#feanorianweek

[sunflowerjune]

Sea-storm, Star-song, Chapter 4

“Put out your hand,” said Eärendil, as if from a great distance away. But Maglor was already stretching out a trembling hand to lay hold of it – his father’s jewel at last. His breaths came faster as the light seemed to erode everything else. Tears dripped from his dazzled eyes. Eärendil tipped the little box over his hand.

Read the rest at the AO3 Link!

Maglor has arrived unwillingly in Valinor thanks to a certain ocean Vala's meddling, and has been taken in by Earendil, who seems to think redemption is possible. But Maglor himself may not agree. And then there's Elwing.

I didn't do it intentionally, but publishing this chapter now lines up nicely with @feanorianweek. Even though it's a little late, I think this counts for Maglor's prompt "redemption."

[charri-fish]

Miriel and her descendant, for feanorian week.

Though I do really like the concept, I'm not as happy with this one. But, I'm a day late lol, and it'll have to do.

Close up:

(The smudged paint on Tyelko's face is meant to be warpaint specifically worn by hunters if Oromë. If you see my drawing of him, I gave him similar markings.)

[thescrapwitch]

These Little Lights of Mine

Seven small moments - six of joy and one of grief - between Fëanor and his sons.

Fëanorian Week Day Seven: Fëanor (Reunion)

All of his babies are dead. Only statues remain, memories carved into stone that decorate the garden of Nerdanel’s house. Fëanor, newly released, walks among them, crying. His sweet sons, his little lights. All gone.  My fault, thinks Fëanor. My madness, my Oath. Namo will not release them, not with all the blood on their hands. But Fëanor will not wait for the Judge to change his mind.  I shall break down the walls between life and death myself, he promises, hammer in his hands. My dear sons, my little lights; I shall make sure all of you can shine again. 

The full fic is now available to read HERE!

[katarrinskey]

Lord of Himring

The figure he was cutting against the grey stone of the surroundings was striking. His cloak was the same shade of red she was now getting used to, and looked voluminous and heavy with furs, covering his entire right side from shoulder to the sole of his boots, almost touching the ground. Plate armor he wore was mirror-bright and carried intricate designs, that her eyes could not distinguish from such a distance. His hair was laying atop his shoulders in waves, unbound and shockingly red, almost matching the color of the cloak in lowlights, yet streaked with grey in a way she never saw on an elf before. The copper circlet on his brow seemed to almost disappear in it as well, adding bright shine when it caught the light just right. His face was half hidden behind his hair, and Amina would later find it hard to remember his features, except for the intensity of his eyes, shining brighter even than his brother's, as if there was a roaring fire trapped inside them.

Had absolutely no spoons to deal with all the details, but here is an illustration for a something else i am working on. (He isn't the main figure of that story, but he is the main figure of the painting, so i thought it fitting for the week anyways-)

Day one of @feanorianweek

[thetiredprometheus]

For the end of @feanorianweek here are all the boys together

Maedhros is the first person who gets to hold his little brothers after they're born, so they imprint on him and follow him everywhere like little ducklings

[lidoshka]

Solo Celegorm heredo el color de cabello de Miriel

+

Only Celegorm inherited Miriel’s hair color

Feanorianweek #3 - Celegorm

[emyn-arnens]

Through the Night Dark and Drear

@feanorianweek Day 3: Celegorm | AO3

On dark nights, the Iathrim say, glancing fearfully at the sky and holding their children tightly against them—though they make their home now far to the south by the shore—when the moon turns its bright face from the earth and shrouds itself in darkness, the huntsman of the Noldor and butcher of their people rides at will, masterless, through the forsaken woods they once called home.

Like the wind he rides through the woods beneath the withering leaves, through mist and mire, pursuing a quarry ever out of reach, and the shivering branches of the trees pluck a doleful melody from the night air at his passing. 

Huntsman, groan the trees in obeisance as he passes. Wolf-prince, kinslayer, kingdom-stealer. A susurration of trembling leaves, a litany of whispered names.

He gathers the names in his shadowy train, lets them unfurl behind him like a great cloak. Wolf teeth gleam dully at his throat; a crown of broken antlers girds his brow. A mantle of white wolf fur flows from his shoulders, mingling with the long, pale fall of his hair. 

Pale, too, are his eyes but dark and baleful is his cry, spoken in the tongue of the forsaken West, mingled with the tongues of birds and beasts, who follow ever in his train—swallows and swifts, harts and hinds, boars and bears—caught in thrall, bound to follow this master of the woods. 

But never the nightingales.

Through meres of twilight long forsaken and pools of midnight cradled in the roots of trees he passes, leaving no footprint and breaking no branch. No thunder of hooves marks his passing, no silver ringing of tack, only the howling fury of wind hunting a distant cry.

Far off comes the cry, from the east, then the west, frail and broken, now split into two voices, and the huntsman swerves in pursuit, pressing deeper beneath the tangled trees. Deeper the cries lead him into the forest, to the blood-stained halls and the broken throne, to the scattered bones and broken swords, to the wild woods where winter’s frost lies thickest and the frozen stars watch unblinking.

Ever more distant comes the cry, faint and thin, and ever more swiftly does the huntsman follow in pursuit, tireless. Ever deeper, ever farther does he ride, ever hunting and never finding, until night wanes and the howling of the wind fades like mist.

[swordsmithofgondolin]

For @feanorianweek

Day 5: Curufin

[foxleycrow]

Maedhros & Maglor for @feanorianweek — the tragedy they wrought. Procreate drawing. I almost missed Fëanorian Week this year, but I managed to draw a few things for it after all!

[nightmares-2]

@feanorianweek day 5: Celebrimbor

[thelien-art]

Day 1: Maedhros for @feanorianweek

Kingship│Angband│Coping

[ayaosguqin]

“He gazed upon her visage, the mother who once shaped him with love, now a distant memory. Regret lingered in his eyes, but the oath had bound him—too late to turn back, too far gone to seek her forgiveness.”

For @feanorianweek

[charri-fish]

Our favorite eldritch and less than sane beach bard, for day 2 of Feanorian week! I drew a very young and pleasant Nelyo for yesterday, so I thought it'd be fun to do crazy old Maglor today. I did try to make a more cropped version so you didn't have to see my messy sketchbook pages, but it just wasn't looking right (and the size didn't work well in a post). So please enjoy the random doodles, smudges, a stick helping me hold the page down, and what may or may not be a sneak peak for what's to come on the left ;0.

Close ups:

Maglor miiiiight be my favorite, so I really enjoyed drawing him!

[thescrapwitch]

These Little Lights of Mine

Seven small moments - six of joy and one of grief - between Fëanor and his sons.

Fëanorian Week Day Five: Curufin (Childhood)

Baby Curufinwë grabs at everything within reach. The fifth son in a busy household, he's clever at finding ways to get into trouble. Dangling earrings, lace curtains, cutlery left at the edge of the table; all find their way into his hands.  “No!” Fëanáro plucks the knife out of his grip, avoiding disaster. Curufinwë, unhappy with his prize gone, starts to wail. Fëanáro looks desperately for a new toy, settles on the wooden toy hammer he’d carved years ago for his older sons.  Curufinwë’s tears stop. Delighted, he shoves the hammer into his mouth and starts to chew.

(full fic to be released on March 30!)

[katarrinskey]

Sins of a father

Day two of @feanorianweek

[chechula]

Full-time job in animation really makes me stop drawing fanarts....but here goes at least one sketch: Nerdanel and little Tyelko playing with clay, for @feanorianweek ♥