#i think i am slightly obsessed with gondolin

[novemberthecatadmirer]

Tolkien really enjoyed The Wind in the Willows and then went “okay for my book I am going to make the Mole the BAD GUY”

Maybe because Gondolin wasn’t Riverbank it was a city that murdered unruly incomers for greater good of people within and convinced itself that yes this is evil but it is a necessary type of evil

It was a city shut its seven gates to Hurin then blamed Hurin for crying out in anguish and revealing its location and dared to call it “the first evil that the freedom of Hurin achieved”

It was a city that built walls and gates and gates, stained its pure white walls with blood, closed its seven great gates to a person sacrificed and suffered to make himself a gate of a city never built for him

So the city’s fate was to burn and die within the walls and gates then sink with the land beneath water

Gondolin wasn’t Riverbank so when a mole left for Gondolin it stumbled into the opposite of a fairytale because the city was beautiful and glorious but also trapped and betrayed and killed

(Seething and yelling into the Void)

(What I write when I cannot figure out illustration composition at midnight before deadline)

[outofangband]

For @tolkiengenweek day three

Prompt: mentorships with some fealty

Have a young, eighteen year old Húrin, only a few months after returning from Gondolin

Fealty is a theme I am…rather obsessed with as @mai-sau and @tol-himling among others will attest to so I will definitely be returning to this day’s prompts, I just wanted to have something out this week

Look this is from barely adult Húrin’s point of view and so is quite idealistic!!!  I think Húrin develops more nuanced views as he gets older, even just within the next few years And rest assured I have both more balanced and just darker takes on all this in abundance

on that note bonus points if I end up using this for That Fic TM about Fingon and Húrin

For Húrin was often long away from home with the host of Fingon that guarded Hithlum’s Eastern borders and when he returned his quick speech full of strange words and jests and half meanings bewildered Túrin and made him uneasy.” The Children of Húrin, Chapter One, “The Childhood of Túrin”

“I am Húrin Thalion, son of Galdor Orchal, Lord of Dor-lómin and once a high captain in the host of Fingon King of the Northern Realm. Let no man dare to deny it!” -”The Wanderings of Húrin” (in Volume 11 of HoME)

Húrin was the shortest in stature of the small group of men gathered in the great hall of the King but none reached the shoulder of any of the attending Noldor or their allies and the differences in height among his kin were inconsequential here. They all stood as equals before the throne flanked by several Noldor captains, some he recognized by name and deed though had never formally been introduced.

Even after the time he had spent with the elves, -nigh a year in a city of them!-they were still a wonder to Húrin. 

 He was dressed in light blue robes that were rather impractical should any fighting break out but he enjoyed them greatly nonetheless. King Fingon of the North who sat upon a simple but elegant wooden carved throne was in regal blue of a much darker, richer shade than him or his men. Húrin noted in awe the detail work along the cuffs and collars, his face coloring slightly when one of his kinsman smirked and kicked at his unprotected leg. He turned his attention back to the face of the king as he spoke, addressing first the elves beside him and then the small group of Hador’s people. 

The king was clearly the brother of Lord Turgon. There was no one he could speak this to but the thought was burned into him all the same. There were differences yes, stark ones at that. Lord Turgon had darker, more solemn eyes, the smiles that could alight his face were far more hidden than the king who was bright and cheerful how he had never known the lord of Gondolin to be. But their hair, the shape of their faces, the way their hands moved...it was uncanny. Húrin tried to bring his mind from these thoughts for of course the uncanniness was one he should never have known. 

Fortunately there was so much in the hall to occupy his attention, even from such large matters. His companions were finishing their vows and were looking at him expectantly.  The expression of the king was difficult to read but it was not intimidating and the man’s nerve eased slightly though his heart was fluttering, nearly dizzying as he took his steps to the foot of the throne and with all the grace he could muster, knelt. As was custom he knelt first upon one knee, eyes up at his king and then when King Fingon nodded, to the next stance, upon both knees, head bowed in reverence. 

He barely felt the floor beneath him as he knelt. The youth around him, ever jesting and raucous in the years he had known them were as silent, surely as awestruck as he was. There was an almost protective quality as they stood around their kneeling kinsman though Húrin felt nothing if not safe and secure. His legs trembled minutely as he stood 

“I welcome you to my service, Húrin of Dor-lómin.” The smile of the king was a warm one when Húrin looked up to meet it. “My father gladly and gratefully held both your father and his father before him in his own service and I have had the good fortune to meet these noble men.” When he himself contemplated the legacy of his father and grandfather Húrin felt overwhelmed. When King Fingon spoke of them he felt only pride, happiness at the opportunity to follow in their footsteps. 

The man stands at the king’s nod and walks in a dream to the table to join his kin, uncharacteristically quiet as one is quick to point out though his tone is light, jesting. A few minutes later the small group of Noldor lead by King Fingon join them. 

The conversation is shockingly casual, friendly! First among his own men, yes but the Noldor join in with ease, joking and teasing quickly and sharply. Most speak Sindarin but there are words too in Quenya, he knows their sound but not their meaning. It was said that they were forbidden to use this tongue but he is glad all the same to hear it. Húrin has always admired the ways of speaking among the elves. His brother teases him for how he has, intentionally and then often not, picked up on them, repeated them. He decided then he would need to learn more of the tongue of the high elves, even if he could not find formal instruction. In Gondolin there were phrases he had learned, greetings, jests, patterns. But they were hidden away as they must be and he dared not speak them aloud even in solitude. 

The wine he drinks is stronger than he was used to but in consequences alone; unlike the rich, oaken wine of his people this was light and summery, leaving him feeling rather giddy. He had to put in conscious effort to pace himself and sooner than he expected felt his head spinning. He would not ride back till the next morning of course but who could say how long this would affect him. The last thing Húrin wanted was to make a fool of himself, here and now. 

The food acts to ground him though it does not bring elegant words to his mouth to respond to the king’s occasional address and surely this is not merely the result of the wine. King Fingon smiles at him however and does not appear upset by his clumsy words. 

The dinner is ended with their orders for their first month in the service of the king but even this cannot dampen his mood. He is not naive, Húrin is well aware of why he has come to serve the king and that the occasion is not strictly a joyful one.  They will return after a brief respite at home to the Tower and the rushing river to receive further instruction from the king. Many will serve at the border of Dor-lómin and further East at the borders of Hithlum where the hosts and scouts of orcs dare ever closer. The memory of his father hangs heavily upon him at this and of the Battle of flame he did not himself witness but which has touched so closely those he loved. If another like this could be prevented, mitigated, surely any risk he took was worth it. 

Of the seven men he has come with, six will return home from their first mission, a bitter victory in every sense. 

(look it’s not my best work I wrote some of this while unmedicated and very sleepy but I hope it’s ok!)

two more author’s notes: 

1. Húrin is absolutely naive. 

2. Húrin is not yet engaged but will be soon and is aware that this is likely to happen. He has absolutely gotten caught by Morwen, Huor and Aerin on different occasions practicing his bowing and vows. Morwen is a little bemused and is just the slightest bit quietly judgmental, Aerin thinks it’s absolutely hilarious, Huor does too but he’s done the same so he can’t say much. 

[aipilosse]

TRSB Recs Part III

Yes, it's Saturday, not Friday, but thanks to a vacation I was finally able to fully catch up on my TRSB list!

where no storms come by @arrivisting

Rating: Gen

Other tags: Maglor, Elrond, redemption, not quite but he's getting there, 10k - 20k

Maglor and Elrond meet shortly before Elrond sails West. You may think you've read this before (and the first sentence may be all you need to know to tell you that this is something you want to dive into!) But arrivisting does a fantastic job of balancing Maglor's regret with his crimes, Elrond's pity, and the perspectives of several other characters who would have Opinions about Maglor. There is even a memorable cameo by Bilbo, who has had it up to *here* with elves and their hair. The fic is an excellent blend of the philosophy woven into LOTR with Maglor's ultimate fate.

Now Free by Tethys_resort

Rating: Mature

Other tags: Outstanding OCs, dogs, really wargs but he's a puppy!, world building, 10k - 20k

Suri took a deep breath.  “My name is Suri.  I am now free.”  Her lips quivered slightly.  “I am not orc spawn.”

A group of thralls from Angband escape during the War of Wrath. The motley crew is comprised of a broken healer, formerly of Gondolin, a young man who barely remembers freedom, his little sister who has orc-ish features due to her birth, the most adorable and brave warg puppy you've ever met, and a disillusioned former lord of Doriath. As they run from the orc crew sent to recapture them, they grow together despite their disparate backgrounds. All of the OCs are memorable and I became attached to them within one chapter of meeting them! This story is heart-wrenching, sad, funny, exciting, and inventive.

Danse Macabre by @elennalore

Rating: Teen

Other tags: Sauron, Celebrimbor, Angst, 5k - 10k

I've often thought that a likely location for Celebrimbor's body is in a storeroom or maybe even on display in Barad-dûr somewhere. That's not quite what this fic is, but elennalore does a great job exploring Sauron's obsession with his murdered friend even as he falls deeper into the seductive power of the One and attempts to defeat the remnants of the Elves. Flashbacks make the story even sadder, as contrasts are drawn between the Annatar who befriended Celebrimbor and Tar-Mairon who holds conversations with his corpse.