#lalwen beloved

[that-angry-noldo]

"Are we going to talk about her?"

"No," Arafinwë cuts, and looks at her sternly. Lalwen finds herself amused at the fact that her younger brother still thinks he can command her.

"Arvo," she says kindly. "You know we have to talk about her sooner or later."

"Lalwen, please. We can deal with things much better than our sister. With these reports, for example. They are a mess."

Lalwen raises her eyebrows in challenge. "I just decided I won't touch any of these reports before we talk about her, so take that."

Arafinwë stares, and there's a flicker of annoyance on his face. "We don't need to talk about her. You've spent your time in Valimar, seen our mother and reconciled with our sister. That's enough."

"But that's not!" Lalwen exclaims rather angrily and Finarfin flinches when she slams her hands on the table. "Arafinwë, something is going on between you and Findis, and I do not find that something that funny at all, but neither you or Findis tell me anything so I am left walking on the eggshells! Do you think that's fair?!"

"My and Findis' relationship is none of your business. We've had our differences, we're not over them, we're not getting over them anytime soon," Arafinwë places the paperwork aside, and Lalwen follows his example. He looks back at her, and his face becomes apologetic. "I'm sorry. I know you love her, and I - I don't want my relationship to influence yours."

Lalwen sighs. "You don't understand, Ingo. It's just Fëanáro and Ñolofinwë all over again."

Finarfin flinches, and his face pales. "It's not."

"It is. Not as obvious, no. Both of you are too old and too wise to throw tantrums like our brothers could. Both of you are too wise to let our mother know of it, also. But I cannot stand that - that goddamn feeling of immediate tension whenever you enter the room together. Those glances you share. It's maddening, Arvo. At least you two somehow made a treaty and are strictly sticking to it, but it doesn't change the fact that it makes me want to run away and never return."

Arafinwë's lips are parted slightly - Lalwen waits patiently for his response. He shakes his head. "I'm sorry," he says, and his voice is sad. "That you feel that way. I truly am. Valar up above, I- I know how that feels, and- I'm sorry."

"What happened between you two?"

"A lot. We're just- not the same people anymore. Me and Findis. We had some... pretty bad fights after- after you left. That's all."

"Arafinwë," Lalwen says. "It's been centuries."

Arafinwë smiles absently. "Some harm was done."

"Some harm?! Arafinwë-"

"Lalwen," he says, firm but soft. "I know. And I know it's been centuries, and I- I know how you feel, but- I don't think I want to share it with someone. Not yet. Not even with you." His ears flicker downwards, and he avoids looking at her face. "Not even- not even with myself. I don't think I want to unpack that mess yet."

Lalwen looks at him, then sighs. "Alright. I'll wait."

"Thank you."

"I think we're done with the paperwork for today. Are you up for a walk? Findaráto showed me a place that sells the best ice cream a few days ago. I thought it would be nice to go there together. Maybe Eärwen could go, too."

"I'll ask her. Give me a minute."

Lalwen looks as he walks out of the room, and takes a deep breath. One step at a time, she reminds herself, and hides the remaining paperwork away.

[who-needs-words]

Weirdly enough, and despite my many femslash ships for her- my favorite silm rarepair is Lalwen/Círdan.

Maybe for Galadriel/Celeborn parallels

Maybe because I think Lalwen deserves a cool spouse

Mostly because my imagined dynamic for them is so good.

Lalwen has many skills and hobbies- but her Craft™️- in the noldor sense where a craft is a key part of your identity. More than work, more than skill a noldor’s Craft™️ is a part of them. And Lalwen’s craft is charm. She could probably befriend Thingol if given the chance.

She’s recklessly loyal and aware of it. Knows it’s her flaw- that’s why she fears leadership. Not because others wouldn’t follow her but because she fears her own reckless nature. Her vindictive streak an ocean wide doesn’t help.

Círdan is as calm as steady at the sea. He is a creature of patience and perfection. Every ship he builds is a masterpiece. He hears lalwen laugh and every carefully planned diplomatic move leaves his head.

He wants to make her laugh.

Lalwen can talk and charm her way faster than most elves can think. She can back you into a verbal corner before you even blink.

Círdan thinks through every word- considers every angle. It’s what lets him survive. He’s kind, understanding and serene.

He looks at the shining high princesses of the noldor and thinks ‘she’s going to burn herself out’ he makes it a mission to be her safety.

Lalwen approches him with the goal of making this elf she sees as uptight loosen up and have some fun. Círdan teaches her to enjoy an afternoon in the sunlight. She teaches him how throw rocks in the sea just see them splash.

They balance each. There is a give and take. They’re like the tides. She always comes back to him and he always opens his arms to her.

[effervescentdragon]

Cirdan, wanderlust, fast.

Time passes slowly for Círdan. It has done so for too long, and there is nothing he can do about it.

He knows this with his whole being, the being which he knows others consider ancient, and have for quite some time; for much longer than he would care to admit. Olórin had told him when he last passed through Círdan's domain, 'Old friend, now your hröa matches mine'. Círdan had laughed and replied 'Ah, meldo, 'twas never merely about one's physical bearing, else I would have left already when my hair started turning mithril-silver! Before my time was past, and I still had some vigour for travel left.'

Olórin had narrowed his eyes, and for all his far-sightedness, Círdan could not decipher the look in them. 'Would you have, truly?' he had asked. 'After - all that has come to pass, you would have left for the Grey Lands at some arbitrary time for what? Wanderlust?'

There were eons of knowledge in Olórin's gaze, and if he had concentrated, Círdan was convinced he could see echoes of golden locks and harsh steel in their depths.

'I have no wanderlust,' he replied truthfully. 'I am where I am by the will of the Valar, and here I shall stay until I sense it is time for me to leave.'

'Think you not that time is passed? Long gone, smothered by the fast passage of time?'

Círdan had laughed then, and it was not a merry laugh. It carried too much pain too deeply buried to ever be called even close to merry. Laughter had, for Círdan, lost its appeal a long time ago, for how can one love an imitation after one had heard pure joyous laughter in its original form?

'Time had slowed for me, old friend, and with every passing year it slows some more, until I fear it will cease completely.' He met Olórin's knowing eyes. 'And when it halts, then...' he trailed off, for he dared not speak of his greatest wish, buried deep within with a ribbon of golden hair and bloodied steel.

They had stood in silence, watching the ocean before them. There was no need to speak, for if Olórin knew who Círdan was always, always thinking of, he knew why that memory was as painful as it was old.

"Faith," Olórin had whispered. "Have faith in yourself, Nowë."

As much as you do in her, and she in you, the ocean wind seemed to whisper, but Círdan had merely closed his eyes, and did not dare to hope.

[who-needs-words]

I’m sorry OP but you can’t ask my about Lalwen HCs and not expect an essay.

For all my Lalwen WIPs i have her as Fingolfin’s second in command until his death. I explicitly gave her the title of ‘high princess’

After her brothers death… well I can’t make up my mind. Either she handle’s her grief healthily and joins Círdan- insert Lalwen/Círdan romance here and Gil-Galad as their only child.

If she doesn’t handle Fingolfin’s death well she vanishes into the wilderness, eventually joining the Avari and living with them for the rest of her time in middle earth.

Another idea is that he refuses to leave Fingolfin and is captured, spending the rest of tte first age in Angband.

In conclusion; multiple of the above. I love her too much to just pick one.

[polutrope]

Why should the Fëanorians get to have all the incest?

Inspired by this post, here are a few fic recs for dark and delicious incest between kin who do not slay* but who are otherwise just as messy. I know there's much more -- please reblog with your additions!

*Unless they are named Fingon.

Against His Wisdom by @melestasflight. Fingolfin/Fingon, Fingon/Maedhros. Poetic, heartbreaking codependence. An especially sensitive treatment of first degree incest.

For Whom His Heart Yearned by me. Aredhel/Turgon. They both loved Elenwë, now they have only each other.

Listen. Leave. by @littlewhitemouseagain. Aredhel/Turgon, Maeglin/Turgon and others. Idril's POV on her father's terrible coping mechanisms through the ages. Disturbing and brilliant, makes too much sense.

A Lamentation Before Their Eyes by LadyBrooke. Fingolfin/Lalwen. Contemplations on forbidden love and the horror of LaCE.

The One You Want by smutcatt. Aredhel/Turgon. Helcaraxë, drabble.

nearest to her heart by spellworth. Finrod/Galadriel. Helcaraxë angst. So much tension and religious guilt, I get twisted up thinking about it.

Sharp as a flame by @ettelene. Aegnor/Finrod. Andreth angst, drabble.

And some canonical incest...

Twice Beloved by iddump. Nienor/Túrin. Dreams of Doom by @camille-lachenille. Nienor/Túrin.

These two fics both capture so beautifully how happy these sibs were with each other, despite how Morgoth tried to twist their love.

[tanoraqui]

Incomplete list of name origins/motivations of the House of Finwë, according to me (and sometimes canon). Any names not listed were given for normal “parent liked it and it fit the baby (fathername)/young child (mothername) well enough.”

Original Brady Bunch:

Finwë (epessë, "hair/crowned guy") - as discussed here

Miriel - [normal name origins]

Indis (mothername, "bride") - true maternal prophecy. “She’s going to fuck her way into trouble and, if we’re lucky, fuck her way out of it”

Fëanáro (m, "spirit of fire") - not prophecy so much as really really obvious right away Curufinwë [I] (fathername, "clever finwë") - Finwë, proudly watching his son build cities out of blocks: “He’s like me but even more clever!”

Findis (f, [finwë+indis]) - Finwë has the naming instincts of Bella Swan and we should mock him so much more for this

Arakáno [I] (m, "high chieftain") - warning label Fingolfin was a very bossy toddler; Indis thought it was adorable and was sure he’d grow into it (he did)

Lalwen/Irimë - [both normal name origins]

Ingoldo [I] (m, "the noldo") - spite. born 2 months after Nelyafinwë due to total lack of parental coordination. Indis looked Fëanor straight in the eyes while introducing his new, distinctly blond and Vanya-looking baby brother to him. Effectiveness as a warning label is entirely accidental.

Fëanorians:

Nelyafinwë (f, "third finwë") - spite Maitimo (m, "well-shaped") - Nerdanel: Attention, everyone! I have made the PRETTIEST BABY EVER!!;

Makalaurë (m, "golden voice") - Nerdanel, proudly: Yes, his beautiful voice is very loud [functional warning label]

Tyelkormo (m, "hasty riser") - warning label Nerdanel, loving but strained smile: My newest beloved son. Will not. Stay. Asleep. :)

Carnistir (m, "red-faced") - Nerdanel: Lookit how red his little face gets when he cries! Don’t you just want to squish it even more?!

Atarinkë (m, "little father") - Nerdanel, delighted: FËANÀRO, IT’S A BABY YOU!; Curufinwë [II] (f, "clever finwë") - Fëanor, awed whisper: holy shit you’re right, it’s a baby me

Ambarussa & Umbarto Ambarto (m, "red-topped" & "doomed" "up-exalted") - as told in The Shibboleth of Fëanor: Nerdanel, desperately ignoring the growing sense of true maternal prophecy: They’re both redheads! Fëanor: Beloved, you can’t give them both the same name. Nerdanel: Yes I can. Fëanor: No you can’t. Nerdanel: Yes I can. Fëanor: No you can’t. Nerdanel: Fine, his name is Doomed, are you happy! He’s doomed to a terrible fate! He’s going to suffer and die alone! Fëanor: Haha you mean fated to great things, upwardly mobile, right?! Nothing has ever gone wrong when I ignore you, and probably nothing ever never will! Ambarussa, jointly, as soon as they're old enough to speak: We like having the same name actually also, Telúfinwë (f, "last finwë") - Fëanor: "Okay, even I think we should probably stop at 7"

Fingolfinians:

Findekáno (f, "hair[crowned] commander") - a little bit of spite ("Finwë" + "Arakáno"), but mostly Fingolfin liked how it sounded and didn't realize until it was too late that he'd just swapped the syllables in Kanafinwë, and had to pretend real fast that he didn't care

Turukáno (f, "strong chieftain") - Fingolfin decided to lean into the káno root for his kids, and he likes how this name sounds and he doesn't care that it's the same root at Turkafinwë! Not everything is about Fëanor!

Írissë (f, "[something] femine") - Fingolfin, standing on top of a roof, holding baby Aredhel up like Simba: "WE HAD A GIRL!!!" ("Ir" from Anairë)

Arakáno (m, "high chieftain") - Anairë: haha holy shit, Nolo, he's a baby you

Finarfinians:

Findaráto (f, "high/noble finwë") - Finarfin shortly before his first son is born, moving around scraps on paper on which are written root words: "Okay so it has to include 'fin' and a part of one of my names which is not 'fin' (how stupid would two 'finwë's sound in one name!), but it for the sake of individualism it shouldn't be literally my name nor, preferably, Nolofinwë's... Ingoldo (m, "the noldo") - warning label: Eärwen, preventing her son from trying to eat his fourth very child-chokable random gem from the ground today: "Ara, he gets this from your side." (Effectiveness as a warning label for nude werewolf combat is entirely accidental.)

Angrod - [normal name origins]

Aegnor - [normal name origins]

Artanis (f, "noble lady") - Finarfin standing on the opposite roof, holding baby Galadriel up like Simba: "GIRL! GIRL! GIRL!" Nerwen (m, "man maiden") - Men already barely understand Elvish gender, especially as filtered through the Professor. We cannot begin to conceive of what Galadriel was doing with it, nor should be be so hubristic as to try

Grandchildren, birth order according to me:

Orodreth (m, "mountain climber") - warning label: if this child is not given something to climb, he will Find Something to Climb

Celebrimbor (f, "silver-holding/handed") - named after his mother, Maltrinbor ("gold-holding/handed") Curufinwë [III] (m, "clever finwë") - Maltrinbor, proudly watching her son gnaw on jewelry: He's going to be just as crafty as his father and grandfather!

Celebrindal (e, "silverfoot") - I don't care that canonically it's because she went barefoot; it's because she lost both feet to frostbite on the Helcaraxë (when the ice cracked and she fell in frozen water and Elenwë dove in to save her, a task at which Elenwë did succeed at cost of her own life), and shortly after reaching Middle Earth she got silver prosthetics (Curufin made the first model after Maedhros glared at him really hard)

Maeglin/Lómion - [both normal name origins]

Etc:

Finduilas (f, "hair + ?? + leaf"?) - [normal name origins]

Ardamirë (m, "jewel of the world") - true maternal prophecy (more vibes than literal vision, but she knew he'd hold a Silmaril) Eärendil (f, "friend of the sea") - Tuor: [loves Gondolin but wants to show his son the sea so bad]

Elros & Elrond ("star foam" & "star dome") - to both the Noldor and Sindar, a mothername is more intimate and meaningful than a fathername. But for the Noldor, the fathername comes just after birth and the mothername comes later, when the child's personality is more evident. In Sindarin custom, the mothername comes at birth because who knows the child better than the mother who has just been holding its fëa as close as possible for 9 months? and the fathername comes later. Elwing and Eärendil named their children together: Elwing chose to name them both "El-" for her family; and Eärendil named one "-ros", which like "-wing" means "foam/spray"; and the other "-rond", "star-dome" for the sky that is most beloved to admiring Elves and sea-navigators alike.

Celebrian (m, "silver queen") - Galadriel named her first, Sindar fashion, and named her partly after Celeborn because she is in fact a romantic sap. She suspected early that Celebrian would never be a queen in title, but she never wanted to shut down the option

Elladan & Elrohir ("elf man" & "elf rider[mannish root[" - half-blooded children both, Elrond and Celebrian also named their firstborn sons cooperatively - "El-" less for Elrond's family directly than because Celeborn would be so disappointed if they discontinued this tradition which dated back to his king, Elu Thingol; and "-adan" and "-rohir" for the Men of Númenor, lost and saved alike, whom they had both loved

Arwen (m, "noble maiden") - "Ar-" for Artanis and Arafinwë. Celebrian: "I have the weirdest instinct to go stand on the roof and shout about how she's a girl?" Elrond: "So do I! That'd be so weird, though. Anyway, you choose a name entire, for I must have my own for this one..." Undómiel (e f, "evening star") - mirror to Elros's daughter "Tindómiel", "dawn star" - both, of course, being the same star: Gil-Estel

[squirrelwrangler]

🐅

-@outofangband

So this particular ask meme is stupidly easy for me with all my focus on rare characters and places and fanon rejections. So, characterization/personalities.

I could talk about Fingon, who is a racist introvert who had a special interest in horses. This allowed him to bond with his aunt Lalwen and Uruvamerillo, Maedhros's husband, but he wasn't good outside his narrow social circle. So his good looks, athleticism, and status as Fingolfin's oldest son did the heavy lifting to give him a reputation. But Turgon, the one pigeonholed as the bookish unfun one, was when you spent time around him, the one curious and attentive to others and extroverted who loved talking and learning. Beloved by all the Vanyar family friends as well as Noldor. Not as athletic as the rest of his family but game to try and content to be the automatic last place as long as everyone else was having fun in the footraces/horseback races/hunting trips. The life of the party because he genuinely knew how to host a party. Turgon had the actual Finwean charisma and that's why Gondolin happened and flourished. Aredhel's hobbies aligned with Fingon, but she always chose Turgon over Fingon and that wasn't just because of worry over Elenwë's death.

But the easy answer is Ingwë. Hi, I write Ingwë, here's my free pass. Young Ingwë, with his resentment and bitterness banishing his few smiles, a proud heart saved from being fully consumed by hatred because he befriends Elwë and Finwë. His independence from others is not total - it only looks that way to the Minyar because he doesn't rely on his own tribe. Still, he is a loner by nature and self-sufficient. Clever and innovative but not brilliant. A visionary with a visonart's unshakeable belief in his own righteousness. His favorite animals are cats. His friends find this fitting. Has very little tolerance or patience for those that he dislikes or doesn't respect, but his temper is cold and his face/manner stoic. Mask-like. Not traits he shares with either friend. Elwë's anger and stubbornness is loud and expressive; Finwë is two-faced and manipulative. Ingwë's hidden side is gentle and loving. Also - horny as fuck.

[who-needs-words]

My turn to add Lalwen propaganda because I love her more than just about any other silm character (all headcanons extrapolated from what little we know about her)

-loyalty is one of her defining traits. It is both a flaw and a strength. She will go to the ends earth for those she loves. (She literally did). She would have followed Fingolfin into Angband if he hadn’t stopped her

-her greatest ability is her people skills. She knows how people tick- a skill she can use to comfort, advise, or manipulate. She has the mind of a politician.

-she’s the most charming person you will ever meet.

-she’s extremely devout to Irmo. It’s a complicated faith but strong.

-her relationship with Fingolfin skirted the line of being co-dependent, after a Fingolfin is reborn they work on fixing that.

-she never picked a craft. She took “a jack of all trades is a master of none, but oftentimes better than a master of one,” to heart

-she was badly injured during the Wars of Beleriand

Obscure Tolkien Blorbo: Round 1

Azaghâl vs Lalwen

Azaghâl:

The Lord of the Dwarven city of Belegost. He was a friend and ally of Maedhros and died covering his retreat at the Nirnaeth Arnoediad.

DWARF RIGHTS!! he Compels me is all. cmon “guy who died driving glaurung off the field at the nirnaeth” is ICONIC AS HELL and also i love his & maedhros’ friendship that i made up in my head. they are leadership besties.

Lalwen:

The youngest daughter of Finwë and Indis, also known as Írimë. She accompanied her brother Fingolfin during the Flight of the Noldor.

The mystery! Where did she go? What did she do? Where is she now? We don't know, and that makes her a mysterious blorbo!

[ao3feed-tolkien]

no love greater

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/k5jogtf

by GraceEliz

There is no love greater than the love he feels for his family - for his absent mother, his beloved father, for Nerdanel, and now for this child whose life is tied so tightly to his own.

Words: 4001, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 2 of love, True love

Fandoms: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/M

Characters: Fëanor | Curufinwë, Nerdanel (Tolkien), Indis (Tolkien), Fingolfin | Ñolofinwë, Findis (Tolkien), Írimë | Lalwen, Finwë (Tolkien)

Relationships: Fëanor | Curufinwë/Nerdanel, Fëanor | Curufinwë & Fingolfin | Ñolofinwë, Fëanor | Curufinwë & Findis, Fëanor | Curufinwë & Írimë | Lalwen

Additional Tags: Brother-Sister Relationships, Brotherhood, Feanor is a good brother, Questionable Lifesaving Methods, Years of the Trees, Family, Sibling Bonding, Sibling Love, Fluff

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/k5jogtf

[that-angry-noldo]

The story of the High King Fingolfin through the many instances of his life: the treacherous darkness of the Flight of the Noldor; the quiet and dangerous Ice of Helcaraxë; the fragile treaty of Mithrim; and the tentative beginning of the Long Peace.

Very excited to finally share my @tolkienrsb project done in partnership with @melkors-defense-attorney :D it was a fun collaboration!!

Title: Thrice he rose

Rating: T

Warnings: Major Character Death, Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Relationships: Fingolfin & House of Ñolofinwë, Fingolfin & Lalwen, Fingolfin & Finarfin, Fingolfin & Fëanor

Characters: Fingolfin, House of Ñolofinwë, Maedhros, Maglor, Lalwen, Finarfin, Fëanor, OFC

Read on AO3 || View the full artwork

Biggest credit to @thelordofgifs for beta-reading this fic! you are amazing and patient and i couldn't have asked for a better beta <3

Special thanks to my beloved mutuals @searchingforserendipity25, @actual-bill-potts, @thelordofgifs, @outofangband and @eilinelsghost for their biggest support during the writing process - thank all of you so much!

Another credit goes to @swanmaids for allowing me to use her helcaraxë headcanons - i love that worldbuilding and the implications so much!

[who-needs-words]

The more I try and actually write a long piece for Lalwen the more frustrated I get about how little I have to go off.

We know her name (father name is Írimë, mother name Lalwendë), what her name means (Írimë probably = desirable/ lovely. Lalwendë = laughing maiden). We know she goes by ‘Lalwen’ a shortened form of her mother-name. We know her birth order (third child and second daughter). We know one decision she made (going into exile) and who her favorite relative is (Fingolfin). THATS IT.

Like. This is so much more than we have for some other female characters (including her own older sister). But! So! Little!

We can make some conjectures; for example Aredhel was probably named after her. (Írissë meaning ‘Desirable Lady’ v Írimë meaning ‘desirable/ lovely’). She might have gone into exile because she loved Fingolfin a lot. She laughed a lot (her name). She preferred that name- why? Is it because it came from her mother instead of her father? She is the only one of her siblings to go by her mother name over her father name except for Fëanor. She’s also the only one without a reference to either parent in either of her names. What does this say about her relationship to them? She’s also the only to not Sindarinize her name (because it already fit Sindarin) even when she could have gone by the direct translation- Glaðwen or Gladhwen. Speaking of; ð and þ are very similar sounds- ( ‘th’ is used for both but þ is voiceless while ð is voiced)- so what does not using a name that could have a ‘th’ sound say about her relationship to Fëanor?

Those are just questions about her life in Valinor! We straight up do not know what happened to her. She could still be chilling in middle earth when lotr and the hobbit happens! She obviously doesn’t get mentioned in either but then again neither do the blue wizards (just an example of characters who could be important and have important counterparts just vanishing into the depths of middle earth). We just don’t know. What where her hobbies? Did she marry? Have kids? (I personally adore headcanoning Gil-Galad as her son).

We can make a few wide assumptions based solely on the fact that she’s a Finwean- lines like “… [Aredhel] was fearless and hardy of heart, as were all the children of Finwë.” Can be used as evidence that Finwëans are widely a crazy bunch so why would Lalwen be any different? Finwean women from Galadriel to Idril to Aredhel to Arwen are deeply driven people. Broadly speaking Finwean women make their own choices, even if they’re bad ones. They’re fearless, courageous, clever, wise. Similar characteristics can be broadly shared to other Finwëan women- like Lalwen and Findis. (Side note: if anyone has other quotes relating to the Finwean family as a whole please share).

We can continue using these few facts to ask questions - did Fingolfin just name is daughter Írissë because he loved his sister broadly or because they were actively similar? Or are names broadly meaning ‘desirable women’ common for Finweans? (See the use of Írien meaning ‘lovely’ as a previous name for Lalwen).

All of this hypothesizing brings me back to my first point; We. Don’t. Know. We just don’t! Functionally nothing to go on!

This means that what little we do have gets interpreted differently and used as a basis for wildly different characterization (I myself have created wildly different Lalwens while using the same base logic). Questions like why was she named laughing maiden? Did this mean she was charming? Loud? Funny? Each of those comes with different characters interpretations- if we think it’s a reference to her sense of humor maybe she played family peacemaker, or made jokes as a coping mechanism for her disastrous family. Or maybe she was a very loud child, possibly chaotic, couldn’t sit still, always moving. And so on and so forth. If she was charming maybe she was a good politician or diplomat?

There is just so much possibility in her character and it’s all based on these few facts. Who was she? What did she do? Why did she do the things she did? (We don’t know even know why she made her one cannon decision!)

This is all two say; 1) if you have a Lalwen interpretation please share I’m curious 2)once I settle on a Lalwen you bet I’ll be writing something rather long.

[effervescentdragon]

It took me ages to find the notif but I know I got tagged by my beloved @antimonyandthyme who is darling dearest dbest and I'm still in the ignoring life phase so here we go <3

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

80! I have 80 works and 500 msgs in my inbox and I am a bit insane about it.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

535,111. Fuck i didn't know. This is insane.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Right now, F1. I wrote Silm exclusively for a while, but who knows at this point I'll honestly take whatever gets the creativity going.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

piarles montreal date fic, piarles omegaverse porn, piarles doggystyle porn, sebchal where charles wins monaco 22, charlos engineer au. i'm seeing a bit of a pattern here.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I do, or I try to. I go in and I respond in bulk, or sometimes I respond as I see them because I get so many at once I get overwhelmed. If I don't respond it's because I'm overwhelmed but I love and cherish every single one and I go and reread them when I'm feeling down and sad. Just know that all the comments I get are absolutely the best part of writing. <3333

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

in f1, for me it was that one sebchal tumblr ficlet where they didnt have a happy ending and seb was a bastard, which i can't find bcs i write too much and i hate that one. i think if you go into the tag "another pacific rim au you will find a LOT of angsty endings. oh also, my mean prompts. and any makkinen, i think. they are particularly angsty for me.

in silm... damn. me and azh my beloved literally have an angst-off fic. every silm fic i've written is angsty as fuck. maybe the one where maedhros throws himself into the fiery chasm? or any one with lalwen, including the grief ficlets on tumblr? glorfindel/curufin? oooh. i know. silvergifting. my silvergifting.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

For me? piarles star trek au , piarles pirate au, and sebchal old guard au.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not particularly, not traditional "I hate this". I get entitled comments that are like "will you write more" or "write more" or "i wish you'd do this and this" and i either ignore or block them bcs I do this shit for free and nobody is entitled to it.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Yes. I am very good at tender-porn with feelings, or so I've been told.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

AU's. So many AU's. That's my bread and butter. I did do a silm/f1 crossover as I was grappling with my feelings about rpf, but once I crossed the line I never looked back.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I don't think so?

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes! My Simi+ Welcome to Japan got translated wonderfully into Chinese HERE and I'm still soft thinking about it <33333

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No, I don't think I can do that in the fic. I am playing in @wolfiemcwolferson and @duquesademiel's playground right now, and I do have that silm angst-off fic with my beloved @admirablemonster <3 but I can't write with-with someone.

14. What’s your all time favourite ship?

Steve/Bucky or Kirk/Spock.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Pfffft a million in my drafts? there is so many of them that i started as a way of coping and i dont know really. I still live in hope i'll finish them all.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Emotions? I think I write good emotions. Also, building universes and adapting them in my AU's. Oh, and symbolism. I pack so much symbolism in everything my GODS.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Gahhh. Keeping it to the point. Finishing things. Show-don't-tell.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I like doing it tbh, because it gives me the opportunity to remind myself of the languages and I get distracted ith, for example, Russian grammar. However, these days I only do it for like, tearms of endearment and stuff like that, because I'm also very bad at incorporating translations (i forger), so I'm trying not to torture my readers. I love doing it in Silm for that reason exactly, pondering Quenya and Sindarin grammar aaaaa. Can you tell I'm a linguist at heart? xD

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Harry Potter, and it was a self-insert OC my beloved.

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

Sebchal Old Guard AU and Galadriel character exploration fic.

gonna tag, well, those already tagged above and then @deathicus-sling @fingons-rad-harp @absynthe--minded @blorbocedes @ayceeofspades @saecookie @jean----ralphio @nikosheba @brazilgp @milflewis @jaz-the-bard @ruiniel @goddammitjim @colors-of-feeling

and tbh whoever wants to do it? love you all!

[searchingforserendipity25]

The Look Or The Words | Anairë/Fingolfin.

ON AO3. For @nolofinweanweek

The courtship between young Arafinwë and Eärwen, the best-beloved daughter of Alqualondë, came as a happy, fortuitous surprise to nearly all those who knew them. Someone, naturally, had to take the details of the ceremony and all its political implications into their own hands. Ñolofinwë was determined it would go without mishap, with all the magnificence that was due to a son of Indis. Lady Anairë, Princess Eärwen’s dearest companion, agreed entirely. It was a great pity that this was the only thing they agreed on.

The courtship between young Arafinwë and Eärwen, the best-beloved daughter of Alqualondë, came as a happy, fortuitous surprise to nearly all those who knew them, except for their nearest companions.

Ñolofinwë had known of it from the first; and he had known, too, that someone, naturally, would have to take the details of the ceremony and all its political implications into their own hands. He was determined it would go without mishap, with all the magnificence that was due to a son of Indis. 

Lady Anairë, Princess Eärwen’s dearest companion, agreed entirely. It was a great pity that this was the only thing they agreed on.

Queen Indis had many a lordly and holy guest to welcome, Finwë was beset by a sweet, misguided notion to shepherd his son through the anxieties of love, which Arafinwë accepted with an even temper and mostly no attempts to hide away in the kitchen.

Findis was deep in prayer for the felicity and harmony of the great houses of the Eldar soon to be joined, and of course, Lalwen had her own games among visiting nobles to be played, and had taken upon himself to judge the mettle of their sister-to-be, a pursuit that, as far as Ñolofinwë could grasp, consisted on sharing a number of unflattering and very amusing stories about Arafinwë.

And, all the while, Ñolofinwë made blueprints for seating arrangements and fought Lady Anairë to arrange for the conversations that would be more appropriate in his eyes.

It was, perhaps, possible that Lalwen was correct - he could be haughty, too precise, if not sanctimonious in his ways. He had studied every guest, and considered every angle; it was not difficult to assure himself any proprietary claim to planning the event was merely because he better than any knew most keenly the lines of influence and affinity among his court.

Lady Anairë smiled gayly at his indications and turned them from orders into suggestions. Lady Anairë reminded him, without chiding and without kindness, that his people were many, and varied, and more yet the people of the Teleri and the Vanyar.

It was very well, she said, to be on good terms with princes from one side of Amanyar to the other, but the feasting would welcome companies of travellers of every kind, many of them little interested in formal Noldorin procedures, and was it perhaps not wise to offer a broader range of options, from food and drink to rituals? It was a party, after all, that they meant to celebrate, a time of joy and friendship renewed. Excellent, truly, to be careful about all correct procedures - but if there were to be fishermen from the shore and shepherds from Taniquentil celebrating with the smiths of Tirion, some considerations had to be made.

Ñolofinwë could not say he cared for how Lady Anairë looked at him, when she spoke of joy; there was something too insightful about her, too frank by far.

 Ñolofinwë had the benefit of rank and terrain: Lady Anairë knew more people, it seemed, than even he, and was known fondly by most of them. He woke early; Lady Anairë woke earlier, and met him with pleasant greetings in the palace foyer, just as he made to ride to his appointments - which were all but useless, coming after her own visits.

Always she seemed to find time, amidst her walks through the city and the countryside, to meet with the weaving guild and the pastry masters, and dispense orders.

Princess Eärwen had chosen wisely which friend to delegate with these tasks. Lady Anairë was relentless; Lady Anairë would have Princess Eärwen's every specification obeyed. Lady Anairë, Ñolofinwë suspected, had a fondness for inventing new specifications merely to be able to haggle down to her true aims.

-

Ñolofinwë met her step by step, as neatly as if it were a waltz.

He could not admit it, but he did enjoy it. He was well-used to court politics, slow games of influence amidst the glory of Amanyar, and the half-petty plays of power with which the ruling houses entertained themselves. Unwed and devoted to perfecting studies of law and governance, still: he felt quite certain he could answer the demands of preparing a royal wedding.

The daughter of Noldorin merchants raised on the roads of Aman, more skilled with the harp than she liked to boast of, a swift rider and swift thinker, Anairë had grown high in favour as a charming guest in many a royal gathering, and delighted above all things in the success of her pursuits, depended on nothing so much as her sense of certainty.

She was not a princess of the Vanyar or the Teleri, not the kin of any of the Noldor's best smiths, not a great artist in her own right; but she was her own entirely, bound only by the duties she chose.

Ñolofinwë was clever, cunning, dignified - the blushes that flooded his cheeks when she brushed past him with a proud tilt of the chin and scrolls of sketched flower arrangements were nothing to the duty he was bound to fulfil for his House.

Nothing at all. The betrothal period would pass swiftly - every day it seemed to him the wedding could not come soon enough for him. And then, he supposed, Lady Anairë would go on to take another of her eclectic apprenticeships, or be invited to a scholarly exploration to befriend the horses of Araman, or return to the court of Olwë, to delight her devoted friends with her company, and play gayly with Eärwen's children, as near and dear as an aunt.

Ñolofinwë supposed they might meet in this fashion, eventually.

He was very certain her proud chin and shining eyes were nothing to him; they must indeed be nothing to him, if they were going spend until the end of the Music meeting at family gatherings, debating literature and gossip and what counted as good taste over peach wine.

He could not permit himself anything else, so many and dire were his duties, what with Findis in her prayers and Lalwen with her plays and Arafinwë's calming influence on courtly politics more and more put in question by all the ancient lords that looked not kindly at his coming marriage.

All the same. For all he was filial and dignified, Ñolofinwë did keep staring distractedly at the air, setting aside solemn legal arguments to list new ways to defend against Lady Anairë's newest plots to bring in a family of swans for the festivities.

Lalwen laughed a great at him for that, too.

-

Fëanáro did not come to the betrothal party. Not to welcome the bride's family with bowls of water and bread and wreaths of flowers, not to greet King Olwë and his sons with all due honour. Fëanáro sent wedding gifts of matching bracelets wrought in silver and garnet, emeralds and rubies.

The sight of them nestled in their open casket was enough to cause all gathered to speak of little else. Their light shone on Eärwen's face with a wavering, watery gleam, and shone on Arafinwë's arm like a brand.

Lady Nerdanel was with child, and Fëanáro would not quit her side. He sent apologies to the king his father, for missing the occasion, and no apology at all to his brother. Arafinwë sent his own reply, very proper and conciliatory; Ñolofinwë doubted it had been Fëanáro's intention; but he caught his brother's look of bright relief, when Eärwen closed the casket and set it aside; and he did not doubt his absence was among the best gifts Arafinwë could have received.

But they did not speak of that. The children of Finwë in Tirion did not speak of Fëanáro, if it could be avoided at all.

-

Great battles of wits were fought over shades of Tirion-blue and Telerin-green; debates of rhetoric were unleashed and met. For Lady Anairë was learned and polished, very polite, and quite, quite certain of her own mind.

Over the course of his brother's long betrothal, Ñolofinwë learned his foe and grew to be her friend. Anairë knew many people, but loved few and fiercely. Her mind was quick, her words elegant, but she understood very keenly the limitations of courtesy and modesty, and kept them without breaching decorum. She played the game, as much as she had to; and only as much as she wanted to.

Ñolofinwë took to inviting her to his preparations. He was not so proud as to be unable to admit that there was a great deal to be learned from Anairë's insights - even if the price of it was the keen edge of her gaze turned on him, searching and seeking at him until she found something that seemed to satisfy her. 

For his part, he did not ask the reason, when first she chose to wait for him in the foyer. It was only that it was easier and more sensible to work jointly. They worked better together; there was, Ñolofinwë found, something to be said of relying on someone on such a long endeavour.

Three Minglings before the wedding, and Anairë's mouth was pursed archly with pleasure when her ploy on the arrangement of the musicians came to fruition under Ñolofinwë’s nose.

Three Minglings! Every passing moment before their parting was made intolerable by his silence.

Pride and sense and duty were not worth knowing himself a coward and a fool. Ñolofinwë met her prying, laughing eyes, and admitted defeat. It was only some consolation that Anairë's face only grew more radiant when Ñolofinwë made the confession she had been waiting for, and pulled him down for a kiss amidst rows of the best sea-silk.

They kept on debating about samples of lace veils long afterwards, and did not even notice Eärwen and Arafinwë fleeing all elegant machinations and familial tension to hurry off from the tailor's apartments to a cheerful elopement tour by the sea.

It just as well. There was a royal wedding arranged already. Between the two of them, they managed to turn it from a diplomatic disaster into the event of the century - and, in the end, neither of them could quite remember what the musicians played whilst they danced close together under the Treelight.

[ringofsecrets]

So there is a lot of further lore, which I can get into if it becomes necessary. But the big stuff- The Valar are basically angelic beings appointed by God (Eru or Illuvatar) to guide and rule the world. One of them, Melkor, is evil and betrays everyone else. They go to war and imprison him. During this, they invite the Elves to come live in Valinor. Some of them agree, others refuse. The Elves that go to Valinor are split into three groups: the Vanyar (super religious, don't really come into the story much, the Teleri (big into sailing and boats, have a large number of their people that didn't end up coming to Valinor), and the Noldor (big into crafting, kinda haughty, most of the main drivers of the First Age are at least partially Noldor)

The Noldor are lead by Finwe. He was married to Miriel, who gave birth to Feanor before dying (nb- death is not necessarily permanent for elves they can come back eventually). Problem is, she wants to stay dead and Finwe wants more kids and an alive wife. They go to the Valar for a solution. They say Finwe can remarry if Miriel agrees to never return to life. Miriel agrees and Finwe marries Indis, the sister of the King of the Vanyar. They have at least 4 kids: Findis, Fingolfin, Lalwen, and Finarfin (there are possibly others according to some versions, but really only Fingolfin and Finarfin factor into this) This really pisses off Feanor, who refuses to acknowledge his half siblings as family.

Feanor marries Nerdanel, and has seven sons (Maedhros, Maglor, Celegorm, Caranthir, Curufin, Amrod and Amras) Fingolfin marries Anairë and has four kids (Fingon, Turgon, Aredhel, and Argon) Finarfin married Eärwen, the daughter of the king of the Teleri. Their children were Finrod, Angrod, Aegnor and Galadriel.

Everything was tense, but manageable until the Valar decided to give Melkor another chance and released him. He started spreading dissent and rumors among the Noldor and especially the Royal family. Feanor starts to mistrust his brothers especially and assume they are trying to take precedence over him (both in the royal line and in their father's affections). To be clear, he doesn't trust Melkor farther than**I**can throw him, but the rumors are being spread through other people too.

Also importantly, Feanor is an incredibly skilled craftsman, possibly the greatest ever. He invents all sorts of things, but his greatest achievement are the Silmarils, three jewels that he captures the light of the Two Trees (these are what lights Valinor, as the sun and moon don't exist yet) in. The leaders of the Valar, Manwe and Varda, bless the Silmarils and make it so nothing evil can touch them without pain and injury.

Things probably wouldn't have changed any further, but in the course of a very public argument, Feanor draws a weapon on Fingolfin and threatens him. The Valar temporarily banish Feanor from the main city, . He moves far to the north, and Finwe chooses to go into exile with his beloved eldest.

A while later Melkor comes to the fortress that Feanor is exiled to. He tries to convince Feanor to ally with him. Feanor rejects and insults him saying "get thee gone from my gate, thou jailcrow of Mandos". Melkor leaves.

I'm going to end part one here. Will continue with part two tomorrow. Any questions so far?

I wish someone would write a crackfic where Bilbo maybe gets displaced into the first age and solves the dragon problem with like dog training tricks.

[weezlbot]

What your favorite Finwean says about you

Does not include wives/husbands other than those of Finwe himself, sorry. Also, you can usually just add “Likes angst” or “Likes problematic men” to most of these, although I’ve called out a few exceptional examples. Also some of these are similar, I’m really sorry about that Q_Q

Finwe: You probably liked the Hobbit movies for the love triangle they put Legolas, Kili and Tauriel in. Out of all the characters, the Finwe lovers are the most likely to be parents themselves, especially parents of troubled children. 

Miriel: Are you sure your favorite character isn’t Feanor? You might have some familial trauma, too. 

Indis: You are not, by any means, a Feanor supporter. You may have some parental issues yourself. 

Feanor: You have religious trauma, or family trauma, or some combination of the two. You don’t enjoy compromise. 

Maedhros: You linger about the “whump” and “hurt-comfort” tags like it’s your personal haunted house. The page where Maedhros is rescued in the Silm is more beaten and stained than any other page in your copy of the book. You probably ship SamFro and Russingon, maybe Gigolas too. 

Maglor: You want to be held. Badly. You love the “found family” trope. You might be a musician yourself. 

Celegorm: You like to think you can fix men (feral version). You like animals and dirt. 

Caranthir: You claim to hate rich people but really you just want some sugar daddy to scoop you up and take care of you for the rest of your life. 

Curufin: You like to think you can fix men (filthy version). You also have daddy issues, or prefer men who have said daddy issues.

Amrod: You love making headcanons. You have strong opinions about his death. You might be a Harry Potter fan from the ways you like twins, and redheads. 

Amras: Once again, you love to make headcanons, and you might be a Harry Potter fan, or an ex-fan, or something. 

Lalwen: You prefer Fingolfin to either of his brothers. You’ve always rebelled against the idea of a middle child as a peacekeeper. 

Fingolfin: You probably like RPGs where you can roleplay as a big strong swordsman. 

Fingon: You’re gay. You ship SamFro and Russingon, maybe Gigolas too. Either that or you’ve always projected onto the big strong prince who saves the princess (or whoever) from the tower prison. 

Turgon: You read those “princess/wizard/whatever in the tower” stories and thought that the tower may not be that bad of a place to be. You like playing with Legos. 

Aredhel: You reblog every pro-feminist post you find. You probably prefer racebent versions of her. You’re the only heterosexual in your friend group.

Argon: You prefer the less mainstream texts (HoME, Unfinished Tales, letters, etc.) to the Silm. 

Findis: You may be an older sister yourself. You prefer Finarfin to either of his brothers. There’s no problem with being a homebody in your eyes. You, like the Hobbits, have a critical view of adventure. 

Finarfin: You prefer to think that (at least) all of the Finarfinians get reembodied at some point. You prefer the house of Olwe to the house of Finwe. You prize cooperation as a virtue. 

Finrod: You have a “we’re all in this together” sort of mentality. You may favor interracial cooperation groups. You’re not a dog person. You won’t hang out with anyone who isn’t weird. 

Angrod: You probably have a sibling who overshadows you in multiple ways. You like making headcanons. 

Aegnor: You unironically love romance novels. You probably believe in soulmates. 

Orodreth: Like the Angrod likers, you probably have a sibling who overshadows you in multiple ways. Headcanons your beloved. Specifically, family headcanons appeal to you more than they appeal to the Angrod likers.

Galadriel--You prefer LOTR to the Silmarillion. You also aren’t a huge fan of the house of Finwe in general. You might subscribe to the feminist label but you don’t have to. 

Celebrimbor: You love the idea of choosing your own family. You’re a big believer in not judging the child for the sins of the father. You might like to make stuff, or you like men who are good with their hands. 

Finduilas: Your recommended tags include “whump,” “angst,” and possibly “hurt-comfort.” You may have a crush on Turin Turambar. 

Maeglin: You have daddy issues. Mommy issues, too. You like to think you can fix men (clean, domesticated version). 

Gil-Galad (assumes he’s a Finwean of some sort): You like the Peredhel a whole lot. Who you are is less important to you than what you do. You’re a big fan of tragic poetry. 

Celebrian: Your favorite Elven city is Rivendell. You also are a big Frodo Baggins supporter. There’s nothing wrong with mildness and gentleness. There’s also nothing wrong with wifehood or motherhood, or putting aside other aims to focus on those things, in your eyes.

Idril: Have you read Percy Jackson? If you did, your favorite character was Annabeth. If you haven’t, then you have a strong personal hatred of the dumb-blonde stereotype. You might subscribe to the feminist label--you’re more likely to do so than a Galadriel lover but less so than an Aredhel lover. 

Earendil: Sacrifice! Tragedy! Strength through adversity! These are some of your favorite things!

[dialux]

do you have any tar-miriel headcanons? [or tindomiel headcanons?]

When Elros tells stories to his children, his sons beg for tales of Fingolfin's glorious charge unto Angband, for Earendil's desperate foray into mist and salvation, for Tuor's raging defence of wife and son atop Gondolin's battlements. His daughter does not contradict them, nor does she fuss to hear it: her eyes glow just as bright as Vardamir, just as fervent.

But when she asks for tales, she asks to hear of Idril's great secret tunnel, hidden even from her beloved father. Of Lalwen's defiance, blazing in the salt-flats of Sirion, of Findis' steadfast piety and of Findis' grandmother, passed long before Elros' foster-father could have ever told him tales, passed long before the first elves ever reached Aman: Intyale the Bright-Speared, who snuck into Morgoth's lair before ever he established himself in Angband, who stole away her sister with nothing but clenched fists and a knife-sharp spear.

Perhaps that should have been Elros' first warning.

...

(The second warning came when she chose a craft, in the fashion of the Noldor.

Vardamir had not chosen a craft--not officially, at least, for all that he barely ever threw off the scholar robes Elros and Eresse had gifted him--but Tindomiel made a song and dance of it, insisted, until Elros gave in out of exasperation.

Tindomiel chose prayer.

A safe choice, people seemed to feel, and relaxed. Grandeur in the name of the Valar? She is following the footsteps of her mother.

But that was not the warning. The warning, Elros did not realize, had been in the song and in the dance and in the blazing soaring masquerade of it all.)

...

Tindomiel is the quiet one of his children: quiet and calm, never quite so fierce as Manwendil or as cheerful as Atanalcar or as quick to speak as Vardamir, for all that she is most similar to him. Both she and Vardamir are reserved, in fact; so much that Elros and Eresse had found themselves struggling with Manwendil’s blazing spirit as a youth, so heavily contrasted against his elder siblings.

...

Three thousand and thirty-two years in the future, a boy finds an embossed book tucked behind the dark shelves of Numenor’s library. He does not spend much time in the library--he finds joy in the open fields of war, feet rooted on the rolling deck of a seafaring boat--but his tutors have impressed upon him the need to understand history for military ventures.

He is fourteen years old. He is a curious fourteen years of age.

The book--long abandoned--opens before him like sunlight. The first sentence alone takes him a week to decipher from the chicken-scratch and the old script, but nobody has ever called him unmotivated.

I am the daughter of kings and gods, he reads. I know my inheritance.

And below it, in the glorious swooping signature of the first and highest princess of Numenor: Tindomiel Anyale Alfirinie.

...

Tindomiel inherits nothing. Vardamir has a kingdom; Manwendil his position in Numenor’s army; Atanalcar his beaches and fertile coastlands from their mother. Tindomiel, alone, has nothing.

(She asks for nothing.)

(She refuses what is given, and takes nothing as well.)

There is no room for land or titles or positions where Tindomiel wishes to go.

...

She spends many decades in the temples. They are beautiful places, made of song and light; and there are dozens of them, made precisely to be a home to those that wish to worship in one manner or another. Tindomiel wanders through them--she spends no more than a month in each.

One week to establish herself. Two weeks to learn their philosophy. One last week to practice that philosophy.

And leave, and repeat.

She takes them all in to herself, swallows the meditation and the approach and the practices. Bares herself, soul and more, before the stinging scouring gazes. Swallows the bitter draughts; swims in the strong incense. Kneels on the cold stone. Sings in the drenching monsoons. Wanders the darkness, accepts the lashes, follows the fasts.

Finds what works for her.

And gets to work.

...

There is an old story that Luthien was told by her mother, amid the star-shining eaves of Beleriand-unmarred.

An elf-maid falls in love with her sister’s lover, and wishes to die of the agony: so she reaches with all her fea for what can never be, and in her straining gasping throes she shatters the walls of the world, and is never seen again.

A warrior of the Ainur known for the depth of his loyalty and the swiftness of his blade is forced to choose between saving his oathsworn company or holding to his vows to his lord and god: so he reaches with all his fea to escape what he cannot leave, and in his straining gasping throes he shatters the walls of the world, and is never seen again.

An abandoned child of slaughtered parents wails and wails and wails for comfort that will never come: and so she reaches with all of her fea for warmth that she remembers so well, and in her straining gasping throes she shatters the walls of the world, and is never seen again.

A swooping hand, wrapping around a little girl’s dark (night-dark, nightingale-dark) hair--and Melian’s voice, soothing even in a horror story: This is what happens when the world is too cold and too cruel. The impossible becomes possible, in situations of impossible brutality.

When pushed too hard, little one, people break the world. We can offer them so little after they have surrendered to that fate: we can only remember. And in remembering, we respect them. We cherish them. We honor them, and we name them gods.

...

(Who do the Valar worship?)

...

None of Melian’s stories mention humans. No human has ever broken the walls of the world. No human, none of the thralls of Angband, none of the captives of Sauron, none of the warriors of the War of Wrath--none of them have ever become a god.

But Tindomiel is the daughter of queens and kings: dragonslayers and lightbringers. Her ancestry is as grand as ever her father and brothers. And she has been raised on stories of wolves and dying, desperate defiance and women, forgotten, abandoned, lost.

Idril, who sailed to the west and was never seen again. Finduilas, pinned to a tree, screaming until her lungs would not draw more breath. Her own mother, who sailed west to Numenor with her bare hands. Nimloth, dead with two Feanorians’ blood on her sword and her lance held tight in her hands. Luthien, who danced at the death and won life for herself and her lover. Melian, who held fast before Morgoth himself--who Morgoth dared not challenge upon her own lands. Lalwen, disappeared after the Third Kinslaying. Findis, silent by choice and chance. Indis, quiet and hidden in the cold golden halls of her uncle’s city. Intyale, defiant and triumphant even at the end.

And Elwing, who fell rather than surrender, and flew rather than die.

Elwing. Who was human and Maia and elf. Who loved life so well she won immortality right out of Namo’s stingy fingers.

...

Elwing is her grandmother, and Tindomiel’s dreams are as grand as any king’s.

...

The boy asks what his tutors know of Tar-Minyatur’s eldest daughter, and hears--quiet girl, dutiful child; no children; pious and dedicated; unwedded; wedded to her craft; dead of unknown causes in S.A. 442--and tries to reconcile the description with the brash, prideful woman of the journal.

Then he remembers that Elros Tar-Minyatur died in 442 as well, and a chill goes down his spine.

...

First, she gives up food. Then she gives up water. Then she measures her very air: not too deep, not too much.

A human’s body is not so durable as an elf’s, but it is durable enough for this.

...

Near enough to see, Tindomiel has written, on the last filled page of the journal. Near enough to see, but never touch. Near enough to hope but never reach. Well: I shall reach higher than any of them!

The boy touches the words with the tips of his fingers. Swallows.

There is no more to this story here, but he has--a feeling. A knowledge inside him. A seed, steadily growing into a wide-branched oak. And he is old enough, now, to take the horse and ride to Romenna without anyone’s permission.

At the bay, he wanders the seaside. It has been more than three thousand years. Surely--surely the coast would have--changed--

But then he sees the curve of the beach, shallow and cut of ragged stone, echoing the same sketch that Tindomiel had made in the journal, and excitement flares in his belly. The boy approaches. Strips off his boots and cuffs his trousers, ignores the way the stones cut into his feet and the salt of the sea stings the wounds.

Stands there, balanced, on two flat stones. Then he lifts his hands to the sun, and folds the sole of his foot against the inside of his thigh: trusting in the sea to support him.

Tindomiel had studied for centuries to find what worked for her. He does not have those same centuries, but he is not trying to break the walls of the world: he is only trying to see into the past. And for that, all he needs is--

“Anyale Alfirinie,” he calls out, into the spiraling light of earliest morning.

Tindomiel, named for the morning star, called forth on the eastern beach of Numenor, with the epesse of her choosing.

The dawnlight spills around him like liquid gold.

And with the light comes Tindomiel.

...

“Tindomiel!” bellows a voice.

Startled, she jerks out of her reverie. Even that is smooth at this point: there is little energy left in her limbs for such petty things as surprise or shock. When Tindomiel looks over her shoulder, her father stands on the beach, and beside him is Vardamir.

“Father,” she says. Her voice rings of bells and samite: lent some eldritch strength from her prayer. “Why are you here?”

“To stop you from killing yourself,” he snarls, and steps into the water.

“You cannot stop me,” says Tindomiel. “Would you stop Vardamir from ruling? Atanalcar from governing? It runs in their blood as sure as the sun rises in the glorious east.”

“You mean to--”

“Yes.”

“It is not worth it,” he whispers. “Immortality is not yours to reach for.”

“It was yours,” says Tindomiel levelly. “But you chose otherwise.”

“And you hate me for it?”

“I have no room in me for hate,” she tells him. “Only the knowledge that I would have taken another path in your shoes. But I have only ever had one path, is that not true?”

“How can you say that?” he asks, wretched.

“Because I was not given anything but your blood,” Tindomiel says pityingly. “The only inheritance I have ever had was your blood. Elwing’s blood, and Luthien’s, and Intyale’s. And so with blood as my inheritance was my path written before me: to do the impossible, and to do it well.”

“You could have done anything,” says Vardamir. “But you chose to do this.”

“To be remembered,” she replies, “I would do much.”

“You will not be remembered for this,” says Vardamir. “Not ever. Do you understand? You will be erased. Everything that you have done--everything that you have achieved--it will be gone. This is too dangerous to keep alive. Even if you do this, Tinde--”

“--if you erase this,” she says, “you go against the oldest teachings of the Valar.”

“And if you continue this, you break Eru’s laws!”

“I have gone too far to choose otherwise,” says Tindomiel, and her eyes are glowing from the light of the dawn, gold and golder, and her hands rise, sweeping upwards like the blades of a knife slicing through the skin of the world, and the world splits apart with an indescribable noise. “Choose,” she says, and her voice is a glory of music now, so loud that Vardamir hunches over and Elros, sways, paling. “Your sister, your daughter--or your kingdom.”

The gold brightens until it blinds, and when it fades, there is nothing left: not Tindomiel, not Vardamir, not Elros. Just a boy, staring, starry-eyed, and silent.

...

Choose, Tindomiel had said, because she has laid out the contradictions of the Valar, because she has dedicated her life to this: for now her father must choose between following the Valar’s teachings to honor the daughter who has broken the walls of the world, and ignoring the Valar’s teachings to erase his daughter’s accomplishments and hide the dangerous implications of her accomplishments.

For Numenor is built on the knowledge that the Second-born cannot gain immortality. They can come close. They can come within sight of it.

But they cannot ever touch.

And now--

And now--

...

The boy steps out of the water, feet bleeding, and returns home. He imagines it. Tar-Minyatur, incapable of making that terrible choice, choosing death instead; Vardamir, making the choice but surrendering the scepter immediately after making it. Vardamir, who must have spent the rest of his life steadily expunging his sister from history.

Numenor is built on foundations of rot and ruin, he thinks, bitter as gall, stinging as salt on stone-slashed skin. Numenor is built on grief. And the desire to keep the kingdom alive even unto death.

His father replaces his tutors in a few weeks, so that his only son does not have to suffer from the delusions of elf-friends, and the boy is well-prepared for their rants against Tar-Minyatur, though his dislike is somewhat more... personal.

...

Forever after, there is something of golden sunlight upon him--wrapping his shoulders, chasing his footsteps. They all call him appropriately named, and he does not contradict them.

...

Decades and decades later, he boards Alcarondas and sits upon his throne, facing east: he looks towards the dark sky of the dawn, and he tells Tindomiel: I will touch what was untouchable, and though it could be his imagination, he swears a breeze flares over his skin like a warm touch.

This will be death, his generals all whisper, amongst themselves if they are too cowardly to tell him to his face. This will mean death!

“The Valar themselves shall worship us,” replies Ar-Pharazon, and bares his teeth, and resists the urge to touch his still-scarred feet. “Whether we are victorious or not, we shall achieve the impossible upon this journey!”