#nargothrond fun

[incorrect-tolkien-quotes]

Celegorm: why are your eyes red?

Celebrimbor: I was, uhh --- smoking weed.

Celegorm: bullshit, I bet you were crying, you little wimp.

[carnistirmorifinwe]

i just realised one thing

Nargothrond fell before Second Kinslaying happened, but obviously after Celebrimbor turned his back on his father

and we all know how little people fled from Nargothrond...

.........so Curufin died, probably being sure that his son is already dead or held captive by Morgoth

[artist-owl]

Why I can’t finish any of my Silmarillion fics:

Me: ok, let's do this fun little universe alteration!

Me: now how is this going to impact the events of Middle Earth up through the war of wrath and into the third age.

[theworldisquietheretooquiet]

A Lesson in Doors, Dresses, and Daggers

A mostly sweet meet-cute since I’ve been writing a lot of angst lately! Inspired by @fellowshipofthefics' great AU-gust mashup prompts :)

17. Locked in a room & S. ‘I’m sorry I took so long.’

AO3 2401 words

Nienor and Finduilas meet for the first time, get locked in a room together, and flirt through fashion advice.

"I'm sorry I took so long."

Nienor slips in the room and stops short.

“This is not the king’s office.”

The Elf who stands with her back to her, bent over a table cluttered with broken weapons turns around.

“And you aren’t Orodreth.”

The stranger laughs and flips her blonde braid over her shoulder. “His hair is longer than mine.”

Nienor reddens and starts forward to offer an apology and an introduction, pushing the door open wider. Why must Nargothrond have so many blasted rooms?

Before she can take more than a step though, the Elf cries out and gestures for her to stop.

She freezes in confusion and the heavy wooden door swings shut behind her.

“Oh no, you shouldn’t have let it close! The lock is broken, it won’t open from the inside now.” The elleth places down the rusted dagger in her hands and goes over to the door. She brushes past Nienor as she does so, smelling of polishing oil and flowers.

She pulls on the handle a few times to demonstrate the situation and sighs, frustration lining her face.

Nienor bites her lip and tries to think of what to say. There is still too much blood in her cheeks, but it is not all there because of embarrassment anymore. This Elf-maiden has no right to be angry at her; how was she meant to know?

But the elleth’s annoyance seems to be passing, she sighs again then offers Nienor a rueful smile and comes to stand before her.

“Well, no matter, someone will find us soon enough, I am sure.” She peers down at Nienor’s face, and her eyes brighten.

“And perhaps this is good fortune disguised as bad! I have wanted to make your acquaintance for days now. Lady Nienor, it is lovely to meet you.”

Nienor finds herself returning her smile and she takes a few deep breaths. Her heart had not yet slowed down since she had run all the way from her chambers, after realising she was late.

The Elf wanders back over to the pile of weapons. There are many more on shelves around the room, rusted and tarnished. This is probably some old storage closet; it is very small. Nienor wonders what this elleth is doing here.

“You were meeting with the king?”

Nienor awkwardly leans against the door and nods, before realising the maiden is back focused on her task, turned away from her.

“Yes, we had an appointment at six bells. However, I got terribly distracted writing a letter to my mother, and in my rush, I must have lost my way. It is taking me a little while to gain familiarity with all these stairs and levels and corridors.”

The Elf’s voice sounds amused as she answers. “Then you are forgiven for your interruption and its consequences. And do not worry –” She turns briefly and gives Nienor a quick grin.

“The king is famously late himself, so I’m sure you have caused him no trouble.”

Nienor is startled by the words. That had been her major concern and she is relieved to hear so, but this must be a high lady of the court to speak so familiarly of Orodreth. What bad luck to blunder on her first meeting with someone clearly important.

“I – I hope I have not, my lady. It was not a matter of great importance, which I wished to ask him about.”

“Oh?” The elleth drops a broadsword with a broken blade on the pile and the metal clang rings in Nienor’s ears.

“Perhaps I could offer to assist you with it? It seems wise to fully draw on the hours we’re stuck here so they’re not wasted.” She smiles at Nienor as she leans back against the table.

Nienor’s fingers twist in her skirt and she glances at the firmly shut door. But she nods and gives a strained smile. “Thank you, my lady, that is kind of you.”

The Elf waves her hand dismissively. Nienor sees two fine rings on her fingers, one she thinks might have a crest on it, and another set with a blue jewel, on her fourth finger. Is she betrothed?

“It is my pleasure! So, what is it you wished to ask the king about?”

“Well – it is the Midsummer feast in a half months’ time, and I am not sure what to wear. King Thingol’s court had certain traditions, but so far clothes seem to be different here, so…”

The Elf-maiden opens her mouth to speak but Nienor quickly continues. “I know it is hardly a matter for a king. But I had quite an enjoyable discussion with him about Iathrim fashion at my welcome banquet, and he said to always come to him with queries.” Her voice trails off.

“No, you are right, it is just the sort of thing he would take joy in dealing with. But he is always exceptionally busy these days.” The elleth clears her throat. “Anyhow I would love to help you with it.”

Nienor looks at her and sees her grinning, easy and happy, and her stomach twists.

“So, the simplest element to remember is the colours.” The Elf gestures to her own gown. “All shades of blue, especially when adorned with silver are favoured, throughout the season somewhat but especially at the feast.”

“Ah yes, that is similar in Doriath.” Nienor smiles, more than a little relieved that some customs are the same.

Her companion inclines her head. “Yes, it is one of the oldest traditions, from the days before this kingdom, and before my father’s people ever returned to these shores. Blue and silver catch starlight the best, you see.”

Ah, so she is half Noldorin at least, Nienor thinks, as she nods to indicate she understands.

“For the celebration itself it is popular to have small bells sewn into the edges of sleeves and hems.”

She frowns, wondering what the story behind that is. And what her mother would think if she returned in a dress that jangled every time she moved.

The Elf must see her curiosity because she laughs lightly and says, “For many in Nargothrond, summer returns their minds to The Dancer of the West. She who is called Nessa in the old tongue and who, they tell us, danced on the ever-green lawns of that land.”

The forbidden language makes Nienor’s face twitch, her years in Doriath pulling taut inside her, but she does her best to hide it. “Ah, so the bells are to pay homage to her and her skill?”

Shrugging, the Elf says, “I believe that is how the idea of the thing started. But mostly we keep doing it as it is a festival for dancing, and it’s a glorious thing when all our feet sing together.”

Then she winks. “It also makes it most fun when couples attempt to sneak away and, ah, do things best suited for the shadows.”

Nienor feels her whole face go crimson and hot. She does not know where to look.

The elleth laughs, but it is empty of mockery, and thankfully continues speaking.

“The key elements to remember for the garment itself is that your overdress should have a lower and sharper neckline, to better display your underlayer. And at the wrist your sleeve should fall and become wider.” She indicates her own flared sleeves, the cuffs embroidered with small white birds.

“Oh, and,” she smoothly closes the distance between them in two steps. “Dresses and tunics in Nargothrond have been fitting tighter than this since Fingolfin was king. May I?”

Nienor realises the Elf’s hand is hovering over her body. Swallowing, she nods her permission and cannot help tensing as the elleth reaches out and runs her fingers over the material at Nienor’s ribs and waist.

“Yes, it will need to be much tighter than this. A closer fit will suit you better too, Lady Nienor.”

She feels as if the walls have marched in two feet in the last few seconds. Her face is on fire and still the Elf-maiden’s hand lingers.

Breathing quickly, Nienor darts her eyes up to the elleth’s face. For once the bright smile is absent and it is a mask, her eyes calm but intense as they focus on Nienor.

Her heartbeat is even quicker than before, pounding in her chest.

But just as she can’t bear it any longer, she will have to say or do something, the Elf abruptly steps back, dropping her hand.

Nienor exhales, long and low. She watches in disbelief as the elleth returns to sorting through the mound of weapons, humming quietly to herself.

She can still feel the ghost of fingers on her ribs and allows herself one fast glance down to check they are truly gone.

The close space and lack of an escape settle heavier in Nienor’s mind, and she clenches her teeth. Inhale. Deep breath out. She presses her hands hard against her legs.

Nienor leans against the solid door again, letting it take her weight.

She will show this bold Elf-maiden that not all of the Edain fall at Elvish feet with the slightest pressure.

“Thank you for the advice, my lady, I will keep it in mind.” The elleth does not turn around and simply inclines her head. Nienor frowns and watches as she examines a dagger with rubies set in the handle and – are those teeth marks on the blade? The Elf places it in the larger pile on her right.

“You have not yet said why you are in here. I presume you knew this wasn’t the king’s office.”

Nienor winces at her own joke and is not surprised when the answering laugh rings a little hollow.

“Ah no. I am, um –” She turns and studies Nienor’s face for a long moment in silence, then says “I am looking for a weapon, a dagger, that belonged to my – to someone important. A truly foolish servant assumed it was to be gotten rid of.” She sighs and shakes her head. “Apparently it is common to keep unwanted items at the back of your wardrobe, in old, locked chests.”

Nienor bites her cheek, unsure how to respond. It was a far more personal answer than she’d been expecting, and she is aware of the colour that has risen in the elleth’s cheeks and the way her hands have curled into fists.

But despite this, she steps closer and meets her eyes, pushing down any hesitancy. Their colour brings to mind the way the sunlight hit the floor of her bedroom in Dor-lómin.

“I am sorry you have lost something of value to you. I do not mean to say I know how you feel, but I have felt further away from my lost loved ones since leaving my home in Hithlum. It is irrational, they are no closer than they have ever been. But the comfort of simply being near something they touched is never to be understated.”

“Yes,” the Elf-maiden murmurs, her eyes intense on Nienor’s but her posture relaxed and calmer now. “That is exactly it. I have more things of hers but the possibility of being deprived of even one is… very hard.”

Nienor thinks of Morwen, the look on her face when they arrived in Menegroth and were told Túrin was gone. “You cannot bear to lose them in any more ways.”

The elleth nods wordlessly and something passes between the two of them, a sharp second of understanding that reverberates in Nienor’s chest and lodges in her heart.

The following quiet is not uncomfortable but after it has drawn on a while, Nienor breaks it, saying softly, “Would you like me to help you look?”

“Oh, thank you,” the Elf smiles at her, smaller and sadder than before. “But I think I ought to give it up. I had searched most of the room before you arrived and this was one of the final places in the city for it to be, anyway.”

“Well, I am sorry.” Nienor returns her smile. “I will help you hunt down the servant if you like. Make them go and test every dagger in Nargothrond on themselves, just to make sure.”

A short, surprised laugh pushes past the elleth’s lips. “Who knew Men were so bloodthirsty? Again, I thank you Nienor, but no, it was not really his fault. It was a mistake without malice.”

You are kinder than I am, Nienor thinks and does not say.

The Elf-maiden walks over to her. “And, about before, I –”

The door swings open with a bang and they both jump.

An Elf with long dark braids stands on the threshold.

“Finduilas, there you are! I was wondering –” The elleth stops, seeing Nienor, eyes going round with surprise.

“Lady Nienor! I did not expect you to be – here. Princess, I apologise for interrupting. I thought you were alone.”

Nienor steps away from the Elf – from Princess Finduilas. Her mind moves sluggishly, refusing to adjust to this new information.

The princess glances at her quickly and then smiles brightly at her friend. “Egleriadis, you are our valiant rescuer, thank you! Lady Nienor lost her way, and I failed to tell her in time that this door is broken, and will not open from the inside if closed, so we became trapped.”

Egleriadis’ wide brown eyes go to the door, then to Nienor, then back to Finduilas.

“What a piece of bad luck, Princess! I hope you weren’t stuck for too long?”

“No, no, not at all, and it was very pleasant finally getting to know our new guest.” She smiles at Nienor, who cannot quite feel her face it has gone so red.

Egleriadis opens her mouth to say something more, but Finduilas grabs her arm, props the door open with an old shield, and manoeuvres her out the room in one fluid motion.

“Come along El, let us leave Lady Nienor to make her appointment with my father, as was her original intention.”

As the two Elves turn away, Finduilas looks back a final time.

“It really was a joy meeting you, even in this way, Nienor.” And then, so quickly that if Nienor was not staring, eyes still wide and stunned she might have missed it, the princess mouths I’m sorry, flashes an apologetic smile – and winks.

She stays standing there, open-mouthed and processing for a long time.

[that-angry-noldo]

The Gilded Cage,

the world of dreams

Orodreth dies. Orodreth dies, but his spirit is caught and locked, added to the dragon's hoard. The reality mends and twists, creating a new life for the dead king.

CWs: unreality, implied character death

[This is my @officialtolkiensecretsanta gift for @elyksina! Merry Christmas and happy New Year!]

You are tired. 

You are lying on the ground, staring into the thick grey mist through the half closed eyes. 

Eru, you are tired. 

~

Orodreth woke up. His chambers were still dark. 

He could feel Finrod awake several rooms away - he was certain the man hadn't even slept. Orodreth sighed. 

He supposed it was his call to get up. 

~

"Did you sleep good?" Finrod said, trying to break the deafening silence of the breakfast. Orodreth looked up.

"You weren't even sleeping, Uncle."

"Oh," Finrod looked aside, reaching for the butter. He stopped midway through, looked away, stilled. Pulled back. "Oh. Yeah, right, I wasn't sleeping. I still want you to sleep well, kid." 

Orodreth sighed. "I'm not a kid a few hundred years already, Uncle. There was that paperwork I needed to work through, right?" 

~

"Gwindor!" 

Finduilas giggled, pushing away the dark-haired ellon, and hurried to Orodreth. 

Orodreth smiled at the elf-lord. 

Gwindor's face remained stone-cold. Gwindor grinned back. 

~

It is over. It is over. 

You lost. 

Dust settles in your lungs, and you cough.  

It's alright. You will be dead within hours anyway.

~

"Did you sleep well, Artaresto?" Finrod grinned, addressing him during a lively breakfast. Orodreth saluted him with his coffee.

"Better than ever, Uncle," he smirked, ignoring the ever present feeling of dread, doom dangling on a thin hair above his head, and passed the jam to Celebril. 

"Oh," Finrod grinned. "I'm sure your father would love to hear that!" 

"My-" 

~

Dirty hands grab you, and you gasp for air - no, you'll be dead, you'll be dead, you'll be-

You miscalculated, little gold, didn't you? 

~

"Better than ever, Uncle," he smirked and passed the jam to Finduilas. "It's a shame father… isn't here with us. He'd be glad knowing we're doing alright." 

Finrod's face softened. "Yeah," he smiled. "I think he would." 

~

It's funny. It's funny! You thought you'd escape - you thought something as inconvenient as death would save you. 

Poor, poor little gold. 

It's alright. I'll keep you safe. 

I'll keep you in check. 

~

"No," Orodreth sighed, rubbing his temples. "Please, this decoration goes here. Yeah, like that. A bit to the left. Perfect, thank you." 

"This looks spectacular," Finrod said, coming from behind. "You truly outdid yourself, nephew." 

"Thanks," Orodreth smiled softly. "I want the wedding to be nothing but ideal, Uncle. Thank you for your help."

"I understand," Finrod took a sip of wine from his glass. "And it's nothing, I was bored out of my mind anyway. Can I ask you a question, though?" 

"Sure," Orodreth shrugged, not taking his eyes off the decoration. 

"Why have you chosen gold?" 

"Wha- Uncle- these are clearly white." 

"Are they?" Finrod whispered, and Orodreth turned to him. 

"Were you sleeping well, Artaresto?" the dead king asked, looking at him with empty eyes, and Orodreth-

~

"I understand," Finrod took a sip of wine from his glass. "And it's nothing, I was bored out of my mind anyway. Can I ask you a question, though?" 

Orodreth inhaled. "No, I- I don't think I'm in the mood for questions, Uncle." 

"Oh! Oh, that's alright," Finrod said, surprised. "No, it's fine. Do you need some wine?" 

"No, I don't," Orodreth whispered. "I have to go now. Thanks for help." 

"Finduilas said hi," Finrod threw to his back. Orodreth hurried out of the room. 

The decorations were golden. The hallway was endless. 

It was fine, 

~

it is fine, it is fine, it is fine it is it is, little gold. You're fine. You're alright. 

You're so amusing, by the way. 

~

They were in the middle of a sunflower field.

"Hi," Angrod said, and Orodreth's breath hitched. He fell into his father's arms. 

"Dad," he sobbed, and his shoulders shook. Tears ran down his cheeks and fell on Angrod's soft robe. "Dad, dad-" 

"Hey, it's alright," Angrod whispered, rocking him back and forth. "It's alright. You're safe. You're safe now." 

"Dad, dad, dead, dead-" 

"Shhh," his father whispered, kissing his forehead. "It's alright. Stay with me." 

~

Stay with him, huh? It would be a fun scenario to watch now, wouldn't it?  

… I'll let it play out. I've got a whole eternity here with you anyway. 

~

He was lying in the field. The skies were purple. 

"It's peaceful, isn't it?" 

"How are you here?" Orodreth scoffed. 

Finrod shrugged. "I don't know. I'm not real." 

"You- you are." 

"Huh. That's new, little gold." 

"Don't call me that." 

"As if I have a choice," Finrod said. "Were you sleeping well?" 

The sky was pink. The sun was setting. 

The sunflower field was endless. 

~

"Finrod's been all weird lately," Orodreth proclaimed, walking in the room. Angrod was pouring tea in his cup. 

"That's Uncle Finrod for you, Artaresto," he scolded, but smiled soon enough. "In what way was he weird?" 

"We were talking," Orodreth said, sitting in a chair. "He called me-" 

~

"He called me-" 

~

"He-" 

~

Come on, Artaresto. You can do it. 

~

"Artaresto?" 

"Artaresto, are you alright?" 

~

Are you sleeping well, little gold? 

~

Come on, Orodreth. Wake up. Please, I can't be with you any longer-

~

"You're- you're-" 

"Hey, hey, everything's fine, alright? I'm here, you're here-" 

"Dad-" 

"It's alright, I'll make you some tea. You love- you love mint, don't you? Yep, mint and honey, mint and-" 

The tea tastes like nothing, Orodreth thought absently. The tea tastes like nothing. I'm surrounded by flowers, and yet they have no smell. It's evening, but I feel no cold. 

"Dad."

"Or do you want some warm milk? I can do that, I can do that too-" 

"Atya!"

Angrod stilled and turned to his son. 

His eyes were too blue and his movements were too stiff. 

"I have not been sleeping well," Orodreth whispered. "I-" 

"Ever since Bragollach," he choked. "Ever since you- ever since you and Uncle and Celebril-" 

"Oh," Angrod whispered, and the next second his arms were around Orodreth, hugging him tightly. "Oh, Artaresto."

"You're dead," Orodreth whispered. "You're dead. Uncles are dead. Finduilas- Finduilas is dead." 

"I am dead, too."

Angrod didn't move. 

Orodreth inhaled and laid his father on the ground. Angrod's hands were cold and unmoving. 

"I don't want to sleep forever," Orodreth whispered. "I don't want to sleep forever, but there is no escape." 

~

Your new world is beautiful, in the same way a gilded cage may look perfect to its owner. 

Sometimes, you are in a field, surrounded by beautiful flowers that never had a smell. Sometimes, the sky is painted in unreal colours. Sometimes, the sun is almost warm, almost alive. 

Sometimes, you're in the middle of empty cities, with chimeras staring at you from sharp roofs, with architecture twisted in the most beautiful, in the most distorted way. 

You're always alone. Your world is always empty, safe for the golden eyes of your beast warden. 

There are no sounds. 

There are no tastes. 

There are no smells.

You start forgetting. You're too tired to keep fighting. 

Until, 

~

The world cracked, and Orodreth thought he was dying for the second time. 

He was dying, because the world screeched and roared and twisted and Orodreth heard, Orodreth heard for the first time- for the first time in eternity, and he screamed and fell and it was pain and it was agony and

and Turin stood with black sword in his hands, blood hissing on its blade,

and Orodreth screamed and ran to him, 

but he fell, 

and he was falling and falling and falling and falling and then

Orodreth died. 

His father cried and reached to him with bodiless arms. 

~

"I'm sorry," Finrod said for the hundredth time. "I'm so sorry I couldn't do more." 

"It's alright," Orodreth whispered. 

The sea was dark and grey. A seagull cried in the distance, and wind brushed his cheek, and it smelled of salt and algae. 

It was cold, and the rock underneath him was rough, but it was so unmistakingly, so goddamn alive.

Orodreth wanted to cry. 

"It's alright. After all, I'm not asleep anymore." 

[ailinu]

should i probably have set a hard scope on the finduilas fic? yes. did i? absolutely not.

[sakasakiii]

a while ago i was sent an ask from @waterjewelsspite (answered below) wherein i was asked about different elven fashions.... so from left to right: doriathrim fashion, teleri + nargothrond fashion, vanya fashion :DD these have been sitting in my drafts as uncoloured wips since early 2022 omg, but better late than never i suppose !!!

i didnt have a specific sketch page for the noldor that i did back then hahahaha so i came back to it recently and took it as a chance to do some assorted concept doodles with the kind of outfits i imagine them wearing in mundane situations? i dont quite know how to explain it but i hope my annotations can help show my thought process a bit!!

cant believe it took me this long to give like half the characters proper fullbody refs or designs (im looking at YOU beleg and mablung) but this has been super fun and really refreshing, so thank you again waterjewelsspite for the kind ask!!! sorry again it took. two and a half years. OMG. for me to get it done 😭😭😭 i hope this sufficed!!!

in usual fashion, bonus feanorian shenanigans: caranthir's first business/publishing/entrepreneurship/girlboss venture

[eloquentsisyphianturmoil]

Nelyo’s speeches are very straightforward, “be good soldiers, fight hard, stay strong” etc..

Celegorm’s speeches are invigorating. He likes to scream.

Curufin’s speeches tend to focus on how terrible the enemy is. They involve a lot of imagery. The fear factor does not always work (see Nargothrond).

Caranthir’s speeches are slightly haunting. They don’t always make sense.

Maglor’s speeches never make sense, but are very effective.

Ambarussar should not be allowed to give speeches. (As it is, Amrod usually tells his soldiers to ‘have fun’ and Amras’ include war screams).

[feanorianweek]

Feanorian Week Reminder!!

Hello Silmarillion Fandom! This is your reminder that Feanorian week will be taking place next month. Below are updated prompts (you are still allowed to suggest prompts)! When is it?:   March 25th, 2024—March 31st, 2024       

  

The prompts are as followed:

Day 1- Maedhros - > Childhood, Kingship, Angband, Coping, The Union, Relations with Different Races

Day 2-Maglor -> Childhood, Spouse,  Music & Songs of Power, Elrond & Elros, Kingship, Maglor’s  Gap, Redemption

Day 3- Celegorm - > Childhood, Hunting, Orome & Huan, Strength & Beauty, Luthien, Nargothrond

Day 4- Caranthir - > Childhood, Spouse, Betrayal, Lordship, Dwarves & Humans, Marriage, Appearance

Day  5- Curufin - > Childhood, Spouse, Celebrimbor, Forge Work

Day  6- Ambarussa - > Childhood, Lordship, Regrets, Twin, Hunting, Nandor

Day 7- Nerdanel and Feanor-> Mahtan, Finwe & Indis, Marriage, Reunion, Traveling, Creation, Healing

Rules: You are allowed to post anything fanrelated on the days.  If the prompts are not to your liking, you can do your own thing.  The tracktag is #feanorianweek.  Tag your work accordingly!  Have fun and be nice to others. Disrespect towards others will not be tolerated. 

[incorrect-tolkien-quotes]

Finrod: I wish you'd just admit when you'd made a mistake.

Curufin, stirring his coffee serenely: I prefer it with salt.

[amethysttribble]

“I do believe I am a very bad person,” Finrod said, and Celegorm sighed around the lip of the bottle.

“We were having fun, I thought we were having fun,” he groaned, stretching languidly over the arm of the couch. He and his ‘king’, the King of Nargothrond, were laying together, legs tangled together like a couple of youths, drinking wine. They’d been laughing, singing, naught but a second ago. Ah, but wine was a changeable drink.

“I was just thinking,” Finrod said, cradling his own bottle to his chest tenderly, “about the time Grandfather found us in the royal wine cellar, how scared we were that we were in awful trouble, how he smiled and said, ‘well? Won’t you pour me a drink?’ I loved him so much.”

“We all loved him,” Celegorm muttered bitterly and he tipped the drink back and drank until only droplets were coming to his tongue.

He tried not to think of Grandfather. Or the other grandfather. Or Mother. Or Father. Or-

“I wanted to rule something beautiful like he did,” Finrod was sighing, “Something glorious; powerful and intricate and built entirely in my image. Mine. All mine, in the palm of my hand, and then people would look at me like they looked at Grandfather. Someone beautiful, glorious. Worthy. Worthy of his name, not because I did what he did, but because I made something all my own. I wanted it. I wanted it so badly I spat on my father’s kind heart, and trampled over my cousins’ blood, and scorned our uncle, and… Turko, Grandfather never wanted us to come to this land.”

“‘Two sons at least thou hast to honor thy words’,” Celegorm said with a sneer. He let the bottle roll from his hands and stared at the ceiling, not daring to close his eyes and face the spinning. “I remember. Those words ruined my life.”

Those words spoke in jealousy by Fingolfin had seen Father banished and started this unending nightmare.

It always came back to the same question, stay or go.

Oh, but Celegorm wished he’d stayed.

“He would be disappointed in us now,” Finrod said, “If he caught us now. No drink for him but tears, to see us in this land, that wasn’t what he wanted. We did all this in his name, but it wasn’t want he wanted. What selfish children we are, always pilfering from his stores and caring nothing for how long that wine aged. Now we age it ourselves and it is vinegar. And yet I still want all the glitters. How foul is that?”

“Why are you telling me all this, Felagund?”

“My brothers are dead.”

And that was all there was to it.

“Right,” Celegorm grunted as he swung his feet to the floor and sat up. “I’m going to go throw-up, and I suggest you do the same before you vomit up anymore useless words.”

He swayed on his feet but managed to stay upright. He might have made it to the privy had Finrod not grabbed his hand as he passed. When Celegorm looked down, it wasn’t the king who looked back. It was the little cousin Tyelkormo knew, full of sunshine smiles and mischief, who he used to have such fun with; but now that boy’s face was blotchy with tears and sorrow.

They had been having fun. Weren’t they?

“This doesn’t end well, Turko.”

Yes, well, Celegorm had guessed that. Had felt it in the gnawing void in his chest that called and called and called and received no answer. It was shredding him, and in the open wounds crept in fear. Celegorm was so tired of being scared.

Finrod’s eyes did nothing to quell his fear, instead they inflamed the terror. Those eyes… Celegorm suspected this ended pourly, but Finrod’s eyes knew. An animal sort of fear wrapped around his throat, and Celegorm’s chest heaved, his heart hammered like he was naught but a rabbit caught in a snare.

He didn’t know what to do with the knowledge that dauntless, peerless, kingly Finrod was frightened, too.

And it was not quite the same expression on his little cousin’s face, but it bore a distant relationship to the nervous, startled look Finrod had shot him when Grandfather caught them drinking in the wine cellar. Turko, Turko, he asked, what do we do? Both times, Celegorm wanted to demand, how should I know?

He really wasn’t that much older.

And yet-

He meant to sink to his knees, but instead collapsed onto his ass heavily, and, ah, that was going to smart in the morning.

“Felagund,” he slurred, reaching up to take the bottle away and then to run his fingers through Finrod’s hair. “Shut up and go to sleep. When the night’s not fun anymore, that’s when you should go to bed. Isn’t that what I taught you? Go to sleep before you make mistakes you can’t take back.”

“Don’t go,” Finrod cried and Celegorm shushed him. He started to sing.

And, as Finrod’s eyes slipped shut and his quickened, guilty breathes evened out, if the words Celegorm moaned were the hymn they would sing to the doomed and dying animals…

Hopefully, they were both be too drunk to remember in the morning.

[chthonion]

HEY.

I had the most interesting dream after falling asleep switching between the latest chapter of The Horrowing and a time travel fix it in another fandom. I thought you might enjoy a brief summary?

Post fic canon Annatar, Finrod, Celebrimbor, and Frodo getting the most hilarious do over of the First Age.

Finrod and Celebrimbor got dropped in their past bodies, bc same souls. Which has Finrod JUST captured by Sauron, before any of his 10 have been munched.

Celebrimbor is of course having a surreal not quite panic attack in Nargothrond.

Annatar, well. Annatar is CHANGED. He is quite literally too different from what he once was for them to qualify as the same soul anymore. Which is gratifying. If inconvenient bc there are now TWO of him, Annatar and full on Sauron. But they're similar enough that Annatar was dropped very close to Sauron.

Frodo is an elf. Dream logic was that hobbits do not exist yet, and his soul has touches of Annatar and Aman. He looks disconcertingly like a mix of Annatar and Celebrimbor, and they are NOT thinking about that right now. Hopefully ever.

Most of the dream centered around all of them doing their best to set aside freak outs, while getting Finrod and his merry band (plus Beren) OUT of Sauron's grasp.

There was a FANTASTIC moment where on the way out, Sauron comes face to face and soul to soul with Annatar and he's just like;

Sauron: *jaw dropped fully horrified face* WHAT are YOU?!?!?

Annatar: *shoving elves behind him, nose in the air* Wouldn't YOU like to know, weather boy. *uses Song to blast him through a wall while he's distracted*

The whole thing featured 10 other elves and Beren as a baffled peanut gallery.

Meanwhile Celebrimbor is weighing the pros and cons of just- drugging his uncles and shoving them in a back room somewhere where he can bolt the door. He thinks he can maybe get Huan to help if he explains?

It was SO much fun.

(hope you have a good day!)

Oh my god. This may be the best ask I've ever gotten, for so many reasons.

The fact that your subconscious was like "Yeah if Frodo's getting a new body it looks like Annatar For Some Reason"

The image of future!Annatar getting into a fight with Sauron in front of Finrod (probably happy about this development) and Beren and the other 10 (INCREDIBLY CONFUSED)

The fact that the dream was partially centered on everybody trying not to panic, which is in fact what the Harrowing is all about for a while

Absolutely incredible.

...I feel so bad for poor Celebrimbor dealing with Nargothrond all by himself while the others are off having adventures. I hope their next stop after the rescue is to swing by and pick him up. Also, I dearly want to know what Annatar has to say to Beren on the subject of his current Luthien-and-Thingol-and-Silmarils situation.

[aran-morinorea]

WIP WEDNESDAY SUNDAY

Slimmed-down post/rules, but originally taken from @kedreeva (and directly borrowed from @suzukiblu)

It’s WIP Wednesday Sunday! I want to talk about my writing more without posting things that are still Very Subject To Change on ao3, so! Let’s collar sauron like the dogboy he is.

BE THE CHANGE U WANT TO SEE IN THE FANDOM, KIDS

Here’s how it works:

I will post the file names of five WIPs, and will also post a snippet of new content from one of them to get the ball rolling.

Send me an ask with the name of one of the listed WIPs and I will write you a minimum of three sentences in that WIP in response!

If you’re reading this, you’re invited!

WIP names:

Donating Blood:

Consensually vivisecting your Maia boyfriend

what if you were an eldritch monster hiding beneath a divine veil and some mortal wanted to see all of you. and you wanted him, and you wanted him to see it but you would kill everyone including him and yourself if he rejected you over it. and you were both mad scientists. what then?

Mallachel (Sindarin for “meteoric gold”) - and already five chapters in on ao3:

Accidental time travel causing post-ring-melting Sauron to fall out of the sky in front of Nargothrond-era Celebrimbor

The Ring melts, and the Tower collapses, and the Shadow is dispersed. The Eye is closed forever. But then it keeps falling.

Tar-Telepta, Aran Morinórea (Quenya for “[royal-honorific] Silver, King of Mordor”):

The co-ruling Mordor for fun and aesthetics AU

I'm not committing myself to your weird moral restrictions unless you fucking commit to me. Let me take you home and crown you.

Those are actually all of the “collaring sauron like the dogboy he is” I actually have in progress

But! If there’s someone other than celebrimbor you want to see teaching the lord of werewolves to roll over, please ask and I will Contemplate Them (no promises on this one tho).

Also there’s The Worst Finrod and the thing I haven’t actually started writing down about Nan Elmoth, but those dont actually have any sauron in them. arguably.

Snippet from Aran Morinórea, which something may have told you is my favorite rn:

Apparently clarification was not going to be forthcoming unless I asked directly: “Wait, Celebrimbor is married?”

He said, “Yep!” and literally nothing else, so apparently not even then.

I pressed, “To who?”

This asshole rocked on his heels and literally glowed with glee, saying “Me, actually!” and I’m not actually convinced I have ever hated anyone more.

“Well who the fuck are you then!”

My nephew-in-law the apparent actual Maia leant in very seriously, his smile dimming, and said, “Your nephew’s husband, we’ve just gone over this.”

I almost tried to stab him with the stupid flute.

[superloves4]

This was supposed to have a snippier introduction but in the spirit of not ruining the fun for those that enjoy it, here’s a harmless shitposting before season 2 proves me wrong: The Ring of Powers show exists in an universe where the kinslayings never happened

Hear me out, Galadriel’s introduction implies the elves came to Beleriand in boats, that could only happen if either Fëanor returned the boats or the Teleri lended the boats

Why the second and not Fefe returning the boats after kinslaying? Because eight-pointed stars everywhere!!! Because Galadriel doesn’t hesitate to threaten blood for boats, even full of despair Galadriel would not bear with turning into Fëanor!!! Thus the only possible explanation is Teleri lended the boats and the first kinslaying never happened

That certainly helps, but what about the Lùthien situation? What about the oath?

Well, my explanation is that The Oath never happened, there was An oath, but it was a generic “let’s go take the baddies” and Finrod swore it too (not Galadriel tho because it’s still an oath from Fefe and she’ll not have that)

And Lùthien? Well, in the tree statue of Lùthien she has a cloak with an eight pointed star, in the version where Celegorm is king in Nargothrond he let’s Lùthien leave and gives her back her cloak but here he also gives her a broach so it may close easily

And Dior? And Elwing, after all she has to have her whole fall into water turn into bird thing?

I mean, Thingol is getting murked by dwarves either way and Dior is very easy prey so *shrugs*

As for Elwing, there is a version of events where it’s Morgoth attacking Sirion and Maedhros and Maglor are actually there helping! So kidnap fam but it’s wholesome from the beginning

After all, Celebrimbor saying (to Elrond!!!) that the Silmarils required sacrifice only gets a turn around rather than a very big “what the fuck man??”

So with no oath, no attack to Eonwe’s camp

This explains why there is a lost silmaril as opposed to the well known fire, air, water situation (what happened to the third? Maybe it’s with the Valar, maybe it’s with M&M in Valinor, maybe Eonwe is bad at holding silmarils and it fell in the ocean on the way back)

Shouldn’t there be more people alive then?

Nope, the fun is that with more people fighting we could just say more people died! The battle Celeborn disappears at could be the Nirnaeth!

Conclusion: No kinslaying in ROP

[that-angry-noldo]

My second submission for @tolkienrsb, this time featuring Finarfin and Eönwë pre-battle! Watch out for Nargothrond Reclaimed, an amazing fic by @a-world-of-whimsy-5 - the link will go live on 6th september ;)

I'm really proud of how the outfits turned out here, and the rest of the details were so fun to work on! This collab was amazing, and I can't wait for you to see the whole fic <3

[nyxshadowhawk]

I Read The Silmarillion So You Don't Have To, Part Nine

Previous part.

Chapter 20: Of the Fifth Battle: Nirnaeth Arnoediad In which Maedhros tries and fails to get the Elves to play nice, and then a battle goes very badly.

This chapter begins with a quick account of what happened to Beren and Lúthien. They are restored to life, and briefly check in on Lúthien’s parents in Menegroth. It had been eternal winter in the forest of Doriath since Lúthien died, but Lúthien brings spring with her. When Melian sees her daughter, it’s like seeing a ghost. Melian feels the most horrible grief that anyone has ever felt in the history of the world, because Lúthien is mortal now. The Elves call Beren and Lúthien “The Dead that Live,” because there’s something deeply unnatural about coming back from the Halls of Mandos. All the Elves are unsettled by them, so Beren and Lúthien go off on their own, into the east of Beleriand. They have a son, Dior Aranel, but beyond that, the Elves never hear of them again. Presumably they live out their natural lives, but no one knows when they died or where they’re buried

That’s the end of that story! Now, let’s return to the Main Plot. Maedhros, the oldest of Fëanor’s sons (the one who lost a hand) has been thinking up new ways to fight Morgoth. Fingolfin proved that Morgoth is not invincible — he can be hurt, so maybe he can be killed, or at least incapacitated enough to stop causing trouble. However, the Noldor don’t stand a chance unless they can band together and fight Morgoth as a unified front. Maedhros tries to call all the Elves together in a council.

Maedhros by @kazz-art

(Fun fact: According to a YouTube video called “Types of Lord of the Rings Fans” by Generic Entertainment, “Maedhros” is composed of Sindarin words meaning “shapely” and “red-haired,” so it basically means “hot ginger.”)

Of course, the problem is that the Elves have never been unified, and they’re not about to start now. Fëanor’s sons (save Maedhros himself) hate basically everybody, and their shenanigans have burned too many bridges:

Orodreth is now king of Nargothrond after Finrod died, and he says that he’s never going to trust a son of Fëanor ever again. After Celegorm and Curufin’s attempted coup, who can blame him? A small group from Nargothrond, led by an Elf named Gwindor, come to aid Maedhros — but they go behind the king’s back.

Doriath is even more of a lost cause. King Thingol now has a Silmaril, and you know what that means — all of Fëanor’s sons (including Maedhros) are his enemies by default. Melian advises Thingol to surrender the Silmaril, just… y’know… to take that problem off their hands. But Thingol is offended by the Fëanorians’ arrogance, and he’s still very mad at Celegorm and Curufin for trying to steal his daughter. The Silmarils are also kind of like the One Ring, in that anyone who looks at them becomes obsessive and wants to keep them. So, instead of actually listening to his wife for once, Thingol sends the Fëanorians a note that says the Elvish equivalent of “come at me, bro.”

Maedhros carefully ignores Thingol’s threat, because he’s really trying to get everyone to work together. But those two assholes Celegorm and Curufin send Thingol a declaration of war. Thingol fortifies his kingdom and then just stays there, because his solution to everything is to isolate himself behind a magic wall and hope the danger doesn’t touch him. (That worked when Morgoth was a general threat to everybody, but not so much when other Elves want to kill Thingol specifically.) Thingol’s right-hand men, Mablung and Beleg, want no part in whatever shit is inevitably going to go down between Thingol and Fëanor’s sons. So, they’re given permission to leave Doriath (provided they don’t go to serve any of Fëanor’s sons). They go to Hithlum to serve Fingon, and then after that, no one enters or leaves Doriath.

(I know, I know, I already used it!)

But Maedhros has a few unexpected sources of help. He manages to enlist the Dwarves, who have lots of weapons and the means to make them, and he also has the Men on his side. All of them want Morgoth gone as much as anybody (and they haven’t been given any reason to hate Fëanor’s sons yet). Maedhros also has Fingon’s support, because Fingon still loves Maedhros as much as he did back when he rescued Maedhros from the cliff face.

The Night before Nirnaeth Arnoediad, by @pansen1802

The only faction that remains unaccounted for is Gondolin, because it’s the only kingdom that’s even more isolated than Doriath. News of Maedhros’ attempt at unity reaches Gondolin, but King Turgon still refuses to do anything.

Maedhros’ force is smaller than he’d hoped, but better than nothing. It’s enough to get rid of most of the Orcs in northern Beleriand, and it might be enough to try assaulting Angband yet again. Maybe this time it’ll work! Unfortunately, Morgoth knew they were coming. Before the battle even starts, Maedhros’ and co.’s chances are looking bleak. But at the last minute, the cavalry comes! Turgon finally decided to actually do something, and sent a host of ten thousand Elves from Gondolin to help. Fingon is overjoyed to have seen the first sign of his brother’s existence for centuries. He sends up a battle cry in Quenya. Morale is good! There’s a nice moment in which Fingon and Turgon briefly reunite on the battlefield.

The Battle of Unnumbered Tears, by Mysilvergreen

Unfortunately, it’s all downhill from there. This battle is called Nirnaeth Arnoediad, “the Battle of Unnumbered Tears,” so that should tell you everything you need to know. Fingon’s host retreats, the Men from the Forest of Brethil are nearly wiped out, and then there’s betrayal. This whole time, Morgoth had been trying to wage a psychological battle amongst the Elves and Men, sewing distrust amongst them and making it even harder for Maedhros to get them to come together. “Divide and conquer” has worked well in the past, and it works again here. A man named Ulfang and his sons suddenly turn against Maedhros. Maedhros’ host is cornered, and they’re forced to retreat.

The most steadfast fighting force in the battle turns out to be the Dwarves. If it weren’t for them, the Elves and Men would have been annihilated by Glaurung and the other dragons. A Dwarven lord named Azaghâl manages to stab Glaurung in the underbelly, which wounds him, but doesn’t kill him.

Finally, Gothmog, the Lord of Balrogs, comes out of Angband. He corners Fingon with another Balrog. Fingon fights valiantly, but no one can hold out against the Lord of Balrogs for long. Gothmog cuts Fingon in half with a greataxe. The Elves say that a white flame burst from Fingon’s helmet as it was cloven.

The Final Battle in Unnumbered Tears by breath-art

The battle’s basically over after that. Turgon holds out with the brothers Húrin and Huor to ensure that Morgoth doesn’t win the Pass of Sirion and take control of the river. Húrin tells Turgon to flee, because he’s the last hope for the Elves’ survival. But Turgon recognizes that by sending help, he revealed to Morgoth that Gondolin exists. It won’t take him long to find Gondolin and destroy it. Húrin tells Turgon that Gondolin will still be a beacon of hope for however long it continues to last, and says goodbye, knowing that they won’t see each other again.

Maeglin, Turgon’s nephew (the edgy Elf) is fighting nearby. He hears Húrin say that Gondolin is a beacon of hope, tucks it away in his mind, and says nothing. Ominous.

Turgon retreats, but the Men remain to hold the pass. Tolkien writes that, of all the deeds of Men that were performed for the sake of Elves, this is the most renowned. Some Men betray the Elves, but most of the Men continue to fight for them. Huor and all of the other Men die; Húrin is the last man standing. Húrin yells “Day shall come again!” every time he kills a monster, but the Orcs just keep coming, and they continue to fight him even after he cuts off their arms.

Exactly like this.

Eventually, Húrin is captured alive.

Morgoth is very pleased with himself for having engineered a betrayal. The Elves no longer completely trust the Men, except for the Three Houses that became their friends. Now that Fingon is dead, his realm of Hithlum is completely destroyed. The remaining Noldor of Hithlum (and there aren’t many) scatter, and join the Wood Elves of the East. Living in forests and using guerilla tactics are way less noble than having cities and fighting in armies. The Haladin, the Men of the Forest of Brethil, are also greatly reduced. They never see any member of their host again, or learn what happened to them. Morgoth shuts the treacherous Men in what’s left of Hithlum, forbidding them to leave it, which pisses them off because they wanted to rule Beleriand. Welp, that’s what you get for being a traitor.

One of the only safe places left in Beleriand is the Havens at the mouth of the River Sirion, but Morgoth is eventually able to ransack the Havens using machines with engines (remember, Tolkien thinks industrialization is evil). A handful of Elves, led by Círdan and Gil-galad, manage to escape by sea. They keep a foothold at the mouths of Sirion, but for the most part, Morgoth controls the river.

The situation is so dire that Turgon reaches out to Círdan from Gondolin. He wants to again try to send messengers across the sea to Valinor. Círdan builds ships and sends them west, but again, none of them return… except one. That ship turned back, and sank in a storm within sight of Middle-earth’s coast. One Elf from that ship survives, and he’s ferried to shore by Ulmo, the Vala of Water himself

Although Morgoth won decisively, he’s still not happy -- he wants to capture Turgon, and has no idea where he is. Turgon is the last remaining son of Fingolfin, and therefore the rightful High King of the Noldor. Morgoth’s hatred of the House of Fingolfin is personal, because Fingolfin wounded him, and because they’re friends with Ulmo the Vala. Morgoth also got bad vibes from Turgon all the way back in Valinor. He intuited that Turgon was destined to help destroy him.

Morgoth knows that Húrin is friends with Turgon, and Húrin is his prisoner. He demands that Húrin tell him where Turgon is, but Húrin tells him where he can stick it. In response, Morgoth binds Húrin to a chair on top of Thangorodrim, and curses him and all of his offspring. Morgoth tells Húrin that despair and sorrow will come to everyone he loves. To stick the knife in and twist it, Morgoth gives Húrin a taste of his own power to see the future, and forces him to remain sitting in that chair until all of his family have met their doom. Húrin does not beg for mercy for himself or any of his kin. He won’t give Morgoth the satisfaction.

Morgoth punishes Húrin by Ted Nasmith

As a final insult, Morgoth has the Orcs build a giant mount of bodies in the middle of the battlefield. The Elves call it the Hill of the Slain and the Hill of Tears. But after a while, grass and flowers grow on the bodies of the dead.

The Hill of the Slain by Ted Nasmith

Chapter 21: Of Túrin Turambar, Part 1. In which our angsty tragic hero tries to outrun his curse, kills people he shouldn’t, sleeps with people he shouldn’t, and fights a dragon.

This is the second of the Great Tales, also called “The Children of Húrin.” I’ve heard that this is one of the most tragic stories in the entire Tolkien Legendarium (which is saying a lot), so brace yourselves! This is going to be another two-parter, because I ran out of space.

Instead of jumping right into the story, Tolkien gives us an account of what happened to Húrin and Huor’s wives, Morwen and Rían. Rían is dead. Huor and Rían’s son is Tuor, and Húrin and Morwen’s son is Túrin. Húrin and Morwen also had a daughter, Lalaith, but she died of disease when she was three. After the battle, the Easterlings (evil Men working for Morgoth, they’re already called that) ransack Hithlum. They enslave everybody except Morwen, because she’s just so beautiful. They assume that she’s a witch, “in league with the Elves.” Despite their fear of her, Morwen decides that her son is not safe, and sends Túrin to Thingol. Morwen is Beren’s distant cousin, so she hopes that Thingol will take Túrin in. After Túrin is sent away, Morwen gives birth to a third child, a daughter named Nienor (which means “mourning.” That’s not ominous at all). Thingol accepts Túrin into his household, because he doesn’t hate Men as much as he used to, and raises him as his own son.

Germanic Fun Fact #1: It was actually a common practice in the early Middle Ages that noble children would be fostered by other families, and it shows up in fiction. For example, Beowulf was fostered by King Hrethel of the Geats, making him a de facto prince.

Túrin lives in Thingol’s court for nine years, and messengers occasionally bring him news of his mother and sister. One day, the messengers stop coming. Túrin puts on his ancestral family helmet, “the Dragon-helm of Dor-lómin,” and goes to battle alongside the king’s captains and the other Elves.

Túrin Turambar by Alan Lee

Túrin stays in the field for three more years, then returns to Menegroth. He looks dirty and unkempt because he’s been living in the wilderness for three years. One of the Elves of Thingol’s court, named Saeros, mocks Túrin for his wild appearance: “If this is what the Men look like, then do their women run like deer, wearing nothing but their hair?” In response, Túrin throws a goblet at Saeros, injuring him. The next day, they confront each other in the forest. Túrin defeats Saeros, and sends him running naked back to Menegroth, wearing nothing but his hair. Irony! As he flees, Saeros falls into a gorge and dies. Now Túrin is responsible for the death of one of Thingol’s courtiers. Oops.

Mablung, one of the king’s captains, advises Túrin to go back to Menegroth and beg Thingol for his pardon. Túrin decides to leave Doriath as an exile, but Thingol pardons him anyway.

He loved Túrin like a son, and would welcome him back if he decided to return. The king’s other captain, Beleg Cúthalion, loved Túrin just as much, and decides to go after him.

In the meantime, Túrin becomes the leader of a group of outlaws. And not the Robin Hood kind. He starts calling himself Neithan, which means “the Wronged.” (Thingol pardoned him, so he hasn’t been “wronged” at all. This is entirely his own fault.) After a year, Beleg finally finds Túrin’s outlaw lair. Túrin didn’t happen to be there at that moment, so the other thugs seized and bound Beleg, assuming that he was a spy from Thingol. When Túrin gets back, the sight of Beleg bound in his lair makes him suddenly repent of all his evil deeds, yada yada, and he swears to never again harm anyone besides Morgoth’s minions. Let's see if that promise lasts more than five minutes.

Beleg tries to convince Túrin to return to Doriath. He’s been pardoned, so he has no reason to hide out in the wilderness. Túrin is too proud to come crawling back, though. He tries to get Beleg to stay with him, but Beleg is tired of his nonsense and tells Túrin to find him on the front lines if he really wants to be with him. They go their separate ways. Túrin heads out towards Amon Rûdh (“Bald Hill”), a large hill overlooking the Forest of Brethil

Beleg returns to Menegroth and tells Thingol everything that happened (except for the part where he was tied up by Túrin’s thugs). Thingol just sighs and says, “What more would Túrin have me do?” Túrin is a hotheaded teenager who ran away from home, leaving his adoptive parents exasperated. Beleg offers to follow Túrin and protect him from a distance. Thingol gives him leave to go, and as a reward for his service, offers him anything he wants. Beleg asks for a fine sword. The king offers him any sword in his armory, save his own. Beleg chooses a sword called Anglachel, made from a meteorite. (Space Sword!) That means that its blade is ominously jet-black. It’s one of two swords made from the same meteorite by Ëol, the Elf of the Dark Forest. (Remember him? He was Aradhel’s abusive husband, and followed her to Gondolin, where he was killed by being thrown from its walls.) Thingol got one of the meteorite swords as payment for letting Ëol live on his land. Ëol’s son Maeglin has the other one.

Anglachel by Elena Kukanova (Thingol is portrayed with blonde hair here.)

As Thingol presents Beleg with the sword, Queen Melian stops to say that the sword “has malice in it.” If you haven’t noticed by now, any work of craftsmanship in Tolkien’s world is imbued, to at least some extent, with the personality of its creator — the One Ring, the Silmarils, the swan ships, and the Two Trees themselves. This sword is no exception. It absorbed all the bad vibes from Ëol. Melian says that it will serve Beleg begrudgingly, and he’ll end up losing it.

In light of that, Melian decides to give Beleg another gift: lembas bread. In the First Age, Melian was the only person with the authority to give out lembas. The leaves it’s wrapped in are marked with her seal, a white flower of Telperion (the Silver Tree). Melian gives Beleg the lembas with the expectation that he will share it with Túrin, which is a big deal — it’s the first of the very few times that Elves have ever shared their waybread with Men. Beleg leaves with the gifts, and spends the winter keeping the Orc population in check. Once spring comes, and the Orcs are no longer an immediate threat, he goes off to find Túrin.

Germanic fun fact #2: Waybread (wegbræde) is actually the Old English name of a broadleaf plantain, a type of edible plant. Tolkien decided to make it into literal bread.

Meanwhile, Túrin and his gang come across three Dwarves. They capture one of them, and one of the Men, Andróg, shoots after the other two. The arrow goes into the dark, and the Men can’t see if it hit or not. The captured Dwarf’s name is Mîm, and he offers to show Túrin his secret cave in exchange for his life. Túrin pities him, and spares him. (Túrin kind of swings back and forth between doing evil things and then regretting it.) Mîm leads the Men up the slope of Amon Rûdh to his secret cave, which “will be” called the House of Ransom. There are red flowers all over the hill, and one of the Men remarks that it looks like there’s blood on the hilltop. That may as well be a massive ‘FORESHADOWING’ sign.

Mîm the Dwarf by Anke Eißmann

Inside the House of Ransom, Mîm shows the Men the body of his son Khîm (Dwarves really like rhyming names), who was shot and killed a few minutes ago. The arrow that Andróg shot into the dark killed Mîm’s son. Oops. What a way to guilt-trip the Men. Túrin feels horrible (you’d think after Saeros he’d learn not to be so reckless). He takes responsibility for Andróg’s arrow, and offers to pay Mîm a ransom of gold for his son. That validates the name of the House.

Germanic fun fact #3: A ransom paid as compensation for someone’s life is called weregild. This was a normal part of life in Germanic cultures. It was a way of preventing endless back-and-forth feuding between families. The gold guarded by the dragon Fafnir in Germanic mythology is weregild that the Norse gods themselves paid to a Dwarf for the murder of his son. (That story shows up in the Prose Edda and the Volsung Saga, parts of it are also in the Poetic Edda, and it’s referenced elsewhere.) Tolkien is definitely referencing that story here.

Mîm is impressed by Túrin’s speech, remarking that he sounds like an ancient dwarf lord, and forgives him to a point, saying that he doesn’t need to pay a ransom after all. He lets Túrin and co. stay in his house for as long as they need.

Now for a little bit of Dwarf history (we’ve had a lot of Elf history, so we need some Dwarf history): The Dwarves that live in the House of Ransom are called “Petty-Dwarves,” which means they’re less cool than other Dwarves. They were banished from the old Dwarf kingdoms in the Misty Mountains, and made their way west to Beleriand. They’ve slowly become shorter and less talented smiths, and they live in secrecy, which Tolkien thinks is ignoble. The Elves used to hunt them for sport, until the other groups of Dwarves showed up. So, the Petty-Dwarves hate Elves even more than they hate Orcs, and they especially hate the Noldor. The Petty-Dwarves originally discovered the caves of Nargothrond before Finrod took it over and forced them out. By now, the Petty-Dwarves have dwindled and basically lost all relevance. Mîm is one of the last and one of the oldest ones left.

In the harsh cold of winter, a hulking man arrives at Amon Rûdh. The Men all spring up to fight, but the man turns out to be Beleg Cúthalion. He only appeared to be a hulking brute because he was wearing a big backpack under his cloak. Beleg and Túrin have a heartwarming reunion, and Beleg gives Túrin his old ancestral treasure, the Dragon-helm of Dor-lómion. Beleg hopes that the helm will remind Túrin that he’s better than this, that he could be something more than an outlaw living in a hole. But it doesn’t sway Túrin at all.

The Dragon-helm of Dor-lómin by Elena Kukanova (This artist’s design of the helm is based on a real Anglo-Saxon helm found at Sutton Hoo.)

Against his better judgement, Beleg stays with Túrin, purely out of love for him. He becomes the team medic, and uses the lembas that Melian gave him to heal sick and injured members of Túrin’s company. (Lembas apparently has healing powers at this point in Elven history.) Mîm the Dwarf is not happy about having an Elf living in his House. Men are one thing, but as I said before, the Petty-Dwarves have every reason to hate Elves.

Meanwhile, Morgoth is still a problem. Túrin and Beleg go out hunting Orcs, and they’re so good at it that they become living legends. Their land becomes known as “The Land of the Bow and Helm,” referring to Beleg’s archery skills and Túrin’s fancy Dragon-helm. Túrin starts calling himself Gorthol (“Dread Helm”), which is a little pretentious. Even the isolated Gondolin has heard of them! Of course, Morgoth eventually hears of them too, and he immediately knows who the fearsome “Dread Helm” is — it’s that upstart kid from the cursed bloodline! He starts laughing, and presumably sits back with his popcorn to watch the shitshow.

Mîm and his son Ibun are promptly captured by Orcs when they go out to forage for the winter. Mîm uses the exact same tactic that he pulled when Túrin and co. captured him — he promises to lead the Orcs to his secret cave, selling out Túrin to the Orcs. To his credit, Mîm does make the Orcs promise not to kill Túrin, but that doesn’t make much of a difference.

The Orcs kill most of Túrin’s company in their sleep. The rest flee to the top of the hill, but most of them are run down and slain, so that their blood covers the top of the hill like the flowers did. The Orcs actually keep their promise not to kill Túrin, and drag him away. Mîm returns to his House to find a massacre, which he’s not too torn up about, because he’s finally rid of the squatters. Everyone’s dead except for Beleg, who is badly wounded on top of the hill. Mîm takes Beleg’s cursed sword and tries to kill him, but Beleg has enough strength left to catch the sword and push it back. Mîm runs like a coward, and Beleg calls after him that Túrin will one day have his vengeance.

Beleg is a strong Elf who knows healing magic, so he slowly recovers. He searches among the corpses for Túrin’s body, hoping to bury him. When he doesn’t find it, Beleg realizes that Túrin is alive, and goes out to look for him a third time. You’ve gotta admire his devotion to this kid who’s a magnet for trouble.

Beleg by kimberly80

Beleg follows the Orcs’ trail all the way to Taur-nu-Fuin, the Forest under Nightshade in the north near Angband. It’s a dark and scary place, but Beleg is such a badass that he can survive it. In the forest, he finds an Elf sleeping under a tree. After Beleg heals him and gives him some lembas, the Elf says that his name is Gwindor, one of the Elves from Nargothrond who went to fight with Maedhros in the Battle of Unnumbered Tears. Captured Noldor are put to work in Morgoth’s mines, since they’re skilled with metals and gemstones. (The Noldor yearn for the mines!!!) Gwindor managed to escape through a secret tunnel, and got lost in the evil forest.

Gwindor gives Beleg some intel about the Orc party he’s chasing, and tries to dissuade Beleg from following them. After all, he knows what awaits them in Angband if they get captured. But Beleg refuses to abandon Túrin, and Gwindor, having finally gotten a smidge of hope, decides to go with him.

Beleg and Gwindor sneak into the Orc camp at the base of the Thangorodrim and carry Túrin out without a hitch. But when Beleg goes to cut Túrin’s bonds with his cursed sword, he slips and snicks Túrin’s foot with the blade. Túrin wakes up to see someone bending over him with a sword, and freaks out, not realizing who it is. He grabs the sword and kills Beleg, his loyal friend who loved him so much that he repeatedly put himself in harm’s way for Túrin’s sake. A storm rages overhead, and a flash of lightning illuminates Beleg’s face. Túrin is completely distraught to see that he killed his friend, and collapses beside Beleg’s body.

Death of Beleg by Elena Kukanova

In the morning, when the storm passes, Gwindor suggests that they bury Beleg. Túrin is still distraught, but helps bury him right in that spot. They bury Beleg’s bow with him, but take the lembas, and the meteorite sword. Gwindor thinks it’s a shame that such a fine sword should go to waste, and thinks it would be better used to kill the Orcs, and that’ll definitely come back to bite them later.

They go off together, but Túrin is so traumatized that he doesn’t speak. Gwindor looks after him until they reach a magic spring called Eithel Ivrin, which is blessed by Ulmo (the Vala of Water). Túrin drinks from the spring and finally speaks again. He composes a lay to honor Beleg’s life, and sings it at the top of his voice.

Túrin and Gwindor at the Pools of Ivrin, by Ted Nasmith

Gwindor gives Túrin the meteorite sword, and offers to take him back to Nargothrond. Since he can finally speak, Túrin asks Gwindor who he is, and Gwindor tells him that he’s a thrall who was “once” Gwindor son of Guilin. I think it’s interesting that Gwindor introduces himself this way — he no longer feels worthy of his former identity, and though he escaped Morgoth, he still identifies himself as a “thrall.”

Túrin also asks after his father Húrin. Gwindor doesn’t know any details, but he tells Túrin the rumors that Húrin is imprisoned by Morgoth and that his line is cursed. After everything that just happened, Túrin finds that completely believable.

As they continue to travel, Túrin and Gwindor are captured by Gwindor’s own people, the Elves of Nargothrond. They don’t recognize Gwindor at all — being a slave in Angband aged him prematurely, which doesn’t normally happen to Elves — so they assume that Gwindor and Túrin are spies. The first person to recognize Gwindor is the king’s beautiful daughter, Finduilas, because she was in love with him before he left. Gwindor is welcomed back into the fold. Túrin is allowed to stay, but he doesn’t give the Elves his real name.

Something about Túrin must be really appealing to Elves, because the Nargothrond Elves like him as much as Thingol’s Elves did. Also, Túrin has been a teenager this whole time, and only now does he reach manhood. (Actually, like Aragorn, he’s probably significantly longer-lived than the humans of today are. But still.)

Also, he’s really attractive, like his mother Morwen— he has pale skin and dark hair, gray eyes, and the prettiest face of any Man who’s ever lived. At first glance, you’d easily mistake him for one of the Noldor. (After all the pictures of him looking kind of like Aragorn or Boromir, that came as quite a shock.) I guess he cleans up nicely; he has been living in the wilderness for years.

Túrin Turambar by @tolrone

The meteorite sword is reforged, and Túrin renames it Gurthang, “Iron of Death.” He’s so skilled with it that the Elves nickname him Mormegil, “The Black Sword,” which is pretty badass.

Finduilas unwittingly falls in love with Túrin, and out of love with Gwindor. Gwindor catches on, and doesn’t take it personally, but he warns Finduilas about what happened the last time an Elf and a Man fell in love. Túrin may look and act like an Elf, but he’s not one — he’ll die and leave Finduilas alone, and it’s vanishingly unlikely that Mandos will be willing to break the rules a second time. Also, Túrin is clearly cursed, and Beren didn’t have that problem. Gwindor also reveals Túrin’s real name, and tells Finduilas that if she gets mixed up with him, she’s guaranteed to feel the effects of the curse on his bloodline.

Nargothrond. Finduilas and Túrin by Elena Kukanova

Túrin is very mad that Gwindor revealed his true identity. Gwindor tells him that he’ll attract trouble no matter what he calls himself, so, there’s not much point in using aliases.

When Orodreth, the king, hears who Túrin really is, he’s perfectly happy to have a son of Húrin in his ranks. Túrin becomes more and more important in his court — so important, that he can completely overhaul their method of warfare. Remember, ever since Celegorm and Curufin’s attempted coup, the Nargothrond Elves have practiced mainly guerilla warfare, which is sneaky and dishonorable and all that. So now, because of Túrin, the Nargothrond Elves practice open warfare like civilized people. The disadvantage to this is that, now that the Nargothrond Elves are fighting out in the open, Morgoth knows where they are.

Gwindor is worried by how much influence Túrin has, and sounds the alarm, but no one listens to him anymore and he falls out of favor. Poor guy. He survives Angband, is nice to Túrin, gives him a place to live, and is repaid by Túrin stealing his honors and his girlfriend.

In the meantime Morwen, Túrin’s mother, takes advantage of the unexpected peace caused by her son’s decimation of all the Orcs in the area. She flees to Doriath with her daughter, expecting to find Túrin there. She grieves when she learns that Thingol’s court hasn’t heard from Túrin in years. (They actually have heard of “The Black Sword of Nargothrond,” but they have no way to know that it’s Túrin.) Thingol allows Morwen and her daughter to live in his court, and treats them like family.

Okay, I’m gonna stop there! More coming!