#line of elros

[riding-with-the-wild-hunt]

"But to Elros, who chose to be a king of Men, still a great span of years was allotted, many times that of the Men of Middle-earth; and all his line, the kings and lords of the royal house, had long life even according to the measure of the Númenóreans. But Elros lived five hundred years, and ruled the Númenóreans four hundred years and ten." - J.R.R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion, "Akallabêth"

@halfelvenweek day 3 ⇢ heritage + númenoreans || THE LINE OF ELROS

[ID: four graphics in shades of brown and desaturated dark blue.

1: A large image of Cherokee Jack framed by a brown rectangle covers the left side of the graphic. He is an aniyunwiya model with light brown skin and long, straight, dark brown hair. He is shown in profile, facing left and looking slightly down. The right side of the graphic shows a diamond-shaped image of ocean surf and rocks, divided into four sections and framed in brown. Below that, white serif text reads "Elros, later called Tar-Minyatur, was the first and founding king of Númenor. Born of Elwing of the line of Lúthien and Eärendil the Blessed, he chose to be numbered among the Edain and led his people to the hallowed island of Elenna. Elros was long-lived, as were all of his House, and he ruled for many years in great splendour and wisdom. He was exceedingly devoted to his spouse Saelhenien and their children, as well as to his brother Elrond."

2: Same format as Image 1, but the sides are switched. The large image shows indian model Shonali Singh. She has brown skin and black hair tied back in a bun, and is looking to the side. The small image shows birds flying over the ocean, and the text below it reads "Saelhenien, a descendant of Bëor, was gentle and wise, though firm of will. As queen of Númenor, she took the name Tar-Maiwendë, but though Saelhenien occupied her role with grace, she knew herself to be at heart a man. Elros her husband encouraged Saelhenien to live as his true self, but Saelhenien feared civil unrest, and remained Tar-Maiwendë for the sake of practicality. To honor this sacrifice, Elros gave his spouse a new name in secret: Meldaro, he who is beloved."

3: The whole graphic is framed in brown, and contains two smaller rectangular images each with their own frame. The image on the right side shows Reef Titcomb, a young man with brown skin and dark curly hair, facing to the side with his eyes closed and head lifted. White text below the image reads "Vardamir Nólimon was the eldest child of Elros and Saelhenien, and first heir to the throne of Númenor. He preferred scholarship to politics, however, and largely deferred to his sister Tindómiel in matters of state." The second image shows Logan Alcosiba, a native hawaiian/filipino/mixed european model with freckled brown skin and straight dark hair. She is looking at the viewer intently, turned slightly to one side. Text below the image reads "While still young Tindómiel declared her affinity as a woman, to the great joy of her parents, especially Saelhenien. She proved an adept and clever diplomat, and helped to construct the earliest Númenorean courts of law." Between the two pictures is a small drawing of a white crown.

4: Same format as Image 3, but this time the first image shows Josh Armstrong, a young man with brown skin and dark brown curly hair tied back in a bun. He is wearing a white shirt and looking at the viewer with a thoughtful expression. Text below the image reads "Manwendil inherited Elros’s curiosity and Saelhenien’s gentle spirit. He was greatly pious and while still a youth dedicated himself to the service of Manwë; it was said that he learned to speak with birds, even as the Lord of Air." The second picture shows Mase Somanlall, a guyanese/canadian model with brown skin and wavy dark hair. He is leaning back with his arms folded behind his head, looking up at the viewer. Text reads "Atanalcar was the youngest child of Elros and Saelhenien, greatly beloved by his family and his people alike He was charming and had exceeding skill in the sporting arts, though he was most known as a runner and javelin-thrower." //End ID]

[nolofinweanweek]

The Fourth Age signified the end of the Elven era in Middle-earth and the end of Tolkien's canon. What about your own ideas for this time frame? How does Gondor change under Aragorn and Arwen's rule? Who are their children? What kind of culture develops as the Elves leave Middle-earth? What about the Elves who return or are reborn in Valinor? Can they integrate easily into the place they once called home? Is Valinor even a physical place?

Daily Optional Prompts Community Challenges Event Directory

[thesummerestsolstice]

When people say that Melian looks like an elf, they're mostly just being charitable. It's clear, of course, that she tried very hard to make herself a proper elvish form– pointed ears, long, graceful limbs, flowing hair. But it's just... a little off. Like an artist's stylization of an elf, rather than the actual thing. Her ears are too long, set at the wrong angle, and they often move as though they have a mind of their own. The way she moves is graceful, certainly, but it is the grace of the wind or the waves, not of an elf. And no one can ever render her hair right in pictures– it has a volume and shine to it that it really shouldn't.

It is these features which Melian passes, with very little contribution from Thingol, on to her daughter. Luthien is beautiful, yes, but no less strange than her mother. And so it goes with Dior, with Elwing, with Elros and Elrond– Melian's own attempts to feign at elvishness mark them all with eeriely similar faces and forms. It takes a couple dozen generation of Numenorian kings before her features really disappear from the line.

Elrond, in particular, is not sure how to feel about this. Particularly on the days he looks in the mirror and sees his mother, but can't see himself.

[eloquentsisyphianturmoil]

Gandalf said ‘do not offer me that’, Galadriel said ‘I would be a queen, great and terrible,’ but Elrond said ‘get that the fuck away from me’ and this is nonsensical.

The other keepers of the elven rings were most challenged by the One, why not Elrond? Is his struggle merely hidden? Is it his Maia blood? Is it simply his mixed blood? Is that why Aragorn withstood, too?

Canonically the race of men are most easily corrupted, yet Elrond half-elven, who is almost 40% man, doesn’t notably bat an eyelash. Why?

[sesamenom]

"Dads, I threw up"

inspired by this post by @thesummerestsolstice

[marietheran]

I’m thinking how at some point Elrond, who definitely saw many Men die during his (immortal) life must have started saying something like “If you meet my brother, give him my love” to them on their deathbeds. And I think it became something of a tradition, something he was actually expected to say and maybe eventually when you had the Rangers of the North leaving Rivendell on some dangerous errand, they would add “I hope we meet again but if we don’t - I’ll be sure to tell Elros...” to their farewells and no one would be sure if that was more heartbreaking or heartwarming

[kanalaure]

definitely not crying over the fact that elros had four children, and elrond had three-- until elros' many-greats grandson lost his father and came to live in imladris

[melestasflight]

This photograph is of a night-blooming cactus in my parent's garden whose flower lasts only a few hours.

It immediately reminded me of Nimloth's precious flowers, and now @maglor-my-beloved has blessed it by writing Star-Flower -- a precious story of the choice of the Peredhil.

A Flower of Nimloth

Third art submission for @fall-for-tolkien Scribbles & Drabbles 2022.

And [the Eldar] brought to Númenor many gifts: birds of song, and fragrant flowers, and herbs of great virtue. And a seedling they brought of Celeborn, the White Tree that grew in the midst of Eressëa; and that was in its turn a seedling of Galathilion the Tree of Túna, the image of Telperion that Yavanna gave to the Eldar in the Blessed Realm. And the tree grew and blossomed in the courts of the King in Armenelos; Nimloth it was named, and flowered in the evening, and the shadows of night it filled with its fragrance.

[arlenianchronicles]

Thank you all so much for the kind words on my dark!Mae AU! Here’s another painting for it, this time featuring Elrond as he dances at Maedros’ dark fae court, similar to how Lúthien danced for Morgoth XDD In the same vein, Elrond (and Elros; he’s hanging around there somewhere) is trying to lull Maedros into a sense of security/ease.

I imagine Elrond’s dance is close to a ballet style, hence his pointe-like shoes. That said, I wanted to practice with perspective for this painting, and got some awesome feedback from the Artists of Arda discord chat, but ultimately set that version aside and went with this! I do feel that this version has a better composition story-wise: Maedros wants to keep Elrond close, and won’t let him dance too far away.

Also, while I was drawing Maedros’ guards, I realized that they kinda resemble my designs for Maglor and Celegorm ... Which led to the idea that Maedros subconsciously surrounds himself with people who look like his dead family :’’’’D Angst ahoy! loll

For this painting, I referenced the setting of the Swan Lake ballet, starring Natalia Osipova, specifically Odile’s Black Swan solo before the queen and her court. And the first version of this painting is under the cut, if you want to see:

Help I hate drawing grids lmaooo

[edennill]

I actually think Mandos divides the line of Elros into those belonging to the Line of Lúthien and those of the House of Finwë for his own use. "Line of Lúthien" being the civil, non-trouble-causing ones (even though Lúthien herself caused up quite a stir), say Elros himself, and "House of Finwë" signifying the very trying ones (not even necessarily the very, very worst ones - but, for example, your run-of-the-mill colonialist overlord who hasn't been told "no" since that one (subsequently discharged) nanny when he was three and thinks he can shout the Lord of Mandos into granting his requests) (not much unlike Fëanor actually).

[shrikeseams]

Once again considering the au where Miriel darts out of Mandos the instant Finwe bites it, and appears unheralded in Tirion like Eru swung a metaphorical two-by-four at the back of Feanor's head right before he's about to proclaim the Oath.

[isilwhore]

I’m not going to get nitpicky about Númenóreans with beards, but the choice to give Elros one is so funny to me.

He’s just like: “This is who I am, Elrond. I’m a man now. I have a beard 🤷‍♂️

[mossy-thing]

10 first lines

I wasn't really tagged for this, but I am absolutely bored out of my mind right now because of The SicknessTM, so here we go. Only 9 of these are actually published, but since I don't even want to think about anything I have written outside of this fandom, I am not going to tag them either.

So you get one extra line from a wip.

Rules: Put the first sentence from whatever fic you want in the post. Can also be the first two, or three, if you'd like. Link the fic. It doesn't have to be 10 first lines, it's just a pretty number. You can do 11 too. That's an even prettier number.

The words are written in your blood (and it's gone, gone, gone) : There is a hand on his right arm when Maedhros pushes himself up from a place in the grass he is sure he has not been lying a few minutes ago.

Winter: The Man was sleeping.

You gave me water: The wind is cold as the sun disappears behind the waves, and Galadriel hugs herself tighter.

Starlight: It was not dark.

Let me take you home: Beleg kept his distance as he led Tyelpe back to his chamber.

Blood runs thicker than water (but both feel the same when your eyes are closed): Sometimes he wades out into the river and lets it flow around his chest.

Faint Music: Sam slowly crept around the corner, careful as he did so, and his heart seemed to thunder louder in his ears than the sounds the old Mister Bilbo had described the stone giants make in their battle, though hearing those tales lay a long time back, and the little boy that had clung to the old man's words (though he had never seemed old, not to Sam, at least) and the events Bilbo had spoken of laid even farther in the past.

Red paint: Findekáno is bleeding.

In Vain: The howl that echoed from outside the cave they had found, and Finrod could not tell whether it was a few paces from the entrance or halfway across the arena, was enough to jerk Beren from his sleep, and the only thing that worried Finrod more than the boy tearing open the haphazard stitches on his hip was that the howls seemed neither human nor beastlike.

And why it was Tomorrow came (and with his grey hand led us back): Elrond had never stood on the beach he woke up on, though he recognized it instantly.

Open tag, but also: @potatoobsessed999 @tathrin @camille-lachenille @thescrapwitch @tanoraqui @thelordofgifs @that-angry-noldo @babybat98

[lya-dustin]

The Moon Lives in the Lining of Your Skin

Chapter 5

cw: paranoia, Silmaril's corrupting capabilities, some angst

“The two of you grow like weeds, my loves.” Erinti etched their height on the door frame of their room.

They are five years old, very sharp and advanced for their age, but still innocent and helpless children.

If they had been normal elflings, they would be the equivalent of a one- or two-year-old human baby, but they are not and they look and act like twenty-year old elf children.

Erinti adores the boys and wonders if she had been as active and curious as they were for the first forty-four thousand years.

The wind has changed, it is an icy chill that settles in everyone’s bones.

The Fëanorians are restless, they have fought against the Oath, but they are losing the battle within themselves.

Celebrimbor has sequestered himself in a holding cell because the fire of Fëanor’s Oath is burning through his reason, or so Gil-Galad had written a week ago. Her betrothed’s letters kept asking her to leave with him to Balar, their engagement had lasted three years and now Erinti knew why courtships lasted roughly one year.

The Havens are preparing for war, but it won’t be enough.

Elwing should just hand over the cursed jewel and be done with it, but she has been tainted by it.

The Silmarils were evil, they had not been at their creation, but anything that touches Melkor becomes a curse.

A shame they refused to believe it.

Luthien and Beren had died the first time because of it, they had died a second time when it sapped the life out of them and made them sickly.

Dior had killed everyone and himself when he sacrificed Menegroth for it.

And now Elwing would do the same.

��We shall have to send another portrait of the three of you with Mistress Hawk so your Adar can recognize you.” Erinti tells the boys as she ruffled their dark hair and sent them back to their nurse when the Maia saw Elwing come stand in the doorway. “Now go with Sadriel while I talk with your naneth. I promise I won’t take too long.”

Their mother waits until they are out of earshot to speak.

“I received another letter, Athaenis, the things they say!” Elwing paces as Erinti reads the letter.

It is well written, but the threats and the madness spilling through the parchment makes it as terrifying as a sword at your throat.

“Have you told anyone else about this?” the maia asked her niece.

Elwing had a council, had it with Celeborn and Galadriel and all the others who survived the fall of all those great and safe elven kingdoms.

“I have, they are too divided to give me a straight answer.” The dark-haired elf woman answered.

Some said she should take the civilians to safety and give them the cursed jewel; others sided with Elwing and told her to keep it and fight them.

Erinti had tried to make her niece see sense, but she refused to part with it.

“I will die before I left this precious jewel fall into the hands of the enemy.” A darkness had swirled around her when she put on the blasted chain.

Because when she wears the Nauglamír, Elwing forgets she has people whose lives will be taken, forgets she is a mother even.

It’s her mortal blood, the Maia surmised.

Made her more susceptible to the jewel’s darkness.

Bad enough the jewel had turned Fëanor and his sons away from Ilúvatar’s light, no wonder Dior had grown arrogant like a stupid mortal man when he refused to hand it over and wash his hands of it.

Now his daughter was following his example.

There will be so much death here and those children will always remember that Elwing chose the jewel over her people, just like her father before her.

“Have you asked Gil-galad and Cirdan for help?” Erinti asked her, hoping Nowë and her beloved Rodnor could speak sense into her niece or provide some protection to the people.

“They will say the same as my false friends or worse. They are coming by the end of this week with a levee of soldiers to add to mine, Cirdan implied in his letters he could take the children away like they did with me. Gil-Galad comes with every intention of letting the world know the Noldor under him are against the Sons of Fëanor.”

And no sign or letter from Eärendil.

Mandos was calling, every day Erinti woke up praying his servants did not come to fetch them all this day.

“If you wish to leave with them, I will not stop you, aunt. I know you yearn for Ereinion as much as I yearn for my husband.” Elwing is torn between wanting to keep her aunt for herself and letting her be with the soulmate the All Father has given her.

And the maia does wish to leave, to wed her beloved Rodnor and wake up every morning with him beside her instead sneaking into his rooms whenever he visits here.

But she cannot leave Elwing and her children.

“I will stay with you until your husband returns, Rodnor knows that, and he understands, my little El.”

Not when Elwing has so little time left.

Her feä sings when they are together, a heat rushes through her veins and Erinti feels like they are floating on air every second of it.

They hate all this pretending they are not starving for each other’s presence just for the sake of ceremony. To stand there wishing she could run to him the second the outriders come to announce him near the castle.

“I have a gift for you, meleth nin.” He is panting and out of breath, just as she is as he pulls away from her and reaches out to something he hid in his cloak.

They come here often, to the same part of the garden they swore themselves to each other in courtship. She likes being here more than in his chambers, even if the bed feels divine when they flirt with danger and see how far they can get without wedding each other.

But she is a spirit of the earth and the life that grows from it, and when they wed, Erinti wants to wed her husband in her element and have her master, Yavanna, bless them with children.

“Really, and here I thought you had forgotten to bring me something this time.” The maia sits up and looks at the ring box in his hand.

Does he mean to wed her tonight?

They are not wholly opposed to the idea, she loves Rodnor and cannot bear this horrid separation, but he had said he wishes to wed her and crown her his consort properly.

Can’t be that.

“That night three years ago you said we had no rings to do things properly, I wish to remedy that, Lóteriel.” The ring is silver, as it is by tradition, and made to look like leaves and vines dotted with little flowers all around it.

Twelve flowers to match his twelve stars.

“I only wish I could have had a ring for you, my love.” It is exquisite and it pains her that she has no such ring for him, even if they were to go to the smiths tonight it would not be ready before this visit is over.

“I will visit again soon, before this year ends and give it to me then, for then, I will take you home with me, as my betrothed and future wife.” He slides the ring on her finger and pressed her hand to his heart.

“And you shall, Rodnor Gil-Galad.” She said as they sealed their promise of forever with a kiss.

[squirrelwrangler]

I was thinking of a name for Curifin's wife

Caliel

Aracala

Calamire

Telperiel

Not a naming expert, but the only one I'm not sold on at first glance is the second one. Calamirë sounds like Calamari so it amuses me on a childish level, and frankly that would be my sign of which one to pick if I didn't need a deeply serious fic.