#so is my hroa

[feanors-mom]

“It is said that Míriel answered Mandos, saying: ‘I came hither to escape from the body, and I do not desire ever to return to it. My life is gone out into Fëanáro, my son. This gift I have given to him whom I loved, and I can give no more. Beyond Arda this may be healed, but not within it.’”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Míriel Þerindë: [dies slowly after giving birth to a particularly intense child]

Past Me: that’s ridiculous, clearly Tolkien had no understanding of women-

Also Me: [has a particularly intense child]

Current Me: [touring the Hall of Mandos] So do I need a reservation or….? Nm here’s 2 ages fees prepaid in cash. And a tip. I’ll show myself in, Just leave the room service at the door and don’t bother me, thanks yeah his Dad can handle its all good

[sesamenom]

@nelyoslegalteam ooh this is really cool (reminds me of your post about bluejay feathers!)

Great idea, it explains the line of luthien's weird shiny color changing hair really well - the red face spots can be their fea expression while the purpley-blue hair comes from their hair structure! And then that also works for Arwen & the El twins' Sun/Moonlight-reflecting hair!

realized the @blumineck pose was perfect for celegorm so here he is!

[polutrope]

Mmm rotating the headcanon (not original) of Feanorians going counterculture and cremating their dead after Feanor's death. I mean, I've written this happening, read it happening, but never really processed how good it is.

Elves (all peoples of Middle-earth?) in general canonically seem to bury their dead, raise cairns and mounds, and so on. Just so right to me for the Feanorians to do something different that's shocking and disturbing to others. Purposefully destroying a hroa? What happens to the fea? You can't do that!

But if you believe you're destined for the Everlasting Dark (whatever that is -- I don't think it's the Void but that doesn't mean they don't), does it matter? Or think of how carefully the body of Miriel the Mother was preserved -- and for what? Never to return to it (so far as they know).

It feels so symbolically appropriate for them on many levels to turn their dead to ashes. And for Maedhros to end himself in fire... brrr (not very brrr actually but brrr for my brain).

[eri-pl]

Blood, red like fire

Miriel pricked her finger on the needle. It was more difficult to control her hroa now, when the bounduaries between her and not-her were fuzzy. Her mother had warned her it would be like this.

At least she didn't break or lose the needle. It had been part of a gift from Vaire herself. Miriel smiled, remembering how the Valie --- and not other than the Weaver herself --- complimented her work.

A red drop bloomed on her fingertip, and she put it to her lips, not willing to risk staining any of the threads. The blood was too hot, almost painful to touch. Warmth creeped down her arm too, up her forearm and deep inside her body.

It was a new kind of warmth, not like the soothing, accepting light of Trees or her husband's embrace. Not like steady fire of the hearth even. It was unlike anything she'd known before. Somehow more new than every new thing she'd experienced before, more new even than the shores of Aman when she'd seen them for the first time.

This child would be brilliant.

The realization came suddenly, from within the warmth, and both quickly passed, but she knew. Deep inside her, the fire grew.

--- a few days before ---

Vaire worked in silence. Or, to be more precise, she was silent.

The prisoner talked and talked, without much point, analyzing her tapestry and criticizing most of it. At least he did it in a brilliant prose, at least at times. So much form, so little meaning... But it had a certain poetry to it, and that was why she agreed to keep him company. Still, he was getting tiring.

"Dons't thou think that thou shouldst be reflecting on thine behavior instead of trying to give me advice on what is my calling?"

"I am reflecting indeed." He stretched out hand and the light of her shining fabric danced on his too-long, too-shiny fingernails, like starlight reflested in ice. "But tell me, are my deeds not the very thing that allowed the brilliance in your tapestries to bloom? Had I not freed you of the Lamps, what wouldst thou weave now?"

Did Melkor just compliment the Trees? Maybe he was indeed reflecting. Maybe he simply wanted to make a point. Probably the latter.

He kept talking. "As for this work being thine, do I not have a part in all of your skills? Is there anything I cannot do?"

'Be silent, for example', she thought, but didn't comment.

"Thou hast the perspective wrong again."

Vaire sighed. "Indeed, thou shouldst be reflecting instead."

Melkor actually stopped talking for some time. Was the perspective really wrong? Probably not. But she kept wondering.

"I have reflected on my deeds." he said in a solemn voice. "And it occurred to me that I should do more than that. As I have said, I have a share in all the skills of all the Valar. Let me help thee. I shall make the perspective correct."

"I won't let thee spoil my work," she said. "Make thine own."

He probably offered the 'help' only to show off, but maybe not? Maybe Melkor was indeed trying to be helpful, finally? Anyway what could go wrong with letting him work? At worst he'd waste some of her thread.

---

Vaire narrowed her eyes, trying to find out what was wrong with the perspective in Melkor's tapestry. Something was wrong, definitely. She wouldn't hang it. But at least, he'd worked for some time, and did not complain.

The prisoner's question interrupted her thoughts. "Did Aule made those needles? they seem too beautiful to be his work," he said, giving Vaire's tools back to her.

"I shall not let thee talk badly about Aule."

"As you will, o lady of this prison. But heed my advice: keep those needles to thyself, as I do not believe that anyone would be able to replace them in case someone was to steal them. Not even I."

Even without the fake humility at the end, the attempt to make her possesive was just too obvious.

Vaire smiled. She'd give all of her best needles as gifts to the Eldar. No, to one Elda. Miriel definitely deserved it.

But Melkor did not have to know. She would him think he'd won this tiny battle.

The dark Vala smiled too.

[laly]

Oath of feanor related question:

Why does everyone seemingly agree it's over with the end of the first age? Every post first age fanfic or headcanon I've seen so far treats the oath as over and done after mae and maglor got their respective rocks but one is still out there!! Being very much withheld from the feanorians. I don't remember a clause in the oath going "unless it's up in the sky ofc, that's too far away". (Mae even says they can't go to aman cause there they would be too close to the doors of night wich would make the oath stir up) I also don't see why their hroa being destroyed should nullify the oath. This has been going around in my brain for over a year now, ideas and discussion very much welcome (plz I need answers)

[lya-dustin]

I Sang of Leaves of Gold

chapter 5

cw: pregnancy, mentions of childbirth inducing practices

Their bond went both ways.

She could hear and feel what he felt, and Mairon could use it to spy on his enemies. Not that Erinti could provide much information about the elves as a child, but it gave him an excuse to remember how life had been before Melkor seduced him to the darkness.

And then Melian cast her girdle and taught her how protect herself from him. Now the child had grown into a queen who put every teaching of Melian’s to use.

There were moments he could take advantage of the times she’d let her guard down. Rare and not as useful as he needed them to be, though still as entertaining as her adventures as a child in Doriath.

There was order in the kingdoms she ruled over though she was too fond of letting nature decide its place, Erinti and her oaf of a husband were so disgustingly in love that it was a major contribution to Lindon’s over-abundant nature and that Mairon’s nephew would be born any moment.

Lúthien had not been a son to command Thingol’s armies, Lúthien had not the prowess of Thingol nor her kinsmen like a son would. Gil-Galad would raise his heir to take after him, the boy would have his mother’s power and his father’s training.

His nephew could not be allowed to grow into adulthood nor his mother be allowed to interfere with Mairon’s plans.

“Do you have any family?” Galadriel asks, believing the lies he feeds her.

Half-truths that make him sound like the brooding and angry lost king and not Melkor's true successor. It had been rather easy, Mairon had expected more of a challenge from Melian’s apprentice and Gil-Galad’s most trusted general. But Galadriel the Orc Killer was desperate for an army, to vanquish the enemy right under her nose and prove to all she is not mad for thinking her husband and child are still alive and seeking to avenge her brothers.

“A sister who has washed her hands of me. Her husband loathes me and encouraged her to cut ties with me. Last I heard, she was with child and every sign pointed it be the perfect little prince her husband needs.” Halbrand was almost foolproof, Numenor’s own prejudice against the men of the south and east had ensured his lie would not be exposed by their lore masters.

Erinti had truly washed her hands of him when he refused the summons to Valinor and repent at Manwë’s feet. No one save her insufferable husband had known she’d sought him out.

It was easy for her to say he should repent, easy for someone who had never strayed from Eru’s light and never desired anything worthwhile to ask him, the new Dark Lord, to cast away all he could have to grovel like a dog.

And yet, Mairon’s fea was removed from its hroa by the same crown he made himself while the All-father had given Erinti a crown and a kingdom that worships her as if she were Yavanna herself.

Lothíriel, Queen of the Noldor.

Even the Numenoreans loved the fucking story of the Elf King finding true love with the Flower Maiden. Halbrand likes the story well enough, but Mairon hates how they paint Orodreth’s whelp as somehow worthy of an Ainur. The elf was barely out of leading strings when they crowned him for fuck’s sake, he only got lucky because Mairon’s sister had her head filled with stories thanks to Melian’s influence.

“Have you considered using your ties to this mortal king to take back your kingdom? An alliance with you should have been beneficial to him.” The blonde elf takes the vague information he gives her and goes on none the wiser.

“He would never go for it; our quarrel goes as far as the days of our predecessors. The Queen holds no real blood ties to me, he’s made sure no one knows she is my younger sister.” All knew Erinti as Melian’s sister, but no one dared to mention him. He wondered if the woman here knew about it.

“With Numenor’s backing, you may change all of that. Do you not wish to see your sister again?” Galadriel did not need much leading, she was like a shark having smelt blood in the water.

“More than anything.”

He cannot have Middle Earth as long as his sweet sister lives.

There is to be a feast for the dwarven delegation and Eregion’s to celebrate the breaking ground of Celebrimbor’s forge.

Not quite so large and yet enough to have the Maia Queen be fussed about by her attendants and husband as she goes about organizing it.

Erinti has been enjoying this activity, she gets to leave her confinement and know her hostess capabilities will ensure everything is fine until Gil-galad brings up the mithril the dwarves are hiding. The maia will smooth things over or Elrond will do it seeing as he and Durin have mended things between them.

They are alone again, he at his desk his crown already put away, his robe discarded showing off his broad and firm upper body and his wife rubbing his shoulders to get him to stop seeing to the needs of his people so he can focus on hers. She had worn her most enticing nightgown, teased him to no end so he would be in the mood and almost succeeded until something took his attention away from her.

“One of the midwives suggested intercourse to hasten the birth since my attempts barely succeeded.” The red-haired woman mentions to her husband, who cocked an elegant eyebrow and turned his face towards her willing to hear out why she is considering it.

Their marital duties had yet to be prohibited by the head midwife and they could get away with lying as to how they made their little prince come before the full year had passed. They may have to do it if they wish to remain in Middle Earth for another century at the least.

Erinti even promised to be a model patient when they beget their daughter in the near future if they helped her induce the labor now that there is only half a moon left in her pregnancy.

“As tempting as the chance to avoid the feast is, we cannot risk your health nor that of the babe.” The king shoots down her idea as if she had not asked beforehand to counter him.

“Not when I am so close to my time, besides it would not hurt to have Finnellach in his cradle instead of my womb if we are denied the mithril.” Erinti’s hand on his shoulder moves up his neck and tilts his face towards hers to keep Gil-galad from looking away and refusing.

He could not say no to that, too much was at stake here.

“Do you really think King Durin would refuse us?” the king asks fearing the worst and holding onto hope by a hair. Gil-galad is not the arrogant high king with her, not here when they are each other’s peace.

“If it means putting at risk the safety of his own people he would. You would do the same in his place, I suppose.” It is not comforting to hear, but it is perhaps the only reason it could happen.

The king weighed all his options and gently took the fair hand at his chin to place it over his beating heart. He does to show her that even when he denies her something, he does it out of love. “I couldn’t bear to lose you, nor our son.”

“Even Mandos could not part me from you, my love.” The queen leaned down to kiss him tenderly, assuring him he would not lose her in this new perilous chapter of their lives.

Darkness had returned and they could not afford to leave Middle Earth to whoever succeeded Morgoth.

Tis a shame Elrond may have to break his oath, but they would not be doing this if they had a choice. Still, they only need a small piece of the ore, Erinti is sure they do not need a talisman for every single elf in creation like Celebrimbor believes.

“Will you finally tell Elrond what we have been keeping from him?” She hadn’t wanted to bring this up, but this secrecy was driving a wedge between the king and his herald, Erinti could not bear it if the two men in her life were at odds with each other.

How is she to truly begin her confinement if their son has no idea of what is truly going around him? Elrond was her child as much as the one in her womb, this worry that there will be a rift between her husband and son does not leave her.

“After the feast, I promise. I found the legend Elrond composed when we visited Khazad-düm the first time on the chance we are overheard.” He shows her the painstakingly transcribed tale that hid the little-known fact that Maglor’s corpse with a scorched hand had been found in an underground river deep inside the mountain and not the tale he and Elrond had composed themselves.

The Roots of Hithaelgir, a very pretty lie to hide the ugly truth from the world and, most importantly, those who would betray King Durin and his house for a Silmaril.

No one save for the four of them were aware of the true origin of that Silmaril embedding itself into their mountain. Better they believe it is just an ore that came from a nameless elven commander fighting a balrog than know it is one of the bloody stones that so many died for.

A necessary lie, like so many they tell everyone these days.

“Do not push him away, for my sake, Rodnor. I need the two of you to be as you were before this.” The maia takes her husband’s hand and moves it over her own heart, making him promise to better things with Elrond before the cracks in the foundation become a chasm between them.

She already does not have a good feeling about this feast, the red-haired woman knows this reveal will hurt Elrond who already believes he is being slighted for being half-elven and not because they did not wish to burden him with the news they would all leave or die by spring.

Elrond would understand why they acted the way they did, but it wouldn’t remove the hurt cause by it. He will be wroth with them, with her most of all. She’s never lied to him even when he was a boy, the Maia knows this will wound him deeply.

“As it will be come morning.” The king assures her knowing her worries as if they were his own. “Elrond will not hold it against you, he could never make himself hate you.”

Their bond ran so deep even if his fea inhabited Mandos or hers returned to the unseen world it will never sever.

[lamemaster]

Hello, stopping by to make a request.

If it's okay with you, might I have some headcanons for Finrod, similar to the Maglor (10 ways to kiss your elf)? It's alright if you can't do the entire ten, any amount you're able to write would be great 🌻. Thank you and hope you have fun!

11 Ways to Hug the King of Nargothrond

Word Count: 2.4k

Warning: character death

AN: Yay, my first official request. Thanks for requesting this. I had so much fun writing this that I might've gone overboard. I hope you like it

1.Recipe to hug- Finrod stands unmoving. His ancient heart beats louder than ever. Even the constant shuffle of your footsteps fades as blood pumps in his ears. He watches you make your way towards him with wide open arms and a pleasant smile on your face. The sun settles in your flowing hair. It changes the color of your hair as if becoming a part of your hroa. Nothing better proves that the Edain truly are the children of the sun. Lost in his pondering, he almost loses his balance when your arms encircle his neck. You stand on your toes. Your body leaning forward to meet his. Finrod leans in as he bends down to let your feet rest easy. From the close up he can see the light of his own eyes reflected into yours. You smile and it does not take long before a similar smile finds itself on his face. “Like this,” you say as you pull away one of your arms to hold his hand and guide it to your waist. Followed by his other hand. “This is how you hug, My King,” your voice rings close to his ear and the faint warmth of your breath catches him off guard.

2. Cuddling hug- Finrod’s unfocused eyes stare back at you. Elves dreamt with their eyes open. They slept, unlike men they slept less. Only the labor of several days led to a night of deep sleep. Finrod’s elven sleeping form had scared you out of your wits the first time you had seen it. Your horrified scream at that time was followed by an army of guards swarming in your room and not to forget your beloved who woke up with the scariest look in his eyes. Now as you lay next to your slumbering lover for the first time you find yourself awake while he sleeps. Turning to him you move closer. You both had been traveling and now that you were back in the safety of Nargothrond your beloved finally let down his constant guard and welcomed sleep. With your movements as quiet as you can manage you embrace Finrod in a hug. Your beloved remains sleeping, thank Eru! You pull closer to your lover, basking in the warmth of your contact. Somehow even deep in his dream Finrod’s arms encircle your waist. Pulling you closer. Your head rests on his chest as you try to go back to sleep with a wild heart.

3. Hesitant hug-A unlit room welcomed him. While Finrod himself can see well in dark he seriously doubted you could. Worried about your safety he looked around trying to link you to the steady beat of your heart that rang in his ears. At last, he spotted a small but noticeable lump on your bed. Covered in blankets, you were the most adorable mountain ever. “Well, what brings you here?” Your voice held a sulky tone. “I’m not outside my room now am I?” It was not hard to imagine the pout you probably had on your face right now. Empowered to witness it himself Finrod made his way to your moping form. With the grace of a duck, which very much made him cringe, Finrod climbed up the bed. “Meleth, you must understand,” he begins only for you to scoff at him. Ready to enter the metaphorical battlefield even under the cover of blankets. “Listen to me,” with the most foreign movements Finrod wraps his arms around you. A hug is still something that escapes his elven senses. With the little hill in his embrace, Finrod rests his chin on top of your head (a gesture that you don’t pull away from). “How about we wait your cold out for a few days and then plan an outing?” A small cold, he tried to reassure himself. You would get better soon, he reasoned in his mind. 

4. Reassuring hug- As you run through the woods your breath comes heavy. You pant as the heavy footsteps following you grow louder with every passing second. So close. You are so close to home yet, it seems farther than ever with your faltering steps. “Ahhh!” Your trembling hands try to untangle your hair that gets stuck in a wayward branch that you failed to notice in your haste. A delay that costs you more of the precious seconds you have on your pursuers. ‘Please…help,’ you plead and beg to those who dare listen to your prayer. With your hair free you resume your struggle. This death would be too painful of a fate for you and your beloved. ‘Eru,’ your thought is cut sharp as a protruding root on the forest floor catches your foot only for the doom to inch closer. ‘Don’t let him know of this,’ you bargain with the fates. But never feel the impact of the fall that you anticipate. A firm hand holds you and your scrunched-shut eyes shoot open to greet the sight of an elven guard. Distant screams of agony fill the forest as the party of elven soldiers clears the orcs following you. However, your world narrows at the first glance of your beloved, who rushes in carrying a bloodied sword. His eyes find yours with a panicked look in them. A maniacal look. Letting go of the hand that supports you, you make a last run. Ignoring your screaming lungs and protesting heart you run to him. On the other end, you watch him drop his sword and run towards you with a speed unknown to man. And you meet in the middle. Your limbs a mess, your faces inches apart, and your bodies shaking with uncontrollable tremors. His hands hold you close. Too dangerous, too close, too soon. Words remain unsaid but the relief fills in. That day he becomes greater than any god, any supreme being, any creator.

5. Heartbeat through hug- Your head rests on his chest and Finrod can’t help but marvel. His own heart fades into nothingness as the rhythm of your heart fills his sense. His enhanced senses can feel the strength of the heart of the secondborn. With a curious idea brewing in his mind Finrod leans in. Getting closer to your face, he lifts your chin to make you face him and inches closer. Nearer and nearer until he hears it. A skip of the beat and then a faster rhythm. You look at him with a beautiful red gathering on your face. Your breath hitches and Finrod feels victorious as your heart races. His heart follows yours. His own heart pauses to beat when you lean in and steal a kiss with a mischievous smile on your face.

6. Compensatory hug- Your beloved kisses you crazy. His kiss leaves you arching into him. Wanting more. Finrod gently lays you on the bed as he crawls on top of you continuing the kiss deeper than ever. His eyes shine brighter than the sun, the moon, and the stars. His golden hair is almost silver with the moon that seems to shine only for him. Pleasure and heat fill you as his hands travel your body. You want this. You have waited for so long. You love him and you have the right to want him in every way. He loves you in return. You know this. Your reasoning fades as voices of self-doubt erupt in your head. ‘She awaits him,’ one of your voices whispers with venom. ‘It is immoral,’ another adds with unconcealed scorn. ‘No,’ the other argues and the room feels too full. Too crowded with your voices, Finrod, and the stars glaring at you. You are as shaken as Finrod when a sob breaks through your throat. Tears come easier than ever and the voices in your mind blame you for the hurt look in Finrod’s eyes. ‘No, no, no, no…’ your panicked thoughts are left unsaid. Instead, you hug him. A hug is all you can give to him, who someone awaits in distant lands. Someone who would accompany him for eternity and not leave him withering in an inescapable world. “We can’t,” your voice cracks with an effort to speak. Finrod freezes in your arms. The next second your arms fall to your sides as your beloved leaves the room with the door slammed shut. And the voices return louder than ever.

7. Tired hug- 1, 2, 3, and Bam. The door to Finrod’s study blasts opens with your unrestrained might. From the corner of his eye he watches you gather your flowing gown in your hands, a gesture so mannish that it leaves him more in love than ever. He feels the thud of your steps vibrate through his very being as you stomp your way to him. For once the papers about spices and silks feel uninteresting but Finrod continues the facade of being interested in the texts. “Hmph,” you grunt in determination as you remain unfazed by his lack of attention. He almost squeals in a very unkingly voice when you very much drape yourself over him. Putting all your body weight on him, you slouch on his back. Finrod almost faceplants into his desk. The paper in his grasp slips when you whisper, “Human very tired. Must sleep,” right next to his ear. Your breath tickles his neck but Finrod resists the urge to move. “Wha-” his question is interrupted by a small snore. The King of Nargothrond finds himself in a predicament unlike never before.

8. Princess carry hug- Finrod looks scandalized. He turns to you with a shocked look on his face, asking for a silent explanation. “It is tradition. A race in which you carry your spouse and run,” you reply to your beloved. Around you, all the men prepare for the race. Many are busy instructing their spouses on the correct hold. The small settlement that you and Finrod are visiting emerges with a new life as everyone prepares for the Spring festival. “Should we take part?” You ask your lover whose gleaming eyes are enough of an answer to all your questions. The next moment Finrod gawks as you carry him in a princess carry. “Just checking,” you explain to your lover whose legs almost touch the ground even in your embrace. “It would be only fair that I compete with my fellow men and leave your Elvish Highness out of it.” The King of Nargothrond barely looks at you as his arms encircle your neck and his face buries in the crook of your neck. “You better win,” he whispers and you can’t stop your own bubbling laugh.

9. Hug that hides tears- A squelch of wetness overwhelms Finrod’s senses. The concerning creak and wear of your lungs are not gone unnoticed by him. The room fills with your struggling breaths. A process leaves you panting and sweating. “Stay,” you muster to say even in your delirious state. Finrod stays. He sits next to you as you hug him closer than ever. Holding him in a way that keeps him from breaking. However, the comfort of your mannish gesture does little to calm him. A sickness he wished upon himself. Something, anything to spare you of this pain. He wishes for the same doom to take him where it drags you. Next to you lay bloodied handkerchiefs. A proof of the future that awaits him. Finrod stares at your blood. He stares and wishes for it to go away. He has already prayed and pleaded with the gods who ignore him. He has scoured texts for a cure only to find the inevitability of doom. He feels his shoulders shake with grief. His petty tears make your gown wet. A gesture that helps little…but he can’t stop. But you, even in your pain and suffering hold him firm. You comfort him even as you struggle to oppress an emerging coughing fit in your lungs.

10. Hug of leave-taking- “Here,” Finrod drapes a thick coat around you as he flutters around the room. His own armor gleaming in the light of the day. He fusses around your droughts, “you must take them all at the right time,” he instructs for the tenth time in the last hour. “I will,” you reassure your beloved who seems unaffected by it like the last nine times. You find the strength to push yourself up from your bed and make your way to Finrod. “Have I not recovered already?” You ask him as you take his hands in your own. “This cure…it can help,” Finrod stammers. His voice so uncertain, so fragile. “I am sure we’ll all be fine,” you hug him. His arms close around you. “Take care on your journey. Take care of yourself,” you add as you push away the words bubbling on your tongue. The hug lasts longer and you find yourself rocking in a small dance. “I’ll wait for you,” you add before you watch him leave. The last words you say to him. For when the King of the Nargothrond returns from his excursion, he returns to you gone. You do not make him witness your fall. Your last moments are not his tears. So, you leave to die in a faraway place that hides your agony from him.

11. Hug of reunion- The bright golden world of the men blends with the silvery calm of the firstborns. After ages when Arda is unmade. It is then that Finrod, who longer remains the King of Nargothrond, neither betrothed to someone nor bound by a different world, finds you. Untouched by sorrow, pain, or disease, he finds you. A hroa that shines with the might of the Sun. Even tears escape him in a moment so precious. Without a delay, he rushes to embrace you and you run towards him. Light is all that remains as he finally gets to be with you.

[from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras]

Hi there! Some parts of the movies seem to depict elves as having a sort of glow to them. It's been years since I read the books, but I'm wondering if you know whether or not that's how they're portrayed there -- as having some sort of otherworldly glow to them? If yes, do they glow all the time, or just on occasion? What would that even depend on? Their mood? Lol. Thank you so much!

I’m admittedly not an elf expert, though I know several and feel confident that someone will jump in to correct me if I go astray or give more context if needed…

My memory is that the books give more of a suggestion that the elves have kind of an ethereal light to their spirit/fëa, especially those elves who were ever in the presence of the two trees of Valinor, but that it doesn’t necessarily manifest as a literal glowing body/hroa. So Tolkien would write stuff like this (which is about Gildor Inglorion and pals): “They bore no lights, yet as they walked a shimmer, like the light of the moon above the rim of the hills before it rises, seemed to fall about their feet.” That “seemed” is doing a lot of work, and you could just read this as a lyrical analogy of some elegant people in the moonlight. But you could also read it directly as saying there they were giving off a light-based shimmer that could be seen on the ground by their feet.

I’m sure there are other textual examples to dissect, particularly from the Silmarillion, but my recall on Silm passages isn’t as good. There’s definitely the idea that having been in the presence of the trees is like a power-up to body and spirit, and I think there are some references to things like being able to see the light of Valinor in the eyes of the elves who had been there. But again, how you want to take that could be a bit open to interpretation and it could just be a narrative device to describe a physical characteristic in order to evoke a corresponding spiritual idea without intending it to be super literal.

As I said, I’m not as deep on elf lore as I am on other things. If you want a more detailed (and possibly more accurate!) answer, though, I’ve got some elf-literate friends who might be able to help!

[nin-varisse]

I would love to hear your Caranthir gender thoughts if you want to share

-@outofangband

Sure, it's actually one of my favourite things to think and talk about!

I generally headcanon them as genderfluid and I think they were still quite young when they found out that their hroa doesn’t always accurately represent their fea. In Aman they used to wear their hair down when they were feeling as a man and put their hair up in intricate braids to signal that they were feeling as a woman that day. Clothing wise they always wore a combination of stereotypically female and male pieces.

In Beleriand their gender expression became more of a political thing. After the revolt of the Noldor and the burning of the ships, the Feanorians had to appear as a unit, so no matter what their fea felt that day, Caranthir would never outwardly present themselves as a woman when they had to fulfill their role as Lord of Thargelion or one of the Sons of Feanor. They only expressed their true self with their family and trusted servants behind closed doors and later with Haleth and her people as the Haladin had a different understanding of gender roles than the Elves.

However, no matter what gender they are, they always give off rich lesbian aunt and goth boyfriend vibes. They remind me of Marlene Dietrich!

[elenagr]

For nolofinweanweek

I am from Russia. Sorry for my English. I fan Tolkien and The Silmarillion. I want share my thoughts about the last seconds of Fingolfin. Sorry, I use translator.

@nolofinweanweek Day 4 Dagor Bragollach

He uses his privilege as a dead. He follows what is happening in Arda, looking at the tapestries of Vaire, communicates with his loved ones and with his warriors, for whom fate has also prepared these Halls. But his fea was never completely healed. The last seconds of his life were too brutal. When Fingolfin Finvion is alone with himself, the memory returns again to those moments: an incredible force pressed him to the burning ground, from which he - even then - desperately tried to rise once more.

It would seem, what can he think about when wild pain tears apart the hroa, and the monstrous black leg is heavy like a mountain? About oneself? But no, this is not the time for such thoughts, this is not the time to feel sorry for himself. He need to continue the fight. Grip his sword hilt tighter. Find in self or from somewhere unknown the strength for one more strike. …The golden locks of Indis, with which he played as a child… The silky hair of Anaire… The gray-blue courageous eyes of his father… The last look of Arafinwe before their parting in the darkness (how are they left there?)… Perky voices of children… Arakano Jr. and Irisse are no longer in Middle-earth, but the two sons still have to continue their common cause. And so - for their sake, for the sake of the living - and the fallen! Elves and Men, those who fought side by side with him in large-scale battles and in small skirmishes. For the sake of those whose bodies, along with the herbs of Ard-Galen, turned into the ashes of Anfauglith…

Find the strength for the final blow! Unprecedented pain overwhelms the mind, the wounded body weakens… He want to die quickly in order to get rid of the torment. The enemy already received seven wounds - in memory of the Dagor Bragolls. Perhaps enough has been done?

There had already been such moments in his life: both in the Ice and in battles, when it seemed that life was leaving. But in the last seconds, a light shone from somewhere. Distant starlight through sticky fogs. The bright light of the sun that greeted his army in Middle-earth. Lights of fragile flowers blooming underfoot. Maybe all this is a reflection of that very Light, in the rays of which he was born and raised, loved and raised children, and took responsibility for the people. Light of the Two Great Trees. The light of that life that was taken from them all by the Enemy.

In the end, leading his troops, defending Hithlum, taking part in the Siege of Angband, he thought not only about revenge for his father, for his son, for his comrades. And about the life that should come after victory.

This life should be no worse than the one that was in Aman, in the light of the Trees. For her sake, for this life, great sacrifices were made. And even if this battle is hopeless, the more wounds are inflicted on the Enemy, the sooner it will come, this life. With this thought strength came, and the blade entered Morgoth's black foot.

The fallen Vala broke Fingolfin's body, and through the pain, the Light appeared to elf… The last light before the Halls. And - vision or not? - the flapping of the wings of a huge Eagle. As a triumph of his life’s work, as a symbol of moral victory.

[elluendifad]

Hi sweetie! I went through your tags to search for more elfkind content and serotonine, and I am curious. Why the tag "my mother's name is death?

let's see... i started using that tag in tuile of 2019. i was mourning the loss of a chosen father, the birth father of my then-husband who had reappeared in husband's 20s after being separated when he was a baby, and executing his estate. He had passed mid-narquelie the previous year.

That was the third year of my elven awakening, and of my 'new life' hard won through therapy and buddhism and just slowing down in the woods. That's the spatial context, the tapestry that led to this tag. The shortest possible answer is that i revere the cycles of decay and formation, and that decay and death are a link in the chain of infinite transformations that is life (animistically including nonanimated creation). i reflect on death as an act of love, of compassion, of continuation and creative improv on the Theme of life. Death is Life, Life is Death... we are all made for one another and made of one another. I have a fond feeling about this, as it has made my hroa and this world that i so adore, death has mothered this world and my place in it. longer answer and fiddly words below The forest, and the whole world, is fed on death. my bones once belonged to another, to trees and microbes and cats and fish and mountains. the air i breathe now has been through every manner of respiratory body imaginable, has been high with the clouds, has hung over the ocean, has oxidized metal, has been pushed through lush soil. my skin cells dry and fall off and feed creatures i cannot see, build soil, are transformed into something new. someday, my bones will belong to others again. my flesh will be gifts for beings i cannot even imagine, just as it was originally a gift to me from countless others. Death has made my body for me, and Death will make new things once i have left it. i miss living in the deep woods, but even now i look fondly on death and decay in the garden bed, in the kitchen compost, and in the clover of the yard. in the cold wet air from the river. in the faces and hands of people i love. i associate this with Namo and Vaire, of course, but also with all the Aratar. Yavanna and Aule and Manwe and Ulmo have very obvious places in this sphere--they created the flows of matter that are fed by change and death and that feed other cycles. I feel Varda, Nienna, and Orome have their own hands in death. Varda in hope and what lies beyond just one life, Nienna in metabolizing sorrow and longing and misery, and Orome in the necessity of Death for Life--someone must die for me to live, and i *want* to live just as they want to live. I want to make all the deaths that are linked to my life and death cherished and meaningful. I want my death and daily dying to give life and food and warmth to trillions of beings.

[thelordofgifs]

can i ramble some disorganized thoughts here ok thanks

do you think that reborn elves have scars or any remnants from past injuries

like if maedhros gets re-embodied, does he have 2 hands

i think (and this is just how I'd write it, not what i think is "Canon™") that it depends on how personal the injury was

and how well they dealt with it. like maedhros would still be one handed, but fingolfin wouldn't need a wheelchair

and i think they have some degree of unconscious choice. so if maedhros 'wanted' his hand back, he'd have it (although personally speaking, that seems a bit ooc). because an elf's hroa upon rebirth is based on their fea, and being one handed is part of what makes maedhros who he is

i read a story once where maedhros got re-embodied with one hand, and somebody (feanor? celebrimbor? aule? i do not remember) makes him a prosthetic hand. he tried it out, and immediately took it off and throwed it off a cliff bc it was Wrong

this is semi-unrelated but beren and maedhros best friends au <2

This is such a late answer I’m sorry 😭 but I think these headcanons are great and I fully agree! The fëa remembers the wounds of a past life, and the fëa shapes the hröa, after all. I’ve also seen it convincingly argued that the loss of Maedhros’ hand is a reminder of one of the greatest acts of love he ever received; of course he wants to keep that scar, it symbolises Fingon’s love for him! (Personally I can go either way on whether or not he was re-embodied with both hands – as long as the psychological reasoning behind it is convincing I’ll enjoy either.) Prosthetic hand Maedhros, on the other hand, is one of my biggest pet peeves. Let! him! be! disabled! And people with upper limb amputations rarely even use prosthetics or find them helpful, from what I understand. It is indeed Wrong.

should tfs become a Beren and Maedhros best friends au now

[tar-thelien]

Drabble - Ghost?

Summary:

Elros scrapes a knee, and Erestor believes in ghosts, and maybe the twins do too, Maglor likes to remind everyone of the dead and Eru´s will. If it even exists.

I´m back to writing :) Kinda...

Word: 868

Notes:

Warning: Maglor is crazy, like he usually is when I write him, so he is his own warning I guess...?

“Something broke in the room next to us yesterday, did you hear it?” Elros asked a nervous looking and newly awakened Elrond.

“Don´t ask Maglor.” the meek replay sounded, “he will just get angry.”

“But what do you think it was??” Elros pressed, “I thought the room was empty! Do you think someone might have been in there? I´ve seen Erestor stand before the door sometimes.”

“Erestor believes in ghosts.”

Later that day Elros fell when running down one of the many cold halls of the fortress chasing a cat that had ventured beyond the kitchen they usually resident.

One of the many soldiers had heard Elros cry when he fell and had quickly helped the child up while another went over to reassure Elrond, who had followed his brother in the chase, that everything was already and that they would find Maglor or Erestor to pick them up from the healing wing when a healer had looked Elros´s knee over.

Erestor had come in while a healer was busy cleaning Elros´s shines and knee, which had been torn up on the rough stone floor, with some alcohol, and then the day continued as it usually did in the dim fortress of their mother's murderer.

That same night another sound came from the room beside them, waking both of the children from their sleep.

---

“You don´t look as if you slept a lot,” Erestor said when he noticed the twins sitting outside in the sun, Elrond picking at the moss they were sitting on and Elros admiring the red on the white bandages on his shine, “is something the matter?” he asked but was only answered with a week shrug from Elros and utterly ignored by Elrond.

“Did you have a nightmare?” he kept on pressing coming over to the children to sit down beside them, “it´s only natural. Sometimes it helps to talk about it.”

“Someone was making noise,” Elrond replied.

“Well, that´s just the night guard. They´re there to keep us all safe, but I can ask them to try and be more quiet if they bother you?” he said as he frowned down at the children, “although your room is high up, might it be a swallow you can hear?”

“... it was in the room beside ours… something broke in it.” Elros said quietly picking at the red.

“Oh.”

“Is it true you believe in ghosts?” he said looking up at the oldest curious.

“I… I believe that the Fea can choose to not leave for Mandos if there´s something it didn´t finish… that it can stay with people and watch over others if it so chooses.”

“Do you think it was a ghost?” Elros kept on pressing, “do you know who had the room before they left?? If they had something to stay behind for? Do you think our Emel is watching over us?”

“I-I… I´m sure your Emel is looking over you, a-and the room beside yours is my Atto´s… I´m sure it was just the wind you heard though, Timo warns us about an upcoming storm so maybe that´s what you´ve heard?”

Elros didn´t look convinced as he looked up at Erestor with a lifted brow, “how does “Timo” know if there´s a storm coming?”

“Was it the ghost in you Atto´s room that hurt Maedhros?” Elrond asked still picking at the moss, “where is your Atto anyway? Have we seen him?”

“I-”

“That makes sense,” Elros cut in, “you can´t hit something that´s not there it Hroa, and Maglor says he´s sometimes fighting things that´s not there! I would be angry too if a ghost took my hand too, and I would also try to fight it.”

“... No.” Erestor sighed, “you haven´t met my Atto as he´s dead, and no Atto, your ghost, didn´t take Maedhros´s hand.”

“Who did then!?” Elros exclaimed.

“Why our cousin of course!” Maglor, who had sneaked up on the trio, as seemed to be his only pastime activity, “that would be your onkel somewhere down the line.”

“It was a necessity,” Erestor chimed in as if to deescalate the situation, “they cared for each other very deeply and Maedhros forgave him!”

“It was Eru´s will, and it has served him well! He is stronger with his left than he ever was with his right!”

“Eru´s will…?” Elrond whispered quietly.

“Yes! Eru´s will! Everything that happens is Eru´s will! Just like you two ending with me is Eru´s will! The almighty knew I would take better care of you, and love you more than anyone, which is why he left you with me!”

Elrond and Elros now looked extremely uncomfortable and a bit afraid, but Maglor, absorbed in his own world did not seem to notice and kept on rambling, “just like it is Eru´s will when people die, although it might make us sad it is for the greater good, and the one has decided that that is how the play shall play out, to reach the end where all evil shall wander lost!”

[amethysttribble]

The One Who Condemns? Is it about Namo?

THANK YOU!

And yeah! Kinda! Sorta! It's the Reverse Bang project I had to abandon last year when I broke my arm, but it's still on my mind and my to-do list. It's less about Namo than it is about a town I've dreamed up that's outside of the Halls of Mandos and the people there that are charged with guiding the reborn back into life. And Curufin. It's a lot about Curufin, lol.

BUT the first little section is from Namo's POV, so have a taste of that! :

The matter settled, he called forth the little fea and set about integrating the spirit within the body it had crafted; dark-haired and male and plain. Steady hands, strong shoulders. All at once, the slim chest shuddered with life, the first breath of a reborn. 

The sight brought Namo pain.

With a gentle touch, he guided the Elf from the gloom of the Returning Hall and towards the grand doors, which were slowly opening. There was a sunlit, grassy plain beyond, and so, placed in a suitable hroa, it began to depart. Closer, closer… A foot stepped beyond the doorway. Now, the Elf was sundered from the protective arms of Mandos, abandoned unto the lands of Valinor, never to be quite so safe again. 

As he watched the little fea go, Namo began to weep, mourning his charge’s life as all other parents would a child’s death.

[eri-pl]

I would love to hear some of your orcish Maeglin headcanons! I think it's such a neat idea! (Thanks my friend who gave it to me!)

If I may ask, there's a few things in particular that I am super curious about! Does it affect his appearance at all? How does he first react when he learns? If his family learned of it, how would they respond? (Particularly Aredhel!)

Thank you for asking! People never asked me things before.

Long post below cut.

OK, so first, I think we have a different definition of hc. For you it seems to be a complex thing, like a mini-au (not necessasarily alternate). For me hc is just a fact I assume, or sometimes like to assume, or at least like to entertain at the moment.

So when I say "with this origin of orcs (link for people not knowing the context), I would probably hc Maeglin as semi-orc", I mean just this fact, not that I have an explosion of details in my brain. (I think semi-orc is a better name than part-orc when we're talking more about "orcs spontaneously reverting into elves through some generations" thing).

Anyway, I love to see how enthusiastic you are about things, and I like being asked, so let's make something up.

With appearance it depends on how you imagine orcs in general. I would say they are more animalistic and much less symmetrical than Elves, and get scars easily. Elves heal neatly (except in dractic circumstances, like Angband), because of the fea-hroa harmony.

Orcs have less of this harmony than humans, that's how they're made, by messing up their bodies and if the soul gives up, but instead of going away just accepts the situation and is like "well, that's bad, but it's fine I guess" we get an orc. Something like that. Something like in one text in Morgoth's Ring? Manwe talks about accepting evil and building upon it, as not necessarily evil in itself, but a source of problems (the context is of course Finwe's remarriage).

But we're talking an Elf here, so after some generations the bodies are born normal enough to be immortal. So it's more a Maedhros level of messed up than Orc level of messed up.

So how would he look?

Obviously, paler skin and bigger pupils, because this fits the physical traits. I would say, a less symmetric face. Not visible at first sight, still more symmetrical than average human, byt when he smiles, the smile goes a bit sideways. Maybe that's why he doesn't smile in front of others.

Also, in some depictions orcs have thicker, fur-like hair, so, especially if we imagine elven hair as very fine, Maeglin's would be more stiff.

(Also, no big flapping ears. Elven ears are human-sized, maybe a bit more sharp on the top but that's it. That is canon. IDK why but giving Tolkien Elves huge ears angers me more than it should. <3 and respect to everyone who draws the like this, but it gets on my nerves.)

I would assume he learned about his ancestry when being interrogated about the location of Gondolin, so it was ...difficult.

Disbelief, but Maeglin had always known that something was off about him, he'd always felt that his father is hiding something. (Mother too? I'm not sure if she knew.) Basically, it's the mix of emotional reactions which Luke has on Vader being his dad. But with more guilt mixed in, and shame. Maeglin very much feels like a toxic shame guy to me. He would do everything to keep it secret, especially from Idril. And to not be turned into a full orc (which I assume is impossible w/o consent, but the consent may be persuaded with long torture, so...)

Later, after returning to Gondolin, he would spiral into toxic shame, self-hatered, jealous of others who have a normal background and were not threatened like this, etc etc.

Family... well, Eol knew, obviously. It came from his side of family. His mother or father, I would assume, or (if we ignore the "kin of Thingol" note), Eol was of purely orkish ancestry, it just mosly reverted.

Eol... didn't assume orkish ancestry is something you should mention to your future spouse before marriage. He teased Maeglin, always suggested that there was something they shared that was unique and the Noldor would not accept it, but never told him anything concrete.

Aredhel...? she would be worried. Not in a "will my son turn evil?" way, more in a "will my son be healthy?" way and she would be like "now I see why he is like that". Imagine getting a mental health diagnosis for your child, and that's it (well, ok, orkish background has also physical components, not only mental, but I think in terms of how the parent feels it's close). Along with the "How do I treat him now? I should act normal, but also, he has special needs probably..." part.

She would generally be loving but a little lost. She would be angry at Eol for not telling her, but also very much wanting to show Maeglin that she doesn't love him less because he's like this.

She would probably tell the rest of the family, Aredhel doesn't seem to secretive to me. And she'd expect help. Turgon... I know a little of him, I guess he'd be fine with it? I mean, Maeglin is not an orc, just has some traits... And he's a good warrior...

Idril may, paradoxically, feel more comfortable with Maeglin after that (as long as he isn't flirting with her, because unrequited flirting is always uncomfortable). Now she knows what is off with him, she doesn't have to worry that much. She would overcompensate a bit, try to show him "I like you, the reason I don't romantically love you isn't because you have orkish ancestry, it's just because I don't", this would be a little awkward and Maeglin would read it as pity and probably hate it.

Celegorm would suggest banishing Maeglin, if not outright killing him. He spent a lot of time with Orome and is very strict about orcs. (Also, he is kind of a jerk). Curufin wouldn't care, Maeglin is good at crafts, and reasonable and polite, and this matters.

Of course, a lot depends on how and from whom they would learn. This is assuming Aredhel would be alive and she would tell them. I f they learned, let's say, from an anonymous letter, it would be a very different story (Turgon doesn't believe anonymous letters, Celegorm wants to find a way to check it, Curufin agrees it's worth checking, Celegorm is contemplating murdering Maeglin)

[trolloled]

Xrumon receives a letter, one in a fancy envelope. 'Hello, Arigah. I recall that when we spoke, you were dreadfully bored and tired of twiddling your thumbs joblessly. That seems a shame for a mind of your caliber. I have recently regained employment at the company Starsight, and there is an open spot for technical design work, if you're interested. You may know the woman in charge now - Chimer Latrai, given she owns Crown Clinic. Here's my contacts if you're interested.' - Jamie Abnale

=> Who the hell sends physical letters anymore?

A/\/\azing. So/\/\eone re/\/\e/\/\bered I ac╪ually exis╪ed while I ro╪ away in here.

I sure fucking hope he's no╪ expec╪ing /\/\e ╪o wri╪e a response and- oh I see, here's ╪he e/\/\ail address. ╪hank fucking chris╪.

=> You carefully set the letter on a nearby table in the clinic staff room (nobody was going to keep you out of that even if you weren't employed anymore, you'd die of boredom otherwise) and leave a discarded tray on it to keep it flat.

He does realize /\/\y focus isn'╪, you know, ship design, right?

Wha╪ever. Can'╪ wai╪ ╪o see how ╪his explodes in /\/\y face.

Le╪'s see... ╪his fucking HR bas╪ard be╪╪er no╪ ask for a free design as proof... I'll shove ╪he Au╪oCAD file down ╪heir ╪hroa╪.

=> You laboriously turn to your laptop and begin composing and editing a response using speech-to-text. Even now, your fingers still refuse to cooperate half the time. Lousy atrophy and scarring.