keepeth or afar casteth a Silmaril. This swear we all: death we will deal him ere Day's ending, woe unto world's end! Our word hear thou, Eru Allfather! To the everlasting Darkness doom us if our deed faileth. On the holy mountain hear in witness and our vow remember, Manwë and Varda!”

it completely fails to specify in the wording WHO foe and friend, foul and clean, brood of Morgoth or bright Vala, Elda or Maia or Aftercomer, and Man yet unborn are keeping the silmaril from. the Oath does not specify who is allowed to have a silmaril! just that if any of these named beings have or had a silmaril then they will be duly shanked by Feanor and Kin for it. 

hell! I don’t even get an impression that Feanor and Kin are exempt from the shanking either! they don’t say ‘if anyone but us did this’, no, they just say if anyone has a silmaril in their possession there will be a reckoning upon your head until Dagor Dagorath. you could, in fact, very plausibly argue that Maedhros continued to follow the Oath in killing himself because he had ‘in hand taketh’ a silmaril and it didn’t specify if Feanor and Kin are allowed to do that.

the only way to satisfy the literal wording of the Oath is if no one can or ever could have a silmaril in their possession, ever. which Maedhros and Maglor ensured by tossing theirs to the elements.

look, all I’m saying-- Earendil better watch his back in the Void. he’s the last one left on the hitlist and no one ever said Feanor and Sons can’t get you if you’re going to them

[lesbiansforboromir]

In a shocking change of pace I’m going to talk about the oath of Feanor because I feel like Maedhros’ actions are very telling and I want to. Sorry love u Boromir just give me ONE sec-

Be he foe or friend, be he foul or clean Brood of Morgoth or bright Vala, Elda or Maia or Aftercomer, Man yet unborn upon Middle-earth, Neither law, nor love, nor league of swords, Dread nor danger, not Doom itself Shall defend him from Fëanáro, and Fëanáro’s kin, Whoso hideth or hoardeth, or in hand taketh, Finding keepeth or afar casteth A Silmaril. This swear we all… Death we will deal him ere Day’s ending, Woe unto world’s end! Our word hear thou, Eru Allfather! To the everlasting Darkness doom us if our deed faileth… On the holy mountain hear in witness and our vow remember, Manwë and Varda!

A while back I was thinking about how the oath was never anything to do with reclaiming the Silmarils. There was no stricture that demanded the sons of feanor had to retain a silmaril once it was wrested from a hoarder’s hands. The emphasis was only ever upon ensuring no one coveted them. No one had a right upon them or kept them away from others. It’s a very interesting oath in light of Feanor’s own hoarding of them, but what I focus on is the fact that the oath probably would have been satisfied if the Silmarils were constantly changing hands, taken from place to place and presented in public spaces to be seen but never possessed.

Which I would like to posit for a moment as Maedhros’ original plan. He strikes me as a fellow who makes plans, and before the Nirnaeth Arnoidiad there’s a real sense of drive and hope in his actions that would seem odd if he were always burdened with a doom he felt he and his family could never escape. Even afterwards his actions are still structured, clear. 

So perhaps he had this goal in mind. Find the silmarils, destroy Morgoth and then set up a system in which the Silmarils were owned by no one and never stayed anywhere, ever shifting their home to bathe a new city or place in their glow. Perhaps that was the light at the end of the tunnel he saw for not just himself and his family, but for elvendom as a whole. The Silmarils were to be protected and given freely about middle earth. 

And hence, going further into Maedhros’ motivations to achieve this, I think Maedhros autopsied the oath and it’s meanings, writing it and re-writing it, understanding it inside out and then making sure that his behaviour followed it’s demands to the letter. No more, no less. Which were!

1:  Establish if someone was intending on keeping a silmaril for themselves (asking for the Silmaril)  Whoso hideth or hoardeth, or in hand taketh, Finding keepeth or afar casteth

2: Kill them no more than one day later.  Death we will deal him ere Day’s ending.

That dark doom the oath speaks about is vague, and therefore dangerous and not something Maedhros felt he could risk. I’m sure he felt guilty about Elured and Elurin’s deaths, but I think he feared what kind of doom would come upon them because of it more. Because the twins hadn’t hoarded the Silmarils had they? And I think perhaps Maedhros feared it was their deaths that made Elwing refuse his request for the silmaril herself later, thereby forcing him to more violence. 

Also why I think he was so against Maglor’s adopting Elrond and Elros. Yet another extra action that could spell more doom later. There’s this frantic sense of Maedhros trying to battle doom and fate itself, contending with every possibility and trying and failing to overcome it. All with a view to eventually finding a peace where the Silmarils belonged to no one and everyone at the same time. 

But that hope would have been ended when Earendil took the Silmaril over the sea. Maedhros would realise the Valar had gotten what they wanted and now there would be no way for him to cease this endless cycle. Hence the very dark path he took that bypassed much of the tennants he’d laid down for himself in the first place. 

[eterunameo]

This has reminded me to talk more about the oath. 

Be he foe or friend, be he foul or clean Brood of Morgoth or bright Vala, Elda or Maia or Aftercomer, Man yet unborn upon Middle-earth, Neither law, nor love, nor league of swords, Dread nor danger, not Doom itself Shall defend him from Fëanáro, and Fëanáro’s kin, Whoso hideth or hoardeth, or in hand taketh, Finding keepeth or afar casteth A Silmaril. This swear we all… Death we will deal him ere Day’s ending, Woe unto world’s end! Our word hear thou, Eru Allfather! To the everlasting Darkness doom us if our deed faileth… On the holy mountain hear in witness and our vow remember, Manwë and Varda!

It strikes me that the oath was never anything to do with reclaiming the Silmarils. There was no stricture that demanded the sons of feanor had to retain a silmaril once it was wrested from a hoarder’s hands. The emphasis was only ever upon ensuring no one coveted them. No one had a right upon them or kept them away from others. It’s a very interesting oath in light of Feanor’s own hoarding of them and in fact the oath probably would have been satisfied if the Silmarils were constantly changing hands, taken from place to place and presenting in public spaces to be seen but never possessed. 

Which I think was Maedhros’ plan. The goal he had in mind was to find the silmarils, destroy Morgoth and then set up a system in which the Silmarils were owned by no one and never stayed anywhere, ever shifting their home to bathe a new city or place in their glow. That was his aim, that was the light at the end of the tunnel he saw for not just himself and his family, but for elvendom as a whole. They were to be protected and given freely about middle earth. 

But that hope was ended when Earendil took the Silmaril over the sea. Maedhros realised the Valar had gotten what they wanted and now there would be no way for him to cease this endless cycle. But just killing himself wouldn’t do, that would be a failure and would still bring down this dark doom that was far too unknowable to be safe. Happily, the oath also amusingly demands Maedhros’ own death, since he did indeed cast it afar and so had to deal his own judgement upon himself. He hopes this mitigates any terrible unknown that may have been coming otherwise. 

[thishazeleyeddemon]

Wip I guess

@arofili sorry I keep bothering you with my au

What they weren't expecting was who's sword was brought into the ring next.

"Be he foe or friend, be he foul or clean," Anairë started, her gaze turned down to the floor. "Brood of Morgoth or bright Vala, Elda or Maia or Aftercomer, man yet unborn upon Middle-earth -"

"Anairë!" A woman cried. Feanor recognized her with a start as Anairë's mother. "Stop this now!"

Anairë did not turn, nor did she falter in her speech. It seemed to Feanor that her conviction indeed had grown at the sound of her mother's voice.

"Neither law, nor love, nor league of swords, dread nor danger nor Doom itself -" she was nearly shouting now, and the hand she gripped her sword with was shaking "-shall defend him from Feanaro, and Arakano's kith and kin, whoso keep us, let us, or hideth from us our just revenge and retribution against the Hunter In The Dark, thief and slayer of Arakano Lord in Tirion!"

She gritted her teeth. Feanor had always thought Anairë quiet, and soft. Now he could see the same iron Arakano had had, like a fire was caught in her eyes.

"This we swear all," she called, and her voice rang out over the congregation and he could see the stir there. They'd cheered for him; for her they listened as she said:

"Death we will deal him ere Day's ending, woe unto world's end! Our word hear thou, Eru Allfather! To the everlasting Darkness doom us if our deed faileth. On the holy mountain hear in witness and our vow remember, Manwë and Varda!"

She raised her sword in a sweeping arc of silver to the bright blue sky as she finished. The light glinted off of it, bright as it was, like a silver rent in the flesh of the sky.

She held it there for a few precious seconds, before letting her arm fall. She swallowed thickly, and brushed back a few strands of hair, trying to regain her composure.

"There," she said finally. "Try ridding yourself of me now."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Feanor heard himself say.

"Good," she said, and he could hear some of the iron she'd had just before. "I want my justice too."

[tanoraqui]

This is ABSOLUTELY written for everyone who shouted in the reblog tags for more. You bastards, I had to look up so many place names and he’s barely gone anywhere

Celebrimbor didn’t linger in Valmar, no longer than was necessary to acquire decent clothes and a tolerable sword. The Vanyar were curious, but too polite to ask delaying questions of someone on a time-sensitive mission from the Valar themselves. (More like on leniency from the Valar... Celebrimbor couldn’t say what he’d expected when he swore his Oath, because he hadn’t really expected anything, save more pain for his defiance. He still thought he would rather be cast into eternal Void than see the Three, and then all Middle Earth, in An– in Sauron’s hand.)

Time-sensitive though, yes. Mandos had said nothing more, but the new Oath gnawed at Celebrimbor’s gut, urging action, and he’d been in enough deadly battles and wars to sense when one was drawing to a breaking point, even from idyllic Aman. For war this was, though war begun, resumed, or unending he didn’t know - the Vanyar said that 4,762 years had passed while he was in the Halls of Mandos, but the only details they could give of Arda was some vague story about Numenor earning its own destruction. No word of Sauron, none of Laurelindórenan or Lindon, much less any of the other races...

He avoided Tirion, even though his heart years to walk its shining childhood streets for even just a few minutes (and perhaps to acquire a better sword). He avoided Alqualondë for many reasons. He couldn’t avoid Avalonnë, but he slipped through as quickly and quietly as possible, borrowing a small boat and a few weeks’ rations on the strength of his name and putting to sea before rumor of that name could spread to someone who knew someone who’d died because of his foolish trust and inability to defend his people from the consequences...or worse, to a cousin (if any lived again) or a great-aunt or -uncle, or worst of all, his grandmother.

The last time he'd seen Nerdanel was on the new shores of sunken Beleriand, where he’d clasped her hands before her West-returning ship and told her that even if she could persuade the Valar to take him, he would not go, for now, for the first time, there was a chance to build something truly good in this land—and to rebuild, which surely was owed. The parting before that had been a moment's meeting of eyes across the square as Feanor raised his blade and Celebrimbor's father and uncles all followed suit. If he saw her again now, with Eregion burning in his wake and a brand new Oath simmering through his veins, he didn’t know how he could bear a third farewell, or even a greeting.

He was an indifferent sailor, but one person alone couldn't sail across the sea anyway. He set his aim and prayed that the Valar, or at least Ulmo, really did mean him to have a fighting chance.

And so it seemed Ulmo did, for the skies remained fair and, as far as an indifferent sailor could tell, the waves carried him more than swiftly east. So his thoughts turned to what he had to do once he reached shore:

Eru Ilúvatar hear me, I will see the Three, the Seven and the Nine all free of you, and even your One, unto the End of Days! Manwë, Varda, and Aulê witness and remember my vow, and cast me into Darkness everlasting if I fail!

He ran the words over and over in his kind, and then all the workings he remembered of the Rings. Destruction was the obvious, simple answer. But he, Celebrimbor, had wrought the Rings as well, damn it—most of them, at least. If it was possible for one crafter to seize undue control, it had to be possible for the other. Even Annatar couldn’t—

Sauron. Even Sauron couldn’t build a path truly passable to only one power. It might be blocked, hidden, guarded, locked to a key only it’s master held…but Celebrimbor had learned lock-picking in tandem with lock-smithing, as a youth when the Trees still shone, and no matter how Sauron had perverted it, he knew the spellwork crafted into his own rings of power.

Sauron the Foul, the Deceiver. Gorthaur, Lord of Werewolves. First Lieutenant of Morgoth; killer of Finrod, Celebrimbor’s cousin whom he’d loved; chief engineer of the Dagor Bragollach, in which thousands had burned, including more cousins.  He’d bragged about it, while systematically pressing hot iron into Celebrimbor’s own flesh. That was the first and only truth of him. For decades it’d been easy to know it,  defending Eregion from orcs and corrupted men until they could defend no more—why now did his mind keep turning to Annatar, shining friend and colleague of skill like no other, who had only ever been a lie?

He knew this simple answer too, in his heart. The Three, he’d kept safe; the Seven and Nine he’d been too weak to save; and somehow, Sauron’s other victory through all that hot iron, knives, and nightmares made true had been to remind Celebrimbor that he’d loved that lie. He had taken that lie into his heart, his bed, the deepest working of his craft (grinning at each other like madmen over a burning forge, a new world at their fingertips). He’d shared dreams with that lie, of Arda made as beautiful as Eldamar - he had, at least. He would’ve sworn Annatar shared them, too. He could almost still swear it—there must have been truth in the lie, to make it so convincing. Before he’d been Sauron, he’d been Mairon, and worked the same forges as Celebrimbor’s own great-grandfather in Aulë’s workshop.

No more, he reminded himself sternly. Only lies, and empty seduction. One could love a dream and know that it was only a dream. Already he could feel the pall of dark power wafting faintly over the eastern land. 

Celebrimbor did little to steer his ship other than point it east and pray, but Ulmo was kind: barely half his rations were done by the time he approached the quays of Mithlond. They were far, far fewer than he remembered, smaller, with not so much a city as a large fishing village behind them. But the boats remained as fleet and strong as ever, and tall, silver-bearded figure stood on the dock to welcome him.

The city shouldn’t have been so diminished. There shouldn’t be even the faintest pall over this land, not with that elf standing tall to greet him. Celebrimbor flung himself off the boat before it’d even touched the dock, and nearly shook Círdan by the shoulders. 

“Where is it? Who took it? What happened?”

The old shipwright laughed of all things, caught his frantic hands and held them down. “I’m fine, Winyafinwë, as are my Havens, and all the people who dwell or depart from here. I gave it to Olórin the Maia when he arrived two thousand years ago, for I saw that he’d need it more than I. Presently he goes by ‘Mithrandir the Wizard’, or ‘Gandalf’, if you need to hunt him down—but I expect your paths will cross sooner than not.”

Celebrimbor’s heartbeat slowed. There were few things in Arda more reliable than Círdan’s foresight. Not least because it was oft augmented by Ulmo himself, who would never lead the beloved shipwright astray. 

Though another reliability was clearly still Círdan’s tendency to treat everyone born after the coming of Oromë to Cuiviénin as a slightly wayward niece or nephew. The only mollification was that there was some justice to it, age-wise, and Celebrimbor had seen him speak to Galadriel, Fingolfin, and at least one Maia with the exact same calm amusement.

“Good, good.” His hand rose to absentmindedly rub his chest, where the fire of his Oath, quiescent at sea, had awoken in sight of shore. “I suppose you’re wondering why I’m here...”

The twinkle faded from his old friend’s eyes.

“Alas, I do not—or at least, I know enough not to delay you with all the questions I could ask.” He turned away, beckoning Celebrimbor to follow. "What I don't know is if I can offer you a night's rest in my halls. Dark things are riding in the north—I cannot see what, but I fear you are needed as soon as possible."

Celebrimbor followed him. He couldn't stop glancing around the once-great city. The capital of Lindon it had been, not as shining and well-wrought as his own Ost-in-Edhil, perhaps, but thriving in the way of a busy port city: merchants showing off their waves, criers sharing the latest court gossip, elves but also men and the occasional dwarf going every which way. Now it was...quiet, and what business there was, they quickly left behind at the docks. It mostly consisted of people preparing to leave.

"Is Gil-Galad...?" he asked, urgent but unable to finish the question. Their friendship had been more political than familial, but a cousin (of some sort) was a cousin.

"Slain by Sauron at the end of the Second Age," Círdan said bluntly. "But he and the last Númenoreans of that age bought us nearly three thousand years of peace."

"Ah."

Círdan added, "His gift of you is with Elrond, in Imladris. And Laurelindórenan has never faltered.”

That news was more welcome. But— "Imladris?"

It was Círdan's turn to look elsewhere. "Founded in secret from survivors of the fall of Eregion, while you were..."

"Being tortured to death?" Celebrimbor finished helpfully.

Celebrimbor had a hundred questions of his own about the events of the nearly five millennia years since he'd last been alive. But the Grey Havens was quiet and so were they, as Círdan walked him to the stables and set him up with a horse, a good map, and somewhat better rations than he'd brought from Avallonë—no one bothered to make truly potent lembas in Aman.

"May the Valar go with you," Círdan wished him. "And, Celebrimbor—" He caught the saddle girth and the younger elf's eyes. "I hope that boat you came in was a gift."

"It was," Celebrimbor snapped, though fire burned softly in his chest. Winyafinwë indeed.

Then he winced. "Though technically I implied that I'd return it. When next someone sails, would you...?"

Círdan smiled again at the folly of youth, and released his girth. "I think I shall wait for you to return it yourself."

unfortunately I have begun to mentally write the Lotr/Silmarillion AU longfic that I would write if I was going to write a LotR/Silmarillion AU longfic. Which I’m not going to do. But if I was, I know roughly how the prologue would go.

[sugakusblog]

"Be he foe or friend, be he foul or clean, brood of Morgoth or bright Vala, Elda or Maia or Aftercomer, Man yet unborn upon Middle-earth, neither law, nor love, nor league of swords, dread nor danger, not Doom itself, shall defend him from Fëanor, and Fëanor's kin, whoso hideth or hoardeth, or in hand taketh, finding keepeth or afar casteth a Silmaril. This swear we all: death we will deal him ere Day's ending, woe unto world's end! Our word hear thou, Eru Allfather! To the everlasting Darkness doom us if our deed faileth. On the holy mountain hear in witness and our vow remember, Manwë and Varda!" I really love my sons and this cosplay! Me as Feanor @sushilu as Maglor