#how much time do you need to spend with the silmarils to fall under their power?

[lordgrimwing]

losing my mind over the fact that

The Silmarils being precious beyond compare and actually making people unwilling to give them up is canon! Or, well, technically the canon that the Silmarils can enthrall people. Same thing.

I'm so tickled that this headcanon is actually canon, and you don't need to take my word for it, here's the pertinent quote:

"And Melkor, seeing that Fëanor wavered, and knowing that the Silmarils held his heart in thrall, said at last ..."

who cares what Melkor said, the Silmarils make people their thralls!!

The question is, have they had this ability since their creation, or only since the Valar hallowed them?

[warrioreowynofrohan]

you mentioned your headcanons on when and if other finweans forgive maedhros... if you wanted to share some (or all) of them I'd be very interested!

Okay, wow, I have a lot of thoughts on this….it basically covers large parts of a fanfic that I’ve had broadly plotted out in my head for a long time but am completely incapable of actually writing.

This is going to be very long (EDIT: extremely long, apparently) - and rather messier and more scattershot than my usual posts - so I’m putting it under a cut.  This one only covers events in the Halls of Mandos; I would need another one to lay out post-Mandos headcanons, if I can put it together.

Fingon is deeply conflicted and unhappy about Maedhros; he’s horrified by Maedhros’ actions, but he can’t stop caring about him even if he wanted to, and he doesn’t know what’s happened to him after death and isn’t sure he wants to know. For at least the first couple hundred years that Maedhros is in the Halls, he’s in extremely bad shape and is not communicating with or visible to anyone. (This is not unusual for elves who are wrapped up in their own thoughts or deliberately avoiding others.) And between Maedhros’ actions, and the manner of his death, and the Oath, Fingon can’t be sure of whether he’s even in the Halls, or if he refused the Halls and is a lost spirit, or even if he’s in the void.

Fingolfin is sympathetic to his son’s pain but doesn’t really see any hope for Maedhros, and tries to say that it’s hard, but that sometimes you have to accept that you’ve lost someone you love to evil and they’re not coming back. Fingolfin’s lost his brother (who he still has complicated feelings about. Aulë has lost people. Even Manwë has lost his brother -

That comparison doesn’t go over well and from that moment Fingon isn’t speaking with his father anymore.

When Fingon decides that not knowing is worse than anything he could know about Maedhros’ fate, he goes to Námo and asks whether Maedhros is in the Halls, and Námo tells him that yes, Maedhros is.

He looks for Maedhros. He seeks quiet corners of the Halls, and sings, and hopes Maedhros will hear him, and one day he senses in his spirit that someone else is present near him. He continues to sing, simple things, and then moves to the song he sang at Thangorodrim -

- and Maedhros is there, ragged and shaking and trying with all his might not to look at Fingon. Stop he says. Please, stop. Why must you torment me?

The last thing Maedhros wants is to be reminded that once, he had a chance to do right, that once, he had a chance to recieve mercy and he has thrown it away, to be reminded of the gaping gulf between the person he wanted to be and person he is. You still think you can rescue me? he says with a twisted smile, and holds out his hand. Across the entire palm and to the first knuckle of the fingers, it is charred black. Fingon’s expression goes stubborn and he takes Maedhros’ hand in his own - and then releases his hold in shock. The hand is hot - not as with fever, but as metal newly withdrawn from a forge. Maedhros gives a bitter laugh and disappears.

Fingon cannot find him again.

This brings the story roughly to the start of the part I wrote in response to your last Ask, where Maedhros goes to Nienna and recieves, beyond his hope, mercy and forgiveness and help and healing. That’s not the endpoint of his journey to recovery, but it’s the beginning; it gives him the knowledge that there is someone who can love him absolutely unconditionally, that he’s not beyond redemption. And that gives him the foundation he needs to start facing the people he knew and the people he’s harmed and answering to them and seeking their forgiveness.

The Halls have a will of their own, if you let them; their geography is as much spiritual as physical, and they’ll lead spirits to the people whom they need to resolve things with. Fingon isn’t the first person Maedhros talks to, but he’s one of the first.

*****

FIc snippet

It would have been easier if the Halls had brought him to the Teleri, or even the Sindar. He could bear condemnation from them.

He did not know how to bear it if Fingon turned him away. As he had every right to.

He wanted to flee to some abandoned corner of the Halls and never face Fingon again.

He wanted to lay at his friend’s feet for a year, for a yen, for an Age, and beg Fingon not to despise him forever.

He forced himself to do neither of these things.

Fingon had still not seen him; his eyes were shut, his head bowed to his knees and his lips moving wordlessly, and it was the evident misery in his hunched shoulders that gave Maedhros the courage to kneel down beside him say softly, “Fingon.”

He did not seem to hear. “Fingon. Fingon.” Fingon looked up, made a choked noise of surprise, and grabbed Maedhros by the shoulders, staring into his eyes for a long moment, and then pulled him into an embrace. “Thank you,” Fingon said, low and fervent, and Maedhros knew it was not him that Fingon was addressing.

“You’re all right. I mean - not all right, but - better.” A spirit’s appearance in the Halls drew on both their true condition and their perception of themself. Maedhros was clothed in rags, his hair matted, but his hand no longer burned and he could meet Fingon’s eye with a look that, though still deeply ashamed, was no longer tormeted.

“The Lady of Sorrows has been very kind. Far more than I could ever deserve. Though in truth even to be in the Halls is better than I deserve.”

“Maedhros, surely you cannot believe that you deserve the Darkness?”

Maedhros’ laugh was rueful. “Deserve it? I believe I specifically requested it. Demanded, even! What does it say, that the very worst anyone could do to us would be to take us at our word? But by the end I earned it more in keeping the Oath than in breaking it.”

The question refused to be suppressed. “Maedhros, why? We beseiged Angband for over four hundred years without attempting regain the Silmarils, and the Oath did not trouble you then, yet the moment one was in the hands of Elves - ” Fingon paused. “Maedhros, please tell me it was not because of my death.”

Maedhros’ words came halting. “I blamed myself. I blamed the Valar. I blamed the Doom. I told myself that abandoned you again, this time to your death. I told myself that if this was how I was repaid for trying to win the war, if the Powers had mandated that any attempt to do good could only turn to evil and the destruction of all that I loved, then they had no right to judge me for doing ill.  I told myself that I had chosen war on Angband to avoid war on Doriath, and if they were going to punish me for that choice, well, then they were in no position to complain when I made the other.

“I was wrong. We were not wrong to fight Angband, but on my part the Fifth Battle was waged in service of the Oath, and everything done in its service turns to ill. Good becomes evil. Evil becomes…worse. The words we intended to drive us against Morgoth turned to his service, and we did his work.

“I am sorry for what I have done. I will spend the rest of Time being sorry for it. We should have thrown ourselves against the walls of Angband and died there rather than ever again raising our swords against our kin. You have every right to despise me.”

Fingon, lacking words, took Maedhros’ remaining hand and lifted the burnt palm to his lips. “I will not leave you. I hate what you have done - I would rather have seen you dead on my blade than do any of, though that would have killed me - but I will not leave you.” He wrapped his arms around Maedhros again. “Please don’t disappear again.”

“I won’t.”

The dead have times of rest of thought, even if it not what the living would call sleep. A little time later found Fingon resting with his back against a pillar and Maedhros curled on the floor, his head pillowed on Fingon’s feet and an expression of deep contentment in his face.

*****

My thoughts on Aredhel and Maedhros are in the Halls are largely covered in this post.

*****

Turgon, in contrast, is exceptionally angry at Maedhros, especially about the Third Kinslaying, and not at all inclined to forgive or to care for apologies. This is also wrapped up in Turgon’s own guilt about the Fall of Gondolin. He feared that he had left the remnant of his people defenseless against Morgoth, but Ulmo found a way to protect them through the waters at the Mouths of Sirion; instead, they were defenseless against Maedhros and his brothers. And to Turgon, Maedhros’ renunciation of both the Oath and the Silmarils after his death is meaningless, because he did so only after he had lost any possibility of achieving the Oath or obtaining the Silmarils. How can it mean anything to renounce evil only after you’ve lost the ability to commit it or to gain anything from it?

Maedhros and Turgon have an intense conversation on these points (well, intense on Turgon’s part) while Maedhros is in the Halls. Maedhros, for his part, while he does want to apologize and beg forgiveness, does not really have any expectation that Turgon will forgive him; his hope in his early conversations with both Turgon and Fingolfin is mainly to arrange a detente where the Nolofinwëans can get back on good terms with each other by dint of all of them agreeing to just not talk about Maedhros (who is the primary subject of contention between them). This, he does succeed at.

[lendmyboyfriendahand]

Amrodnor

Amrod was on the ships, but when he saw Feanor approaching with a torch, he jumped.

He swam to shore. He figured is his family was going to kill him, he might as well leave - the plan had been to go back to his mother, but that was no longer possible.

He ran into a group of Nandor, and joined their community.

His old names didn't fit – he’s no longer the smallest Finwe, having rejected his house. He keeps half his name, and instead of Doomed or Upwards-Exalted, he becomes Exalted-by-Fire; the burning of the ships was what gave him the strength to turn from an evil path.

It takes him a bit to decide on this, dramatic Finwean he is, and in the meantime the Nandor called him Bright Eyes, for the Treelight reflected in his gaze. He says this is a more appropriate name for a horse than a person, and they compromise on calling him Star Bright

So Amrod hangs out is southwest Beleriand, avoiding Sindar and Orcs and Noldor and Men alike for over four hundred years.

The Bragollach, the Nirnaeth; Beleriand isn't safe.

The Nandor decide to go east across the mountains. Amrod decides to see how the Noldor are doing - despite himself, he hopes his brothers are okay. He finds Nargothrond.

He says he is Rodnor Gil-Galad, called in his youth after his hair.  

Orodreth doesn't recognize him - Orodreth is young, born after the division between their families was already stark. Orodreth rarely saw Amrod in Tirion, and everyone saying he looks just like Amras means the brown hair throws him.

Celebrimbor does recognize him.

"What are you doing here?" "I'm trying to avoid our family!" "I thought you were dead!" "Don't you dare tell anyone you met me!" - excerpts from the whispered confrontation in Celebrimbor's workroom

Eventually they agree that yes, Feanorians are terrible and blindly loyal, and they're both glad to be out of it.

They spend time together, a bit, more as escapees from the same cult than out of a desire to reminisce about Tirion.

Celebrimbor accidentally mentions Fingon as if they both know him in public. People ask how Gil-Galad knew him. He fumbles and says they're related. Later he slips and says Celegorm “turned out to be the family disappointment after all.” That makes him pretty obviously Finwean, though he still doesn’t admit who.

Someone tries to draw him out, and spends a whole conversation deliberately referring to Maglor Feanorian, Fingon Fingolfinion, and Finrod Finarfinion.

Rodnor eventually says, “By that manner I suppose I’m Gil-Galad Erenion.” This shuts up the first guy for a moment, but people start speculating how he can be the descendant of multiple kings – did Thingol have any other kids?

 Turin arrives; Rodnor has no opinion of him or of men in general, and no official seat on Orodreth’s council. When the dragon kills Orodreth and kidnaps Findulias, Rodnor leads the survivors away to the south. He feels bad about abandoning them, but the number of soldiers they ‘d lose rescuing her is too high, and just because a life is royal (or family) doesn’t mean it’s more valuable. (Feanor burned a prince, his son, as easily as he killed fishermen.)

His opinion on royalty isn’t widely held though. The people of Nargothrond have decided he is Orodreth’s heir and started calling him Lord Erenion. He declares that Cirdan is lord of the Falas, which gets people to at least decide bring some of their issues elsewhere, and tries not to stress about the details.

So Rodnor is in charge of the Noldor in Sirion. Galadriel is in Doriath. They do meet when it falls, but only for a few hours as the Iathrim refugees settle in, and she speaks more with Cirdan than with him. He tells her of the Nandor tribe he was with and their plans for the journey, and off she goes to the East.

After the council is over and every newcomer has a bed, Rodnor goes to Celebrimbor. They mourn privately those who neither of them dare speak of publically. Rodnor is back in his own rooms long before morning. He spends the next few weeks solemn, but everyone is gloomy after news of another kinslaying.

Gondolin falls. There are suddenly a lot more Noldor in Sirion. Pretty soon they're calling him King. He considers telling them it's not true, that the succession hasn't come to him yet.

On the other hand, having a leader be whoever happens to be the son of the previous leader is kind of silly. The Sindar tribe he was with acknowledged Elwe, but not Dior. Your leader was whoever you trusted to do right by the community. When Denethor died, his son took interim authority, and then they all met and discussed it and decided that actually Enellas knew how to manage people better, and so Denethor’s son stepped down.

If Rodnor squints, this is the same. At the very least, if the Nargothrondrim hated him one of them would have proposed crowning the ten-year-old Eärendil instead. So King Gil-Galad takes up the throne.

 He was on Balar when the attack came. He told himself later he couldn't have stopped it, couldn't have helped. He could guess by how much more enchantingly beautiful the Silmaril around Elwing's neck seemed, that his brothers would attack soon, but not the month or day. And she was a queen, he could not order her to hand over the jewel. So all he did was warn her, not tell her his birth name, or leap across the council table and pull it off her throat. He could not have known there was no time to wait for Eärendil’s return. He had not set a watch on the island towards the city, but he had no reason to.

He did not want to kill his brothers, but he was a king and he could not let that make his decisions.

He can't stop himself from crying when he sees Amras's body. The Feanorians had tried to make a pyre, but must have left with it still burning and the wet sea wind had extinguished it, and the wood had barely caught.

"Relight the pyres."

"Your Majesty?"

"For the dead Feanorians, relight them."

"But they're murderers! They showed no such respect to us." Indeed, the city is still littered with the corpses of Noldor, Men, and Sindar alike.

"And we are better than they are. We will bury our dead, with a week of singing and lamenting, and tales of their deeds told by friends and kin. We will mark our people’s graves, and the Men will leave grave goods on theirs. And we will not leave the enemy dead to rot where they lie or be eaten by beasts, though they showed us not that respect." He sighed. "We have not fallen as they have, and we must hold onto that."

"Yes, your majesty"

"Have someone take a census of those who are left. And lists of the dead – ours and theirs." He needs to know how strong the rogue army was. If it is now leaderless, he would... he isn't sure. He wouldn’t have to declare a feast for victory over the Kinslayers, they'd lost enough of their own. But some kind of amnesty, with reparations, if any Feanorian soldiers wanted to rejoin... He thinks of the abstract plans now, while he is unsure, because he knows he'll barely be able to keep together if Maedhros and Maglor are dead and he is alone. (Three died last time.)

His eldest brothers are not among the dead invaders.

Lady Elwing and her sons are not found, either dead or living. Gil-Galad knows that his brothers would have no interest in taking her prisoner, for if she was under their power they could rip their glorious, wonderful jewel from her neck and cast her aside like so much wrapping. So he assumes that instead Elwing got away somehow, taking her sons with her. Whether the Feanorians have the jewel or she does is unimportant, he reminds himself, at least unless she returns. He decides then that Balar will never house the Silmaril – he'll bury it beneath the mountains with his own two hands if that's what it takes. His people deserve one place, just one, that isn't destroyed around them. Please Valar, grant them this, for Cirdan's sake if for none of the Noldor.

Ships come one day out of the West. King Finarfin leads them, and Eärendil is with them. Eärendil says that his wife Elwing escaped, but not the boys. (Eärendil is politely told he must either take off the necklace, stay on his ship, or go to the mainland.)

Gil-Galad realizes where they must be. It's hardly fair, but he knows at least they're being treated as well as can be. Maedhros and Maglor did alright by the five of them, and have never been cruel to children.

No one else seems so optimistic, though they are willing to believe that the boys are alive, even after seven years, simply to avoid believing the alternative. Gil-Galad and Finarfin cooperate to get a letter and a messenger (a newly arrived Noldo) that will be demanding but – hopefully – not provoke violence.

It takes two years more, with messengers from both parties expressing grave concern for the boys’ safety on a journey and reluctant to meet the other too close, but Elros and Elrond are returned. They meet Eärendil again, but he is on the front lines and so they spend most of their time in the camp. Gil-Galad has them sit in on strategy meetings to keep them occupied.

 The war is over, Morgoth is defeated, and the Noldor are allowed to return.

Gil-Galad finds he doesn’t want to.

Returning had been as much about getting out of Feanor’s shadow as finding safety, and he realizes he has done the first and the second is near at hand. If he goes back to Tirion, he will be again Pityafinwe, one of Feanor’s youngest sons, half of the twins with a missing twin. The child so redundant his own mother had known so, and asked Feanor to leave her one of the youngest without care for which. Pityafinwe had led no armies, fought no battles, earned no praise. Pityafinwe killed Teleri and was murdered by his father, and did nothing else.

Sure, he could try to be both, admit he was Pityafinwe to start with, but no one will understand. The will see him as the usurper of the crown that should have gone to – Eärendil perhaps?  and then Elros? or Galadriel? Maybe they’ll weigh his victories in battle against his theft of the crown, and say they make up for it, but maybe they’ll say anyone could have done them, or he should have done them as a general in the real King’s army. So he’d be Pityafinwe, who pretended to be a king for a bit but understands now that it’s not his place, and that his place is to be the sixth-born son of the (dead, disgraced) Crown Prince.

Besides, they’re making the ‘leaders’ apologize for leaving, and Gil-Galad spent enough years wandering Beleriand safe behind Noldorin fortresses he can’t really be sorry they came.

Gil-Galad does write a letter though, to the Lady Nerdanel, his mother. He tells people that it’s commendations for her grandson’s valor, and assurance that Celebrimbor will be regarded on his own merits in the Age to come. The letter does contain those, but it also contains “You were half right about my mother-name; I was fated to die but leapt out of Fate’s way.” It’s rather blasphemous, but Gil-Galad isn’t going to be setting foot near the Valar again.

ao3

[djinmer4]

A Fright of Ghosts

Inspired by: http://archiveofourown.org/works/12136836

When the sensation of being watched changed from a distant awareness to the feeling that of someone observing just over his shoulder, Elrond knew he was close.  The forest on the western side of Ered Luin should have been empty, the humans wintering in the welcoming lands of the east below Forochel and the dwarves to their settlements under the mountains.  Not even Cirdan would bother patrolling the desolate Forlindon in the winter.  But Elrond knew there was someone here and hitched the rucksack higher, as if to cover his back from an enemy.

As it was, he nearly fell into the blaze, when empty woods suddenly changed to a neat camping site.  A strong arm wrapped around his chest, pulling him away and saving him from a nasty burn.  “Alatulya, yonya.  I did not expect to see you so late in the year.”

Elrond sighed, then sat down on the bench beside the fire.  The small encampment he had been expecting to find was actually a large clearing, with a well-built cabin to one side with the beginnings of several structures.  The bonfire he had nearly walked into was in fact the beginnings of a small forge, too small for any great work, but set away from the cabin.  He ignored the various flickers of red on the edge of his eyes, and focused on his father.

“Mara re, atar.  I had not thought to look for you so soon after our last meeting, but I needed to speak to you about something.”  He passed the rucksack to Maglor.  Within contained some items he did not think the other could obtain easily in isolation: some bottles of wine, cheese, a set of silver strings spelled against corrosion.  A new cloak, although it appeared that the Feanorian’s current one was still serving well.  “Did you see a ship sail into the Gulf of Lhun this past year?”

“I did indeed.”  The older ner set the the rucksack aside.  “And I know exactly what and who came on that ship.”

Elrond released a silent sigh of relief.  Cirdan had known the Maia for what they were immediately, but not who.  And given what happened the last time a Maia claimed to be a messenger of aid sent by the Valar, any information on the identities of these Istari was essential.  “Could you tell me who they are and what we should expect?”

Maglor did not answer, but instead looked over his son’s head.  The sensation of being watched did not cease, but doubled, then split and came to rest on each side of Elrond.  He kept his eyes on his father.  “Alatar,” said a voice like the crackling of fire, a shadow of smoke and soot on his right.  “A servant of Orome.  Strong, aggressive.  More interested in the arts of the ethereal than the physical.”  Images came to mind, of shared hunts and bitter arguments in distant Valinor.

From his left, a gurgle from a torn throat.  “Pallando is the other.  Alatar’s friend and follower in all things.”  He knew if he turned the image would be far less abstract, but more disturbing, almost a real body but with dull eyes and blood dripping from both throat and mouth.  Elrond wondered how Maglor could bear to look.  From this shade he received no memories, but merely a sensation of wistfulness and loyalty.

“Hantanyel, uncles.  Could you tell me more, please?”  But Maglor stirred himself, and put out the forge fire.  “Not tonight.  The others are scouting the area.  They can tell you more.”  He picked up the rucksack and turned towards the cabin.  “You take the bed and I’ll take the floor.  As I wasn’t expecting company, I don’t have any meat, but there’s lembas and plenty of fruit.”

The peredhel smiled.  “They’ll go well with the wine and cheese I brought.”

The next day, father and son spent the day preserving meat and curing hides.  Elrond didn’t ask how the pile of skinned corpses had appeared outside Maglor’s door overnight, and Maglor didn’t ask how Elrond had slept with the howls and screams that had filled the dark.  When the day approached the end, again the sat by the forge fire.  Today, instead of a feeling of being watched, the air felt heavy, smothering and cold, as if he was deep under the waters of a lake rather than walking in the air.  No shade or ghost appeared before him, but rather heavy hands upon his shoulders and a cold breath ruffled his hair.

“Aiwendil, follower of Yavanna.  Naive and  scatterbrained, but brave in his own way.  Lover of birds.”  Elrond fought for a deep breath.  “So we can trust him?”

Bitter icy laughter, and the heaviness drew crushingly tight around his chest, like one of those strange waistcoats they wore in Arnor, made from whalebone and steel.  “You can trust him to follow his nature and to follow the mission he was given.  But Yavanna loves the wolf as much as she loves the deer.  Loves the end of life as much as the beginning.  Loves the Eldar, but the rat and the fly as well, and there are millions of them for every one of us.  Trust him to follow whatever mission the Valar gave him, but he is no more a friend to us than a plague is.”

With that, the heaviness constricting Elrond disappeared, but the cold air remained.  “Enough for tonight?” asked Maglor, coming up with an armload of firewood.  The younger ner nodded.  “I’ll stoke the fire a little more tonight.  Maybe add some of the linseed oil so that it will burn a little brighter.”

The next day proved that winter was well on it’s way.  Even the inside of the cabin was covered in delicate webs of frost.  They spent that day bringing in the last of the garden vegetables before the cold ruined them.  The frost formed brilliant patterns over everything, like the finest embroidery fit for a king, and lingered far into the afternoon.  When they finally sat down to talk, Maglor had taken some paper and a sharp quill and was copying the icy patterns designs onto paper.  Elrond did not ask to see them and Maglor did not offer him any.

This day Maglor did something a little different.  The forge had stayed closed today since the Noldo didn’t have any repair work to do.  But at the end of the day, Maglor opened the forge door and there was golden light inside.  He pulled out a large gemstone, like a topaz carbuncle but glowed with it’s own inner radiance.  He looked up and laughed at Elrond’s wide eyes.  “Did you expect I’d carry it around everywhere I go?  That would be quite inconvenient.”

“You’re using one of the most precious artifacts of the First Age as a forge fire?”

“It’s quite appropriate, thematically.  Besides, it gives both of us a chance to have some privacy in our thoughts.”

The ghost of the greatest craftman of the Noldor did not look like a ghost or wraith or remotely supernatural.  If Elrond hadn’t known better, he would have thought he was looking at a living person.  “Curunir’s clearly been appointed as their leader.  He’s another one of Aule.  We knew him well.  Ambitious and active.  Curious and delights in pushing boundaries.  Against the dark he is a formidable ally.”

The smile on Feanor’s face became sharper and darker.  This might have been the face he showed Fingolfin, over a sword in Tirion.  “All things that were said of Sauron too.”

That night was filled with nightmares.  The golden light of the Silmaril seemed blood-tinged and the shadows it cast moved like living things upon the walls.  Despite the love between them, Elrond began looking forward to leaving Maglor’s home.  Sensing his disquiet, Maglor drew him outside, to finish the conversation in the light.

“The last is Olorin, who has been in the service of Manwe, Varda, Irmo and Nienna.”  Maglor did not bother to wait for any of his brothers to appear, instead filling the role of teacher by himself.  “Of all the Maia sent, he is the one who perhaps best understands those of us still here in the changeable world.”

“And the caveat?”  But the answer came not from Maglor, but rather a familiar voice behind him.  “Of all of them, I do not believe that Olorin will fall.”  Maedhros was bright, burning.  If Feanor could have been mistaken for a living Eldar, then Maedhros for a Maia.  He was like a shade of stained glass, overfilled with the light of the Silmaril he had burned with.  “Nor will he forget that he is here to succor the Free Peoples of the West.  But as the others fail or falter, he will be forced to take more and more burdens.  He will not fall, but he may fail and return West with the mission only half complete.  And even if he doesn’t, the choices he will make will be ruthless indeed.”

Mercifully, Maglor had let him sleep after he had fainted.  Elrond suspected his father had cast a few spells of his own, allowing him a peaceful, dreamless rest.  Even with that, however, the clearing was overfull, with the flickers of color seen from the edge of his eye, areas of heat or cold or pressure.

“You will be here for a while?”

“Yes, the twins would like to spend more time on woodcraft.  And after spending a decade in a Secondborn settlement, I’d like some time to myself.”

“When I first came, I had thought of asking you again to come to Imladris-”

“No.”  Maglor cut him off gently, but firmly.  “Perhaps in a century or two I’ll visit for a month or a year, but I cannot stay long in the presence of other Eldar.”  The younger ner just nodded.  He’d braced himself, but even he had found the phantoms that surrounded the last living Feanorian too much.  For other elves, lacking the connection he had with the House of Feanor, those sensations were a hundred times worse.  His uncles and grandfather had tempered their fear around him and given useful advice.  The only other person they had been as kind to had been Celebrimbor.  “Give my regards to Artanis.”  The last time Galadriel had attempted to see Maglor, she had fainted before getting within a mile of him.  Celeborn had had to drag her back to Mithlond before she had revived.

(Strange that the Secondborn never were effected.  They could be harmed, hurt or helped but they never saw or noticed the ghosts.  When Maglor wanted company, he would go to their settlements to stay for a while.)

“I will.”  Elrond hesitated for one long moment, staring around to determine where every shade was preoccupied with something else before stepping close to Maglor.  “Atar, have you ever considered  . . . getting rid of it?  Just toss it into the ocean.  Maybe then both you and they would be able to get some rest.”

“Oh Elrond, don’t you think I’ve tried that already.”  They both gazed at the Silmaril, glowing gold in the forge again.  “It always comes back.”

[garden-ghoul]

misc from HoME

“mostly tinuviels”

this first bit is from the framing story before music of the ainur

Then said he: 'Your pardon, sir! I marked you not, for I was listening to the birds. Indeed sir you find me in a sour temper; for lo! here I have a black-winged rogue fat with impudence who singeth songs before unknown to me, and in a tongue that is strange! It irks me sir, it irks me, for methought at least I knew the simple speeches of all birds. I have a mind to send him down to Mandos for his pertness! ' 

At this Eriol laughed heartily, but said the door-ward: 'Nay sir, may Tevildo Prince of Cats harry him for daring to perch in a garden that is in the care of Rumil. Know you that the Noldoli grow old astounding slow, and yet have I grey hairs in the study of all the tongues of the Valar and of Eldar. Long ere the fall of Gondolin, good sir, I lightened my thraldom under Melko in learning the speech of all monsters and goblins -- have I not conned even the speeches of beasts, disdaining not the thin voices of the voles and mice? -- have I not cadged a stupid tune or two to hum of the speechless beetles? Nay, I have worried at whiles even over the tongues of Men, but Melko take them! they shift and change, change and shift, and when you have them are but a hard stuff whereof to labour songs or tales. Wherefore is it that this morn I felt as Omar the Vala who knows all tongues, as I hearkened to the blending of the voices of the birds comprehending each, recognising each well-loved tune, when tiriptilirilla here comes a bird, an imp of Melko -- but I weary you sir, with babbling of songs and words.'

This is really cute. But also like... Rumil wants to kill this bird for speaking a language he doesn’t know... ANYWAY I think it’s a really cool backstory, he was imprisoned by Melkor so to make himself useful he learned EVERY LANGUAGE THERE IS. But human languages change too often, how troublesome.

Also, ‘may Tevildo Prince of Cats harry him.” If Tevildo is really Sauron mk 1 this is a really funny curse. PRESUMABLY Rumil has met him, if they both worked for Melkor. is he scary or is he just... a cat.

Here’s an extract from a poem called ‘the man in the moon.’ I didn’t read the intro carefully enough to figure out what it has to do with anything, but look at Tolkien’s vocabulary:

And at plenilune in his argent moon He had wearily longed for Fire -- Not the limpid lights of wan selenites, But a red terrestrial pyre With impurpurate glows of crimson and rose And leaping orange tongue',

Mr Rolkien you can’t rhyme “plenilune” and “moon,” they’re the same thing. It’s cheating. He also used the word “inaureoled” a couple stanzas earlier. Anyway I LOVE internal rhymes it’s the best thing ever.

OKAY I skipped to the tale of tinuviel (for my own reference, page 222), because I want to see my great kids and also the prince of cats. In the framing story Eriol is hanging out with a bunch of kids and telling them his own stories, and he asks them to pay their debt with a story in return. Within 15 seconds of beginning the story they start arguing over the name of Tinuviel’s father (apparently it’s Tinwelint), which is very kids and very cute.

'Hush thee, Ausir,' said Veanne, 'for it is my tale and I will tell it to Eriol. Did I not see Gwendeling and Tinuviel once with my own eyes when journeying by the Way of Dreams in long past days?’

'What was Queen Wendelin like (for so do the Elves call her), Veanne, if thou sawest her?' said Ausir.

They can’t agree on ANYONE’S name. G/wendelin/g is Melian btw. Apparently she has dark hair; I don’t like it, I think she has fire hair. So there’s a short recounting of how Tinwelint and Wendeling met, and then we note that they had two children, Dairon and Tinuviel. Interesting! Dairon is the third best musician ever, after Ivare and Tinfang Warble (pffft). “Tinuviel's joy was rather in the dance, and no names are setwith hers for the beauty and subtlety of her twinkling feet.” TWINKLETOES. I’m going to call her Twinkletoes from now on.

Beren, one of the gnomes of Dor-Lomin (and if I’m reading this right he’s of the people that were imprisoned by Melkor?) turns up (Veanne doesn’t know how, just that he liked wandering) and stares at her, even though gnomes and elves don’t get along. Yr all eldar, guys. There’s this really cool bit though where Dairon sees Beren and flees, but Tinuviel is too confused and she doesn’t think she’s very good at runnin (she’s a dancer! probably has better stamina than her brother!) so she just... melts into a puddle of moonlight. What it actually says is that she hides under a hemlock with large flowers, but Beren is literally watching her the entire time and he still doesn’t get where she went.

she slipped suddenly down among the white hemlocks and hid herself beneath a very tall flower with many spreading leaves; and here she looked in her white raiment like a spatter of moonlight shimmering through the leaves upon the floor.

Then Beren was sad,

So she gets away. He keeps wandering around looking for her and watches her dance a few times. She’s not afraid of him any more because she realizes he just likes her dancing. And she’s great at it! She should be proud! So he asks her to teach him to dance, and she like, cruelly makes fun of him for not being as good at dancing as she is? And she brings him into whatever they’re calling Menegroth these days and is like “:D hey everyone this wanderer wants to learn to dance! that’s pretty funny right!”

Tinwelint asks if he has ever hurt her and she’s like nooooo he appreciates my dancing more than ANYONE else. And when Tinwelint asks why Beren is here Beren says “I want to marry her.” everyone laughs at him, because that was totally unprompted and extremely rude. after Beren storms out, promising to get a silmaril, Tinuviel chides her father, saying “now no-one will ever appreciate my dancing as much again!” I am really enjoying how she’s clearly not in love with him at all yet, and thinks of him more as a captive audience for her GREAT DANCING than any kind of equal.

Beren is captured by orcs and taken to Melkor, cos he’s beefy and they think Melkor might appreciate it. Melkor is actually mad because he can tell from Beren’s phenotype that he should already be a slave. But Beren says he’s sooo tired of hanging out with humans (who Melkor hates) and would rather work for Melkor as a huntsman and trapper to get him food.

Melko marking his hardy frame believed him, and was willing to accept him as a thrall of his kitchens.

Scullery maid is much funnier, but it’s also more true than I was expecting...

Now he gave orders for Beren to be made a thrall of Tevildo Prince of Cats. Now Tevildo was a mighty cat -- the mightiest of all -- and he was in Melko's constant following; and that cat had all cats subject to him, and he and his subjects were the chasers and getters of meat for Melko's table and for his frequent feasts. Wherefore is it that there is hatred still between the Elves and all cats even now.

I’m so tickled by the image of the hugest domestic cat ever chasing down an elk. Alternately, Melkor eats only mice and rats. It’s just to make it harder for the cooks, who have to peel them individually. Anyway Beren goes to Tevildo’s house, which is full of “growling and monstrous purrings.”

All about shone cats' eyes glowing like green lamps or red or yellow where Tevildo's thanes sat waving and lashing their beautiful tails, but Tevildo himself sat at their head and he was a mighty cat and coal-black and evil to look upon. His eyes were long and very narrow and slanted, and gleamed both red and green, but his great grey whiskers were as stout and as sharp as needles. His purr was like the roll of drums and his growl like thunder, but when he yelled in wrath it turned the blood cold, and indeed small beasts and birds were frozen as to stone, or dropped lifeless often at the very sound.

I have to quote Tevildos extensively because everything I hear about him is just so good. I love when cats do a yell. Anyway Tevildo immediately narrows his eyes at Beren and says “I smell a dog,” and dislikes him forever because he used to have a dog. Which he hasn’t seen for months probably while he’s been in Doriath. Tevildo can smell his doggish personality. So he tells Beren that he’s probably an AWFUL hunter and trapper and tells him to catch three mice. But Beren has nothing to make traps with, so he can’t, and Tevildo sneeeers at him.

OH. OH. HE IS LITERALLY A SCULLERY MAID. WHEN HE COULDN’T CATCH THE MICE TEVILDO SET HIM TO SCRUBBING FLOORS. He is a general dogsbody for the cats (ha!) and doesn’t get much food or sleep.

Meanwhile Tinuviel realizes she actually misses him as a person, confusingly? And she asks her parents to let her go rescue him. Which is really absurd, considering they talked for all of ten minutes and he’s just some random guy from the forest. Her father shuts her in a house up in the boughs of HIRILORN, my favorite tree (queen of beeches!) and she has a great time there actually. I think she likes making people bring her stuff, and her brother spends a lot of time playing for her at the base of the tree.

The hair-growing spell actually fits in with this version of the story way better, because this whole thing is a fairy tale. That’s why I like it better than the final version tbh. Beren as a scullion for the prince of cats! That’s good fairy tale material! The cloak she weaves is also imbued with sleepiness, which rocks.

We now learn of Tevildo’s deep personal grudge against Huan, captain of the dogs, who almost caught him once chasing him away from the dwellings of humans. Tinuviel meets him in the forest and tells him she is looking for Beren. What luck! Huan and Beren have been friends for a long time! Double luck, Huan already hates the guy Beren needs rescuing from! Huan advises Tinuviel to go to Tevildo’s house at noon, when everyone is having their catnap in the sun on the terraces. Holy shit. I love thissss

She meets Umuiyan (umunyan) the doorkeeper and flatters him into letting her see Tevildo. And she dares to pet his head and he purrrrrs. He is much bigger than her, big enough to ride, so he carries her to where Tevildo is and then goes off to take a nap because of her Slumbersome Cloak. Tevildo takes her into the castle (she implied that she has news of his Enemy Huan) and she sees Beren carrying stuff around in the kitchens, so she tells her story to Tevildo REALLY LOUDLY. Beren drops everything he’s carrying. Now Tinuviel says that Huan is lying injured in the forest and is a REAL JERK so she thought she’d tell Tevildo and get him killed, which he deserves.

Blah blah Huan almost kills Tevildo, tries to ransom Beren and Tinuviel for his own safety. I want to note here that Tevildo says Beren is probably being scratched by the cook, Miaule. They have.... cat names.... they all have cat names.... this is like that fucking episode of Naruto where they have to infiltrate the cat fortress. anyway Tevildo is forced to give his golden collar to Tinuviel, and she also gets to use the spell that binds cats to his will and makes them huge and scary. So a bunch of normal sized scared cats come running out of the fortress. Huan takes the golden collar, which has “a great magic of strength and power.” Guys. It’s the one ring, but it’s a cat collar. I’m so fucking tickled.

Tinuviel and Beren wander around in the woods with a whole bunch of dogs for a while until Tinuviel gets homesick. Well there’s nothing to be done about it! I don’t want to live in the woods forever, and Beren can only come home with me if I get a silmaril! Apparently Huan has been carrying around a dead cat this entire time as a trophy, which he donates to Beren as a disguise:

Now doth Tinuviel put forth her skill and fairy-magic, and she sews Beren into this fell and makes him to the likeness of a great cat, and she teaches him how to sit and sprawl, to step and bound and trot in the semblance of a cat, till Huan's very whiskers bristled at the sight, and thereat Beren and Tinuviel laughed. Never however could Beren learn to screech or wail or to purr like any cat that ever walked, nor could Tinuviel awaken a glow in the dead eyes of the catskin -- "but we must put up with that," said she, "and thou hast the air of a very noble cat if thou but hold thy tongue."

Beren is a REALLY GOOD CAT THOUGH LOOK

Tinuviel's heart became lighter awhile than it had been for long, and she stroked Beren or pulled his tail, and Beren was angry because he could not lash it in answer as fiercely as he wished.

CUTE!!!

They go in to talk to Melkor. Although Tinuviel looks the same as normal, Melkor tells her to stop “flitting around like a bat.” So we see where the business with Thuringwethil came from! Anyway Tinuviel pretends she is a teen runaway and hates her dad and wants to come live in Angband because like, that’s the MOST OBVIOUS place for a teen runaway to get a job. He’s like, eh, but he lets her dance anyway because he’s bored. Beren uses his kitchen knife from Tevildo’s house to pry a silmaril out of the iron crown, which I think is very charming. He has no other weapons!

When they make it back to Huan, he says Tinuviel to ride on his back and Beren to run beside. Sorry, who just had their hand bitten off? Was it Tinuviel? Let the boy ride! So they go back and everything else happens pretty much as normal, except after going to Mandos both of them become mortal Also they do Many Great Deeds after this, which is good, because in the final version they just settled down with their 15 dogs and had a kid.