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theconstellationprincess · 26 days ago

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Whumptober Day 11: SEEING DOUBLE + Loneliness

Set pre-season 1, minor canon divergence/au

Elrond once shared a face with another, and though he loves his friends, it is not the same to see another face but one that is almost like his, but for the way the light hits the eyes and the smile tips up to one side.

Elrond, like many other elves, was prone to reflecting on his past, for he had lived for quite some time now (though he was certainly not even close in age to the oldest of elves). He had known many elves, dwarves, and men during his time, and lost many too. Today was a day where he was more reflective than usual, as today was the day Elros had died. It had taken the news quite some time to reach him, but the letter informing him had been dated. It had been many many years ago now, but every year Elrond takes the day off because there is no cure for grief, and it returns year after year. There is nothing as isolating, as lonely, as losing the person you are meant to have with you forever.

Upon waking, his limbs feel heavy as lead, and he closes his eyes again, not wanting to face the day yet. Every day he has to contend with living in a world without Elros, but today he is, at the very least, allowed to be fully affected by the grief that he keeps locked in his heart. It circulates in his blood and forces him down into the mattress, fingers curled into the cloak that remains one of the last objects he has that belonged to Elros. The cloak was a gift from when Elros first left to Númenor, and Elrond had done his best to take care of it.

As he lays in bed, listening to the hustle and bustle of early morning Lindon outside his door, he hopes that, if the rumours are false and they both, or even one of them, still walk upon Arda's soil, that Maedhros and Maglor are doing fine this day. Perhaps they do not know the exact date of Elros's passing, and he is silly to keep them in his thoughts, but it makes him feel slightly better to think of them and believe that they are thinking of him and Elros. Maedhros’s death is a widespread rumour, but Maglor’s is less so, it is more commonly said that he wanders the world without purpose. Elrond likes to hope that one day he will wander to Lindon, or Eregion while Elrond is visiting, and they can be reunited again. It is a pleasant thought.

There is a knock on the door, sharp and quick- it is Galadriel, then. His voice comes out in a throaty mumble the first time he tries it, so he clears his throat and tries again. “Come in!” Elros’s voice calls from his lips, and Elrond loses any will he had gained to see Galadriel, because as much as he loves her, he does not have the energy to put into words the immense pain he feels constricting his heart.

She slips into his room quietly, not speaking until she has sat on the edge of his bed and placed a hand in his hair, stroking it back. “I know you do not wish for company,” Galadriel begins in a soft voice, looking towards his door as she speaks, “But I do not wish to see one of my last remaining friends fade, and neither does Ereinion.”

Grip tightening on the cloak, Elrond looks up at her and forces a small smile onto his face. He sits up, shuffling so that he is sat next to Galadriel, and sets his head on her shoulder. “I will not fade, not after all this time. The pain is present, yes, but the wound does not weep as it once did.” It is easier to speak in a formal manner, because Valar knows that Elros wouldn’t be caught dead speaking like that to anyone closer to him than an acquaintance. Elrond had always been more interested in etiquette and court than Elros, though it was Elros who became a king, so maybe that changed over time.

There is another knock, and Elrond wonders when he acquired so many people who care about him. He had only Elros for so long with their parents being more concerned about the Silmarils, not to speak ill of them of course, and though they both had Maedhros and Maglor for a time, eventually Elrond was left alone, without anyone. Yet now, he had not only Galadriel, but whoever is awaiting his welcome outside of his door. “Enter!” He calls, lifting his head from Galadriel's shoulder and sitting up, for he could not place the knock and does not want to be seen as… as upset as he truly is.

He freezes as the elf lets himself in, blinking rapidly for a moment as he fights back tears. His closest living connection to the house of Fëanor, the house that he considers himself a part of, though he lacks a true blood relation. “Celebrimbor,” Elrond whispers, and if he could, he would leave his bed and capture his cousin in a very long hug. He wishes, suddenly, that he had been able to get dressed that morning, or at the very least brush his hair and teeth. Galadriel has seen him at his worst- including when he first lost Elros and his grief was still fresh, Celebrimbor has not.

“Elrond, I apologise if I am not wanted but-” Though any other day Elrond would have rather died than interrupt Celebrimbor, truly the greatest of elven smiths for he did not create the silmarils, which is a bonus in Elrond’s book, today he is more Elros than Elrond, and so he speaks out of turn. His voice is still weak, but it is stronger than it has been all morning, and there is a small, but genuine, smile on his face as he speaks, because Elros would have poked fun at the fact that Elrond is finally getting over his astonishment of Celebrimbor, and because Celebrimbor is here.

“You are wanted, I am so glad you have come.” Elrond interjects, standing up on shaking legs. His body does not wish to cooperate with him on this day, but he manages to take a few staggering steps forward, and collapses into Celebrimbor’s arms when they open to him. A sob works its way out of his throat, and though he hates to ruin the robes Celebrimbor is wearing, he cannot bring himself to pull away as the tears begin pouring from his eyes. A hand wraps around the back of his head, the other around his back, and Elrond feels more like himself than he has all day. He cries until he has run out of tears, and continues to stand there for a few more moments still, taking in the comfort offered because today is a day where he can do so without feeling guilty.

Galadriel offers him water, and he notices that she must have left and returned with a water jug and glasses at some point. He accepts, taking his place next to her once again, and sipping slowly. Celebrimbor sits on Elrond’s other side, and Elrond snorts to himself, pressing a hand over his mouth to stifle his giggles.

“What are you laughing at?” Galadriel asks, a smile in her voice as she turns towards him. Elrond laughs a bit harder, wiping at his eyes and shaking his head.

“Elros would simply not believe his own eyes if he saw me now, sitting between Lady Galadriel, princess of the Ñoldor, most esteemed warrior, fair beyond compare, and Celebrimbor, cousin of ours, and greatest of the elven smiths.” Elrond explains, voice wavering somewhere between laughter and tears. “Even more, he would not believe that I would not be so starstruck as to be rendered unable to speak.”

Galadriel laughs and Celebrimbor rubs a hand down Elrond's back and shakes his head, fond exasperation clear in the gesture. Elrond smiles, eyes wet and puffy, heart still heavy with grief but lighter now, and speaks again, “Thank you for being here when he cannot.”

“We would not miss it for anything,” Galadriel replies, kissing his temple and wiping some of the tears off of his face with a kind smile.

“For anything,” Celebrimbor repeats softly, leaning closer to Elrond, who does not feel very lonely at all anymore.

#star writes #elrond #elrond peredhel #elrond whump #galariel #celebrimbor #whumptober 2024 #trop #rings of power #the rings of power #fanfic #trop fanfic #hurt/comfort #elros tar minyatur #elros peredhel #elros #maedhros #maglor

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i-did-not-mean-to · 7 months ago

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The curse of being loved

This ficlet is my peace offering to @sortumavaara.

I have not forsaken your blorbo. I swear... I'm just not good at writing him lol

@elanna-elrondiel you wanted to be tagged. @cilil this is your fault for enabling and encouraging me!

Characters: Elrond, Elros, Elwing, Maglor, Maedhros

Words: 1,5k

Warnings: Sadness, Eldritch powers, kids are creepy, self-realisation, murder, canonical slaughter, canonical kidnapping

The first language Elrond had ever heard was the breathless cries of amazement and captivation at perceiving him, and he’d understood it at once even though he didn’t yet comprehend the power inherent to that instinctive reaction of bone-deep awe.

As was expected and natural, he was loved and cherished by his parents, and, if he noticed that their level of watchfulness went beyond that of others, he did not think anything of it.

Why would he have? He’d never known any other way of being treated.

Likewise, he’d never really questioned the strange appeal he and Elros seemed to hold for almost any other adult in the dismal camp of refugees. They were twins, a two-pronged beacon of life and hope, and it made sense that those who’d previously suffered such pains and deprivation would feel inexorably drawn to the soft, open faces of young children.

Elrond was aware that—in a world full of lurking danger and dark doom—he was vulnerable and precious to the adults in his life, not least because of the importance and wisdom of his genitors who were still utterly besotted with his charming smiles and pleading glances.

As time went by, though, he soon learned how to capitalise on that undeniable weakness in that self-forgotten, profoundly selfish way that was typical for toddlers.

Thus, he observed the reactions of those surrounding him with dispassionate curiosity, adjusting his mannerisms and voice in a myriad of discreet, nigh-imperceptible ways to consciously exacerbate the strange, alluring, corrupting effect he had on people.

In time, and almost despite himself, he started to tilt his head in a way that made his eyes gleam and his skin appear fragile and translucent like the finest porcelain, having ascertained through trial and error that this made it patently impossible for anyone looking at him to avert their eyes or deny him even the most outlandish request.

Barely out of infancy, he was continually perched on someone’s arm like a wondrous bird wrought of unconfessed wishes and stardust—back then, he was blessedly ignorant of his own lineage and the terrible might it conferred to him, and he shamelessly basked in the attention and admiration with which he was unceasingly showered.

Slowly but obdurately, all his motions grew thoughtful and elegant long before other children his age had outgrown the phase of rambunctious chaos, and yet, neither he nor his brother was ever truly ostracised or mocked by their peers for their peculiar charm that invariably turned rational sages and ferocious warriors into blabbering fools.

They were loved by all they met, and they hadn’t yet made any experience that would push them to worry about something as self-evident and wholesome as the simple fact that people seemingly never grew tired of watching them play or listening to them talk, no matter the subject and its relative importance.

Growing older and fairer with every passing day, Elrond before long was overcome with the unshakable sensation that the people around him drew an unfathomable, indescribable sense of soothing and even healing from their every interaction with him, and so he pushed aside his nascent qualms at having praise and gifts bestowed upon him without measure or restraint.

Still, he felt adored, respected, and valued in his community, and he began to feel responsible for those who had taken such generous care of him in return. When he grew to his full strength, he vowed, he’d prove himself worthy of all the affection that had been heaped upon him for as long as he could remember.

One fateful day, though, their mother—in their father’s absence—threw herself into the arms of the sea, desperate tears channelling her bright gaze into a deadly beam of cutting devastation that would sunder her from her sons forever.

Elrond was too stunned to even cry out—he didn’t understand. How could a woman whose very purpose in life had been to coddle and adulate her sons do something so cruel and reckless?

Of course, he did not get the time to further muse about these confusing, contradictory truths in peace, though, as a stranger approached him, his long-fingered hands extended as if to promise with his whole body that he meant him and his brother no harm.

Was it instinct or habit, Elrond would never be able to determine later on, but, abandoned by his father and bereft of his mother, he shamelessly angled his face upwards to catch the flickering light of his childhood being put to the torch in his wide, wet eyes.

Robbed of all his anchor points, he fell back on the hitherto unquestioned, flawlessly reliable magic that coursed through his veins—pushing Elros behind him, he moulded himself into the most appealing version of himself to cow the ominous, looming threat by innate enchantment alone.

The stranger chuckled softly. “I used to do that,” he confessed in a soft, melodious voice that seemed to chime like a thousand golden strings. “Nelyo was always the pretty one, but I was ever able to coax and coerce people by a mere glance or a whispered word.”

Elrond flinched back as if struck. Why did this atrocious confession echo through his whole being, sending nauseating waves of shame and guilt crashing into his soul?

There was something so callously, insultingly veracious in that careless quip that Elrond felt his mask of puerile purity slip, revealing the deep-felt shock and sudden fear lurking underneath to the merciless stare of the murderous intruder.

“You truly are of Melian’s blood.”

Frowning, Elrond shook his head in a vain attempt to dispel the gossamer threads of dark and dangerous magic the man’s voice wove around his frantic mind, choking all sense of self-preservation and caution out of it mercilessly.

“Who are you?” he asked, feeling Elros’s cold hand press against the small of his back as if to encourage him or hold him back.

The fearsome foe hesitated for a heartbeat. “Maglor,” he then sighed. “Call me Maglor.”

At once, Elrond pounced on that minuscule mellowing. Stepping forward fearlessly, he put out his slender, tiny hand and conjured up his most enthralling, hypnotizing smile. “I’m Elrond, and this is my brother Elros. You wouldn’t harm us, would you?”

Wearily, Maglor—who was drenched in blood and covered in mud and miserable memories—let go of his blade and wiped his pale, empty palm across his sweat-sheened brow. “No,” he finally grunted. “I know not whence the spell you’ve put upon me has issued, and I like it not to find such power in one so young, but I admit that all bloodlust has drained from my heart. Come away, there is nought here for you but death and starvation.”

“You hexed him,” Elros whispered as they were led out of the camp. “There comes another one, can you do it again?”

In truth, Elrond was shaken to his core. After a bountiful childhood at the bosom of his parents’ people, he now came to understand that he wielded a fearsome and potentially perilous power.

He yearned to seek out his mother’s wisdom or his father’s stalwart support, but he knew not where they were, and he doubted that he’d ever be reunited with them.

Too many epiphanies—much too weighty and woeful for a mere child to fully fathom—hit him at once, and he longed to curl up in the warm, protective arms of those who’d gathered around his bassinet and his naïve games to cheer and comfort him at every turn.

From the foul fumes of burning wood and smouldering stone emerged a figure—tall and stiff as a moving tree—and Elrond closed his eyes for a moment, trying to recall every single instance in which he’d tricked someone into giving him an undeserved treat or forgiving a careless trespass upon their peace and property.

“Káno, what do you think you’re doing?” the newcomer rasped impatiently.

“Speak to the child,” their new minder, already half won over, replied in a clipped voice that turned his words into a hailstorm of icy shards. “You’ll see that I had no choice in the matter.”

With a scoff, the red-haired demon turned and stalked away.

“He’s afraid of your talents,” Elros cheered under his breath, and Elrond let him believe that the battle he was about to fight without even knowing his weapons was already won.

He’d have but little time to become consciously aware of his skills and hone them sufficiently to save their lives, but he’d not burden Elros with the devastating knowledge that they’d be on their own and at the mercy of their parents’ enemies henceforth.

When Maglor turned to lift his orphaned captives into his unyielding arms, Elrond leaned his soft cheek against the worn, dirty fur collar of his cloak in a gesture reminiscent of a defenceless kitten, seeking shelter and warmth.

“Leave it to me,” he whispered. He’d not only make these murderers spare their lives—he’d make them love him.

Again, this was an attempt at breaking me out of my writer's block, so there is no event, no Masterlist, no context...

Lots of love from me!

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camille-lachenille · 11 months ago

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End of the Year Fic Rec

I was tagged by @echo-bleu and @dreamingthroughthenoise and it was very difficult to select only five fics for each category but here's my Must Read fanfics list, mostly Silmarillion but with a few LotR and one Hobbit. Also, I cheated at some point so you have one more fic rec as a treat

Recommend up to 5 series or multi-chapter fics from 2023 that everyone should read (multi-year WIPs count, if the last update was in 2023).

We will make this place our home by @leucisticpuffin

Summary: Elrond and Elros are sent to live with their distant cousins in a house that is crumbling slowly to pieces. They aren't especially happy about this. For Maedhros and Maglor, the twins are a rare chance to start living again.

Why you should read it: This is a whimsical, heartwarming yet bittersweet at times story about finding one’s place in a new world and what makes a family, grappling with the ghosts of the past and the pain of being a child left behind. Also the most exquisitely written modern AU (the style is just chef's kiss!) I’ve read so far, 100% recommend it!

Maglor is an Eldritch Horror by @thescrapwitch

Summary: After thousands of years singing to the sea, Maglor has become something strange and terrifying. But he still loves his family, and his family still loves him.

Why you should read it: Sometimes, family is a Half-Elf, his wife, their children, a shy and whimsical bard and the Eldritch kidnap grandfather who haunts the house; or how to write slightly creepy fluff. This series is pure heartwarming material and giving Elrond the happiness he desserves.

The Day the Horse-Lord wed the Lady of the Seas by @colinnoahmayhare (rated M)

Summary: After the War of the Ring, Lothíriel, Princess of Dol Amroth, finds herself at the receiving end of the search for peace and prosperity by being used as a pawn in an alliance made between kings and princes. Married to the King of the Riddermark, Éomer, she has to navigate being a foreigner in a foreign country, being a Queen to a King, and to learn to live and love with a man she hardly knows.

Why you should read it: This story is an intricate, gut wrenching exploration of what happens in Rohan after the War of the Ring, featuring delightful worldbuilding, lots of politics, revenge and honour. Now with Familial TraumaTM and Couple AngstTM for extra flavour!

And the Stars Shine the Same by @runawaymun (rated M)

Summary: After the Éothéod revolt against the Wainriders, the northern tribes seek to form strong alliances with their neighbors. Lord Frumgar tasks his son Fram to lead the delegation to Imladris. With him, he brings gold, fine horses, and two young thralls chosen by his father to be given to Lord Elrond himself. Elrond is conflicted to say the least.

Why you should read it: Do you like pre-canon Third Age history? Do you like worldbuilding about a few names from the Appendixes of LotR? Do you like found family and Good Dad Elrond? Do you like complex characters learning how to live with their traumas? This story is for you! (Just mind the warnings in the tags)

The ghost you dress up as (knows how to haunt) by @deadqueernoldor (rated M)

Summary: Maedhros was not the first Finwëan to be captured and taken to Angband, nor did he remain there the longest. Ranyatinwë, twin of Caranthir, was the first.

Why you should read it: Tinwë is such a complex character, 50% spite and 50% trauma, and this whole story is so, so promising already! (Really, you should read all the Strength of our Bonds series for extra unhinged, spiteful and unrepentant kinslayer Tinwë. I support women’s rights but in Tinwë’s case I firmly support women’s wrongs). This is pure post-Angband angstfest and dysfunctional siblings caring for each other in their weird way. If angst can be a comfort story, I found it.

Recommend up to 5 single chapter fics/one-shots (long or short) from 2023 that everyone should read.

Life in Miniature by @thescrapwitch

Summary: Turgon uses his hobby of building cities to recreate Gondolin, this time on a much smaller scale.

Why you should read it: For re-embodied Finwëan rebuilding their relationships as they work together on a miniature city; a heartwarming and really nice metaphor.

Hearth Fire by @dreamingthroughthenoise

Summary: Findis and Feanor speak before the Flight of the Noldor and share in their grief the best they can.

Why you should read it: Because there are so few stories centered around Findis and her feelings about her family and this one is so interesting and well written. Also, Findis is my Blorbo and everyone should read about her until they're consumed by the Blorbo.

your veins are empty of dust by @echo-bleu

Summary: Anairë finds her late one day in her workshop, surrounded by slabs of stone larger than her. Nerdanel is hammering forcefully at one of them, the barest hints of an elven shape already taking form in the marble. Bitter, stinging tears run down her cheeks and into her collar, and her arms ache with exhaustion.

The body is only barely sketched, but the face is already chiselled, smooth curves and angular cheekbones.

Fëanáro emerges out of the marble, looking like he’s about to take life.

Why you should read it: For a heartbreaking dive into Nerdanel's grief, her friendship with Anairë and how Nerdanel's art becomes her way to cope with loneliness and grief.

see it fall, child of war by @swanmaids

Summary: Elwing's time runs out.

Why you should read it: Because these may be the 740 most impactful words I've read about Elwing since I discovered the Silm fandom.

soldier keep on marching on (waiting on that morning sun) by songofswiftsunrise

Summary: Boromir lives. The world is the smallest bit brighter for it.

Why you should read it: Do I need a more convincing argument than what the summary says? Boromir lives and everyone is happier. I love a good fix-it and this one is very well written indeed.

Recommend up to 5 fics NOT from 2023 that everyone should read (oldies but goodies.)

The Carpenter’s Son by Zimra (rated M, warning for rape/non-con)

Summary: An untold story of conquered Dor-lómin, in which an Easterling carpenter has a child by his Hadorian slave.

Why you should read it: This story explores in a very interesting way a par of canon that is almost never mentionned (except in the Narn). The main character is attaching and I really cared for her and her son. The hindsights in the slavers' minds are chilling with their realism and this whole story is just so well written. Also, it ends on a note of hope.

And what I am needs no excuses by aurembiaux

Summary: Sam has always been in love with Frodo. It's only that it takes him forty years to realize that he is.

Why you should read it: Probably the most heartwarming and relatable self-discovery story I’ve ever read; set in England from the WWII to the 80’s, with all the social changes that happened in this time period. Featuring Supportive Dad (and Friend) Sam as the main character and a whole bunch of introspection. One of my all time comfort read!

Mark of a Warrior by starryeyedknight

Summary: After the funeral for Theoden, Merry wakes up to a problem experienced by many a young man after a night of heavy drinking. The ink on his arm doesn't appear to be washing off…

Why you should read it: This one shot explores the relationships Merry formed with the RIders of Rohan, the grief he has in common with them and how he found his place amongst the riders, all of this with delightful humour and lightness despite the initial situation.

Dancing with my punchlines by LiveOakWithMoss (rated M)

Summary: In which the sons of Fëanor throw house parties, the beer is terrible, 20-something hipster elves act like their drama is as bad as it is in canon, and macking on cousins is fair game.

Why you should read it: If you like a good old modern AU with tons of drama of various sorts, amazing ace representation and general Finwëans shenanigans, this is the story for you.

Old Maggie Took by @deadqueernoldor

Summary: The headcanon about Maglor, second son of Fëanor, lives hidden in the Shire? Yes.

Why you should read it: My ultimate comfort read series; featuring mouth-watering descriptions of food, kidnadopted fam and Maglor being an overgrown hobbit and trolling everyone in ME and Valinor. This is fluffy, this is silly, this is prefect.

Recommend up to 5 of your own fics (completed or WIP) from 2023 that everyone should read.

Dreams of Doom (rated M, warning for Major Character Death)

Summary: “She runs in the dark, alone. Where her feet carry her, she knows not, and her heart is heavy with dread. Someone - something - is watching her.”

Niënor from the moment she arrives in Brethil to her death.

Why you should read it: Because this fic is my firsborn child and I am insanely proud of it, especially since I went so out of my comfort zone to write it. It features two of my obscure blorbos and I poured my soul into it.

Ice Age(s)

Summary: Ice skating through the ages, from Idril learning with her grandfather to Elrond perpetuating the familial tradition.

Why you should read it: This is a fluffy fic, mostly, and it's also a gift for the amazing @echo-bleu. I also wrote it in a sort of trance in the middle of the night, passed out the moment I posted it and had no memory whatsoever of what I had written upon waking up in the morning, yet I still love this fic dearly.

I never wanted to walk in your steps

Summary: Tilda was ten, the same age Sigrid was at her birth, and her world was collapsing more than when Smaug had destroyed Laketown.

Why you should read it: Because I privately call this fic Hobbit angstfest. I took a sad, doomed ship and asked myself "how can I make it sadder?"

ar ámen apsenë úcaremmar

Summary: Few know of Findis the Faithful, eldest daughter of Finwë, who never lost hope for her family.

Why you should read it: I took my obscure blorbo and set her in a medieval-ish AU. It's sad and a little hopeful too and there's a lot of Quenya interspaced through the story.

Quiet morning in Gondolin

Summary: Idril and Eärendil spend some time together before the city wakes up.

Why you should read it: I'll put the link to the beautiful art that inspired this ficlet and let it speak for me.

And I tag everyone I tagged in this post who hasn’t already done this fics rec tag

#fic recs #tolkien #the silmarillion #the lord of the rings #the hobbit #long post

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noirbriar · 9 months ago

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Fire & Stone AU: Bonds

The end of the Third Age, peace has come. Yet Glorfindel and Erestor find themselves in a bit of trouble with outdated customs.

In which elven high society, especially the line of Finwe, have rules and traditions to be followed for noble born elves. No exceptions.

An AU where the sons of Durin lived and Maglor resides now in Imladris some time before The Hobbit. OOC a high possibility, its all on me. Coughed out this random ficlet for fun and excuse for some family drama.

Things of note/warnings: none although maybe child acquisition? also, the writer's tolkien knowledge is rather rudimentary still so anything in here should just be taken as a pure AU. --- "Now this is a rare sight! A new age of peace and here you are, bested by an orc! My young commander, I see you have been slacking." Maglor strides in, his robes swishing quietly into the healing wing. "Don't antagonise the patient." Elrond prompts dryly from behind as he arranges his salves and bandages at the side to be cleared away by the other healers. "I would like to see you try to go up against a double ambush while trying to get the villagers to safety with a lean troop." Erestor grumbles from his spot in the bed, eyes closed, trying to focus in putting up his mental walls, blocking out the numb pain from his wretched shoulder from his mate. "A new age yet the foul damn creatures continue to be a pain in the ass."

"And I heard from Kili and Tauriel you picked up a gift along the way?" Maglor grins as he reaches out to pat the small lump buried into Erestor's better side. Only to be rewarded with a bite and a sharp cry as the old Feanorian quickly pulls his hand back to safety from the fiesty child on defensive.

A toddler who could barely walk really.

"And don't tease the elfling, Atya." Elrond admonishes softly though with a soft smile .The healer tries to brush away the messy silvery blond hair from the elfling's face, but pulls back when the child pulls away from his touch.The elfling resumes clutching onto Erestor like a baby squirrel.

"Unfortunately he seems to be an orphan long before the attack, being cared for by his fellow villagers all this while from what I heard. Still, the little one seems to have taken a great liking to his protector... I suppose its really a Feanorian trait to pick up little ones and be chosen by them." The Lord of Imladris slowly adds, his eyes alight with mischief much like his younger self.

Maglor chuckles under his breath at the statement with a shake of his head. Whereas the elfling simply stare at the father and son duo balefully, his eyes narrowed in a way that is reminiscence to a displeased Erestor. Before the little one huddles closer to the dark haired elf for comfort.

Erestor is quiet, as he lets the child do as he please, caressing the elfling's back before his eyes begain to droop, his body demanding for a healing sleep. Elrond leaves, leaving his adoptive father to watch over his old follower. Maglor then decides to sings a healing song for his old soldier that he have come to care for dearly. Its was too lovely a day to be without song anyway. and the weakened child could use some power from a Song after such an ordeal.

It was a while before the Singer notices Erestor trembling in his rest, almost in pain from what Elrond has deemed a normal wound.The elfling whimpers in worry. Maglor stops and sits on the bed instead to examine the clean bandages. Baffled, he puts his hand onto the younger elf's hand instead and tries to reach out with his weak fea to provide some comfort from the pain.

For a moment there is warmth, before something tingles, and pulls. Which causes Maglor jumps back in shock and the elfling to be startled in turn, before starting to cry. Its as if someone has dumped him into the Brunien before flinging his fea across the sea... So Maglor does the only reasonable thing in this situation- "ELROND!!" ---

Glorfindel is worried. Lately, he could hardly feel his mate through their young bond. (A bond! At long last, his beloved's fea melded with his own, singing ever so sweet. He have never felt so at peace and so complete with another heart beating with his own. ) As the escort of Celeborn, Galadriel and the Galadhrim to Imladris, the warrior had to be apart from his husband for a more than a few months, shortly after their bonding and their return from Gondor. It was a slow journey home, as he and his troops guided the elves awaiting to sail for the West to the last Homely House.

Last he heard before he left, there were news of stray orcs, stragglers along the borders. With all the administrative work delegated to others in the household and council, Erestor have taken upon himself to command some troops to check on the matter. Yet no messengers have come by with regards to any trouble and he felt no distress from Erestor, so there was some comfort in that. The Captain knows his husband is a master with his blades, the Chief Councillor skilled with his swords even after years of administrative work. However the lost of gentle nudges and touches from his mate is still concerning.

And if he had nudges Asfaloth a little faster upon spotting reaching the main bridge, no one was willing to call him out on it. What he had not expect was a pair of restless twins awaiting for their arrival at the end of it. "Greetings, Grandfather! Grandmother! We hope your journey has been smooth." Elladan greeted as Elrohir proceeded forward and they greeted their elders .Almost too formal, Glorfindel thought. "Elladan? Elrohir? I did not expect you both to greet us all the way out here. What trouble did you both get into this time?" Glorfindel grins at the twins.

"Ah ha! But its not us you should be worried about, dear Captain." Elrohir smirks while Elladan strides up and pats the Golden Elf wryly with a glint in his dark eyes.

"Its you."

-- In the twilight, Glorfindel grits his teeth as he is starting to be immensely annoyed that he is unable to at least find his husband first. Unable to even freshen up after days of travel, before he was whisked away by Elladan and Elrohir into the inner wings of the House. His bond with Erestor still quiet despite the proximity, even with the twins assuring that Erestor was in Imladris.

Following closely beside him, are the curious Lord and Lady of Lothlorien, both by the request of the twins' father.

"For support." Whatever that means. What greeted him at the large outdoor meeting chamber that Elrond favors, was the Lord of Imladris himself, sitting instead by the side seat of the long table. The head chair was empty. Further away, was unmistakably, though surprisingly, the second son of Feanor. As Maglor turns to greet the guests, Glorfindel sees clearly now. No longer dressed in his usual plain and unremarkable robes, but in elegant brocade and silk. Maglor's hair adorned with the style of old elves of a forgotten time with a beautifully crafted circlet adorned with small moonstones by a Master smith, marking his status as a noble.

Elladan and Elrohir gives a bow and steps slightly out by the corridor. Excusing themselves from this meeting. Something is wrong.

"My greetings, Laurefindil. You have finally returned. Now take a seat, I feel that we must have an urgent discussion." Maglor smiles and gestures to the seat on the opposite side of the table. Formal manners of court and Quenya. Not good. Glorfindel's warrior instincts are rising up.

"Galadriel, Celeborn, my greetings. As Glorfindel's cousin and family, please, pardon for a lack of hospitality but I'm afraid it must be done. Do take a seat as well beside your kin."

"What are you up to now, Maglor." Celeborn remarks flatly, trying to keep some basic civility with the Son of Feanor. plainly ignoring the use of Quenya entirely, and carefully leading his wife to her seat with Elrond guiding his in-laws.

Maglor does not grace with a reply but with a small smile, as he takes a seat at the head chair, hands clasps together before him. A warm air of quiet descends upon the noble born elves in the peaceful valley as time slows with only the sound of the waterfalls and music by the minstrels. A picture of serenity.

---

"So...what is the fuss for? Why is everyone crowding around the balconies and trees?" Kili asks as he observes the happenings around him, casually munching on an apple slice, and feeding Tauriel a slice as well.Being ever the doting husband.

The dwarven prince and his wife are perching precariously on a balcony railing with Thorin and Bilbo lounging nearby. The King Under The Mountain and his Consort both unbothered by the commotion.

They were simply enjoying the quiet afternoon with Bilbo's tea. Before dozens of curious denizens of the elven haven wandered into the public pavilion. From the maids to the council members, curious and eager about something.Their excitement and low murmurings like the rustling of the leaves.

And that something is happening right now.

---

Glorfindel's instincts are on high alert. But finally, impatience to reunite with his mate had won out. The Golden Lord chooses to strike on offensive.

"So, why have you called me here, Makalaure?" The Golden Lord of Gondolin begins. There was none of his usual humour.

"Long has it been since I must bear that name and even the responsibilities of a Lord. Though I care not but only for my family. My father and brothers no longer on these shores. Yet my sons and nephews were. I am ashamed to be a terrible Uncle and Father, unable to care for them until its too late." Maglor's voice wavers as he tries not to delve too deep into memories.

A careful strike has Glorfindel tensing up on defensive as he catches on to Maglor's words, but he remains silent. This is a problem.

"You were hurt and in sorrow, and you didn't know." Elrond reasons quietly, as he pats Maglor's shaking hands gently, as father and son share comfort in each other's presence for a moment.

"Alas, in this moment that I am able, I must do what is right, in place of my brother, or I shall not be able to face my younger brother and my family in the Void..."

Slowly, the old Lord turns back to Glorfindel, eyes alight. The last son of Feanor then demands-

"So tell me, Laurefindil. Did you think you can skip on tradition and wed my only nephew left without the proper procedure and rites worthy of the great-grandson of Finwe, grandson of Feanor? The son of Caranthir the Dark?"

The music goes silent, the air stills.

Celeborn and Galadriel sits higher at the revelation, with the Lord turning to his Lady in surprise and wonder. Only to receive a graceful shake of her head in silent reply by the great Lady of Lothlorien. So the two turn instead to the great Lord of the House of the Golden Flower, who is resisting the urge to show any reaction.

Well, shit.

---

Time froze before chaos breaks out in the Last Homely House. There were a range of emotions with gasps and confusion by the residents of Imladris, especially from the old Feanorians in the household.

A living descendant of Feanor? Son of Caranthir? Erestor? The youngest General under Maedhros and Maglor's command? Their Chief Councillor, the Tempest of Imladris? There were so many questions, one of the old followers had even begun to cry.

Kili looks around in confusion.

"Soooo context? Anyone?"

"Oh..oh dear." Tauriel murmurs quietly," I think I get it now and this isn't good." The elleth turns to her in-laws, "Also, Lord Maglor's circlet...did you both know about this?"

The elves all turn to the old King, who simply took his time to answer." As a friend and fellow uncle, it was the least I could do," and the dwarf takes a sip of his ale and left it as that.

"Why? I mean, is there like a problem here with Erestor being related to Maglor...or I dunno, something?" Kili continues, trying his best to wrap his head around this peculiar situation.

"Yes, and Lord Maglor is calling Lord Glorfindel and Lord Erestor's marriage into question as Erestor's elder. I believe he is displeased with the lack of a marriage contract in accordance to the Marriage Code."

He stares at Tauriel," We...Is this an elf thing? We didn't have that when we married?"

"I'm Silvan, dear. This only apply to the high born elves."

Kili blinks, and instead turns to Bilbo. Thorin sighs at his nephew pointedly and tiredly," Balin's going to flip if he hears this." His Hobbit chuckles at the younger dwarf's blank look before taking a moment to enlighten the younger dwarf.

"Its basically a procedure by both parties and their families.Before marriage and the binding of fea, nobles may undergo trials to prove the worthiness of their match. A terribly lengthy process."

"They are also assessed by their assets and wealth and status of 3 generations minimum. Before they dive deeper into binding agreements regarding their descendants, heirs, inheritance and the like. Down to even the minute details of scenarios like, what should happen if they fade or sail. Or if they reach Valinor should there be other lovers? Or any possible family feuds to address. Possibly even in unspeakable situations such as Separation, which what Men called a divorce. Something that dwarrow do not have as you all only have Ones. " Bilbo takes a quick puff of his pipe, "its a serious thing to the high born elves like those originally from the Valinor, and especially so to the line of Finwe."

There soon was some commotion down in the meeting hall where Maglor and Glorfindel's discussion were getting louder. The Son of Feanor has even gotten up from his chair to articulate something with a wide flair which the Golden Lord is trying to rebuke with obvious gestures. "Oh...It looks like the other party who is involved is here." Bilbo muses with an amused smile as he spots dark figure gliding by the corridors.

---

"-We have bonded with your's and Elrond's blessing have we not!?" Glorfindel tries to reason, the discussion now jumping back to Westron as he gets frustrated with the roundabout argument looping endlessly.

"That was without the knowledge that he is my blood kin! And how dare you keep this from us? Do you disrespect his roots?!" Maglor leans onto the table with both hands, unwilling to back down.

"We are almost in the Fourth Age, what use do we have any more of old redundant laws anyway?" Glorfindel shoots back, thinking back of all the tedious practices and rules from the Years of the Trees to his time in Gondolin, the stifling rules of nobility and how ridiculous it has gotten when he returned up till now.

"A Code that was implemented to protect the welfare of all involved! Remember the mess that involved my Grandfather and his wives! Even Elrond went through with the Code!"

Elrond hums in a detached sort of way as his eyes glazes over, not meeting his in-laws' eyes. He quickly pushes down the memories of the long and tedious marriage discussions and procedures before his marriage to Celebrian.

"Then I shall remind you of Thingol and Luthien and then look what that had nearly wrought as well!" Glorfindel snaps, his patience long gone.The Lord of the Golden Flower glowers back in fury, the balrog slayer’s eyes ablaze.

"Long has been our wish to be wed simply like any other eldar who are free from the bonds of duty and oaths that haunt us! We have beheld no other for several yeni till we felt we are free to live as we desire! Codes and Laws and Oaths all be damned!"

"My heart is Erestor's, as his is mine till the Remaking-Nay! Even after that! The only ones that matter in this relationship are myself and my mate! No other! May they be eldar or edain, maia or even the Valar themselves! I will not allow even you, Makalaure, to take away our joy simply for the sake of some out dated tradition! Our hearts are ours alone, is that not how it should be?!"

"OH! Then even if my nephew has your child? What then?!" the Son of Feanor waves with a flourish of his arm towards the entrance way. Glorfindel's mind grinds to a sudden halt as he then turns to Erestor who had arrived. Like a trickling dam, the warrior felt the connection to his mate burst forth and return with the lowering of Erestor's mental walls. A rush of warmth and fullness fill his fea before he felt his breath leave him in a rush. The yearning and love flowing down steadily while Glorfindel could only stare at his handsome mate striding in. The Chief Councillor ignoring the twin guards by the hall's entrance with a wave of his dark, loose robes in a flurry. His storm cloud, wild and fierce even with a tiny blond elfling in his arms, watching him with wide dark eyes...

Oh. Hold up.

"...What?"

---

A/N:Yeah I'll go yeet myself out now

#erestor #glorfindel #glorestor #tauriel #kili #bagginshield #bilbo baggins #thorin oakenshield #maglor #elrond #ficlet #dont hurt me im soft #fire & stone au #lotr #silmarillion #the hobbit

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lost-hope-but-funny · 24 days ago

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on Ao3.

the older elves have different eyes. by far, there are no differences in colours or shapes of them. but the eternal light is still present, shining up until the very end of times, or, until the very death.

and what if the eyes are covered up in death, just like dwarven hair? covered up with the best silks, or linens, with beaded or threaded cloths, because the eyes are too private to look upon without permission.

---- ---- ---- ----

when amrod is burned alive, there is no funeral. only ashes upon the salted water, only ashes in the depth. only cries that froze in the air, in the souls of his brothers. in their eyes.

maedhros's captured, the bargain is held, malgor with a silver crown upon his head doesn't weep. he doesn't weep when refusing the bargain. (they will slaughter his brother in the same second as getting the desired). he doesn't weep when his younger brothers look at him and then away. he doesn't weep when fingon looks at him with desperation and forbidden anger in his old eyes and storms away.

when maedhros is brought back, there is no second hand with him, fingon is soaked with his lover's blood and maitimo's closed eyes are awaited to be covered with beaded cloths (he had always taken up a liking in those). they say he won't survive the night.

celegorm, caranthir and curufin die.

amras, maglor and maedhros survive on. amras weeps. maedhros is silent while maglor holds their brothers' heads to his own, quiet when their eyes are covered with dark cloths, the lack of adornment is ever lasting. maedhros' eyes are dimmer, but the light of the Trees is ever-present, up until his heart beats.

amras is slain. maedhros doesn't weep. his eyes get dimmer. maglor does. maglor does weep while covering his youngest brother's eyes with the cleanest red cloth they found (the red haunts, the blood never to be washed away).

(out of the dwarven traditions held, maedhros took up the beads on hair. he never understood the hair-cutting anyway. why would it be cut in grief?)

thangorodrim happened, his hair was cut to prevent further injuries, his brothers and love begged he would survive but feared the consequences the most. (he did too).

amras is slain and maglor's eyes dim and they take up twins to their care, scared out of their life twins, and maedhros cuts up his hair to the mangled ears, with one hand, and the hair falls with fire, bitten and tired, the whites too, present. he doesn't weep.

they send the children away to gil-galad's care, praying to the forbidden gods that at least those would have a calm end, and maedhros throws himself into the fire, feeling the gentle, fleeting, touch of his father before the welcomed pain, being so used to it. it doesn't hurt anymore.

maglor doesn't feel much when the last of his brothers' disappears in the mouth of the volcano. his eyes dim but blink themselves to life once more because his heart still beats.

unlike the ones of the rest.

(he cuts his hair, his long, darkness-soaked, with wide strikes of white coming right from the roots, hair, up to the ears, to the still whole ears and leaves those on the edge of the fire pit, but doesn't weep. that ability long left him.)

his black, black eyes shine themselves back to living, though dim every other day and not for the rest of time his heart beats. he scrambles to find a linen cloth in the ruins of his belongings and lets it fly into the mouth of the chasm, because no other brother of his will be lost to the fire and not buried with enough gentleness.

(he covers his hair with a dark-blue cloth (just like the night itself), hiding it from the gaze of the others, covers his eyes with the same cloth, wrapping it around tightly. hiding. no other elf will see his soul anymore, the world has seen enough of it. enough.)

he grabs the wooden harp, leaves himself barefoot on purpose and starts walking, not stopping. the sea eats away his feet and drowns them in the cold sand.

(did amrod drown or burn? just how pained was he? or did he not feel a thing?)

he walks on, the sun rays get him drunk with nothing, on nothing, but his head is still not his own, and the harp strings whisper among themselves and, not the first unfinished, song plays on.

he walks still.

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tar-maitime · 9 months ago

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if you stay by my side

Rating: T Characters: Maedhros | Maitimo, Fingon | Findekano Relationships: Maedhros/Fingon, fem!Maedhros/Fingon Additional: War of Wrath, reunions, major character injury, angst, indefinite but hopeful ending WC: 1k

Direct follow up to the last part of "talking to the air"

Fingon has been fighting to get back to Russandol for years, decades now - in some ways since the moment he died, and actively since word came through the tapestries that a fresh army was being sent to Beleriand. The news of two new kinslayings, though they horrified him, did not stop him. The incredulity of his family, dead and living, once he made his course known to them, did not stop him. Nor did Námo’s remonstrations, nor his uncle Arafinwë’s attempts to keep him from the host, nor the slews of orcs and worse monsters that he’s been battling his way through since he landed.

None of it will stop him getting back to her.

And now - now - he happens to glance over at the second force that’s pinned the current batch of orcs in place for his people to finish off, and he sees crimson banners and cloaks and hair like flame, and he nearly freezes. Gray eyes lock with his across the battlefield in disbelieving recognition. He can almost feel the embers of a familiar fire in the back of his mind where the remains of their bond lie, shattered upon his death.

Then an orc chieftain comes up behind Russandol while she’s distracted by him, and plunges a black spear into a gap at the side of her armor.

(It’s at a place that is difficult to manage with one hand, an obvious weakness. She used to have him or Maglor or a trusted aide help her with it. How long has she been letting this slide, why has she been letting this slide...)

(He doesn’t have time to think about any of this in the moment, but later - later, he will.)

He doesn’t even think before cutting his way to her, fighting so fiercely that he’s there before her knees even start to buckle. His sword rams through the throat of the orc who dared touch her, and then Fingon isn’t paying attention to the battle anymore, because Russandol is staggering and falling and he moves to catch her and follows her to the ground, cradling her in his arms.

(Their respective troops have little to no idea what is going on, but they do their work well anyway, fighting past them and driving the orcs back, leaving the two of them relatively safe.)

Russandol’s breathing is shallow and shaky, but she still gazes up at him like he’s the greatest wonder of the world. “Finno,” she murmurs. “It’s you. You’re really here.”

“It’s me,” Fingon chokes out, his hands shaking as he fumbles with his free hand at his cloak. It’s filthy, and the spear probably did damage that staunching the blood flow won’t help, but he presses the fabric against Russandol’s side anyway. “I’m here, Russë, it’s okay, it’s going to be okay. You’ll be all right.”

“How...”

“Ssh, save your strength, all right? I’ll tell you all about it once the healers have fixed you up. We’ll have time.” He can’t lose her. Not now. Not when he’s just found her again.

Russandol laughs weakly. “Again with the...trying to bribe me to...see a healer.”

“Well, this time you will,” Fingon says firmly, then twists to look back towards the support lines and yell, “Medic! We need a medic!” Someone will hear. Someone has to. “The healers will get you taken care of and you’ll be fine. And we’ll be together again.”

“Now I know...you’re making things up,” Russandol says softly. “You wouldn’t want me. Not anymore. Not after...”

“I do,” Fingon says, absolute as granite. “Always. There is nothing you could do that would make me stop loving you.” That had taken some working through in the Halls, but all of his agonizing seems very far away now. “I love you and I want you and I will get you help - medic! - and when you’re better and this is over we’ll--” He searches frantically for something to keep her eyes open and on him. “We’ll finally have a home together. Like we used to talk about. Just stay with me, Russë.”

Her eyes flutter. She reaches her hand up shakily to cup his face. “Tell me more, Finno,” she whispers. “Can we have Gil visit us there? He’s king now...wouldn’ be able to stay all the time.”

“Of course he’ll visit,” Fingon promises. He’s seen their son since arriving on these shores, gotten to talk with him some. Gil-galad is deeply conflicted about his mother’s kinslayings, but they can reconcile. It just needs time. “He’ll visit all the time. And so will Maglor, he’ll drive us mad...”

“And the twins,” Russandol says, and for a moment Fingon thinks she means Ambarussa, now dead, but no - “Elrond. Elros. Adopted them without you - ‘m sorry.”

“They’ll be there, too. I already know I’ll love them, Russë. You’ll have to introduce us - they’re my niece’s grandsons, too, aren’t they?”

Russandol nods weakly. “You’ll take good care of them.”

“We both will,” Fingon says desperately, holding her just a bit tighter. “Russë, please, stay with me, hang on--” He thinks he can hear running footsteps in the distance, prays to anyone listening that they’re healers. “Please, I came for you, I was looking for you for so long, through this whole stinking war; you can’t go now when I’ve just found you.”

“Finno.” There are tears spilling out of the corners of Russandol’s eyes, but she tries to smile. “Finnonya. It’s okay. You’re here with me. I got to see you one more time. It’s enough.”

“It is not,” Fingon says, forcing back a sob and turning it into stubborn fury instead. “You don’t get to leave me alone, Russë, it’s not fair, I don’t care if you want to get me back for the Nirnaeth or whatever this is, pick something else.”

It’s telling, he thinks with a sinking feeling, that she doesn’t argue about the Nirnaeth. She just settles herself in his arms like she would settle into a bed at the end of a long day. “Love you,” she murmurs. “You don’t have to wait for me. If you don’t want. Or if I go to the Void. Can find an Indis. You should be happy.”

“I should,” Fingon agrees sharply, “and I need you, so stay with me, Russë, so help me, if you die I will come and drag you back from Mandos or wherever else they throw you. Don’t make me do it, Russë, meldanya, please, just hang on.”

Her hand against his cheek goes limp, and Fingon has time for a single second of bright, pure panic before a trio of healers with Fëanorian red armbands descends on them and pulls Russandol out of his arms, working over her and bundling her onto a stretcher to carry away. It all happens so fast that for long moments he simply kneels there, staring after them as they run with the stretcher. He doesn’t know what happens now. He doesn’t know what to do.

They didn’t cover her face. They were still trying to help her; when they took her away, they were hurrying. There’s still hope.

Fingon picks himself up and takes off running after them. Whatever comes next, he needs to be there for her.

#silmarillion #russingon #maedhros x fingon #maedhros #fingon #reunions #war of wrath #i promised a follow-up to that cliffhanger and i delivered #although the new cliffhanger might arguably be worse...#roots of my tree #my stories #female Maedhros

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doodle-pops · 1 year ago

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Maedhros Having A Twin Sister

A/N: I remembered the anon who sent the request for Caranthir's twin sister had given me the option of him, Maedhros and Fingon, and I've been obsessed with the idea of Mae having a twin sister. I might follow up with Fingon soon.

𑁍 So let’s say that you were the older born 20 minutes before him, you and Maedhros are going to be considered the apple of everyone and the family’s eye. The first child, the first girl, the first of everything within the House of Feanor, you are going to be cherished.

𑁍 Both you and Maedhros would receive equal parts of love, affection and attention. There isn’t any need for either of you to fight over who gets to spend more time with amillё and atar. Both Nerdanel and Feanor would be over the moon that their first babies were twins and equally beautiful.

𑁍 As Maedhros twin, growing up as the first two of the third generation of the House of Finwe, you are both alone for the greater half of your childhood before the rest of your siblings and cousins arrive. This means that you and Mae have many years to bond wonderfully.

𑁍 From playmates as children, you two would grow into adolescence and then adulthood having taken care of each other and constantly hovering. His attachment to you was always ‘she’s my sister, we’re supposed to be together always.’

𑁍 Maedhros was always attached to you, following you around wherever you went. If you wanted to play dress-up and dollhouse, he was down for that. If you wanted to host a tea party, he was also down for that. It didn’t matter (since it was just you two) where he was, so long as you were there.

𑁍 It was quite some funny years after your younger brothers were born, they were always fighting for your attention and Maedhros hated it, especially when Maglor and Caranthir used to cry and beg for you. It caused him to act stingy and keep you to himself.

𑁍 He can always count on you to be honest, brutal as well, and truthful with him. The both of you would adapt the roles of acting as parents to the rest of your siblings and cousins. This was a great relief for him because he would joke about what if it was just him alone as the eldest.

𑁍 Despite you being the eldest, for him as the eldest brother, he took the role of being head. You witnessed this during his years in Beleriand, he refused to give you that position, not wanting to give that volume of stress to you.

𑁍 You are close with him, Maglor, Caranthir and Ambarussar since the quiet personalities you all share are compatible. He was attached to you from a young all the way into adulthood. It’s something he uncontrollably does—just whips his head around to search for you and then stands nearby.

𑁍 He isn’t one to hover, but as the years pass and he realised that you were the only other girl in the family, he becomes protective. Giving your suitors the fatherly glare from over your shoulder or talking behind your back, and then acting dumb as if he had nothing to do with your suitor never returning.

𑁍 Arguments between you both are…complex. You’re opposites in terms of personality, but share lots of similarities with Nerdanel and her temperament, so disputes are never long but grudges were. Partially reasoned and sorted out, this was during Valinor.

𑁍 For his years in Beleriand, he was grateful for your company during his lonely and emotionally detached days in Himring. When Fingon or Maglor wasn’t there to sing away his nightmares, you would swoop in the care of him.

𑁍 Tending to his injuries, dressing and feeding him on his bad days, going to his meetings and assisting him with his documents/reports. He was grateful but also ashamed for dragging you into this. Despite acting as the eldest over everyone, he would always feel like your baby brother before you.

𑁍 This is the time when he would lean into your embrace and allow you to brush his hair and sing or baby him. He hates it since he doesn’t like the incapacitated feeling, but it makes him remember his youthful days with you; carefree and running around chasing each other.

𑁍 In return, he would spoil you with the finest riches the land had to offer because he enjoys gift-giving. Maedhros would take up training you in self-defence while being protective and not fancying the idea of you roaming about Beleriand.

𑁍 As the big sister, you were responsible for helping him with suitors. Dressing him up and making him appear desirable to the public. You would give him lots of advice on how to charm people and you were the final say on if you approved of his choice.

𑁍 His favourite days are spent going on walks or rides through the forest and getting everything off his chest. Witnessing him cry and breaking down was a familiar sight that broke your heart. You felt horrible that you could save your twin.

𑁍 Furthermore, you used to feel his pain, when be was going through the rough, but never told him to avoid him wallowing in guilt and shame. You took your job of being his big sister seriously, always easing his stress load and watching over him.

𑁍 You are his confidant and best friend, and he trusts you just as much as he trusts Maglor. You know all his secrets and his bond with you is unlike any other.

Masterlist

Taglist: @eunoiaastralwings @noldorinpainter @ranhanabi777 @spidergirla5 @lilmelily @someoneinthestars @mysticmoomin @aconstructofamind @the-phantom-of-arda @rain-on-my-umbrella @singleteapot @wandererindreams @asianbutnotjapanese @justellie17 @justjane @silverose365 @bunson-burner @hoshinokurasa

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caliawen · 2 years ago

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Yearn and Ache

Pairing = Maglor x reader

Genre = Teen and up audiences

General ratings = angst, fluff, happy ending

Content warnings = some of this story takes place after the Oath, so Maglor is not well mentally. I don’t know if I can call it depression, but it comes close to it. There is also a very brief and implied (not explicit) mention of suicidal thoughts, so if you’re not comfortable reading that, please don’t. Your mental health is important <3

Reader’s gender = gn!reader (you/your are the only pronouns used for reader)

Word count = 4,3k

Notes = yayyy! Another fic done!! I’m actually really proud of this one! Here are the words you need to know before you start reading = melmë means ‘love’, aurë means ‘sunshine’ (in this context) and ataressë means ‘father name’

Maglor was lost. He had been for centuries now, or so he thought. He had no idea what year it was. He had no idea how many times he saw Arien go up in the sky and then leave her place for Tilion to take. His feet were calloused from years of walking on sand and his vocal cords were so damaged from his incessant singing, they ached all the time. His mind hurt all the time. Thoughts about the past hunted him every day and every night.

The ones that hurt the most were about you. Oh, how you had looked so hurt and so disappointed when he told you he had taken the oath. How horrified you had looked when you saw what he had done at Alqualondë. Tears in your eyes and hatred in your mouth, your words had hurt him more than being burned by the Silmaril.

He missed you. He missed you so much. He’d do just about anything to get to see you one last time. Even if you screamed at him that you loathed him. Even if you stabbed him repeatedly. Even if you did not acknowledge his existence. He didn’t care anymore, he only wanted to see you again. He wanted to apologize to you, beg you to forgive him for his sins and worship the ground you walked upon again.

Maglor let those thoughts fly away, for they hurt him more than words could describe. You were not the only one he missed. He missed his father. Oh, how he longed to see him again, sane and happy. He had loathed his father for dying and leaving him and his brothers alone, bound to an oath that would cause their demise. But hatred can only last so long before hurt takes its place. He wanted to be held like a child again and to listen to his father sing him lullabies to make him sleep.

Maglor sighed and let his tears fall. He deserved this. He deserved to suffer for all the pain he had caused. And yet, he found that he could not bear to think about what he had done and who he had lost.

Maedhros had been a shock to his core. He had not been healed yet from his father’s loss, and then he had lost his anchor. His big brother, Maitimo. The one who was always at his recitals with a smile on his face. The one who was just, and brave, and so, so full of life and love. The one who was the most worthy to be forgiven. Maedhros came back, of course, but not completely. Maglor would always, always be thankful to Fingon for bringing back his brother. Yet, Maedhros had lost a part of himself to the hands of Morgoth. It felt, most of the time, like a part of his fëa had been subdued, if not torn apart.

Caranthir had not been lost to them in one day. It took years, gradually, to lose him to anger and hatred. He had always been more solitary, so when he pulled away from them, they didn’t see anything wrong. Until it was too late. Caranthir was lost, lost, lost. Lost in his anger to the world. Lost in his hatred for Morgoth. Lost in his pain. Oh, how his pain was great. It was incomprehensible how Caranthir refused to get help, especially from his brothers. Maglor blamed himself. It was his duty to take care of his brothers, for even if it had always been Maedhros who took care of them, he was too weakened at the time.

Celegorm became wilder and lashed out more. He was lost in the past as much as any of them, except he didn’t come out of his memories and back to the present. He sounded so much like their father at the end… So much pain in his eyes and voice as he begged father to make it all better.. Maglor had not had the heart to tell him that Father was dead and that he was talking to him. Celegorm died, thinking his father held him in his arms, saying soothing words. Maglor had cried that day. He cried so much, Maedhros hugged him that night. They didn’t sleep.

Curufin’s fall into insanity had been the fastest and the one that hurt everyone. As soon as the day after he learned of Father’s death, he fell. Denial, denial, denial. That was what Curufin’s mind had been made of. Father wasn’t dead, he was waiting for them to save him. When asked where Father was, Curufin would lose himself in his mind and not come back for a long time. Celebrimbor was the one who kept Curufin anchored at least a little to the present. When he left, Curufin shattered. He was only the ghost of himself. One night, Curufin admitted to Maglor that he thought Celebrimbor hated him and that everything was his fault.

Maglor’s heart clenched as he thought back to the day he found Curufin’s dead body. He remembered thinking that his little brother, the one so sentimental he lashed out any time he was hurt, had died thinking his son loathed him.

The twins had died too young and Maglor did his damnest not to think about their respective death. So much innocence torn from them.. so much love engulfed by hate.. so much scars on their minds. They would never be the same. At least, Maglor thought that in death they would not be separated. At least he hoped. Surely Námo would not be so cruel? But Maglor knew the answer to that question and it wasn’t the one he liked.

Maglor sighed again and tried his best to stop thinking. Then his thoughts came back with a vengeance. He stood frozen, looking at an hallucination, for this couldn’t be real.

There, standing on the beach, was Elrond. Or at least, the hallucination looked like what Elrond would probably seem like as an adult. Elrond-hallucination started walking rapidly towards Maglor. He hugged him. Maglor didn’t bother hugging back, for when the hallucination went away, it would only hurt him more. He closed his eyes and tried not to think.

~~~

It had been a year since Elrond had found him. Maglor now understood that this was real. And if it was a dream and he was still on the beach, he didn’t want to wake up.

Maglor had met Elladan and Elrohir. They looked so much like Elrond and Elros, it made Maglor’s heart ache. They were very kind boys and spent much of their time with him.

Maglor had also seen Erestor again. At first, he couldn’t believe his eyes. One of his most devoted followers, standing here, in front of him. Then Erestor had hugged him while simultaneously insulting him and Maglor realized that Erestor was real. He couldn’t understand why Erestor seemed happy to see him. He had basically ruined his life. Why was he hugging him? Why was he not screaming at him to get out of his face?

Maglor later realized, after Erestor had insisted on talking to him everyday, that maybe, maybe, Erestor didn’t blame him.

When Maglor met Glorfindel again, they were both shocked. It had been a glacial meeting. Maglor didn’t blame Glorfindel for his reluctance to have a kinslayer in Imladris. It took Maglor by surprise when Glorfindel started hanging out with him. Maglor wasn’t very good company. He was in the healing ward all day, every day. He had lost way too much weight during his self-imposed exile and Elrond was relieved to see Maglor alive. It was almost impossible. Maglor almost wished he had died. Then again, Maglor couldn’t leave Elrond, even if he would be better off without him, because Elrond seemed happy to have Maglor around and making Elrond happy was the least Maglor could do.

Maglor and Glorfindel found themselves bonding about their shared pain of losing loved ones and of losing their innocence to the First Age.

~~~

When Elrond proposed to Maglor to go back to the undying lands, Maglor almost laughed in his face. He was healing slowly and sometimes found himself smiling slightly. However, it was impossible that the Valar would let Maglor go back to Valinor.

Maglor lost all his amusement of Elrond proposing such a thing, for he thought about you. He would never see you again. He would never see your smile, your eyes, your beautiful hair. He would never hear your excited voice telling him about your passion. He would never hear your laugh again. Never, never, never. You were lost to him and it was his fault. His fault. His fault. HIS FAULT.

He came back to the present when Elrond called his name worriedly. Maglor told him that it would be impossible for him to go back to Valinor. Elrond insisted that he wanted to try. Maglor relented. He was too tired to argue. Tired of his thoughts. Tired of waiting for something that would never happen. Tired of waiting to see the day he would see his brothers, father and you again. Yet, he wanted to think about the good moments with you.

When he went to sleep that night, he prayed for once in the longest time. He prayed to Eru to let him be selfish. He prayed that he could dream about you. About the happy moments. He prayed that he would wake up not feeling guilty about tarnishing you with his mind. He slept like a baby, but couldn’t remember what he had dreamt about when he woke up, only that it was a very pleasant dream.

~~~

One day, when Maglor felt good enough to walk, he went to the gardens. There, he met a very strange guest. He was so very little, Maglor first thought he was the child of some Dwarves. Then, as he looked closer, he saw that the strange being was old. He had white hair and wrinkles, and therefore could not be a child.

Approaching this little guest was probably one of the best decisions Maglor ever made. That day, Maglor made a friend.

Bilbo was a delight to have around. He was witty, funny and extremely kind. Maglor felt like he didn’t deserve his friendship and told Bilbo as much. The latter spent a good thirty minutes lecturing Maglor about making decisions for others and assuming they thought something without asking them. Maglor became very fond of Bilbo extremely fast.

~~~

As the day of the departure towards Valinor approached, Maglor thought much more about you. About your lips on his, about you letting him braid your hair, about fooling around together. He missed you. He yearned to see you again.

~~~

When Maglor met Gandalf, there was something extremely familiar about the wizard. Gandalf seemed amused and only kept talking to him. When Maglor realized that Gandalf was Olorín, he was shocked. What was he doing here, in Arda Marred? Maglor went to bed that night with less answers than questions. It seemed to amuse Olorín to be purposefully cryptic and mysterious. It annoyed and delighted Maglor. It had been a while since he had to think so critically to find out something. It reminded him of you.

Or, well, the riddles and play on words you’d tell each other as a game. He remembered that if you found out the good answer and what the play on the words was, he’d give you something. More often than not it was a kiss. You both laughed too much sometimes to even kiss properly. He missed you.

~~~

When the day to leave was finally here, he met Frodo, which was a very pleasant experience. Seeing Galadriel again and her husband (from Doriath, by Eru..) was not so pleasant. He spent a good hour listening to the both of them screaming at him and arguing with Elrond that ‘He cannot come with us to Valinor, he’s a kinslayer!’. When he tried to interrupt the conversation, Galadriel punched him. He didn’t blame her.

Surprisingly, the one to put an end to the debate was Bilbo. He calmly said that Maglor was going, because he was Bilbo’s friend, and Bilbo needed him to be there, for Valinor was surely going to be a very confusing place and Bilbo would need his very supportive (mentally and physically) friend to be there.

Maglor was very amused. Galadriel, not so much, for she would have to leave her husband behind for a few centuries, but be with her kinslayer cousin. Yet, she listened to Bilbo, for she had great respect and fondness for him and Frodo as well, who was of the same opinion.

~~~

Maglor found himself very grateful for Bilbo and Frodo’s friendship. They seemed completely unafraid to defend Maglor against any and all slander to his person. They (especially Bilbo) seemed to give absolutely no care that he was talking fairly rudely to Galadriel.

At first, it angered her that Bilbo would defend such a repulsive being, but in the end, she found it amusing that Maglor would never defend himself, but someone more than half his size would. Maglor was very surprised when she started teasing him, like when they were still young and innocent elflings in Valinor. He didn’t mind the change.

~~~

Maglor was very surprised that the trip to Valinor did not have any difficulties. He had expected to at least be taken by the waves from the boat. No such thing happened.

The more they approached Valinor, the more Maglor’s stomach twisted in on itself. He was nervous. Extremely so. He dreaded the moment he would set foot on land, only to find no one waiting for him, except for Námo. Surely he would be thrown into the Void.

Apparently, Bilbo heard him say something about that particular thought process and was affronted. He assured Maglor that Námo would have to pass over his dead body to do such a thing.

Maglor laughed. It was a bright and clear sound. His throat had healed much since the time he spent on the beach. He realized that while he was not happy, he was on his way there. He wondered if you would be proud of him for going from a shell of himself to whatever he was now. He promptly stopped smiling.

~~~

When Maglor set foot on Valinor, he was surprised to see all of his brothers. He also saw his mother and his father. He cried. He cried and cried and cried. In their arms. He felt safe and he felt at home. He got to introduce Elrond to his family and see them interact with each other.

He saw a woman with beautiful silver hair and recognized her from old portraits in his parents’ house. He met his grandmother that day. It was one of the most joyful moment of his whole life.

He learned that Maedhros and Fingon had gotten married (finally) and that Celebrimbor had come out of the halls to heal more in the gardens of Lórien. He and Curufin had started working together on a project again.

Caranthir was at peace and seemed much more relaxed than even before they left Valinor, which brought tears to Maglor’s eyes. Amrod and Amras acted like children, running around and screaming in joy, but no one said anything, for they deserved to enjoy small things after everything that had happened.

To see his family so happy warmed Maglor. It was also heartwarming to see them so happy to have him back.

~~~

Maglor felt good. He had met Celebrían and found out that together they had a very good chemistry. In fact, it was almost too easy to tease and embarrass Elrond when they teamed up. Elrond seemed mortified, but it was very amusing for all parties involved when Galadriel joined them. Celeborn (Galadriel’s husband, Maglor had learned) was still extremely unhappy to have Maglor near him. Maglor found that he didn’t mind the glares and suspicious looks thrown his way, for his son was here. On top of that, it seemed that Elladan and Elrohir had appointed themselves as his personal guards while he was close to Celeborn, for they would shield him from their grandfather, much to his amusement.

Erestor and Glorfindel seemed determined to annoy him to death, but he didn’t mind. In fact, he enjoyed their relentless teasing a lot, for it was a fun way to not think about you.. not that he’d ever admit it, of course. Learning that they were married was not a great surprise, but was a magnificent subject he could use to tease them.

Olórin was still as annoying as ever, but it was all in jest and made Maglor’s mood better, for what it was worth.

Maglor had seen Celebrimbor again and most of his cousins. He had been extremely surprised when Finrod had basically thrown himself in his arms. Apparently, he had no one to sing duets with and had been extremely lonely without Maglor around. Maglor was happy, if not astonished, to agree to sing with Finrod sometime.

Maglor met Gil-Galad, who was Fingon’s son and Maedhros’ adopted one. The last time he had seen Erenion, he had been but a babe, practically eating Maedhros’ hair. It was refreshing to see him, for he was all smiles and jokes.

Maglor was embarrassed to admit that he had cried when he had seen Fingon again. Maedhros, while amused, comforted his brother, while Fingon tried to cheer him up. They had eaten together and Maglor had been convinced to admit that he had cried because Fingon remade his brother. He made him happy, but most of all whole. Fingon had started crying too and Maedhros had sighed, exasperated.

~~~

Maglor had not seen you since the day he arrived in Valinor and found himself sad. Even if he knew he deserved it, even if he did not deserve you.

That day, he found himself asking his mother why no one was screaming at him when he walked in the streets of Tirion. Nerdanel explained that while no one had forgotten what happened, they were all forgiven. His father had properly apologized to every victim of the First Kinslaying and he and his brothers had done charity work for a few centuries. His mother also explained that his exile had been long and Elrond had advocated for him shortly after he arrived. His son had explained to Tirion that not even Morgoth had spent so much time alone as a punishment. It hadn’t taken long for people to feel for him and forgive him.

Maglor still didn’t feel worthy of such forgiveness. His father and his brothers had worked for forgiveness and he had only moped around for thousands of years. He went to bed feeling like trash.

~~~

Maglor spent most of his days with his brothers, cousins and son, but sometimes, he went to see Bilbo, Frodo and the wonderful new arrivants; Samwise and Gimli. Samwise was a joyful chap that never failed to bring a smile to Maglor’s face. Gimli was bombarded with questions from Fëanor, Curufin, Celebrimbor and Maedhros, much to Maglor’s amusement and Gimli’s delight. A budding friendship was developing between all of them and it was a beautiful sight to Maglor’s sore eyes.

They were wonderful company and were arguably the most wise in all Valinor. On top of Bilbo, Frodo and Samwise’s company, another amazing plus was their weird but extremely cozy and charming home. It had been constructed in the ground, kind of like a hole, and had a chimney and a round door. Bilbo had expressed the wish to have a Hobbit home in Valinor once and when prompted, had explained to Maglor how it looked like.

To express his gratitude and to thank Bilbo for all that he had done for him, Maglor had asked his father to build a Hobbit home. To say Fëanor had been delighted would be an understatement. With Curufin and Celebrimbor’s help, they designed a comfortable Hobbit home. They built it in record time, for they were all excited to build something new and foreign. Nerdanel had even insisted to give Bilbo and Frodo a gift for making her last missing son come home. She had sculpted a magnificent set of tea cups with mushrooms on them. Bilbo and Frodo had been delighted and thanked them by throwing a small feast for them.

(Celegorm had been laughed at for he had drunk too much and made a fool of himself, but that was a secret that no one would ever discover..if he kept his promise to Caranthir to wash his dirty dishes.)

One day, when he knocked on the round door of their Hobbit house, Maglor was pensive. He was still extremely sad that he had not seen you, but he was coming to accept that you were out of his life. It was probably better for you anyway. Maglor wondered if you had married someone else when he was gone. Did you have any children? Were you happy?

Maglor was startled out of his thoughts by the door opening. He was invited inside by a smiling Bilbo (whose smile was entirely too mischievous to be unsuspicious) and guided to the dining table. Maglor froze in his tracks at the view before him. There you sat, on a small chair inside a Hobbit house, looking even more beautiful than ever. Maglor almost didn’t register Bilbo saying he was going for a walk before leaving abruptly.

Your wonderfully pretty eyes looked at him. Him. He gaped like a total idiot at you. You seemed to take pity on him, for you were the first one to talk.

“Welcome home, Makalaurë.”

Your sweet voice was a delight to his ears. He looked at you, tears brimming in his eyes and sniffling a little. You got up and calmly walked towards him, before stopping.

“I-… (Y/N)..” he said, unintelligently.

“Yes…?” Your tone seemed to be teasing, yet he couldn’t understand why.

“What-…what are you doing here? I thought you hated me..?”

Your eyes visibly saddened and you made a hurt noise.

“No melmë, I could never hate you. I tried at first, and I hated the fact that I couldn’t help but love you, no matter what you had done. My anger rapidly fizzled out and I was left empty and aching, for I was so accustomed to your presence and love that without it, I was lost. I was a shell of myself, for you bring out the best in me, darling. I loved you then and I love you now, with no intention of ever stopping.”

Your words made Maglor’s tears fall down his cheeks and you made a mournful noise at the sight of them. You gently took his cheeks in your hands and wiped his tears away. His defenses were crumbling rapidly. He still thought you would be better off with someone else, even if he selfishly wanted you all for himself.

“I am broken beyond repair, aurë. You should not waste your beautiful self on me.” He said, the last word being accentuated by the disgust in his voice.

You frowned sadly and went to take his damaged hand in yours, kissing it reverently.

“I love you, melmë. I love all of you. The broken parts, the angry and sad ones, the ones that are joyful and playful, the ones full of resentment and hurt, the musical and socially pretty ones. I love you.”

You were the one who kissed him and Maglor found himself grateful for you. Grateful for all that you had done for him. Grateful for your love and patience.

~~~

Your wedding was full of emotions. At one point, Fëanor burst into tears, making Fingolfin shed a tear and in turn, everyone seeing the normally stoic Fingolfin cry, wailed out. It was kind of embarrassing for Maglor, seeing his side of the family weeping while yours looked faintly amused, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. It was seeing his father clinging to Míriel that made you laugh. In turn, Maglor laughed too and it was a wonderful experience to kiss you again while laughing.

~~~

Your son was born in a world full of love and happiness. Maglor had healed mentally and was proud of it, with reason. You named your son Elmaion; Son of a Miracle. Maglor gave him the ataressë Felminfinwë; Passionate Finwë. He was a joy. Especially to his grandparents, for Nerdanel almost immediately wanted to hold him, as did Fëanor. They fought often over whose turn it was to hold your son. Meanwhile, all of Maglor’s cousins (at least the ones who had forgiven him, which excluded Turgon, much to Finrod’s dismay. Finrod wanted to gush about Elmaion but couldn’t do it to Turgon for he was a ‘stick in the mud who couldn’t overcome his misplaced anger’) and brothers argued over who would be the best uncle or aunt (Maedhros and Fingon were currently winning, which was why Finrod wanted Turgon to meet the child, surely he could become one of the favorites if the child saw Turgon’s scowl).

Erestor and Glorfindel were appointed as The Babysitters, for Elmaion seemed to love Glorfindel, specifically his golden mane. Elrond was the healer that would take care of his baby brother if anything happened to him and Míriel was delighted to have another great-grandchild.

Bilbo asked for Maglor to remember him when he left, for he was the one who reunited you both, wasn’t he? The reminder that Bilbo would die one day hurt, but Maglor stayed in the present, for he wanted to enjoy Bilbo’s presence while he was still alive.

Life was full and Maglor had everything he could have ever wanted and more. Yes, the years where he was only yearning and aching were long behind him. He looked forward to the future instead of back in the past.

@theladyvanya

#the silmarillion #fluff #writing #x reader #maglor #maglor x reader #makalaure #makalaure x reader #angst #love #happy ending #this is from Maglor’s pov #jrr tolkien #tolkien #fanfic #the silm fandom

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animatorweirdo · 7 months ago

Text

The Feast of the Stars

A lot has come to happen after a whole week has passed. Luthien invites you to join a feast beneath the stars and Maglor finally decides on his feelings for you.

Warnings: sending letters to each other, healing from your wounds and a crack in the head, pining, Luthien teases you, you decide to accept her invitation, Maedhros has a serious talk with Maglor, mentions of heartbreak, dying of old age, you join a party, you have fun then Saeros kinda ruins it, deciding to be mischievous, longing and missing people.

Chapter 18

-----------------------------------------

It had now been a whole week since you arrived in Doriath. Nelle had taken good care of your head and wounds. You no longer suffered from prolonged headaches, and the bite wounds left by the vampires had become no more than fading scars. It could be because Nelle was a Maia or that the medicines of the Sindar elves were much more effective than the ordinary ones. Nevertheless, you were well enough that Nelle even allowed you to go outside again, albeit with supervision, since you were still sensitive to the sun's heat.

You had exchanged letters with Maglor during the course of the week. The delivery was effective since Doriath wasn’t too far from Himring.

You mostly wrote to him about how things were going, how you met your two friends when you were imprisoned, and that you got help finding the new medicine from Melian herself. You couldn't stop yourself from telling him everything, and he seemed relieved and happy for you. However, he constantly told you to be cautious around the Sindar, since they were known to be quick to jump into things. You figured he was still worried someone might incidentally discover your secret and tell Thingol, and tried to assure him many times that your secret was safe.

His way of expressing his worry made your heart pound warmly, so you sometimes tried to add a joke at the end of your letters in hopes of putting him at ease.

When you would wait for his reply, you would sometimes stare at his previous letters and daydream a little. It was a bit strange, but for some reason, reading his handwriting gave you comfort, unlike Camilla’s, since they were pretty cold. Not that you received any more letters from her. She simply told you in the first letter to take the chance to get any help possible and ensure that Melian would help you find the new medicine.

Nelle and Melui sometimes came to chat with you. Nelle would check on your wounds, and Melui would bring short books for you to read. The two would then sometimes chat among themselves, and you would watch with a smile. You had a feeling Melui had a thing for the stoic Maia, and Nelle also seemed softer toward the elf.

Luthien would also come to chat with you and then invite you for a walk. You would usually agree, and Nelle would then force you to take a flask of water with you. Going outside did good for you, and you had become close friends with Luthien. You had doubts that she had better things to do than entertain you, but she confessed you were a good reason for her to ditch duties and simply have fun in the forest. She was quite adventurous, and you adored that, but for the sake of your safety, you told her to do it occasionally. You did not want her father to think you were being a bad influence on her.

Melian finally summoned you to talk with her after a whole week. You two exchanged greetings before she shared that she had looked into things and wanted to learn the previous methods you used to contain the wendigo. You told her all you knew, and then she sent you away, telling you she would invite you once she created the medicine.

Things started really looking up to you.

You were sitting on your bed, reading a reply from Maglor. It was his reaction to the joke in your previous letter, and he added his own joke, which made you snicker and swing your feet like a love-sick fool.

You failed to notice Luthien as she snuck behind you and peeked at your letter.

“Seems like he has a good sense of humor,” Luthien smiled, making you jump and cover your letter in a fluster.

“Hey! Don’t go peaking over like that! Some privacy please!” you whined, making her chuckle.

“You have been sending letters since day one,” Luthien stated. “Who is he if I may ask? He sounds like someone important to you?” she questioned.

“Just… a close friend. That’s all,” you answered.

“He doesn’t seem like just a friend. You seem quite happy when you receive a reply and the way he wrote the letter seems like he might feel more toward you as well,” she said.

“And what is that supposed to mean?” you rolled your eyes at her while setting the letter in the drawer next to you.

“It seems like you two might be in love. I can see it in the way you keep staring at the letters with that adoring look,” Luthien grinned.

Your face warmed up. “Get off my back! This is a private matter!” you pushed her playfully, making her chuckle.

"Anyway..." Luthien started. "There is a feast tomorrow at midnight, and since Nelle has deemed you well enough to go outside, would you like to join? It's a feast we hold each year when the stars are at their highest," she explained.

“Oh, is it something like a summer celebration?” you asked.

“Exactly, so what’s your answer? It would be quite an opportunity for a human to join a celebration like this one” she asked.

“I can believe that,” you chuckled.

“I would love to join. But unfortunately, I’m not really a party type, and I also don’t have anything nice to wear,” you said.

“I can lend you some clothes, so don’t worry about that,” Luthien smiled. “And it would feel nice for my new friend to join a party held by my kin,” she said.

You wanted to decline, but after she said that, you couldn't bring yourself to do it.

“Okay… if you insist,” you answered despite your reluctance.

“Great. We can look for your clothes tomorrow. Rest well tonight,” Luthien said as she began leaving. “You too,” you smiled as she left the healer’s halls.

When she was gone, you released an exasperated sigh. It would be the first time you appear before the elves since the court fiasco. You're not entirely sure how you would fare, but you didn't really want to disappoint Luthien, even though she would have most likely understood if you said no.

Maglor was in the garden, reading the letter he had received from you in the morning. The flowers in the garden have come into full bloom and given color to the gray pavements and stones.

He read in your letter how the princess of Doriath had invited you to a feast, and that you agreed to it not to appear rude. It seemed you two had become good friends, and it eased his heart, knowing you would have her support if something happened to you. But it did not banish the worry he still felt for you. You have assured him many times that your secret was safe, but he could still remember the day when Thingol learned about the deeds of his house and how his mother tongue got banned from all over Beleriand. He could only imagine what would happen if the elf king learned about your curse.

Maglor’s attention was then drawn when he heard footsteps approaching him. He looked over your letter and saw his red-haired brother walking toward him.

“I have been spending quite a lot of time here,” Maedhros started.

“Well, I have to go somewhere to find peace and quiet. And my study is not exactly a good place to think about other things than the work you keep dropping on me,” Maglor answered, trying to sound humorous.

“Say what you say, maintaining a fortress is not an easy job. You should know that better than anyone,” Maedhros stated, causing Maglor to roll his eyes.

“You have also been sending letters these days,” Maedhros added.

“Well, I have been writing with (Name). I did tell you that she was recovering in Doriath from her injuries after the Sindar found her,” Maglor explained.

“You did tell me, and I am glad she’s recovering,” Maedhros said.

Maedhros then looked serious. “There’s something I need to talk about with you, and it’s about your relationship with (Name),” Maedhros stated, making Maglor look at him with a frown.

“Is there a problem?” Maglor questioned.

“I am not going to push around it. I’ve noticed how much time you started spending with her, and even though your private affairs are not my concern. I think this is important because you are catching feelings for a human,” Maedhros explained.

Maglor frowned. “So, what if I’m falling for a human?” he questioned.

"I’m not trying to ridicule you or talk you down. I only wish that you understand if you decide to pursue her, you will most likely curse yourself with heartbreak. She’s not immortal like us. She will not live for thousands of years. She will eventually grow old, and then there will be a time when she will depart from this world. Her spirit will not go to the Blessed Realm, which means you will never see her again after she’s gone,” Maedhros explained.

“I know the risks, and I know she will not remain in this world forever,” Maglor answered quietly.

“I am glad to hear that,” Maedhros said. “(Name) seems like a good person, and I can see how much you have grown to care for her, which is why I am letting you decide where to go from here. I only hope you are prepared to take the path you choose,” he added.

Maglor thought about it quietly. “And what if I do not pick the choice you would expect me to pick?” he asked.

“Like I said, I am letting you decide. I only wanted to make sure you know the consequences and the pain that may fall upon you,” Maedhros answered.

“I am happy that you found happiness with someone, but I do not wish for you to get severely hurt by the bad sides that follow it,” he said with a gentle look.

“I… Understand completely, and I am willing to bear the consequences of my own decision,” Maglor said.

“That’s good. That’s all I had to say,” Maedhros nodded and began walking away from the garden.

Maglor thought to himself while his brother left.

“And if you do decide to court her…” Maedhros stopped and turned toward him. Maglor looked at him, waiting to hear what he had to say. “I… will support your decision. Our brothers might put opposition if they learned about it, so try to keep quiet about it with them around,” Maedhros finished.

Maglor chuckled.

“Thank you, Maedhros. And I keep our brothers in mind,” he said.

Maedhros nodded. “Don’t forget to sign the documents today. They need to be done before next week,” he said, leaving the garden. Maglor rolled his eyes at his brother and returned his gaze toward your letter.

He thought about you and his feelings. His mind then returned to Camilla’s question and if he considered his feelings for you as love. There was no denying it anymore. He had feelings for you. Even though there were downsides to it, he could not bring himself to push you away.

He finally had his answer, an answer he was ready to accept. He only hoped Camilla would be accepting of it as well.

The corridors were dimly lit. Your and Luthien’s footsteps echoed across the walls as you arrived at the hall where the feast was held. You were wearing a comfortable dress Luthien helped you find, and she also helped you style your hair nicely, even convincing you to add a few lovely stones to decorate it. She was really good at convincing you, or you just didn’t have the heart to tell her no.

You would consider your attire pretty simple, but even you agreed that you looked really nice. You wonder what Camilla and Maglor would think if they saw you right now.

You two arrived at a pair of doors.

“Here we are. Are you ready?” Luthien asked.

“Ready as I will ever be,” you shrugged your shoulders.

Luthien chuckled and pushed the doors open. You were then amazed by what you saw. The hall was decorated with flowers and stones. All the elves were dressed in fine attires and the atmosphere felt surprisingly welcoming. However, despite the welcoming atmosphere, you couldn’t help but feel nervous. You were the only human in the kingdom after all.

“Well, this is it. What do you think?” Luthien asked as you two stood at the entrance.

“It's definitely fancy,” you answered.

Luthien seemed to have noticed your nervousness.

“You will be fine. I’m going to be with you after all,” she said as she grabbed your hand.

“I know, I know… And I’m glad,” you answered, not minding the touch of her hand.

“Now, come on. Let me show you the food. I think you like them the most,” Luthien said as she began to pull you.

“I think you just read my mind,” you said, allowing her to pull you into the crowd.

The feast started well. You two spent time tasting the food and listening to the music and songs. They were lively, and you had to admit that the Sindar knew how to throw a party that kept the crowd on their toes. The Noldor usually threw very formal ones and not many things happened at them.

You once teased Luthien if she wanted to dance with you and she unfortunately got excited by the idea, pulling you along and making you dance with her in front of all the elves. Luckily, they did not seem to mind and some even joined in.

You eventually had fun with it and even agreed to dance with her to a couple of more songs.

After dancing so much, you and Luthien stood on the side, telling funny stories until a servant came to her.

“My princess, your father wished to see you,” the servant said.

Luthien groaned. “I might have to go see him what he has to say. Will you be alright?” she looked at you.

“Yeah, I will be fine. Don’t worry about me,” you replied.

“Great, I hope this won’t take long,” Luthien said, and then left to find her father.

You took in a deep breath. You honestly felt a little panic at being left alone, especially when you didn’t know anyone else at the party. Your eyes then noticed Melui and Nelle on the other side of the hall. Melui waved you over and you were more than happy to walk over to them than be left alone.

“Hey, guys! Looking good,” you greeted them.

“Thank you. You look lovely as well,” Melui smiled.

“Thank you, but I’m kinda glad I picked a dress with long sleeves. It's kinda cold in here. I think this is a perfect temperature for a polar bear,” you said while rubbing your shoulders.

“Well, it is kinda cool in here. But it’s barely anything compared to the north, or the cold breezes of the sea,” Melui said, taking a drink from his goblet.

“Yeah, you’re kinda right about that. Too bad I also live in the north, and I hate the cold for obvious reasons,” you replied, making him chuckle.

“So, how's the party for you?” you looked at Melui.

“You seem to be enjoying but Nelle is still grumpy as ever,” you pointed at the stoic Maia.

“Well, before even my own capture. I did not attend feasts like these. I see it more effective to do important things, which reminds me,” She looked at you. “Your head is not bothering you, isn’t it?” she asked.

“No, I’m doing great. I barely feel anything at all,” you shook your head.

“That’s good. It would be a lot of bother if you suddenly passed out on the floor,” she said.

“If that were to happen then I would be too embarrassed to join any parties in the future,” you stated.

“I don’t think it would be that bad,” Melui smiled.

“It would definitely be a talk for years to come if that occurred,” someone said and to your displeasure, it was the elf from before.

“Lord Saeros. It's a pleasure to see you here,” Melui replied respectfully.

“Likewise, good Melui. I hope your arm has been recovering well,” Saeros nodded.

“It has. Thank you for asking,” Melui smiled.

Saeros then looked at you. In his eyes, you could see him sneering down on you.

“I must say, you are quite bold to show your face here,” he stated.

“Well, I was invited by the princess. I didn’t want to be rude by refusing her,” you said.

“Wise decision. Not many humans are permitted to enter Menegroth, so enjoy this opportunity while you can. You might not enjoy something like this in your limited life,” he said, taking a sip from his wine.

“Oh, I am enjoying…” you said with a fake smile, trying to avoid uttering how your enjoyment was already ruined by his face.

“I see you are well accountant with good Melui and lady Nelle,” he stated.

“Oh, (Name) is actually our old friend,” Melui smiled. “It was thanks to her we were able to escape the orcs and find refuge here,” he added.

“Unfortunately it led to our separations, so I am glad fate allowed her to come to Doriath and have us reunited despite the circumstances of her arrival,” Melui said.

You softly smiled at him.

“Oh, really now. I guess I then owe you an apology for our previous meeting,” Saeros bowed his head but you saw the fakeness in his eyes.

“It’s fine. There’s nothing to worry about,” you said back with an equally fake smile.

“I’m glad. You must have many talents if you were able to help Lady Nelle and Melui escape the orcs and survive attacking vampires,” he said.

“What can I say? I am a talented person,” you remarked, hoping he would already leave you be.

“Thought not talented enough since you seem prone to getting injured all the time. I guess you should work on that,” he commented.

Since when have people been able to survive orcs and vampires unscathed without armor or weapons of any sort? You felt blood rushing through your head the longer you continued conversing with the stuck-up elf.

You then had an idea.

“Well, I have one uncanny talent that helps me avoid harm when needed,” you stated.

“Oh? And what that may be?” Saeros looked at you and now even Nelle and Melui looked at you curious.

“I can mimic voices perfectly,” you answered.

Saeros scoffed. “Really? And how does that help avoid harm?” he asked.

“Quite easily. You can use it to distract or scare away the unwanted creatures,” you said.

“And you can copy the voices like the real things?” he questioned.

“I can,” you smiled.

“Really show me?” he dared you.

“Like… the nightingales,” you said then used your voice to chirp and tweet, sounding perfectly like the birds.

“Like a rabbit…” you started clicking your teeth and sounding like a rabbit eating grass.

Some of the bystanding elves began to look toward you with interest.

Your friends looked impressed, and Saeros looked baffled.

“I can also mimic a person’s voice, especially if I have heard them talk before. Like your friend Daeron,” you said then coughed up your throat.

“Greeting. I hope you have a pleasant stay in our kingdom,” you said with a perfectly mimicked male voice.

Melui clapped excitedly, and even Nelle looked impressed.

“I can also mimic the sound of a warg,” you said with a mischievous smile.

“I think I have heard en—!” you startled him with a loud growl of a warg, making him spill his wine on his tunic. Some of the other elves were startled by the sound, but soon enough continued enjoying the feast.

“Oops! Sorry, I did not mean to startle you,” you hid your grin as he stared at the red stain on his fine tunic with shock.

He looked at you angrily.

“This won’t be over, you vile woman,” he pointed at you then left, walking through the crowds who looked at him and the stain on his clothes.

“Good grief— he should learn how to unclench his ass once in a while,” you said and looked at your friends.

“That was a bit mean, (Name),” Melui looked at you scoldingly, but you knew he was amused by the little prank you pulled.

You sighed, feeling tired.

“I think I’m gonna go hit the bed. You elves might stay up late at night, but humans need to rest after hours of doing things the whole day,” you said as you began to make your way toward the main doors.

“Do you need someone to take you back?” Melui asked.

“I think I will be fine. This place is not too far from the healer’s wing,” you shook your head.

“Alright, rest well,” Melui said.

“Thanks, have fun,” you said as you left the feast and began your journey back to your room.

During your walk through the empty corridors, your mind was slightly bothered. You could not help but miss Camilla and Maglor. Their presence would have made the night ten times better. Maglor then became the main subject of your thoughts.

Your heart swelled for him. He was in your every thought and you could only imagine if he was the one you danced with on the dance floor. But could he truly ever love someone like you?

You brushed your thoughts away and returned to your room.

#tolkien #silmarillion x reader #middle earth x reader #silm fic #middle earth #maglor #silmarillion fanfiction #silmarillion #maglor x reader #maglor x human reader #cursed reader #modern reader #the spring heart's bloom #slow burn

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grey-gazania-fic · 1 year ago

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Speak No Evil

Maedhros teaches Elrond and Elros the language of the orcs. Rated G.

It was a cold night at Amon Ereb. The window panes were traced with ferns of frost, snow blanketed the ground, and all around the keep my people had retreated to the warmth of their beds. Even Galwen had crept from the stables and into the kitchen, though she had no love for stone walls. Apart from the men and women on watch, who I would join at two hours past midnight, only my brother and I remained awake.

We were together in my study, both seated by the fire. Maglor was clad in his warmest clothes with his back to the flames, poring over the essays he had set for Elrond and Elros the previous week. The twins were tucked safely in bed under as many blankets as we could find for them. Being mortal, they chilled easily, and Maglor spent each winter fretting that they would fall ill. He had reason; as much as we tried to avoid the Men who dwelt in the area around our fortress, there were times when we needed to trade with them, and they sometimes carried sickness -- coughs and fevers, sore throats and congested sinuses. We Eldar were unaffected, but the boys were not.

I was at my desk, further from the fire and not so heavily garbed. After the bone-gnawing cold on high Thangorodrim and several yení of Himring’s long, icy winters, I found the weather in the south to be relatively mild, even on nights like this.

The only sounds in the room were the crackling of the fire and the occasional rustle of paper, until Maglor set his essays down on the small table before him. He sat back, beaming, and there was no small amount of pride in his expression.

“Ah, Nelyo,” he said, “my sons are remarkable boys.”

“Indeed,” I said. I had long ago stopped pointing out to him that Elrond and Elros were our hostages, not his children; he loved them as a father should, and the reminders only seemed to cause him pain. “I take it their composition lessons are going well?”

“Elrond is still struggling with the vocative case,” he admitted, “and Elros needs to take more care with his punctuation. But their ideas, Nelyo! Even Atto would not be able to find a flaw in Elrond’s reasoning, and Elros’ arguments are persuasive enough to coax blood from a stone. Such intelligent boys!”

I nodded, for he was right. The twins were blessed with keen minds. “They’re making great gains in botany and swordsmanship,” I said. While Maglor had taken responsibility for the bulk of their education, those two subjects were my domain, and I could not deny that Elrond and Elros were performing splendidly.

There was a third subject I wished to teach them, though I had been holding off on approaching my brother with the idea. I knew that he would think the boys were too young to be burdened with it. But my own opinion was that the earlier these lessons started, the better, and now that the boys were learning to defend themselves, we had no excuse not to give them every advantage we could.

I set down my pen and spoke my thoughts plainly. “I think it’s high time they learned to understand Orkish,” I said.

Maglor blanched, much as I’d expected. “You can’t be serious,” he snapped. “That’s an absurd idea. They’re much too young.”

“I’m deathly serious,” I said, looking him in the eye. “They’re not so young as that, Makalaurë -- not anymore. And you can’t keep them sheltered from Moringotto’s evil forever. That’s the entire reason I began teaching them swordsmanship, is it not? Sooner or later, they’re going to encounter orcs, and understanding Orkish will be an advantage. You can’t deny that it’s been of good use for us.”

Maglor’s lips grew thin, and he didn’t answer. He was stubborn, my brother, just like all of our family, and while he knew I was right, he clearly didn’t want to admit it. My fluency in the orcs’ harsh tongue had saved us and our people from peril on more than one occasion. But Maglor could never forget from whence that fluency came. I’d made no academic study of that ugly language. All my knowledge came from my time in Angband, where learning the speech of my captors had been vital to my survival.

Maglor had chosen to leave me there rather than give in to Morgoth’s demands or make what would certainly have been a fruitless attempt at a rescue. Abandoning me had been the wisest course of action, and I had forgiven him and my five dead brothers for it long ago. But no matter how many times I told him so, Maglor insisted on holding himself responsible for what I had suffered.

And make no mistake: I had suffered. I still suffered, though at least I was no longer bound in that iron hell. But Morgoth haunted my dreams, and I knew that I would never truly be free of his shadow.

“You know I’m right,” I insisted, resting my elbows on my desk and leaning forward. “It will serve the boys well, and I may be the only man in all of Beleriand who can teach them this.”

“Hearing those vile sounds come from your lips makes my skin crawl,” Maglor said, his voice flat. “I hate it.”

“They can’t learn the language if they never hear it spoken.”

“It’s not a language,” he spat. “It’s an abomination, a mockery, just like the orcs themselves!”

“It is a language, whether you wish to admit it or not. And the orcs may be an abomination, but they are still real. They will kill your sons if given the chance,” I argued. “Teaching the boys Orkish will give them another tool that they can use to defend themselves. Do we not owe them that?”

“It will frighten them,” he said. “It frightens me! I hear you use those words, and all I can think of is what could have happened if Findekáno had not saved you. Moringotto could have destroyed you, and I could have found myself facing whatever he left behind on the battlefield one day -- an orc with my brother’s face! All because I was too much of a coward to rescue you myself.”

His face had gone white and pinched, and he was shaking in his seat, his chest heaving. I climbed to my feet and crossed the room to kneel beside his chair. “Little brother,” I said softly, taking his trembling hand in mine, “how many times must I tell you that you made the right decision? How many times must I tell you to forgive yourself?”

“I will never forgive myself,” Maglor said, his voice choked. “Never, Nelyo.”

Reaching up, I pulled him into an embrace, holding him until his breathing had steadied and his body had ceased its shaking. “I am no orc,” I said firmly. “Moringotto did not destroy me. And you had a responsibility to our brothers, and our nephew, and all the rest of our people. You needed to do what was best for them.”

“I know,” he admitted after a moment, his voice muffled against my shoulder. “But I hate what happened to you. I hate that I did nothing to stop it.”

Maglor did not know even half of what Morgoth and his servants had done to me. I had told the full truth, or near to it, only to my brother Caranthir, whom we had lost in Doriath decades ago, and to valiant Fingon, my beloved. But Maglor knew enough. I would not burden him with more.

“I will tell the boys no tales of horror,” I said. “You know that I would not. But I will teach them the language, for the sake of their safety.”

“All right,” he murmured, giving in, as I had known he would. Stubborn he may have been, but of the two of us, I had the stronger will. When we truly disagreed, I nearly always prevailed. “But do it where I cannot hear,” he said. “And I will tell my sons that they should seek to understand the words, but not to speak them unless at the utmost need.”

I nodded. “Agreed,” I said, letting him go and pushing myself to my feet. I returned to my desk, but I could feel my brother’s sad eyes on me until I left to take my place with the night watch.

continue reading on AO3

#elrond #elros #maedhros #maglor #the silmarillion #silmarillion fanfiction #silmfic #tolkien fanfic #tolkien #silm fic #kidnap dads #kidnap family #kidnap fam #languages #orcish #orkish

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allthatglittersisnotgoldrush · 1 year ago

Note

I simply adored your analysis of Maglor. Most of the Feanorian boys would probably feel uncomfortable with being compared to their father, but it’s absolutely true that each of them carry some of Feanor’s traits. Would the authors mind sharing a positive and negative trait that each son inherited from their oh-so complex father? I see quick-temper being a resounding answer 😅

After a longggg delay (sorry!) here are our answers to this fantastic question, anon!! We wanted to all have a stab at it, so without consulting each other’s answers we each filled out our responses separately and compared them afterwards! The result is hopefully enjoyable and/or illuminating; we certainly had fun with it:

Victoryindeath2

Maedhros

Pro: Like his father, Maedhros can be charismatic, charming, clever, and insightful. Unlike his father, people drawn to Maedhros for good reasons love him for the person he is underneath all the charisma, etc.

Con: While Maedhros is clever, he is not very good at communicating his clever plans. While he has more valid reasons for wanting to keep things close to the chest than his dad does, I think that when both of them believe they are right about something, or that there is only one course to follow, it will be next to impossible to change their minds. All of this can have very bad consequences. You know what? Meta-wise, they also both think they are the main character. Only difference is that Mae thinks this is a terrible thing and Feanor thinks it is the best thing.

Maglor

Pro: Maglor like Feanor has ambition and creative talent, but I think the difference between them is that Maglor’s ambitions pretty much centered on being the best musician/songwriter and being Mae’s favorite person in the world, while Feanor just needed to be the best and most right person in everything. Feanor could adjust—“well I can’t win in New York so I will go West and after fighting my way through the unworthy folk holding me back, I will destroy Morgoth and the railroad and who will be the hero then?” Half of Maglor’s ambitions died when they left the East and the other half died when he condemned Maedhros to probable death, and he has never quite recovered fully.

Con: Maglor is extremely self-centered, tends toward feelings of superiority, and can often think his way into making other people the problem—of course, when he can’t, he throws himself into a lake, which is something Feanor would never do. Do I mean realize that he is the problem, or throw himself into a lake in despair? Yes.

Celegorm

Pro: Celegorm doesn’t really care what most people think about him, same as his dad, but Feanor tends to make this a problem for everyone else and Celegorm tends to just go off and do his own thing as far away from people as he can get. Trying to think of other similarities in good traits between them, but you’re going to have to rely on the other authors for that. If they can find such.

Con: They both can definitely bear a grudge, particularly when it relates to someone they love. Feanor never gave Indis and Fingolfin a chance, all for Miriel’s sake, and Celegorm could very much do without Fingon’s existence, and he has never really looked the same at Maglor since the leaving Maedhros in Angband debacle.

Caranthir

Pro: Though their obstinacy is of different intensities and manifestations, both Feanor and Caranthir have a stubborn drive to them, and I personally love it when Caranthir grumpily sets himself against other people for the sake of a loved one, especially Maedhros

Con: CARANTHIR IS AN ANGEL AND WE ARE GLAD HE IS HERE. HE HAS NEVER DONE ANYTHING WRONG AND I LOVE HIM. Jk I know he isn’t perfect but whatever. The aforementioned stubbornness can be a negative trait as well, taken too far or in the wrong direction. Also, Caranthir has a tendency to not look outside of his immediate family, to see the value of non-Feanorians, same as Feanor and honestly a fair few of his brothers. He’s getting slightly better about it though. Slightly.

Curufin

Pro: He has so much talent in the smithy, and he has a brilliant, clever little mind. Imagine if Feanor was a good dad and didn’t get himself killed—imagine Curufin and Feanor working side by side, Curufin super-determined to surpass his father in everything. He would too. Feanor would be so proud and disgruntled

Con: LORD THE SPITE IN THAT BOY. THE SNEAKINESS AND THE JOY IN PUTTING ONE OVER ON ANOTHER PERSON. HIS FATHER’S SON

Amrod

Pro: He has a sense of independence in that he will not just go with the flow when the flow seems wrong, and the courage to make choices for himself that others might disapprove of.

Con: Um, unfortunately, the above traits lead to, well...*cries* HE WAS SO YOUNG HE WAS THE BABIEST BABY, WHY

Amras

I don’t know if it is just because I am hungry and need to eat dinner but for the life of me I am blanking right now. Why does Amras suddenly seem like the least Feanor-like Feanorian? He’s a little bit proud, a little bit stubborn, yes, but otherwise I can’t come up with anything significant positive or negative. Honestly, Amras? Congratulations

Mythopoeia

Maedhros

Negative: a pervasive feeling of Instability/insecurity aka incapable of feeling safe, which in Feanor turned into raging paranoia and in Mae just sort of . . . Crushing despair. A less dire negative trait: they were both fidgeters

Positive: they are both spectacular conversationalists, very perceptive and able to read a room (or a person!) and adapt accordingly if they want to (Feanor: rarely, Mae: always)

Maglor

Negative: inability to handle criticism from anyone they don’t consider a peer (for Feanor: nerdanel, for Maglor: Mae and OCCASIONALLY his teachers)

Positive: Maglor has his dad’s sense of humor without his petty meanness

Celegorm

Negative: it’s us against the world, and the us is scarcely anyone at all

Positive: I’m going to go unexpected w this one: Feanor had excellent dress sense and so does Celegorm. Feanor used this skill in his own wardrobe but also was very particular about picking fabrics and styles for nerdanel to best flatter her and he loved surprising her with things he knew she would like. Celegorm doesn’t really care about his own looks but he does employ the same skilled eye and sense in selecting fabrics, prints, clothing etc for other people; in the story we have already seen he tends to be the one selecting things in town for other people (Mae, Aredhel, Sticks, etc)

Caranthir

Negative: he isn’t very good at trying to see things from other people’s pov

Positive: his love language is making things for people or mending things they value

Curufin

Negative: that frightful ego and need to lash out and hurt others when he is himself hurting

Positive: insatiable intellectual curiosity and creative drive, that need to understand and improve things around him (with varying success)

Amras

Negative: is bad at verbally expressing his emotions

Positive: he would be a hobbyist polymath if he could, aka would explore a lot of different interests

Amrod

Negative: headstrong

Positive: after the three eldest boys, he was the most keen on Irish dance and music—not the making of, but just the enjoyment

TolkienGirl

Maedhros.

Positive: charisma.

Negative: ability to attract attention/obsession.

Maglor.

Positive: single-minded focus.

Negative: selfishness.

Celegorm.

Positive: independent spirit.

Negative: grudge-holding tendencies.

Caranthir.

Positive: bluntness.

Negative: isolation.

Curufin.

Positive: problem-solving, esp. in technical work.

Negative: jealousy.

Amras.

Positive: free-thinking.

Negative: dependence on care-takers/the status quo.

Amrod.

Positive: belief that you alone can change the world.

Negative: believe that you alone can change the world.

#gold rush au #the silmarillion #feanorians #anon #asks

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i-did-not-mean-to · 7 months ago

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April - Maedhros & Maglor

Ah, MoonLord my dear reader has come up with quite an interesting batch of prompts for me!

So, after all the smut, have some gen stuff :D

Pairing: Maedhros & Maglor

Prompts: Sibling relationships, Babysitting, war, musical instruments, heat

Words: 2005

Warnings: Sadness, regret, loss

“Don’t,” Maedhros said automatically as something whizzed past his head. It was only when he saw the charred bone—a bleak, white accusation—roll down the hill that he remembered where they were.

Long gone were the days when the twins would throw clumps of dirt and paper-thin skins filled with water at one another and their older siblings in mischievous glee.

His heart ached as he thought back on those blessed days of carefree annoyance; their mother, dutiful and devoted, would sneak off with his half-uncle’s wives to gossip about their husbands and unruly children, and he’d be left in charge of a whole pack of feral youngsters.

Back then, he'd been the oldest, but he hadn’t been able to fathom yet how terrible it would be to feel old.

“Food shall be ready soon,” Celegorm declared in a voice so hollow, that it was clear to everyone that he didn’t care whether his brothers would devour the spoils of his ruthless hunt like wild animals or shun them like petulant children.

Once upon a time, his steps had been so light that it had been impossible for anyone but Huan to hear him approach, but his dark deeds and bitter regrets had weighed him down so much that his every movement seemed to set his surroundings atremble with cold dread.

Habit drove the old-familiar words onto Maedhros’s tongue, “Come on, children!”, “Food is ready!”, “Wash your hands!”, but he didn’t speak any of them aloud—what for?

They were elflings no more, and the blood on their hands could never be rinsed off.

It felt to Maedhros as if he already sensed that terrible, blazing heat that had taken their father lick at his ankles, and he thanked the Valar for his prodigious height. No matter how voracious the flames of their Doom were, they’d have a far to go yet before consuming him whole.

Surely, it was also that secret fire’s pervasive, poisonous smoke that made his breath come in shallow, ragged bursts and drove tears into his bright, gentle eyes.

There was no place for pity or nostalgia in a war camp, and if he missed Caranthir’s rare fits of raucous laughter or Curufin’s earnest devotion to crafts of beauty rather than of violence, it was a small price to pay in the pursuit of Fëanor’s expectations.

Suddenly, the dutiful, unerring uncrowned king wondered why their father’s wrath and single-minded determination felt shockingly alive when everything else—their hope, their joy, their very vivacity—seemed to have died so long ago.

These things were not for him to consider or to know, though, and he turned his attention back to the gaggle of brothers, all beloved and regretted already, who closed in on the fresh kill like hungry wolves.

He wished Fingon could be there—he’d always been so good at distracting them by making a witty joke or feigning interest in the various interests that kept the infamous sons of a genius enthralled.

No, Maedhros corrected himself harshly, he was being unfair to one whose heart had ever been more generous than he himself could even fathom—thus, Fingon had probably genuinely cared.

He’d cared so much that he’d died for a cause that had never been his own, many times over, and Maedhros welcomed the crippling pain of loss and guilt washing over him like a wave of sharp-toothed darkness—he deserved to be denied even the comfort of mourning the death of his best friend and true love.

Some of his brothers might have wailed and raged, others would have curled up around the throbbing core of their suffering, but he was allowed neither.

The one person who might have understood and had wise words of comfort to impart was Turgon, and Maedhros knew that he’d probably never hear that calm, grave voice again.

That, he also more than deserved.

“Will you not eat something?”

Maglor appeared with a shallow, cracked bowl in his famed hands. He resembled their father’s family much more than their mother’s on the surface, but he had inherited Nerdanel’s gentle, calming smile and the look of indulgent fondness they all missed so desperately.

“I’m not hungry; give my portion to the…”

“Little ones?” Maglor laughed mirthlessly. “Do you know that, for the longest time, I was convinced that you abhorred sweetmeats and treats? You’d always pass on your cake to me, and I believed that it was due to a personal dislike rather than a sincerely stupid act of self-denial.”

Kneeling gracefully before his older brother, he held out the simple meal stubbornly.

“You need to eat, lest you fade completely. We need you—and I know how cruel and selfish that sounds, but we cannot do this without you. I cannot do this alone.”

And, because he remembered what his interim kingship had done to his creative, wild-hearted brother, Maedhros accepted the proffered bowl wordlessly, nodding his thanks.

“Eat, brother,” Maglor insisted; he’d known Maedhros for too long to be fooled by his courteous manners and his uncanny ability to dissimulate how much he was buckling under the burdens put upon him. “I shall sit with you and make sure that you’re honouring Tyelko’s effort appropriately.”

Grimacing, Maedhros took a tentative bite—the meat was chewy and tasted like wet coal, but he forced a smile onto his lips to assuage the swirling worry in his brother’s eyes.

“It’s not very good,” Maglor whispered conspiratorially, “but it’s warm and nourishing—that’s all we can ask for.”

Maedhros heard the “all we deserve now” even though it was not spoken, so he bowed his head in agreement and went on spooning the tasteless sludge into his numb mouth mechanically.

“Come over, sit by the fire with us,” Maglor went on as he took the empty container back. “Surely, you won’t refuse a bit of comforting heat out of petulant brooding and self-flagellation?”

Not sure whether his wickedly witty sibling was referencing the warmth of the reluctant but unbroken brotherhood or the mundane effect of the small campfire, Maedhros cocked his head and waited.

“I could play the harp,” Maglor went on, unrelenting. “Like in the old days when I’d help you babysit the horrors.”

Out of habit rather than real annoyance, Maedhros sucked his teeth. He might have been prejudiced, but he’d always staunchly claimed that none of his brothers was even half as terrifying as their female cousins.

Indeed, he’d ever believed that Finrod had been dealt the trickiest hand, but the mere thought of his former flippancy on these matters made him now flinch as if struck.

Too many of their kinspeople had perished, and he felt terrible for ever having had a single ungracious thought about them.

“Nobody wants to hear your howling,” Caranthir hissed, but—as per usual—nobody paid his ill-tempered outbursts any heed. Moreover, his two oldest brothers hadn’t forgotten the seemingly endless period when that little red-faced boy had only been able to fall asleep in Maedhros’s arms while Maglor hummed lullaby after lullaby.

“Father would not want you to isolate yourself,” Curufin agreed in Fëanor’s voice, mirroring Fëanor’s grave mien, moving his strong fingers in a perfect imitation of Fëanor’s gestures.

“I…I can’t stop seeing those who are no longer there,” Maedhros replied, shielding his sensitive eyes from the flickering light of the fire—he’d grown to dread the devastating element that had robbed him of all he’d held most dear.

If his brothers understood his words as a thinly veiled reference to their parents, he would not correct them, but he knew that his mazy thoughts comprised others whose very names had become anathema to the precarious survival to which they clung with despairing obstinacy.

Their Flight, the Ice, the burning of the ships, the confrontation at the feet of King Thingol—there had been too many incidents that had torn them apart, but—just for one dark, bleak night—Maedhros allowed himself to miss the children he’d watched grow up in the Blessed Realm until his chest hurt with suppressed sobs.

It was generally accepted that the Oath had erased all other considerations in their crazed minds, and—once again—he wouldn’t correct anyone who believed so, because the truth was so much worse.

He remembered everything: every ephemeral sandcastle, every scraped knee, every impromptu nap against the narrow, bony ribcage of a young, hopeful prince of yore.

How he wished that he could forget that he’d held, defended, comforted, and loved them long before they had righteously started loathing him! If he could excise those memories from his heart, he might well have reclaimed the Silmarils by now; instead, he was torn to pieces by contradicting loyalties until every minute movement made his body and soul writhe in agony.

Maglor had unpacked the battered, old harp he carried around in a worn, oiled skin as if in defiance of their present situation and their hopeless quest.

Little by little, the conversations died as the initially random, mournful notes melted into a variation of an old lullaby, overwhelming in its simplicity and never-changing beauty.

Eyes closed and lips pursed, Maglor conjured up visions of lush gardens and mellow, silvery reveries which stung and soothed their hearts in equal measure.

With every stroke of his calloused, weary fingers, the melodies grew more intricate and enchanting, and even the dead trees around them seemed to bend towards the life-giving solace flooding the barren clearing like a wave of pure light.

The last time his brothers had heard this piece performed, there had been many different instruments interweaving their precious song with Maglor’s flawless harp play, but the stark absence of a supporting accompaniment felt oddly fitting now as it perfectly mirrored his solitary, desperate effort to dispel the omnipresent, suffocating gloom miring them down.

Cruelly aware of how tense and unmoving his forcibly dispassionate mien must have looked, Maedhros tried to let the music drown out the painful knowledge that, had they lived, neither Fingon nor Finrod could have resisted joining their skill and voices to this pitiful concerto.

Alas, they had fallen, and no fire or flame in all of Arda could have replaced the healing, cheering warmth they might have dispensed.

“You have everything you need to succeed,” Fëanor had said as he’d lain, broken and burned, in the loving, trembling arms of his oldest son, and Maedhros had nodded, ready to swear any oath if only his words could soothe his father’s evident agony.

He’d been right, the disenchanted, weary minder of his quasi-orphaned brothers now realised; at the moment of his demise, Fëanor could not possibly have foreseen the terrible, devastating losses his sons would have to face and bear in the single-minded pursuit of their ill-fated vow.

It might well have been a wilfully naïve stance, but Fëanor—having himself left his beloved wife behind in the Blessed Realm—had been convinced that helplessly, uselessly yearning for those who were happy and safe within the keeping of their ungracious jailors was counterproductive and needlessly distracting.

Maedhros wondered how their father’s tune might have changed if he’d known his wife, his brother, his very followers to have died miserably.

In many a way, it was a mercy that he’d died before learning of Fingolfin’s arrival or his subsequent death—despite all his bitter words, Fëanor might not have stomached that knowledge as comfortably as he wanted to make others believe.

Through a veil of flickering flames, Maedhros caught the knowing, understanding gaze of his favourite brother, and his mouth curled into a genuinely fond smile as Maglor intoned a simple song he’d learned at Maedhros’s elbow so long ago.

For the first time in what felt like ages, comfortable drowsiness descended upon the camp as their younger brothers pulled up their bedrolls around their shoulders, bowed with grief and unspoken fear.

They’d sleep soundly tonight, and that alone was worth the terrible loneliness of the two elders whose wakeful watch would not end until the merciless sun came up once more.

-> Masterlist

@fellowshipofthefics: I am still on it :D

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warrioreowynofrohan · 11 months ago

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Five Ships for Five Fandoms

Thank you for the tag, @theghostinthemargins!

The Silmarillion: Well, the one that’s taken over my brain the most for the past couple years is my Elwing/Eärendil/Maglor crackship! My ideas for my fic about them started out as enemies-to-friends and then just…took a turn at some point. It’s the parallels between Eärendil and Maglor, the one loving Middle-earth and unable to return to it, the other exiled in Middle-earth and unable to return to Valinor; it’s Eärendil forgiving Maglor far before Maglor has forbidden himself; it’s their placement on the absolute opposite poles of spititual position, Eärendil the saviour of the Elves and literally called the Blessed, Maglor the last of the kinslaying exiles remaining in Middle-earth. It’s Maglor being the connection with Middle-earth that Eärendil needs and Eärendil being the redemption and pardon that Maglor needs. It’s reading the words in CS Lewis’ The Four Loves, about a particular kind of love, “When it is offered to a woman we call it admiration; when to a man, hero-worship; when to God, worship simply,” and realizing that what I see Maglor feeling for Eärendil ignores those categories and is all three.

The Elwing-Maglor part of this is coming from a different place, and lies in the profound catharsis of Maglor being able to surrender, and in Elwing knowing that she can do anything she likes with him and he will like it and recieve it as a boon.

The Lord of the Rings: I’m agreeing with you, @theghostinthemargins, Eowyn/Faramir is a classic. Only a handful of scenes, but every one of them is perfect.

The Stormlight Archive: I like the canon ships in this one, I really do, but my main fanon ship is Navoniel, which made me realize for the first time what people see in Silvergifting. Raboniel is clearly using Navani! is her captor! betrays her multiple times! and yet she understands Navani in a way that no other character does and that Navani needs so badly, and Navani understands things about her that I’m not sure Raboniel even understands about herself. And there’scan underlying respect that remains there even as they are enemies working towards opposite goals and actively planning to betray each other (and going through with it).

Jane Eyre: I will always love Jane and Rochester, I don’t care what anyone says about it! The heart of it is that he gets her in a way that no one else ever has; she’s tamed her passions and opinions and dreams and hidden them under a façade of calm, tame respectability, but he sees them, and that combination - the wildness and the self-controlled conviction - is exactly what he loves about her. I love the complexity of the power dynamics around them, that Jane is always the one rescuing Rochester, never the reverse, and the relationship doesn’t work until the moment at the end when he has accepted that.

The Betrothed: Read this one recently, and the central couple, Lucia and Renzo, really are extremely cute together.

#tag game #ships #the silmarillion #the stormlight archive #jane eyre

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actual-bill-potts · 2 years ago

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interestingly a lot of the headcanons I’ve had abt the silm since I first got into it seem to go against the grain of the majority of (at least tumblr) fandom:

- I don’t think finrod fucked in beleriand. I am aware that is nearly his whole characterization in at least 50% of this fandom lol. But I view him as more of like. an enthusiastic scientist type who is so genuinely interested in everything that you can’t help but fall in love with him, while also just. not being very into sex. He tried it once or twice and was like "not for me" (despite this I will read fics with just abt any finrod pairing, it’s just not how I picture him exactly)

(TW: brief mention of sexual assault below the cut)

- on the same note, I don’t think finrod got back with amarië. First because once someone you love has chosen something else over you, it’s so hard to trust them again. It’s different when it’s mutual duty (like fingon and Maedhros) but when someone has sent a clear message that they will give up your relationship for [their family’s approval/their friends’ approval/the promise of beleriand], why would you risk your heart like that again? (I have firsthand experience with this, as a guy I was dating chose a job 2000 mi away from where I lived despite having options closer to home. We did long distance for awhile but tbh I never really forgave him. Maybe that’s my own neuroses talking but that shit is really hard.) and ALSO because finrod is a completely different person when he comes back to aman. Maybe he’d just slot right back into everything like he never left, but I doubt it man. I think finrod and amarië probably end up on good terms in the Second Age and beyond cuz they’re both the chillest of people, but I don’t think they want to touch dating the other again with a ten foot pole.

- I don’t read maglor and Maedhros being particularly close until the end when all they have left is each other. The personalities and interests that come through the text are so disparate that they were probably cordial (and obviously trusted each other quite a bit) but never really got to know each other that well till after the dagor bragolach at least.

- Caranthir imo was the epitome of Just Some Guy, and he never had a Craft™️. Also, he and haleth were very cordial friends with benefits which didn’t go beyond that.

- I think celegorm and finrod were much closer than curufin and finrod, which is why celegorm reacts with as much rage as he does in nargothrond. My evidence: finrod wanders all around beleriand, and he’s specifically mentioned going hunting with maglor and Maedhros. His kingdom is beautifully built but that’s cuz he’s so good at making friends, not bc he’s so Crafty. I think curufin probably always held finrod at arms length out of loyalty to his father, and finrod never pushed. Otoh celegorm I think cared a lot less about the politics, and he and finrod shared several key interests (hunting, nature, leadership—both finrod and Celegorm are ambitious, though perhaps for different reasons). So I could see them as being friends in Aman and becoming close in nargothrond.

- I think Aredhel and Eöl loved each other a lot and had a pretty good marriage until Maeglin got older and they realized they had fundamentally different parenting philosophies. The text says that Aredhel "was not wholly unwilling" which is certainly damning with faint praise, but it was also written by a survivor of the Fall of Gondolin, who wouldn’t have thought highly of her husband and son. My reasoning is: 1) canonically, sexual assault often results in Elves fading, unless they are prevented by some higher power. Could Eöl have taken Aredhel by force and then prevented her from dying? I mean, maybe, I guess, but then why did he just let her wander off however many years later? It’s unlikely. 2) elves cannot have unwanted children. Elf children require their fëa to be nourished by both parents, or they die. If Aredhel had not wanted Maeglin, Maeglin would not have been born. Personally, I think they fell madly, passionately in love, had a kid too soon, and then discovered that Eöl was not good at being a father and that Aredhel did not agree with his isolationist policies. Happens all the time, minus the secret Noldor cities and poisoned spear-throwing.

- I think Galadriel originally married Celeborn for politics, and only came to love him later. I realize that for an Elf this is literally the worst decision you can ever make, but Galadriel really wanted a throne, and also was pretty focused on keeping noldor-sindar ties strong. That’s why they didn’t have a child until the Second Age, despite the centuries of peace they were married. I think it was definitely a mutual political thing, and they were both extremely ambitious people who were extremely satisfied to finally be rulers in the Second Age.

- I think finrod knew lúthien quite well due to his visits to doriath (I haven’t done the math but I think he is mentioned as hanging out with thingol more than anyone else in the silm) and that his decision to go with beren was at least partly driven by that.

- I think Lúthien’s song in Mandos is what allowed Finrod such an early release, and that he probably spent a great deal of time in Lórien after. I also think Lúthien’s song convinced Námo to grant Aegnor mortality and follow Andreth. So the line of Arafinwë never saw Aegnor again.

- Relatedly, I think that Mandos is not a place of healing necessarily. It certainly can be, but the gardens of Lórellin are specifically described as being places of rest and healing. Mandos is just…a place where souls sit. Námo keeps them there for some appointed time (who knows how that’s decided) and then lets them go to Lórellin so the healing can begin. He is not the healing Vala. There’s a whole ass other Vala whose whole job that is.

Curious to hear others’ against-the-grain headcanons if you’re willing to share! It’s cool to see how different people interpret the book

#silm headcanons #my writing #tw: rape

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