#noble houses of valinor

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

And here it is! The list of noble houses for my Medieval! Ainur fics! I had to put some of the valar into the same houses (ex. Vána and Yavanna with Varda), but I hope this will serve. The first medieval themed fic should be up by next week.

House Ilúvatar Coat of arms: A green and gold flame upon a black field Seat: Ilmarin Region: Taniquetil Head: King Eru Ilúvatar I Heirs: Prince  Melkor (Formerly) | Prince Manwë (current) Other members of the household:  Eönwë |Urwendi | Ilinsor | Nornorë  House Motto: To serve

House Starfield Coat of arms: A five petal silver rose within a circle of seven stars, upon a midnight blue field Seat: Starfall Region: Greengrove Members: Varda | Yavanna | Vána  Other household members of note:  Aiwendil | Arien | Ilmarë  House Motto: Light and life

House Archer Coat of arms: A  mounted archer on a dark green field Seat: High Tree Hall Region: Hunter’s Pass Members: Oromë | Nessa Other household members of note:  Tilion | Alatar | Palando House Motto: Our aim is true

House Shield Coat of arms: A rampant brown bear on checkered silver and gold Seat: Stonehearth Region: Bear Wood Members: Tulkas  Other household members of note:  Lúsion | Makar | Meássë    House Motto: Without fear       

House Silverwing Coat of arms: A silver nightingale upon a white field Seat: Cedar Hall Region: Cedar Lake Members: Vairë| Estë Other household members of note:  Melian | Lëa | Nielíqui  House Motto: Patience and comfort          

House Blackgrave Coat of arms: A set of silver scales with a raven perched on top of it against a white field.   Seat: Blackgrave Region: The Haunted Pass Members Nienna | Irmo | Námo  Other household members of note:  Olórin  | Silmo House Motto:  With fair judgement and mercy  

House Day Coat of arms: A black and silver hourglass on a pale blue field Seat: The Halls of Change Region: The island of Tol Eressëa   Members: Aluin Other household members of note:  Danuin | Ranuin | Fanuin House Motto: As ceaseless as time

House  Alqualondë Coat of arms: A white swan ship upon a blue-green field   Seat: Misty Harbor Region: Alqualondë Members Ulmo Other household members of note:  Ossë | Uinen | Salmar |  Ómar House Motto: By the strength of the sea    

House Mahal   Coat of arms: An anvil and hammer against a golden field   Seat: Golden Forge Region: Almaren Members: Aulë  Other household members of note:  Curumo | Velindo  House Motto: Ever industrious     

House Ironwrath Coat of arms: Two crossed black war hammers upon a crimson field Seat: Angband Region: The Iron Mountains Members: Melkor  Other household members of note:  Mairon | Gothmog | Tevildo | Thuringwethil House Motto: A servant to no one

tags: @cilil​ @edensrose​ @floraroselaughter​ @asianbutnotjapanese​ @fictionfordays​ 

[thatlittlered]

an almost kiss | celebrimbor

warning(s): afab!reader (use of the word lady), discreet TROP spoilers

GIF by @suguretos

author's note: this is based on @morganas-pendragons' request for a first kiss, which I turned into an almost kiss because I already technically wrote that and her delicious thoughts on touch-starved brimby... I mean, just look at him

read the rest of "the craft" here

-.-.-

The air is thick from the heat of the forge when you peek inside, expecting to find every smith hard at work, but as the fog clears, only Lord Celebrimbor himself can be seen, completely engrossed in his craft.

 It is a sight.

 You have been inside before, of course, but what could you learn of true creation from a simple visit? Seeing the master Elven-smith at work is a revelation.

 It serves your curiosity to not be discovered, yet guilt eats at you at the thought of taking advantage of his good nature and hospitality to serve your own whims. He looks different here, too, where he is shed of noble duties. The careless roll of his sleeves and his apron serve to remind you that in this little corner of the world, he is nothing but a talented craftsman. A true creator.

 ‘My Lord.’

 The clatter ceases once you make your presence known. A sharp tool you could not possibly think to name rests in his hand, but he quickly lays it aside when he looks at you. The lines of dedication on his face melt away as he smiles.

 ‘My Lady.’

 ‘I am sorry to have startled you.’

 ‘You haven’t.’

 He dares not move, dazed to have you here when he has been absorbed by the very notion of you for hours – days even. It almost makes it seem possible to will his desires into existence. How long need he think about your touch before that too is bestowed upon him? He will offer the time, however long it may be.

 He wonders briefly how he might look to you now. The last member of the House of Fëanor, renowned smith and Lord of Eregion by his own right, caught by surprise and rendered speechless by an offer as simple as your company. You, on the other hand, seem to always be at ease, always drawing nearer.

 ‘I am sorry to disturb your work as well.’

 ‘You aren’t.’

 ‘To disturb you then.’

 ‘Impossible. I was the one to invite you here in the first place, was I not?’

 ‘Oh, but that was an arranged visit. I come now of my own volition, that is an imposition in itself.’

 ‘I only regret that you’ve caught me unprepared and ill-mannered.’

 ‘I don’t believe you could ever be caught ill-mannered, my Lord.’

 ‘Perhaps it is the delight of your presence that ensures it then.’

 His laughter eases the years away from his face and you wish to tell him that. You wish for him to know your thoughts as plainly as they come to you.

 ‘You’ve such a kind and earnest smile, Lord Celebrimbor, as is all else about you. Almost like a warm glow washing over us, akin that of Laurelin itself.’

 He laughs again – bless the Valar! Bless the honey of your mouth and the sharpness of your mind and whatever he has done to earn the gift of your appreciation, of your mere thought to compare him of all elves to the gold tree of Valinor, but oh, curse it too. Curse that he cannot ever find within himself the words to reciprocate, in spite of all the nights he lies awake to thoughts of you.

 How can someone so skilled with a hammer not possess a trace of the skill of the tongue? You must teach him. You must make him worthy of you.

 He watches in silence as you look around. A tentative hand comes to trace the intricate carvings on the furnace.

 ‘Everything in your city seems so carefully crafted.’

 ‘Well, I suppose I have an eye for detail, given my work.’

 ‘Undoubtedly so, but I think it’s much more than just that. It is a labour of great love and dedication to mind such details.’

 ‘A true craftsman recognizes nothing is ever negligible, despite how it may seem. Even from sand, comes glass.’

 ‘What a wise thing to say,’ you turn to him, ‘you truly are most interesting, Lord Celebrimbor.’

 ‘I can only hope to keep up with you, my Lady. You most certainly surpass me in both words and wisdom. Your company is a blessing.’

 ‘As is yours.’

 Your hand is a comfort unlike any other when it reaches for him. He has not been touched in eons, but even if he had, it would not compare. His own hands are filthy with remnants of his work and it brings him shame to dirty such pristine skin. The Valar must have loved you as well, for they, superior creators as they are, ensured your beauty would reach even to your fingertips.

‘Would you show me what you were working on?’

‘Nothing exciting, I fear. I was only cutting out some pieces of emerald from their cluster.’

 ‘How can that not be exciting? Cutting a brilliant, precious gem from what was but a mere piece of rock not long ago.’

 You see as he does. The beauty of things. Their importance. The dark green rock sits large and proud on his workbench, cleaned of any remnants of the earth that birthed it, yet still a long way from its final form. He senses your enthusiasm in the hesitance with which you approach.

 ‘It is mere jewel-craft. Petty work. I aspire to larger projects now that I’ve been provided with a forge suited for them. I have you to thank for that.’

 ‘Hardly. It was the High King’s wise foresight to recognize that your gifts would be of much use in the fight against evil, and the work of Herald Elrond’s persuasion to make it possible.’

 ‘Ah, Herald Elrond does indeed possess quite the persuasive tongue. It is to be envied.’ And envy it he does, especially so when Elrond visits and spends your shared dinners conversing you whilst he himself can only gaze lovelorn. ‘But, please, do not undermine your contribution. You have been the most insightful of councils. I… I, for one, am glad to have you here.’

 For the first time in the weeks that you have known each other, he finds the nerve to approach you first. Not as your host, but as your… friend. It helps to see you distracted by the ore in front of you, too entranced to notice he is studying you in return.

 ‘Do not worry, it is not fragile. You may touch it if you’d like.’

 Your daring hand springs forth.

 ‘It is beautiful.’

 ‘It will be more valuable once it’s cut.’

 ‘More valuable, perhaps,’ you hum, ‘but not more beautiful. I believe the colour is the same as your eyes.’

 Your honeyed mouth renders the elven-smith incapable of sensible thought. You could ask him to cut off his hand and he would happily oblige you, let you pick the knife even. Anything to draw the praise you so generously give, even though he tends to think his eyes are small and beady and their only possible use is looking at you.

 That is why;

 ‘You should have it then.’

 A breath is released. This is not quite the facile manner of speech he had hoped to master. Foolish, traitorous mind going hand in hand with a foolish, traitorous mouth. You, in all your benevolence, simply blink in surprise. Teach him! Teach him how to speak his love.

 ‘I couldn’t possibly.’

 ‘I’m sure you appreciate it far more than any other would. If you want it, I wish for you to have it.’

 ‘You are so generous, my Lord, but whatever would I do with such an ore? Its beauty is undeniable, but I am no craftsman.’

 It is quite a large rock. Childish embarrassment rushes through him, the kind he has not felt since he was but an elfling apprenticed to his father and found comfort in his arms when he was brought to tears by his uncle’s temper.

 Perhaps being in love is a childlike, vulnerable sentiment in itself.

 ‘A piece then.’

 He does not await your answer. The tool is large and sharp in his talented hands. The piece he cuts is roughly the size of your palm as he presses it inside with reverence.

 ‘There you go.’

 You inspect it with a caress of your lovely finger.

 ‘I can polish it if you’ve changed your mind.’

 ‘No. No, it is perfect just like this.’

 The sunlight is bright and warm as it pours from his window and you take the opportunity to hold the piece up against its rays, revealing hues of forest green. The light reflects off it for a moment, drawing your attention back to Celebrimbor. He, too, looks glorious under the sun’s cast. You wish to study him further. To know all the markings of his face. He wishes it too, so he does not draw back when your feet bring you closer, and allows you to hold up the stone again, this time near his eyes.

 ‘I was right then; they are the same colour.’

 Perhaps being in love is a glorious sentiment instead. The gentle and warm embrace of affectionate words. No one has spoken of his eyes before. No one has come this close either. None but the wind that he can recall. All his memories and senses have been replaced by you, as if he was brought to existence by your meeting.

 All these things, he might never find the words to tell you.

 You do not mind.

 You care only for his kind soul, his emerald eyes and the soft beating of his heart under your palm. Your heads bow together as if in silent communication, foreheads and noses touching so that you might come to breathe the same air. An almost kiss.

 Does he remind you of the gold tree now that your touch has eased the years off his face, and your proximity has once again brought forth the gleeful radiance of his smile? Always, yes.

 An almost kiss, and a joy short-lived when his assistant decides to interrupt you.

 ‘My Lord.’

 You do not fly apart, but separate slowly, painfully instead.

 ‘Thank you, Lord Celebrimbor, for your gift, and for your company.’

 Mirdania lowers her head as you take your leave, perhaps in respect, or, perhaps, in embarrassment. For you, there is none. Not for Celebrimbor either, when he is left gazing at the shadow of you that remains. Her words fall on deaf ears.

[doodle-pops]

I’ll Wait For You

Amras x reader

A/N: This was based on the Arranged Marriage headcanons I wrote for the Fëanorians a while ago. Enjoy!

Warnings: arranged marriage AU, anxiety attack (minor), comfort, fluff

Words: 2.3k

Synopsis: With the recent union of your and Amras’s arranged marriage and thrust into the world of rivalry, you and Amras find yourselves in the comfort of each other’s company.

The palace of Tirion was a marvel, its white walls gleaming under the light of Telperion. Every corner of the grand hall was adorned with ornate decorations—garlands of gold and silver, and chandeliers that glittered like the stars themselves. Your new family knew how to display their wealth and power, and tonight’s gathering was no exception. The grandeur of the event was enough to take one’s breath away, but it also made you feel as if you were drowning in an ocean of expectation.

You had anticipated a certain level of formality when you were informed of your arranged marriage to Amras. The news had come swiftly, with little time to prepare, and you had barely caught your breath before you were thrust into the role of his spouse. The marriage itself had been a quiet affair, a ceremony marked by propriety and duty rather than celebration. You had accepted your fate with as much grace as you could muster, but it did little to calm the nerves that now gnawed at your insides.

This evening was your first official appearance as part of the House of Fëanor, and you were unaccustomed to the grandeur, to the sheer volume of people—nobles from every corner of Valinor, all dressed in their finest silks and jewels. Their eyes had been on you from the moment you entered the hall, assessing, judging. You could feel the weight of their expectations pressing down on you, and you wondered if they could see how out of place you felt.

Amras had been at your side like a quiet reassurance in the midst of the chaos. He was a man of few words, and his quiet demeanour had been a comfort to you in the whirlwind that had followed your marriage. Yet, despite his calming presence, you could not shake the feeling that you were a stranger in this world of rivalry.

The rivalry was heated, an undercurrent that ran through the gathering like a silent storm. Fëanor and his half-brother Fingolfin had long competed in every aspect of their lives, and now it seemed that even the marriages of their children had become another arena for their contest. Each noble family seemed to be evaluating not just you, but the alliance your marriage represented. It was too much—the grandeur, the scrutiny, the sense that you were nothing more than a piece on a chessboard, moved by forces beyond your control.

As the evening wore on, the noise and the crowd began to overwhelm you. Every smile felt forced, every word strained. The music, once beautiful, now felt like an assault on your senses. Your heart raced in your chest, and the walls of the grand hall seemed to close in around you. You needed to escape, to find a place where you could breathe without feeling the weight of so many eyes on you.

Making your excuses as politely as you could, you slipped away from Amras’s side with a murmured promise to return soon. His reply was a simple nod, though, the slight furrow in his brow questioned your decision, nevertheless he had let you go without question. You wound your way through the throng of people, past the servants carrying trays of food and drink, and finally through a side door that led into one of the many corridors of the palace.

The quiet of the corridor was a welcome relief from the noise of the hall, but it did little to calm the storm that raged inside you. Walking quickly, your footsteps echoing against the marble floors as you sought out a place where you could be alone, where you could gather your thoughts and still your racing heart. And it seemed as the corridors twisted and turned, leading you deeper into the palace, you found yourself at the entrance to the gardens.

The scent of jasmine and roses filled the air, mingling with the cool, crisp scent of the night. A soft breeze stirred the leaves of the trees, and the sound of running water from a nearby fountain provided a soothing backdrop to the otherwise still night. The path before you was lined with stone benches and flowering bushes, their petals glowing softly in the light of the stars above. Briskly you followed the path, your feet carrying you deeper into the garden until you reached a secluded corner where the night-blooming jasmine grew thick and fragrant.

Here, at last, you allowed yourself to breathe as you sank down onto one of the stone benches, your hands trembling as you buried your face in them. The tears you had been holding back all evening spilled over, hot and unwelcome, and you felt a sob catch in your throat. It was all too much—too fast, too overwhelming. You had barely had time to process your new life, and now you were expected to be a part of this grand family, to fit into a world that felt completely alien to you.

You knew that Amras was kind, that he would understand if you told him how you felt. But you didn’t want to burden him with your fears, not when he had his own struggles to contend with. He was a quiet man, often overshadowed by his more outspoken brothers, and you wondered if he felt just as out of place in this grand gathering as you did.

Caught in your whirlwind of emotions, a soft rustle of leaves behind you made you freeze, and you hastily wiped the tears from your cheeks, trying to compose yourself. You turned, expecting to see a servant or perhaps one of Amras’s brothers, but instead, you found yourself looking into the concerned eyes of your husband.

“Amras,” you breathed, your voice shaky as you attempted to stand. You hadn’t heard him approach, hadn’t expected him to follow you.

He didn’t say anything at first, simply watching you with those piercing green eyes of his. Then, slowly, he stepped forward and knelt in front of you, halting your actions, his gaze searching your face for answers.

“Please, no need to stand. Are you all right?” he asked softly, his voice full of concern.

You wanted to lie, to tell him that you were fine, that you just needed a moment to yourself. But the words caught in your throat, and all you could do was shake your head as fresh tears welled up in your eyes.

Immediately, his expression softened, and without a word, he reached out to take your hands in his. His touch was warm, grounding you at the moment, and the gentleness of it made your heartache. “It’s all right,” he said quietly, his voice soothing. “You don’t have to explain if you don’t want to.”

You nodded, biting your lip as you tried to hold back the tears that threatened to spill over again. “I–I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I didn’t mean to run off like that…it’s just…everything is so much, and I don’t know how to—”

Amras squeezed your hands gently, cutting off your words. “I know,” he said softly. “It is overwhelming, isn’t it? This is all so new, and…so much has changed so quickly.”

You nodded, biting your lip as you tried to rein in your emotions. “I don’t belong here. I can't fit in…or never,” you whispered. “I don’t know how to…to be what they expect me to be.”

At your whimpers his eyes softened as he reached out to take your hand in his. His touch was warm and reassuring, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles. “You’re not alone in feeling that way,” he admitted. “I’ve lived with my family my entire life, and even I feel out of place sometimes. They can be…a lot.”

You looked up at him, surprised by the honesty in his voice. He was quiet by nature, often overshadowed by his more boisterous brothers, but in this moment, you saw the depth of his understanding and his own struggles.

“It’s just that everything happened so fast,” you continued, your voice trembling. “I barely had time to process the arrangement before we were married, and now…now I’m here, surrounded by all of this, and it’s like I can’t keep up.”

“I feel the same way,” he confessed. “I didn’t expect things to move so quickly either. I thought…I thought we would have more time to get to know each other, to adjust.”

He paused, his gaze searching yours as if trying to find the right words. “I want you to know,” he said slowly, “that I don’t expect anything from you. I don’t want you to feel like you have to be someone you’re not, or that you have to meet anyone’s expectations—least of all my father’s.”

“You don’t truly mean that?” you whispered brokenly.

In response, he offered a genuine smile and a nod of his head. “Oh, but I do.”

You felt a rush of gratitude at his words, and your grip tightened on his hand. “Thank you,” you murmured, your voice thick with emotion. “I—I’m so relieved to hear you say that.” You felt a warmth spread through your chest at his words, and for the first time that evening, you felt like you could breathe. The weight that had been pressing down on you lifted slightly, and you looked at his with newfound gratitude.

Shaking his head, his expression gentle. “Perfection is overrated,” he said softly. “And it’s not what I want from you. I just want us to be able to talk, to get to know each other as we really are—not in feeling out of place. I understand how overwhelming it can be, especially when you’re suddenly thrust into the middle of all this expectation.”

His honesty touched you deeply. You had always admired him for his quiet strength, but hearing him admit his own vulnerabilities made you feel closer to him in a way you hadn’t expected. The idea that you weren’t alone in your feelings, that even someone as composed as Amras could feel out of place, gave you a sense of comfort and camaraderie.

“I’ve always felt like an outsider,” you confessed quietly, turning your gaze to the flowers blooming around you. “Even before all this. I’m not used to being the center of attention, and it feels like I’m constantly under scrutiny now. I’m afraid of making a mistake, of disappointing you or your family.”

While his expression softened, he hesitantly reached out to gently cupped your cheek, turning your face so you could meet his eyes. “You could never disappoint me,” he said with quiet conviction. “And as for my family…they’re a lot to handle, I know. They’re just…well, they’re a passionate lot, and sometimes that passion can be overwhelming. But you don’t have to worry. Take as much time as you need to settle in, I’ll be patient.”

His thumb brushed against your cheek, wiping away a stray tear that had escaped.

For a moment, the two of you sat in comfortable silence, simply holding each other’s gaze. The garden around you seemed to grow even more tranquil, as if the night itself was offering its blessings to your newfound understanding. The gentle rustling of the leaves, the sweet scent of the jasmine, the distant chirp of crickets—it all became a comforting symphony that wrapped around you like a blanket.

As you sat there, you began to notice the little things about Amras that you hadn’t had the chance to before—the way his hair caught the moonlight, the gentle strength in his hands as they held yours, the quiet confidence in his voice that belied his earlier confession of uncertainty. There was a depth to him that you were only just beginning to understand, and it made you want to know more, to explore the facets of the man who had become your husband.

Eventually, Amras broke the silence, his tone lighter as he said, “You know, I was thinking…perhaps we should try to slip out of these gatherings more often. I’m sure my father and uncle would be too busy trying to outdo each other to notice our absence.”

You laughed, the sound bright and genuine, and it felt good to release some of the tension that had been weighing on you all evening. “You’re probably right,” you said, a twinkle in your eyes. “They seem more interested in their competition than in who’s actually present.”

“True,” he said, tilting his head slightly, “and when I was younger, I used to hide out in these gardens whenever family gatherings became too much. My brothers would be off making a spectacle, and I’d sneak away to find some peace.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the image of a young Amras hiding among the flowers, seeking refuge from the chaos of his family. “I suppose it’s no wonder you found me here, then,” you replied, a hint of amusement in your tone.

He chuckled softly, the sound warm and genuine. “Perhaps,” he agreed. “The gardens have always been a place of solace for me. It seems fitting that we’d find some peace here together.”

As the night wore on, you and Amras continued to talk, the conversation flowing easily between you. You spoke of small things at first—your favorite places, your hobbies, the things that brought you joy. And in return, Amras opened up about his own struggles, his feelings of being overshadowed by his brothers, his desire to find his own path.

The more you talked, the more you realised how much you had in common. You both longed for a sense of belonging, for a place where you could be yourselves without the weight of expectations.

As the night grew later and the chill in the air deepened, Amras finally stood and extended his hand to you. “Shall we make our farewells?” he asked softly, sensing that you were ready to leave.

“Sure, why not,” you murmured. “I think it’s high time we returned home.”

Masterlist

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[welcomingdisaster]

House of Finwë + Gender Presentation In Valinor HCs

Disclaimer: I have not been able to find any actual canon on what is considered masculine or feminine dress for the Noldor. It might exist, and I might be blatantly contradicting it. I think I have some grounding in seeing associations between gold/yellow/Laurelin colors and femininity and silver/grey/Telperion colors and masculinity, but it seems elves of any gender will wear/be associated with/named after/etc either color, so I assume this association is somewhat loose, a little as red and blue to us.

Finwë and Míriel, during their reign: They had set the fashion for all of the Noldor courts, and, unlike the Vanyar, there had been to be a contrast between the sorts of fashions they wear; Finwë in well-fitted, sometimes almost figure-hugging dress in bold, bright colors, decorated with gems and embroidery along the collar, sleeves, and hem, while Míriel leaned towards loose, many-layered outfits with quite a lot of visual noise, often covered in embroidery head-to-toe but eschewing quite as many jewels (in part because she found the weight exhausting). She would also wear one or two rings only, to keep her hands freer, while Finwë's hands were heavily ornamented. Finwë's hair was usually done in a half-up half-down style and ornamented, while Míriel's was bound in many twisting plaits, often with colorful strings (or sometimes light dye!) worked into it. These differences were so influential that the associations between masculinity and tight-fitting clothes + freer hair, and feminine styles and looser-cut dress + ornamented braids remained long after Míriel's death, following the Noldor into middle earth.

Finwë and Indis, during their reign: Gender differences in court dress notably decreased during Indis' reign, though some remained present. Indis, fond of sport and horseback riding, preferred tighter-fitting, simpler clothes than her predecessor, and notably wanted to avoid associations with embroidery. Indis was also similar in height to her husband; when, once or twice, she was seen wearing his robes (pinned and styled to better suit her figure) it caused quite a stir in the courts -- whether it was seen as improper conduct or a touching display of devotion varied heavily on who you asked. Indis was, however, very precise with her hair, which was never seen loose; she braided it closely to her head, bound with jewels and pearls. She introduced hair-wrapping to Noldor courts, binding her hair with thick bright silks. This was always considered a highly feminine style, with men at most using a ribbon or two in their braids.

Findis and Lalwen: Findis styled herself often after her mother, but subconsciously favored styles which would garner the least attention; she tended towards looser, more flowering dress, with sleeves so long she could comfortably fidget without drawing too much attention to herself, and tended to keep her hair bound. Lalwen, on the other hand, was at times scandalously masculine in her forms of dress. She was one of the first noble women to wear parts of her hair unbound, and wore bright, simple styles, tailored close to her with a few statement-piece ornaments, a little as early-reign Finwë. She preferred heavily silver jewelry and sought out an association with Telperion. Upon meeting her for the first time, especially in riding-garb that hid her figure and before hearing her speak, strangers sometimes mistook her for her brother Fingolfin, which secretly pleased her.

Feanor, Fingolfin, Finarfin: Feanor often found himself caught between his desire to harken back to his mother in his modes of dress and the fact that his mother had, more or less, set the standards for what was considered feminine in his society (and his desire to appear masculine as the crown prince). He embraced the same visual noise that Míriel did, wearing tightly-tailored vests and corsets covered in embroidery, but in cuts of cloth tended to imitate Finwë's style. He too kept his hands relatively unadorned, for practicality's sake. Fingolfin was one of the first elves to embrace simplicity in dress, wearing darker or subtler robes broken up by a single splash of color; usually in the form of brooches. His long dark hair was sometimes left entirely loose except for one thin braid holding his hair from his eyes, bound with a few silver beads or sapphires, very distinct and masculine styles. Finarfin leaned rather neutral in his dress in his youth, mostly imitating Finwë by default, though he favored bright sunset oranges and pinks, yellows. However, after spending much of his time with the Teleri, he found he enjoyed their modes of dress, often wearing simpler, looser garments, often off-one-shoulder, rarely worn in Noldor courts. This preference was seen by some as feminine, and by some as simply somewhat foreign.

House of Feanor: From his youth Maedhros tended to heavily imitate his father in dress, often wearing ornate and heavily-embroidered robes. He was also often the first model for some of his father's jewelry pieces, and gained something of a reputation for being garish and loud in his dress. The cuts of his robes, however, tended to be firmly masculine, as appropriate to the first-born son of a crown prince. His hair he often wore down, in the single-braid-in-the-back style popularized by Fingolfin (though he would not admit to that inspiration).

Maglor tended to wear tight-fitting riding-clothes, often in greys, blacks, and dark-blues, ornamented only by silver jewelry. His dark hair he cut unusually short (just below his shoulders) and wore in a top-knot, half-up half-down, a working man's style popular among Telerin sailors. All in all his style read as very masculine to the Noldor, with just a touch of androgyny provided by the the loose-fitting silver-and-black cloak he wore often to formal events.

Celegorm dressed most often in imitation of courtly trends for young men, favoring hunting-styles. His most infamous moment was coming to court with his hair entirely unbraided, scandalous for elves of any gender-- a little as coming to court shirtless. Caranthir dressed in looser robes, though largely out of comfort rather than style. His jewelry tended towards large and chunky, without much visual noise. Curufin heavily imitated Feanor in his manner of dress, albeit often wearing even more jewels; he popularized five ear-piercings rather than the previously fashionable three.

Amrod and Amras, not particularly invested in the fashions of the court, tended to dress similarly to Celegorm, usually falling a few seasons behind the trends currently in court.

House of Fingolfin: Anaire was fond of a matching her husband, sharp and purposeful in her dress. She had particularly beautiful dark hair, which she wore in many braids as a crown upon her head, and of long, simply-decorated cloaks. Very distinctly feminine, but in a sharp, unapproachable sort of way.

Fingon's tendency towards feminine modes of dress was noticeable enough to get him pulled aside and talked to several times during his youth; he preferred layered and loose, dress-like robes, wore bright gold-lip stain usually associated with young women (men favored red and orange lip stain) and did entirely too much with his hair, always wearing it in great plaits. After a specific incident in court during his adolescence he was forbidden from binding his hair with headscarves for court-wear, but wove gold into it. His one touch of masculine saving grace were his many rings. The androgyny suited him well; his appeal to women was offset only by his utter lack of interest in them.

Turgon tended to imitate Fingolfin's manner of dress, albeit with brighter base-colors, favoring deep browns, golds, and reds. Gondolin would eventually grow to have very different gender-norms for its residents, and then Turgon would begin to favor almost toga-like dress during his reign. That, however, is a matter for another post. He was known for many ornate rings, and collar-like necklaces.

Aredhel leaned sporty/practical feminine, often imitating Indis, whom she was particularly close to. She wore her dark hair plaits bound with white, often decorated with diamonds, and favored white riding-clothes and golden jewelry, matching sometimes with Turgon.

House of Finarfin: [the ones I have headcanons for] Earwen embraced hyper-feminine modes of dress, both to the Teleri and the Noldor. She wore intricate gowns and cloaks with many layers as feathers, most often in silver, white, or blue. Her hair was incredibly long, and always woven into several long braids.

Finrod favored greens and blues, usually in adventuring, hunting, riding sorts of styles -- distinctly sporty. His long hair matched his mother's, and he wore parts of is down, threaded with lily flowers and jewels. His hands were covered in many rings, and generally he made the appearance of being a well-ornamented young man. In Middle Earth he would experiment with androgyny, but that is a story for another post.

Orodreth: Dressed in soft, simple colors, notably pale greens and grays. Not wanting to draw attention, he would usually imitate whatever masculine style was popular in court, but he did not seem particularly confident in them.

Angrod: Embraced his Telerin side often, and dressed similarly to his father. His hair he kept strangely short, just around his shoulders, and wore a top-knot as often as a braid.

Aegnor: Simple in his dress, usually modeling himself after Fingolfin but with rather less splash. He did not much like the weight of jewelry, and wore the minimum he could get away with. Most people considered him quite unfashionable.

Galadriel: Mingled feminine styles of dress freely with masculine ones. Wore her long hair completely unbound on several occasions despite many talking-tos. Decorated her hands with many rings, pairing this with riding styles, but was just as likely to wear a long flowing cloak or gown; often styled her hair with rubies and sapphires. Quite controversial in her style of dress.

[searchingforserendipity25]

An old draft resurrected for @feanorianweek! Inspired by last year's Back to Middle Earth bingo board option - gift giving. Some humor and some angst. In which Maedhros is a defiant prisoner, but not the most infuriating of his siblings.

-

Gift-Giving

In Valinor, there had been certain expectations from musicians - the minstrels, those few that devoted themselves fully to the Song. 

Every noble house ought to have one among their members, and the noblest the best; Maglor had been very obliging in that regard. Maglor had been the example to follow, the prototype, the trend-setter.

Maglor, Maedhros had thought even then, had chosen the Song as much as it had chosen him. For its own sake; and also so that he did not have to choose anything else less great and mighty. 

Minstrels were for rites, time-keeping, celebration and beauty. Minstrels were for the blessing of the fields. Minstrels were an honour to their kin, and an adornment. 

Beleriand changed things. In Beleriand, Song was power, and Songs of Power needful weapons used beyond the value of their beauty alone.

Unfortunately, kingship was also power, and not one that could lightly be set aside. Fortunately, Macalaurë had always been very able at managing a number of tasks, as long as he could accomplish them in the most impressive and aggravating performance possible. 

For thirty years he ruled singly, second-born of a great house in exile, making Siege against one of the Powers, he that first Sang discord into the very matter and memory and making of the world. 

Morgoth was besieged. Maitimo might be prisoner, hostage, slave and victim, but there was some satisfaction in knowing the manner of his binding.

Treachery there had been, and foolish anguish - but he would not have chosen other. He could not have chosen otherwise; and at least this time, when he suffered the consequences of one of his brother’s irreverence, there was a bitter pleasure in the paying of it.

No gift could be sweeter to him than the memory of the song borne over the great dark stillness of Thangorodrim. The voice soaring to the heights, saying, 

HAIL DECEIVER, SACKER AND THIEF, FROM ANOTHER MURDERER: HOW IS IT TO BE LOATHED AND REGRETTED BY ILÚVITAR, THY VERY OWN KING AND FATHER - 

“Alas for what you have wrought, fell lord,” called Maitimo Nelyafinwë. The laughter wound the chains more treacherously still on themselves, but it was worth it, and frankly necessary to defiance to laugh sometimes. “Once he is started, the true challenge is to close his mouth.” 

AND KNOW THOU HAST BEEN MADE TO FAIL AND FAIL AND FAIL EVER AND EVER UNTO THE VICTORY OF THE HEAVENS AND INDEED THE FORCE OF ELVES IN WRATH AGAINST THEE -

Morgoth roared, and shock the mountain, and thundered at the skies. 

There was a pause. The echo rang, and then the silence; it set, and settled. Morgoth’s immensity blotted out the stars, and grew to match his complacency. 

Maitimo waited. His brother held passionately to a theory, regarding the counting of time in silence as a mark authorship, from which every composed could be identified with enough familiarity, and his thesis presentation had gone something like this:

Somewhere in the far, far distance, there was the familiar sound of a harp being strummed in a uniquely obnoxious fashion. 

GIVE ME BACK MY BROTHER THOU AVARICIOUS CUR-FACED DULL-WITTED  CRAVEN -

For a moment, a terrible abyss of an instant, the full force of Morgoth's loathing filled the air in a silence made of many dimensions and many strains of incredulous rage.

“You heard him,” Maitimo said into it. Teeth-bared, words round and smiling in his mouth. “Cur.” 

The chains were really quite dreadful, where they bit into flesh to lash the bones; but he wouldn't have said they weren't worth it, for the look on Morgoth's face just then.

[winterpinetrees]

Okay yeah I’m still thinking about logistics. I am aware that lord of the rings is whimsical and I don’t care.

There must be so many people in Rivendell. It’s the Last Homely House, the last decent place before you go off into the deep wilderness. It’s at the bottom of a valley in the middle of nowhere. They aren’t getting everything imported. Elrond must have a full sized settlement there to produce most of the food, even if we are assuming that preserving magic makes it an easy place to live. Rivendell is a refuge too. It’s home to Elrond, his family, a significant number of Noldor like Glorfindel, and who knows how many wanderers. Elves don’t die of old age, and in the Third Age they don’t get murdered particularly often either, so I have to imagine that the population is large and just keeps growing. I don’t get the sense that many travel across the sea until after Sauron falls, and there really isn’t anywhere else for them to go. Lothlorien, maybe? There’s got to be thousands of people in that valley, supporting the Last Homely House and keeping the forces of darkness at bay.

More than that, it’s a huge place fit for the most powerful people in Middle Earth. Rivendell can easily accommodate Bilbo’s entire party in the hobbit and all of the visiting diplomats for the Council of Elrond. Do you have any idea how much manpower (elf power?) it takes to keep a place clean, well-lit, and functional without modern technology? It takes an absurd amount of work. There is nothing in the legendarium that I’m aware of to suggest that elves use magic as a labor saving tool. That means that people are doing all of that work by hand.

Are there elven servants in Rivendell? What about in Valinor? In the Silmarillion, we only ever really read about noble bloodlines, and in LoTR, elves are kept very mysterious. There’s craftsmen who make silmarils and magic rings, but who is forging gear for the average soldier? We know that there are a whole lot of average soldiers. Lord of the rings is a story of battles between armies. Is there upward mobility in an undying land? Whoever is cleaning clothes in Valinor, have they been doing that since the age of the two trees?

Maybe Valinor is more equal than that. Maybe in a place where everyone expects to live forever, they’ve found ways to share the load. But they did have a high king, long ago, and Feanor uses the argument that the elves should go to Beleriand to find freedom and treasure. He’s not a reliable narrator, but it’s something I’ve been thinking about.

What must it be like to be one of the other Noldor? To be a common elf and go east seeking freedom and adventure, only to find suffering like you cannot imagine? To watch that land sink beneath the ocean, to see Numenor be corrupted and fall, to fight Morgoth and Sauron and Sauron again? To finally leave it all behind as everything, even Rivendell and Lindon and Lothlorien, fades? Or maybe you die in combat and spend an eon in the halls of Mandos before reawakening in Valinor. Either way, you’re back!

And someone needs to do the laundry.

[outofangband]

Mammals of Himlad

Now that I’ve finished world building posts on birds for each Fëanorian realm pre Amon Ereb, I’m going through mammals next!

Mammals of the March of Maedhros can be found here, of Maglor’s Gap here, and my environmental world building Masterlist is here!

As always, I included world building notes so it’s not just a list of species! I did focus more on the Noldorin host because I want to make a separate post for the Avari of Eastern Beleriand!

Himlad was a realm in Eastern Beleriand, bordered on the West by the river Aros and on the East, its tributary, Celon. It means ‘cool plain’ in Sindarin and was described simply as a cold region, likely due to its proximity to the March and thus to the Iron Mountains, the cold fronts of which extend throughout the surrounding regions. 

Steppes and plains: goitered gazelle, Common shrews, steppe lemming, yellow steppe lemming, desert hare, social voles, corsac fox, steppe cat, Przewalski's horse and other wild horses, grey marmot, Mongolian gazelle, striped dwarf hamster, silver vole, Gobi big brown bat, steppe polecat, Daurian hedgehog, Pallas’s cat, roe deer, Eurasian lynx (rare, outskirts/forest borders), marbled polecat, long earred jeroba, khulan (wild ass), winter white dwarf hamster, long eared hedgehog 🦔, Mongolian wolf

By the rivers: Brandt’s bat, common water shrew, harvest mouse, common otter (rare), dhole, wild boar, elk (rare)

World building notes

Horses are the primary domestic animal in northeastern Beleriand down to Estolad and some are sired from those brought from Valinor while some were tamed from wild horses in Beleriand. Horses of Eastern Beleriand retain their winter coat for more of the year than their kin and this is especially true of the March and Himlad where snow falls heavily throughout the colder months.

Wild horses appear on the crest of two of the noble houses who accompanied Celegorm. They are often depicted in running stance in both Noldorin and Avarin art to represent the steppes of Himlad.

Horse milk is used to create a strong alcohol which is served during the Noldorin autumn festival.

Celegorm and his scouts and hunters bring hounds to Himlad, which aid them in both hunting and some military activities. Some wild canines are adopted or bonded as well including foxes and wolves. In the beginning, Celegorm and his lords are stringent regarding the behavior of the hounds and mitigate their ability to damage the ecosystem of Himlad. Over time and in their later locations west, they neglect these duties.

One of Curufin’s lords holds a herd of yak. The young were gifted through a defense alliance with an Avarin group in Southern Himlad. Like in the Gap, most milk comes from yak, goat, or sheep rather than cows.

I personally enjoy the headcanon that prehistoric (in today’s world) bear species occasionally ventured into the plains of East Beleriand to hunt.

[maironsbigboobs]

re: elf servants

I think generally there are servants in royal/noble households simply for practical reasons and they generally fall into 2 categories: specialised servants (think, stewards and messengers and scribes, masters of horses or kennels, that kind of thing) and servants who help with the upkeep of the household (cleaning, repairs, cooking and also the apprentices and assistants of specialised servants)

specialised servants are probably quite prestigious roles and fields of industry in their own right, and they are considered full members of a household, and probably are closely linked to the person they serve - it's as much a political and social statement to be Finwe's chief scribe as it is an economic one

but the second category are more associated with the house than the family living in it - for example, Finwe's palace in Tirion would function both as a home and a diplomatic and administrative centre, it would be impossible for him to rule and keep up with chores himself. But Fingolfin's personal home would probably not have any full-time servants - when there more people than usual to feed or house then professionals might be hired, but for the most part I imagine the day to day is done by the family (made possible by the fact elves sleep and eat less than humans)

IRL domestic service (at least in the 18th century) often functioned as a kind of prep stage for adult life (for women in particular, but gender is probably not as big a factor for elves) and I could definitely see this in Valinor - domestic servants being 80% elves between 50-100 who haven't chosen an apprenticeship or similar in another field who are earning extra money to set up their own households, getting experience outside of the family, meeting others in their own ae cohort, learning independence etc. It's a job that comes with the offer of room and board + the wages a king/prince/lord can provide. Not glamorous, but not terrible.

The other 20% is made up of professional servants - experienced elves who are genuinely like the work and are contracted workers as much as a builder or gardener might be. Some of them might be independent and others part of businesses set up by other elves who are really into cooking/cleaning etc.

In Beleriand the situation (for the exiles at least) is probably very different, though I think there would be attempts to adapt the system - but there aren't as many households that need servants and there aren't as many young elves.

[lonesomedreamer]

The Rings of Power Liveblog: Adrift (Episode 2)

In between watching the first and second halves of this episode, I was looking back through the Appendices and realized that the events this series covers, from the reemergence of Sauron in Middle-earth to the eventual forging of the various Rings, span 1200 years! So it’s kind of absurd to think of them somehow adapting those events “accurately” (which makes you wonder why they made some of the narrative choices they did…).

The idea of Galadriel swimming back across the sea to Middle-earth is laughable, but tbh what else can she attempt to do in this situation?

The fire around the Stranger isn’t hot because…magic, I guess?

Nori’s a darling.

Arondir is being all self-sacrificing and stupid noble by going to explore the scary tunnels alone…good thing he probably has plot armor.

People who haven’t read The Silmarillion: Who the fuck is Fëanor? What are the Silmarils?!?

Helpfully, Elrond tells us that they were “the jewels that contain the very light of Valinor.” Oversimplified, sure, but that’s the kind of exposition the first episode needed: Tolkien 101 for people who know nothing about Tolkien (beyond, probably, some movies)!

As someone who can’t roll their Rs, the aggressively exaggerated pronunciation of “Sauron,” “Morgoth,” and now “Silmaril” makes me feel…kind of inept.

That said, a) do they even have the rights to tell this Morgoth story? and b) exposition between two characters who already know it (and I guarantee that Elrond knows the story Celebrimbor is telling rn…) is mildly annoying.

Elrond Half-elven, “as noble and fair as an elf-lord, as strong as a warrior, as wise as a wizard, as venerable as a king of dwarves, and as kind as summer” a Kiss-ass

Good set design! Tbh, I wish Rivendell had been portrayed more like this in the PJ movies: a little richer, with more wood and warm golden light.

Why is Celebrimbor in such an arbitrary hurry to build this forge? A few months is nothing to an Elf!

“How far outside [our own race]?” Well, I just don’t know, Celebrimbor, who else in Middle-earth is renowned for their metallurgy? Which race has yet to be portrayed in this—oh, right.

Please book me a trip to Middle-earth.

“Their prince, Durin, is an old and dear friend.” And yet Elrond, one of the wisest people in Middle-earth, doesn’t know what “Durin’s Day” is when it comes up in The Hobbit. If he had a near-fraternal bond with a Dwarf prince, wouldn’t he be aware of significant Dwarven holidays?

I know this Elrond is just supposed to be younger and less experienced, but he’s coming across as kind of dumb.

Khazad-dûm looks incredible.

So the Dwarves have Scottish accents, the Harfoots Irish, and the Elves English? But the Men also have English accents, just less refined? Hmm. Choices were made.

I would die for her nbd. ♥

Gee, I wonder why everyone is speculating about Gandalf.

“Looks can be deceiving.” Given that I know who this character turns out to be, this dialogue is a little…heavy-handed.

The whole water dragon (?) sequence was so silly. Just like the “ice troll”.

It’s almost like “Elrond is besties with this Dwarf prince” subplot was a bad idea cooked up only to create some pointless, petty interpersonal conflict. It also makes it painfully obvious that there’s no reason Celebrimbor, an Elf, would be in a big hurry to build anything.

“Gamli” is the really best name they could come up with for Durin’s son? Pretty sure Durin’s son was also named Durin. I cross-checked the Appendices and could not find a “Gamli” anywhere…

Do Durin and Disa, the crown prince and princess of Khazad-dûm, have no servants? They’re just welcoming a guest into their house, fussing with their children, and serving dinner like regular folk. Where is a single one of the dozens of extras that we just saw in a previous scene??

What is it with the tendency of Tolkien adaptations to show the Dwarves as less than dignified? (i.e., Durin belching loudly at the dinner table.) Gimli was reduced to comic relief, and the Dwarves in the Hobbit films who aren’t meant to be seen as goofy—Thorin, Fili and Kili—are much more like Men than the other Dwarves. Tolkien felt VERY strongly about Dwarves being a proud and noble race! Respect that!!!

“Aulë’s beard!” I love this. (People who haven’t read the Silmarillion: Who’s Aulë?!)

“I am simply wondering what manner of man would so readily abandon his companions to death.” Big Elizabeth Swann energy.

There are so many problems with making this character a hot human dude. I’m glad I already know the truth about his identity, though—I don’t have to come around to “Halbrand” or (even worse) start shipping him with Galadriel. I can just be indignant.

Based on what we know about the duplicitous behavior as [redacted], you’d think Halbrand would be a little bit more…suave? Charming? Anything but this blunt, confrontational asshole.

People sure can cover ground quickly in Middle-earth. Unbelievably fast travel for the sake of moving the story along is a problem in almost all fantasy TV shows, mind you. If they only budgeted for 10 episodes instead of 8…or even (gasp) 13…

Why do Orcs look like straight-up horror movie villains now?

Also it’s so convenient that this Orc appeared beneath Bronwyn’s house on the same day she tried to convince her fellow villagers about the Orc tunnel threat.

Their pathetic little raft wouldn’t survive this, lol.

WHY does Halbrand save Galadriel? Repeatedly?? Did they think about this at all? There is nothing human, selfless, or compassionate about [redacted], lmfao.

As magical as this looks, Nori and Poppy’s “firefly” lanterns aren’t flickering, and anyone who’s ever seen fireflies knows that their glow isn’t consistent. They blink individually.

Same, Poppy. I also get freaked out when I see a firefly die.

The Appendices tell us that the Dwarves came to the military aid of the Elves and that they were as closely allied with Celebrimbor/Eregion as at any time in their shared history. So why are they making King Durin such a bullheaded, racist prick? (I know: for drama.)

Is the narrative implying that the shining object in King Durin’s chest is…what, a Silmaril? Because it sure as fuck shouldn’t be.

No, little emo kid, don’t take the broken Sauron sword that will surely attract evil to your people as they flee their village!

Bronwyn’s entire village is pretty easy to scare despite their generally gruff attitudes, aren’t they? At least they’re not completely stupid/have some sense of self-preservation.

The Good:

There’s still some stunning imagery to be had in this one, namely Khazad-dûm and the surrounding mountains

Likewise, some really nice set design in Eregion and especially Khazad-dûm

Nori!!!

A little exposition for non-readers (though maybe still not enough)

The Bad:

Most of the acting was weaker than in first episode, not that the writers gave anyone much to work with

Weak writing throughout: the dialogue’s not great. The characters’ motivations/choices don’t make much sense. Most of the scenarios they find themselves in vary from illogical (Elrond, Arondir) to unbelievable (Galadriel).

Why is the Stranger—Gandalf or Radagast or whoever he is—mute? And why does Nori keep assuming that she can understand/communicate with him??

No respect for the Dwarves, as usual

Too much stuff is convenient or coincidental, i.e., the perfectly-timed Orc appearance in Bronwyn’s house and the improbable survival of Halbrand’s raft

Meaning no disrespect to gamers, there were more “video game” type scenes—specifically, the water “dragon” and the Orc in Bronwyn’s house—which added nothing to the story and told us anything about the characters.

Halbrand. Yes, I am biased by knowing the twist.

I didn’t feel like this episode was that much worse than the first while I was watching it, but after reading over this, it’s obvious that it was quite a step down in quality. The first one felt, in most places, like a heartfelt homage to Tolkien’s world in ways this one just didn’t. But I love Nori to bits, and the visuals are still amazing, so I will persevere.

[dalliansss]

Hiiii <<333 would u tell us more about your thingol and finwe verse? U just made me discover this ship and I’m kinda into it even if Miriel for the win 🤍

Also just thought this would work for them ? ❛ i thought you said you never wanted to see me again. ❜

&. 𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐬 (𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬?) 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬.

In truth, Elwë did what he did out of concern, prompted also by Fëanáro's concern that Finwë had been getting a bit too...wide in the girth these days. Not that Elwë can blame his husband; since arriving in Valinor, the Noldor king had indulged himself in many things, particularly in food, their hard life in Cuiviénen manifesting itself in this way, where Finwë will not, shall not and can not suffer anybody going hungry during his reign, particularly his descendants and his people -- and also, himself.

They had been busy, of course. Setting in Valinor, ordering the realms of the Eldar, choosing their leaders and their noble courts, exploring their new lands. Finwë, upon whom the burden of the leadership of the Noldor fell on, focused more on the administrative side of things, and so his physical activity fell to the wayside. And the food. Food in abundance, rich and sweets -- Finwë was just eager to eat them all. He soon developed habits of stashing snacks: in the cupboards and drawers, in his pockets, in baskets in the councilroom--

But lately, even a little horse riding made Finwë short of breath, and Elwë knew it was time for action. He had been introducing physical activity back into Finwë's days while only slowly reducing his food portions, but Finwë, ever emotional took offense and booted him out of their bedchambers. This despite Elwë explaining he does what he does keeping in mind Finwë's health, just to make sure his combat skills does not fall to the wayside.

Still, Elwë gets exiled. Oh well.

So he takes himself to his seaside house at Alqualondë, and there he busies himself with sailing and fishing every early morning, even before the Mingling of the Lights. He trusts Fëanáro to take up where he can't, and Finwë will find that more difficult, because Fëanáro does not compromise and imposes his discipline with a harder hand that Elwë does. There will be no coaxing from Fëanáro, that is certain. Do or don't.

Elwë has just finished his rounds selling off his catch at Alqualondë's famous seaside markets. He walks home, and is surprised to find Finwë already there, waiting for him, the Noldorin king dressed down to sleeveless tunics fit for the hotter climes of Alqualondë. Finwë sees him approaching, and he stands, beaming-- and then as if he remembers he is the one who exiled Elwë in the first place, his smile falls, and he wrings his bejeweled hands.

Elwë Singollo draws close and quirks an eyebrow as he hangs his fishing net by the rack. "Well? I thought you said you never wanted to see me again."

"You know I don't mean that!" Finwë cries out, anguished. He is the one to close the distance and throw his arms around Elwë in a hug. He whines. "Elwë-- my heart, song of my fëa, come home....please?"

Elwë lets out a long-suffering sigh, but he does wrap his arms around Finwë. Look at that. In years that seem so long ago, he could hug Finwë and feel his ribs. Nowadays, it's all fluff. It's not a bad thing, but Finwë needs to reteach his hröa how to keep moving. It is for his own good.

"Fëanáro got you good, huh?" Elwë snipes, sly. "Alright, how many laps does he make you do before he's satisfied?"

"Twenty every early morning," Finwë complains, pouting. "And I haven't even eaten my scrambled eggs yet! And no coffee yet! No orange juice! Ai, he's so mean, Elwë! And-- and he he also got Nolofinwë joining in! Two of them! They're horrible! Can't leave their old father alone..." Now he pretends to sniffle. Dramatic elf, this one.

"But you exiled me, remember?" Elwë points out.

"No!" Finwë cries out. "I take it back! Go home with me! I rather take the long walks with you and the horse riding with you! At least you let me have breaks and you let me relax and--! Elwë!" Finwë pouts. Lower lip quivering.

Elwë rolls his eyes with such a great, exasperated fondness. He bends to kiss the pout away. "Very well. I will go home with you. But I hope you know the walks and the spars and the horse riding won't stop, nor go away. Understood?"

"Yes, yes, yes. I love you, Elwë!" Finwë hugs into his hold again, happy now.

Elwë shakes his head. Ai, this elf...so silly. The silliest of the lot!

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Merry-go-round

Look at this lovely commission I got from @sortumavaara.

So, let's give Glorestor another shot, shall we?

Words: 2k

Characters: Glorfindel, Erestor, Elrond

Warnings: sexual innuendo, slight nudity...

“Am I too late? I have it right here!” Glorfindel burst through the door of Lord Elrond’s study like a ray of pure sunlight, waving a piece of paper excitedly.

“Almost,” Elrond groaned and took the cliché without looking up from his paperwork. “Thank you for your collaboration, dear Glorfindel.”

Sniggering, Glorfindel absconded again—maybe, Elrond should have known then that something was very amiss, but he was too absorbed by the compilation of letters and mementos they were planning on sending to the Blessed Realm with some of the ships that were leaving from the Grey Havens shortly.

Thinking of the friends and family that might or might not live there in peace always took a considerable toll on his mind and mood—as there was no communication from the West, he could not know what fate had befallen those he had so desperately loved.

Were they still in the care of Námo or had they returned already? Did they remember and miss him?

With a deep sigh, he pushed aside the letters he was cataloguing and pinched the bridge of his nose. As so often, he wished he had Maglor’s talent with words when it came to flowery declarations.

What was he to say to his wife and his king? How was he to explain that—if all went well—he’d see them again before long? What words would even begin to express how much he missed them?

“Did his gleaming Highness remember?” Erestor—so unlike the previous counsellor to have graced this room—snuck in noiselessly and was only noticed when he spoke up, right beside his lord.

“Erestor,” Elrond cried out in surprise—he had been so lost in thought that the sudden appearance of his old friend had considerably startled him.

Thus, the finger with which he tapped the small paper rectangle was a little unsteady.

They had decided to include a collection of depictions of the inhabitants of Imladris in their missives in case there were people around who would gaze upon them in affection and longing.

Elrond himself had sat for a beautifully detailed portrait during long, torturous hours because the mere idea that his parents and foster fathers might yearn to see his face once more made his heart bleed with unspoken longing. It had been important to him to show them that he was alive and well and—this small act of vanity he allowed himself—he had taken great pains to look as handsome as he could.

“Oh, you are the perfect son,” Erestor had mumbled when Elrond had shown him the fruit of the blessed artist’s labour. “I am sure that they’ll all coo about how utterly splendid you are.”

“All?”

“You are beloved by all,” Erestor had smiled, “the scion of so many houses and—by far—the best of them.”

His own likeness was a tiny drop of white stone into which someone had carved his noble brow and imperious expression. What might have been understood as an manifestation of his humility was in truth a testament to Erestor’s prodigious impatience and often incomprehensible aversion to being looked at for too long a time.

“There is nobody who would remember me now,” he had whispered, barely managing to dissimulate the lingering hurt this knowledge caused him. “Why waste resources and time on a cameo that will probably be discarded as soon as it arrives.”

Even now, Elrond did not know what answer would have been more unwelcome to Erestor: that he was hopeful that his parents and family were alive and would rejoice in seeing his face or that, indeed, the curse of his blood had been contained for good and that he could start a new, unburdened life in Valinor when he arrived there.

The choked cry ringing like a bell through the narrow room tore him out of his renewed spell of distracted musing though.

“Indecent!” Erestor shrieked. “Elrond, have you seen the picture Glorfindel has submitted? Have you even looked at it?”

“I admit,” Elrond confessed guiltily, “that I have not yet had the time or the inclination to do so. Why? Do you object to it?”

Elrond himself had been relieved that the work of art was of reasonable dimensions—he had dreaded a canvas spanning the entire length of the room—and had thus, naïvely as he now had to accept, trusted that Glorfindel could hardly have contained any shenanigans in so small a frame.

Sputtering, Erestor waved the submission to and fro, making it absolutely impossible for Elrond to get a good look at it.

“Stop this and let me see,” he grouched and plucked it from his counsellor’s trembling fingers.

“Oh Eru,” Elrond exclaimed as soon as his eyes focused on the picture. True enough, it was a portrait of Glorfindel, but the setting and the shocking degree of nudity knocked both the breath and rational speech flat out of the dignified Lord of Imladris.

“What will my wife think? And Gil-Galad?”

At this, Erestor sniggered under his breath. “I would think that both are fiercely aware of Glorfindel’s…grotesque ideas. Moreover, I am certain that they’d be delighted to learn that you are provided both care and amusement in this forsaken land.”

Schooling his face into the forbidding mien of an annoyed tutor, Erestor took hold of the offending image once more and shoved it into his pocket carefully. “I shall deal with this. Don’t worry. I shall compile the album and make sure to put it somewhere inconspicuous—nobody will even really notice.”

The look Elrond gave him made it very clear that he was aware of how absurd that lie was—Glorfindel’s portrait would attract undue attention, and they both knew it. It would have been so even if he had been fully clothed and sitting on a chair, holding a scroll, as was the custom—Glorfindel was just too handsome and luminous to be easily overlooked.

“I shall see to it,” Erestor mumbled stubbornly and—patting his pocket—walked out of the room.

As soon as he had entered his own chambers, Erestor propped up the illicit picture against an unlit candle.

For a while, he paced around the room aimlessly to avoid letting his eyes drift back to it—it was just like Glorfindel to put everyone else into an impossible situation by submitting something so shockingly inappropriate.

How had he even found an artist willing to fashion such an obscene work of art? How much had he paid?

Giving in at last, Erestor snatched up the small rectangle of abhorrent debauchery and, bracing himself, gazed down on it.

As was to be expected, it depicted Glorfindel. Also foreseeable was the reference to Asfaloth, his noble and trusty steed. So far, so good.

Unfortunately, in a travesty surpassing even Erestor’s rich and varied vocabulary, the esteemed horse had been replaced by a garish statue of some kind which seemed to be neighing in frivolous delight.

The core of the problem which made the usually so dignified, nay even equanimous, librarian and counsellor blush with barely contained and only vaguely defined emotion, was the way Glorfindel had chosen to present himself.

“Where does one purchase such gaudy, meretricious, ostentatious apparel?” he grumbled as he stepped closer to the window to make out every lurid detail of Glorfindel’s get-up.

As far as he could make out, his fellow lord had gotten hold of a highly suspicious set of small clothes—seemingly fashioned from exquisite fabrics that looked so soft that Erestor could almost feel them beneath his fingertips—as well as some kind of stockings that rose higher than any Erestor had ever possessed himself.

In the privacy of his own chambers, he could freely admit that he resented the fact that his eyes were inexorably and helplessly drawn to the discreet frontier between the wispy fabric and Glorfindel’s creamy, flawless skin.

Furthermore, that golden-haired savage would not have been true to his reputation and genuine nature if he had not taken care to round off his look with a pair of ridiculously impractical but undeniably alluring heels.

Setting the picture down on the windowsill, Erestor began undoing his own stern hairdo with slightly trembling fingers while staring at the cloud of spun gold rippling down Glorfindel’s back and falling seductively over one almost invitingly cocked shoulder.

Unlike Erestor, Glorfindel had always known how to look his best in every situation. Disgustingly, enviably, impossibly so!

The smug, self-satisfied smile adorning that incontrovertibly gorgeous face made Erestor scowl in frustration—he had toiled so much and tried so hard to stay unaffected by Glorfindel’s charms, but this picture undid all his previous victories over the weakness of the flesh. He simply couldn’t pry his gaze off the curve of those strong thighs or ignore the allusive way the fabric insinuated and accentuated secret assets of Glorfindel’s body to which Erestor had given too much thought already during the darkest hours of the night.

It was not even that he was that naked, Erestor frantically tried to reason with himself. Realistically, the tight corsage covered most of his torso and the absence of actual leggings was almost compensated by the sheer length of those sinfully translucent stockings—nonetheless, it was the way the garments that were incontestably worn showcased and emphasised the luscious body underneath that drove Erestor to distraction.

When the light started failing and he seriously considered lighting a taper for the sole purpose of obsessing over Glorfindel’s portrait, Erestor realised how long he had held the picture in his cold fingers without so much as moving from his spot by the window.

Undoubtedly, he had missed the first course of dinner already and, anyway, he didn’t feel inclined to go down and look that shameless creature in the eye—secretly, the sober, dignified booklover was afraid his radiant colleague could simply read his mind and somehow divine just how easily his attention had been entirely captured by the revelation of a bit of skin.

Furtively, Erestor shoved the cliché into his pocket before walking over to his bed—surely, Elrond did not expect the finished album to be ready before the morrow and thus, he could ponder the infuriating matter of Glorfindel’s trespass a little longer.

He was almost successful in his attempt to convince himself that he’d manage to nullify the terrible, seductive draw the forbidden image had on his weak flesh and tottering mind by simply overthinking everything about it until an inevitable state of weariness and disgust would set in.

Indeed, that was what he would try to achieve. Lighting the candle on his bedside table and fluffing up his pillow, Erestor slipped out of his outer garments and into his bed to bend his mind to this monumental task.

“So, how did you like my portrait?” Glorfindel positively beamed at Elrond as he sauntered over in the middle of the meal.

“It was…unusual, to say the least,” Elrond replied diplomatically—the other counsellors had not seen the picture in question, and he’d rather not go into details in a space as open as the dining hall.

“What did you do with it? You didn’t destroy it, did you?” Big, wet eyes stared down at the Lord of Imladris who promptly wondered whether he had ever used that pleading expression on his parents or guardians inadvertently—it now seemed to him that it should be considered an armed assault and be subject to punishments of varying degrees of severity.

“No,” Elrond assuaged the visible distress of his exhibitionist friend. “Erestor has taken hold of it and shall paste it in an unobtrusive spot of the album.”

Letting his eyes roam over the heads in his quest for a new victim, Glorfindel had to realise with a jolt of genuine disappointment that the librarian was nowhere in attendance. “Where is he then?”

Elrond blinked slowly. “I know not. He took your outrageous picture and has retired to his chambers—I have not seen him since. Let’s hope that he has not been taken ill.”

As he caught the feline twitch of Glorfindel’s impressive frame, he held up an imperious hand. “If you intend to disturb Erestor’s privacy at this time of night,” he said warningly, “you better take up some dinner to ingratiate yourself to his potentially ill-humoured highness.”

“Splendid thinking,” Glorfindel cried, snatching an empty plate from under Elrond’s very nose, and dashing through the room at a mind-blowing speed.

So, I've chickened out of the spicier follow-up...thus far...

Let me hear what y'all think...

Lots of love from me!

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Seeking a Favor

For @ainurweek

Ainur directly involved or mentioned in the story: Manwë, Ulmo, Melkor, Varda

Other characters: Eru

AU: Medieval AU

Pairings: Manwë & Ulmo | Melkor/Varda | Eru & Manwë & Melkor | Manwë & Melkor | Manwë & Varda

Themes: Grief/Comfort | Soft | Very mild NSFT (teens and up)

Warnings: Kissing (blink and you might miss it) | Melkor having a vulnerable side. Shocking, I know.

Wordcount: 1.6K words

Summary: During a feast, Prince Manwë has a favor to ask of Lady Varda.

Minors DNI

A/n: full list of my Noble Houses of Valinor can be found here. I will be updating it again soon.

The feast that followed the tourney would be talked of for a season, if not more. 

The king had spared no expense. Lords and ladies from all over Valinor were invited to come and witness the spectacle of the tourney, and their attendance was plain in the many tents dotting the field just outside the tourney grounds. Colorful banners and equally colorful shields adorned the entryway of each tent, and squires minding their duties rose when the king's younger son walked by them.

Read the full story here:

tags: @cilil @asianbutnotjapanese

[doodle-pops]

Better Than The Stars

Caranthir x reader

Request: Hi Mina! Can I request a one shot where Maedhros or Caranthir are married after being reincarnated and they're struggling with people opinions about their children (hair color, their patrents past, Fëanor...) meanwhile their wives don't care even more because they're noble and know about their society (plus Nerdandel Is supporting). However lots of fluff and family actitude 🩷 thank you!!!! - @foreverandadaydarling

A/N: A pleasure to create this piece on your behalf dear. Enjoy!

Warnings: female reader, angst, comfort/happiness, reborn!Caranthir, arguments, Caranthir wanting to separate

Words: 2k

Synopsis: There were days when even the great son of Feanor required reassurance that your choice to be a family was genuine and not out of guilt.

Pulling the blanket over your shoulders, you stood in the doorway, watching your husband tediously slave away, attempting to garden. A chore that once came easily during his youthful and glorious years of peace was now foreign and laborious. You would have been fine with assisting him, but quick he was to assure you that you shouldn’t be the only one labouring around the household. Your response? A simple smile and a pat on his shoulders before leaving him to his own devices.

It was now spring, and Arien’s rays were barely peeking through the clouds to relieve the winter coldness. What little crop you two managed to save during the previous seasons was now getting the opportunity to grow. Winter was harsh for you two since you no longer lived in the comfort of your parent’s homes or the lavish life you once did in Thargelion. Returning to Valinor, branded as outcasts or the darkened ones, most of your family turned blind eyes to many of the returned—as did the former servants of his house. Most were quick to beg for forgiveness and repent their rebellion towards the Valar and were easily forgiven; however, their compromise was to never serve under their house again.

You, along with a few of their spouses, openly chose to remain at their sides after their rebirth, believing that if they were given a second chance at life, then there was still good left in them. Unfortunately, your choice of dwelling with him left a stain on his heart when he realised the life you would have to live with him—giving up the lavish treatment you once had.

“Ease up on the hoe—the handle already has a crack, arimelda.” Halting his swing mid-air, he turned to gaze at you with soft eyes, but behind them, you saw the distant look of regret.

Yes, he regretted you being dragged along with him in a swirl of chaos and destruction. He promised you the world when you both wedded and instead, he brought death, pain, and heartbreak. Though you knew the true reason behind his actions, hence the force being placed on the handle with each swing the tool made with the earth.

His children.

Your two daughters became the newest victims of the backlash the House of Feanor faced. A brief excursion into Tirion’s market yesterday left them scurrying back home with tears streaming down their ruddy cheeks, a precious trademark that made them all the more magnificent in their father’s eyes. Keeping the incident a secret from him all day yesterday to maintain peace was broken this morning upon mindless eavesdropping as his girls hush-hushed the harsh words. His first instinct was to fly into Tirion and have his daughters pinpoint the individuals before giving them a good old-fashioned taste of his mind, the classic Moryo style.

Had it not been for his daughters' pleas alongside yours, the House of Feanor would have left another mark on their reputation.

Sharply exhaling and relaxing the flare of his nostrils, he gave a pained smile. “Ah, sorry, I didn’t notice. I’ll fix it when I’m finished.” And yet, his smile didn’t reach his eyes as it once did.

“No need, just go easy on it.”

Offering him a genuine smile, one that reached your eyes, he dropped the hoe.

He still couldn’t understand, to this day, how you could be happy amidst the life he had you living. You deserved the riches he bestowed upon you in Thargelion. Whatever you wished for, he would have been able to grant—be it the largest diamond, a platter of fruits, or the finest material for your clothes. Not this broken life of struggling to bring in a good harvest or being cursed at when you went into town for produce and meat. Even the relationships with a few of his brothers felt strained, the harsh, cold, blank stares you would give them whenever they visited.

You still hated them for persuading him to retrieve the Silmaril, even though you knew he had no choice. You just wished it had come at a later date so more time could have been spent. At least his mother did her best to reach out and act as a guidance counsellor when she could. Her words were harsh at times, despite the honesty behind them and bias towards her sons, giving recognition to her wisdom. But not once had she persuaded any of her daughters-in-law to leave her sons. That was the sole decision she left you ladies to make; your choices were your consequences.

Frowning, deep in thought, he parted his lips to argue. “Why—”

“Don’t, because I will give you the same answer as I always do. I just want to be with you. I’m happy with you,” you reminded with a single huff.

Returning a breathy laughter, wanting nothing more than to scream and yell at the now nonchalant and lackadaisical you were treating the crisis, he curled his fists into his trousers. “Really? Is that the life you genuinely want with me when we have children? If it were you and I, then I would be less inclined to leave, but we have a family who have now become victims! And for what?! Looking like me and coming from this accursed family! This is not the life I want for them and you!”

“Then you would prefer us packing up and departing after expressing your gratefulness upon your rebirth that we stayed?!” you snapped, lowering your tone to prevent your girls from picking up that their parents were arguing.

“Yes! Yes, I would have preferred that instead of having to listen to the vile comments targeted at my children and you!” He shook his head and turned to gaze at the dirt ground. Standing in the troughs he had dug, he felt insignificant for the first time in his life. He felt lost as if his purpose had been stolen from him.

Maybe if I covered myself with dirt and grew, I might be able to start over again? I’d be able to regain a purpose in life.

“Do you genuinely believe I would leave you so easily? Have I not walked through fire and gotten burned to prove my loyalty? Is that not what this family is all about? Do you honestly want to chase us away because of naysayers? I’ve said it time and time again, I don’t care about other’s opinions of us. What happened to the Morifinwë who didn’t care about other’s opinions?”

“He died long ago and has no intentions of returning now that he has children!” He allowed himself to stand there in the dirt and lifted his head to gaze at the overcast above. “You could return to your family, taking our daughters with you, and atone for your actions. You all would not have to struggle or be hated—everyone would adore you all, a life of luxuries and opportunities. You were never hated, always loved, so why do you still stay when the situation shows no sign of bettering?”

If the Arien was out, I’d be able to sprout properly. But even she would not wish to cast her rays upon a person like me—they were too beautiful to be wasted.

Tugging the blanket tighter around your body as a brisk cold wind blew through the garden, you shivered. Listening to the branches quake and shiver from the intensity of the violent wind, you could observe and ponder how long your actions had troubled his mind. He didn’t drop his head from the sky; he kept it facing upwards and left his hands curled into fists at his sides, controlling his temper. Opening his mouth to respond, he quickly snapped it shut, unable to provide an appropriate counter.

It was something he had done less and less since his rebirth. It was the most eerie change in his persona. Gone was the easily angered Caranthir, replaced by a mellowed and soft-spoken person. Still, he’d grind his teeth or grumble under his breath at the hate, but always bit his tongue because he knew it was the truth and there was no point in fighting it. Yet, there was anger behind your decision to remain at his side. You could have left him, never to be heard of again, and lived in a peaceful paradise.

“Because we would not have been at peace if you were not around. To hear our children ask for their father, why wasn’t he coming around or if he didn’t love them anymore are questions I would like to avoid. I want our girls to grow up knowing and seeing you in a different light compared to how others perceive you.” Your voice was soft and considerate, and his tensive posture was relaxed when it reached his ears. “I want them to know that their father was kind and loving, and someone who made an effort.”

Relaxing his fingers from their tight grip, he wiggled them around to alleviate the ache. Lowering his head to your level, he turned to confront you. His forest green eyes pierced into yours, seeking warmth and honesty behind your words. And you allowed him to—there was nothing to conceal. He deserved to witness the truth for himself.

“I want peace and I also want happiness Caranthir. Do you remember our vows, happiness and sows, for better or worse, through the good times and bad? I chose you from the start and I will continue to choose you until the end of time—we will stand with you until the end of time.” Walking out the doorway, you stepped barefoot onto the dirt. Grimacing because of the coldness of the earth seeping through your pores, you continued to walk until you stood before him.

Extending your hand, you tenderly grasped his freckled one and raised it until it met your lips. Returning a smile to him, of which he was unaware, you kissed the back of his hand before reaching your other hand to encircle his waist. Despite the stern and unyielding expression on his face, your actions were the exception that broke the ice, causing him to blush slightly. This was one occasion when he could not deny being captivated by your gesture.

Raising your head to meet his gaze, you captured the longing, desperate reassurance in his stare.

“Sometimes I wonder who is the more stubborn of the two of us.”

“I have never been happier Moryo; you make me the happiest person in the world.” Saying this, you took his hand encased by yours and rubbed it against your cheek before repeating the gesture upon his ruddy cheeks. “Your daughters love and want you in their lives; don’t push us away.”

“Even in this state of living when I can no longer provide the best?”

“You always give us your best.” At the whisper of your words, a warm wind blew through the gardens and wrapped its cool arms around you both, pushing you into one another. Within that moment, two extra pairs of footsteps were heard rushing out the backdoor. Lo and behold, the sight of two miniature versions of both of you came scampering out of the house to rush for a group hug. Never one for missing out on family hugs whenever they saw you both embracing.

The moment they ran out of the house giggling was the moment a flutter of warmth flowed into his heart as he gazed at his two loving children clinging to you both. Their short arms struggling to encircle your bodies as they squeezed your waists tightly added appreciation to the warmth. Arien’s rays took the most opportune moment to shine her light upon you both, encasing you in a swirl of golden light. A light finally shone upon you both, maybe a sign of acceptance or prosperity, or both.

Laughing at the action, Caranthir could not help but gaze lovingly at them, giving their heads small pats and then at you—finally, he was seeing the honesty and beauty behind your words in your eyes. Choosing him wasn’t out of sympathy or shame, it was all love and contentment.

“Then I will continue to give you all my best meldanya…for staying at my side.”

“You are all that I need.” Pulling him closer, you rubbed his nose against yours and gently pecked his lips before grinning at his blushing face.

“Can I have a kiss too atya?”

“Me too, I want a kiss please!”

With a smile emanating from the depths of his heart, Caranthir gazed at his girls tip-toeing with their lips puckered for their kisses and chuckled. Some things truly never change.

Top of Form

“Alright, line up for your kisses!”

Masterlist

Taglist: @lilmelily @ranhanabi777 @rain-on-my-umbrella @mysticmoomin @asianbutnotjapanese @sakurayaxd @batsyforyou @involuntaryspasms @ladyenchanted @hermaeuswhora @aconstructofamind @stormchaser819 @addaigio @lamemaster

[hhimring]

Tolkienshortfanworks: a showcase

Showcasing some of the variety of work posted to the tolkienshortfanworks collection on AO3: the most recent pieces by ten authors: spanning ficlets and poetry, serious and humorous pieces, Silmarillion and Lord of the Rings canon, and a range of characters, themes and relationships.

This AO3 collection is for works written for the challenges and prompts  at the tolkienshortfanworks community on Dreamwidth.

Please note: Although I would rec all of these, this is NOT a top ten. For various reasons, it also cannot be a fully representative selection of the challenge responses and does not claim to be so. The order here is simply by date.

In Middle Earth Lived Elves (1931 words) by SonOfMandos Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Maglor (Tolkien), Fëanor (Tolkien), Blue Wizards, Alatar (Tolkien), Pallando (Tolkien), Galadriel (Tolkien), Oromë (Tolkien), Námo | Mandos, Manwë Súlimo Additional Tags: Prompt Fill, Back to Middle Earth, Crossposted from Dreamwidth, Crack Treated Seriously, Attempt at Humor, Fourth Age of Arda (Tolkien), Fëanor isn't too much of a nuisance this time, The blue wizards are, As wizards tend to be, Valar - Freeform, Harad, Valinor, unbeta'ed we die like Fëanor Summary:

“Amateur,” Galadriel muttered behind her teeth.

The Marsh Where the Dead Sleep (465 words) by Narya_Flame Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Additional Tags: Poetry, Horror, The Dead Marshes, Ghosts, children's songs - Freeform Series: Part 32 of The Mathom-house, Part 57 of Nárë a Lindalë Summary:

“They lie in all the pools, pale faces, deep deep under the dark water. I saw them: grim faces and evil, and noble faces and sad. Many faces proud and fair, and weeds in their silver hair. But all foul, all rotting, all dead...”

- 'The Passage of the Marshes' from The Two Towers by J. R. R. Tolkien.

Divine Things Well Envelop'd (918 words) by StarSpray Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Legolas & Gimli Characters: Gimli, Legolas Additional Tags: Fangorn Forest, Trees, Caves, Travel, Post-Canon, Friendship Series: Part 67 of Wisdom of the Evening Star Summary:

Legolas and Gimli pass through Fangorn Forest, and it isn't as bad as Gimli had expected.

Sanctuary Revisited (219 words) by Anerea Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Ereinion Gil-galad/Erestor, Erestor & Glorfindel (Tolkien) Characters: Erestor (Tolkien), Glorfindel (Tolkien), Ereinion Gil-galad, Elrond Peredhel, Keiliss - Character Additional Tags: Ficlet, exes who are still friends, very old friends, Friendship, Modern Era, Elrond is still taking photos, Erestor and Glorfindel get a teeny bit nostalgic, Gil-galad ensures he's driving from now on, nineteen pink flamingoes, Reminiscing Summary:

Set in Keiliss' Sanctuary 'verse, where Erestor, Gil-galad, and Elrond road trip around modern day South Africa, looking for a missing Glorfindel. This takes place after they find him but before they return to Europe. I guess he wanted to take them to a special place special he knew, before they left.

Seven Lanterns (70 words) by Zdenka Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Eärendil & Elrond Peredhel, Faramir & Boromir Characters: Fëanor, Finrod, Túrin Turambar, Elrond Peredhel, Gilraen (Tolkien), Faramir (Son of Denethor II) Additional Tags: The White Tree of Minas Tirith, Poetry, Lanterne Poem, Implied/Referenced Character Death Summary:

Seven poems in the lantern(e) form about various Tolkien characters.

A Star In The Darkness (887 words) by gabrielseven Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Angrod | Angaráto/Edhellos | Eldalótë Characters: Angrod | Angaráto, Aegnor | Ambaráto, Edhellos | Eldalótë, Original Female Elf Character(s) Summary:

Angrod's hopes for a new life in a strange new land with the object of the Noldor's wrath residing to the north, may not be as easy as he believes.

Beleriand Falling (222 words) by lferion Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Additional Tags: Fixed-Length, Challenge Response, Community: fan_flashworks, Apocalypse, Beleriand, First Age, Weather Summary:

Was it the end of the world?

In This Together (222 words) by elennalore Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Fingolfin | Ñolofinwë/Maedhros | Maitimo Characters: Fingolfin | Ñolofinwë, Maedhros | Maitimo Additional Tags: Challenge Response, Ficlet, Himring, Secret Relationship, Kissing, Rain, Sea-longing (Tolkien) Summary:

Maedhros and Fingolfin scout the hills near Himring when a sudden change of the weather makes them seek shelter.

Signs of Spring (500 words) by LadyBrooke Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Finwë (Tolkien), Elulindo (Tolkien) Additional Tags: Hope, Cold Weather, Implied Hunger/Starvation Issues, Winter, Angst, Hopeful Ending Summary: Even the coldest winters end in time. Oromë may have left the Elves alone, but hope returns with the first flowers.

A Toast to the First-Day (991 words) by Linaewen Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Characters: Boromir (Son of Denethor II), Faramir (Son of Denethor II) Summary: The Men of Gondor stationed at Cair Andros celebrate the coming of the new year.

[thelien-art]

I would be,, Very Interested if you have any more to share 👀,, in hearing more headcanons on Noldorin hair like the ones you put under your Edrahil drawing

I might actually have some more...

There would be three to four braids; age braid, status braid, craft braid, and a holder. There can also be fifth+ braids, ornaments braids, but that´s more of a fashion thing. And then of course the soldier braid that´s only worn on duty or in battle, and a few times in free time, like Edrahil does.

Edrahil

Age braid:

The braid in the front, the age braid, usually put down over the temple, can be used by everyone if they´re of age or noble blood.

The age braid is usually just used to show that someone is of age, but that doesn't mean that they´re an adult. It takes Noldor longer than Sindarin and Avarins to come of age but when either of these groups come of age, they´re still not adults. It is also used by noble families, no matter the age, to show status, so if a child is running around with an age braid that means that they´re of noble blood.

If it is someone working for a noble house, like a servant, they can´t wear both the age and status braid as they could be mistaken for being part of the household by others as the status braid would have to show which house they serve. They can however wear both when they don´t wear the mark of the house they serve.

Status braid:

Maglor´s, for example as I´m working on a drawing with him where the braids are included, status braid got a pendant at the end with the star of Feanor to tell which house he´s from while the age braid, in the front, explains that he´s a noble, not just a servant, so either the leader or a family member of the leader.

Close up on Maglor from the wip showing which braid is which and how it could look.

The status braid is kept behind the ears and usually falls down the back.

Craft braid:

The craft braid is kept at the back of the head, meaning there's only one of them whereas the age and status braid has two, one on each side of the head, which explains not the job, but which path it is.

There are different types of braid for most statuses and categories of jobs, like there´s one braid that tells if the person has political influence, or is a loremaster, which can mean both teacher and librarian or if they´re an artist, not what kind of artist so it could be a bard, painter, etc so usually, there are clips or jewels that say precisely what it is.

The smith has their own braids because they´re so important in Noldor culture.

Holder:

The holder is a braid crown that can both be a simple braid, or a lot of braids woven into each other.

It starts right behind the ear, beside the age braid, and ends at the back of the head where some of it is sometimes let loose and other times put into ornaments braids, but no matter what, it always turns into a part of the craft braid, which means both the status and craft braids are braided from both the hair in the holder and sometimes some loose hair two.

Ornaments:

Usually, hair jewels also help to tell about the person, like ribbons, hairpins, combs etc. but they can also be used as just ornaments. When they´re used as only ornaments smaller extra braids are usually added too and mostly in noble households but not always.

Soldier braid:

Soldier braids are a way to braid hair out of the way; if there’s a fight all soldiers have their hair braided back and pulled into a braided bun, some choose to still have their symbols braids (the ones I´m trying to figure out a system for) out and others only braid some of it into a bun letting some lose, but it is a must to have a braided bun so that others don´t take you for a healer. If in wear of a helmet the bun is just moved down or there´s a small hole on top of the helmet for the bun.

extra note;

Children usually wear plain hairstyles like a normal braid or bubble ponytail which I drew child Caranthir with.

It is optinel to wear braids.

They were usually worn in daily life in Valinor though not always, and when they came to Beleriand it became more of a formal thing they did if something important happened, a party was held, a meeting, a person is of important status (like king or prince) etc. that only a few chose to wear daily.

[90shaladriel]

A Lord and his Builder: Chapter 13

Chapter 13 - Breaking Fast

Rating: M

Words: 9.7k

Summary: In the years following their war, the Elves send a delegation to Mordor. Sauron seems eager to want to make a good impression. Ereddâz, our protagonist is a babysitter.

Snippet:

“How rare and dire a moment it must be for the proud High Elves of the West to seek the aid of such as us.” He waved to the Orcs crowding around the hall. “But first, Commander, I don’t believe you have properly given an introduction to the court, would you be so kind as to announce yourself?” She stared up at him, her eyes unblinking and fixed on him while the ever so imperceptible twitch of her lip told Ereddâz that this request was a way to get under her skin. He was taunting her though his words seemed fair on the surface. She kept her temper under check, closing her eyes and taking a deep inhale to steady herself, she turned and faced the multitude of Orcs peering at her and she spoke loudly, revealing her ancient noble stature “I am Galadriel of the Noldor, daughter of the Golden House of Finarfin, son of Finwë, Supreme Commander of the Armies of Lindon, born in the home of the gods in Valinor, I am a sister of murdered brothers and wife of a husband lost to war. I’ve fought your kind as my enemy since before the first dawn broke and lost nearly everyone I’ve ever loved.”