#my nerdanel has very complicated feelings for her sons

[nerdanelparmandil]

I'm writing a fic about Maedhros returning to life in late fourth age Valinor and 70k words in, he is just about meeting his mother and... well, I'm stuck because the implications are...enormous. How difficult it must be for them to meet again after such a long time and all the things in between. Maedhros, like his brothers, chose to go with Feanor in exile, killed for his father, and then killed again and again for his oath (and himself...). Nerdanel had to go throught he pain of loosing her husband and children twice, first their separation, and then their death. They led two very different lives, one became a warlord, heir of a king, tortured by Morgoth, kinslayer, ended his own life. The other lived her whole life in a much more sheltered place, although the aftermath of the Darkening must have been horrible.

What I'm saying is that they might meet, and not see in each other what they were in the past, mother and son, but two strangers who lived according to very different beliefs and values. Now, the choice to rebuild their bond is entirely theirs. But do they want to? Can they? Can Nerdanel forgive? Reconcile the image of the kinslayer with the first babe she held in her arms? How far can a mother's love go? Does Maedhros look at her with regret, with eagerness to be loved and embraced, or does he, deep down, resent her choice to separate herself from them?

[arofili]

Hello! If you've already have done this, then my mistake but do you have any hcs on Eärwen?

I certainly do!! This got long -- hope you enjoy :)

Eärwen is born in Alqualondë in YT 1200, the same year as her cousin Lúthien. They never meet, but sometimes they will see each other in dreams.

She is the oldest of Olwë’s children, and thus nominally his heir, though unlike with the Noldor there is never really a succession crisis among the Falmari and she serves more as his second-in-command than as a future queen in her own right.

She has two younger brothers, Ainairos and Elulindo [both names for Teleri I have repurposed from older drafts]. Elulindo is slain at in the First Kinslaying; Ainairos is so bitter about this that he demands the Valar close Aman to the exilic Noldor forever. Eärwen’s feelings toward the Noldor are much more...complicated.

Eärwen is significantly older than Arafinwë, being 30 years his senior. [Age differences do matter to elves, in their youth—which is when these two met.]

They first met at the celebration of Ainairos’ birth in Alqualondë, which Finwë and his family attended. Arafinwë was 17, and Eärwen 47. Arafinwë is immediately smitten, and in his childish enthusiasm informs Eärwen that he’s going to marry her someday. Eärwen, who has almost reached her first coming-of-age and already has a a social sphere of her own, just laughs him off.

Decades later, when Arafinwë turns 50 and reaches his first coming-of-age, Olwë and his family attend the celebration Finwë throws for his youngest son. Arafinwë seeks Eärwen out again and attempts to begin a courtship with her, but once again she dismisses him.

Over the years, they run into each other at various official functions. Arafinwë grows embarrassed by his forwardness and treats Eärwen with formal courtesy, which she appreciates.

When the third of Finwë’s grandchildren (Findekáno) is born, Olwë sends Eärwen as his representative to Tirion for the celebration. By now, Arafinwë is 65 and Eärwen is 95 (almost to her second coming-of-age), and this time...Eärwen notices him. Arafinwë has grown into a very attractive young nér, polite and kind and clever. Most people overlook him, but Eärwen is finally seeing him, and she likes what she sees.

Eärwen is nervous to approach him, remembering how dismissive she was in the past, but she’s a bold nís and musters her courage to flirt with him. They quickly become friends, and enter into a formal courtship. Arafinwë asks permission his father to move to Alqualondë, and Finwë agrees.

Their fathers encourage the match, as it is diplomatically advantageous and a nice excuse to see old friends more often—but no one expects how swiftly their relationship will develop...

Only a few years later, when Arafinwë is 69 and Eärwen 99, they go too far in playing around one night, and Eärwen ends up pregnant. They have something of a half-marriage bond (an incredibly awkward situation, not to mention psychically frustrating) and are forced to come clean to their parents.

Eärwen and Arafinwë’s marriage is rushed, the customary year-long betrothal discarded so that they can wed before Eärwen starts to show. Fëanáro, whose marriage began in a similar fashion (though his and Nerdanel’s conception of their eldest before the wedding was intentionally rebellious), congratulates Arafinwë with amused but earnest delight, the most attention he has paid his youngest half-sibling in decades.

[Canon timelines have Arafinwë marrying when he’s only 50; this is a significant change from that, to fit my own headcanons and timelines. My headcanons are that generally, Amani elves aren’t “supposed” to get married until they’ve reached their second coming-of-age at 100 years old, making Arafinwë scandalously young to be a husband and father, though Eärwen’s age is much more typical. The greatest scandal, though, is an unplanned/spontaneous pregnancy happening in—gasp!!—the royal families of both the Noldor and the Falmari!]

It is at her wedding that Eärwen first meets Anairë, the wife of her new husband’s brother Nolofinwë. Eärwen and Anairë have an immediate connection, one that Eärwen recognizes as a fateful romantic bond, and she wistfully muses on what could have been if they had met earlier. Anairë, however, is deeply entrenched in Valarin homophobia, and while she also finds herself drawn to Eärwen, she can’t fathom her feelings to be anything other than sisterly friendship.

[I do have Arafinwë and Eärwen beginning their courtship right after Findekáno’s birth, so I think that when Eärwen gave her congratulations to the baby’s parents, Anairë was very tired and not in a headspace to really “meet” anyone. Eärwen probably interacted more with Nolofinwë on that occasion; this isn’t the first time she actually saw Anairë, but rather the first time they actually speak.]

Within the year, Anairë finds herself pregnant with her second child. She and Eärwen grow incredibly close in a short period of time, planning their children’s futures and hoping the baby cousins will be as close in spirit as their mothers.

In YT 1300, Eärwen has her first child, Findaráto. She sees that though in appearance he is very much like his Vanyarin grandmother, and in culture he will grow up Falmarin in Alqualondë, his fëa is deeply Noldorin like his father, and thus she gives him the mother-name Ingoldo, the same as Arafinwë’s mother-name.

Though not so close with her law-sisters as they are to each other, when Nerdanel delivers Turcafinwë Tyelkormo later that same year, both Eärwen and Anairë are there to support her.

As the year nears its close, Anairë gives birth to Turukáno, whom she names Núrondil, for with her motherly foresight she foresees he will love the sea—an unusual trait for a Noldo, but one she hopes will be due to his fondness for his cousin Findaráto. [Núron is an old name for Ulmo. Anairë is deeply religious, and gives all her children names related to the Valar. Part of her foresight is that she knows Turukáno will be favored by Ulmo.]

Findaráto and Turukáno do indeed grow up very close, as close as brothers. They are both very much influenced by their mothers, Turukáno inheriting Anairë’s faith and Findaráto inheriting Eärwen’s free spirit and love for exploring.

Eärwen’s second child, Angaráto, is born 15 years later, in YT 1315. She names him Poldoro for his strength. [Angamaitë is an epessë that he earns later in life, but it has a very similar meaning; Poldoro as a mother-name is my headcanon.]

In YT 1323, Eärwen has her third child, Ambaráto. She names him Aikanáro, a mother-name of foresight she cannot fully explain. She knows he has a high doom before him, and though this troubles her, she hopes he will be a great hero and vows to give him as happy a childhood as she can. And perhaps she is misinterpreting her visions—perhaps he will be fine... She uses his name with love, and Aikanáro grows up to be a mama’s boy, preferring to go by his mother name.

At Aikanáro’s birth, Arafinwë is only 93 years old, still 7 years from his second coming-of-age. Jokes begin to spread in Tirion that Arafinwë intends to outdo Fëanáro’s count of children (currently 4) before he even reaches full adulthood!

That does not, however, come to pass. Fëanáro and Nerdanel have their fifth child, Curufinwë Atarinkë, a decade later, while Eärwen and Arafinwë show no signs of adding to their own brood.

That is, until YT 1361, when both Anairë and Eärwen announce that they are pregnant again! They specifically timed this, actually, so they’d be pregnant together. They’re very much hoping to have daughters who will be close as sisters, just as Findaráto and Turukáno are practically brothers.

(Throughout all these years, Eärwen is happy with her relationship with Anairë. She knows they could have had something more, had circumstances been different; but she also knows by now of Anairë’s belief in the Valarin virtues around the sanctity of a nér-nís marriage, and has little hope of changing her mind. It doesn’t matter what else she feels, not when she and Anairë’s friendship is so deep and strong as it is. Anairë herself remains oblivious. Eärwen is also very happy in her marriage to Arafinwë, whom she loves deeply, and she can’t imagine a life without him.)

The next year, in YT 1362, Anairë gives birth to Írissë Aldarindë [named by her mother for Oromë Aldaron, though not for another few years]. Only a few weeks later, Eärwen delivers her daughter Artanis.

It turns out that Írissë and Artanis, while they don’t dislike each other, have very little in common. Írissë loves Tirion and the woods of Oromë nearby; Artanis prefers Alqualondë and the coast, and has little patience with Noldorin politics. Írissë doesn’t care for politics either, but she loves her Fëanárion cousins, something Artanis cannot relate to. The only granddaughters of Finwë aren’t particularly close, though they do have moments of comradery from time to time.

Artanis is approaching her first coming-of-age before Eärwen finally settles on a mother-name for her only daughter: Nerwen, for her delight in traditionally masculine pursuits, and for the shifting nature of her fëa that Nerwen only recently revealed to her mother. [Basically: Nonbinary/genderfluid Galadriel comes out to her mom, and Eärwen names her in a gender-affirming way.]

As the tensions rise among the Noldor, and especially the sons of Finwë, Eärwen and Anairë grow frustrated with their husbands. Eärwen misses Arafinwë, who spends more and more time in Tirion while she grows increasingly unfond of the city; and Anairë feels she is losing Nolofinwë to his feud with Fëanáro. Anairë spends longer and longer stretches in Alqualondë with Eärwen—but returns to Tirion for her husband’s regency after Finwë follows Fëanáro into exile, hoping that with his rival gone they can work on their marriage.

It works, until it doesn’t.

Amid the Darkening, Anairë and Eärwen both know they will not follow their husbands to Endórë. Eärwen is actually more torn than she expects, for she does want to meet her father’s kin, especially the mysterious cousin she sees in her dreams. But she is tired of Noldorin nonsense, tired of her husband choosing politics over her, tired of Fëanáro in general. It grieves her greatly that all her children leave, and she thinks that perhaps some day she might follow, but now is not that time.

For Eärwen’s sake, and because Nolofinwë has once again prioritized Fëanáro over her, Anairë chooses to remain as well. Nolofinwë actually begs her to stay—and Arakáno, too, but he refuses to leave his family behind. Anairë wishes her youngest would stay, but unlike Nerdanel, does not ask it of him. She is done asking for people to choose her: she is going to value now the people who do.

And the person who does choose her, the person who has always chosen her, is Eärwen.

(And the Valar, who she has always believed in. Even if she has been having doubts of late.)

Anairë has been having a crisis of conscience over the last few decades, ever since she finally stumbled into the realization that Findekáno has been having an affair with his male half-cousin for years. She reacted poorly, but this incident made her begin to examine her biases...and, especially in the light of her crumbling marriage, her own feelings and experiences.

Anairë is already on her way to Alqualondë when the Kinslaying occurs. Eärwen loses a brother, and two of Anairë’s children (Findekáno and Írissë) become Kinslayers. Anairë arrives to discover both these horrors, and she doesn’t know how Eärwen will react to her presence—but she knows she needs to go anyway.

Eärwen is absolutely devastated, heartbroken and betrayed beyond anything she could have imagined. She says some harsh things to Anairë, who takes it despite her own breaking heart, but in the end she knows it’s not Anairë’s fault. And finally, finally, with the world ending around them, they confess to one another the true depth and nature of their love.

[I have a fic about this! My headcanons have changed a bit since I wrote that uhhh...3.5 years ago?? but the vibe is absolutely still how I see them.]

Anairë stays by Eärwen. Anairë chooses her, loves her, supports her. And Eärwen, who has loved her from the beginning, loves her even more.

When Arafinwë returns—when he turns back at the Doom, but not the Kinslaying—Eärwen does not welcome him back. He goes to Tirion, installs himself as King, and they do not dwell together. Eärwen shuts him out of their marriage bond.

But Arafinwë does not give up on her. He knows he betrayed her unforgivably, but he will do what he can to make it up to her. He expects nothing from her, but knows it is his duty to support her in whatever small way he can.

Anairë resents him. But when he comes to her and asks how he can help—truly help, not in order to win Eärwen back, but because he loves her and knows she deserves more than what he did—she relents, just a little.

And when the Sun finally rises, Arafinwë travels to Alqualondë, and asks to see Eärwen. She doesn’t forgive him then, but the Valar have given Light another chance, and with Anairë at her side, she decides to give Arafinwë another chance, also.

It takes centuries, and things are never the same between them. But eventually Eärwen and Arafinwë reconcile—though Eärwen will never forsake Anairë, nor deny their love, and Arafinwë must respect that if he is to earn his right to stand at Eärwen’s side again. He does, and in time, the three of them fall into bed together. Anairë and Arafinwë are never quite lovers, but they both love Eärwen, and together they forge what happiness they can out of the ruins of the life they used to have.

This is pretty much all I have...though I'm sure I could come up with some stuff for reuniting with her kids later :)

[tolkien-feels]

Do you think Indis has some sort of very small bitter feeling towards Miriel, especially after she came back to life? The way Finwe treated two of his sons was indicative enough, but also he traded his place to dwell in the halls while he had a wife and kids and grandkids waiting outside for him, he gave that place to a woman who virtually had no one? Her son and grandsons won't be back for long long while, she didn't go to see her daughter in law and stayed with Varie anyway. Ofc I'm not saying this is the only perspective, but if you frame it like this, do you think Indis is at least a little hurt by it all?

And most importantly, do you think Indis ever went to see Miriel, or would it be painful/unnecessary for her?

You know, Indis is such a fascinating character, because I would argue she occupies the same sort of place that Elros does - they're vital to the world around them, but we know virtually nothing about who they are, and you can come to completely opposite conclusions about them without ever contradicting canon, because there is no canon that you can contradict!

I think your reading is definitely very plausible! This is an extremely complicated situation (made more complicated by how unprecedented it all is), and you could reasonably assume many, many different reactions because things are not at all clear-cut black and white.

This is compounded by how little we know about many of the other characters involved, as well as how little we know about Aman after the Flight of the Noldor. There are so many questions and so few answers, that I think you'd really have to put some effort to find characterization headcanons that can be conclusively proved to contradict canon in some way.

It may seem like I'm avoiding to answer your last question, but I'm very much not. The paragraphs above were a disclaimer to the following answer: I don't know.

I love Indis and have many headcanons about her, but they shift so much. For a character like Nerdanel, I have headcanons about her personality and storyline that I greatly favor and rarely stray from (I mean, I entertain other people's headcanons very readily, but I tend to stick to my favorite thoughts as if they were part of my personal frankencanon) - but for Indis, I can't ever seem to settle on anything. Because I don't feel like I have a firm grasp on what kind of personality I headcanon her having, I have a hard time deciding on what I headcanon her doing.

...this is an extremely unsatisfying reply, isn't it? I'll try to come up with some headcanons and get back to you soon to make up for that

[absynthe--minded]

So... Let's say that, on the wave of recent excitment for the upcoming book, somebody has decided to ignore both their official academic career AND the evergrowing pile of bought-but-not-read books on the bookshelf, and wants to finally dive into HoME... which volume(s) would you suggest starting with? Asking for a friend...

so my answer to this is Morgoth’s Ring, but it’s a bit more complicated than that.

the thing about HoME is that it’s not organized by category, it’s organized chronologically, so it starts with the very first stuff Tolkien wrote and builds out from there. If you’re interested in tracing the development of a particular character, it’s in your best interest to get the whole thing and use the index or a search function to track their progress, but if what you’re looking for is a specific story, that’s a different animal entirely. Morgoth’s Ring, in my opinion, has a lot of stuff that’s really worth reading if you want to start exploring more deeply and you’re already interested in the fandom as a whole, but there’s a lot more out there worth exploring, SO.

what I’m gonna do is go through the volumes and point out anything that’s there that I really like or think is relevant in terms of fanon. I’m excluding the middle volumes because they’re the rough drafts of The Lord of the Rings and don’t really come up a lot in conversation in the fandom, so this is gonna be the beginning and the end. I am of course giving my opinion as to highlights and must-reads, and if people feel like I’ve slighted their personal favorite thing, I hope they’ll say so in the notes! there’s so much and it’s scattered everywhere and I know I’ll forget something worth mentioning.

the way that HoME is structured is snippets of text in between long stretches of commentary by Christopher Tolkien, and the commentary is hit or miss. personally, I disagree with basically every point Chris makes, but it’s still worth reading in some situations because he will cite fragments or notes or asides that don’t get transcribed, or he’ll discuss things he did for the published Silmarillion that he judges to be errors. there are also footnotes written both by JRRT and by Chris, and those are always worth it in my opinion.

The Books of Lost Tales - technically this is one and two of twelve, but they have a very different structure than the rest of the History. here is where we’ll find the very earliest stuff Tolkien ever wrote about Arda, and here is where the beginnings of the ‘Mythology for England’ idea come into play. the basic idea for these books is that Eriol, or Ælfwine, a mariner presumably from the British Isles, goes on a solo voyage and gets horribly lost and lands on Tol Eressëa. from there, he becomes what I can only really call a weeb but for elves (elfaboo?) and starts asking a bunch of questions to the people who befriend him. they very obligingly start telling him everything, and as a result there’s a frame story for a significant part of these volumes that makes the whole thing feel very fairytale in a way that later works really don’t capture. the bones of the SIlm are here, though a lot of the political intricacies and character drama aren’t. it’s also a very incomplete telling, though all three of the Great Tales show themselves. highlights: the Tale of Tinúviel aka “the one where Beren is a Noldo and Sauron is a giant cat”, the most complete version of the Nauglamír story that we have (though I will argue that it’s noncanonical for various reasons), the only complete account of the Fall of Gondolin featuring horribly detailed Everybody Dies play-by-play

The Lays of Beleriand - this is a poetry volume so if you really don’t like poetry I understand skipping it, but if you do read it you’re in for a treat. the framing device is basically gone, but it’s worth pointing out that Ælfwine isn’t gone entirely - he pops up a few more times throughout the rest of HoME to serve as the in-universe writer of a bunch of fake sociological studies and articles. highlights: here’s where you’re going to find the full-length Lay of Leithian (incomplete, but the most detailed version of the story that we have so far) as well as the Lay of the Children of Húrin, which is also incomplete but has some really heartwrenching stuff as well as Beleg and Túrin kissing and Morgoth hitting on Húrin.

The Shaping of Middle-Earth - here’s where a lot of stuff that turns up in the Silm comes from, to the point that I can pick out direct quotes from Shaping that are in the published volume. still no framing device, we’re getting into the early Quenta properly. highlights: the Quenta, appropriately, which is useful not least as a compare/contrast between the source and the Silm, and the translations of the Fëanorians’ names into Old English. this is a great volume and I absolutely recommend it.

The Lost Road and Other Writings - this is kind of an oddball volume but there’s a lot of information here about Númenor, even if quite a lot of it is deviating from later and more definitive canon. We get a time travel story of sorts, with a distinctly more fantastical bent than your average time travel story, and information about what’s best described as a Sauron-driven industrial revolution meant to help challenge the gods. highlights: basically everything we know about Adûnaic is here

Morgoth’s Ring - skipping past The Return of the Shadow, The Treason of Isengard, The War of the Ring, and Sauron Defeated, we come to volume 10. if you are going to get only one HoME volume, get this one. Both during and after writing LotR, Tolkien returned to the Silmarillion, and began to introduce more character details in addition to worldbuilding and linguistics. With Laws and Customs Among the Eldar and The Statute of Finwë and Míriel we get information about marriage and birth and death and see the beginnings of the intricate interpersonal political drama in Valinor that so many fans have come to love and hate. the Athrabeth Finrod ah Andreth is here, too. highlights: there’s too many to pick from so I’m just gonna say character descriptions! here is where we get the detail that Míriel Þerindë has silver hair. Nerdanel makes her first appearance, and this is the only source for much of the information about her character.

The War of the Jewels - this volume is my personal favorite, largely because of the Grey Annals, my preferred canonical source and my pick for best draft, riddled with Maedhros character details and Russingon subtext and raw dialogue. there’s other stuff here too but I think WotJ is worth it for that alone. this is a volume highlighted by timelines and outlines rather than full narratives, but there’s a surprising amount of detail and gut-wrenching pain and agony despite the lack of conventional storytelling. highlights: here’s where we get the famous “and their love was renewed” line for Maedhros and Fingon, same with the mention of the green Elessar stone being originally given to Fingon by Maedhros. Finrod tells Celegorm and Curufin “your oath will devour you” and that’s raw as hell.

The Peoples of Middle-Earth - some of the very last things Tolkien wrote about before his death, which places this in the same category as the upcoming The Nature of Middle-Earth in terms of timing/his greater career. the majority of this book is essays and examinations rather than narrative development, though a significant part of it is dedicated to Maeglin’s early life and particularly the travel times for Eöl’s journey that gave Aredhel and her son time to escape. there’s another version of the Statute of Finwë and Míriel here I think, but the full and more complete version is in MR. highlights: The Shibboleth of Fëanor, also known as “Dialectical Shifts Are A Conspiracy Theory”, which is notable for telling the story of a frankly comedic linguistic rivalry, featuring information about elvish naming customs, and giving a version of events at Losgar where Amrod gets burned alive with the ships.

I hope that helps! have fun!!

[goldenvoicedminstrel]

Hot take; Maglor has written every member of his immediate and extended family a song inspired by them. Every single one of them has promptly learned to play/sing that song, even if that is the only song they know (looking at you Caranthir) they know it perfectly.

This comes in handy later, because when Maglors memories start fading he keeps his family alive by singing their songs over and over. It’s also good for the family members, because when everything else about Maglors existence fades away, they have the songs to prove that he was real and that he loved them.

I had a lot of thoughts and even more emotions about this, so enjoy my rambling.

Let’s say it starts with someone, perhaps Fëanor, telling his small son the story of the Ainulindalë, how Eru composed the Great Music and the Ainur sang Arda into being, and how everything and everyone is a part of that Music.

Of course young Makalaurë, who learned to sing before he could speak, is enchanted. 

We are all a song! The next day he comes to Nerdanel and starts to hum a simple, sweet melody, that sounds a bit like a lullaby. When she asks what song it is, he only says: “Yours.”

(She begins to use it as a lullaby for him when he is afraid at night, and later for his brothers as well. It works without fail.)

And that is only the beginning. Because once he has started to hear the melody in everyone around him, he cannot stop and while the most important part is still the melody, he starts to make up words, too, and so the songs are born.

Maitimo’s gives him a lot of trouble at first. He is too young and inexperienced and he finds that his attempts to create something as graceful, kind and perfect as his older brother all fall short. It takes him years to finally put together a melody “well-formed” enough. It is indeed very beautiful and harmonic and has a majestic air to it that makes his brother blush, but Maitimo will always love best the first attempt his little brother presented him with so long ago.

It is easier for his younger brothers, children in general are louder in every way, and though he makes small changes over the years and adds parts to their songs as they grow, the melody at core remains the same.

Tyelko’s starts as a children’s rhyme, that teaches his brother to imitate the animals he loves (the elf version of old MacDonald had a farm) and evolves until it seems to be made up only of the sound of the birds and the barking of dogs and even, in a particularly dramatic moment, the bellow of a stag. 

Little Carnistir’s song starts out much quieter, but rises unexpectedly at times, and when his brother was very young, Makalaurë used to throw him into the air with the crescendos and he would shriek and giggle until he was red in the face. Later, he adds some words a plays on the numbers that Moryo so enjoys, and sometimes he can hear him absentmindedly hum the melody under his breath when brooding over another problem. (There is also a rhyme very obviously leading up to a swear word, which is then abruptly left out for comedic purposes.)

Words are important in Curvo’s song as well. It is the most complicated, fast-paced like their father’s, made up of many different parts all moulded together. There are many wordplays, because smithing is hard to portray in song, but word-smithing is much easier, and Makalaurë always knows when his brother is singing his song in his head, for an amused little smile appears in the corner of his mouth.

Each of the twins have their own song, but they are both built around the same musical theme and made to be sung as a duet. The Ambarussa immediately invent a game in which one of them hides in the woods, and the other, with his eyes closed, has to find him  only through singing his part and listening to the answering verse.

(He likes to add verses for special occasions and perform them elaborately. He did this for all his brothers when they came of age, and again for Curvo’s wedding. On the other hand he is not afraid to compose a verse of pure mockery when his brother have been getting on his nerves again. But those are only temporary of course. Though they can be very catchy.)

The last time he sings his brothers their songs, the last time any of them do so out loud in front of the others, is on the ship to Beleriand. He hopes it will raise their spirits and strengthen their resolve. 

Then their father dies violently and for the first time Makalaurë does not feel like singing, not even in grief.

(Or perhaps he stops singing them before that, when one of the Ambarussa fails to answer their brother’s song for the first time.)

Maitimo is taken and when he comes back, Maglor cannot bear to induce the torment his brother’s body and fëa have suffered into his melody as well, but when he tries to sing him his old song on his sickbed, Maedhros flinches away. And Maglor understands.

He has always tried to capture their fëa with his songs. But the people he wrote his songs about do not exist anymore, while at the same time he will not- cannot- erase this last piece of home, of a happier time, so he keeps the songs locked away in his mind, like a most priced jewel in a glass case, to be viewed but not touched again.

(Later, much later, when Maedhros steps forward, Silmaril in hand, into the fiery chasm, he does not remember his melody anymore.)

(When Caranthir dies alone in Doriath he hums.)

Yet still, parts of them, snippets of melody, make it into his greatest work before he realises it. His brothers’ songs become the strands that make up the frame of the Noldolantë, because as much as Maglor says the song is about the downfall of the Noldor, first and foremost, it is about his family.

He begins singing them again only after they are all gone.

They sound sad at first, because even the happiest song does when sung by a sad man,

but they become happier the longer he repeats them, and he is happier because he is with his brothers again and that feels so much more real than the cold, wet sand and hard rocks under his feet, and the chill clinging to his ragged clothes and protruding bones. 

The songs become happier and then they fade away.

But still they are sung in Valinor, where all those lost souls return to eventually.

After everything that has happened, it is not easy to remember the person you used to be and even harder to know who you are now.

When Nerdanel welcomes back her sons, who stumble out of the Halls like frightened children once again, she hums a melody to them that, she too, had locked away in her mind for a long time before releasing it again, in the times when the quiet was oppressing and the absence of her family like a physical wound. She hummed it under her breath or sang it to the empty room to remind herself her son had loved her once. 

Her own song. Calm and steady, slow where her husband’s had been fast, and repetitive where his had been ever changing. In every repetition a little detail had been changed, chiseled away like the outer layers of stone, until laid bare was the first song her son had ever written, a simple, sweet melody gifted by a little boy to his ammë.

She hums this melody into her sons’ ears when she takes them into her arms again for the first time in millennia, when they still cannot quite believe her to be real. Later she sings them another song, theirs, unchanged by time like none of them are, and her words are sincere and not filled with cruel irony.

The Ambarussa are the first to pick their melodies up again, and they begin to echo them back to each other like they did when they first learned them, and they rediscover that they are not alone.

Caranthir hums his song under his breath, and remembers he does not have to keep all his emotions hidden, and that his outbursts had once not only been angry, but filled with laughter as well.

Curufin repeats the familiar words, and recalls a time when his sharp tongue had been a source of amusement rather than manipulation, and his sharper mind had sough to solve complicated problems instead of creating them. 

Celegorm stands in the woods and imitates the animal calls his song helped him perfect long ago- and the animals answer him. He listens and laughs without cruelty, and remembers what love truly felt like.

Maedhros, when he finally arrives, sings the melody carefully, and when he tries to recreate its beauty, he remembers what it felt like to be whole and at peace.

But while they have their brother’s songs they do not have their brother.

They wait and they keep singing, hoping against all reason that somehow it might reach him, bring him comfort that they are safe now, bring him back to them.

He never comes. And so they cling to their songs in a way they cannot cling to him, and once again the songs remain unchanged.

Not because they pretend to be the same people they were before, but because this is the last thing they have of Makalaurë. He never wrote a song about himself, after all.

[first-son-of-finwe]

Nerdanel & elfling!Finarfin

This is a little fic that I’ve had knocking about in my docs for a while but never published, but y’alls might like it so here it is :)

Mostly I just wanted some sister-in-law cuteness. Bride-to-be Nerdanel wanders the palace and finds little Finarfin all on his own, so of course it’s time for them to bond.

Featuring dickish Feanor, because of course it must.

Nerdanel wandered the rooms of the palace alone, carefully stowing each new room into her memory. It would be so easy to get lost in the seemingly endless labyrinth of ballrooms, libraries, dining rooms and hallways, and she often found herself wondering why the Noldorin royal family needed all of this space.

She oriented herself around the grand staircase, which served as the central point of the palace. So long as she knew where that was, she wouldn’t be lost.

Fëanáro had gone away with his father for the day. They so rarely got the chance to spend time together anymore, and so they had taken the opportunity to travel to the gardens where Queen Míriel’s tomb lay. Nerdanel had tentatively offered to join them, though Fëanáro hadn’t wanted to burden her with such a deeply emotional journey. He would take her separately, he said. Besides, it seemed to be almost something sacred between the father and son, a ritual that only they could fully understand.

The day was drawing to a close and Nerdanel found herself with little to do, so she decided to familiarise herself with the layout of the place which was now her home. Or at least, it would be for the next few weeks. Neither she nor Fëanáro intended to stay for long after their wedding, both preferring the quiet, remote settlement on the outskirts of the city to start their new family. It was two days’ ride from Tirion and not far from the home of Mahtan, and it was peaceful, spacious and tranquil, with a large forest on its border. Utterly perfect.

Nerdanel opened a new door and carefully peered into the room, and to her surprise, this one wasn’t empty. A small, fair-haired elfling sat on the floor surrounded by puzzle pieces, and a smattering of stuffed animals sat in a row, watching his progress. About half of the puzzle was done, and the elfling was holding a piece in his hand with his small brow furrowed, trying to figure out where it should go. He looked up at the sound of the door opening, blinking as he stared at the newcomer. Nerdanel smiled at him.

“Hello, little one. I haven’t disturbed you, have I?”

Arafinwë shook his head.

“May I come in?”

He nodded, sitting on his heels as he looked at her curiously. Nerdanel approached slowly, recognising the child as King Finwë’s youngest son.

“I’m Nerdanel, I’m…”

“You’re brother’s friend,” he said softly. “You’re getting married.”

Nerdanel smiled. “Yes, that’s right.”

“I saw you when you arrived. You have pretty hair.”

Nerdanel laughed in pleasant surprise, taking a seat opposite the child.

“That’s very nice of you to say. What are you doing here all by yourself?”

Arafinwë shrugged.

“Everyone is busy. I wanted ammë to play with me, but she says she can’t because atar is gone and she has to do his duties. She gave me this…” he gestured at the half completed puzzle, before looking at her with a bit of hope.

“Will you help me with it?”

Nerdanel smiled, a little sad for the boy. A house full of family, yet no one seemed to be watching over him. 

“Of course I will,” she said enthusiastically, scooting closer to the puzzle and picking up a piece. In truth she was glad of the company, feeling a little alone herself in the endless halls. “You’ve done so much already...you must be very good at this.”

Arafinwë seemed a little more animated now, and he smiled brightly and pushed a small pile of pieces towards her.

“This is only my second one,” he told her. “I did another a week ago. There was a beach and a sunset and a big boat, I was doing it until Laurelin waned, ammë had to come and take me to bed.”

“Goodness,” Nerdanel chuckled, slotting one of her own pieces into the puzzle. “It sounds lovely. I like beaches too. They’re very beautiful, aren’t they?”

“Yes.” Arafinwë nodded enthusiastically, then started describing one trip atar had taken the family on once, how he’d loved the waves and the smell of the ocean even though they were too strong, and Nolofinwë had had to come and rescue him from the tide. He talked about how Fëanáro hadn’t wanted to touch the water, despite Arvo’s attempts to try and involve his brother in the fun, so he brought him some water scooped into a shell instead.

The child continued to chatter, and despite his initial shyness, Nerdanel noticed that he was extremely talkative when listened to. Her heart warmed a little, and she found herself dreaming of the day when she could have one of her own. Even two perhaps, or three.

The two continued their work, chatting lightheartedly about this and that. Arvo wanted to know what Nerdanel’s favourite thing to do was, so she told him about her sculpting, promising to show him some of her pieces someday. Time passed, and they barely noticed the room slowly getting darker as the light of Laurelin faded and the faint, silvery glow of Telperion began to take its place.

Then the door suddenly burst open and Fëanáro walked in, still in his travelling cloak and clearly just returned. Nerdanel looked up, startled, before smiling widely.

“You’re back!”

“We just returned,” Fëanáro replied, sinking down beside her and kissing her forehead. “I went looking for you, but you were nowhere to be found. I must have done three laps of the palace!”

Nerdanel smiled brightly, smoothing his windswept hair. “I have been spending some time with your brother. We must have lost track of the time.”

Fëanáro then noticed Arvo for the first time, eyes narrowing a little as he took in the almost completed puzzle and array of stuffed toys.

“Oh good heavens,” he groaned. “He hasn’t roped you into this, has he? I’m so sorry. Aro, go away.”

Arafinwë’s face fell, and he murmured a soft “sorry, brother” and started to gather his puzzle pieces up. Nerdanel scooted over to Arvo and wrapped her arms around him, giving Fëanor a stern look.

“Oh no, don’t be mean! He hasn’t roped me into anything, I was very glad for his company. We had a lovely time, didn’t we?”

Arvo nodded, feeling a little pleased that Nerdanel had stood up to his brother. Few ever did. Fëanáro simply huffed.

“Well that’s charming, but I think it’s time for bed now, isn’t it? Go on, go find your mother.”

Arvo gathered his toys into his arms, murmured a goodnight to Nerdanel and shuffled out of the room. Nerdanel sighed.

“He is very sweet, you know. And he tries so hard to please everybody.”

“So he would have you believe,” Fëanor muttered.

Nerdanel grimaced, but decided not to pursue the matter right at this moment, sensing that there wasn’t much use. She knew Fëanáro’s family was complicated. She wasn’t going to dig into it in the days before their wedding. Instead, she changed the subject.

“How is the King? Did everything go as planned?”

Fëanáro’s face softened, and he sat down beside Nerdanel and took hold of her hands.

“It did. I am sorry that I didn’t take you...it is a long journey, and not a pleasant one. The gardens where she lies are not a joyful place. But I shall bring you someday, if you still wish it.”

“I do.” 

Nerdanel looked at her betrothed, pained to see the grief that he still carried. She wished she could make it all go away. And yet in the moments when they were together, laughing, exploring, learning, or simply watching the stars in silence...in those moments, nothing existed but the two of them. They were unburdened, simply two young Eldar marvelling at the beauty of the world.

Nerdanel leaned in and pressed her lips against Fëanáro’s, and she felt his hands in her hair, drawing her closer. In that moment she sent up a silent prayer to Varda, asking that they could remain in their little world, free of any burdens, for as long as possible.

[iminye]

hey! yo! you mind talking a bit more about the extended fëanorian family ocs you have? how many there are, how they’re related, when they’re born, the rough arc of their life?

Hello thank you for your ask! No I don't mind talking about them at all! I love them all very much but please be prepared that this is going to be a long one and that I couldn't even fit everything I want to talk about in here

I have talked about Maglor's, Caranthir's and Curufin's wives before so I left them out on purpose. So I'm just going to talk about the third and fourth generation here.

If you exclude Elrond and Elros Maglor and his wife Cellin have four children and in order of their birth their names are Gilloth, Nelladon, Gilrin and Belegur. Gilloth has a son named Arrod, none of the other three are married or have children. Curufin and his wife Aiwë have one more child besides Celebrimbor, Aracundo. Celebrimbor himself has a son named Aenion. Caranthir and Calairie remain childless. I'm not sure yet where Gil-Galad belongs family wise in my headcanon but let's just assume he's Orodreth's son for convenience.

I don't exactly have stories for them all. Aracundo, Nelladon and Aenion are probably the most fleshed out one's when it comes to their stories but I love them all regardless.

A badly drawn family tree for reference. If you want some more details there are about 2k words of bullet points under the cut :)

Gilloth

Daughter of one of Maedhros's guards and Maglor's second in command

Born some time before the Nirnaeth Arnoediad

Both her parents die in the Nirnaeth, and she is taken in by Maglor and his wife Cellin and is raised as their daughter

Loses her voice during the War of Wrath but refuses to tell anyone how it happened (possible Trauma related?)

Helps Celebrimbor run Eregion in the S.A

Is very interested in architecture and has great talent

Also helps with the construction of Rivendell and moves there after Eregion falls

Has great impact on her siblings upbringing

She and Erestor start courting after Glorfindel locks them in a room together and only allows them out after Erestor confesses his feelings

They marry mid Third Age

Their only child is called Araráto or Arrod in Sindarin

Because Maglor has given all his children a father name (be they his real children or not) she got one as well

It's Tintanárë (Sparkling Fire)

She's very close with Aracundo especially during the latter half of the second Age and the early Third Age

Her favourite people in Middle Earth are dwarves. She gets along well with them and even learns some Khuzdul from Narvi because she can't just reveal the secret

She is very strong at Oswanë and uses is constantly to communicate

Elrond has a lot of headaches because she directs her absurd thoughts at him to annoy him

Arrod is her sunshine and she would die for him

Not a very good warrior but she's doing her best

Aracundo

Second Born son of Curufin and Aiwë of the Teleri

Fathername: Artafinwë (Exalted Finwë)

He's my depressed disaster gay

Tall boy™ (maybe even taller than Maedhros?)

Born: 464 F.A (same year as Turin because reasons) in Nargothrond

He doesn't remember his dad because his parents parted ways after the Lúthien incident

He grows up in Cirdans care because that's where his mom took him

His best friend growing up was Ereinion even though the other is several years older than him

He doesn't have a lot of temperament and is more like his mother, calm and sensitive

Fights in the War of Wrath as Ereinion's second in command but is more known for his strategies and not for his actions on the battlefield

He and Ereinion get married early into the Second Age (yes he's Gil-Galad's husband and they love each other very much fight me)

He goes absolutely berserk once he sees his brother used as a banner of Sauron's forces after Eregion falls and probably takes down half their army by himself

People who knew Maedhros had a very very vivid flashback that day

When his mother sails not long after he remains in Middle Earth to fight Sauron

He gets much more quiet and reserved after losing his brother, mother and nephew in one go

He is very much pro Last Alliance and openly supports Elendil but mostly because he wants to avenge Celebrimbor's death

Uh… you know who dies during that battle? Ereinion and Aracundo blames himself for it

He stops speaking and becomes a shadow of himself afterwards

Refuses both the crown and Vilya

Lives with Cirdan for some time but moves to Rivendell after Celebrían sails to support Elrond

Has no big part in the second ring war

He sails alongside Cirdan and Celeborn

His life gets from good to worse to tragic to suffering

But he gets reunited with Ereinion in Valinor so it's not a total tragedy

Nelladon

Maglor's and Cellin's first biological child

Born: 1700 S.A

Died: 2770 T.A.

Has Nerdanel's signature red hair but otherwise full on takes after his mother's side of the family

His fathername is Russanáro (copper fire)

Aso has the epithets Copperhead from the dwarves, Pityatinto (Little Sparkle) from his grandfather and Tyalmahto (Toymaker) from the Numenorians

Self sacrificing idiot (we'll get to that later)

His passion is toymaking but also woodworking but he's also a great singer and loves storytelling

For every new baby family member he makes an abundance of toys and when all of them grow up he travels the world to make toys for the children of other families

The only members of his own family to never receive a toy from him are his younger brother Belegur, as well as his cousins on his mother's side of the family (all of them are born after his death)

A very good boy, only wants to make the people happy

He finds Aenion again with the dwarves of Erebor after they establish their kingdom there

Tries to talk him into visiting their family but stays unsuccessful until his death

Speaking of his death and self sacrificing

He dies during Smaugs attack on Erebor while he tries to make time for Thrain and Thror to escape. He faces Smaug in the throne room with nothing more than a iron shield on him

And burns

He fully knew he was going to die but he did it for his friends

Probably aroace

Also the first member of the House of Fëanor to get re-embodied

Gilrin

Maglor's and Cellin's only biological daughter and Fëanor's only biological granddaughter

Born: 20 T.A.

Like Celegorm she takes after Miriel in terms of appearance but inherited her grandfather Tinwës blonde hair

Not the tallest but still like half an inch taller than Fëanor and Curufin

Has a lot of artistic talent and can paint life like images

She painted the wall painting of Isildur cutting of Sauron's finger only with a very bad sketch from Glorfindel and a mental image provided by Galadriel as a reference

Basically always happy and smiling

Hates it when she has one-sided conversations, feels like she's intruding somehow

Celebrían is her big idol and she was devastated when she got hurt and had to sail

Was even more devastated after Nelladons death and isolated herself for a while

Starts traveling with Gildor and his group from that point on to get some distraction and is among the elves who meet Frodo, Pippin and Sam in the Shire

Will not sail until her parents do

Does her best to support Aragorn as the new king of Gondor because she feels like that's what's she owes to Elrond and partially also Elros even though she never met him

The most Avarian out of her siblings

Belegur

Finwë 2.0

Seriously the boy looks like Finwë as much as Arwen looks like Lúthien

People find it quite disturbing (People are Maglor, Glorfindel and Cirdan)

Fathername: Cuináro (living fire)

Born: either 3019 T.A. or somewhere between 10 and 50 Fourth Age

Youngest member of the House of Fëanor even younger than his youngest nephew

Elladan, Elrohir, Arwen and Arrod call him little uncle and he hates it (he loves it but pretends he hates it)

Spends most of his childhood in Gondor because his parents moved the like almost immediately to be with Aragorn and Arwen

Has a deeper connection to men than all of his other siblings (aside from Elros for obvious reasons)

He feels weird when he sees his best friends from childhood grow up, get children and then see those grow up and have children of their own all while he himself is still a child/teenager/going adult

When Elfwinë's son Éomund II. who he was closest with dies, Belegur is devastated

His relationship with mortality becomes rather complicated afterwards

Dedicated scholar and historian

Also only sails when his parents will

Has a very easy time befriending people

Probably the best warrior out of his biological siblings just because Gilrin hates fighting and Nelladon just doesn't care about weapons

In possession of the one Feanorian Braincell might as well have inherited it from his mother)

Aenion

Celebrimbor's son

Born somewhere between 1620 and 1680 S.A

I have no idea who his mother is, any suggestions?

Thought about making him the love child of Tyelpë and Annatar but this feels kinda weird but also hilarious

Looks like Curufin acts like Caranthir

Cantëacurufinwë™ (blame the fact that Tyelpë is called Nelyacurufinwë)

Aenion probably isn't his real mothername but he calls that himself and everyone just does the same

Grumpy cat™

Raised by dwarves after Eregion fell and stayed with Durin's line until the Sacking of Erebor (Thrain brought him to Rivendell)

Speaks almost no Sindarin but is fluent at Westron and Khuzdul

Has no interest in learning Quenya

Creative use of swear words

A Smith like almost everyone else in his father's line

If he is Sauron's child, he has very much cat eyes and you can't convince me otherwise, also the Ring would probably love him

He goes back to Erebor after the dwarves retake it and helps them rebuild it

Feels very guilty for Nelladons death because he couldn't convince him to flee with him

Can't look Cellin or Maglor in the eye because of this

Fights during the War of the Ring alongside the Dwarves of Erebor

Sails with Gimli and Legolas

Arrod

Son of Gilloth and Erestor

Born sometime after his parents wedding

Takes more after his father in terms of appearance but has been influenced a lot by Glorfindel growing up

A total goof

One of the elves who 'greet' Thorin and company when they arrive in Rivendell

Gets into unnecessary fights very often

Very protective

Loves Estel to death and is very sad when Aragorn grows up and doesn't want to be carried around piggyback style anymore

Does it anyways

Idk I have not thought about him a lot

Here and here are Picrews that visualise them :) || Tolkien OC Overview here

[dialux]

here’s to the strongest fighter, here’s to the last survivor, iv

Chapter 4: our hearts are unafraid, we’re making our own fate

She’s crying; Anairë can barely see him through the tears blurring her vision. The cold is stinging through her fingers, and the water is wicking the wool of her dress to her skin, and still all she can feel is the thud of Nolofinwë’s heart and the gasps in her own ears. Then Findekáno is there, scooping her up from the side, and so is Turukáno, and so is- is that-

“Írissë,” gasps Anairë, and twists in Nolofinwë’s hold to grip her daughter closer and closer.

[The fix-it fic where Nerdanel, Anairë and Eärwen sneak out of Aman to steal some Silmarils because wars don't always need to be won by armies.]

READ CHAPTER FOUR (AND THE COMPLETE FIC) HERE ON AO3!

Notes for the full story can be found below the cut.

Names go back and forth between Sindarin and Quenya depending on the situation. Nerdanel really doesn’t like languages, and is stubborn enough not to change it up so quickly, so… it just really keeps switching with her.

Perhaps I’ll write the actual treaty details one day! I’ve got them scribbled down anyways!!

Anaire thinking she can resist twenty years of torture is… very brave of her. Also foolish, but would you please look at her husband and son? She’s no stranger to foolishness.

Names!! 

Hyanda means blade. 

Aparuive means conflagaration. 

Avahaira, according to this Quenya dictionary, means “remote/far” BUT the prefix “ava-” means “to refuse or prohibit” which gives another tilt to the word. Also there’s a whole other word called “eccaira” that means “remote/far” SOOOO this is the dimension that I’m arguing for with this one.

I just really love the idea that the Noldor have never had a queen that they think is classically good-looking. Miriel? Silver hair. Also not queen for very long. Indis? Vanya. Nerdanel? Not queen and also canonically not the prettiest. Anaire? In my canon... not considered beautiful. Earwen? Teleri. It really is the best and pettiest hc to go for XDDD

Turgon ropes Fingon into a money-making scheme in Aman and they both get filthy rich. But money shouldn’t matter in an economy of plenty!! I’m very confused but also unwilling to spend more time trying to make this more realistic!!!

Oooooh Feanor TOTALLY hated nicknames. Nerdanel, in the grand tradition of disliking things that your spouse loathes, also doesn’t like nicknames very much. 

She winces every time that Anaire calls her husband Nolo; 

Anaire totally knows this, because Nerdanel has a really expressive face and uses this to annoy Nerdanel when she feels like it

Their children still call each other by nickname but only when their parents aren’t in earshot. None of them want the lecture; 

You can BET that some Feanorian forgets this in Beleriand and is treated to an hour of sheer hell regarding “the importance of names” and “proper grammar” and “perfect pronunciation” by a Nerdanel on the warpath.

The actual monument at Alqualonde is a giant pair of hands cupping the docks, with the names of everyone who lost their life carved into the stone. Nerdanel carved, and Anaire got the names.

Er, people shouldn’t be reborn as quickly as I’m claiming they are, but… let’s ignore that please!

Nerdanel’s recovery rate from falling unconscious is, like, FREAKISHLY quick. No, I don’t have an explanation for this phenomenon.

Also Nerdanel and Anaire are really bad at lying. No, can’t explain this one either.

Me planning this fic: haha it’d be funny if they tased Morgoth. Also me, three weeks later: I’ve got no ideas on another way to incapacitate a Vala guess they have to tase Morgoth now!!

HAIR SHENANIGANS ARE THE BEST SHENANIGANS!! I WILL NOT RESCIND THIS OPINION!!!!

Also really really love the idea of the Feanorians being just. Really fucking weird. No they aren’t normal. No they can’t be treated as normal. They’re all just. Intense and angry and WEIRD. Nobody really likes any of them. They’re all fascinated, but… in a sort of “let’s stay away from that really hot fire” way. 

WHICH means that all those elves that followed them to their individual fortresses are ALSO the weirdos of Aman!! Look in your hearts!!! You know it’s true!!!! There was no proper military structure to Himring because EVERY LAST ONE of those elves are the batshit insane ones that will hare off to be the hero if given, like, a single percentage of success! Maedhros spent more time herding his own people than battling orcs!! “Deeds of surpassing valor” YES this is referring to keeping the wildest people in all of Aman alive for five hundred years!!

And Maglor had HORSES to deal with as well. 

Has anyone in this fandom watched Spirit: Stallion Of The Cimarron? I just imagine. Like. All of their horses. To be Like That. All The Time. 

Hah. Men teach curse words to elves.

Which is not to say that elves don’t insult each other! But they do it by the whole Australian parliament method! 

Meaning no curse words. 

Then they reach Beleriand and. Um. Finrod really takes a shine to it. Nargothrond is the most audibly filthy place in all of Middle-Earth, because the elves don’t understand doing things by halves.

Imo this really does fulfill… all of the prompts for Tolkien Gen Week- ranging from:

family (um. this entire fic?) to 

platonic relationships (i.e. Nerdanel and Anaire) to 

gray spaces (i.e. Earwen and Anaire) to 

solo (i.e. Nerdanel’s trek across Anfauglith) to 

diversity (beauty? and the lack/acceptance/rejection therein of such standards; Anaire’s complicated relationship to dance) to 

group dynamics (i.e. Nerdanel and Anaire and Earwen) to 

free choice (Which is this fic)!!!!

Which was the event that made me write the fic in the first place, so thank you to @arofili​ for organizing the event! It’s been a blast writing this!

Thank you to everyone who’s liked/reblogged/etc! Y’all are wonderful and I love you vvvvv much!

[elesianne]

A Silmarillion fanfic, chapter four of four – Carnistir/Tuilindien – COMPLETE

Chapter length: ~3,400 words; Story rating: Teenage audiences

A/N: More names than usual in this chapter because I write Fëanáro calling all his sons by their father-names even though Curufinwë is the only one who prefers it. All their names can be found here if you need a reminder.

AO3 LINK

*

Chapter IV //  Daughter of Fëanáro’s line

When his family arrives, Carnistir gives them a stern lecture about behaving quietly and doing as he and Tuilindien say. He slips into the bedroom before letting them in to ask Tuilindien once more whether she is ready.

'I am', she says, a little irritated with him by now. 'Now take your daughter and tell your family her name.'

Carnistir picks Moriel out of her cot. She is awake but calm, a perfect state for her to meet new people.

Do not mind it if they are loud, he tells her silently as he walks to the door. They mean well.

He takes a deep breath, opens the door and says, 'This is Moriel.'

Instantly there is too much noise, and Carnistir covers Moriel's little ears and scowls at his family. 'Come in, but only if you can be quiet.'

Tyelkormo and Curufinwë roll their eyes as they come into the room. It suits Curufinwë particularly badly because he is holding his own baby. Netyarë tugs at Curufinwë's sleeve, and they go to talk to Tuilindien.

Without hesitation, Carnistir passes Moriel to his mother's arms first. 'Your granddaughter', he says, watching his parents' faces fill with light.

'Little Moriel', Nerdanel breathes with a wide smile.

Fëanáro doesn't smile, but his eyes are almost too bright for joy only. 'Welcome to the family, Moriel', he says. He caresses her round cheek, touches her black curls. 'You gave her a good name, Morifinwë.'

Carnistir wants to snort but knows that his father would look down his nose at him for it. 'It is the most obvious, least creative name that I could have chosen.'

'Not everything has to be complicated.' The corner of Fëanáro's mouth twitches as he says that.

'Though things in this family tend to be', Nerdanel agrees. She smiles down at a curious Moriel. 'She is beautiful, Carnistir, a strong little girl.'

'Tuilindien says that she is going to grow up tall and strong', Carnistir says. Watching his parents' happiness at meeting his child makes him feel warm. 'Like you', he adds a little belatedly. His mother is taller and much stronger than most women.

'I'm sure she will', Fëanáro says, eyes fixed on Moriel. 'Can I hold her, Nerdanel?' he asks.

With an indulgent smile Nerdanel lets Fëanáro lift Moriel into his own arms. 'Come meet your niece, boys', she calls to Carnistir's brothers. 'In an orderly manner', she adds as the Pityo steps on Maitimo's toes in his hurry to meet the baby.

Relaxing because his mother has his brothers under control and Moriel does not appear to be to alarmed by all the new people, Carnistir takes a step back. He sees that Tinweriel is now talking with Tuilindien and Netyarë, the three of them laughing at something that Carnistir cannot make out over the excited voices of the twins and the rain still falling in heavy sheets outside the windows.

Curufinwë appears at Carnistir's side, so suddenly that Carnistir swears.

'Don't sneak around', he tells his most annoying brother that he has actually grown somewhat close with during the year that both of them were fathers-to-be. They have had more in common than ever before.

'You named your child Moriel, Morifinwë?' Curufinwë sneers but it is probably playful. His sneer melts into a smile as he looks at their gaggle of brothers gathered around their father holding Moriel.

Carnistir raises his brows so high it is actually uncomfortable. 'You gave your son your own name.'

'It's traditional!'

'For you and for father, mostly. Most others do not give the exact same name to their child.'

'Shush, your cantankerousness will scare your little one.'

But Moriel is not cranky – if she were, she would make it known, and everyone in the room would hear it – and neither is Curufinwë or Carnistir, really.

'She is a sweet child, Moryo', Curufinwë says, his shrewd eyes almost as soft as when he speaks of his own child.

'She's very loud when she makes noise', Carnistir says, wondering why he can never go without arguing back at Curufinwë.

'Of course she is – she is your daughter after all.'

Curufinwë dodges Carnistir's friendly shove, the swift little weasel. 'They'll be good friends, probably, your daughter and my son', Curufinwë says. 'They are so close in age. They will learn things at the same pace, and they can take lessons together.'

'They'll be good friends or they might not get along. Being related and close in age is no guarantee of being close friends. Just look at me and Tyelko.'

'How can you be so curmudgeonly when you have a four-day-old baby, cuter than you could have reasonably hoped for, and a happy wife who is well and even tolerates all of us bursting in here at once?' Curufinwë rolls his eyes again.

Carnistir decides to answer honestly. 'Out of old habit.'

'Do try to get rid of that habit. Now, we were talking about our children.' Curufinwë makes a face as if that sounds as incongruous in his ears as it does in Carnistir's. 'You and Tyelko had to live under the same roof. I hope that Moriel and my little Curufinwë will get along better since they don't have to. It won't be a problem if one of them is noisy in the mornings and the other wants to start the day quietly.'

'I hope so too', Carnistir says, not against his habit of always speaking the truth.

*

Tuilindien watches from her place in bed as each member of Carnistir's family admire Moriel and exclaim over her in turn, each in their own way. Tyelkormo makes a show of counting Moriel's fingers to make sure she has the right number of them; Netyarë coos to her and moves Tyelperinquar's little fist as if in a wave to his cousin; the twins are not as spellbound as they were with Tyelperinquar when they first saw him, but still amazed at a brother of theirs having a child of his own.

Netyarë and Tinweriel take the seats Carnistir has set by the bed and ask her how she is, how Moriel has been, all the questions that people, women especially, ask of a new mother. Tuilindien asks to hold Tyelperinquar and with a smile, Netyarë gives him to her.

He is awake and alert and looks at Tuilindien with his grey eyes wide as she holds him before her against her bent knees and smiles at him. He is paler-skinned and lighter-haired than Moriel with his mid-grey eyes and dark brown hair; he is very much the kind of Noldo that lived in Tuilindien's mind as the typical Noldo before she got to know so many of them that the abstract version in her mind has all but disappeared.

'Hello, Tyelpë dear', Tuilindien says to him, and he coos, as if in answer. 'There is now a playmate for you: a little cousin, barely littler than you.'

Netyarë laughs. 'She may grow up to be taller than him, if Tyelpë takes after me.' Netyarë is by far the shortest in the room full of her in-laws, and indeed most rooms.

Tuilindien smiles. 'We shall see.' She turns to Tinweriel. Makalaurë has appeared to stand behind her, hand on her shoulder. 'Will you sing at Moriel's naming ceremony?'

'Of course', both of them say almost at the same time, as pleased to be asked as they are every time.

Suddenly almost everyone is gathering around the bed. Moriel has ended up in Fëanáro's experienced arms that bounce her back to calmness when she fusses a little.

The twins give way to their father so he can stand behind Netyarë. Tuilindien tries not to tense so much that it is visible; Carnistir makes the twins make space for him too. He doesn't bother to hide being on guard.

'How are you, Tuilindien?' Fëanáro asks.

Instinctively, Carnistir takes a step closer. His father talking to her usually doesn't end well even if it begins well.

'I am well, thank you', Tuilindien replies. 'Tired, but Carnistir is taking good care of me.'

'And you are recovering your strength?'

If the question came from anyone else, Tuilindien would interpret its tone as concern. Perhaps, with the shadow of Míriel on them all but most of all on Fëanáro, it is concern. 'I am', she says. 'Little by little. Thank you for asking.'

'That is good.' Fëanáro bounces Moriel gently again. 'Carnistir, stop hovering so close. I can feel your breath at the back of my head.'

Carnistir doesn't apologise but takes half a step back. Tuilindien smiles at him and tells him as clearly as she can without speaking that everything is well; it is.

Fëanáro gazes down at Moriel as intently as he would a piece of unfinished work, or a puzzle he is trying to solve. She blinks at him, growing drowsy. Fëanáro turns to Carnistir and says, 'She has the same colour eyes as you had when you were born, Carnistir. My mother's eyes.'

Tuilindien feels Carnistir's surprise at that. He says, 'I thought her eyes were like Tyelko's. Light.'

'No. Turkafinwë resembles her most out of all of you in most ways, his hair most notably, but her eyes were dark, as dark as yours.'

Carnistir swallows heavily. 'I did not know.'

For the first time that Tuilindien has ever seen, Fëanáro smiles a little mockingly at no one else, just himself. He says, 'Because I rarely speak of her, as does my father. Most of what you know – all of you – you have pieced together from things you have heard from people who were not so close to her.'

More quietly, melodiously, Fëanáro says, 'She had silver hair and swift hands and dark eyes, and she was the jewel of her father's eye and thus named Míriel, jewel-daughter. Little Moriel –' and he smiles again, in the way that Tuilindien is coming to recognise as the way he smiles at his grandchildren, '– is the jewel of a daughter in our family.'

It is the softest side of Fëanáro that Tuilindien has ever seen and though she is happy to see it, there is in her heart a little piercing pain in her heart. She thinks, this is how he can be with his family when I am not there; this is how he is capable of being with everyone else but me.

But giving birth to his granddaughter seems to have earned Tuilindien a respite from Fëanáro's coldness.

He and Nerdanel are the last to leave, tarrying beside the bed after giving Moriel to Tuilindien. She had become restless and nothing would soothe her but laying against her mother's chest.

While Carnistir talks to his mother of some practical matters, Fëanáro takes a seat in the chair closest to Tuilindien and says, 'Thank you for the name, Tuilindien.'

He rarely speaks her name out loud.

'Carnistir chose Moriel's name', she replies, confused.

'Yes, I know. I also know that he would not have named your first daughter after himself without asking for your consent. I appreciate that you gave it to him.' Fëanáro touches Moriel's hand once more. 'She would have liked the name too, my mother whose name Moriel's echoes. She would have been proud for a daughter of her line to bear it.'

Tuilindien does not ask how he knows that even though he barely knew his mother. Sometimes one just knows some things about people, with a certainty of the heart if not the mind; and young children have the strongest connection to their parents.

'I am glad to hear it', Tuilindien says. And she is.

Fëanáro stands up abruptly. 'I wish you a speedy recovery', he says. 'Do invite my father to see her soon. He is very impatient, even more than Nerdanel's parents.'

'In a few days', Tuilindien promises. 'And then he can begin arrangements for the naming ceremony so in a few weeks' time, all of our friends and relatives can meet Moriel.'

Fëanáro gives her a sharp nod and turns just as sharply to leave.

Tuilindien is tired but her heart is light as she pats Moriel's back and promises her silently that she can get her meal just as soon as Nerdanel is done chatting with Carnistir.

She smiles and whispers to Moriel, breathing in the sweet baby smell of her, 'You are my jewel-daughter, and my flower-daughter, half-Noldo and half-Vanya that you are.'

*

Already before she opens her eyes, Tuilindien knows that he is there like he has been constantly these past few days, his strength that supports her surrounding her as clear as the dip in the mattress beside her. She is glad he is resting in bed and not in that chair he took up residence in for the first two days of Moriel's life.

'Carnistir', she mumbles, opening her eyes and lifting herself up on her elbows. When she sees that Moriel is in Carnistir's arms, coming slowly to wakefulness just like Tuilindien herself, she relaxes back onto the mattress. She doesn't need to check up on the baby. Carnistir is looking after her and will pass her on to Tuilindien to be fed when it is needed.

Tuilindien allows herself to close her eyes again, just for a little moment longer, turning her cheek to the soft pillow. Her husband and child are quiet, the only thing she can hear Moriel's small sleepy snuffling.

For a time at least. When Tuilindien yawns and rubs at her eyes, Carnistir asks, 'Are you well this morning? Recovering from meeting all of my family yesterday?'

So he hasn't stopped worrying yet. 'Quite well', she replies.

Carnistir's face is tense but his fingers stroking half-sleepy Moriel's little arm couldn't be gentler. 'You know why I worry every time you fall to sleep. You sleep so much still. Every time you fall asleep, a part of me is still afraid that you won't wake up', he admits.

Because Míriel died in her sleep, without a sound but a sigh. Tuilindien tries not to shiver at the thought. She is not afraid of passing from Irmo's realm to Námo's while she rests, but Carnistir's worry weighs her down all the same. She is so very sorry for him that he cannot enjoy this precious early time with their daughter like she can, without any worries.

The fear in his eyes that he bears as Fëanáro's son and Míriel's grandson has faded, lessened, but it is still there, not quite masked by the joy that Moriel has brought.

'Five days, Carnistir, it has been five days since I gave birth to Moriel. And there is healing in Irmo's realm for me.' Trying for levity, she asks, 'Will you not stop worrying before Moriel is a woman grown?

Carnistir grimaces. 'Not until the last of our children is grown, I expect.' He bends down to give her a soft kiss, a brush of his lips, and it is an apology. 'I promise you, Tuilë, as you have promised me not to leave us, that I trust in your strength more every day, slow though my progress is.'

Tuilindien sits up to take a sip of water. 'Thank you, my love. I know that you always keep your promises.'

At that moment Moriel whimpers and then opens her mouth and begins crying as loud as she can, making both of her parents flinch and her little face scrunch up and redden. They can tell, both by the sound of the cry and the need they can feel in her fëa, that she is hungry.

As fast as she can, Tuilindien unbuttons the wide straps of her nightgown that she had made specially for nursing, and Carnistir gives Moriel to her to nurse.

Carnistir rubs his ears. 'I truly hope that she does not get any louder as she grows older.'

'We should have been listening to her more closely instead of worrying other things so that we could have felt it before she needed to start wailing', Tuilindien says distractedly as she tries to find just the right way to hold Moriel so that she will latch. After a moment of trying she does, and Tuilindien leans her head back and closes her eyes in relief.

'I will go get breakfast for you', Carnistir says suddenly.

'And for yourself', Tuilindien reminds him.

'Of course.'

He gathers a few scattered clothes from around the room to take them to be laundered while Tuilindien hides a smile. There is no of course about him remembering to feed himself too; he forgets most of the time, lost in the rhythm of taking care of his wife and child.

While he is gone to fetch food, Tuilindien peers out the window as well as she can from her place in bed with her child nursing at her breast. It looks like the rain has finally stopped, though drops still keep falling down from the roof.

She can hear some birdsong, too, besides the sound of water, and that makes her come to a little decision while she moves Moriel over to her other breast. Tuilindien sings to her quietly as she nurses: a lullaby of birds in the spring, building nests in the fragrant trees on the mountainside, gathering many kinds of things to make them perfect for their little ones.

When Carnistir returns, arms laden with several plates of food and a jug in each hand, Tuilindien says, 'When we have eaten, we'll go into the garden. I am grown tired of this one room, I miss birdsong, and I want to show Moriel the outside world.'

And then she says, as he looks for places to set down the food and drink in the room that has again become messy, 'Thank you, my love, for bringing all of this. I didn't mean to be ungrateful by asking for more at once.'

'Don't worry about that, Tuilë, just tell me where to –'

'Just set it on my legs. I'll be still.'

He does put down the last plate on her legs and then sits down and says, 'Vanimelda, I'm not sure if the garden is…' He seems to remember his promise. After a pause during which he pours them both a cup of water he says, 'You must let me carry you.'

Tuilindien laughs. 'If you carry me, who will carry Moriel? No, my stubborn love, you will carry the baby and I will walk. It's hardly a longer distance to walk to the nearest bench than the three rounds around this room that I successfully did last night. The fresh air and brighter light will give me strength rather than sap it.'

Carnistir's black brows draw tight as he thinks, but he must come to the conclusion that her desire to end her bedrest is a good thing. 'Very well. But we will take blankets into the garden. I do not want either of you to get cold.'

'Of course we will take a blanket for Moriel, and for me too if you wish, but it is spring already, Carnistir, and warm now that the rain has finally passed.' Tuilindien hands him the baby to be burped – he has become the expert on it – and smiles again as she picks up the plate on her legs. Smiles come so easy to her these days.

'Moriel is our spring child', she says. 'I am sure she will like it out in the garden.'

The rain has indeed stopped though the garden is still wet. The touch of wet grass dampens the hem of Tuilindien's dressing gown within seconds, darkening it, and the spring-courting calls of birds in the trees is accompanied by the sound of water dripping from the bud-bearing branches.

Tuilindien does not mind. She stops at the nearest bench, as she promised Carnistir, and pulls him close to kiss him. She sighs against his lips, and then, after a quick kiss to Moriel's cheek too, she turns her face to the wind from the mountains and the golden light from Calacirya.

Together with Carnistir she grins watching Moriel, in his safe hold, blink wide-eyed at the wider world and brighter light.

*

A/N: This is it for this baby fic but this is not, if I can help it, my last fic about Carnistir and Tuilindien and their family. I have at least one happy fic planned, and then a monstrously long angst-filled fic about the unrest of the Noldor, darkening of Valinor and flight of the Noldor from this couple’s POV. But who knows when I can finish those...

If you want an email when I post a new fic in the Fëanorian marriages series, subscribe to the series on AO3.

Especially because this is the last chapter, I would love to hear what you think of it and the whole fic <3

[curufinwefeanaro]

What would Fëanor say of his firstborn & His cousin together ?

|| Hello anon.

I’ve addressed this in past, but I don’t think I ever summarised it in a post, so here we go. I hope you’re ready for the read.

Firstly, something about LaCE. I think you know what it is? But if not: Laws and Customs of the Eldar is an essay/chapter written by Tolkien that you can find in The Peoples of Middle Earth (HoME 12, if I’m not mistaken, can’t be assed to check). The gist of it is: elves marry for life and are intrinsically soul-bound when they have sex, the expectation of marriage is basically bearing children, an elf can immediately tell if another elf is soul-married by looking into their eyes/spirit. There are a lot of other customs described in there (such as naming customs), but this is what is relevant to our topic. Basically, the implication is that marriage equals sex on a natural and metaphysical level and that sex can only be heterosexual. 

Now, my stance on it: LaCE does not describe the nature of elves, only, well, what the title says --- their laws and customs. They are social norms of the Eldar, aka Amanyar elves (Vanyar, Ñoldor, Teleri) and Sindar of Beleriand. Even beyond the fact that the soul-bound thing is creepy as hell, I do actually have receipts proving that LaCE is unreliable at best (this post explains the problem of its authorship pretty damn well) (and also some stuff talking about the whole text, part #1, #2, #3, #4) (and if you really wanna go wild, this is a pretty interesting take on romance or lack thereof within the context of LaCE) --- but I do still choose to follow it as a set of rules, because it gives a good (if inaccurate) insight in a society that could otherwise be entirely alien to our understanding.

I’ll get to your question in a bit, but I think it’s relevant to clarify how I believe homosexual relationships (or anything non-hetero, really) would be perceived in this context, and what is Fëanor’s stance on LaCE.

As I said, what is officially recognised (marriage that is only really “crowned” by conceiving children) is heterosexuality. But since I’m rejecting LaCE as natural laws, I do believe non-heterosexual relationships exist. I suppose, in this context, that they could be read as different things: youthful adventures, occasionally a master-apprentice relationship (which may a little more socially accepted?), dalliances, something that exists and people know, but is not made public and certainly has no kind of social significance and should not claim any, on the verge of secrecy. It’s not an ideal society by far, but Valinor isn’t one in any case, it has a lot of taboos, death itself seemingly being a not irrelevant one. 

As for Fëanor’s position in all of this, we know he has a sort of tendency to not do what is expected of him (including but not limited to marrying very young, moving out from the house of his father, marrying someone who apparently made people wonder, traveling in the wilderness a lot). On the other side his situation in terms of marriage and bonding-for-life is very delicate because of his mother’s death and his father’s remarriage. Basically, if he refuses such customs entirely, he risks to legitimise his father’s choice, or at least to make not so much a big deal out of it. 

I say that because I suppose there is evidence that the laws and customs are in fact influenced by the Valar. The Statute of Finwë and Míriel is a good example of that, but also there’s some nice analysis about how the Valar might influence gender roles in Aman. (Now you could ask me, but why should deities that come from Eru’s mind want to implement roles and customs that are so painfully and imperfectly human? Well... frankly I don’t blame it on them but on the fact that Tolkien was, in fact, human, and a man with his flaws. I, myself, am rejecting LaCE as the pinnacle of purity that it maybe was supposed to be in Tolkien’s imagination, and that means that the link with the Valar as enforcers of this “goodness” is lost. I can’t frankly be assed to rework the entire concept of the Valar’s morality and where LaCE might come from if not from them right now. Maybe I’ll do it one day but not now.)

So, in short: Fëanor rejecting the norms on marriage and couple bonding would be consistent with his rejection of the Valar’s authority from a certain point onwards, BUT it would also mean that all of his issues (which are deeply influenced by the society he grew up in) would disappear into thin air, or at least would almost be invalidated by his own claims against the Valar. And those issues are not exactly something he can shrug off, they’re not just social norms he can speak against, they are personal, very deep, very painful. So, as far as I’m concerned, his stance with regard to LaCE can only be extremely conflicted (consider: the organisation of society in Aman is not something that he challenges explicitly even in his speech to the Ñoldor. It’s only the Valar’s sovereignity and what they want from the elves. Although freedom might also include that part of the problem.)

...And now.

Back to your actual question.

What doesFëanor think of Maedhros and Fingon together? Here I assume you mean in a romantic and sexual sense, rather than in a companionship sense. If it were the latter, the text would give you almost all that you need. 

We are never told thatFëanor ever spoke against his sons’ friendship with Aredhel, or Maedhros’ specific friendship with Fingon. Absence of evidence isn’t evidence of absence, that is true, but I argued before that his own relationship with Fingolfin wasn’t always so bad, and what The Silmarillion itself has to say in chapter 9 is:

But when they were landed, Maedhros the eldest of his sons, and on a time the friend of Fingon ere Morgoth’s lies came between, spoke to Fëanor [...]

There’s a before, and no indication whatsoever that, before the feud,Fëanor had anything against it (or that his opinion was even the main reason why the friendship ended to begin with, since the text pretty clearly points the finger against Melkor here, and since both Maedhros and Fingon have their own personal loyalty to their own house and can read the situation and think for themselves.)

Now, on a romantic level... well, I spent a bunch of paragraphs explaining why that’s complicated. I think he would have more issues with that being presented as something serious or something that should be made pubilc, which I don’t believe Maedhros would ask of him under any circumstance --- they are still the royal family and going against LaCE again, presenting a new set of special circumstance might not be what anyone wants to see, Maedhros least of all.Fëanor might glare a bit, because it’s technically a joining of his house with his brother’s, IF you follow the laws and customs (remember, sex=marriage here, even if that might not at all count in case of same-sex relationships) (let’s not even get into the gross assumption that only penetrative sex with a penis would count as “real sex”, following the reasoning presented in LaCE). AndFëanor might... not especially enjoy that kind of profoundly political move, especially if tied to social customs issues. He might want to see it all kept secret. Might want to have a chat with Fingolfin on the matter. And might want a sexual relationship to stop. (Which, by the way, I do think is also what Fingolfin would want, cosidering how much more he seems to care about social customs and proper politics.)

But let me tell you, I am firmly against the idea that he would be terribly strict, angry, outraged, or any other radical reaction that doesn’t take into consideration his feelings on such matters, which I’m certain they should be very conflicted. (For her piety, I actually think Nerdanel would take the news in a worse way and I’m not sure where that “supportive gay-accepting mom” trope comes from for her. But headcanons on her aren’t my place to discuss here.) And like, I specify this not just because I’m sick of that “violent father” trope which somehow, in the year of the Lord 2k17, is still around, but also because I’ve seen some shit, anon, I assure you. Even people attributing nazi philosophy toFëanor to explain why he would be Absolutely Against The Ship (unlike Fingolfin, who was somehow a progressive liberal who obviously didn’t give a shit about his social perception and all that jazz), and no, I’m not shitting you, that post was absolutely puke-worthy for the triviality with which it treated real-life issues for the sake of shitting on a character. But this is beyond the point now.

So... yeah? I think I answered your question, or at least I tried to. Enjoy.

[elesianne]

A Silmarillion fanfic, chapter two / five

Chapter summary: In which Makalaurë is ostentatious and Tinweriel is oblivious.

Story summary: These are the things we know about the sons of Fëanor: they are full of fire, and they do no give up easily. These things hold true with Maglor too, ever since childhood, and apply in love as well as war. This fic is a four-part exploration of the relationship that develops between Maglor and his future wife.

Rating: General audiences; Length: ~2,600 words

Tag-type thingies for the whole story: years of the trees, romance, falling in love, music, first meeting, courtship, pining, some light humour

Notes: I guess I should point out to that both Makalaurë and Tinweriel are kind of unreliable narrators in their own chapters: we see things filtered through their perceptions, and some things might be a little warped.

(Also posted on AO3 etc.)

*

Chapter II // Marcato – ‘pronounced’

Over the years they become friends, or so Tinweriel thinks at least. She moves on from teaching Makalaurë to teaching new, younger students, and eventually spends less time at master Curulír's practices herself, instead practising on her own once she becomes of age and is considered an adult and a competent musician in her own right. Makalaurë joins her in her home sometimes, or more rarely, she goes to his, though there is rarely enough peace in Fëanáro and Nerdanel's house to practise properly.

Curulír believes that a young musician should learn to sing and play music composed by others flawlessly before they expend much time or effort on creating their own songs, so while he doesn't discourage Makalaurë from working on his own compositions and lyrics, he offers little feedback on them. Tinweriel is happy to do it, for she gets bored easily with old songs that she has heard repeated as well as played herself all her life. Makalaurë's compositions, even when immature or unfinished, are fascinating.

She tries not to say it to him too often, in fear that he might get cocky or complacent, but he has a unique gift for creating music that isn't just beautiful or skilful but truly touches people's hearts. Sometimes he loses that quality for a while in favour of chasing technical perfection or experimenting with some new trend, and then Tinweriel will remind him of what is important: putting his own heart's fire into the music.

Makalaurë has become better at listening to criticism over the years. Tinweriel can see that inner fire in his eyes when he nods fiercely and promises to do better, to keep working. His confidence takes a hit when his voice changes and is unstable for a time. Curulír makes him work through it but Tinweriel decides not to point it out when for a time, Makalaurë brings to her only instrumental compositions. She never had to through that particular hardship but can imagine how hard it is to lose command of your voice when that voice is such an fundamental part of who you are.

When Makalaurë's voice settles he cannot hide his delight at its new power, and Tinweriel wryly thinks that it must be only a matter of time before he becomes a little cocky again. But it turns out that while his voice changed and he grew to be almost as tall as Tinweriel he grew in other ways as well, and when he rediscovers his confidence it is of a somewhat quieter and steadier kind.

As he approaches adulthood – Tinweriel observing it safely from what she feels is a position of much greater maturity, though their difference in age is small enough that it will be rendered completely irrelevant in not much time at all – she is glad to see him growing into a man she'll be happy and honoured to be friends with, just as she has been with the boy he used to be. Sharp-tongued but kind, proud but not as arrogant as his father, Makalaurë is good company and a good friend.

She believes he feels the same way about her since he often seeks out her company even when he has no new compositions to share with her, just to spend time and play and sing together. They begin performing duets at less formal events, he on harp and she on flute. Maitimo will sing with his brother sometimes though he often excuses himself, claiming that his voice is not fine enough for their more complicated pieces.

So things are pleasant. Tinweriel has several good friends, Makalaurë among them, and she is steadily winning a name for herself as a reliable, talented performer, and when she feels like attending court functions (which is often, for she has a not-so-secret love of pomp and circumstance as well as dancing) she can do so thanks to her family's position.

She dances with Makalaurë very often. It is only natural, since they are friends and enjoy having a skilled partner who both enjoys moving to the music and does it very well. Tinweriel is even better than Makalaurë, admired for her grace and elegance since she was a child, and thinks that in this, Makalaurë will likely never surpass her. She knows that in music it is just a question of time, and tries not to grieve for this.

Makalaurë's coming of age celebration is a grand affair, if not quite as grand as Maitimo's who was the first grandchild of king Finwë to reach his majority. The highlight of the evening is the premiere of a long and complicated composition of Makalaurë's by a large group of musicians led by the prince himself and including Tinweriel on her beloved flute.

The applause afterwards is deafening, and Tinweriel can see Makalaurë smiling so brightly he is practically glowing. He is ebulliently happy all night, twirling Tinweriel in the air many times when they dance and coaxing his older brother to sing with him late in the evening when everyone has partaken of enough wine to feel loose-limbed and loose-tongued.

Makalaurë is still grinning when he appears beneath Tinweriel's balcony very late. She has arrived home only recently herself and has just taken off her silver circlet and unravelled her complicated hairdo. He serenades her loudly enough that the whole street must hear it. She hadn't noticed him following her from the palace but he must have, and here he is in his new purple robes and golden jewellery, singing with all the power of his formidable voice and accompanying himself on a lyre, declaring his love for her. Bouquets of flowers lie on the grass at his feet.

She thinks it is a jest at first, though Makalaurë's voice isn't as playful as it is when he uses his gift of words to make fun of something or someone. But the words he sings aren't the words of a mocking or mischievous song; they are as earnestly romantic as Makalaurë's tone of voice and the look in his eyes.

He looks up at her in that intent way that he sometimes assumes when he's listening to her explain something – the fiercest look of concentration Tinweriel has ever seen on anyone, like there is nothing else on Arda worth his attention except her – and she hadn't thought much of it before, just that it was a manifestation of his surprisingly strong personality, but now, together with the love song and the flowers, Tinweriel comes to an uncomfortable realisation.

She had thought that they were friends, very good friends, and been content with that, but Makalaurë has clearly been entertaining a wish for more.

She smiled at first when she saw him in the garden under her balcony, but now, realising that this isn't just a game to him, her smile fades. He is still smiling up at her though, clearly enjoying himself. Tinweriel never saw him drinking nearly as much as he did on this night and that must have a part in his relaxed manner. A performer to his core, he doesn't seem to mind that there are people appearing on balconies and windows in neighbouring houses. Tinweriel can also hear her parents stepping out onto their balcony beside hers, and she wants to groan.

It is really not fair of Makalaurë to put her into this position – to not only suddenly declare his love, but to do it so publicly.

Tinweriel schools her face into a neutral expression of appreciation. It is not difficult to look appreciative, for Makalaurë's song is very beautiful. Of course it is. If it was for anyone else she could appreciate even more the artistry in the poetic lyrics and the complicated composition and the skill with which the performance is executed.

(That is not quite true. It would feel strange to listen to Makalaurë, her former pupil whom she still has trouble thinking of as a grown man, singing his heart out to anyone. But it feels even stranger that he is doing it to her.)

Tinweriel doesn't know what to do when the last notes of Makalaurë's song fade into the night. The sudden quiet is startling; Makalaurë doesn't say anything, just reaches out his hand, as if she could grasp it if she wanted even though she is a floor above him.

He has always had a flair for the dramatic. But he also has a good heart and Tinweriel cares for him, if not in the way he now claims to care for her, so in the tense seconds after he reaches out his hand she tries to think of the right thing to do. She has no idea what it is. The etiquette and comportment lessons her noble family put her through have not prepared her for gently turning down a suitor.

What a terrible flaw in those lessons, she thinks distantly, before snapping out of her thoughts.

'Thank you for your beautiful song. I am honoured', she calls down to Makalaurë, for they are nobility and royalty and there are certain things that are expected. 'I am quite unworthy of such attentions', she improvises, making good use of her vocal training to make sure her voice carries just right to all the curious ears around them.

'Nonsense, fair lady!' singsongs Makalaurë, grinning and waving his arm dramatically. He looks to be thoroughly enjoying himself, as if this were a game after all, or as if he were certain of the reception his declaration will receive. 'Will you come down and give me a kiss?'

Oh, he must be even more drunk than she'd thought. 'I will come down to talk with you, my lord', she tells him, in a tone close to her strict teaching voice.

Makalaurë's grin falters and though Tinweriel knows she doesn't love him the way he just sang to her, it makes her heart ache. Why must he do this, ruin the lovely friendship they'd settled into? Why must he make her break his heart? She doesn't think it will be a very great heartbreak, for he cannot seriously love her, but this is a very unwelcome complication.

She makes her way down to the garden, trying to think of what to say.

Makalaurë looks delighted to see her. 'You are indescribably lovely with your hair down', he declares far too loudly.

'You're making a scene', Tinweriel hisses.

'That was the intention', says Makalaurë and winks. He has never winked at her before; it must be an effect of his inebriation. 'Good to hear I'm succeeding.'

He is bright and beautiful and very, very self-satisfied. Tinweriel is mortified and a little angry at him.

It's not the first time someone is making a scene for her, but it is the first time it's someone she considers a friend. She racks her brains for ways to end the scene without humiliating him too badly. (A little is acceptable. He is embarrassing her as well, after all.)

She says to him, quietly, 'Please go home, Makalaurë. We can discuss this tomorrow when you are feeling more like yourself.'

'What do you mean, more like myself?' Makalaurë bristles at her words.

'You are intoxicated, and you cannot mean what you sang. It was very pretty but it isn't real.'

'I dare say I know best if my feelings are real.' His triumphant mood is gone, irritation and hurt taking its place. 'Why would they not be?'

'You're too young –'

'Younger people have fallen in love and begun courting', he argues. 'I only waited this long because you are a little older than me and I didn't want anyone to make fun of me. And I thought it would be romantic to surprise you.'

'It was certainly very surprising.' Years of friendship make her opt for honesty. 'I don't know what to say, Makalaurë.'

'Say you'll allow me to court you.'

'I can't do that.'

Now Makalaurë truly looks young, like a little boy suddenly denied a treat he'd been expecting. 'Why not?'

'If you truly feel like you said in your song –'

'I do', Makalaurë grinds out.

'– then I cannot give you what you seek from me. I have only friendship to offer, as ever. We have been good friends, haven't we?'

'Yes, we have, and we could be better lovers still. We make such splendid music together, you and I, just imagine what our bodies could –'

She cannot imagine. Will not. 'Stop', she interrupts him. 'Go home, Makalaurë, sleep and think about what you really want. It can't be me.'

He laughs, and his laugh is a perfect sound of disdain. 'Why not, Tinweriel, silver-crowned flautist, a daughter of lords of the Noldor, an heiress of the sea-music of the Falmari? Why could it not be you, a beautiful, accomplished woman I have admired for years?'

'You are mistaking admiration for love.' She closes her eyes, the wounded look in his too much to bear. 'Please go home. Don't make me hurt you more.'

'You don't have to.' His voice is thick now, close to choking with emotion, painful in her ears, and Tinweriel opens her eyes again because she cannot hide from him. 'Give me a chance, Tinweriel. Let me prove the truth of my feelings to you. There is no reason why you couldn't come to love me even if you don't yet.'

Of course there is no reason. He is handsome, well-spoken, kind-hearted under the youthful arrogance and showiness, and he makes music that touches Tinweriel's soul like no one else's. He is one of her best friends.

Yet any more feels impossible. 'I am loath to give up our friendship', she says. 'It has meant much to me. But it has clearly given you the wrong idea of our relationship, so perhaps it is best if we do not see each other for a while.'

Makalaurë's eyes go cold in a way Tinweriel has rarely seen, reminding her of quicksilver in more than one way. 'We play in two different companies together, even without doing any private duets', he reminds her. 'Not to mention seeing each other at court events and elsewhere. You will find it difficult to avoid me.'

'I don't want to avoid you. Just –' this, she wants to say. What happened here in my family's garden. You singing your love to me until I have no idea what to say. You in your cups and in your best clothes and me with my hair down and my composure lost somewhere in the midst of your words. Can't we go back to the way things were? She knows they cannot. She knows she is being unfair. She doesn't know what else to be.

'I know there are some years between us, but you have never treated me as a child like you did just now. On the day I came of age.' Makalaurë has rediscovered his disdain. 'But in the end I think you are the one acting childishly. I wish you a good night, Tinweriel. I will see you soon, and I will not give up on what we have had, even if you are unwilling to grant me the opportunity to show you the worth of more.'

He picks up his lyre from the grass where he had laid it down, probably in hopes of getting to hold her rather than the instrument, and brushes past Tinweriel and out of the garden.

She watches him go and hopes that this will be the end of it but strongly suspects that it won't, for even the gentlest of Fëanáro's sons has much of his unyielding spirit.

*

A/N: Comments always make my day. (AO3 link)

[elesianne]

Fëanorian mother-names: Ambarussa, Umbarto, Ambarto

I didn't even try to stop myself making this really long because it's for two boys instead of one and they deserve to have a long story together, and because the matter of their names is rather complicated – so this ended up monstrously long, almost 2k words. I placed a cut in the post so that this doesn't take up too much space on your dashes.

This is more angsty than the earlier ones (goes from kind-of-angst to fluff to angst) as could be expected, and a bit weird. I don't know what came over me. No, actually, I blame the whole prophecy of doom of thing. That kind of stuff brings out the worst in me.

[The big brothers: Maitimo, Makalaurë, Tyelkormo, Carnistir, Atarinkë.]

UPDATE in April: I’ve posted all of these in edited, slightly improved form on AO3.

*

Ambarussa, Umbarto, Ambarto

It is Nerdanel who suggests that they have one more child. They have not spoken of the matter after Curufinwë learned to walk and talk; their consensus then was no, or rather not yet at least. Fëanáro never brings up the topic after that, which to his wife is no surprise. He is so happy teaching Curufinwë that he finds no sorrow in their youngest son leaving behind early childhood, all too soon too tall and too proud for parents' hugs and indeed eager to grow up.

They have had five children, Nerdanel reminds herself, a greater number than in most families, a greater blessing than anyone should dare demand. All boys, but bright, beautiful boys she loves with all that she is. Wanting a girl is not why her heart yearns for another child, she believes. It is simply that her arms feel so empty. She finds herself visiting often her sister and her friends who have young children, to try and satisfy that longing for a cheerful, trusting toddler to hold, or a peacefully sleeping babe to gaze down at.

It doesn't help, just makes things worse. I am still young enough and strong, she finds herself thinking. I could still have children and have much to give them. It just feels so selfish when she already has so much.

Fëanáro has no such concerns. When one night she turns to him and asks what he thinks of having another child, he asks 'Why not?' with a smile as fierce as his spirit.

She has no answer to that, only doubts so small she dares not speak them aloud. A quiet, distant fear that she wants another child because she feels she had so little to give to the last one they had, the one who is so wholly his father's son. Another fear is that perhaps Fëanáro would give her that one child more just because he always wants everything, not because his heart yearns for more children to join their family as hers does.

Then again… children are a blessing from the One; surely they will not be given any more if it is not right. And Nerdanel knows her own strength. Even if Fëanáro is engrossed with new, ever more ambitious projects and at times has little patience for their children except for Curufinwë his apprentice, even if he will not give as much of his time and spirit to a future child as he has given to the ones that came before, she is confident she can make up for his shortcomings.

A few years later when she holds in her arms two red-haired babies, near mirror images of each other, she wonders no longer about her selfishness. She and Fëanáro have been blessed again, and their little twins are perfect, and it is completely right that they are here, part of their family. Fëanáro smiles at her and their newest sons with tears in his eyes, then leans carefully over the sleeping babies and kisses her with love and tenderness, and there is no thing on Arda that she could regret.

She does wish her husband had a little more diplomacy in him, though, when he announces the names he chose for the children that they have already agreed shall be their last. Pityafinwë, little Finwë, is a sweet name, but Telufinwë, last Finwë, is another insult to Fëanáro's half-siblings who may well still have several children between them since they are younger than he is and do not have families as large.

Telufinwë's name does not cause as much of a stir as Nelyafinwë's did but still Nerdanel hears of disgruntled mutterings from those who already have little love for her husband, and she has the added worry of her older sons' reactions to those mutterings.

At one court function she happens upon Maitimo dragging Tyelkormo and Carnistir out into the garden, 'to cool down', as he says to his mother. Nerdanel is almost certain that this has something to do with the remark they overheard earlier about Fëanáro's arrogance; she supposes she should be grateful that Fëanáro himself wasn't there to hear it, and that Maitimo is managing his most hot-headed brothers who had made a rare alliance in order to defend their father.

It is clear, then, that it would be better for Pityo and Telvo, as they are called within the family, to receive their mother-names sooner rather than later. Yet Nerdanel is reluctant to hurry, held back by the memory of disappointing Curufinwë. Though Curufinwë didn't take the opportunity she offered for him not to have the first mother-name she had chosen, she wants her youngest sons to also have that opportunity. For that she needs to wait until they are old enough to make the decision.

So Nerdanel waits until they are old enough to have a conversation with, a simple one at least. She thinks of two names, similar but different, and arranges a quiet chat between the three of them. While the twins fight as much Tyelkormo and Carnistir used to, unlike those older brothers they are inseparable rest of the time, and Nerdanel thinks they would like to have this conversation together.

'I have chosen names for both of you', she tells the excited boys who have guessed that something important is about to happen.

Their excitement seems to fade, their legs no longer swinging, faces fallen.

'Names?' asks Pityo.

'Yes, names', their mother says. 'I know it is a little earlier than for some children, but I would like to give you names of my choosing.'

The twins look at each other, then at her.

'We'd rather just have one name', says Pityo.

'Ah.' Taken aback, Nerdanel says, 'I am glad if you like the names your father gave you, but you know, don't you, that everyone gets a name from their mother as well. You can decide which one to use –'

'No, that's not what he meant.' Telvo gives his twin a slightly annoyed shove. 'He meant that we'd rather have one name we shared.'

'Yes', pipes Pityo, shoving back. 'We don't mind you giving a name but could you give us just one? We don't need two.'

Nerdanel's first instinct is to laugh; the twins are looking up at her eagerly and earnestly, blissfully unaware of the peculiarity of their request. She stifles the laugh, though, and explains gently that names are meant to identify, and that everyone has different names because of that.

'We already have different names', Telvo points out, always the one to lay out careful arguments where Pityo is more likely to simply insist. 'We are Telvo and Pityo. So people can identify us by those names. But we would like a name to share, as well.'

'Oh my silly little redheads.' Nerdanel lays a gentle hand on each silky head. 'Are you sure? There are times when you like to be separate, as well.'

She reminds them of a few of those times, but in return they remind her again that they do have the different names too and can use those when they wish.

'Very well', Nerdanel says, recognising the stubbornness these children have inherited from both of their parents. 'But you need to wait a few days at least. Neither of the names I had for you suits both. I think you need to have a very special name to share, don't you?'

The twins agree with enthusiasm but then they turn out to be almost as impatient in waiting for a name as Carnistir was: they follow her around the house and badger her for it for the next few days, and Nerdanel finds it difficult to think. No foresight arrives, which is no surprise for she never had any, and neither does any special insight. All she can think of is simple names, and she tells her impatient children as much when they hop into her studio and ask once again.

'A simple name is alright', says Pityo. 'A simple name can still be special, can't it?'

'Of course it can', Nerdanel assures the child she has called little one for years, for that is what the shortened version of Pityafinwë's name amounts to.

'So give us a simple name', says Telvo.

Nerdanel blows marble dust off Telvo's red curls and ruffles Pityo's. 'Ambarussa.' Top-russet.

The smiles she receives in return for the name tell her that she has not made a mistake like she did with Curufinwë. The twins are happy with their mother-name, and so is Nerdanel; it is a simple but sweet and affectionate name for sweet, affectionate boys. And it describes in its own way how the twins have always been happy with the colour of their hair, delighted to share this unusual feature with their mother and their adored, idolised big brother Maitimo who was already a man grown by the time his youngest brothers were born but no less loved by them for it.

Fëanáro is not happy with the name when he hears it, or rather, he is no happy that the twins share it. He says nothing in front of the jubilant Ambarussar, as Nerdanel already has begun to call them in the plural, but when they retire to the privacy of their bedchamber he tells her he doesn't approve of her decision.

Nerdanel had not asked for his approval beforehand, for the giving of a name is between the parent and child alone. Nerdanel never spoke against the names Fëanáro gave their first and last child, though they grieved her.

But Fëanáro asks that she give the twins different names, even after she explains why she chose to break tradition.

'It is not right', he says. 'Similar though they may be, they are different, and all their names should reflect that.'

'I think–' begins Nerdanel and then says no more, for at that moment, finally, suddenly, arrives foresight.

She sees nothing for a moment, a darkness unlike any she has ever seen around her like a suffocating veil placed upon her eyes and nose and mouth, then there are smells – something metallic, something salty, then the smell of fire. And then there is nothing but fire, all around her, and it burns everything away, it burns her away.

When she returns to her self and her bedroom and her husband, Fëanáro is shaking her. 'Nerdanel!' he shouts at her.

Nerdanel pushes him away. 'I am fine', she says hoarsely.

'You looked so strange for a moment.' He looks very disquieted.

Nerdanel raises a hand to her face and is amazed to find no tears. Surely such loss as she felt should be mourned…

'Nerdanel!' Fëanáro grabs her again. 'What is wrong with you?'

She turns his hold on her arm into an embrace, leaning into him; after a moment his arms settle around her more gently and help her stop shaking. 'Umbarto', she says into his chest. Fated. One of our children is doomed to a grim fate. Oh, why did you have to ask me for another name?

Fëanáro flinches at the sound of the word from her lips. 'Surely you mean Ambarto? Umbarto is no name for a child. Nerdanel, did you have a –' He can't even bring himself to say it.

Nerdanel says nothing, just holds on to him and prays, prays that this first ever vision of hers will prove false though she knows it doesn't work that way.

'He should be called Ambarto instead', says Fëanáro after a while, his voice as broken as hers. Exalted.

'As you wish', she says. 'It will make no difference.'

Now she does cry. Oh, how she wishes at this moment that she never had any foresight, yet she will only come to wish for it more in years to come.

*

A/N: I chose to make this final scene between Nerdanel and Fëanor less confrontational than Tolkien's short description of it makes it appear, because I like to think that while they had disagreements in their marriage already before the Silmarils, the strife within the Noldor and Fëanor's rebellion, they were mostly able to negotiate through them and remained close. Nerdanel saw Fëanor's flaws but loved him long despite them, aided by her wise and understanding nature even during difficult moments.

I really enjoyed writing these, quick and messy as they are, especially because I got to explore Nerdanel's character more through the names she gave her sons. She's almost always a supporting character in my fics but I am very fond of her.

Thanks for reading :)