#havens of the falas

[swanmaids]

Círdan’s lover comes to him without pattern or motive. He moves through Middle Earth as he pleases, there is no constraining him, and in this he never changes; whether Círdan makes his home in the Falas or Balar or the Havens at Lindon, where he rules these days. And Círdan would not constrain, nor seek to temper the same nature that he loves. He is content to wait for him when he is gone: after all, Círdan has plenty of time. Yesterday and today and tomorrow; he will still remain here. 

But his lover will come to him tonight - this he knows. So when Tilion hangs low over the waters, he walks alone to the jetty to wait. He waits, and listens to the sounds of the shipyard: the cries of the gulls and the creaks and groans of wood on water. 

He is not alone for long. The man who approaches is broad and weather-beaten, sun-bleached hair knotted in a single braid and the beginnings of a beard on his face. His image is both new and utterly familiar. Círdan’s heart rises like the gulls.

“Beloved,” Ulmo Lord of Waters says to him, and Círdan goes to him gladly.

[waitingforsecretsouls]

The amount of times I've seen the Dagor-nuin-Giliath misconstrued as a defeat, or "first sign" of the inevitable failure for the Fëanorians is just baffling if you consider the actual events.

But the host of Morgoth, aroused by the tumult of Lammoth and the light of the burning at Losgar, came through the passes of Ered Wethrin, the Mountains of Shadow, and assailed Fëanor on a sudden, before his camp was full-wrought or put in defence; and there on the grey fields of Mithrim was fought the Second Battle in the Wars of Beleriand. Dagor-nuin-Giliath it is named, the Battle-under-Stars, for the Moon had not yet risen; and it is renowned in song. The Noldor, outnumbered and taken at unawares, were yet swiftly victorious; for the light of Aman was not yet dimmed in their eyes, and they were strong and swift, and deadly in anger, and their swords were long and terrible. The Orcs fled before them, and they were driven forth from Mithrim with great slaughter, and hunted over the Mountains of Shadow into the great plain of Ard-galen, that lay northward of Dorthonion. There the armies of Morgoth that had passed south into the Vale of Sirion and beleaguered Círdan in the Havens of the Falas came up to their aid, and were caught in their ruin. For Celegorm, Fëanor’s son, having news of them, waylaid them with a part of the Elven-host, and coming down upon them out of the hills near Eithel Sirion drove them into the Fen of Serech. Evil indeed were the tidings that came at last to Angband, and Morgoth was dismayed. Ten days that battle lasted, and from it returned of all the hosts that he had prepared for the conquest of Beleriand no more than a handful of leaves.

-The Silmarillion, Chapter 13: OF THE RETURN OF THE NOLDOR

The Battle was a victory, not only barely eeked out but an utter eradication of Morgoth's armies. Not only the forces specifically marshalled against the arriving Noldor (what seems to be a reconstructed eastern host, with the last one mostly destroyed in the First Battle) but also Morgoth's initial western host occupied besieging Círdan and people, that had to be diverted for attempted reinforcement. Which the Fëanorians quickly shatter without issue, despite having to divide their forces. Something important for me to bring up because you'll often see the argument that the Fëanorians doomed themselves by cutting of the Nolo-and Arafinwëan manpower, which both ignores how Nolofinwë at the time was actively disputing Fëanor's leadership and therefore would not necessarily have led to an effective united front (with the implied 'solution' mostly boiling down to "Fëanor should have let Nolofinwë usurp his kingship because he would have made a better king anyway" and never "maybe Nolofinwë should have stopped agitating against the guy who was rightful king by all procedures of inheritance we ever see (and Fingolfin himself would adopt) to get himself crowned as his first priority"), as well as how even just the Fëanorians alone completely curbstomped the forces of Morgoth that had previously scattered the Laiquendi, confined Thingol to Doriath and besieged Cirdan. Sure, eventually they would have likely been overwhelmed by the unending stream of new armies, but that's exactly the same thing that eventually happens in canon anyway, even with the rest of the exiles present. Trying to argue that the Dagor-nuin-Giliath in particular already demonstrates the certainty of the Noldor's defeat is nonsensical.

It was "renown in song"! And given that this is mentioned in context of the victory it was, it feels safe to say the renown in question was of celebratory nature (as opposed to the often celebrated Fingolfin duel, which in-universe is explicitly described as thus: "The Orcs made no boast of that duel at the gate; neither do the Elves sing of it, for their sorrow is too deep."). Given how sparse the details and hints we get towards the Fëanorians and east Beleriand side of things can be, the vast majority of it in implications or one-liners (such as most of their alliances and friendships) and after-the fact admissions ("bereft of their power and glory of old" being the most prominent one that comes to mind), this just makes me very happy. Also disappointed-but-not-surprised how often it goes ignored or straight-up inverted. No doubt in large part due to the following:

Thus it was that he [Fëanor] drew far ahead of the van of his host; and seeing this the servants of Morgoth turned to bay, and there issued from Angband Balrogs to aid them. There upon the confines of Dor Daedeloth, the land of Morgoth, Fëanor was surrounded, with few friends about him. Long he fought on, and undismayed, though he was wrapped in fire and wounded with many wounds; but at the last he was smitten to the ground by Gothmog, Lord of Balrogs, whom Ecthelion after slew in Gondolin. There he would have perished, had not his sons in that moment come up with force to his aid; and the Balrogs left him, and departed to Angband.

First up, any and all attempts to try and paint this as a pathetic end are straight-up ludicrous (especially for people who are impressed by Fingolfin's duel with Morgoth later on). Fëanor in this is not only taking on a variety of Balrogs but also what seems like the remnants of the eastern host that his forces had hunted into Ard-Galen in the previous section (once they notice his separation from his army they turn from flight back towards him; the Balrogs are even specifically noted to "aid" them!). And he's doing it. By. Himself. Not only that, putting up a long and fierce resistance against multiple Balrogs (compare this to Fingon in the Nirnaeth, who gets quickly tripped up by two of them).

The Balrogs are always depicted as Morgoths elite troops, their last appearance in the story having been to drive off the empowered Ungoliant:

But Ungoliant had grown great, and he less by the power that had gone out of him; and she rose against him, and her cloud closed about him, and she enmeshed him in a web of clinging thongs to strangle him. Then Morgoth sent forth a terrible cry, that echoed in the mountains. [...] The cry of Morgoth in that hour was the greatest and most dreadful that was ever heard in the northern world; the mountains shook, and the earth trembled, and rocks were riven asunder. Deep in forgotten places that cry was heard. Far beneath the ruined halls of Angband, in vaults to which the Valar in the haste of their assault had not descended, Balrogs lurked still, awaiting ever the return of their Lord; and now swiftly they arose, and passing over Hithlum they came to Lammoth as a tempest of fire. With their whips of flame they smote asunder the webs of Ungoliant, and she quailed, and turned to flight, belching black vapours to cover her[...]. -The Silmarillion, Chapter 9: OF THE FLIGHT OF THE NOLDOR

(Though I'll grant that there might have been less Balrogs present in the battle against Fëanor)

I'll also point out that the Balrogs retreat the moment the rest of the Fëanorian host and sons arrive as reinforcement, indicating they were not confident in their chances to take them on (otherwise why not take this chance to destroy your enemies once and for all, before they can properly encamp and establish themselves?), which seems reasonably, given the extended struggle even Fëanor alone put up against them (to the point that despite drawing "far ahead" of his van, said van caught up in time to prevent the last of it).

So, obviously the death of their father and king still would have been a heavy blow, far be it from me to deny this (despite the stories refusal to give us any details on the emotional impact of it...), but I reject the notion that it turned the battle into a net "loss", especially if you keep in mind the unusual circumstances of it that are already kind of separated from the battle proper. Which leads into my last point, no longer about the battle itself but still relevant:

Then his sons raised up their father and bore him back towards Mithrim. But as they drew near to Eithel Sirion and were upon the upward path to the pass over the mountains, Fëanor bade them halt; for his wounds were mortal, and he knew that his hour was come. And looking out from the slopes of Ered Wethrin with his last sight he beheld far off the peaks of Thangorodrim, mightiest of the towers of Middle-earth, and knew with the foreknowledge of death that no power of the Noldor would ever overthrow them; but he cursed the name of Morgoth thrice, and laid it upon his sons to hold to their oath, and to avenge their father. -The Silmarillion, Chapter 13: OF THE RETURN OF THE NOLDOR

Even if you are a fervent believer in the fact that Fëanor truly had a clear revelation about the future somehow (at the very least in part because you prefer the omniscient narrator to the in-universe chroniclers, I presume), even if you believe he, dying, would have known this epiphany for what it was: in-universe this would have been ludicrous to assume and incongruent with the very recent lived experience of him and his people. The Fëanorians, it bears repeating, just won a crushing victory against Morgoths forces, which they near obliterated, and even his most elite soldiers fled before them, the only notable casualty occuring due to singular circumstances (which fandom is not slow to point out when it comes to more humoristic purposes). There is literally NO rational reason for the Fëanorians, and indeed, Fëanor himself, to see their cause as doomed based on their experiences with Morgoth and his forces! So even if Fëanor truly gained this "foreknowledge", why should he have heeded it? The guy laughted in the face and threats of his worlds angels! These characters do not know they are in a story about fate and doom without recurse from either, and are determined to fight against such forces whenever they are presented or threatened with them. So the argument I see that uses this as another ammunition why "Fëanor sucked and was a bad dad!" (his sons are literally men grown...) because he urged his sons to remain committed to a cause he "knew was doomed" just ignores everything about recent events and the Fëanorian mindset and determination.

Since it's one of my greatest gripes, I also have to once again ask: where, in this, do people see this infamous "second oath" (which...wouldn't that make Celegorm's recital of it in Nargothrond a "Third Oath"? Yet I've never seen that argument, funny that) ?

(I also disagree with the occasional choice to present Maedhros' capture as somehow still part of it, which it very much is not, however close to the battle's conclusion it might have happened, since the concession of defeat by Morgoth's embassy necessitates for that battle to be regarded as concluded by both parties imo. I'd also argue that the Fëanorians took some time to recover from the ten day battle and fresh grief of loosing their father, as well as time to debate the offer for a few days at the least, something which Maedhros needing to convince his brothers of his idea kind of implies, nevermind the other practicalities of it, such as agreeing upon the place for negotiations and numbers of troops allowed (which both sides break, but would still have been negotiated) with Morgoth's embassy, which would have taken additional time. Which is not even mentioning Maedhros potential coronation. But that's neither here nor there...)

[riding-with-the-wild-hunt]

peoples of middle-earth ❖ the falathrim

“But great was the grief of Ossë when Ulmo returned to the coasts of Beleriand, to bear [the elves] away to Valinor; for his care was for the seas of Middle-earth and the shores of the Hither Lands, and he was ill-pleased that the voices of the Teleri should be heard no more in his domain. Some he persuaded to remain; and those were the Falathrim, the Elves of the Falas, who in after days had dwellings at the havens of Brithombar and Eglarest, the first mariners in Middle-earth and the first makers of ships.”

-J.R.R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion, “Of Eldamar and the Princes of the Eldalie”

[ID: A picspam comprised of 12 images in shades of blue and golden brown.

1: Gulls flying in a hazy sky / 2: Cambodian houses on stilts in the sea / 3: Ripples in clear water / 4: White text reading “falathrim” in all caps on a dull blue background. The text has a faint blue echo / 5: Fishers using traditional southeast asian equipment / 6: Ling Ling Chen, a chinese model, lying in water with her face turned towards the viewer. She has bleached hair and her eyes are closed / 7: Peng Chang, a taiwanese model, propped up on her hands in shallow water. She is wearing a gold dress that fans out on the surface behind her and has dark hair / 8: A bay with hills visible in the distance / 9: Same format as Image 4, but the text is all lowercase and reads “people of the coast” / 10: Pearls forming in an oyster shell / 11: Ridges in sand, each filled with water / 12: Two people leaning on each other while standing in water. They have dark skin and are wearing white sarongs /End ID]

[polutrope]

#messages through the fence intro post.

1. Parchment copy of a clay tablet (lost) containing a list of names.

Provenance of original: Eglarest.

Provenance of parchment copy: Balar.

Now stored in the archives of Imladris.

Probable Date: Years of Darkness, some 30 Sun Years or 3 Valian Years before the Sun’s first rising.

[F]EANARO CURUFINWE. KING. SLAIN. TURCAFINWE. REG[ENT].[1] CANAFIN[WE]. LOREMASTER.[2] MORIFINWE NELYAFINWE. THRALL OR S[LAIN?].[3] TWO OTHERS[4]

COMMENTARY

This, the first document we have pertaining to relations between the Noldor and Doriath, has interesting implications for the state of those relations in the earliest years of the Exiles settling in Beleriand.

The inaccuracies and incomplete knowledge of the names and roles of the sons of Fëanor provide evidence of the widely-accepted belief that the Fëanorians did not communicate directly with Menegroth following their arrival in Beleriand (I would emphasise that we do not know if Fëanor attempted to do so and was unsuccessful, if it was an oversight, or—as many historians assume—a deliberate choice).

My grandfather Celeborn, who was an archer under the command of Mablung at this time and not active in the court of Doriath, was unfortunately not present for the delivery of this tablet. However, he presumes, and I agree, that it would have accompanied an oral report of the Dagor-nuin-Giliath, given that the death of Fëanor and capture of Maedhros have already taken place. It is purely speculation on my part, but it seems probable that this tablet may have accompanied the first message to reach Doriath following the end of the siege of the Falas.

Lord Círdan could sadly offer no further insight on the tablet, save that he could not recall ordering its creation personally.[5]

Of interest to historians of language, this is one of the few documents we have that transliterates (somewhat clumsily)[6] Quenya into the Certhas Daeron. Most lettered Sindar quickly learned and adopted the Fëanorian Tengwar for writing, including in their own tongue, due to the greater ease of using this script with ink on paper (a method of writing introduced, of course, by the Noldor). It is also interesting for the evidence it provides that use of the Certh among the Sindar could be practical as well as commemorative and artistic.

FOOTNOTES

[1] As we know from later sources, the regency of the Noldor at this time was contested. Evidence from Mithrim, though scant, names Maglor as Regent or even King of the Noldor.

[2] The title Loremaster is likely due to cultural confusion with the usual practice among the Sindar. [The practice was for a ruler to appoint a single individual as chief minstrel and loremaster, the most notable example being Daeron of Doriath. B.B.]

[3] Reading of the last word uncertain.

[4] The existence but not the names of Fëanor’s two youngest sons were evidently known to the Falathrim at this time. The likeliest explanation for the absence of the second Curufinwë is by confusion with his father.

[5] [Being somewhat less wise and prudent about these matters than the Lord of the Havens and the Lady Arwen, I have been unable to resist making my own speculations. Could Círdan’s messenger have created the tablet himself as a memory aid? This seems improbable for an Elf, but perhaps more likely given the foreign tongue of the names! B.B.]

[6] [For which, consult Lady Arwen's original. My skills as a translator are inadequate to replicate this feature. B.B.]

[ed3nwitch]

Não é nenhuma surpresa ver ASTRID HAVENSQUIRE andando pelas ruas de Arcanum, afinal, a BANSHEE precisa ganhar dinheiro como FOTÓGRAFA. Mesmo não tendo me convidado para sua festa de VINTE E CINCO ANOS, ainda lhe acho CARISMÁTICA e FIEL, mas entendo quem lhe vê apenas como DESCONFIADA e EGOÍSTA. Vivendo na cidade DESDE SEMPRE, ASTRY cansa de ouvir que se parece com saoirse ronan.

stats.

full  name  &  title :      astrid havensquire. a sonhadora.

nickname :     astry, trid, haven, sherlok homes.

gender  &  pronouns :     mulher-cis , ela/dela.

species : banshee.

sexuality :     pansexual.

height : 5'3.

age :     vinte e cinco anos.

birthday :     dez de dezembro.

occupation :     fotógrafa.

positive  traits :     carismática, fiel, energética, confiante, engraçada, organizada, criativa, inteligente, falante, honesta.

negative  traits :     sensível, explosiva, indecisa, ansiosa, desconfiada, desafiadora, fria, egoísta.

house :     tbd...

character inspo :    astrid hofferson ( como treinar seu dragão ), aelin galathynius ( throne of glass ).   

siblings :      nenhum.         

marital   status :      solteira.        

children :      nenhum.

extended   family :      nenhum.

pets :      um cachorro golden chamado Zeus.

mbti :      isfp.

summary. tw: menção de abandono.

Astrid nasceu fruto de uma mãe solo que fez de tudo para ajudar a criar uma menina forte que astrid é hoje. Muito nova pra entender os pontos da vida, seu pai abandonou ela quando ela ainda tinha cinco anos. Nunca sequer lembrando o rosto do pai, astrid tentou seguir em frente pela sua mãe e dar ela o orgulho que ela merece. Estudou e por um momento duvidou de fazer e seguir a vida de artista já que sua mãe era uma, mas quando viu que fotografia era sua meia parte ela deu um pé pra trás.

Descobriu que era uma banshee muito nova e, por conta disso acabou criando pavor de mortes. Não se orgulha de quem é ou pela sua habilidade de avisar que a morte está próxima, ela prefere seus livros e sua câmera. Quando decidiu e entrou pro emprego de fotógrafa em uma loja pequena, ela viu seu mundo ali e pessoas que eram como ela.

Ela é super mente aberta e do tipo de pessoa que os outros se sentem confortáveis de se ter por perto. Muitas vezes, seu estilo excêntrico e chamativo fazem as pessoas acreditarem que ela é agitada demais e muito barulhenta, mas a garota é um pouco o oposto disso. Apesar de ser o estereótipo de alguém que ama atenção, astrid é extremamente tímida e raramente gosta de ter a atenção de um grupo voltada para si. A garota sempre teve dificuldade em se abrir para os outros, mesmo amando estar entre as pessoas e ver o movimento e bastante pegajosa com as coisas que tem. É a menina tímida que está sempre observando tudo e ali, mas que nunca fala nada. Muitos confundem achando e crendo fielmente que ela odeia interagir com os outros, mas se trata mais de um certo bloqueio dela que nem mesmo sua mãe, que sempre acompanhou a menina, consegue entender de onde veio. Entretanto, assim que a banshee tem sua confiança conquistada e se torna íntima o suficiente da pessoa para que suas barreiras venham ao chão, ela se torna falante e super animada. Ela ama falar sobre seus gostos, hobbies e se torna super protetora com quem ama e se importa. Aqueles que conhecem essa parte dela, costumam chamá-la de “sherlock homes”. Para muitos, é algo bobo de se manter, não fala nada, não faz nada, mas quando se cria um laço sentimental, é quem te traz mais sorrisos e mais conforto.

headcanons.

Tudo o que envolve a arte. Música, desenho, pinturas, costura, culinária, qualquer forma de demonstração de sentimentos em trabalhos manuais que seja considerada arte é um gosto de astrid. Ela ama ouvir música e sabe tocar três instrumentos: violão, ukulele e kalimba. Ela é desenhista e pintora como sua mãe era e poderia passar horas a fio em galerias de arte sem se cansar. Mesmo que decidiu seguir a carreira de fotógrafa, ela também está no mundo da arte. Por ter um estilo muito excêntrico, várias de suas roupas foram feitas por ela ou ajustadas e personalizadas por ela, fazendo com que a costura seja algo que ela não apenas sabe fazer como também ama. A cozinha é basicamente seu segundo quarto e quase todo dia, ela inventa uma receita nova para testar.

não gosta de lugares barulhentos demais.

sua forma de demonstração de amor é através de palavras.

é viciada em café e por conta disso não consegue dormir a noite e só dorme de tarde.

tira foto de quase tudo que ver de interessante na sua câmera.

adora bichos de pelúcia.

ama fazer festa ou conversar no meio da madrugada.

Ela não gosta de esportes radicais e é contra montanhas-russas. De acordo com ela, não deveriam existir brinquedos que fazem você sentir medo ou ansiedade e que lidar com essas coisas normalmente já é uma tarefa difícil. astrid não participa desses esportes e sempre fica de fora das montanhas-russas, mas não é chata ao ponto de tentar convencer os outros dos seus gostos ou desgostos.

A banshee é capaz de falar alemão, latim, sumério antigo e russo. Mas é horrível em matemática.

connection ideas.

mentor(a).

irmã ou irmão de consideração.

colegas de trabalho, amizades ou melhores amigos(a).

[ladyswillmart]

Hivallion Gallery

In lieu of actual art skills, I just keep making iterations of my OC (or... Blorbo, I think that's what you call these now) in Hero Forge. In order, we've got:

Hivallion in his "natal nest" of Eglarest: Y.T. 1497 (shortly before the Siege of the Falas). He was only 109 (in tree years) when this happened. His hair was a slightly darker shade back then, and already quite long.

Hivallion in Mithlond: S.A. ~2000s. After surviving so many subsequent sieges and wars and even a Kinslaying, he at last found some measure of peace in the Grey Havens. During this age, he wrote and illustrated several books about the wildlife of Lindon and thereabouts.

Hivallion at Daglorad: S.A. 3434. At the age of 5098, he (reluctantly) joined the Last Alliance of Elves and Men, serving under his lord Círdan's banner. Alongside his trained raven companion, he put his scouting talents to good use; it was this raven who would bring word (or an insistent "hubba bubba bub") of Hivallion's Morgul-steel wound to his allies, an act that indubitably saved his life.

Hivallion in Gamwich: T.A. 3016, spring. This figure depicts Hivallion's first startled encounter with a hobbit. He had been in a coma for the entirety of the third age thus far, and was not expecting to see civilization of any sort occupying the former wilds once called "Arassian" but now called "Yondershire".

Hivallion in Long Cleeve: T.A. 3016, autumn. Rather than turn tail and run back to Celondim, Hivallion decided to stay in the Yondershire and make a sincere effort towards understanding this relatively new society of halflings. For about two years, he resided with a particularly eccentric clan in Long Cleeve (the Askews).

Hivallion in Frogmorton: T.A. 3017, summer. During his Shire residency, Hivallion cut his long hair off at the shoulders and began dressing in a more hobbit-like fashion. He celebrated many festivals with his new neighbors and learned an awful lot about the famous (and apparently inexorable) Hobbit custom of gift-giving.

Hivallion in the Lone-Lands: T.A. 3018. Unfortunately, Hivallion's idyll came to an end and he soon found himself getting whisked away on another adventure, this time getting involved with a mysterious ranger calling himself "Strider", a Dúnedain who claimed that he knew Hivallion from his stint as a vegetative tourist attraction in Imladris...

Hivallion at the Haunted Inn, Mirkwood: Early T.A. 3019 (with occasional traveling companion Bingo Boffin). Hivallion has just concluded a most upsetting mission, while all Bingo can think about is breakfast. Typical Hobbit! Indeed, Hivallion continues to wear the same armor he donned at Daglorad, despite its impressive age (and ignoring the patched-up hole near the shoulder from where he got stabbed by a Nazgûl).

Hivallion in Egladil, Lothlórien: Early T.A. 3019. He spent a bit of time here assisting the elves of Lórien as they prepared a fete for the Fellowship of the Ring. Not unlike a certain wedding in Minas Tirith (that technically hasn't happened yet), while the party planners would be most grateful for Hivallion's contributions, they would still neglect to set aside a single seat for him at their tables... 😩

Hivallion at Echad Dagoras, Enedwaith: Early T.A. 3019. At Elrond's personal request, the 8124 year-old Falathrim agreed to become an addition to the Grey Company—an unlikely addition, but a welcome one just the same. The other rangers would often describe Hivallion as the Company's "soft touch", despite his frequently wielding a rather large staff.

Hivallion in Tûr Morva, Dunland: Mid-February, T.A. 3019. Uh oh, it looks like the elf has gotten himself into yet another pickle. But no worries—Tuffy the raven is on the case, ready to bring word of Hivallion's imminent capture to the other rangers, who would otherwise be left wondering why he and Lothrandir failed to show up for that night's campfire supper and sing-along.

Hivallion in the Depths of Isengard, Nan Curunír, Dunland: Mid-February, T.A. 3019. Here, the Falathrim endured a harrowing 56 hours serving Dinner Slop by the ladle-load and running a gauntlet of what we will politely call "errands" under the ever-leering eye of Morflak. Of course, things could always be worse—just look at poor Lothrandir (or at least, we will whenever we find him)...

[outofangband]

Whales and dolphins related world building 🐋🐳💙

I was so so lucky enough to go on a whale watch (I saw basking sharks too!!!!!!) a couple weeks ago so I wanted to do some world building for Beleriand. I have some on Valinor here and as always I always wish to elaborate especially on some of my thoughts on Turgon, Ulmo and the appearance of whales in dreams

Fox related world building

Polar whales are endemic to the waters south of the Helcaraxë and are the most rarely seen by the elves of Beleriand. They have a somewhat shadowed reputation with the northern Sindar and Avarin elves.

Narwhals likewise are only seen from the Helcaraxë. Records of them entered the writings of Noldor hosts who came to Beleriand, occasionally appearing in art and in nightmares. Beluga whales were seen once or twice and were named ghost whales by the host of Fingolfin.

Turgon commissioned paintings of whales he had seen upon one of the inner palace walls, as part of a tribute to Ulmo. Species of immense, mysterious whales appear in his dreams until his death. Indeed, lore about the significance of whales and dolphins in elven dreams is widespread in both Beleriand and Valinor with many attaching prophetic importance to some kinds of imagery.

Dolphins are the most common cetacean seen from the coasts of Beleriand. Common dolphins, striped dolphins, bottle nose dolphins, and false killer whales are the most commonly seen. Elves of the Falathrim as well as the Sindar of Nevrast and Avarin groups in southwestern coastal Beleriand take great joy in these sightings.

Harbor porpoises lived near the havens of Sirion and became a symbol of escape and freedom among the refugees there. They often followed the boats of Eärendil and other sailors.

There are also several species of river dolphin, likely species that do not exist in today’s world. I’ve always enjoyed the idea of at least one species living in the sanctuary of Nan Tathren, known only from the earliest songs of elves of Beleriand, with many believing them to be myths.

There is an Avarin folktale of an elf Prince or maiden coming across a beached dolphin and aiding it. In some versions the dolphin is in actuality a disguised or trapped Maia of Ulmo.

Baleen whales are rarely seen from the coast of Beleriand however several species are observed and recorded by Falathrim sailors and occasionally those staying upon Barad Nimras. Indeed there is a history of extensive records of marine mammals and their behavior in both the Havens of the Falas and upon Barad Nimras. Fin whales, common minke whales, and most rarely, grey whales have been recorded.

Given Ulmo’s genuine presence in Beleriand and its waters, it can be difficult to distinguish between mythology and folklore involving marine mammals and phenomena, and Ulmo’s existence. That being said, while Ulmo does manifest through marine mammals, there are differences in mythology regarding the ocean between the various coastal populations.

[thelordofgifs]

Obscure Tolkien Blorbo: Round 1

Nerdanel vs Círdan

Nerdanel:

The wife of Fëanor, who later grew estranged from him.

Círdan:

Lord of the Falas and Master of the Grey Havens.

The one elven king who is not a never-ending disasterfest! Has been kinging for as long as anyone has been, extremely good at his job and gets into very little drama. Everybody’s grandpa, probably tons of foster kids before and after Gil-galad. Legitimately a nice guy, too, never seems to run out of patience. Boats!

He’s just there doing his thing, building cool boats. May or may not have the single elf braincell. Tired of babysitting adult elves that are too dramatic. He’s the resident old guy (tm). canonically has a beard, repeat, breaking elf stereotypes. Celebrimbor gave him Narya, and when Gandalf showed up he knew the Maia needed/should have it more than him so he gave it up. Gave up a Ring of Power. Stayed there to build people quality boats so they could sail if and when they wanted in the Third Age. He’s dealt with a lot and seems to have stayed sane. wahoo to that.

Round 1 masterpost

[tarninausta]

the peoples of middle-earth ✧ falathrim, people of the coast

But great was the grief of Ossë when Ulmo returned to the coasts of Beleriand, to bear [the elves] away to Valinor; for his care was for the seas of Middle-earth and the shores of the Hither Lands, and he was ill-pleased that the voices of the Teleri should be heard no more in his domain. Some he persuaded to remain; and those were the Falathrim, the Elves of the Falas, who in after days had dwellings at the havens of Brithombar and Eglarest, the first mariners in Middle-earth and the first makers of ships. Cirdan the Shipwright was their lord.

- J.R.R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion, “Of Eldamar and the Princes of the Eldalie“

[ID: A picspam consisting of 12 images, in shades of brown, gold, and white.

1:  A person wearing a headpiece made of golden scales and beads / 2: The surf on a rocky beach / 3: Light patterns on the sea ground / 4: Text reading “Falathrim” on black background / 5: A pearl in a dark seashell / 6: A ship seen through a curtain of beads / 7: Seagulls flying at the beach / 8: A person lying in a body of water, wearing a golden gown / 9: Text reading “People pf the coast” on black background / 10: A person gathering up their white skirt to step into the sea / 11: A fishing net / 12: Light reflecting off dark waves / End ID]

[seaside-wanderer]

Not every Elf knows another, that's for sure. However, some Elves are so adept at flying under the radars, or keeping to themselves, or just being a regular of their kind when compared to their more reckless kin, that no one ever heard of them.

Aeargail, or Arátya Alcariénen, is one of these. Some say he just came into being out of thin air, others that he's the heir of a certain High King... The truth is, most often, boring. He is just an Elf. He performed some great deeds in ages past, but virtually everyone did at some point.

Born in First Age 454 in Nargothrond, right before the Battle of Sudden Flames, some speculate he is the twin of Ereinion Gil-galad; his hair is, however, golden, though still betrays his ties with the House Of Finarfin. The speculation of a noble descendance was enough to get him, too, to safety under Círdan the Shipwright in the Havens of the Falas. His love for wandering brought him, still a child, in Gondolin, through that same path that Húrin would follow some years later. There, he abided by the rules of the White City, and he was taken under the wing of High King Turgon and adopted into the House of Fingolfin.

He fought in the Battle of Unnumbered Tears in FA 472 as a Gondolindrim and watched his city burn. He fought again in the War of Wrath at Finarfin's command, saw the fall of the Thangorodrim in the distance, breathed a sigh of relief at the slaying of Ancalagon the Black, and once again followed Círdan, this time in Lindon, all that remained of his beloved Beleriand. He fought at the Battle of Dagorlad in Second Age 3434 and was terribly wounded, but got out alive, rescued by Lord Elrond of Imladris, and then had to take a very long rest to fully heal. Recovered, he woke up an Age and almost three millennia later, ready to fight again in the Siege of Barad-dûr, only to discover all his friends were long dead, including Gil-galad.

His life outside of the battlefield is a blur. Living so long does that.

From time to time he finds himself longing for his companions, fallen in the War or in this or that Battle, knowing very well that his time has not come yet. He has so much to do. So much to tell the world. So, in these moments, he starts singing: songs of the sea, of his lost friends, of the tales of the Noldor and the Teleri, and the Vanyar, and his Houses, and sometimes raises a glass to his brother and king.

He comes and goes as he pleases, never lingering in a place too long. He remains unmarried and generally un-partnered, preferring a life at sea instead, the Unquiet of Ulmo accompanying him since birth. If he stops anywhere at all, he holds Imladris dear, and will often look for his companion Glorfindel and manage to get a few words about Gondolin out of him. If his friend becomes sorrowful after, he will offer him a drink and a shanty while admiring the beauty of the valley at dusk.

When the sun sets and the sky goes a pale orange, he watches his reflection in the waters of the Bruinen, and sees so much of Finarfin in the way his hair flare golden. And when it gets dark, and all around him is bathed in moonlight and the star of Eärendil is right above him, a few threads of silver here and there are the telltale sign of his undying kinship with Turgon and the House of Fingolfin, and he can't help but stare at the statue of Gil-galad right in front of Elrond's house, and will be gone by dusk.

[lya-dustin]

The Moon Lives in the Lining of Your Skin

chapter 2

Gil-galad x Erinti of the Maiar(oc)

“Have you always lived here?” he asks her as they wait for him to be healed enough to leave.

Rodnor sits on the bench while she tends to her garden of medicinal herbs. She cannot heal like Estë and her servants, but she can make the things that will heal people. This was her element; she tells herself as she digs her hands into the recently planted flowerbed and willed life to grow.

Especially the stubborn elf lord who refused to remember his body has limits.

It was not enough for him to be just a day or two away from recovery, just this morning he tried to spar with one of the trees and set himself back a week after being told his right hand was not ready yet.

But he had been so brave, gritting his teeth as his bones healed themselves with her touch. Been so brave that she kissed the pain away.

A mistake, she thinks, a mistake because now Rodnor knows her lips are better healers than her hands and now Erinti wonders how it would feel to kiss his lips.

She’s never kissed anyone before, the Eldar and the Edain have the most curious and strict set of ways that leave little freedom in her opinion.

“No, before here I used to live with my sister, Melian in Menegroth, but then I grew restless and decided it was time to be on my own.” She answers as she willed the seeds to grow as she poured her power into the soft earth. They grow too quickly, they always do whenever she feels infatuated with someone, “Have you always lived wherever it is you live at, Rodnor?”

“I grew up in the Havens of the Falas with my mother, Gilher. After the Nirnaeth Arnoediad we moved in the Isle of Balar, where I still live even after my lady mother faded a decade ago.” He does not mention the specifics, but Erinti cannot ask about those things he won’t say after he mentioned his mother’s passing.

“It must have been very painful for you to lose her.” Erinti paused and added as she cleaned the dirt off her hands with her apron and joined him on the bench, “I am very sorry for your loss, Rodnor.”

If she could kiss his pain away, she would, but wounds of the heart are not like those of the flesh. Erinti had cried herself for ages when Melian returned to Aman and Luthien died of the sickness that comes with old age.

She felt so lonely then, she wonders if Rodnor felt the same when his mother died.

“My thanks, Lothíriel, I am sorry for burdening you with my grief. I already owe you my life and telling you things that make you sad seems like a terrible way to repay your kindness.” The elf feels embarrassed at having been just a little vulnerable with her, Erinti wondered if that stupid notion some have of bottling everything up inside will ever stop.

“When Melian left, I felt as if my sister had abandoned me, I think by the time I finished mourning her and her family, her great granddaughter had married and had her own set of twins. A thing I learned during that time is that sometimes talking about it helps ease the pain.” Erinti had cried on the lap of a human grandmother when she finally let herself speak of the pain in her heart. The old woman had not judged her, perhaps that was what Rodnor needed to let go of some of that pain.

“My mother was in great pain, you see, my elder sister and my father passed when Nargothrond fell.” He began and Erinti did not fight the urge to hold his hand in support.

“How old were you when that happened?” the maia asked. So many kingdoms had fallen. Erinti had trouble keeping track of it all.

“I was a babe at her breast when we were sent away for our safety and that was the last time either of us saw them again.” He answers, leaning closer to her as if seeking comfort, and she leaned on his shoulder to comfort him for his loss.“I was all she had left, even if she had friends and kin to help her raise me, it pained her that her eldest child and her husband were gone.”

“When I had my hundredth begetting day, we quarreled, and I told her she was no longer burdened with raising me and the next morning she was gone.” There is a knot in his throat as he tells her this, and no wonder the death of a loved one is such a terrible thing to recount. The Maia felt awful for having even brought it up.

“The last time I saw Melian I told her she had become my jailer instead of remaining my sister. I wish I had not said such things, but I hope one day we can both apologize to them in Valinor.” She leans against his shoulder, relishing the warmth he gives.

“Perhaps we shall, my lady.” Rodnor then turns to look at her and held the Maia’s gaze. It makes her heart skip a beat and Erinti considers if they should pack provisions for two.

Been too long by your lonesome, no wonder this mystery ellon has you like this, the Maia can almost hear teenage Luthien’s sweet voice in the air.

Perhaps they have been alone too long, she thinks.

Rodnor has many questions, Erinti occasionally finds herself a little annoyed by them, but he ---like all people she was met--- is very adorable when he is being curious.

“How old are you?” he asks after they sit down for dinner one evening. Tomorrow he is supposed to be leaving and she has yet to find the courage to ask him if he would like a travelling companion.

“Older than the Ea, although this body is about as old as the Trees, and I did not grow into the person you see until Luthien ran off with Beren.” She answered as she sat back in her elegant blue silk chiton that still bore Melian’s sigil on the belt.

“So you grew at the same rate as she did, she was like your little sister, or perhaps, big sister?”

He looked handsome in her old clothes; blue was his most definitely his color. They look very well in somewhat matching blue chitons. He must be a of the line of Fingolfin, only he and his family could pull that dark haired blue and gold wearing noldo look. Did Fingon finally marry or did Turgon remarry because remarriage is not prohibited in Middle Earth?

Aredhel had a boy, but the birds say he sold his soul to Mogroth in exchange for his uncle’s city. Unfortunately, no one in the human village is brave enough to talk to her like their past generations and most of them had not been born then.

She was bereft of news of the outside world.

Last Erinti heard, Fingolfin’s youngest died with no issue and Aredhel’s one boy sold his soul to Melkor.

Who could this elf be?

“Sort of older twin sibling, I had the body of a twenty-year-old elfling when she was born and I did not begin to age until she had her twentieth begetting day.”  Erinti then spent roughly two thousand years unable to decide if she was male or female. The ainur are not born with the sex they present and some of them take more time to see what we like. Erinti had not realized she was a woman until Luthien introduced her as her sister and then it all made sense.

Not many understand that, besides she does not know his given name. When he tells her his given name then she may tell him more.

“I wish I did not have to leave; I have grown used to your company, Lothíriel.” He says when they finish readying everything for tomorrow.

Rodnor is to leave at first light after a fortnight here with her.

Is it bad that she does not want him to leave? Or that her gaze keeps going to his lips in curiosity when he mutters to himself as they made sure he had enough food and things for the travel. Erinti has never felt this before, is this how Melian felt when she first met her beloved Thingol?

She’s different now, as if she had aged that fortnight. As if she had stopped being the maia who came here to find their purpose, and now they wish to see if they can find it elsewhere.

“So have I, even if you refuse to tell me the name you gave yourself.” She teased him, looking up and thinking it was a terrible idea.

“Gil-galad. Radiant Star, after my naneth.” He is only a whisper away, looking at her with intent and desire. Desire she can feel brushing against her feä like tender caress.

If she were to step on her tiptoes ever so slightly, she could follow that pleasant feeling all the way to his lips.

“Lover of the stars, mother of starlight.” She cannot help but smile at the thoughtfulness of it. He chose his name after hers and not his father’s.

He reaches out to touch her face and she does not stop him, why would she? Even if it’s just for tonight she wants to be like girls in the tales she used to hear and sing about with Luthien.

This touch, this caress that is light and electrifying against her skin, is different from the ones before. There is something there that there never was before, not with Tilion, not with Nellas nor with Sael of the Edain.

“Leave with me tomorrow, Erinti Lothíriel. I do not wish to be parted from you.” He sounds as if the mere idea of being apart pains him, a sweet pain that she can feel too.

The maia cannot make the words come out, but she knows sometimes an action can speak louder than any word, so she takes a chance, reaches out for him and pressed her lips to his.

[ladysternchen]

(I just realised I forgot posting the previous chapter, so here's that as well) Excerpt:

She was torn out of her musings by a sound that might not have registered even with wild animals- but she registered, and decided that it was finally enough.

“Alright, I have had it. Come out! I know you have been following me for days, almost from Menegroth!”

As her cousins (well, cousin’s sons, to be precise, but Lúthien never was) slunk out from behind a tree, she smiled in spite of herself. They both looked like they were children  again, caught in mischief-making back in the years of peaceful bliss. They should have followed Círdan to the Falas, like their mother and grandparents, but apparently, the brothers had had other plans.

“So? Are you going to tell me what you are up to? Or are you planning on just standing there staring at me?”

Galathil scowled, which made Lúthien’s smile turned into chuckling. Grown elf-lord as he was by now, Galathil still looked exactly like he had done as an elfling when wearing that expression. Celeborn on the other hand did not scowl, instead saying softly:  “We, too, have a father to revenge, Lúthien.” “It is not…”

“We also would like to help you avenge what they did to Elu. Not that our pain can be compared to yours, but we dearly loved him as well.” Lúthien stared at them, suddenly having to swallow hard, all mirth wiped out in an instant.

“What about your grandparents?” she asked tonelessly once she had regained the ability to speak.

“They followed Círdan.”

Lúthien sighed in relief, glad her aunt and uncle at least were as safe as they could be.

“And your mother? Oropher?”

“Nana chose the havens, too. Oropher went east together with Amdir with as many as they could gather. ’twas a bitter farewell.”

That Lúthien could vividly imagine, as Oropher and his sister had ever been very close. And still her heart rejoiced in the fact that at least her cousin’s wife was not lost to her.

“And so you two decided to become my annoying shadows?”

The brothers nodded in unison, seeming more like children than ever before, which drew a wry smile from Lúthien’s lips once again.

“Fine then. Where to shall we…” 

She broke off, frowning, gesturing her cousins to hide. She could hear people near-by, chatting, singing, plainly not making any effort to remain hidden. Also, they spoke a language strange to her, though she had been taught enough of the ancient tongue to understand a word here and there. So the West was where those two wanderers came from. They had heard word of the Noldor in Menegroth, and then again from Círdan, who owed them the freedom of his cities and their inhabitants. But Lúthien also remembered her mother’s wariness towards them, and deemed it wise to handle them with such.

[searchingforserendipity25]

for @sindarweek.

prompt: locations - doriath.

(...) Melian put forth her power and fenced all that dominion round about with anunseen wail of shadow and bewilderment: the Girdle of Melian, that none thereafter could pass against her will or the will of King Thingol, unless one should come with a power greater than that of Melian the Maia. And this inner land, which was long named Eglador, was after called Doriath, the guarded kingdom, Land of the Girdle. Within it there was yet a watchful peace; but without there was peril and great fear, and the servants of Morgoth roamed at will, save in the walled havens of the Falas."

[curiouselleth]

more fic writer asks:

4. a story idea you haven’t written yet

8. if you had to write a sequel to a fic, you’d write one for…

14. where do you get your inspiration?

24. how do you recharge when you’re not feeling creative?

hi @wayfaringminstrel! thanks for the ask!

4. a story idea you haven’t written yet

Most of my story ideas have outlines, but there's one that doesn't; High King Finrod. It's the least flashy of all my ideas but I love it. Finrod survives the wolf, and what happens between then and the next part is a little unclear, perhaps he says in Doriath, watches Nargothrond fall from a distance because he can't return. Maybe then he leaves Doriath, and helps to accompany the survivors from Nargothrond south, to the Havens of Sirion, or Balar, or the Falas. That is just one possibility, at least. But he ends up in the South, a Lord over some of the Noldor survivors from various places. Then Gondolin falls, and there is talk of making Gil-galad, who is still in his childhood, high king. Finrod says fuck that. And with Gil-galad's permission (blah blah laws, customs, line of succession, blah blah blah,) he becomes high king (he does not want it, at all, it's the farthest thing from want he wants but dammit he will save a child from this horrible responsibility.)

Part of the reason I love this one is because 1.) torturing the blorbo, 2.) when Finarfin and the hosts arrive in Beleriand. Finarfin arriving to some barely adult he doesn't know with the crown is good, the shock factor is massive, but I feel like him arriving to Finrod on the throne is a whole different kind of nasty shock. Also Finrod hiding the scars from the wolf, and all the trauma, he is not really sunshiny anymore, at all, and I am clawing at the walls. Because Finarfin finds out eventually, of course. And AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH.

8. if you had to write a sequel to a fic, you’d write one for…

That's hard, maybe Twisted Web of Fate by the sinister sindar sisters. It was the first long fic I ever read, but then it ended in a cliffhanger, or in a way that strongly indicated a sequel, but unfortunately it was never finished. Then I saw it had been last updated in 2006 😭😭😭 It featured Thranduil and child Legolas, as well as some OCs. Later it included Elrond and Glorfindel. Also it took every canon character you loved and put them through 62 stages of hell while making you care for and attached to the OCs, then put them through hell too. It HURT and I really need to re read it!

14. where do you get your inspiration?

I get a lot of ideas from songs or going through "what if" or "what if x happened differently" scenarios.

24. how do you recharge when you’re not feeling creative?

I just give myself time. I work on other things, or just rest and don't force myself to create when I'm not feeling it. It's hard, but it's harder to try to force myself. I may work on smaller things to try to get creativity flowing again, like doodles or minecraft. But mostly I just take a break. It's hard, but it works.

[laurelinarien]

Falathrim Navigator

Hera is one of the Falathrim, or Elves of the Falas, who followed Círdan since Ossë conviced some of the Teleri to stay behind, by Beleriand’s shores, instead of leaving for Valinor. During her long years she’s perfected the art and science of mapping the stars, creating naval charts for Elven captains and sailing alongside them in many expeditions, as their Chief Navigator.

During the Third Age, she’s taken residence in Mithlond, the Grey Havens, but often travels to Edhellond of old, for star-gazing and exchanging news with the Avorrim who keep watch over the ruined port.

Find the outfit composition in my blog!

[ladyswillmart]

Hivallion Pellithorn

Born: March 09, Y.T. 1388 (8122 years old)

Birthplace: Near Eglarest, the Falas

Height: Roughly 6'5"

Hair: Tawny silver; formerly very long and typically worn in a single plait that reached all the way down to his hips, but recently he had it cut quite short

Eyes: Pale bottle green; occasionally wears spectacles for reading

Appearance: A bit unusual for an elf, but nothing too terribly outlandish and perhaps owing to his Falathrim heritage. His face is constantly chapped about the cheeks, as if he spends a lot of time outside in windy conditions. Observed by one Arlen Askew (student) thusly:

“He doesn’t appear aged, not in the face, not quite. Not quite young either, but there is a sort of overall worn quality to him that I find comforting. Not worn out, just worn, like a fisherman’s jumper that’s gone all fuzzy and grey from years of being battered about by waves and spume and salted breezes. Despite that, he has such a kindly countenance! In fact he simply radiates this lovely sort of warmth through and through, like a freshly baked apple and cheese pie. Though I am not sure an elf would find the comparison as flattering as a hobbit like myself...”

Trades: Ecologist, scholar, natural historian; following his injury, he has been regaining his strength while working as a tutor in the Shire, far from any meaningful strife (for now)

Background:

Born near the coastal elf-haven of Eglarest, Hivallion’s early years were uneventful, however formative. Although shy and quiet around other elves, he harbored a deep appreciation for the wildlife of his home, especially its birds and insects. He fast became a respected scholar of Falathrin ecology, particularly for his detailed field work and exquisite illustrations. When Morgoth’s forces sacked the Falas in F.A. 473, Hivallion (along with his mother and his twin brother) escaped with Círdan to the Isle of Balar. He narrowly escaped death in the Third Kinslaying (F.A. 538), and later still he participated in The War of Wrath as a scout—such skills would have been tightly honed for all his work as a clandestine observer of animals!

Forty or so years of warring—however victorious—left most of Beleriand totally annihilated, forever lost in the depths of the Belegaer. Now bereft of a home like countless others, Hivallion once again followed Círdan, this time to the Grey Havens where he spent most of the Second Age in relative peace and stability. Alas, this changed in S.A. 3430 when he several of his colleagues (perhaps most notably his fellow lore-master Elrond) convinced him to join the Last Alliance of Elves and Men, though he did so reluctantly. His fears were well-founded as he fell at the Battle of Dagorlad in 3434, following an extreme breach of personal space courtesy of an Edged Weapon of Morgul-steel wielded by the Witch-king of Angmar. Hivallion ultimately Survived the ordeal, largely due to the intervention of Elrond and his suggestion to bear the injured elf to the Last Homely House so he could receive a more thorough treatment for the wound. However, his recovery would not be easy or swift; he spent the next 3025 years in a dreamless coma in Tham Send.

While Hivallion himself has yet to fully comprehend the extent of this, the story of "the irrefrangible Falathrim" touched the hearts of all who heard it and elevated the humble seaside scholar to something of a minor folk legend, especially in Lindon and thereabouts. It is rumored (but only rumored) that Elrond had to clear out an entire storage closet in his home just to hold all of the letters, flowers, and other lucky trinkets sent by well-wishers to the slumbering elf in hopes that he would one day overcome his injuries.

Hivallion did regain consciousness in the summer of T.A. 3018, though he would yet need several more weeks of rest to recover his bearings. After deciding he was well enough to travel, he first sought out the company of one Gildor Inglorion, an old friend whom he learned was leading a Wandering Company around Eriador. This in mind, he decided to head west from Rivendell towards the Shire, hoping they would perhaps meet somewhere in the middle...