#luthien's lullaby

[adwendoodles]

Animatic of the English version of Luthien's Lullaby from the Lay of Leithian musical!

For now, it shall remain unfinished due to the program I was using constantly crashing and just... making it extremely stressful to continue work on it. I hope you are all able to more or less understand my sketches and enjoy it as it is. I had a lot of fun working on it so maybe someday, with a better animation program, I can try and finish it.

Thanks again to @sewn-with-lilies-fair for letting me use her commission of this song for my animatic.

Ko-Fi Youtube (It has other silm animatics)

[booksesmyprecious]

Thingol played by Sam the Eagle please.

Muppet Lord of the Rings

Okay but instead of retelling Return to the King, which we already have, how about MUPPET SILMARILLION!

I want Feanor played by Jason Isaacs to send his two puppet sons, played by Gonzo and Fozzy, to go on a rampage across Middle-Earth in search of the Silmarils.

[sewn-with-lilies-fair]

As a holiday gift, I commissioned Aoife O'Dea to sing Luthien's Lullaby from the Lay of Leithian musical.

There couldn't be a more perfect fit- Aoife, who played Arwen in Watermill Theatre's Lord of the Rings musical last year, and Luthien, Arwen's elven ancestor, using the magic of song to send us off to sleep.

Dreams, on the wings of music hover...

Voice and harp- Aoife O'Dea Original music and lyrics- Skadi English lyrics- @nereb-and-dungalef, @quixoticanarchy, and @sewn-with-lilies-fair

Lyrics under the cut.

Day fades to night, Sunset hides its light ‘til dawn’s unveiling. Stars out of sight Shine over those whose strength is close to failing.

I sing before the lord of darkness, Minstrel in the halls that echo starless. Dreams on the wings of music hover- Sleep, bow your head to peaceful slumber. Sleep…

On gentle wings Mist turns the mountains sapphire as the ocean. Like waves I sing, And from the strands of fate my verse is woven.

Over the night the moon is sailing Onward, to the shores where sleep is waiting. Dreams on the wings of music hover- Wait, bow your head to peaceful slumber. Wait…

Fine threads of rain Upon your window weave a satin curtain. Lay down your pain, And let oblivion relieve your burden.

Hear how the restless wind is sighing- Quiet, for the storm has ceased its crying. Dreams on the wings of music hover- Hush, bow your head to peaceful slumber. Hush…

[amethysttribble]

If You Hold a Silmaril-

Things might get a little weird.

On the night which Thingol first held the Silmaril, he dreamed of Finwe.

He saw his friend standing beneath Laurelin and Telperion, laughing in wonder. 'Elwe!' he called, 'Elwe, isn't it beautiful?'

Thingol didn't get the chance to reply, because the seasons of Valinor which he had never seen passed them by swiftly, and the light of the Trees which had so touched him changed and Finwe changed, too. His features softened, his stature lessened, the gleam in his eyes grew brighter.

In a soft voice, he asked, "Isn't it beautiful?" Laurelin and Telperion winter-dead behind him and a Silmaril cupped in his palms, presenting.

"Yes," Thingol agreed with a smile.

---

Beren never held the Silmaril for long; at least, not outside the wolf's stomach. He took the stone in hand once, twice, thrice, always just trying to convey it to its next location, it's new owner. He was fine with this.

He would never forget how his own hand had look in Carcharoth's stomach- first perfectly preserved, and then naught but dust once disturbed. Felagund had once recounted the Sons of Feanor's oath to him, and the line about 'mortal hands' had stuck out.

Beren did not trust the thing. He did not trust the lullaby that had teased his ears since he first pried the burning thing from the crown of darkness. Never could he hear the words clearly, but when he tried to provide reason to that sweet, haunting melody, he ascribed that Oath of Feanor. He was pretty sure he was wrong, though.

He was especially sure he was wrong about the lullaby when he draped the Nauglamir over his fingers and pondered what to do with it.

___

Earendil sang with the Silmaril. Old songs and new songs, Quenya songs and Sindarin songs; Elvish songs, Mannish songs, and songs from before either of their times. There was little else to do while sailing on the rim of the world.

They'd become friends, the two of them.

___

Melkor held three Silmarils, for a time. Even at his poorest, he possessed two. That voice and light was hewn into his very being. So much so that his eyes and ears- which were constructions, falsehoods, empty veneers- tricked him.

He grew used to the shadows haunting every corner of his eyes. The whispers which came from every direction.

For him, there was no singing, no memories.

There were taunts, jeers, and laughter, because he and dear Feanaro were cut from the same cloth, and there was nothing spirits like them hated more than being mocked. Melkor knew this well, had used this well, and so he did not react. Did not provide the satisfaction to Feanaro.

Because he had been the one to bring Feanaro low, he was the one who won.

So even when his feet were cut from under him, and that little fey thing that only he could see looked down at him, smirk split over his unreal face, triumph in those eyes, Melkor didn't care.

He didn't care, he didn't care, he didn't CARE-

Feanor laughed and all of Morgoth's screams couldn't drown it out.

---

The first time Luthien held the Silmaril was when her husband, brow knit in worry, handed her the Nauglamir.

"Interesting," she said.

"I think there is some fairy within it," Beren said, quoting the legends of his youth. "When your father and the Dwarves of Nogrod were moved to madness, I thought it a demon, but after holding it myself for a time... Perhaps not. Perhaps it has ensorcelled me as well."

"So not evil?" she asked, though already well-sure of her assumptions. No, not evil, just-

"Not good either," Beren grumbled, crossing his arms. "But, no. That's why I now think it to be a fairy."

"I agree," Luthien said, bringing the pretty thing up meet her eyes. She had never understood the allure while hearing tales or while retrieving this creation, but holding him, feeling him, she felt she might understand.

He was very warm, and very bright, and the scope of him was so very wide and colorful and varied. And this was just one Silmaril? Luthien was starting to understand how love for such a father could turn a son to such evil. This could also inspire greatness.

"Not evil, not good, just very strong in who he is. Quite the fairy, indeed. I think, if minded correctly, a great blessing."

___

Silmaril in hand, Maedhros heard only one thing: a call of recognition, wreathed in infinite sorrow and regret.

My son!

He wanted to hear no more.

___

Carcharoth burned. He cried. He wanted this to end.

There was something within that hated him. Furious and heated. It tasted like the sky at first, like the slight sting of stars except worse, and then it grew worse still.

At once, the fire within was both hot and cold, tasting of his master's Ainur fury and the slaps of the Orcs which fed him as a pup. Both his spirit and his flesh burned. It hurt so badly.

He wanted it to stop, why wouldn't it stop, wouldn't master return and make it stop?

What was this crystallized flame he'd swallowed, where had it come from, why would anyone make such a thing? Carcharoth could not understand, would never understand, especially when it cried, Foul imitation.

His bane rejoiced when the puny wolfhound appeared again, and Carcharoth's last joy was killing that holy lapdog. Then the pain flared even brighter, all heat and fury and hatred, and he faltered. He, the Red Maw. He howled in pain around the Man in his mouth, and his Elven prey struck.

He was almost grateful to the Elves.

___

Varda, completely taken with her own designs and creations, happily humming to herself, actually didn't notice anything of note.

___

Dior grew up on stories of the Silmaril.

Hearing of wicked Feanorions and the massive wolf and the Great Enemy's palace. The eagles and horseback duels and the hand. On rare occasions, his grandfather had showed the treasure to him, but it wasn't often and never for very long.

So, suffice to say, when he and his father recovered the Nauglamir bound Silmaril, he was awe-struck.

For the last year of her life, his mother wore that necklace, and he often told her that she was beautiful, and looked healthier in that light, and she seemed to keep laughing at private jokes. She'd wink at him. Luthien was very lively in that last year, especially for an old Woman, but it did not stop her from lying in bed with Beren as he died, and slipping away in the same heartbeat.

The Silmaril lay forgotten in a drawer when they went.

Dior retrieved it as he packed up their house, their life, and prepared to make for Doriath. This was the first time he'd ever held it, because his father was wary of the thing, his grandfather possessive of the thing, and his mother a funny kind of person. As he trailed his fingers over the warm, glowing gem, he did not think it deserved all the fuss.

His mother once said there was a fairy within that gave advice that was not strictly good or bad, just mad, mad, mad. And grand. As Dior entered beautiful, wild, Elvish Doriath, he felt he could use a little madness and grandness both.

He put it on.

And there was the lullaby his father spoke of, and there was the tricksy warmth his mother traded japes with, and there was the strength of will that always kept his revered grandfather's countenance so tall and straight. Dior smiled, and asked Nimloth how he looked, breathing a little bit easier. Feeling a little more confident.

Dior felt like a real Elf-king when he wore the Silmaril.

___

Mablung held the Silmaril for the briefest of moments, and still felt the world shift.

Or maybe the world did not shift. Maybe he shifted. Moved slightly to the left on the plane of Arda. Drawn slightly closer to his spirit, the world's; spirit of an Ainu.

Because after that brief moment of possession, the colors of the world were brighter. The sounds sharper. The smells richer. The tastes deeper. Was this how it was in Valinor, he wondered.

Or was this something unique. Was it the appeal of the Silmarils? Why they were so coveted?

He still did not understand why they were worth the death and blood and suffering of so many. So the world was greater and vaster and there was now a taste in his mouth that urged him to seek that world and understand it and bend it.

No, he would not do that. He was loyal to his king and home. And he would fight for the Silmaril if heeded, but it was with great reluctance. The Silmaril had touched him and he did not like it.

Mablung supposed some would feel blessed, but he just felt tainted. Violated. Who would want such a thing?

___

Hanar was a craftsman of Nogrod, a disciple of Gamil Zirak. Not as renowned as Telchar was he, but still respected, still well-known, still good enough to receive the invitation to King Thingol's court. He was given a special job.

Though his heart pounded with envy at seeing all his people had wrought occupied and hoarded by Elves, especially the Nauglamir- which bore that foul name for his people though they made that beautiful thing- he was a reasonable person. An honorable dwarflord. He accepted the terms of the deal and got to work. He accepted the Silmaril.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

This was delicate work, his hammer remained stored away, but his pounding heart filled the void. He evaluated the shape of the Silmaril, turned it over in his hands and contemplated how to hold such beautifully wrought facets without defacing it.

Hanar felt that the gem in his hands understood his task. His care in fulfilling it. As he unwound the Nauglamir and nestled the Silmaril within, it offered advice, as if from one craftsman to another.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Into the silver and steel, the twinkling gems and the burning Silmaril, he poured himself. He slaved over this project for many weeks, scarcely sleeping, eating. The Silmaril rejoiced with him, crying, So long its been since I helped make something! So much I have missed it! Thank you, thank you!

Together, they worked.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

When complete, Hanar held their new creation and wept. Such a masterpiece he created in the merging of two previous masterpieces. It surpassed the work of Telchar. Why, it might even have surpassed his master.

And his masterpiece, it had helped him bring itself to fruition. It thanked him for giving it life. They were friends now.

How could anyone ask Hanar to give this up to unappreciative hands? How?

No smith of any artistry could.

___

When Finwe first beheld the Silmarils, cupping each reverently in his hands one-by-one, he knew what he had been gifted immediately.

He kissed his beloved son and smiled sadly as he said, "Are you still so scared of your mother's fate?"

Feanaro denied it, but Finwe knew the truth.

___

If Mairon could grind the Silmarils down into dust, he would.

His beloved master returned home with them in hand, burning in hand, burning down to the soul so that the wound could not be wiped away. They were beautiful and powerful. At the time, the prospect excited Mairon. His master tasked him with forging a crown for his prizes, and he'd grinned in excitement.

What creations, what strange creations, smithed by an Elf? Mairon could not wait to break them down and build them back better and recieve praise for his genius.

Except... Except.

Except, that proved... difficult. Difficult, at first, it was just +difficult. Why couldn't he cut into them? Alter them with temperature? Remove that pesky burning? Why could Mairon not peer inside and break down the molecular structure and understand?

He didn't understand. What was he working with? He couldn't understand!

His master issued a warning when he took too long to make the crown, and Mairon was forced to retreat.

It wasn't a defeat. It wasn't impossible for him to alter, to better the Silmarils, it wasn't. He would recreate them.

Then master would see that he was the better smith than this Elf. Maybe the first try didn't work. Maybe the second didn't either. And the third, fourth, fifth-

Mairon screamed and raged and razed his smithy to the ground, taking a dozen servants with it.

He tried again. Not light, but darkness. Something more fitting for his master's reign! And then he'd give up on the Silmarils. He only had two now, why did he even still care?

He would keep trying and trying and trying and trying-

Mairon would dissect Curufinwe Tyelperinquar as many times as it took, physically, mentally, alive or dead, as many times as it took to understand.

___

Elwing really knew nothing of the Silmaril but what she learned herself.

There was no one to tell her what the Silmaril had whispered to them, shown them. Many hands it had gone through, and not one was around to impart any wisdom. She wasn't frightened of this gift, though.

On her twentieth birthday, her people draped the Nauglamir, Silmaril front and center- around her neck and named her queen. Elwing took on the Silmaril and was struck with familiarity.

It sung her a song that she recognized. It was the one that soothed her as she was spirited away from Menegroth, silver and diamond necklace weighing down her little body, family dead. A song that told her not to cry, to not be scared. Oh, how the Silmaril hated the sound of crying children.

She started to wear the Nauglamir often, more the sign of her queenship than any crown. It gave her people hope. It made her feel stronger. More... connected to something.

That night and many thereafter, she dreamed of shores she'd never been to, and started to recognize traits of Idril's as belonging to people she'd never met, and learned which songs Finwe would use to sing his children to sleep. Strange treasure, curious relic. It had life and memories of its own, and it communicated feelings.

The Silmaril was fond of her. Sometimes, in snatches, it told her of what it'd seen of her own family. That made Elwing happy. Their connection made her own soul brighter.

She told Earendil of all this and only him. At least, only her husband until-

Elwing sneered in the face of Maedhros, and said, "Why do you even want it? He would hate you as you are."

___

"You are not my father," Maglor said, holding the Silmaril before his face, collapsed upon the shore, defeated. His hand was still burning, though his flesh was long since ruined. At once, he wanted nothing more than to hold on and let go.

"You are a shadow. A remnant. An echo. But a piece of him, capable of communicating memories and the basest of feelings and impulses, but no higher thought. My father, distilled. But not him.

"Which is a shame, I- I never believed Curufin's theory about my father's spirit only being recoverable with the Silmarils, but I'm disappointed now that it is not him speaking to me. I have so much to say, but I find myself mourning only one lost opportunity thing: it would have been nice to debate poetry movements with him again.

"You're not my father. You're a will-o-wisp, a taunt. A false light, guiding us to our doom. Our fault. Our stupidity. Our end."

He ambled to his feet.

"Yet, I feel your love for me, and I'm glad. I feel your horror, and I'm ashamed. To sadness, I respond with anger, and to regret- Do you feel regret? Are you capable, strange little reflection? Am I seeing what I want to see or disregarding what I cannot stand? I don't know. I don't know. I wish I didn't know. To have died in pursuit and not know would be preferable."

Fury gripped Maglor's heart and hot tears came to his eyes. He pulled his arm back.

"You are not worth what has been done in your name!"

He screamed, and the Silmaril was gone. All was silent. Then, Maglor started to weep. He had not realized until this moment how much he had forgotten about who his father was, beyond the last words he said.

How much the world had forgotten about Feanor, beyond the scope of a Silmaril.

___

If you hold a Silmaril, you're going to get to know Feanor. When you get to know him, you're soul will brush up against his. When you possess his soul and he stains yours, you might just start to understand him.

[polutrope]

Violence of its voice + Luthien 💖💖

Thank you for the prompt! This one took me a hot minute (three months), but I finally landed on a concept. Did you realise Lúthien probably knew her grandsons? I hadn't.

Lúthien gives tiny Eluréd and Elurín their first taste of a Song of Power. 365 words. On AO3.

Since the Silmaril came to Tol Galen, Lúthien has gone down to the banks of Adurant each day at dusk and sung to the waters. A mortal hearing her song would think it sweet: a lullaby or hymn. But in it she winds the same power she harnessed to unbind rock, topple the world’s mightiest foe, and divert the course of Doom.

Tonight is the first time her grandsons have joined her. Eluréd’s wide, star-grey eyes are fixed on her. The light of the Nauglamír, resting on her breast, blazes on his round little face. He has a thumb in his mouth—a habit he should have lost by now, but he is nervous. Awed: it is the first time he has seen the Silmaril. He reminds Lúthien of herself: curious, innocent, unaware of his strength. She gently pulls his hand from his mouth, squeezes it in hers. 

“Don't worry," she says, "I will ensure you know your power."

Elurín is crouched down low beside her, watching the sparkle of the sinking sun in the water. With his silken silver hair, he reminds her of her father, and she is glad that the image of Elu Thingol is not altogether lost to the world. She hopes he will be guided towards greater wisdom.  

She lays a hand on his back. “Come, little one. It is time to sing.”

Elurín straightens. “Sing how, Nana Lu?” he asks.

“Listen and follow me. Your heart will tell you how.”

Lúthien closes her fingers around their tiny hands, one in each of hers. Her eyes fall shut. She sings her gentle melody, scarcely louder than the ripple of the river. But deep, deep beneath the current she buries a violent music. One that will break the will of any who dares the crossing with ill intent. 

The two children join her, their voices small and faint, but laced with quiet power even now. 

The song ended, she scoops them up from the ground, one small body balanced on each arm, and kisses the tops of their heads. Tears sting the edges of her eyes. She has always sung to protect those she loves, and she has never failed. But soon, she will not be here for them—and, for all her bliss, she is afraid. 

[imakemywings]

🧡 a favorite friendship

💛 a favorite familial relationship

Ship Ask Meme

🧡 a favorite friendship

FINROD AND TURGON!! Their BFF-ship means so much to meeee <3 <3 <3

Finrod sings to Turgon and Idril on the Helcaraxe by hedonistbyheart

Finrod is rescued and healed in Gondolin by pigeon-of-gondolin

Nargothrondolin Takes the Cake by sallysavestheday

Turgon and Finrod for anon by luaen

In the ranks of death you will find him by TelerinJedi

💛 a favorite familial relationship

Thingol and Luthien! I want to know everything about the relationship among Doriath's royal family <3

Sleepytime by welcometolotr

"On a place of insecurity" by carlandrea

Luthien does Thingol's hair by celebimber

Beren comes before the king by lauren-draws-things

Thingol sings Luthien a lullaby by ladysternchen

[mai-artano]

Even Melkor the Great Dark Lord needs a lullaby to sleep (cuz he didn't have a mother to do that for him)

LOL Eru would never

I bet Luthien would tuck him in, if she got another silmaril in return

[theworldisquietheretooquiet]

Hi! I don't know which characters you like to write so here's a few options for the Silm Prompts: Nerdanel & Indis (or just one of them) + forsaking the past Tuor/Voronwe + seeking the unknown Beren/Luthien (or just one of them) + joyful labours any character(s) + Havens of Sirion + unlearn in bitterness

Thank you!!

I decided to do the last two :)

I headcanon that Amras (& Amrod) were killed by the rebelling Feanorians at the 3rd kinslaying so wanted to explore that!

The first is 559 words. The second is 731, and cw - kinslayingesque violence, mention of beheading

Beren/Luthien + joyful labours

The mewling cry of an infant cuts through the peaceful quiet of Tol Galen. Beren groans and flops face down onto his pillow, pressing it around his ears.

It is the third time this night Dior has awoken. And the moon has not even reached its full height. He groans once more and then a third time. For dramatic effect.

His Tinúviel laughs, warm in her exasperation. “I know,” she says sympathetically. Then she picks up her pillow and whacks him with no little force on the back of his legs.

“I went last time, so, hmm whose go is it now? Let me think… Ah yes! It is the turn of Beren Erchamion, Beren Camlost, the son of Barahir, the hunter of Carcharoth, Bëor’s heir –” Lúthien punctuates each title with a thwack of her pillow.

“Ok, ok!” He laughs despite himself, and pushes up from the bed, edging away from his wife and her merciless use of cushions.

He walks out the room shaking his head in fond annoyance as Lúthien makes a great show of curling snugly up under the covers.

“You won’t be so smug when you have to hear my attempts at a lullaby!” He calls over his shoulder. There is, predictably, no answer.

Beren enters his son’s room and makes his way over to Dior’s cradle. His usually adorable face is red and scrunched up in miniscule rage, and his tiny mouth is open in an indignant cry.

Beren smiles as he reaches down and picks him up, moving the mobile out of the way as he does. It is an exceedingly beautiful one, made up of intricately carved nightingales. It had arrived the day of Dior’s birth, before they had even sent word to Menegroth. That and the fact he swears he hears the birds singing whenever he looks away, makes him suspect the Queen of Doriath may have had a hand in this gift.

Beren begins to pace the length of the room, gently rocking Dior, and humming to him a little.

“I know, I know, my voice isn’t a patch on your mother’s.” He murmurs. “But we Edain can’t rely on magic songs all the time, dearest. We had to come up with actual techniques for calming upset babes.”

His son shows what he thinks of the talents of the Secondborn by beginning to howl louder. Beren sighs and after a moment of thought, begins to make his way outside. The night is warm, and this way Lúthien may be able to get a little rest. The stars seem to shine brighter here than anywhere else he has ever known, and he is pleased to see his son calm a little in their silver glow.

Of course, the child of Lúthien Tinúviel is never quiet for long and soon enough he begins to cry again. Beren groans and sets off, walking around and around the courtyard.

He is so tired he could sleep standing up and he lets out a gigantic yawn. He startles as an answering little giggle rings through the night air and looks down in amazement to see that Dior is no longer wailing, but instead emitting joyful hiccupping laughs.

The sound is so infectious Beren begins to chuckle himself. It is an exhausted and slightly hysterical laugh, but it is also so, so full of love.  

any character(s) + Havens of Sirion + unlearn in bitterness

Gweririen looks at Lord Amras.

She had looked at him first as a child, when he and some of his brothers had been leading an archery class in Formenos.

Celegorm and Amrod had clearly not wished to be there. She remembers how flustered their cutting criticism and laughs had made her as she fumbled with the bow and arrow. But Amras had bent down beside her and spoken softly.

“Pay no heed to them. Why, I remember Prince Turcafinwë once missing a shot on a hunt because of a sneeze!”

She had laughed shyly and allowed him to demonstrate the correct way to hold the bow and aim. She had gotten her first bullseye that day.

Gweririen had looked at him in Alqualondë as she plunged her sword into the Teleri woman’s back. He’d been disarmed and knocked down, his attacker approaching, fishing spear raised. Amras’ eyes were wide in shock and thanks as he got to his feet, grasping her arm in gratitude.

“I am in your debt. Come, I believe the victory is nearly ours and I want you by my side on the first boat across the Sea.”

She had followed him back into the fray and to this day, no matter how hard she tries, she cannot remember if she had glanced at the splayed, silver haired corpse even once.

She had looked at him in dulled surprise when he made his way to her, amidst the chaos and carnage of that terrible battle. She had been sitting for how long she did not know in the mud and filth, cradling her son’s body.

He had kneeled there with her, in the churned earth, and slowly peeled her bloodstained hands away from where she clutched her son’s shoulders.

“Gweririen, I am sorry. I am so very sorry. But we must go now. The field is lost, perhaps we are all lost. I do not know.” He had looked at her and his eyes had been so dark. She had barely been able to discern the echo of Tree light. “We are retreating, my brothers and I. Come, let us flee.”

Gweririen had looked at him as they had sat around a fire, camped a little way from Menegroth’s eastern border. Amras’ hair had glowed dark red in the light, and she had gazed at him long before speaking.

“My Lord, I council you again to reconsider this assault. Yes, Thingol’s folk and the boy king have no right to the jewel, and they have aided us so little in our war. But if we follow through with this cowardly attack, creeping into their home in the dark and cold? I fear your House will be forever sundered from all the Eldar. Surely that can only harm our aims, in this Valar-forsaken land?”

He was silent for so long; she had been sure she would receive no response. But then –

“Pass me my sword, Gweririen, if you please. I believe it must be sharpened.”

She had looked at him only once before making her way to Lord Maedhros. He had already removed the heads of two of Celegorm’s servants. The third of those who had led Dior’s sons to their deaths, stood upright still, though he stared at the floor.

“My Lord,” she said, and he turned to her, his eyes dull and hollow. “May I do it?”

After a long moment, Maedhros had nodded jerkily, dropped his sword, and walked away. Amras had not looked at her after and she’d been glad.

Gweririen looks at Lord Amras.

The crashing waves can barely be heard over the clash of steel and the screams. She is so very tired of hearing Elven screams.

“Gweririen, I want you to search every house for Elwing’s sons. No matter which way this battle goes, they will be invaluable in our aim.”

She looks at him. This is not a battle; the woman whose blood is dripping off his sword had attempted to defend her house with a lantern. They do not have an aim; they are here to feed their oath with a little more slaughter so it will give them peace for perhaps five years or even ten.

As he turns away from her to deliver more orders, she reaches for her bow. As she notches the arrow and aims at Amras’ chest, her shot is exactly as he taught her.

[caenith]

Hey I saw you were having a hard time recently so I drew Luthien singing to help you sleep!

(sorry if you don't want it, feel free to delete this)

Oh dear... Thank you so much, I am literally sobbing right now 😭😭😭

Hopefully Lúthien's lullabies will do the job tonight 💖💖💖

[doodle-pops]

mina i can’t stop thinking about the elf your courting singing you to sleep as they hold you in there arms. fingers running though your hair or gently rubbing your back while humming or singing to you until you fall asleep ; v ; )💕

like i can’t sleep very well or at all without having my music playing ( normally a form of instrumental ) & oh this could be so so soft to have them singing for me.

Oh, I can imagine how difficult it must be when you don't have music. Stressful. I normally listen to Studio Ghibli instrumentals, it's so relaxing🥺

Daeron, Luthien, Ecthelion, Maglor, Finrod and Fingon would be perfect elves to sing you to sleep. And they're perfect to cuddle, imagine how soft they'd feel to lie on and snuggle as they run their hands through your hair and sing you a lullaby. I want this now.

[hirazuki]

@general-illyrin thanks for the tag!

Tag 9 people you want to get to know better

Three ships: lmao this is always so difficult, I don't have many XD I already gave my top three last time I did this, so how about this time we do dynamics I enjoy exploring that may get me cancelled! Melkor/Luthien, Aredhel/Eol, Bloom/Valtor.

Last song: "Mordred's Lullaby" by Heather Dale. It's been stuck in my head ever since it came on my playlist a couple of days ago and I got inspired for a fanart, and I fear it will remain stuck until I finish the damn drawing.

Last movie: Emperor's New Groove (for research! :D)

Currently reading: The Silmarillion (also for research! I've been debating about plaguing you all with random thoughts as they come up during my reread, but, currently, my belief that you shouldn't have to tolerate more of my unhinged nonsense than you already do is winning XD)

Currently watching: The Scarlet Pimpernel (BBC series) because I mentioned it recently and then realized I missed it and it's excellent background noise for drawing.

Currently consuming: Coffee (good) and store-bought croissant (not good T_T)

Currently craving: A week off from work so I can work on all these things that I want. I never have enough time!

Tagging: @ruiniel @saurons-pr-department @dear-kumari @nomadicism @baked-hylian @errantgoat @cruelfeline and anyone else who wants to! (only if you want to, of course)

[adwendoodles]

if i dont post anything of this wip i'll go insane. what is it about the leithian that makes me want to make animatics for it?

song from @sewn-with-lilies-fair's commission of an english version of the lay of leithian musical's luthien lullaby

[an-eldritch-peredhel]

I'm putting a readmore down preemptively because. Oh boy. Op I'm sorry lol. This isn't even everything I could've put

Beren and Luthien (and co.):

Like the Dawn (The Oh Hellos) Blue Flower (The Gray Havens) Shut Up and Dance (WALK THE MOON) 17 (Pink Sweat$) Afterlife (Ingrid Michaelson) Golden Dandelions (Barns Courtney) Bird Song (Juniper Vale) - Luthien Trees (The Oh Hellos) - Daeron and Luthien as siblings Dancer and the Moon (Blackmore's Night) - Luthien and Thuringwethil Tir na Nog (Celtic Woman) - Melian to Thingol There Beneath (The Oh Hellos) - Daeron and Dior Die Young (Ke$ha) - Dior and Nimloth Songbirds (Ben Thornewill) - Dior and Nimloth Banks (NEEDTOBREATHE) - Dior and Nimloth Me and Mine (The Brothers Bright) - Dior and the Feanorions

Feanor and Family Issues:

Little Talks (Of Monsters and Men) - Finwe, Feanor, Miriel Fire (Barns Courtney) - Feanor Eat You Alive (The Oh Hellos) - Feanor Carbon Scores and Smoke (Mappe Of) - Feanor Handclap (Fitz and the Tantrums) - Young Feanor and Nerdanel Oh My Love (The Score) - Young Feanor and Nerdanel Would That I (Hozier) - Feanor and Nerdanel Exunt (The Oh Hellos) - Nerdanel about Feanor Overthink (BP and the Oil Spills) - Nerdanel, Anaire, Earwen about their husbands Glitter and Gold (Barns Courtney) - Feanorions I Touched The Fire (Casey Breves) - Feanorions Seven Devils (Florence + The Machine) - Feanorions

The Feanorions:

Sleeping in the Cold Below (Warframe) - Maedhros and the people of Himring Blood on My Name (The Brothers Bright) - Maedhros No Rest For the Wicked (Lykke Li) - Maedhros Woke up a Rebel (Reuben And The Dark) - Maedhros Viva la Vida (Coldplay) - Maedhros Boreas (The Oh Hellos) - Maedhros Wishing Well (The Oh Hellos) - Maglor Round (The Oh Hellos) - Maglor Rockstar Sea Shanty (The Lottery Winners) - Maglor Carry (Branches) - Maglor Willow Tree March (The Paper Kites) - Celegorm The Hunt (River Whyless) - Celegorm and Huan Better in the Morning (Birdtalker) - Curufin Golgotha (Heather Dale) - Curufin about Finrod Dear Wormwood (The Oh Hellos) - Celebrimbor about Curufin Meet Me in the Woods (Lord Huron) - Silvergifting Ivory Black (Seryn) - Amrod

Other Finweans:

Home Again (Blackmore's Night) - Lalwen Cold (The Oh Hellos) - Nolofinweans Funeral Bell (Phildel) - Fingon This is Love (The Hunts) - Russingon Factories (Autoheart) - Russingon Grow (The Oh Hellos) - Aredhel Cypress Queen (The Last Bison) - Aredhel and Celegorm Mordred's Lullaby (Heather Dale) - Maeglin Wolves [Ved Dora Mi] (Ella Mine) - Finrod The Old Therebefore (Rachel Zeigler) - Finrod Cartouche (Blackmore's Night) - Galadriel Silver & Gold (WILD) - Galadriel King and Lionheart (Of Monsters and Men) - So many sets of siblings I'm not bothering to list them Twinkling Lights (Annalise Emerick) - Cousins in the Noontide of Valinor

The Narn i Chin Hurin:

11:49 (BP and the Oil Spills) Loki (The Mechanisms) - Hurin Johnny (American Murder Song) - Turin On the Outside (Gentri) - Turin and Beleg

Numenor, the Akallabeth, and Tar Miriel:

Pale Moonlight (The Gray Havens) High Enough (The Gray Havens) Three Birds in Babylon (The Gray Havens) Pale White Horse (The Oh Hellos) Notos (The Oh Hellos)

Earendil, Elwing, Elrond, Elros:

Wolf (First Aid Kit) Dance in the Graveyards (Delta Rae) - Elros Theseus (The Oh Hellos) - Elrond Sea Meets Earth (Fever Fever) - Elrond and Celebrian Fille Du Roy (Heather Dale) - Earendil about Elwing In Memoriam (The Oh Hellos) - Elwing and Earendil Star in the East (The Rose Ensemble) - Earendil (esp. as seen by Numenor) The Moon and the Stars (John Mark Nelson) - Earendil

Ainur:

Onward to the Edge (Symphony of Science) - Arien, Tillion, Earendil Firebird's Child (SJ Tucker) - Arien Growth (The Native Sibling) - Arien The Moon Will Sing (The Crane Wives) - Arien and Thuringwethil That's Amore (Dean Martin) - Tillion The Goddess and the Weaver (Spiral Dance) - Vaire and Miriel Hymn to Herne (SJ Tucker) - Orome The Cult of Dionysus (The Orion Experience) - Orome, Nessa, Tulkas, Vana

Elves:

Lion's Den (Little Chief) The Valley (The Oh Hellos) Heiroglyphs (The Oh Hellos) Torches (The Oh Hellos) - Noldor at the Darkening

Eucatastrophe:

See You Again (The Gray Havens) Not Home Yet (The Gray Havens) Go (The Gray Havens) Thus Always to Tyrants (The Oh Hellos) Stories (Lilli Furfero)

The Silmarillion ultimate playlist

It’s the time of Spotify wrap-ups and whatnot and this gave me an idea: let’s make a giant, collaborative playlist for the Silmarillion!

Drop the songs that make you think of a specific character, your OCs, relationship, event, place, or just gives you major Silm Vibes in the reblogs and tags. Put links to them, write essays about these songs if you want, or just reblog to share further, but the goal is to have fun and discover as many songs as possible.

You can share any song or musical piece you want, no matter the genre or language, the only rule is that it can’t be a song by Tolkien nor a track from the LotR movies or musical, nor the Hobbit or any musical adaptation of Tolkien’s works (I see you Finrod Rock Opera. I will listen to you one day).

Anyways, here are my songs, and the link to the collaborative playlist:

Eärendil, Starwing: Sailboat of Mine - Eurielle & Mario Grigorov

Eöl, Nan Elmoth: Hotel California - Eagles

Aredhel: Touch the Sky - Brave; I want to Break Free - Queen;

Nerdanel, Anairë and Eärwen: Friends will be Friends - Queen

Findis: Ave Maria - Franz Schubert (specifically sung by Maria Callas)

Morgoth: Back on the Throne - Firewind

Lúthien: Savage Daughter - Sarah Hester Ross; Queen of King - Alessandra

Maglor’s Gap: I wanna be in the Cavalry - Colm R. McGuinness (both the original and the reprise)

Maglor: Requiem, Lacrimosa - W.A. Mozart

Fingon/Maedhros: Princes of the Universe - Queen

Túrin Turambar: Live and Die by the Sword - Firewind

Fëanor (from the moment he swears the Oath to his death, but specifically Alqualondë and Losgar): Wars of Age - Firewind

Amarië: I will survive - Gloria Gaynor

Eluréd and Elurín: Erlkönig - Franz Schubert; Come Little Children - Hocus Pocus (cover by Erutan)

Finwë: Sin - Lia Marie Johnson

Helcaraxë: Rise from the Ashes - Firewind

Nirnaeth Arnoediad: Bloodstained Ground - Eluvetie

Sons of Fëanor: Threefold Death - Eluvetie

Edain/ end of the War of Wrath vibes: Prologue - Eluvetie

Fingolfin: Last of the Lords - Battlelore

Tuor/Idril: Song of the Sea - Nolwen Leroy

Maglor, Elrond and Elros: The Magic Lullaby - Eurielle

Thingol/Melian: Cat People (Putting out Fire) - David Bowie

Nolofinwëans: Hey Brother - Avicii

Celegorm and Curufin in Nargothrond: (Do)minion - Eluvetie

As you can see, this playlist is completely random, jumping from lullaby to death metal to 80’s pop without rhyme nor reason. It’s just a giant melting pot of Vibes

And now, it’s your turn to play!

[ao3feed-tolkien]

Guileless Son

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

by Aiwen Fiondiliel (KayleeArafinwiel), KayleeArafinwiel

Carphadril, Queen of the Evair, moves against the King and Queen of Doriath, a threat to her rule. She raises a son who - she hopes - will wed Luthien and claim the throne of the other great forest realm for her.

(AU to "The Iathrim Chronicles", not part of the main universe)

Words: 529, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

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

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: Gen

Characters: Daeron (Tolkien), Original Female Elf Character(s)

Additional Tags: discussion of dark magic, assassination plans, discussion and poetry (haiku) about blood, Carphadril is basically a mix of Mother Gothel and Zira and Morgan le Fay, at least when it comes to Dairon, Dairon is Daeron by the way, Heather Dale music, Mordred's Lullaby lyrics, Carphadril wants Elu's family to die, no actual killing is accomplished

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

[tanoraqui]

📓 please.

AU in which Celebrimbor saves Sirion.

That is, AU in which Celebrimbor happens to be in Sirion when the sons of Fëanor sends their final, maybe only letter of, “We’ll be there in 3 days, would you PLEASE just give us the Valar-damned gem (or else)”, and first he goes to Elwing and pleads with her to just do it. Not because his uncles deserve their cursed rock. Not because he has any idea what the refugees will do without its hope-bringing and general purification effect on water and land. But because he was there like the Iathrim weren’t, like the Gondolindrim weren’t, on the front (ok slightly farther back) lines of the Siege, and he knows for absolutely certain that this little refuge CANNOT survive even the remnants of the great army of East Beleriand. And he wants to see them survive.

But Elwing refuses (though she is, after initial suspicion and fury, kind about it). So Celebrimbor angsts, worries, stress-hammers the dents out of a lot of armor and maybe forges a new bar for the gates…

And on the third night, the night before the dawn on which Fëanor’s sons will come for the Silmaril, he doses the stew for the guards/what passes for Sirion’s palace with something to induce sleep; and he brings an enchanted lullaby music box (the last thing he owns crafted by Fëanor himself) to subdue—gently, gently!—Elwing herself (he’s not depending on just some fantasy Benadryl to knock out Lúthien’s granddaughter). He’s apologizing as he takes the Nauglamir from her neck (he has no interest in robbing her of the whole heirloom, but he doesn’t have the time to remove the gem). Someone raises an alarm, but Celebrimbor is already out a side gate, shining gem tucked away under a wrap of thick cloth—

The Fëanorians, already waiting in the woods, hear the alarm and see the running on the walls and decide to launch their attack early—

But there are orcs in other parts of the wood, waiting for their prey to be flushed out. Waiting for the Oath-driven stalking goats to do Morgoth’s dirty work so they can clean up the remnants. These, Celebrimbor runs into—and, beset and outnumbered, he does the only thing he can think and unveils the jewel. Its light helps fend off the orcs, though it attracts spiders instead—

Maedhros, Maglor, and Amras all turn sharply at the burst of light from the north, and run. Long-legged Maedhros is fastest; fell-handed Maedhros easily dispatches the last spiders—

Light-blinded Maedhros doesn’t see who exactly is pulling away from him, pulling the Silmaril away from him, before his blade slides through their chest. Only a moment later does he realize his nephew was saying, “Careful, it might burn y—”

For more fun, I’d write a first chapter that’s standard narration 3rd person close to Celebrimbor, and the whole time he’s thinking about how everyone is going to assume he’s nothing but treacherous after this, traitor first to his father and then to the people who took him in; history will remember him with the kinslayers after all… And then the 2nd chapter is written in the distant, historical anecdote style of the Silmarillion except it keeps trailing off in bullet points, or maybe just with further lines starting with ellipses, to show the multiple options for how the historical record will remember this night…and what happened next, whether Celebrimbor survived and what the Fëanorians and the people of Sirion did next. The branching possibilities. Like,

Then Elwing and the people of Sirion would not yield the jewel which Beren had won and Luthien had worn, and for which Dior the fair was slain; and least of all while Earendil their lord was on the sea, for it seemed to them that in the Silmaril lay the healing and the blessing that had come upon their houses and their ships.

Yet among them was one whose heart turned toward the cause of the sons of Fëanor. Celebrimbor, son of Curufin, who had turned against his father in Nargothrond now found himself moved by their plight…

…Celebrimbor, son of Curufin, revealed now the treachery he had planned long ago with his kin in Nargothrond. When night fell…

…Fear grew in the heart of Celebrimbor, son of Curufin, and when night fell he brewed a potion to send the guards of the city to sleep. Elwing, too, he went to sleep, and stole from her neck the gem and the Nauglamir which the dwarves wrought…