#gwindor imagine

[doodle-pops]

˖ ࣪ .You Don’t Give Them Attention (They Get Jealous)˖ ࣪ .

Headcanon: Curufin, Amrod, Galdor, Beleg, Gwindor

A/N: Just giant needy puppies who can’t go five seconds without your attention. Not that we don’t mind. Enjoy!!

︶꒦꒷Curufin꒷꒦︶

Strolling into the room with his usual confidence and composure, his steps faltered slightly when he noticed you curled up on the couch, entirely absorbed in a book. You don’t even glance up as he enters, too engrossed in the story to notice his presence. Curufin stood there for a moment, his sharp eyes narrowing as he took in the scene—the book, the pile of plush animals surrounding you, and the contented purring of your pet nestled against your side.

With a sharp clearing of his throat, expecting you to at least acknowledge him, you only hummed in response, prompting his lips form a slight pout. Not one to be ignored, Curufin walked over and deliberately sat beside you, close enough that his leg pressed against yours. Still, you didn’t look up.

“Is that book more interesting than me, melda?” he asked his tone light but with an edge of playful jealousy.

You glanced at him, offering a smile of acknowledgement before returning to your book. And Curufin’s eyes narrowed further as he watched you, clearly not satisfied with the lack of attention. With a huff, he leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest in an exaggerated display of annoyance.

“So you’re going to ignore me?” After a few minutes, he sighs dramatically. “I see how it is. I’ve been replaced by a book, a collection of stuffed animals, and a cat.” He makes a show of turning away from you, his lips still pursed in a mock pout.

Amused by his antics, you finally set the book down, turning to him with a smile. “Oh, don’t be such a sore baby,” you teased and pulled him close. With ease, you watched his pout dissolved into a satisfied smirk as you cuddled against him, your attention now fully on him.

“Much better,” he murmured, kissing your temple as he relaxed into your embrace.

︶꒦꒷Amrod꒷꒦︶

The moment he walked into the room, his heart which was set on spending some time with you, sank. His playful smile, ready to tease you or suggest a fun activity, shifted when he spotted you sitting on the floor with your pet, brushing its fur with gentle, loving strokes. A few of your stuffed animals were scattered around, while you were humming softly, clearly in your own little world.

He stopped dead in his tracks, his smile fading into a pout as he realised that your attention was wholly occupied. Shifting from foot to foot, he waited for you to notice him, but you were too focused on your pet to look up.

“Focused on the dog, are we?” Amrod says, trying to sound nonchalant, but there was a definite note of jealousy in his voice. You glanced up with a bright smile, but before you can respond, your pet nuzzled you, and your attention was immediately drawn back to it.

Not one to miss out on the opportunity to be dramatic, he flopped down onto the couch with a theatrical sigh. “So this is the way that it is now,” he muttered, crossing his arms and looking away. “Replaced by a pet and stuffed animals. And here I thought I was your favourite. Guess I’ll just disappear far, far away…”

You couldn’t resist a giggle at his pouting, setting your pet aside and crawling over to him. “You’ll always be my favourite,” you assured him, snuggling up against his side.

Easily, his pout softened into a grin as he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close. “Good,” he murmured, resting his head against yours. “Because I wasn’t planning on sharing you with anyone—not even your fluffy friends.”

︶꒦꒷Galdor꒷꒦︶

Galdor had spent the better part of the day trying to catch your attention, but you were completely absorbed in your new project—a delicate tapestry you were weaving with intricate elven patterns. The colours danced across the fabric under your skilled hands, and you were so engrossed in your work that you hardly noticed when Galdor entered the room.

At first, he watched you in silence, admiring the way your brow furrowed in concentration, the way your fingers moved so deftly over the loom. But as the hours passed, Galdor couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy. He was used to having your attention, to hearing your laugh and seeing your smile directed at him. Now, all of that was being lavished on a piece of cloth.

“Am I to be replaced by a tapestry?” Galdor finally asked, his voice carrying a playful lilt but with an underlying pout. You looked up, surprised to find him standing there, his arms crossed and a slight frown on his handsome face.

“Galdor, I didn’t see you come in,” you said, laughing softly as you set your work aside. But Galdor wasn’t satisfied with just a smile. He moved closer, wrapping his arms around you from behind and resting his chin on your shoulder.

“You’ve been ignoring me all day,” he murmured, a touch of exaggeration in his voice. “I’m starting to think you love that tapestry more than me.”

You turned in his arms, placing a kiss on his cheek. “Never,” you assured him, laughing as you saw the corners of his lips finally curve into a smile. “But you’re much more distracting than a tapestry, that I’ll have no choice but to continue ignoring you to finish it up.”

Without missing a single beat, he whined, “Absolutely not.”

︶꒦꒷Beleg꒷꒦︶

Patiently waiting for you to finish your latest project—a beautifully carved wooden figure of an animal native to Beleriand—Beleg sat still and silent. Your hands moved with precision and focus, every stroke of the knife revealing the shape beneath the wood. Beleg admired your skill, but as the hours dragged on and your attention remained entirely on the carving, he started to feel a little neglected.

He tried to distract himself, sharpening his arrows, organizing his gear and making conversation, which failed as it resulted in you ignoring him halfway through it. Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore as he wandered over to where you were sitting, casually leaning against the table, his arms folded.

“Do you plan on spending the entire day with that piece of wood?” he asked, trying to sound nonchalant but failing to hide the slight pout in his voice. You looked up, surprised to find him so close, and grinned.

“It’s almost done,” you replied, not noticing the way his shoulders slumped and his lips quivered slightly at your response. Beleg sighed dramatically, moving to sit beside you, his presence warm and comforting.

“Perhaps I should start carving something too,” he mused aloud, “though I doubt it would keep me as entertained as yours has kept you.”

You finally set the carving aside and turned to face him, realising just how much you’d been absorbed in your work. “Beleg, are you jealous of a block of wood?” you teased, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from his face.

Beleg gave you a lopsided grin, his earlier pout forgotten. “Only when it steals you away from me,” he admitted softly. You laughed, leaning in to kiss his cheek, and Beleg’s smile widened. “I suppose I can forgive you, this time.”

“You’re such a jealous, big baby, Beleg.”

“Hey! I have all the right to be!”

︶꒦꒷Gwindor꒷꒦︶

Gwindor had always been a patient elf, but today, that patience was wearing thin. You had been spending the better part of the afternoon in the garden, tending to your beloved plants with a devotion that left little room for anything—or anyone—else.

At first, Gwindor had simply watched you from a distance, admiring the way the sunlight caught in your hair and the gentle way you handled each leaf and blossom. He knew how much you loved your plants, and normally, he found it endearing. But today, he couldn’t help but feel a bit left out.

You were crouched down, carefully pruning a particularly stubborn shrub, when you felt a presence behind you. Before you could turn around, a soft voice broke the silence.

“Are the plants truly so fascinating?” Gwindor asked, his tone laced with a hint of playful reproach.

You glanced over your shoulder to see him standing there, arms crossed, his usually bright eyes now clouded with something akin to a pout. It was rare to see Gwindor in such a mood, and you couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

“They are,” you replied teasingly, turning back to your work. “They require a lot of attention.”

“And what of me?” he pressed, stepping closer. “Do I not require attention as well?”

You could hear the slight pout in his voice, and it made your heart swell with affection. Setting down your shears, you finally turned to face him fully. He was so close now that you could see the soft furrow in his brow and the slight downturn of his lips.

“You’re jealous of the plants?” you asked, barely suppressing a giggle.

Gwindor didn’t answer immediately, instead dropping his gaze to the ground. “Perhaps,” he muttered, looking more like a scolded child than the proud warrior you knew him to be.

Unable to resist any longer, you reached out and gently cupped his cheek, drawing his gaze back to yours. “You have nothing to worry about,” you whispered, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips. “You’ll always have my attention.”

Gwindor’s pout melted away, replaced by a warm, contented smile. “Good,” he murmured, pulling you into a gentle embrace. “Because I thought I had to perform a circus of tricks to get your attention.”

Masterlist

Taglist: @lilmelily @ranhanabi777 @rain-on-my-umbrella @mysticmoomin @asianbutnotjapanese @batsyforyou @aconstructofamind @involuntaryspasms @ladyenchanted @mcwentfandomtraveling @stormchaser819 @addaigio @lamemaster @elficially-done-with-life @eunoiaastralwings @hermaeuswhora

If you wish to be added, click the Taglist Link to join.

[animatorweirdo]

Gone And Lost Again

You had been in love with him since you were children, but now that fate threatens to take him away once more, you find the courage to say the words you never dared to reveal and hope it might spare you from the sorrow.

Requested by Anon

I would like to request a Gwindor x female elf reader story. The reader is Finduilas's younger sister who is in love with Gwindor but never confessed her feelings because her sister loved Gwindor. Until on day when Gwindor finds out.

The ending is upto you.

Thank you ☺️💖

Warnings: mentions of the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, pining, unrequited love, getting captured, mentions of Gelmir's fate, scars, a missing hand, some discrimination toward Gwindor, Turin and his bad luck, some fluff, and a confession.

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

You were the youngest daughter of King Orodreth and the younger sister of Princess Finduilas. Timid in nature, but well-liked by your people. You had a good relationship with your father and sister even though things had been difficult since your mother died. Being a princess had its own challenges, which meant studying, knowing certain things about courts and politics, and being expected of things. 

It was not too bad since you were the youngest, so you had more free time than your older sister. You’re usually engrossed in reading, keeping up with the latest news, and worrying about the future.

However, the biggest challenge you could not overcome no matter what were your feelings toward someone.  

Gwindor. He was a kind and handsome elf. He and his brother had been friends with you and your sister since you were children. 

His kind and loving nature pulled you toward him like a moth to a flame, and you could not help but fall hopelessly in love with him. You even imagined yourself marrying him one day and having a family with him. However, that day never came when you grew older and he fell in love with your sister. 

You envied their relationship, especially when later they decided to get engaged. However, you could not bring yourself to hate your sister. You loved them both and since you cared for their happiness, you distanced yourself, wishing the best for their engagement and hiding your broken heart. 

It was not hard for your feelings to go unnoticed by everyone. You were a very silent person, but one did notice and that was your father. He confronted you about it and you told him about your feelings toward Gwindor. He was sharp when it came to you and your sister, so there was no point in trying to hide it from him. 

You felt heartbroken, but you were happy for the pair. Even though you might never be able to love someone else, at least they would be happy with each other. Your father encouraged you to be there, and you did support and comfort them when things got difficult and Gwindor lost his brother in the Sudden Flames.

Then the worst happened: Gwindor decided to join the battle for the north despite your father’s orders not to partake in it. Unable to let go of his brother’s loss, he went anyway, and you wished him a safe return.

However, he never returned and you later heard how the battle came to a devastating loss. Your heart broke for him and you mourned with your sister, believing he had died. It helped break the ice between you and your sister, even though you never told her of your feelings toward Gwindor. 

Many years after the battle, to your joy, Gwindor returned with a human man who called himself Agarwaen. He was scarred, had lost a hand, and his appearance had changed significantly. It would have been difficult to recognize him from his former self, but you still recognized those eyes, which still held kindness.

Joy took over your mind and heart. You even embraced him to see if he was really there. Gwindor was surprised by the gesture but returned it with a soft smile. You nearly cried when you expressed how glad you were to see him again, alive and free from Morgoth’s cruel clutches. 

Gwindor comforted you and then introduced you to his human friend. 

Your soul felt at ease to have him back home. You gladly helped him and his friend settle back in Nargothrond. His friend was odd and quiet, but he showed gratefulness for your kindness. You finally felt like things were going to be better, perhaps the Valars have finally taken pity and granted you joy by returning Gwindor from the darkness. 

However, things between Gwindor and Finduilas were never the same. You saw how she was glad to see him safe and home, but her eyes no longer held the love they once had for him. Instead, her affection was directed toward the human man who had begun to earn fame and recognition among the elves of Nargothrond.

It was not too long when she decided to end their engagement and relationship in total. 

Your heart ached for Gwindor as he seemed saddened yet did not feel anger toward his friend who had Finduilas’s heart. Even after everything and losing so much, he did not feel the slightest ounce of anger or resentment. 

You decided to try to be his comfort, especially when some people mistrusted him for his past as a thrall. You understood that some wounds caused by Angband would take time to heal, but you did not believe Gwindor to be a spy. If Angband had managed to tamper with his gentle heart, he would have been less kind toward everything— but he wasn’t. Angband had not managed to break him. 

Gwindor felt appreciation for you and your support. You two began spending more time with each other, catching up with silly conversations you used to have as children. He shared what had become of his brother, Gelmir, and you felt sorrow at the thought of his sweet brother facing such a cruel end. 

Gwindor had come to terms with his brother’s death during his time in Angband. The only thing that kept him going was the thought of returning to Nargothrond and reuniting with you and your sister.

Your heart felt warm by his conviction, and your feelings for him resurfaced the more time you spent with him. You simply wanted his smile to light up his features once more. 

You felt certain reluctance toward your feelings for him. He had loved Finduilas, and thus would never fall in love again, so what would be the point of confessing your love for him? 

However, you had your answer, when the man he came with turned out to be Turin, and he began to encourage your father and the rest of Nargothrond to go to war with Morgoth. A great bridge was built. Gwindor was against it as he knew the might of Morgoth better than anyone. However, no one would listen. 

You tried to talk to your father about it, having your own doubts about the plan. But he was also convinced of Turin’s plan. 

Then came the day when the forces of Nargothrond were to march to war with Morgoth, led by Turin and your father. And to your fear, Gwindor had also decided to join the battle despite his scars and lack of hand. 

You decided to reveal your feelings now while you still had the chance rather than keep them secret forever and possibly lose Gwindor again to the fangs of war who spared no one who happened to get caught by them. 

“Gwindor, wait!” 

The elf stopped when he heard you and turned to look at you as you approached. His armor gleamed with silver, and a helmet rested beneath his arm. It was a sight all too familiar to you, which only deepened your dread about his chances of returning home.

“Is there any way I could convince you not to go? I’m afraid this plan is too far-fetched and you and father will never return,” you explained as you caught up to him. 

“Turin is confident that we might win, and besides, even if we didn’t go to war, Glaurung would still come this way,” Gwindor answered softly. 

“And we could have been able to stay hidden if that bridge had not been built. It’s standing there like a sore thumb, a dead giveaway to our city,” you stated. 

“I mean no disrespect toward you or your friendship with Turin, but I’m afraid his hatred for Morgoth and thirst for revenge has clouded his judgment. Building the bridge has already left us bare to the world, and what shall we do if you lose this fight and we are left defenseless?” you questioned, sounding nearly desperate and devoid of hope at the thought of being attacked by Morgoth’s armies. 

“That will be left to be seen…” Gwindor said with a tone of hesitation and sorrow. There was no denying it. He was not fully convinced of the plan, and yet he could not stop himself from joining the hopeless fight. 

You thought about your feelings for him. It was no or never. 

“Gwindor, please. Do not go. I already lost you once. I do not think I can bear the pain of losing you again,” you said. 

“You know I can’t just stay behind. It would be neglectful on my part,” Gwindor answered. 

“Then hear out what I have to say, because if this might be the last time we speak, I will never be able to say it again,” you said and he listened. 

“Gwindor. I have loved you since our childhood. And I pushed myself away and never dared to put myself between you and Finduilas. If this might be the last time we talk, then I at least wish to share my feelings toward you once and for all then leave them unsaid,” you revealed, tears nearly prickling out your eyes as your heart was open to him. 

Gwindor looked at you with shock and surprise. 

“I do not expect you to return my feelings. I just wanted to tell them rather than hide them and regret never telling them,” you added, waiting for his reaction. 

“Even If I made foolish decisions and became this…” Gwindor motioned his scars and missing hand. 

“I have never been one to care about looks. You might have lost a hand or been scarred by the dark lord, but you never lost your love and kindness. I can still see in your eyes,” you said as you caressed his face. 

Gwindor leaned into your hand, placing his remaining hand on top of yours.

“To think I was this fool not to notice this..” Gwindor uttered with his eyes closed as he enjoyed the warmth of your hand that nearly felt like a gentle candle flame. 

“If I have said something earlier. Would you have perhaps accepted me?” you asked. 

“You stood by me, even when Finduilas lost her affection for me. Perhaps it has always been possible to fall in love for the second time. My answer is yes,” Gwindor answered, and for a moment, you felt your heart be lifted from the sorrow. 

Then the dreaded horn sang, indicating it was time to march. 

You two looked at each other one final time. His eyes held sorrow, yet familiar warmth as he gently took your hand away from him. 

“I must go now… If the Valars will take pity on us. They will allow us to meet again in the future,” Gwindor said and you then watched him leave. 

You did not want to let him go, but you did nothing and watched as he left with your father and his supposed human friend. You wished you could have even the smallest specks of faith or hope that winning was possible. However, fate was unkind as the dragon and his orcish armies were the ones to return. 

[serregon]

anyone else notice that the Túrin/Nienor/Brandir love triangle in the Brethil chapters is kind of a reprise of the Túrin/Finduilas/Gwindor love triangle in the Nargothrond chapters. I mean both involve our disaster man, a blonde woman, and a disabled man who loves the blonde woman but who is rejected by her in favor of Túrin

like the Nienor/Finduilas parallels are obvious. Túrin compares Finduilas to the blonde Hadorian women he grew up with and sees her like a sister, so we get deliberate visual parallels between Finduilas and Nienor. and then his actual sister Nienor was found on Finduilas’ grave. I kinda get the feeling that Túrin realized that he made a mistake by not reciprocating Finduilas’ love, so he sees this similar looking woman on Finduilas’ grave as a second chance. ironically, he loved the woman he was supposed to love as a wife as a sister, and he loved the woman he was supposed to love as a sister as a wife.

both disabled men play a similar role where they’re both kind of aware that they’re in a tragedy, and they try to guide things in the right direction. Gwindor tells Túrin that he should marry Finduilas because she could save him from his fate, and Brandir does the opposite by telling Nienor that she should not marry Túrin because he senses Túrin’s doom

[theelvenhaven]

Rescuing Gwindor from Danger

Request:  Can I request a separate headcanon with Maedhros, Maglor, and Gwindor with s/o who rescues them from danger and cares them back to health? If that's too much, you can do only one, or the first two. I like your blog and you're awesome.

A/N: I chose to go ahead and just do the one I hope thats okay, and I chose our beloved Gwindor. It’s been a good while since I’ve had any requests for him. Also I am so glad you like it here <3 

* * * 

- Because of Gwindor’s time being enslaved, he has acquired a handicap in his bid to escape- losing his hand entirely. 

- Unlike a certain Feanorian, Gwindor was unable to learn how to use his opposite hand to fight, so defending himself- or you- is a difficult task. 

- In truth Gwindor feels inadequate in his inability to defend and protect you and himself, though he usually keeps those thoughts and feelings to himself. Not wanting to burden you with what he’s feeling.

- Though he has made sure to teach you how to wield a weapon or several so you know how to defend yourself since he can’t do it very effectively. 

- As a result, Gwindor tries not to do anything that’s too risky even if that means leaving Nargothrond for something as indulgent as a morning ride or stroll outside the Kingdom. 

- Though there are certainly rare occasions where he does leave the Halls and it is with you and a guard or two- with a weapon on his hip as he knows his odds are slightly better than if he is unarmed.

- Though naturally since safety or danger can’t truly be predicted until you are in that situation, and that is how Gwindor finds himself in a position of needing to be rescued. 

- It is during an ambush that the two of you are separated from one another, as you both try and stick with a guard, and use your own weapons to defend yourselves from the threat. 

- As expected you utilize everything that Gwindor has taught you to the best of your ability and are incredibly successful in taking out the fell beasts that have targeted you and your guard. 

- While Gwindor is not so lucky, in the heat of trying to wield his weapon with what strength and ability he does have, it doesn’t take long for him to be separated further from you and the guard who was with him.

- The fighting and his failing strength brings back many unwanted memories, bringing him to struggle further with this fight and the orc takes full advantage of that as he slices at Gwindor injuring him before kicking him to the ground to finish him off. 

- It is as the beast is going to deliver his crushing blow do you run to his rescue, driving your blade right through the creature, saving Gwindor from ending up in Mandos.

- Swiftly do the guards finish off the remainder of the creatures, before both of them help deliver you both back to Nargothrond where Gwindor can be tended too. 

- Gwindor takes it in stride to be stitched up, though in reality it still scares him even if he hides it, he happily accepts any hand holding and comforting words that you have to offer as they work on stitching him up.

- As the Healers leave him in your care Gwindor decides not to shoulder all the responsibility on himself, stressed and triggered by the whole ordeal and relinquishes i to you when you tell him you want to care for him. 

- You bring him so much peace as you change dressings, clean up the area around his wounds, and Gwindor welcomes it. 

- He does his best to listen to all of your reassurances, and he savors the comfort you bring him while taking the time to disclose to you that he doesn’t feel save leaving Nargothrond’s Halls again. 

- Gwindor is happy to have you safe and by his side and grateful for all the tending and care you give him. 

* * * 

Tags: @saviorsong​ @lilmelily​ @dicksoutformtl​ @fandomhoe101​ @celebrimbor-telperinquar​ @red-riding​ @miriel-estelwen​ @ta-ka-shi-ma​ @nerdysimpy​ @thegirlwithoutaname87​ @anunexpectedsideblog​ @spidergirla5​ @eunoiaastralwings​ @eternalabysss​ @pretty-shiny-silmarils​​

[camille-lachenille]

Was thinking about just how much characters in the Silm and LOTR deal with pain an injuries on a daily basis. It’s not always said plainly but they exist in the story, they live, they are important, and I wonder how much of them are inspired by Tolkien’s own experience of war injuries/illness. How many of his fellow soldiers came back home disfigured and disabled and were faced with disgust or contempt?

Sure, there’s the whole fairy-tale/mythic aspect of loosing a limb in your heroic quest to get the Magic Object, but what about Gwindor, who was captured by Morgoth and, when he finally managed to escape, was so changed by his sufferings that his beloved rejected him? Gwindor’s not a hero, he’s a simple soldier who suffered through war and captivity and became disabled because of that. How much pain did he live with daily even if it’s never said on the page?

And, still in the CoH, there’s Brandir the Lame. He was born disabled, couldn’t be a warrior, yet held a position of power until his people wanted action and scorned him. Brandir is a healer, a man of wisdom and lore; how much of it is because he tried to cure himself? To ease his pain but also try to "fix" himself in the eyes of his people and be the worthy leader he thought they wanted.

There is Sador ‘Labadal’ too, who chopped his foot off in an accident and is looked down for that by several character (not the least of them being Morwen).

These three characters are all disabled and looked upon with pity, contempt or outright disgust. They did not become disabled in the doing of great deeds, their stories aren’t heroic, and so their disability makes them worthless in the eyes of many.

If you take Maedhros, on the other hand (pun fully intended), he is seen as made greater by his disability. He suffered unthinkable torments and was freed at the price of his right hand, and did many great and terrible things after that. It is similar for Beren, who also lost his hand (arm chopping is not a love language!) but it always portrayed as a good and heroic character, because his disability is the direct result of him taking part in the great designs of the world rather than a banal accident.

And that’s only for the Silm characters, because we don’t want to forget about Frodo of the Nine Fingers, who bore the One Ring to the very fires of Mt Doom. Frodo who returned home sickly and traumatised, plagued with chronic pain, nightmares and a poor health and was only looked at down by the hobbits who did not take part in the quest if the ring. Frodo may be a hero for Men and Elves but he has little to no recognition in his homeland.

Another character I nearly forgot (shame on me!) is Celebrían, She was captured and tortured and despite her physical wounds healing she was never the same again, to the point she had to leave her family to seek healing elsewhere. I see this as a form of mental illness, probably depression and PTSD. And Celebrían is not thought as lesser because of her disability. She is seen as a tragic story, yes, but it’s better than most of the other disabled characters in the Silm.

Anyway, I don’t really know what my point is here, just that I noticed a pattern in the representation of disabled characters in Tolkien’s works, first of all that they exist at all, and second that how they are treated certainly reflects the views of society on disabled people during Tolkien’s lifetime. The way he writes disabled characters isn’t perfect, far from it, but they are here, and I, as a disabled reader, am immensely glad for their existence and I play in the gigantic sandbox of the Legendarium with these characters and others whom I imagine as disabled in any way.

[teitho]

Our prompt for Nov/Dec is Healing.

Healing figures significantly in many of Tolkien’s works. We encounter healers like Elrond, the staff of the Houses of Healing in Minas Tirith, Aragorn and the healing hands of the King.

We see many characters being healed—Frodo, Faramir, Eowyn, Merry.

Healing isn’t only confined to physical injury—there is healing of mental and emotional hurts as well.

And we also see incomplete healing—where characters may be healed of bodily injuries swiftly but the horrors and trauma they endured persist—Maedhros, Gwindor, Frodo.

Healing also affects the land in Tolkien. Ithilien—where Legolas and his people go at Aragorn’s request, to rejuvenate and cleanse the land—is just one example of this.

Healing can also be seen in the context of interpersonal relationships—Maedhros healing the rift in the house of Finwë, the repair of Bilbo and Thorin’s friendship at the end of the Battle of Five Armies.

What stories of healing will you give us? We can’t wait to see where your imagination takes you!

Stories or art should be submitted to teitho.contest@gmail.com by Dec 31!

Your mods

Sian22, lotrfan, and Cassie.

[aurore-parle-de-ses-idees]

blinding things

hey look. we're doing @aspecardaweek this time. tada! have some fin-galad (ao3) notes: probably qualifies for both genderbend and background romance. character death & vague violence (on account of the general state of beleriand after dagor bragollach and also being turin-adjacent). not for any of the prompts in particular; could fit most of them tbh.

People have always loved to call you after light. After blinding things. You guess it isn’t so surprising then that they have such a hard time seeing you. Sometimes you have trouble, too.

They- a nebulous, ever-present they- say it’s all a part of being. Of being a person, an Incarnate- any of it. They speak in inevitabilities. Things that are because that is simply the way of the world. Those are old rules, though, things from the perfect lands that are only true in stories and in half-imagined memory. They’re not the rules of lands that know the touch of the Enemy, that know the feel of fire and of endless tears. Those rules are not true now- if they were true even then.

You grow up a princess, mostly, and you decide early on that you will do what pleases you instead, and they love you enough to let you even if they never understand the why. You braid your hair like a prince’s when you are young and play with Gwindor and Gelmir and Megoril, because someone has to be the prince and they all want to be captains and heroes and you are the best at it, after all, and when you return to your chambers in the dimmed evening lanterns you find you like the way it feels. 

You learn to do all your own braids for court rather than deal with the questions that come in private. What does it matter? you want to ask. It’s still me. But there is light on you, Orodreth’s child, and that means that you are noticed. You wonder if they would care less if you were someone else. You wonder if they would indulge you less.

It isn’t even that it’s sharp, the way they ask, not harsh or demanding or meant to be hurtful. There are things far worse and far stranger in Beleriand than a child who’s a little odd. They are so very certain, though, that you will make up your mind, that you will settle, that you will grow out of it. When you grow a little older, they add that you will find your one, and that you doubt even more than you do the thought of settling as prince or princess. What does it matter? Is it not enough that you are yourself?

“They say sometimes it takes centuries to find someone,” Megoril says, tugging at your hair as she braids it for nothing but the joy of it into some unholy horror that carries no meaning at all.

“I don’t think I ever will,” you say. “I don’t think I want to.”

And you are so, so sure of it.

---

You go to see the pools of Ivrin once, you and your friends who are the rising generation of Nargothrond, and Gwindor wakes you just before dawn and brings you to a ledge that overlooks the mirrored surface of the pools. Together you watch gold light fill the hollow and the falls sing like laughter, and it’s then that he first calls you Faelivrin, and the sound of it in the moment is as beautiful as the crystal waters.

Four months later he tells you he loves you, and you tell him you love him, too, but not the way he seems to feel it, not with the burning thing that seems to live in him when he looks at you. He says he knows. He says he won’t begrudge you unreturned affection, that he loves your company for its own sake, and you are happy to believe him.

Those who know you less well are less understanding, and you’re a lady of the court except for the days you’re a lord, and all that really means is people ask you twice as much to dance with them and go on outings and follow all the lines of courtship that have always seemed so silly in your eyes. It’s impolitic to constantly decline, but saying yes once just means they’ll ask again, and you have to turn them down eventually, and then you’re rude for giving them false hope.

“You might choose someone you could at least stand to be with,” Megoril suggests once, passing you a handful of dice across the table. “It’s not a perfect solution, but they would at least stop asking.” You roll the dice unhappily, and move your pieces towards Gelmir’s, and do not look at Gwindor on your other side. You wonder how serious she is.

“I don’t want to promise you something I don’t have to give,” you say to him when he asks you about it, weeks later, deep in the caves beside a still pool, a thing lit from below by luminescent crystal. “Nor to ask you to settle for a thing that makes you unhappy.”

He takes a long time to reply, standing in contemplation beside the pool whose clarity belies its great depth. “Why should it make me unhappy to spend my days with someone I care for so deeply?” he says at last. “I would not ask you to be what you are not. I made peace with myself long ago on this matter- I ask you now only because you have not been yourself in months.”

You muster a smile for him. “You are my dearest friend, you know.”

“I could ask for no higher esteem in your eyes.”

---

You announce your betrothal with the next spring, and it feels as if the weight of every eye has vanished all at once. You have done as they believed you would, as others do, as they understand all do in time, and so they look away. It’s one part relief and one part frustration, and one part amusement at their expense for so easily buying the deception.

“How much of it really is a deception, though?” Gwindor asks. Gelmir is with you today, more invested than either of you are in the planning of the celebratory banquet.

“Enough,” you say, and then concede. “Not much.”

“Less of it is their business,” Gelmir puts in from behind his extensive spread of notes.

“You must allow them some gossip at least,” you say, only a little flippantly. “It’s one of Nargothrond’s most treasured pasttimes.”

“Perhaps,” Gelmir says with perfect neutrality, and Gwindor laughs at his expense. “Do you want any of the cider from Brethil?”

“Oh! Do we have some again?”

The banquet is a bright moment and gives you blessed peace. The Sudden Flame is brighter in all the wrong ways.

Gelmir is gone. Beleriand boils over. Gwindor paces in your room- Finduilas’s, still, though he’s left his family’s home more and more since Dagor Bragollach- and worries over all the world outside. You worry more about the one inside. 

---

The day the Nightingale comes to Nargothrond you are at once bewitched. You see her only briefly, once on her arrival and once when she leaves, but you look on her and think that this is one who will not be bowed by any will but her own. You step back and let her pass when she and Huan steal through the deep ways that lead eventually to the surface. You do not raise the alarm, and she looks at you, and tilts her head, and nods.

Later, when news of her quest reaches Nargothrond, a letter also comes for you, and with it a small, smooth river stone that glitters beneath dancing light. For one who also changes, the message reads. May you still know yourself. 

You don’t know if there is Power in the stone, but you keep it in your pocket, and when you go among your people that day you pitch your voice down as if in song the way you learned from your uncle now gone and you find it easier than you ever have before.

---

You hold Gwindor close the night before he sets out to join the Union of Maedhros. For his brother, he says. You don't know what it's like to have one, but you wonder what you might do if it was Gwindor who was lost, or Megoril. Before, the answer may have been nothing, but everything in Beleriand, it seems, is obliged now to grow teeth.

“Return to me,” you whisper to him, and if you have no marriage-bond between you two you at least have something all your own and through it you feel him clinging to you in turn. You wonder if he knows something you do not.

He goes, and he does not return.

Most don’t, after the ruin of the Fifth Battle. You ask your mother too late to show you what she knows of the spear, but you never were the hero in your childhood games and it’s too late now to make yourself a warrior fit for the fires in the north, but you can learn at least a little, you hope.

And then Gwindor returns, and he brings with him a friend.

---

You were so very certain, years ago, that you wouldn’t be in love. You could never see it. You don’t know if this is it, but you know that there’s a wanting in you, an urge that draws you nearer, and you find your thoughts dwell on him without your leave. He is great, it’s true, and strong and fair of form, and you wish to be near him, to have his friendship- even in unguarded thought you call it friend, but there is an acuity in this that you’ve not felt before. You grip Lúthien’s river stone until your hand aches and wish the world felt less like it was falling out from under you. It feels silly, too, when all Beleriand is going up in flames. Who does it serve to doubt yourself now? 

Your father does his best, but he is too cautious for those desperate for hope, and even he is caught up in the fervor of victory in open battle. Gwindor watches with apprehension as the great bridge is built, and in your heart you wonder if the foundation of the thing you tried to build with him was something entirely incorrect. Did you truly judge yourself so wrongly? Did this always wait for you?

“Do you love him?” Gwindor asks one day, watching you practice the few forms your mother showed you, and you open your mouth and find it empty. How can you answer and have it be the truth if you can’t tell yourself? It would be cruel of you to deny it outright and find it to be a lie. It can’t be much less to hesitate as you do. You could tell him all of it, perhaps, but the weight of the years that he’s been lost is heavy on him still, and you can’t bring yourself to lay any more on him.

“Túrin is not in love with me,” you say, for it’s all you can be certain is true, “and he will not be.”

You wish you could say something more. You wish you knew yourself half as well as you thought you did.

“I will not ask you to be what you are not,” Gwindor says to you after a long, quiet night. “Unless it were to be happy.”

“Do not think I want any less for you,” you whisper, and fabric rasps against fabric as he takes your hand.

“That becomes a more distant dream by the day,” he says. You tighten your grip.

“There is still hope to be found.”

“Ever more of it burns away.”

“Gwindor-”

“I could not resent either of you for it- indeed, I can’t say I don’t know what you see in him. I only wish it could end in anything but sorrow.”

And you wish you could ease his heart- or know if he spoke the truth of it. You’ve always found it far too easy to believe him, though.

There might be rules to be broken here, too, in the way you’re almost good at breaking things by now, in a way that gives all three of you a day of joy, but the dragon comes.

The dragon does not care what you call yourself or who you care for, and you do not care what the deep answer is when you scream for Túrin held entranced on the bridge. Your people don’t care either, now, hanging on your words when you are thrown together when the warband rests, all of them watching you like the promise that someone will come for you is all that holds them together.

The orcs don’t care any more than you do, and neither does the spear that pins you to the tree.

---

They say the river saved you, when you wake at the mouths of Sirion. They say that Teiglin’s keeper bore you away half maddened from the blood in her waters, that you were the only survivor, that you were believed lost in the fall of Nargothrond. There’s a hole in you that makes you think you probably were.

More accurately, they say Finduilas is lost. There aren’t many who could recognize you here, and few of them are permitted in the healers’ wards where you lay long and silent in the quiet Havens. They call you Duinel, the one from the river, and it suits you as well as anything else. They can do as they please.

News comes with rumor of the death of the great Worm, of Túrin, of all that's overrun with the fall of your city. You felt the loss of Gwindor like a bruise on your heart as you were dragged away. You feel it still. It doesn’t matter any more to anyone but yourself what you felt for them.

There are people from the Falas here; you remember the days they thought you had a twin brother. You thought it was funny, then, so you let them believe it, and you didn’t leave Nargothrond often enough for it to matter. Eventually, there are a handful from your home. You don’t precisely hide who you are, but you don’t declare yourself, either. Not yet.

The enemy creeps closer to the hidden refuge- too close, they fear once, and a spear is pressed into your hands in defense of the Havens and they do not tremble. You stand unmoving for hours, though, until someone shakes you out of it and pries the shaft from your grasp. Your fingernails leave half-moon marks in the wood.

---

You sit on your heels and stare up at the greying hull of Círdan’s ship drawn up out of the water for repairs. Something that must have claws as tall as you left long furrows in the wood below the waterline. The Shipwright thinks you should lead. You doubt enough of your people have survived for it to matter, and anyway- “Why shouldn’t they follow you instead?” He laughs under his breath.

“I am no king,” he says, “and most certainly not to the Noldor. I will count myself lucky if they heed my advice on sailing, much less rule.”

“Even my father’s kin are not so hard-headed as that.” Círdan makes a skeptical sound and your lips twitch. It’s almost a smile, you think.

You go with him to the Isle of Balar, and grudgingly you take up responsibilities. You don’t have as good a head for logistics as Gelmir did, but you make do.

---

You never do discover who started calling you Ereinion. It prickles on your shoulders, son of kings, but you don’t think you dislike it entirely. There is work to do, and you think you don’t dislike that, either, after so long in a hidden land and enough time as Duinel. It keeps you busy. You don’t have so much time to dwell on what you’ve lost- but when you do, you find that that, at least, the people of Balar understand.

All the flotsam of Beleriand washes up in the Havens, eventually. Celebrimbor joins you, cousin who you knew for a time in Nargothrond who always told such fascinating stories. Doriath falls, and then Gondolin. Megoril makes it to Balar, your only living cousin on your mother’s side, and says Ereinion ought to have a guard, a spear to protect herself, and that she can do the job better than any one else.

You still have so few friends who know you, who don’t need to be reminded that Finduilas isn’t dead, that she’s still here, that you are still here, that you’re still the one who loved Gwindor your own way, that even if you’re nothing like a princess any longer you are still you.

You’ve never met this father-side cousin of yours who calls a meeting in the Havens, but Celebrimbor speaks highly of her. She speaks of the need for unity, for a steady hand for all the fractured Noldor, for preparing for worse before it comes to it. You think that she is right, and that she will put herself forward as ruler- as a High Queen rather than king. You think that you are fine with that, and that she certainly knows what she is doing.

You are caught entirely wrong-footed, then, when she turns to you instead.

You protest, but Idril has an answer for every one you offer, and you know all the while that you’ve already given in, because someone has to do it and they will all be something else and you are the best choice that remains- and none of them care what you call yourself or what you feel, and if they can’t afford to when it seems the world is ending, that’s almost as good as not caring at all.

You brush the river stone in your pocket, one of the last things left to you of happier days. Your hair has been bleached almost white after years in the sun here. “I would not always be king,” you say, but it cannot long forestall the inevitable- and she has an answer for that, too. The dwarves call their rulers king regardless of what they are in private, Celebrimbor says. Idril says it’s a fine solution here, too.

“You’ve been most thorough,” you say, and Idril inclines her head. “I would take no lover and my heir would be chosen rather than a child.” Lover or not, Gwindor’s loss still aches. You will not be moved to try such a thing a second time. 

The hole where your home was aches, but you leave the tower of the Havens of Sirion Ereinion Gil-galad, High King of the Noldor, and think that you are still only you, and you hope you still know what that means.

[batshape]

A question re: the way you handle elf teeth: assuming that the multiple sets of teeth grow in slowly over time, does elf diet influence the speed at which they grow in? Or the health/durability of the new set once they are grown in? For instance, if Aredhel lost a tooth in a hunting accident but didn't damage the foundation/new growth, could she alter her diet to grow the new tooth in faster? (I assume nan elmoth would not have a cosmetic dentist in residence. )(Related: would times of privation, like the helcaraxe or the dying days of beleriand do long-term damage to the growing-in set of teeth??)

jrrt show me the dark and fucked up nan elmoth prosthodontia

ok OKAY taking with a large pinch of salt that i have never studied dentistry and performed extremely averagely in 100 level biology years ago, i think yes and yes!

aredhel eating a calcium-or-whatever rich diet to prompt faster and healthier tooth regrowth or regeneration makes a lot of sense to me, mostly because i firmly believe in the inverse—gwindor definitely lost teeth in angband, due to a poor diet as well as obvious physical trauma, and was unable to recuperate and replace them afterward; maedhros was a frequent client of the himring dentist because he just kept breaking his weakened teeth off in things (living and not) post-thangorodrim; etc.

regarding the trek over helcaraxe—during which i think the nolofinweans and their ilk were eating their horses and drinking seal blood to avoid starvation and thus not receiving much vitamin c, d, or otherwise—a lot of them suffered tooth loss and found themselves with slow-growing and very brittle replacements. i think disability and chronic pain struck the exiles quickly and in ways they didnt imagine: who would have suffered serious nutrient deficiencies in a fantastically plentiful land? certainly someone, but not a significant enough population that i think the amanyar would give a shit pre-darkening. so what do you think and do when your teeth start falling out on the ice? what is the precedent for that? is there one? were there dentists in aman? periodontists? orthodontists? or was the declining health and quality of ones teeth an entirely new experience in beleriand?

all teeth-related questions that keep me up at night

[cycas]

My apologies for the random question, but I loved your in-depth analysis about Galadriel I just read. Blame it on how my brain works, but I was curious if you have any theory about Oropher's fatal military decision that sealed his fate? Tolkien's description paints him in an unfavourable light, leaving the impression he acted on some petty impulses rather than making a strategic decision that made sense to him.

"...Oropher had the wisdom to foresee that peace would not return unless Sauron was overcome. He therefore assembled a great army of his now numerous people, and joining with the lesser army of Malgalad of Lórien he led the host of the Silvan Elves to battle. The Silvan Elves were hardy and valiant, but ill-equipped with armour or weapons in comparison with the Eldar of the West; also they were independent, and not disposed to place themselves under the supreme command of Gil-galad. Their losses were thus more grievous than they need have been, even in that terrible war.

Malgalad and more than half his following perished in the great battle of the Dagorlad, being cut off from the main host and driven into the Dead Marshes. Oropher was slain in the first assault upon Mordor, rushing forward at the head of his most doughty warriors before Gil-galad had given the signal for the advance. Thranduil his son survived, but when the war ended and Sauron was slain (as it seemed) he led back home barely a third of the army that had marched to war. ... 1. Malgalad is another name for Amdír; this passage contains its only use." -- Unfinished Tales, The History of Galadriel and Celeborn: The Sindarin Princes of the Silvan Elves

I think this is the bit anon means.

Oropher in this account mirrors Gwindor at the Nirnaeth Arnoediad; rushing forward before the command is given, but while Gwindor is deliberately driven to break the line by watching his captured brother tortured to death in front of him, there's no reason given for Oropher's early rush into battle.

I think it also mirrors at least one historical battle: the battle of Hastings in 1066. The historians are still arguing about exactly why Harold's men broke the line there, and what effect that had.

That might be a good place to start for sources justifying and explaining Oropher's decision to start the battle.

It could be that Oropher, like Gwindor, saw a beloved captive dismembered. It could be that Oropher was tricked, in the way that, possibly, Harold's army was, by a false retreat - or even saw a real opportunity that genuinely made a difference to the war, but paid a heavy penalty for it.

Wood-elves seem to use bows a lot: maybe they were firing on the army in front of them when it began to retreat, like the Norman cavalry at Hastings who retreated (maybe) from the arrows of the Saxon archers holding the high ground, and the Saxons followed them.

Maybe Oropher knew about Gwindor's great charge at the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, how he made it all the way and beat upon the doors of Angband, but could not break in. Perhaps Oropher thought that if he was fast enough, he could follow Mordor's armies right into Mordor, and break the siege that way.

That might fit with a lightly-armoured, fast-moving way of operating, and you can also imagine that heavily-armoured Noldor and Numenoreans used to a different style of fighting did not understand what Oropher tried to do. Or maybe he genuinely didn't have much experience with pitched battle, and made a terrible mistake. Maybe he DID have lots of experience with pitched battles, and still made a mistake.

I might write about this one day, from Amdir Malgalad's point of view, since Amdir is one of my lesser known favorites.

Not sure if Anon will still spot this, but I only just got time to reply.

[lovefairymina]

(might be a little insight for whats to come)

Celebrimbor: *just hanging around near The entrance of Nargothrond*

Gwindor: So, (Name), eh?

Celebrimbor: Hmm?

Gwindor: Out of all elven maidens in the kingdom, you have given your heart to The little lone Wolf (Name).

Celebrimbor: I do not mean any harm to her, my lord. I would not even imagine laying a harmful finger on your ward.

Gwindor: Its fine. Im actually glad. You are The reason she now comes inside more often than sleep outside and controls her self destructive habbits. That child of Hurin doesnt believe she's deserving of love, so if you can break her out of that shell. You have my full support.

Gwindor: I am curious thought. What did she do to make you fall for her?

You: *arrive throught Gate*

You: Celebrimbor! Look at this white jewel I found. It might not compare to the high quality jewels and stones on your forge, but it reminded me of your silver eyes, so I thought you might like it.

“Would you like me to craft something using this gem? I have a few ideas you can use; I'll assist you since I'm aware how adamant you are when it comes to making jewellery of lately,” he offered, paying no mind to the gemstone in your hands, but rather the beauty of your presence.

[doodle-pops]

˚₊‧꒰ა Little Things You Do That Make Them Smile ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Headcanon: Turgon, Finarfin, Galdor, Rog, Gwindor

𓏲⋆ ִֶָ ๋𓂃 ⋆ Turgon

“𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒈𝒈𝒍𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒉 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒌𝒊𝒔𝒔𝒆𝒔” — If Turgon hadn’t smiled for the day, surely your attempts at reaching his lips for a kiss will. Be it you stood on a table, doubled and tripled the chairs, stacked them on top of a table, or climbed his tall frame, he would have cracked a huge grin at your adorable attempts. The measures you go to ensure he receives a daily dose of affection make his heart swell. At times, he would even purposefully deny bending down just to see what route you would take for your kiss.

“𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒄𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒕 𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒕 𝒉𝒊𝒎 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒘𝒐 𝒔𝒍𝒆𝒆𝒑” — Leave it to Turgon, and he would sleep in his study, but when he remembers that you’re alone in your shared chambers, he finds himself at your side. However, he forgets your cold feet when he becomes too comfortable holding your body against his. You have a knack for perfectly timing when he relaxes before pressing your feet against his skin. It doesn’t matter how many times he pushes your feet away, they come crawling back. As much as your cold feet drive him up a wall like a cat, without it, his bed feels empty. It’s something he both looks forward to and doesn’t at night.

“𝑼𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒑𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒆𝒕” — He knew he wasn’t as spontaneous as the other members of his family and feared that may have been a turn off when it came to courting, but when you entered, you proved him wrong. You were the perfect amount of spontaneity to his tranquillity while understanding and sharing his love for calmness. Whether it’s helping him with his fishes, building/crafting his miniature city together, reading or dancing, Turgon enjoys even moment even more, as he's aware of your appreciation for his love for tranquillity.

𓏲⋆ ִֶָ ๋𓂃 ⋆ Finarfin

“𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒖𝒑 𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒚” — If he could stay all day in bed with you and sleep, he would. Sadly, duty always calls him away, yet, the sound of your whines and feet stomping against the bed leaves his heart yearning. Your long list of reasons why you two should spend all day in bed leaves him in a fit of soft laughter and hearty grins as you complain. Most of them sound reasonable, truly, they do. And if he didn’t know any better than receiving a scolding from his advisor, he'd dive back into bed with you.

“𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒉𝒊𝒎 𝒘𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝒇𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓 𝒄𝒓𝒐𝒘𝒏𝒔 𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒖𝒂𝒍 𝒄𝒓𝒐𝒘𝒏” — The soft padding of your feet as you rush over to him, holding a crown of flowers behind your back and one that matched his attire, leaves him filled with excitement to show it off. He proudly wears each one, be it in public or at court, for all to see the wonderful gift you give him each day with a bundle of love. To top it off, he makes it clear to anyone who notices that you made it, so they'd think twice about saying anything.

“𝑾𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒈𝒊𝒇𝒕 𝒉𝒆 𝒈𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖” —There’s not a gift Finarfin has not given to you where your reaction hadn’t left him bubbly. Be it your smile, your laughter, your grin or your screams when the gift was received, he can bet the entire Kingdom will be hearing about it, whether you verbally inform them or show it off every chance you get.

𓏲⋆ ִֶָ ๋𓂃 ⋆ Galdor

“𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒔” — Galdor felt like he found the perfect companion when he heard you loved plants and gardening just as much as he does. His heart swells when he observes your delicacy towards the plants as well as your knowledge. Inviting you into his gardens to show off his knowledge of plants which leads to him being impressed by your knowledge when you add extra facts. He would quietly smile with his eyes as he listens to you prattle on and on about your favourite flora and those you wish to have. Sometimes it the way you proudly show off his gifts of potted plants around your home, caring for them and going as far as naming them.

“𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒄𝒓𝒖𝒏𝒄𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒇𝒖𝒔𝒆𝒅” — If it wasn’t the head tilting, then it’s the adorable away your nose crinkle and scrunch when you’re confused that's making him combust internally. He had to refrain from wanting to hold your face and pepper your nose with kisses and bites. The urge to verbally say “awe” comes to mind and the tip of his tongue whenever you do so.

“𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒄𝒐𝒐𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆 𝒉𝒊𝒎” — Whether you are a masterchief or not, accompanying him to the kitchen and assisting him is enough to put a smile in his face. His appreciation for the simplicity in life allows for moments like these to be cherished greatly. The loud chopping of vegetables, the soft bubbling of the pot and the clinking of glasses followed by laughter shared between you both as you navigate throughout the kitchen, doing your best to avoid stepping on each other’s feet adds an extra touch of comfort to his life.

𓏲⋆ ִֶָ ๋𓂃 ⋆ Rog

“𝑾𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒚 𝒖𝒑 𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒉𝒊𝒎 𝒕𝒐 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆𝒅” — Due to Rog’s love for spending long hours in the forge, staying up never went according to plan because 9 out of 10 times, it resulted in you falling asleep and him coming home the late hours of the next day, meeting you sprawled out sleeping. He appreciates your dedication to waiting for him each time he ventures into the forge, he’s touched, but it also worries him when you lose proper rest over him. Hence why he tells you not to stay up too late for him, though his words never reach you well because you insist on ensuring you see him when he comes home. All he can do is shake his head with a tender smile as he adjusts your sleeping position to something much more comfortable.

“𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒊𝒏 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒄𝒓𝒂𝒇𝒕” — Spending dates indoors, locked up in the forge and watching him slave away behind a piece of metal without complaining makes his craft feel appreciated. At first to him, it didn’t seem like much when he could be taking you on tours around Gondolin and planning other dates, but seeing how divested you were in hearing him talk about his passion made this man want to pop out a ring and propose right on the spot.

“𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒄𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒉𝒊𝒎 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒉𝒆’𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒕𝒆𝒅𝒅𝒚 𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒓” — The first time you clung to his muscular form, squeezing his biceps and nibbling on his arms and shoulders, Rog couldn’t quite believe himself. You treated him as though he was a stuffed toy, squeezing him every chance and burying your face into his muscles. It wasn’t until the first time you called him your teddy bear, that he felt his heart growing warmer at the nickname, not believing that such an affectionate term of endearment could leave him a blushing mess. From that day on Rog vowed to always ensure that his muscles were soft and bulky so that he would always be your teddy bear.

𓏲⋆ ִֶָ ๋𓂃 ⋆ Gwindor

“𝑫𝒊𝒔𝒄𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖’𝒓𝒆 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒅𝒊𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒉𝒊𝒎” — When Gwindor discovered that you shared the same passion for nature and exploring caves like him it makes his heart combust. In his mind when it came to courting he had never expected for someone to be into the same hobbies as him. He always viewed himself as a nerd and undesirable, leading to him holding less interest in courting. But then you came along with your enthusiasm sharing the same love for nature as him. Most of your dates if not all are spent exploring the lesser caves and exchanging tidbits of knowledge that you’ve accumulated over time.

“𝑳𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒊���𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒕/𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒂𝒌” — Believe it's or not it doesn’t matter if what you’re saying is interesting in your eyes or not Gwindor values every single with that falls from your tongue. You could be talking about your favourite food, your favourite plant, how you rolled off your bed this morning, or the weird dream you had and he would be listening as though you explaining the creation of the sun, moon, and stars. He believes that you have a natural gift for tuning simple topics into interesting conversations with the most intriguing and enthusiastic words ever. This encourages him to spend every minute of the day with you begging you to even read his favourite novels, simply so he could listen to you speak.

“𝑾𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖’𝒓𝒆 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒈𝒖𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒚 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒔” — In his most honorable moments when you appear and see him in his natural form covered in scars window immediately wishes to pull up and disappear. However, when he feels your touch full of love and pain towards his injury, he breaks down. The raw emotion he feels from your touch that emanates love makes him forget his disgust towards his scars. He always believed that you would hate them, hence why he always remained fully clothed around you at all times. Even though he still carries insecurities towards his injuries feeling your gentle touch against his skin melts some of his worries and fears away.

Masterlist

Taglist: @lilmelily @ranhanabi777 @rain-on-my-umbrella @mysticmoomin @asianbutnotjapanese @batsyforyou @aconstructofamind @involuntaryspasms @sakurayaxd @stormchaser819 @addaigio @lamemaster @hermaeuswhora @elficially-done-with-life @eunoiaastralwings

If you want to be added, click on the Taglist Link to join.

[outofangband]

Part Two of my post on Maedhros and chronic pain

Part One

This will go to more detail about his symptoms as well as that of other former prisoners. I used canonical details from The Wanderings of Húrin but the rest is of course speculation 

Angband World Building and Aftermath of Captivity Masterlist

There will be a final part that goes into psychosomatic pain and pain through sensory flashbacks and related symptoms. These are mentioned here but not in detail

cw: discussion of torture and captivity and the aftermath

Maedhros and other former prisoners of Angband experience symptoms long after their rescue, release or escape. Chronic pain, discomfort, mobility and posture issues and more are all common after torture

This post will focus primarily on Maedhros and the symptoms of physical pain he experiences after Angband. It will also talk about Húrin, Gwindor and Rog. I have thoughts about this for Celebrían too but I figured I’d leave that for another post if there was interest because that’s after the first age

I’ve probably talked most about Maedhros’s legs. He suffered injuries to both in addition to the extended periods of enforced immobility in full restraints as well as upon Thangorodrim. He suffered muscular atrophy in both legs and damage from the lingering affects of poorly healed fractures, malnutrition and other abuses

He suffered atrophy in both arms to a somewhat lesser extent. Other injuries were similar to his legs, the effects of poorly healed fractures and more. Maedhros also suffers frequent joint pain as the result of stress positions, enforced immobility, and other torture

(I talked about methods of healing on the previous post but needless to say it’s a long and difficult process)

Maedhros continues to suffer photophobic headaches long after his rescue. This is due to both the difficulty of adjusting to the new light as well as damage to his eyes.   Areas of scarring, especially the burn scars from boiling liquid on his back and the backs of his thighs, frequently feel painful and irritated. Various salves by topical application do aid in this, sometimes by soothing the pain and sometimes by offering other sensations. 

The mind, body, soul connection is very strong in elves and pain from traumatic injuries can linger long after. Maedhros experiences not just phantom pain in his right arm but pain from intimate and internal injuries in the years after his rescue when the physical wounds have healed and scarred. This can result in stomach aches and nausea, other internal pain, and more. (This will also be discussed more in the third part)

Húrin likewise experiences extensive chronic pain following his escape. His limbs are stiff with disuse and frequently burn at any exertion. Any position he sleeps in leads to waking in discomfort. He uses a cane to help with walking but it does very little for his suffering. I’ve gone into this in some of my Wanderings posts but the physical healing he canonically receives through the will of Morgoth who wants him at least able to travel seems to degrade over time as well as to worsen when his mental state does In Brethil, he struggles to walk without help at one point, interestingly enough at a time when he’s described as seemingly dissociated (”he walked as one in a dream”) after being captured and chained a second time. 

The physical effects of his pre Thangorodrim torture are less pronounced, if only because of the sheer extent of the Thangorodrim trauma. But the brands upon his skin prickle and burn sometimes. Húrin never knows if he is imagining this, if it is the result of nerve deep damage or if it is because of the dark magic said to imbue many of the thrall brands of Angband

Gwindor and Rog, both survivors of the mines of Angband, suffer lasting consequences of their captivity until their respective deaths.

Rog was beaten innumerable times especially in the beginning of his imprisonment and had dozens of poorly or never treated fractures and sprains. Many of these heal improperly and continue to cause aching pain long after his escape. He treats them with steam and hot springs and various stretches that he mostly develops himself. 

Gwindor suffered extensive injuries in the collapse of structures that trapped him and led to his capture. Though his mobility was not initially effected (I’ll be honest, if it was, he would have been killed after interrogation), eventually the unhealed damage in his legs makes walking painful. He keeps silent about this until long after his escape. By this time the muscle damage is visible on the outside.

To be continued! As always please feel free to ask more

[serregon]

hm narn hair headcanons

Túrin: raven black, thick and curly in texture. wears his hair partially tied back to make his round human ears visible. very pretty, when he actually takes care of his hair. out in the fields his hair is a tangled mess. he runs his hands through his hair when he’s stressed, leading to a lot of breakage. but like it makes him more handsome in a wildman of the woods sort of way. of course, he can clean up nicely when he wants. Beleg braids flowers and wooden beads into his hair. he doesn’t like it when people touch his hair, so it’s a major sign of trust to let Beleg braid his hair.

Beleg: a light silvery gray, silky and slightly wavy in texture. being an archer, his hair is almost always tied up in some way to keep it out of the way. his go-to is a ponytail decorated with several smaller braids, both pretty and practical. he crafts his own little wooden beads to decorate those small braids. he doesn’t wear his hair up too tight, and he often has a lot of loose strands. in a more casual setting, he will typically wear a loose braid or he’ll let his hair down with some small side braid.

Niënor: honey blonde, curly and fluffy and thick in texture. she has fluffy bangs. her go-to style is two low twin braids tied with blue ribbons. in her teen years her hair is a mess and a half due to her insistence that she could cut her hair by herself, and it’s still kind of uneven. during her time in Doriath she learned how to braid her hair in an Iathrim style. though Níniel lost her memory, her muscle memory remained, and she didn’t know why she often defaulted to braiding her hair in this way

Mablung: dark brown, straight yet thick in texture. shaved on the sides, a Sindarin warrior style. his hair is almost always held up in a braid or ponytail. in the three years he spent searching for Nienor, he did not have the time to maintain the side shave style, and his hair started growing in these uneven layers. and he wears Beleg’s beads sometimes, he holds onto them after Beleg dies.

Orodreth: pale gold, wispy and slightly wavy in texture. also very shiny and glittery, actual l’oréal model. his hair care routine is like 10 hours long. he loves braids and he often tucks his hair into a crown, but just loose enough to free his heart shaped curls.

Finduilas: pale gold waves. her go-to hairstyle is to put half her hair in a crown braid with the rest falling in loose curls. she has these little curly ringlets on the sides. following Fingon’s style she braids pink or light purple ribbons in her hair. I also imagine her with some different late medieval/renaissance hairstyles with those pearl nets.

Gwindor: before Angband, his hair was long and slightly wavy, a glossy hue of midnight black. in Angband, his hair was cut short as part of a humiliation/demoralization tactic, and it slowly grew out to chin length when he returned to Nargothrond. the effects of torture on his hröa turned his hair a dull shade of charcoal, and it became brittle in texture

[eilinelsghost]

🤔 for the silm ask meme!

🤔 Tell us one of your favorite Silm headcanons. Can be one that's out in the wild or a personal one!

Hmm, it's hard to pick a favorite...I'll go with this one because it's been on my mind a lot lately with the series I'm writing.

One of the reasons everyone turned on Finrod so quickly in Nargothrond is that it's the refuge city - it's where you go if the war/siege is getting to you and you're afraid of what might come. Finrod encourages this, of course, because that's literally why he built the place, but it ends up being exactly why he loses it too.

Another aspect of this is that a lot of the war-wounded end up there also. For example, while the Silm references that those set free from Angband were often turned away by their kin out of fear, Gwindor just shows back up in Nargothrond and is apparently welcomed without much hesitation. He even gets Túrin welcomed there as well. I think that's because it's been a sort of long standing policy that Nargothrond takes in the ones who don't have anywhere else to go.

Somewhat unrelated, but I also imagine there are more children in Nargothrond than in the other Elven kingdoms. Especially after the Bragollach when the Siege has broken and the illusion of peace is gone.

All of this of course makes the sack of Nargothrond even more depressing than it already is, so my deep apologies there.

------

Thanks so much for the ask!

[camille-lachenille]

I am now thinking about what each character in the children of Húrin would be like as a roommate

-@outofangband

You gave some strong fuel to my imagination, @outofangband !

From the top of my hat and probably missing a lot of characters:

Morwen is the quiet and judgemental roommate. Doesn’t speak much but will give you a withering glare if you forget to do your chores even once.

Húrin is cheerful and kind and likes to banter. Tends to monopolise the TV and will snark at people trying to dislodge him.

Túrin is also quiet but much more friendly and and tries very hard to be helpful but everything he does ends up in a disaster. He’s very vocal about what he doesn’t like and sometimes brings questionnable friends home.

Niënor is cheerful too but stubborn as hell and the slightest disagreement can escalate to a full blown screaming match. She has a little tendency for dramatics and will absolutely make tragical declarations if there isn’t coffee anymore.

Aerin is very shy and quiet at first glance but can be incredibly vicious with people she doesn’t like and she has an ongoing war with the landlord. She has a phobia of house pests and you have to prevent to set things on fire if she finds a cockroach or a spider.

Brandir will act like a slightly overbearing parent. He’s very anxious but gives genuinely good advice if you listen to him. He has a neat schedule to divide house chores between the various roommates and has very strong opinions on home management.

Beleg is super into sports and will drag you on hikes at ungodly hours of the morning in the weekends. He’s unwaveringly loyal to his friends and a great ally in the war against the landlord.

Gwindor has very strong opinions on interior deco but is otherwise calm and friendly. He will bring home a lot of strays and cry when he can’t keep them all.

Glaurung is the evil landlord.

[squirrelwrangler]

Retellings of the Silmaril Quest of Lúthien and Beren, the Lay of Leithian in the form of poetry and countless works of material art in the form of paintings, tapestries, and sculpture, are more unavoidable in the start of the Second Age here in Tol Erresëa and Valinor than Faelindis would have imagined. The songs were composed and sung extensively before the Fall of Nargothrond and even whispered, softly and fitfully, in the bowels of Angband, and it is a tale of hope and joy and triumph. Faelindis flinches. She cannot help it. She met Lúthien, knew her during her unhappy time in Nargothrond and had been overwhelmed by not only beauty but the kindness and diamond-hard conviction of self. Faelindis knows the shame of how neither her nor Lady Finduilas had aided Princess Lúthien, unable to free her from her captors or convince the city to change their hearts. That had been bitter, while Lúthien yet lived her second life with Beren far to the south, despite the apology letters sent and received by Lady Finduilas. The desperate undercurrent to Túrin's treatment, that this time he would be heeded and given aid and love, to be worthy of Lúthien's grace. Others are tactful enough not to bring up Túrin's tale and stories of his deeds and doom in Faelindis's presence. But she cannot escape the images of Lúthien. And there is no fairness to Faelindis's fear and the seed of hate that it is germinating.

Faelindis was never dragged before the Iron Throne, but she knows the walls of Angband and the echoes of Morgoth's voice, and she cannot bear it, not a single time more, to see a depiction of that throne room and Lúthien standing so brave and tall and clever before the Dark King surrounded by his orcs and wolves. She cannot hear of Lúthien's imprisonment in three-trunked Hírilorn and the daring escape via an enchantment of hair. The comparison to the coffin-sized stone cell that Faelindis was forced into during her decades of imprisonment are nothing at all alike. Years of Angband, years without the hint of the sun or stars, of orcs and balrogs, of the only face not unkind being her Faron, and he but a despairing ghost like her. Decades of slavery and the orcs' leering eyes. Faron in warg pit - she cannot look at images of noble Huan beside the brave and steadfast lovers without flinching. Facing off against Carcharoth when the snarling of young wargs frightened her, when still Faelindis sees how Faron flinches from the barking of dogs and feels the scars of their fangs on his arms. The Gardens of Lórien dampened the memories and removed most marks on their bodies, but when Faelindis dreams, she remembers weeping. She remembers listless terror and hopeless acceptance.

'But you escaped from Angband' others remind Faelindis, as if she had not followed mutely and bewildered, without faith in hope of true escape. She had only followed Faron because she had not wanted to die alone in the dark, surrounded by orcs and balrogs and wargs. There had been no goal, no confidence.

Still the well-meaning show her images of the escape from Angband, as if Faelindis would offer commentary on the accuracy of Thangorodrim's chimneys in the background.

Almost a year with the sensation of Tol Eressëa's fresh air upon her cheeks, the feel of sun and stars softening what memories linger beneath the darkness of her dreams, of Faron's returned smiles, only then does Faelindis look closely at a painting of Beren and Lúthien's escape from Angband. The image that she reexamines made her flinch, as all did, even the joyous ones. But this one is from the moment after Carcharoth has bitten off Beren's hand, and it reminds Faelindis of Gwindor's missing hand and Faron's missing fingers. The lovers are stumbling through the broken craters and ash-covered wasteland that surrounds Angband, a terrain that Faelindis knows exactly how it feels beneath uncovered feet.

Lúthien's facial expression is bewildered and scared, which Faelindis blames the artist for an overreach of imagination - Faelindis met Lúthien in Nargothrond when she had been imprisoned and desperate to rescue Beren from the Isle of Werewolves, when she had been scared that her beloved was dying and had not been deterred. Lúthien was defiance incarnate. Not lost. Not clinging to Beren. Not tottering aimlessly through that slag field of ash with their quest in ruins.

Faelindis pulls the seed of resentment out of her chest and lets it wither in the open air, drowning it with another spat of weak tears.

She buys the painting. Faron says nothing when she hangs it in their house.