#the Fencing of Valinor

[emyn-arnens]

ATLAS OF ARDA ⇢ ANGBAND

↳ for @tolkienhorrorweek Day 1: Angband

In the north of the world Melkor had in the ages past reared Ered Engrin, the Iron Mountains, as a fence to his citadel of Utumno; and they stood upon the borders of the regions of everlasting cold, in a great curve from east to west. Behind the walls of Ered Engrin in the west, where they bent back northwards, Melkor built another fortress, as a defence against assault that might come from Valinor; and when he came back to Middle-earth, as has been told, he took up his abode in the endless dungeons of Angband, the Hells of Iron, for in the War of the Powers of the Valar, in their haste to overthrow him in his great stronghold of Utumno, did not wholly destroy Angband nor search out all its deep places. (x)

[ylieke]

Doom of Mandos Judgement of the Valar pronounced on the Noldor that carried out the Kinslaying, promising tears unnumbered and fencing Valinor against them, so that not even the echo of their lamentation shall pass over the mountains.

[eri-pl]

So, the Doom of the Noldor

Isn't very strict, to put it politely.

Tears unnumbered ye shall shed; and the Valar will fence Valinor against you, and shut you out, so that not even the echo of your lamentation shall pass over the mountains.

...except that one time when Manwe sends an eagle to Fingon to save Maedhros (both kinslayers) precisely because of Fingon's lamentations prayer...

On the House of Fëanor the wrath of the Valar lieth from the West unto the uttermost East, and upon all that will follow them it shall be laid also. Their Oath shall drive them, and yet betray them, and ever snatch away the very treasures that they have sworn to pursue.

...except that one time M&M actually get the Silmarils. Yes, it's kind of ambiguous with this wording, because they do lose them eventually. But still, this 'prophecy' seems a little misleading here.

To evil end shall all things turn that they begin well; and by treason of kin unto kin, and the fear of treason, shall this come to pass.

...except Galadriel's woodland realm, which, sure, fades but doesn't end up evil. Also, Celebrimbor technically wasn't betrayed by his kin, and definitely in was not fear of treason what killed him...

The rest is ok, but even three mistakes— Even one mistake would prove that it wasn't Namo speaking those words. Namo makes no mistakes, doesn't lie, doesn't joke and doesn't use hyperboles. (Yes, that's headcanon.)

Namo is too omniscient to not be literal.

Many of you will say I'm being picky, and the eagle doesn't count or the words meant something else, and Galadriel wasn't with the Noldor but went separately (per later writings) or something.

Anyway, I'm pretty strict-minded when it comes to prophecies and I really don't think Namo would be that imprecise. Must have been one of his Maiar or whatever.

[silmarillion-ways-to-die]

"What wouldst thou have more? Dost thou desire all the world for thy belly? I did not vow to give thee that. I am its Lord." – Morgoth, The Silmarillion

"Tears unnumbered ye shall shed; and the Valar will fence Valinor against you, and shut you out, so that not even the echo of your lamentation shall pass over the mountains." – Mandos, The Silmarillion

"Their swords and their counsels shall have two edges." – Melian, The Silmarillion

"Love not too well the work of thy hands and the devices of thy heart; and remember that the true hope of the Noldor lieth in the West, and cometh from the Sea." – Ulmo (through Tuor), The Silmarillion

"That is a small price for so great a treachery. So shall it surely be. Say on!" – Sauron, The Silmarillion

"Many are the strange chances of the world, and help oft shall come from the hands of the weak when the Wise falter." – Gandalf, The Silmarillion

"Deserves it! I daresay he does. Many that live deserve death. And some that die deserve life. Can you give it to them? Then do not be too eager to deal out death in judgement. For even the very wise cannot see all ends." – Gandalf, The Fellowship of the Ring

"So do I, and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us." – Gandalf, The Fellowship of the Ring.

"You have grown, Halfling. Yes, you have grown very much. You are wise, and cruel. You have robbed my revenge of sweetness, and now I must go hence in bitterness, in debt to your mercy. I hate it and you! Well, I go and I will trouble you no more. But do not expect me to wish you health and long life. You will have neither. But that is not my doing. I merely foretell." – Saruman, The Return of the King

"Behold! The shadow of my thought shall lie upon them wherever they go, and my hate shall pursue them to the ends of the world." – Morgoth, The Children of Hurin

"Fool of a Took! This is a serious journey, not a hobbit walking-party. Throw yourself in next time, and then you will be no further nuisance." – Gandalf, The Fellowship of the Ring

[sonofeomund]

“Kill them with kindness.” Wrong. DOOM OF MANDOS

“Tears unnumbered ye shall shed; and the Valar will fence Valinor against you, and shut you out, so that not even the echo of your lamentation shall pass over the mountains. On the House of Fëanor the wrath of the Valar lieth from the West unto the uttermost East, and upon all that will follow them it shall be laid also. Their Oath shall drive them, and yet betray them, and ever snatch away the very treasures that they have sworn to pursue. To evil end shall all things turn that they begin well; and by treason of kin unto kin, and the fear of treason, shall this come to pass. The Dispossessed shall they be for ever.

“Ye have spilled the blood of your kindred unrighteously and have stained the land of Aman. For blood ye shall render blood, and beyond Aman ye shall dwell in Death's shadow. For though Eru appointed to you to die not in Eä, and no sickness may assail you, yet slain ye may be, and slain ye shall be: by weapon and by torment and by grief; and your houseless spirits shall come then to Mandos. There long shall ye abide and yearn for your bodies, and find little pity though all whom ye have slain should entreat for you. And those that endure in Middle-earth and come not to Mandos shall grow weary of the world as with a great burden, and shall wane, and become as shadows of regret before the younger race that cometh after. The Valar have spoken.”

[outofangband]

Mammals of Maglor’s Gap and Lothlann

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 and my environmental world building Masterlist is here!

Maglor’s Gap was the widest break in the mountains and cliffs dividing Beleriand and the lands to the north. It lay between the blue mountains to the east and the March of Maedhros to the west. Lothlann was a wide expanse of plains to the north of the Gap. The rivers greater and little Gelion ran around the western and eastern borders.

Forest steppes: wild goat, wood bison, southern white breasted hedgehog, gray marmot, ground squirrel, dormouse, woolly hares, long eared hedgehog, gray shrews, northern hog badger, sable (rare), steppe mouse, lesser noctule (bat), wildcat, red fox, red deer

Bordering mountain fences: Caucasian Tur, mouflon, chamois, alpine pika, pond bat, marbled polecat, saiga antelope, steppe polecat, mountain weasel, ibex (rare), argali

Plains: goitered gazelle, steppe wolf, wild horse, northern water vole (by the rivers), snow vole, grey dwarf hamster, common hare, common rabbit, striped field mouse, ural field mouse, harvest mouse, mountain hare, field vole (also primarily by rivers), wild horse

World building notes:

The horse based cavalry of Maglor is one of the few details we have about this region. I headcanon that the horses in question are a mixture of the descendants of the Valinor born horses brought by the Fëanorian host as well as wild horses from Estolad, Himlad, Lothlann and the other plains regions of Eastern Beleriand.

Sheep and goats provide the majority of milk and cheese products in the Gap. Some of these species are imported from other regions like sheep from Thargelion.

Domesticated bovine are rare in Eastern Beleriand outside Thargelion and parts of Estolad. There are however wild and semi domesticated bison such as the wood bison, especially on the borders of forested and forest steppe regions. Fur, skin and bones from bison are used by both Noldorin and Avarin elves for clothing and other materials.

Wild hamsters, rabbits, hares and voles were used by a select few of Maglor’s cavalry as companions and even spies.

A regiment of foot based scouts had the sigil of a hare in the form of a light silhouette upon a black background.

[dawnfelagund]

Hi!!! I was at the Tolkien conference today and I loved your paper!!! I was too nervous to ask during the Q&A, but I was wondering how the Catholic belief that you should not grieve the dead because they're in a better place had effected Tolkien's writing about death and grief. Especially in the context of his own life, and how he writes death as something to be celebrated and that it is a gift from the Valar.

Thank you so much!!!!

I'm glad you enjoyed the paper and thank you for asking about it! The paper Grief, Grieving, and Permission to Mourn in the Quenta Silmarillion is on my website (and the SWG), for anyone who is interested.

Whether or not there is a connection between Catholic belief and Tolkien's idea of "the gift of Men," I cannot say. There might be! But I think it's also important that Tolkien's eschatology for Mortals was emphatically not consistent with Catholic doctrine. At first it was. The Book of Lost Tales describes an afterlife for Mortals that Christopher Tolkien identifies as strongly parallel to the Catholic ideas of Heaven, Hell, and Purgatory. Christopher calls these lingering parallels "disconcerting." (This can be found in his commentary on the chapter Of the Valar and the Building of Valinor in BoLT1.)

In the published Silmarillion ("Of the Beginning of Days"), there is some degree of uncertainty still, among the Elves, about exactly what "leaving the Circles of the World" actually means: "It is one with this gift of freedom that the children of Men dwell only a short space in the world alive, and are not bound to it, and depart soon whither the Elves know not." This has always struck me as a very Elven perspective: They know that they are bound to the world and will receive no reprieve from it and will grow weary in its confines. It's a typical manifestation of the aphorism that "the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence." To Mortals, who are subjected to this mysterious leaving of the world—often prematurely, from their perspective—this doesn't seem a great deal. We see this in the Athrabeth Finrod ah Andreth, where we actually get the Mortal perspective, and later in the unease of the Númenóreans about their fate. (Conveniently, any Mortals who don't go along with the Elven perspective are "confounded" by Melkor. Mmmm, right.)

But, importantly I think, these Mortals are not going on to a reward in their afterlife, like the Catholic conception of Heaven. They don't know what lies beyond the Circles of the World, and neither do the Elves. The Elves just think, whatever it is, it must be better than their own fate. It actually reminds me more of the Hindu concepts of samsara and moksha: release from the travail of constant rebirth, constant life. From the Elven perspective, Mortals just get to take off for the weekend; Elves are stuck always on the graveyard shift.

Now do I think that the Elven conception of Mortals getting the better death might explain why only six of sixty-four named Mortal characters in the Quenta Silmarillion are grieved or mourned. It is very possible that an Elven narrator saw these deaths as going off to something better ... but we know clearly that Mortals don't see it that way, so why Pengolodh doesn't report more frequently on the grief of Mortals for their lost friends and family remains an open question that I think is probably explained by bias: not so much political bias in this case but the bias of a long-lived being to the perceived ephemerality (and inconsequence) of shorter-lived beings.

Elven grief really has no parallels with Catholicism that I can see at all. While one can make the argument that death is the natural outcome for both Tolkien's Mortals and in Catholic belief, it is not the natural outcome for Elves, and "death" is an unnatural and certainly painful separation for them.

Finally, as for grief more generally, I think there are also two different things happening in how Primary World humans experience grief. I am not Christian and so cannot speak to Christian or specifically Catholic teachings around what is or is not appropriate in terms of grief, beyond what I can observe of the people around me in a culturally Christian country. But I wonder if "the Catholic belief that you should not grieve the dead because they're in a better place" is a different thing from grieving someone because you ... simply miss them. Even if you believe that you will be reunited in the afterlife with them at some point. But again, for Mortals in Tolkien's world, even this is confounded by the fact that there is no certainty of this; there are much larger questions for them than for faithful Christians around what happens when they die.

[dlatl98]

Elrond, who went to Valinor, became a local celebrity as soon as he arrived there.

Elrond's loved ones were merciless to him. His parents left them for the greater good. He knew he had to give in, because it was ultimately for them and for the world. But in the end, the saddest thing was the fact that I couldn't get to know them, to the point where their loss was nothing more than emptiness rather than grief. His brother had left him for the human path. Do as you wish. You die, not me. Well, this brother had never been helpful to him in life. Maybe growing old as a man would have helped the fool grow (and it didn't). Maglor and Maedhros would not allow him to be called father (so they called him by his name). They chose their sense of Lack of qualifications that they could not be his father because they had taken away his parents, rather than Elrond's desire to call them "father," a title that would warm his heart and mouth just by calling them father. There is also advice that being a Feanorian will not help you in life. He really appreciated that. For destroying his fence and kicking him out of it again under the pretext of doing it for him. If you break one, you have to give me another! He couldn't decide whether he hated Maedhros more for killing himself, which was like a grand announcement that he was no comfort to him, or whether he hated Maglor more for not coming to him or coming to his aid while he was alive. His damned cousins, his king and the Lord of Eregion, died at will. Of course, Elrond understood that they had no other choice as monarchs. His wife… was sorry first. And he was sorry that he couldn't leave with her. He had rejected the king, but he was like his cousins ​​after all. Still, there was a merit to giving up the king. A queen can't leave easily. It was good that he didn't become king, but he often wondered about the path not taken. And his daughter…

No words are possible. No parent should have to go through this.

"I'm sorry. We didn't endure it. We were young at that time, and the children we thought were dead were young. It's not possible to compare, but I can't compare it to you, who I lost after raising everyone and becoming more attached to them. Losing the child I raised. There's nothing sadder than that. I'm truly sorry, but I'll never be able to comfort you. but.....we will be here."

"I'm sorry. I really couldn't go to you. I was too ashamed. I didn't reject you. I didn't think you wouldn't help me. I just couldn't go any further. And I felt betrayed because I thought Maedhros had abandoned me… but at the same time, I understood his choice. I understood how tired he was, how he had no more strength. I knew he couldn't continue, not because he chose something else over me… so I can't compare him to you. Of course, I'm not criticizing his choice. But I still feel resentful towards you. I'm sorry. I won't be of any help. But… I'll be here, so come see me whenever you want."

“Come out now! Even if you can ignore me, don’t ignore him Come out now! Don’t make him feel like you chose someone over him this time either!”

“If there’s anything I can do to help, I’ll definitely help. After all, it was thanks to you that that bastard got out.”

"……I'm sorry. But please understand this. I didn't abandon you. It was just……I really couldn't continue. I'm really sorry. I'll be here. I won't be of any help to you, but still…"

"Hey, let's have a drink!"

"I don't know if it'll help. But…..I made it like Celebrian told me. I showed Galadriel the mirror too. Does it look the same to you? No, don't worry about what I think. If you don't need it, throw it away. It's okay. If you like it…..I have plenty of time. I can make it as much as I want."

"How did you endure this?" "What?" "That your loved ones don't follow you. That you might never see them again. That you won't see them again."

"I didn't endure it. When they came, I was helpless and fell. Instead, I'd like to ask. Does it help that you have many friends that you can meet here?" "……I'm sorry to them, but that's that, and this is this." "Right?"

"Still……"

Elrond took his wife's hand and kissed it. They sat on the threshold again, looking out into the dusk. "I am glad you are here."

[ragingbookdragon]

“Dearest sister, will you hold my hand?” his voice carried between the two like soft summer rain and she hummed lowly, reaching over to grasp at the wrinkled hand. “Such warmth, dear sister,” he murmured with a tired smile. “Even as old as we are, they are still ever warm like the hearth.”

“I was sitting on them earlier, Bilbo,” she quipped, rubbing at her nose with her handkerchief. “That’s why they’re warm.”

Bilbo’s laugh was quiet, no longer as strong and hearty as it had been in the years prior. The two sat on the bench facing the sea, the warm breeze carrying the scent of flowers the world had never seen but only in Valinor. She gently rubbed her bony thumb over his. “I’m tired, Bilbo,” she simply said, and he didn’t bother to look at her to know exactly what she meant. “I think I’m ready to go to sleep.”

“We haven’t even had second breakfast yet.”

“Yes…but it’s been quite long since we slept.”

Bilbo inhaled quietly and nodded. “It has, hasn’t it?” he looked over, taking in the sight of his only sister, old and whitened. “Do you think they’ll be waiting for us?”

She knew instantly of who he spoke of, so long ago, a company of fine dwarves, one in particular standing out amongst the rest; she felt tears gather in her eyes and she met his gaze as she squeezed his hand and whispered tearfully, “I so wish to see them again. They’ll be waiting, dear brother.”

He nodded his head and turned back to the sea, shifting ever so slightly so he could rest his head against hers. “I can’t wait to see them again.”

Knowing that sleep was coming for them, she squeezed his hand quickly. “Do you think Frodo will be okay while we’re gone?”

“He will,” Bilbo answered knowingly and closed his eyes slowly. “I know our boy will.”

She blinked and laid her head against her brothers, the world before her beginning to darken as she shut her eyes, a soft smile on both their lips as they drifted off.

***

“Don’t put that there!” she shouted. “Mother did not like the chest of drawers on that wall!”

“I know what Mother liked and disliked, sister, you don’t have to yell!” he scowled as he tugged the piece of wooden furniture again. “Besides, perhaps if you helped instead of sitting there drinking tea, we wouldn’t be having this argument.”

“You are the one who decided to rearrange the home, Bilbo,” she retorted, making the same face back at him. She then let out a breath and rose, holding out her hand. “Come, we should go out to the garden and sit awhile.”

“But the furnit—”

“Will be here when it’s time for luncheon.”

Bilbo let himself be dragged into the garden where the two sat on the small bench, beginning to pass a pipe between them. “Lovely day,” he murmured, and she nodded.

“Indeed. A beautiful day. I dare say the golden butterlilies will be in bloom soon. Mother loved making syrup from them. Perhaps I should.”

“Mmm, and warm honey cakes to go with it,” he said and the two laughed.

As she passed the pipe back, she happened to turn and look down the road, squinting in the distance as a head appeared over the hill. Her eyes widened as more heads appeared behind the first and the face became clear. Jaw dropping in shock, she patted blindly beside her to get her brother’s attention. “Bil—Bilbo, the road, look at the road.”

His expression pinched as he leaned over and looked in the same direction; his reaction was much like hers as his eyes widened and he stuttered, “Is that—”

“It is!” she howled with excitement and beat him to the punch as she rose to her feet and hopped the fence, picking up the hem of her dress as she ran down the road to meet the oncoming group. “You’re back!” she yelled, hearing Bilbo coming behind her. “You waited! We knew you would!”

Skidding to a halt about ten feet from the group, she felt her brother stand beside her; all at once she was overcome with emotion as she met his eyes. “You waited for us,” she whispered and the dwarf before them smiled, so widely.

“My Master Burglars,” he greeted, taking note of the tears streaming down both their faces.

“It’s really good to see all of you again,” Bilbo all but managed to not blubber with a watery laugh.

The dwarves behind chuckled and she took a step forward, holding out her hand; he in return did the same and took her hand in his, warmth bleeding into her palm as he smiled softly at her and murmured, “‘Ibinê, I have waited long for you to join me.”

Her smile faltered as tears dripped down her cheeks. “I’m sorry, I’m so, so, so sorr—”

“Shhh,” he said with an expression of calm. “You lived a good life. I would not have wished you any other way.” Brushing his thumb over hers he lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles. “And you know I was with you in spirit every step of the way. Never once did I not know you in your grief, in your sorrow, in your happiness, and love. I witnessed it all, ‘ibinê.”

Her lips trembled and she squeezed his hand, letting herself be pulled into his arms; reaching up she cupped his cheek, brushing a thumb under his eye, a knot welling in her throat as she greeted, “It’s good to see you again, Thorin.”

[thelordofgifs]

Fëanor’s stupidest decision has been voted to be swearing the Oath (you’re all wrong burning the ships was dumber) so now it’s time for the Valar! Remember that we’re assessing decisions based on how stupid they were at the time, not how badly they turned out.

[conundrumoftime]

I don't know why, but I love how—at least to me—your Celeborn seems always at the edge of losing his mind. I don't always agree with your headcanons, but this is so funny to me. Boy acts like he is going mad with these powers that are beyond him.

Well thank you, heh! I have to say that I don’t always agree with my own headcanons either, as such, but I keep writing them so long as they’re interesting, and the ones around him have definitely stuck a lot longer than I expected them to.

Because. If you put yourself in his position, as a prince of Doriath (which I’m assuming because I find the other versions of him less interesting): You were born after the Fence went up, and Doriath the protected, isolated, safe and magical place is all you’ve ever known. Your grandparents’ generation remember the First Battle and you maybe got some tales, growing up, of what that was like, but you had to beg and pester to hear those because you’re one of the young ones - you’re one of the ones who doesn’t need to worry about this. You’re probably told that a lot. Beleriand is dark and brutal and cruel, but in Doriath everything is fine. You have everything you ever want, and if you question this your very questioning is seen as proof of your youth and inexperience.

By the time you’re old enough to start asking pointed questions about all the Sindar who live outside the Fence, Doriath has been so isolated for so long that they don’t even sound like you.

You aren’t content with this. Everyone assumes you’ll grow out of it as you get old enough to gain some perspective and be grateful for how protected you are, but you don’t, not really. You want to hear of other lands and other peoples. You pester Melian to tell you tales of Valinor and Almaren, you pounce on any news that filters through from beyond Doriath’s borders. There is so much in the world to know, and you’re frustrated that those who know it - who saw it - aren’t interested in telling you about it now they’ve built this refuge for themselves. It doesn’t feel quite like a refuge to you, though.

(When you’re older you’ll collect tales of Gondolin, hidden and protected and beautiful. In Gondolin nobody was permitted to leave. In Doriath, nobody was permitted to want to.)

When the Noldor return you’re fascinated with them, to the point where your brother rolls his eyes and says Galadriel’s going to find you embarrassing. She doesn’t, though. She seems to quite like you. She tells you about Valinor, about the ice she crossed in the north, about how she plans to rule lands of her own one day. She speaks to Melian like she knows countless Maiar; she speaks to Thingol like she knows plenty of kings. She is bold and bright and fearless and you are helplessly in love.

When you hear about the horror at Alqualondë, you are, of course, appalled. For a while everything that you thought you knew is shaken. You do not blame Thingol for banning the rest of the Noldor from Doriath or for refusing to allow Quenya spoken anywhere. But when you hear that Maedhros laughed, of all things, and dismissed your great-uncle’s authority, some part of you is darkly fascinated all the same. No-one questions Thingol’s authority in your world. No-one. And yet… and yet.

You start finding Doriath more tolerable after all, now Galadriel is there; and her brothers come and go, and you are not short of people who will tell you about the world beyond the Fence. You don’t leave yourself, though. It hasn’t truly occurred to you that you even could.

And then something happens that changes it all. Or a confluence of somethings. Perhaps it’s the dwarves killing Thingol. Perhaps it’s Melian leaving Middle-earth after that, and the horror of realising along with all the others that much of Doriath’s protection will go with her. Perhaps you beg her to stay; perhaps she can’t even hear you, she’s so lost in grief. And then Galadriel’s cousins destroy Doriath and you realise it’s all lost and you can’t ever, ever go back.

(Or in Rings of Power canon - you go off at some point, presumably from Doriath, to fight a war you are very obviously unprepared for both practically and psychologically. You leave your enchanted, perfect magical forest kingdom where nobody ever wants for anything and find yourself in Middle-earth’s equivalent of the Somme. You realise that everything you thought you knew about the world has been not only incomplete but wrong. You don’t know where to go or what to do when the battle’s over and you’re somehow still breathing, but when you realise everyone at home will assume you’re dead, you think it’s maybe for the best you don’t correct them.)

And you spend the next five thousand years or so married to Galadriel, who is more terrifying and more powerful than you had ever, ever appreciated and even more so after she gets Nenya. You’re glad you can stand at her side for this fight you never realised you’d be fighting, but sometimes you wonder how much help you’re even being. Oropher, who has dealt with everything by withdrawing to the Greenwood in an attempt to return to the life the elves knew before the Valar came to them, takes you aside at one point and asks you very quietly - in the Doriathrin you both grew up speaking - if this is really, truly what you thought you had chosen. It isn’t. But you chose it all the same.

Lothlórien is protected, isolated, safe and magical, a beautiful golden refuge in the middle of a dark land. It’s hundreds of years before you realise that Galadriel has re-made Doriath for you.

[aureentuluva70]

Just reading the Book of Lost Tales and reading about how Manwë was grieved by the Hiding of Valinor so he had Lorien create the Olorë Mallë, the Path of Dreams so that the Children could visit the Gardens of Lorien in their sleep.

And I know that Tolkien scrapped the concept pretty early on but dang, I adore it. Not just because the thought of Manwe and Lorien offering the Children a way to see even a small portion of Valinor's beauty is sweet, but it's also almost immediately after the Flight of the Noldor and the Prophecy of the North. Meaning that Mandos literally just gave his ominous speech that "the Valar shall fence you out" only to have Manwe and Lorien(and of course Ulmo) being like, "OK, but how about no".

[polutrope]

@melestasflight sent Lalwen + forsaking the past, and it disappeared from my inbox last night.

Thank you for the prompt! I was so excited when you sent me Lalwen, as it gave me occasion to think about her, which I have never done before.

From this prompt list, which also has links to my fills so far and lists what's still in the inbox.

Here we have 880 words of angst-with-a-bittersweet-ending (my fave), set at the end of the First Age. Rated G.

~ ~ ~

The waves lick at the rocky, grass-clad shoreline. Though the ocean’s rhythm is the same ancient push-and-pull, push-and-pull, to Lalwen the waves today are tentative, like a child tasting something new. This is not the land they are used to. 

“You are a hero now,” says Lalwen.

“You know that I never wanted to be one,” says the High King of the Noldor. 

A smile slides up the side of his face closest to her, and his eyes seek hers, but she does not turn to him. She thinks of teasing, “So you do not deny it!” That is what she would have said were he her other brother, and Fingolfin would have laughed and rolled his eyes and flicked his finger against his thumb in dismissal. Then he might have looked at her fondly and said, “Thank you, sister, for never allowing me to grow too proud.” 

But Lalwen does not know what to say to Arafinwë. Finarfin—so his firstborn styled him when Fingolfin fell, and so he is known now to all: Finwë Arafinwë, Noldoran. Lalwen laughed, then cried, when first she heard it. Her little brother Ingo, High King of the Noldor! 

Lalwen does not know who to be with Finarfin. 

“I don’t think I did know that,” Lalwen says. 

Finarfin’s golden eyelashes land on his cheeks and ensnare the sunlight. 

“Lalwen.” He tilts his head back up. His eyes catch hers. They are swimming with disappointment. “Are you certain?” 

She cannot keep her face from twisting into a frown. Must he make her say it twice! Has the thought of returning ever scraped across her mind, when all else falls quiet? Yes; and it moves her to little more than resentment at the Valar for offering them the choice.

“It has never been a question, Arafinwë,” she says. A half-truth. 

Lalwen feels Finarfin’s spirit crumple beside her, and she supposes her words had been meant to flatten hope. She expects tears, is prepared for tears; she is surprised when her brother’s fingers coill beneath his palm on the rock; surprised when he grimaces and sucks a sharp, watery breath between his teeth.

“Why?” Despite the emotion, his voice does not tremble. His voice never trembles. “Do I not at least deserve to know why? What message shall I take back to our mother? Your daughter lives, I will tell her, and she will weep for joy. She is not coming, I will say, and she will fall back into that black unknowing, the endless wondering, ‘Will I ever see my child again?’”

“Is she alone in that?” Lalwen nearly spits the question. Her blood is hot. “Do you speak of our mother or of yourself? I am sorry for your pain, brother—I am. I am sorry your sons have not returned; I am sorry Artanis is too far off to see her father again. She would have wanted to. But what of the centuries of unknowing we endured while Valinor was fenced against us?

“And do we know that it is not, still? If I followed my brothers—yes, him too, two brothers—into exile, without remorse, and if I do not regret it now, what reason do the Valar have to welcome me back into comfort and ease?

“You may tell our mother that there are people I love, here, in Beleriand.” Lalwen gestures at the broken rocks, the great trunks of trees torn up and tossed about by the sea. ”What remains of it. Our people have been severed. That was your choice as much as it was ours. Victory does not undo it. It was brave and noble of you to come here, but if you believed you would simply be able to gather together your scattered kin and bring us back with you, you are a fool.”

Lalwen pauses, expecting a rebuke from this new Arafinwë, hardened by kingship and sharpened by war, but Finarfin has gilded himself in gentleness once more. 

In no more than a whisper, he says, “I did not even know if I would return.”

It is as though a great heap of sand has been cast over the heat of Lalwen’s heart. She is all ash. The wind is cold on her bare arms. 

After a long silence, she says, “I am sorry,” and shivers.    

“That may be.” A smile cracks Finarfin’s composure, and he sets his hand over hers, curling his fingers around it. “But you are right. I do wish I could bring you back, slot you into one of the empty spaces that have surrounded me these many hundreds of years. But you would no longer fit, would you, sister? I have known it. Oh, I have known it all along, though I wished it were otherwise. If anything, this victory has set us yet further apart. There is no returning to the past.” He squeezes her hand, and Lalwen is aware of tears brimming over the rims of her eyes. “I should not have asked you to forsake this life, and I won’t again.”

Her throat tightens, and Finarfin circles her shoulders with one arm; she falls against his chest, tugging at the fabric on his robe to cover her face as she weeps. 

“There is yet some time,” Finarfin says, “and you have a brother here who loves you.” 

So really the only canonical fact about Lalwen, besides linguistic details on her name, is that Fingolfin was the "most dear to her" of her kin. I was curious about what that meant for her relationships with the rest of them.

On AO3

[edennill]

...and the Valar will fence Valinor against you, and shut you out, so that not even the echo of your lamentation shall pass over the mountains.

My pet theory:

The Valar are at first incredibly opposed to the idea of telling the elves who stayed in Valinor anything about their exiled kin, but not for any nefarious reasons. It takes a while for the remaining Amanyar to convince them that actually no news is much more nerve-wracking than bad news.

I mean this is actually very illogical and I wouldn't expect beings that experience emotions very differently if at all to guess, but it is like that nonetheless

not that it would have been possible to hide how bad things are once people start to feel their family dying en masse anyway

[tolkien-feels]

And on an entirely canon compliant note, I love Manwe's weird relationship with the Doom of Mandos. I'll have to do some close reading one of these days, but off the top of my head...

The Valar will fence Valinor against you, and shut you out, so that not even the echo of your lamentation shall pass over the mountains.

For Manwë still had pity for the exiled Elves. And the Eagles brought news of much that passed in those days to the sad ears of Manwë.

To evil end shall all things turn that begin well.

‘So shall it be! Dear-bought those songs shall be accounted, and yet shall be well-bought. For the price could be no other. Thus even as Eru spoke to us shall beauty not before conceived be brought into Eä, and evil yet be good to have been.’

And, what I think is most striking: though it's said the Noldor will shed tears, the first character who we see cry following the rebellion of the Noldor is actually Manwe

[lairesta]

"Tears unnumbered ye shall shed; and the Valar will fence Valinor against you, and shut you out, so that not even the echo of your lamentation shall pass over the mountains. On the House of Fëanor the wrath of the Valar lieth from the West unto the uttermost East, and upon all that will follow them it shall be laid also. Their Oath shall drive them, and yet betray them, and ever snatch away the very treasures that they have sworn to pursue. To evil end shall all things turn that they begin well; and by treason of kin unto kin, and the fear of treason, shall this come to pass. The Dispossessed shall they be for ever. Ye have spilled the blood of your kindred unrighteously and have stained the land of Aman. For blood ye shall render blood, and beyond Aman ye shall dwell in Death's shadow. For though Eru appointed to you to die not in Eä, and no sickness may assail you, yet slain ye may be, and slain ye shall be: by weapon and by torment and by grief; and your houseless spirits shall come then to Mandos. There long shall ye abide and yearn for your bodies, and find little pity though all whom ye have slain should entreat for you. And those that endure in Middle-earth and come not to Mandos shall grow weary of the world as with a great burden, and shall wane, and become as shadows of regret before the younger race that cometh after. The Valar have spoken."

-- J.R.R Tolkien, Quenta Silmarillion --

.