#the returning Noldor would be celebrated in any way

[eri-pl]

So, Vanyar are the good guys, right?

The boring, faultless Elves?

...except that part where Ingwë (that's the Vanyar king, right? I tend to mistake him with the Teleri one) plays matchmaker so that his sister could marry Finwë despite the fact that Finwë has a wife (who is dead but anyway) and we all know how it ended.

Seriously. In one of the alternate tellings of the story, he knows Indis loves Fnwë, he invites Finwë for a visit and tells Indis to go sing on (the mountain? a balcony? anyway somewhere) and Finwë falls in love and this looks very much planned.

Which is just

just

it was even before the Valar said that Finwë can divorce, that this is even a possibility.

Since I learned about that I have a strong hc that many Vanyar are very "letter of the law", "if it's not forbidden, it is ok" kind of persons, while simultanously blaming the Teleri for not going to Aman fast enough and the Noldor for leaving (I'm not even talking murder, just leaving would be enough) and if they got whatever terrible order signed by the Valar, they would do it without question.

[arofili]

elves of arda ✹ gondolindrim ✹ headcanon disclaimer ✹ @gondolinweek

          Maeglin Lómion was the son of Aredhel Ar-Feiniel and Eöl the Dark Elf. He was born in the darkness of Nan Elmoth, where his father had laid an enchantment upon his mother to bind her to himself. For many years he was known only by his mother-name Lómion; Eöl called him only ion, “son,” until he at last named him Maeglin at the age of twelve. Eöl instructed his son in smithcraft and ósanwë, teaching him to make great works of iron and steel and to guard his thoughts from the prying minds of others. From time to time, Eöl would take Maeglin with him to dwarven settlements, where he learned of the Khazad and their ways.           Over eighty years, Aredhel slowly regained her independence, resisting Eöl’s spell and whispering tales of Valinor and Gondolin to Lómion. The desire for freedom and importance in distant Ondolindë took root in Lómion’s heart, and he grew bold in pushing back against his father’s constraints. When at last Eöl departed to visit the dwarves on his own, Maeglin seized his chance, stealing his father’s sword and urging his mother to flee. Emboldened and proud of her son, Aredhel took him and disappeared from the dark forest that had been her cage, headed toward Gondolin.           They arrived in Ondolindë and were met with great shock and greater joy, for Aredhel had been presumed dead, and she was the last elleth anyone would have guessed would have a son! For a day there was feasting and merriment, welcoming the indomitable Lady of the Tower of Snow back home, but soon the celebrations were cut short upon the arrival of Eöl, who had tracked his family to Gondolin and now demanded the return of his son.           King Turukáno was ill-pleased by Eöl’s demands, but at Aredhel’s insistence he gave his law-brother leave to remain in the city so long as he never departed. Enraged, Eöl refused, declaring that he would rather die than be trapped in a city of the Noldor, and choosing this fate for Maeglin also he drew forth a hidden javelin and cast it toward his son. Aredhel leapt to intercept the blow, fearing for Lómion’s life, but it was her own life put in danger when it was revealed the spearhead was poisoned.           On her deathbed, Aredhel begged mercy for her husband, no matter how ill he had treated her; but when his sister at last died in the night, Turukáno was filled with a cold rage and ordered Eöl’s execution despite her last will. Eöl was cast off the peak of Caragdûr, cursing with his last breath that Maeglin would die the same death as him. Shocked into silent horror, Maeglin watched, frozen, as the last vestige of his old life was brutally torn from him without his input or any chance for him to process Eöl’s cruelty.           Upon this great tragedy, Maeglin was left orphaned, and Turukáno took him under his wing. Maeglin was unused to the unfiltered Sunlight and the strange Noldorin customs in Ondolindë, and his grasp of Quenya was tenuous at best. For some years he appeared odd and reclusive to the Gondolindrim, and despite Turukáno’s awkward attempts to honor him as his nephew Maeglin never quite felt like he belonged among his Noldor kin. As Aredhel’s heir, he had some claim to inherit her title, but as he was young and grieving and entirely unfamiliar with the working of Ondolindë’s politics, none thought it wise to shoulder him with such a responsibility; instead Penlod of the Pillar reassumed their position as Lairde of the Tower of Snow in addition to their original house, for they had been a friend of Aredhel and had led her House for many years in her absence.           As the years passed and Maeglin came of age, he grew more confident in his position as the King’s nephew and revealed a more charming and charismatic side to the people of Gondolin. Yet he remained distant from Princess Itarillë, the King’s daughter and his own cousin, for in his heart lurked a secret desire for her. Never before had Maeglin looked upon another with such feelings, and they terrified him, especially as the two cousins were close in kin and Turukáno would occasionally express disdain for such unions. Itarillë seemed too beautiful and regal to be his, and he knew not how to handle such an impossible desire, having no one to turn to and confide in.           Penlod would at times invite Itarillë to accompany them and the folk of the Tower of Snow on hunts outside of Ondolindë. On one such occasion, Penlod also extended the invitation to Maeglin, who had not left Gondolin’s walls since his arrival seven years prior, ane he eagerly accepted. While on this ill-fated expedition, the hunters were attacked by white wolves from the mountains, and Maeglin and Itarillë were separated from the rest of the group.           Maeglin leapt to Itarillë’s defense, suffering a great wound from the wolves though he managed to fight them off with the might of Anguirel his father’s sword. Itarillë, who had learned some healing from her friend Meleth, insisted on treating his wounds; when conventional methods did little to staunch the bleeding, she insisted on Singin the wound closed despite Maeglin’s great reluctance. Maeglin knew that such a feat required the healer to reach into the injured party’s fëa, and in his vulnerable and half-delirious condition he feared she would learn of his feelings for her, which he had long kept secret in his carefully guarded mind.           At last Itarillë prevailed, and as she Sang healing into her cousin’s hröa, their fëar mingled and she was shocked to discover that Maeglin was infatuated her despite their close kinship, now rising to the surface of his thoughts despite his best efforts to keep his secrets hidden. Astonished and not a little bit horrified, Itarillë faltered, retreating from his mind and succeeding only in making his injury worse. Luckily, they were recovered by Penlod soon after, and Maeglin was tended to by more experienced healers, but the incident deeply affected both cousins. They never spoke of it again, and Itarillë distanced herself from Maeglin more than she had already, engendering further bitterness between them.           When Maeglin came of age, Turukáno granted him a lordship of his own and created for him the House of the Mole. This was the smallest of the Twelve Houses, drawing into its ranks some unattached smiths and miners and folk unsatisfied with their previous allegiances. Among these were many of the less fierce members of the Hammer of Wrath, intimidated by the fury of their peers and seeking a more close-knit society.          One such elf was the coppersmith Urundil, who quickly became a close counsellor of their new lord, aiding Maeglin in the exploration of the Echoriath. Together they discovered rich lodes of metal surrounding the city, forging weapons stronger than had been seen before and establishing Anghabar, a mine in the northern mountains. Another member of the House of the Mole was Poldamaitë, a blacksmith who had previously been of the House of the Swallow. She was wed to Cútasar, captain to Lord Tuilindo, and for her sake had agreed to join his House, though she felt ill-suited to its ranks of hunters and archers so unlike herself. Over the years conflict grew between the couple, eventually resulting in their separation and Poldamaitë’s joining of the folk of the Mole.           To those outside his House, Maeglin appeared aloof and strange, if also noble and charismatic. Yet none could deny his skill in smithcraft, rivalling even that of the Hammer of Wrath, and Lord Talagand of the Harp grew curious to see if this strange young lord was truly as prideful as folk said. He commissioned Maeglin to craft him a ceremonial weapon, bejeweled and impractical for true combat, and throughout the the process he grew fond of the young, isolated ellon and befriended him, drawing him out to social gatherings and advising him on how to interact with others unlike himself.           When Turukáno marched with ten thousand soldiers to fight in the Fifth Battle, he first asked Maeglin to act as regent in absence, but he insisted on accompanying the King to war, wanting to take part in the glorious deeds and make his mark on history. He proved to be valiant and wise in counsel, urging Turukáno to retreat when the battle went ill, saving the lives of many soldiers. He was present at the last meeting of Turukáno and Huor, a Man who as a child had been a guest in Gondolin and had seemed weak and frail to Maeglin, and he did not forget the prophecy of Huor’s last words, that a new star would rise from the Man and the King.           Upon returning to Ondolindë, Turukáno commissioned Maeglin and his folk to create the seventh and final gate of Gondolin, the Gate of Steel. Yet this gate would not keep out another Mannish interloper, for soon Tuor son of Huor came to Gondolin, claiming to be sent from Ulmo and counseling Turukáno to open the gates of his city and prepare for battle or else face destruction. To Maeglin this seemed absurdly and unnecessarily dangerous, and he was firm in his counsel to the King his uncle that there was no path to victory in open war. Weighing the advice of his valiant nephew against that of this strange Man, Turukáno sided with Maeglin and chose to ignore Ulmo’s warning.           Yet despite this small victory, Tuor soon rose to prominence among the Gondolindrim, charming the people and winning the affections of Princess Itarillë. To Maeglin’s great dismay, the two were soon wed, and he saw Itarillë snatched away from him forever. He had never truly labored under the delusion that she could love him, but this irrevocable bond to a mortal Man of all people made Maeglin even more bitter and jealous toward her beauty and happiness.           Within a year, a son, Eärendil, was born to Itarillë and Tuor. Despite himself, the little babe won Maeglin’s affections, for none could hate such a bonny child as he. Maeglin made no secret of his distrust of Tuor, but for the sake of his son he crafted a small mithril coat for Eärendil that even Itarillë could not deny.           Yet despite the joy Eärendil brought to all of Ondolindë, Maeglin’s sorrow and resentment only deepened, especially as the King forbade any to venture beyond the confines of the Echoriath even for mining and hunting. The folk of the Tower of Snow submitted to this mandate, but Maeglin refused, going out alone past the boundaries of Ondolindë despite the counsel of Urundil and his other friends.           On one such journey, Maeglin was taken captive by an orc-band and dragged to Angband itself, where he was tortured and interrogated by Morgoth and his lieutenant for the location of Gondolin. Maeglin held out as long as he could, but eventually his torment grew too much, and Morgoth’s offer of lordship of the city and the hand of Idril in marriage too tempting. At last he confessed the location of the hidden kingdom, and was sent back to Gondolin with a spell of bottomless dread placed upon him to prevent him from confessing his treachery.           Though Maeglin’s change in demeanor was noticed by many, only Talagand approached him after his reappearance to inquire after his health. Caught in Morgoth’s spell, Maeglin found himself unable to confess his torment, and what little he could say succeeded only in unsettling his only friend. Often, Maeglin would approach Itarillë in private, attempting to warn her of the coming danger as he believed that she alone possessed the capability to save Gondolin. Yet each time, his words died in his throat and he would flee into the darkness, consumed by guilt and shame.           Shortly before the celebration of Tarnin Austa, nearly a year after his capture, Maeglin forged an enchanted dagger akin to Glamdring, the King’s sword forged by Rôg, and its mate Orcrist, his own sword forged under Rôg’s tutelage. The blade would glow should the Enemy draw near, and he made it with the specific purpose of warning its bearer of Morgoth’s impending attack. He gave this dagger to Itarillë, half-hoping she would use it against him and end his misery, but she was only further troubled by what she interpreted as a threat and set aside the knife, never to use it.           Each of his plans failing, Maeglin made one last attempt to warn the Gondolindrim of their doom. Recalling the prophecy of Amnon, that “when the lily of the valley withers then shall Turgon fade,” and the lily-blossoms of Glingal, Turukáno’s golden replica of Laurelin, Maeglin came to the tree under the cover of night and took his hammer to its flower. The next morning, the lilies were found tarnished and dented, but despite Amnon’s urgings that Turukáno ought to heed this obvious “sign from the Valar,” once more the King refused to listen.           On the morn of Tarnin Austa, Morgoth’s armies attacked Gondlin and its great Fall began. Maeglin’s mind was torn asunder, the spell upon him eating away at his will and his despair at his failure crumbling away any last attempts at resistance. Overcome, Maeglin found himself urging Turukáno to remain rather than flee, and the Gondolindrim engaged in battle with the Enemy. As Itarillë slipped away to prepare the secret passage she and Tuor had been constructing since her husband’s arrival, Maeglin ordered Talagand to delay Tuor’s soldiers as he rushed after his cousin with murderous intent.           His mental defenses tattered and torn, Maeglin accosted Itarillë and her son, and the depth of his treason became clear. Itarillë attempted to fight him off, but with a few loyal warriors at his side, including ever-faithful Urundil, Maeglin captured her and dragged her to the cliffside where his father had been slain. Raving and mad, Maeglin tried to impress upon her that Morgoth’s victory was inevitable and that it would be a kinder fate for all of them to die at his hands rather than be tortured by the Enemy’s servants.           The deepest horror of all, in his crumbling mind, would be Eärendil’s inevitable corruption, and to spare him this dreadful fate Maeglin seized the child and made to throw him off the walls of the city. Itarillë resisted him with her sword, and Maeglin lamented to her that she did not use his gifted dagger, and in a moment of desperation their minds touched briefly one last time. Maeglin’s fëa shattered as he tried to tell her all of what he had done, all of his regrets and sins and wrongdoings, but also of his futile love for her and her son despite everything.           In that moment Tuor arrived, rushing to the defense of his wife and child. He broke through Maeglin’s guard, slaying Urundil, and attacked Maeglin with a vengeance. Maeglin swung his blade wildly, striking little Eärendil, but his blow was in vain for the child wore the mithril coat he himself had crafted. Swiftly, Tuor broke Maeglin’s arm, recovered Eärendil, and as soon as Itarillë had the boy safely in her arms he pressed Maeglin to the edge of Caragdûr and shoved him off the edge.           Thus fell Maeglin, dying the same death as his father. His name would be cursed by the exiles of Gondolin, going down in history as the most wretched traitor of all the Eldar, though Idril herself never spoke against him, her sorrow for the tragedy of her cousin’s corruption and fall too deep for her to resent his evil deeds with true fury. Yet not every member of the House of the Mole joined their lord in his treachery, and some, including Poldamaitë, fought against the Enemy in the Fall. Poldamaitë clashed swords with her estranged wife in the Square of the King, but they were swiftly reconciled and perished fighting back to back, consumed by a Balrog’s fire.           In time, all those Maeglin wronged would find healing in the Halls of Mandos and the Gardens of Lórien. Then and only then would he be reborn himself, departing to a quiet life in Aman where he could dwell with his mother, the only person to ever love him without reservations, and perhaps even forge new bonds in this his second life.

[warrioreowynofrohan]

@anduniela Continuation of character thoughts post.

Elrond

My opinions on this character: I have far too many to fit into one post, so I’ll just focus on a couple aspects. (EDIT: This still got so long!)

One of the things that stands out about Elrond is that, whereas Galadriel’s character arc is about learning from her own mistakes, Elrond’s is about learning from everyone else’s mistakes.

In terms of learning from the Fëanorians’ mistakes, I’ve already done a post discussing his comments in LOTR about oaths. He also holds very lightly to family heirlooms, not even bringing up the fact that Glamdring belonged to his great-grandfather.

On top of that, there’s a very strong thread of learning from Thingol’s mistakes, to the point where Elrond’s role in Middle-earth is a mirror of what Thingol’s could and perhaps should have been. Where Doriath in the First Age was isolationist and xenophobic[1], Rivendell welcomes everyone - from Men to Dwarves to Hobbits. Elrond fosters the heirs of Isildur (fosterage that turns out much better than Thingol’s, perhaps partly because they aren’t surrounded by a social environment that is broadly hostile to Men - in addition to the obvious contibuting factor of not being cursed!). He’s widely trusted in a way that other Elves of the Third Age aren’t - Boromir, who regards Galadriel as a dangerous sorceress, is willing to just show up at Imladris uninvited and ask for advice. Thorin & Company likewise just show up, whereas Lórien won’t less dwarves past the borders and Thranduil straught-up arrests them. The colloquial named of Rivendell as the Last Homely House really says it all. Beyond that, Elrond respects Arwen’s right to make her own decisions about who she loves, and recognize the importance of her choice for Middle-earth as a whole, despite the grief it brings him. (His charge to Aragorn isn’t a way of ´earning’ anyone so much as saying “You can’t neglect your responsibilities just because you’re in love”; and probably additionally motivated by the Eldarin ethos of not marrying in wartime.)

One of the other things I find striking about him is that he’s related pretty much all lineages/houses/cultures of the Eldar and Edain alike. On Elwing’s side he’s descended from the Sindar (and thus related to the Teleri) and the House of Beor, as well as from the Maiar; on Eärendil’s side he’s descended from the Noldor of Fingolfin’s house and from the House of Hador (and more distantly from the Haladin); he’s also related to the Vanyar through Fingolfin’s line; and he’s related to the Fëanorians by adoption/fosterage.

By descent he’s the rightful king of the Sindar and, after Gil-galad’s death, of the Noldor as well, thoygh he never claims either of these kingships. In the case of the Sindar, I don’t think he could have been accepted as king, given his upbringing, though they have no dislike for him personally. It’s a kind of cultural theft from the Sindar, that the heir of Lúthien and of Dior was raised by their enemies, and another thing for them to resent the Fëanorians for.

In the case of the Noldor, there are many possible reasons why he didn’t claim the High Kingship. Perhaps he thought that the remaining Noldor were too few, and too geographically dispersed, for it to be a useful or necessary position. Perhaps it seemed presumptuous, given that Galadriel had much greater age and experience. Perhaps he regarded him as in some degree Fëanorian and regarded Maedhros’ renunciation of the throne as applicable to himself as well.

Romantic relationship: Elrond/Celebrian.

Favourite non-romantic relationship: Well, his relationship to Maedhros and Maglor is certainly fascinating. My view is that he loves them and grieves for them, but he doesn’t expect others, especially those who have been harmed by the House of Fëanor, to share his views or his sentiments, or to forgive them.

With one exception. At sone point after his arrival in Valinor (after Galadriel’s success in getting Gimli admitted to Valinor tips him off that the Ringbearers have some serious sway with the Valar), he intercedes with the Valar for Maglor to be permitted to return to Valinor, and his request is granted. This leads to a great deal of emotional complications for a great many people, but is ultimately beneficial. (I have a rather extensive fic in my head surrounding this that I’ve never managed to actually write down any of.)

Unpopular opinion: I don’t regard Elros’ death as being emotionally devastating for him. He misses his brother, certainly. But he also recognizes that Elros made the choice that suited him, and had exactly the life he wanted - a life of activity, achievement, and meaning, where he had work that he loved and governed a people that he loved in a land that he loved, and died at a good old age surrounded by his family and friends. And that’s an achievement to be celebrated.

The loss of Arwen is much more painful, both because the relationship between parents and children is different from the one betwwen siblings, and because Arwen didn’t choose mortality for its own sake the way Elros did. She chose it for love of Aragorn, but the choice was a sacrifice, and for that reason mortality was hard for her, as we see in the Tale of Aragorn and Arwen.

Something I wish had/did happen with them in canon: See above, about Maglor. And I do think that Elladan and Elrohir came to Valinor eventually, after they’d seen all they wanted of Middle-earth; it’s just too hard on Elrond to think of him losing all three of his children.

[1] I will add some qualifiers: Thingol did have valid reasons for anger at those who participated in the Kinslaying; and even before that, some cause for resentment at people carelessly divvying up his thousands-of-years-old kingdom without reference to him, even if Maedhros was in practical terms correct that everything outside Doriath would have been under Morgoth’s control if the Noldor hadn’t showed up. But when you combine not just his hostility to the Noldor (and virtual non-participation in Mereth Aderthad, when Fingolfin was actively trying to reach out) but also his early hostility to Men, and Saeros’ bigotry, and the later interactions with the dwarves, it all paints a picture of a deeply insular kingsom with little respect for other cultures or desire to interact with them.

[elesianne]

A Silmarillion fanfic, chapter three

Story summary: Through all the struggles and triumphs of the Noldor, Angrod and Edhellos hold on to their love and their faith in each other.

Despite the title, there is more than romance in this fic.

Chapter length: ~1,900 words; Rating: Teenage audiences

Some keywords for the whole fic: romance, family, some fluff and angst, mild sexual content, the Noldor and their fall and their triumphs, canon compliant

AO3 link (first chapter here)

*

Chapter III //  The fire of their hearts

[---]their valour and endurance grew with hardship; for they were a mighty people, the elder children undying of Eru Ilúvatar, but new-come from the Blessed Realm, and not yet weary with the weariness of Earth. The fire of their hearts was young, and led by Fingolfin and his sons, and by Finrod and Galadriel, they dared to pass into the bitterest North; and finding no other way they endured at last the terror of the Helcaraxë and the cruel hills of ice. – The Silmarillion: Of the Flight of the Noldor

In the light of the torches that tinge their world with red after the Trees are dead, Angaráto's warm golden hair is fiery and so is his face. His beloved features are distorted by grief and rage.

Eldalótë thinks she must look as devastated, though she tries to keep herself together for Artaresto's sake. Her son is not yet grown to adulthood, and resembles his gentle-hearted grandfather Arafinwë more than his father. Artaresto's spirit must feel as strangled as by the loss and the Darkness as her own.

They stay together during those dark days, Arafinwë and all his children. Eärwen is in Alqualondë with Anairë. The sisters-in-law had skipped the harvest festival this year. Eldalótë wishes they were here to offer more level-headed views to balance Nolofinwë's heated words.

They send word to them, of course, and Eärwen and Anairë come as soon as they can. But they prove no help but to further the breaking apart of the house of Finwë when the time comes to make decisions.

Eldalótë's own parents decide to leave Aman. Eldalótë is relieved, though not surprised. They have been followers of Nolofinwë for a while now, ever since it became impossible not to take sides. They ride alongside her and Angaráto and his brothers as they leave Tirion, among the last of the departing Noldor.

Eldalótë's parents do not look back as they pass through the great gates and down the stairs and away from the fair city on its green hill. Eldalótë, though, finds herself turning to look as long as the high light of the lamp at the top of Mindon Eldaliéva, Ingwë's tower when he was king in Tirion, can be seen.

After that there is only the red torchlight until the lamps of Alqualondë.

*

Angaráto curses himself, and his father and older brother, for arriving at the quays too late to do anything but hurriedly try to help the wounded before fell Fëanáro and his fierce sons tell them to keep moving.

They do, and the injured Falmari don't appear to consider it a loss. There was hate more than gratefulness for Arafinwë and his house in their eyes. Though the children of Arafinwë are half Falmari, and Arafinwë himself has spent half his life with them, they could see nothing but the Noldor in them in that moment.

'I could not blame them', Angaráto confesses to Eldalótë when they journey north. 'I hated even Findekáno in that moment when I realised he had spilled my kinsmen's blood.'

Yet he has already forgiven Findekáno, Eldalótë knows; Fëanáro he will not forgive soon, and neither will she who also had a second home in the palace above the white quays of Alqualondë. Seeing those familiar places, where many times they had sailed out or greeted others coming back to shore, covered in blood and worse broke some new part of her heart.

She thinks that it should feel impossible for her husband to carry on after that, following his father who follows his brother who follows Fëanáro. She doesn't know how she herself does it, or any of them. What keeps alive the fire in their hearts, here in the darkness and the memory of blood?

Yet there it is, even in hers. She rides beside Angaráto, Artaresto either between them or by Findaráto's side.

She wonders about it more after the dark figure on the high rock speaks the grim prophecy that reaches the words of even those at the very back of the marching Noldor like herself.

Those words sound so terrible as to surely be impossible. Yet the sight of that figure up on high and its tone chill her like nothing before, freezing her in place, forcing her to listen though she can barely take it all in.

*

'Will you continue on with me?'

Eldalótë looks at Angaráto for a long time: at his familiar beloved face, and his broad, armoured shoulders. All around them the same discussion is being had, spouses with spouses, and parents with children, and sibling with siblings, friends with friends all asking the same question.

Artaresto is with Artanis while Eldalótë and Angaráto talk. Artanis already knows what she will do, and everyone else knows her decision too.

Eldalótë says slowly to her husband, 'My judgement tells me to turn back with your father, and to take Artaresto with me if you let me.' Angaráto's face twists to ugliness from pain.

'My heart', she tells him, 'has been yours since we were children, and I have not the courage to take it in my hands and break it to pieces. I will come with you, my beloved, and so will Artaresto for it is better for him to be with his parents, damned fools though time may tell them to be. I will see this journey to its end, whether it be a new home in a beautiful new realm like you have dreamed, or the grief and torment and death of that prophecy.'

She finds out soon after deciding that her own parents are returning to Valinor with her father-in-law. It turns out that she must break her own heart after all, being unable to both return and go forth.

*

The betrayal of Fëanáro and the fate of the ships for which many of Angaráto's kin were murdered kindles a new, bitter fire in the hearts of everyone who is of the house of Arafinwë. Eldalótë cries with rage.

'All that bloodshed of our own kin, and the theft of our mother's people's greatest works, only for it to end like this', says Aikanáro, his face pale under the tall mess of his hair.

Angaráto has his hand on the pommel of his sheathed sword though the one he wants to raise it against is a sea away. Eldalótë knows that if Fëanáro were here, the sword would not be in its sheath.

They keep on marching north, further into the cold and the mist that is worse than mere darkness, impenetrable by lamps and torches and even beloved starlight, and ever threatening to creep into their hearts.

Eldalótë keeps her blades handy for there are more dangers than betrayal here in the cold, unexplored land. She is no warrior, nor explorer either like her Angaráto, but she marches on with the boldest of her people.

Where the solid land wholly ends, Eldalótë looks at the immense, jagged, frigid, lethal expanse of ice, and regrets not asking Angaráto to turn back with his father. There is little chance that he would have, with his heart burning as it does, but she should have begged. She would have followed him anyway if he refused her request; but, she thinks wryly to herself, surprised at finding any humour at a moment like this, she would perhaps have had the pleasure of hindsight at least.

Days, weeks, months, years later, as their people suffer and freeze and die of exposure, starvation and falling into the devouring ice, she thinks with bitterness that she didn't even regret enough.

*

On the Grinding Ice, love is Angaráto putting his tireless arms around her and Artaresto when they stumble.

It is him, and sometimes also her and Artaresto by turns, carrying other people's small children when their parents' strength fails after bearing them over many dangerous places.

It is the whole family, the children of Arafinwë and Eldalótë and Artaresto, squeezed tight into one tent to keep warm at night.

Love is her family-in-law, all of them, inspiring enough strength in her that that she never cries anymore, not from rage or from missing her own family. Tears freeze on cheeks here on the Ice, even in eyelashes, and it hurts more than it hurts not to cry. She does her best to make sure that no one else ever cries either.

'I thought that you would have stayed, or turned back', Artanis says to her one night when they are trying to build a safe fire together. 'So many did. My mother, and your parents.'

'I suppose I should be insulted by that.' Eldalótë huddles in tighter within her furs in the vain hope that it will help her hands shake less. 'I shall choose not to be. We all need to be of one mind to survive this.'

Artanis nods. 'True words.' She pauses. 'Rarely is it a joy to find out that one was wrong about people. You hold more steel in your silences than I thought.'

She gives Eldalótë her gloves, warmer than Eldalótë's own. After some moments of not-uncomfortable silence, the fire catches.

Eldalótë breathes in the warmer air, enjoying the feeling of her lungs not hurting for a moment.

*

Artaresto grows to adulthood on the Ice, and on his begetting day Eldalótë hates Fëanáro with a new burning passion that chokes her worse than the cold air.

All of Fëanáro's sons had coming-of-age days that were celebrated at Finwë's palace with all the pomp and circumstance and genuine gladness that there was for the king's grandsons, with a great number of guests enjoying the musical performances and the finest food and plentiful drink.

Artaresto gets embraces from his family and a new pair of sealskin gloves but very little besides. He doesn't complain.

That night when they are alone for a rare moment, Eldalótë says to Angaráto, 'I could not forgive Fëanáro for the dark road he led us onto even if he came to me on his knees and begged.'

'This from a woman who has from time to time reminded me that all this darkness began with Morgoth's deeds, not Fëanáro's', Angaráto says with a crooked not-smile.

'I am tired of forgiving', Eldalótë replies. 'This cold has burned it all out of me.'

The next day Elenwë, her friend, is lost in the frigid water amid a creaking of ice that rings in Eldalótë's ears for a long time after.

*

As they march into Beleriand, finally on safe ground, a new light rises on the sky and fills the new land before Eldalótë's eyes with silver light and blue shadows. The host of Nolofinwë blow their trumpets, welcoming the light and the continent.

And then they march on to a new land of mist, a cool land but fair. The mist here is less dangerous and choking than that on the Ice, and easily penetrated by the rays of the new Sun that rises as they arrive to what will be Nolofinwë's kingdom. The host of the Noldor blow their horns again at the new light, and unfurl their banners. Angaráto carried his father's personal standard when they left Tirion and carries it still for those of his house that kept on the march. Its colours reflect those on the sky as it flares proudly in the wind, blue and yellow, and pure deep gold rays tipped with fire-red.

Aikanáro and Eldalótë and many others raise their voices in song with the trumpets, greeting the light and the flowers that spring into bloom at their feet as they march. It is a sweet moment of victory: not a victory over the enemy, not yet, but a victory over the Grinding Ice and the death and despair that loomed there but did not bow their spirits.

The world is filled with light again, and the Noldor march on.

*

A/N: Finarfin's device by Tolkien and a clearer version by Aglargon on DeviantArt.

[sindar-elven-maidens]

Chapter One 

Nyvari Oakenshield was an elven dwarf in the realm of Middle Earth, a rare race that didn’t occur very often or at all with that she was cast aside from the elven communities in Middle Earth. Her mother Aerin did her best to make sure Nyvari had a good life, taking her to Lord Elrond in Rivendell where she would be safe. Unfortunately, her mother stayed behind to fight wargs and orcs, until her timely demise sending her own daughter with their horse, It was a memory that Nyvari would never forget only being a baby at the time, many were surprised that Nyvari could remember such a thing from a young age.  Nyvari had known from a very young age where she had come from, her father the king under the mountain Thráin II the son of Thrór he succeeded his father and died a prisoner in Dol Guldur. 

Aerin on the other hand was a very well respected elf until her downfall with Thráin, in conceiving her daughter she was cast away from her home in Mirkwood. Forcing her just after the birth of her daughter Nyvari to make her way across Middle Earth,  ensuring her daughter was protected by Imladris. An Elven town and the house of Elrond described as "The Last Homely House East of the Sea”. Unfortunately with her mother’s demise unable to do anything from that young 0f an age, Nyvari always felt some kind of guilt that she couldn’t have done more. Making her feel such a fool as the years grew on the older she got the worse her feelings became to her situation, many elves in the home of Rivendell would describe Nyvari almost like she was a reminder of an elf from very long ago her name was “Fui”.  

The death goddess dwelling in halls that bore her name and had a roof of bat wings, she was the spouse of Vefantur eerily Nyvari reminded them of Fui. Nyvari had shown great promise from a young age her archery skills surpassed many of Lord Elrond’s elves, but as the years went on the more she had grown her purpose in this life. Became clear to the others around her she would be needed in many adventures, celebrations, and wars. Many had the feeling that once she left Rivendell on the side of good, they knew this elf would bring death and carnage to all who stood in her way, she was a force to be reckoned with.

Lord Elrond’s description of her can vary over the years that he raised Nyvari, but many in Rivendell can describe her as porcelain-skinned with a bloodless skin tone. Dwarven Elves as they describe can take on any genetics out of both races, but Nyvari, in particular, was appearing in her early twenties but was five foot and eight inches tall, which to many was short for an elf but tall for a dwarf. Many could never guess how much she weighed but if anyone could guess it would be around one hundred and thirty pounds, her physical bodily appearance was slim and curvy and could be seen through armor and the clothes she wears, her dark hair matched that of the Durin line dark black-brow, the length of a maiden to her lower back it sat the stature of her hair was beach waves, down or up into a ponytail she never liked to damage her hair, but her eyes were the rarest in all Middle Earth a grey color with flecks of green and amber, but the most notable thing that the elves of Rivendell knew about her, the distinguishing marks she can be known and found with dimples, deep scars that resemble Thranduil’s facial scars, due to the trauma she had endured while she was captured by orcs for six months and has enough scars to last a lifetime. A birthmark in the shape of the lonely mountain on a visible part of her neck.

The one thing anyone can make out of Nyvari is her favorite outfit a black and blue dwarvish outfit that looks like a female version of thorin's blue outfit with a choker with a small piece of Arkenstone dangling from it, no one really knows how she came to have a piece of the Arkenstone, but many across Middle Earth assume that Thráin had given a piece to his unborn daughter, which allowed Aerin to have a necklace made by the elven-smiths of Eregion, making the perfect tight fitting elvish necklace only made and perfected with the best this was Aerin’s only gift that she had left for her daughter, she has never taken off the necklace. 

The first time Nyvari left Rivendell she was captured by orcs, for about six months she was held captive in Dol Guldor by Azog the defiler she could hear the orcs around her talking about the Mines of Moria, Moria had been overrun with legions of orcs led by the vilest of their race Azog the Defiler, the Gundabad orc was swearing to wipe out the line of Durin, starting with the king Thrór beheading him just outside the mines of Moria as he had tossed his head three hundred feet and landed in a rabbit hole; thus the game of golf was invented. Nyvari was terrified of Azog just by his intimidating appearance fearsome-looking, and herculean orc, Azog is also a very large and extremely powerful orc, as tall if not taller than even the most advanced Uruk-hai, and far bulkier, his skin is bone-white, differentiating Azog from other orcs are his piercing blue eyes and smoother skin, with deep, tattoo-like incisions covering his face and torso. A metal claw replacing his severed forearm; the aft end of the prosthetic ends in a spike protruding near his elbow, the fact that Azog can sustain this prosthesis is an example of his immense ambitions to survive.

She lost herself in the trees

Among the ever-changing leaves

She wept beneath the wild sky

Though inside she knew not why

To overcome her hearts wounds

To rise from the ashes

For all she was told and all she saw

Shall soon be gone

The line of Durin shall fall

Though carry on it will

With the moon in her favor

 watching over her aimless journey

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Tamriel Gallilyn resides from a place known as the Grey Havens. A noble Noldor elf from the undying lands as she had returned to Arda after being requested home by her father. While she had returned back to Middle Earth she had gone to travel to the woodland realm upon hearing of the birth of the king's new son as she was to give a blessing to the child; though on her way was taken by the same orcs who were after Nyvari’s bloodline. Taken to Dol Guldor and held captive until her escape thousands of years later. 

Though as she had managed to get out she also managed them to be on her tail as she ran despite being weak. She ran day in and day out to avoid going back as she had soon run into a group of guards near Mirkwood as they had taken her to the king and fought off the remaining scouts who failed to retake her. As Thranduil had seen her he immediately contacted Lord Elrond and sent her to Rivendell heavily guarded along the way as she hadn’t woken the whole journey there which concerned the elven leaders of the three elven kingdoms. 

Her appearance was of a soft ivory complexion as well as her Honey gold eyes which sparkled in the light of the sun and moon. Her hair a shade of Blonde which was quite uncommon for her race of elf as was her eye color. Her height was normal as well as her weight though her archery and sword skills were yet to be determined.

An ember astray

When the last of the crow’s feathers fall

An old forest shall grow quiet

Sorrows grow restless

Mithlond falls still in the greys of time

 in search of golden eyes

Will lead the world out of grey

And into the light of day

into the hands of men.

[lachind]

Fëanor

Basic Information

OTHER NAMES: Curufinwë, Fëanáro TITLES: High Prince of the Noldor, High King of the Noldor DATE OF BIRTH: August 1st, Y.T. 1169 DATE OF DEATH: Y.T. 1497 GENDER: male ORIENTATION: bisexual RACE: Noldorin elf

Appearance

HEIGHT: 6′10″ BUILD: strong, muscular HAIR: jet black, long and straight EYE COLOR: grey FACECLAIM: Avan Jogia

Family

FATHER: Finwë MOTHER: Míriel SIBLINGS: Findis (half-sister), Fingolfin (half-brother), Írimë (half-sister), Finarfin (half-brother) CHILDREN: Maedhros, Maglor, Celegorm, Caranthir, Curufin, Amrod, & Amras (sons)

Personality

LIKES: languages and writing, forging, crafting, teaching his sons DISLIKES: politics, his step-family, insincerity, monotony POSITIVE TRAITS: passionate, devoted, family-oriented, fearless NEGATIVE TRAITS: volatile, hot-tempered, selfish, jealous NEUTRAL TRAITS: intelligent, skeptical, energetic

Abilities

THREAT LEVEL: high SKILLS: combat, battle strategy, smithing, craftsmanship, linguistics WEAPONS: Dual longswords LANGUAGES: Quenya, Telerin

Biography

Fëanor was born to Finwë and Míriel on August 1st, in 1169 of the Years of the Trees. His Fëa burned so brightly that his birth drained Míriel’s energy. Initially she sought to heal in Lórien, though it pained her and Finwë both to be apart while Fëanor was but an infant; but when she lay down in the gardens, her spirit departed to Mandos of her own choice. She chose to remain in the Halls of Mandos, and allow Finwë to remarry in her absence. 

Through his life, Fëanor carried no small amount of guilt for his mother’s death, but he tried to hide it by deflecting his anger onto his father, for his decision to remarry so soon after Míriel’s death, and onto his stepmother and half-siblings for his fear of being replaced as his mother was. 

Though his father loved him best, Fëanor grew to hate living in his house due to all the tension; beyond that, he was extremely impassioned, and eager to get started on his own life. He was engaged to Nerdanel the sculptor shortly after coming of age, and the two wed and moved in together a year later. In Y.T. 1231, Maedhros was born, the first of Fëanor and Nerdanel’s seven sons. 

As a young adult, Fëanor created the Tengwar alphabet, improving the work of Rúmil, and he carried that enthusiasm for progress and creation throughout his life. In addition to being both a linguist, studying any languages he had within reach, and a Loremaster, his greatest passion was for smithing. He practiced often, developing raw talent into real skill and quickly gained renown for his creations, which were many and beautiful. 

In Y.T. 1449, Fëanor began the fashioning of the Silmarils, and completed them a year later. They would become both his most beautiful creations and the source of his greatest sorrows. He grew paranoid about them, fearing that the other Noldor and even the Valar envied them, so when they were not displayed on his brow for a celebration, he kept them safely locked away from all but his sons, father, and Nerdanel. When he eventually realized the disdain Nerdanel held for the gems, he even kept her from seeing them; this was one of the first great rifts in their relationship. 

Fëanor’s concerns about the Valar regarding the Silmarils were not entirely without cause, as Melkor desired them greatly and sought to steal them from the moment Fëanor first displayed them publicly. He saw the elf’s great pride in them and his fears, and used them to manipulate him into growing more distrustful of those around him, namely Fingolfin. Eventually Fëanor was convinced that his half-brother sought not only to take the jewels for himself, but to usurp his place as heir of their father. The tension grew until in Y.T. 1490, Fëanor walked into the throne room at the moment Fingolfin was pleading with their father to restrain his eldest, and Fëanor considered it confirmation of his suspicions. He drew his sword and put it to Fingolfin’s throat, threatening his life in front of the people. When the Valar found out, they exiled him to Formenos for five years. While his sons and father followed, in a show of support, Nerdanel chose to remain behind. 

Two years after his arrival in Formenos, Melkor showed up at Fëanor’s doorstep. He continued to try and manipulate him, but had grown over-confident due to his past success, underestimating both Fëanor’s intelligence and his mistrust of anyone outside his immediate family, especially Melkor himself. He shut the door in the Vala’s face, ordering him be gone from his property. 

In Y.T. 1495, the Valar called Fëanor back from Formenos, in time for a celebration of the Eldar. Though Fëanor heeded the summons he did not come dressed for a celebration, and left the Silmarils behind, so as to keep them out of sight from jealous eyes. Finwë remained in Formenos, in protest of his son’s banishment. In Manwë’s halls upon Taniquetil, Fingolfin offered to Fëanor his hand in friendship, recognizing his place as the elder brother, which Fëanor begrudgingly accepted. 

Meanwhile, however, Melkor, had already killed Finwë and taken the Silmarils, and with Ungoliant, was working to suck the life from the two Trees of Valinor. When news of the Trees’ destruction reached Valinor, the Valar asked Fëanor to give up the Silmarils to revive them; for a long moment, he was silent as he considered it; but when Tulkas spoke to rush his decision, he declared that to break the Silmarils would make him fade, and he would not give them up freely — but if the Valar forced him, he claimed, they would prove themselves no better than Melkor. 

Shortly after, messengers came from Formenos with tidings of Finwë’s death, and Fëanor cursed Melkor and named him Morgoth, and cursed Manwë’s summons, for in his grief he believed that his presence at Formenos would have been enough to defeat Melkor and save his father. Having said these things he ran, away from the Valar and his people and into the dark. 

Now High King of the Noldor he appeared to them again hours later, when most of the Noldor had returned to Tirion to mourn the darkening of Valinor, and in this he rebelled against the Valar’s ban. There he stirred his people with his words, calling them to return to Middle-earth, and accusing the Valar of being incapable or unwilling to protect them and their lands. He roused the Noldor to leave Valinor and return to Middle-earth from where they came. 

Together with his sons, he swore the Oath of Fëanor, vowing to gain back the Silmarils and kill those that would withhold them; or be doomed to darkness if they forsook pursuing the gems. Though many of the Noldor saw folly in the Oath, they followed their King all the way to Alqualondë, on the shores of Valinor. 

The Teleri that lived there had built great ships, of such size that they were capable of carrying the Noldor across the Sea to Middle-earth; yet when the Teleri refused Fëanor’s request to use them, he led an attack against them. Given the Noldor’s skill in weapon-crafting, and the fact the Teleri had naught but hunting arrows to fight with, they were slaughtered — but just before Fëanor took the ships, an emissary of Mandos appeared, warning the Noldor that if they continued on this journey, they would most of them die in Middle-earth, to long reside formless in the Halls of Mandos; and those survivors would grow weary of the world, and fade, lest they repent and be allowed to return to Valinor. 

Hearing this, Finarfin and his people, one-tenth of the Noldor, sought the forgiveness of the Valar and turned back; but Fëanor, spurning the Valar, led most of them onward. Fëanor’s people boarded the ships first, under his promise to Fingolfin that he would send a few of his people back for Fingolfin and his people; but after their arrival in Y.T. 1497, Fëanor led his sons in burning the ships, forcing Fingolfin to choose between returning to Tirion or crossing the Helcaraxë. He chose the latter. 

Having settled on the shores of Lake Mithrim, Fëanor’s people were soon attacked by Melkor, nigh immediately after their arrival. Although the orcs outnumbered the Noldor, they were not so powerful, and Fëanor defeated them swiftly. A small band of orcs attempted a retreat, yet he decided to pursue even them; cut off from his people, he was gravely injured by a host of Balrogs arriving to reinforce the orcs. Despite grievous wounds, he continued to fight until the armies of his sons arrived, and sent Morgoth’s forces fleeing to Angband. 

The wounds Fëanor received were fatal, and he knew it immediately. With his death drawing near his sons carried him to the slopes of Ered Wethrin, from where he saw the peaks of Thangorodrim from afar, and realized at last that his elves would never bring it down single-handedly. With his dying breath he declared to his sons his love for them, and bid them hold true to their Oath — unaware that he would send them to their doom. 

Mandos’ curse proved true, for Fëanor’s spirit arrived in Mandos, fated to remain until the Dagor Dagorath, at the end of all things. 

[hildorien]

I am in the minority but I’d love to know more about the pre-noldor elvish edain culture, history, and just life. 

I wanna know more about men in the context of men, I wanna see history through human eyes without the elvish perspective. 

I wanna know the full experiences of all humans in middle earth not the ones the elves interacted with. And if you have to have elves, I wanna hear about what humans thought of elves that isnt ‘oh they are so perfect and amazing and beautiful uwu’, because that’s kind of boring and we can all agree first age elves? on the whole? pretty shitty. (I love em but they have one brain cell to share among them and fuck up on the regular). 

I wanna see Humans who were born into a dumpster fire that is the world of arda, these are a people who didn’t get Orome leading them to heaven on earth, they got Morgoth. These are a people who lived in Morgoth’s land for centuries who probably experienced horror and oppression from basically their species infancy. Unlike the elves of valinor, or even the Sindarin protected by Melian, horror and despair would have not been their abnormal, it would be their everyday.  But they aren’t broken, they survive. They make families, connections, lives in this wasteland. They adapt and change, because I think in some ways that is the race of men’s true advantage over elves. That we don’t have a gap on our ‘greatness’ persay, humanity’s ambitions get’s mutated into greed a lot (I mean numenor is a dumspter fire for a reason) but I think that human ambition is a strength because it means we don’t accept our circumstances. The Edian sure didn’t. 

The edain, the Boerians, the people of haleth, and the hadorians, all marched themselves out of morgoth’s land hoping for something better, with NO GUARANTEE they find anything better.  But they still did it. And while we are here, let’s talk about how the race of men has not guarantee of anything, like elves (and dwarves) kind of know where they end up. They go to Mandos and get reborn, they go to aule, respectively. Men...don’t have that. Men really didn’t get anything (but Morgoth and suffering). They leave this world forever, thats what they know. Thats what they are told. 

But no one knows what the means. (Personally, I think its like a good place situation kind of. Eru is just michael and turin is janet) 

But anyway back to the POINT, (if there ever was one) the edain end up finding beleriand but beleriand isn’t the paradise they wanted. But hey, its not morgoth so let’s celebrate said the beorians before promptly getting found by finrod. And look elves did a lot of good for humans, but I also think there is this really bad dynamic of elves holding all the power and men just being in it for the ride. 

Ive made the joke that the elves of the first age are kind of like the edian’s sugar daddies but it’s kind of true. They give them land and like ‘wisdom’ (whatever the fuck that means) and in return men give them their ever increasing numbers. The Silm is a very elven story we don’t really get a lot of human, but when we do I think it’s pretty interesting. Because the relationship between Elves and Men is really uneven in the first age...and all ages even though in later ages forces of men like numenor at their height could I think easily sweep the floor with the elves of the second age combined. I think culturally Elves give a lot more, like men end up picking up their language, though im one hundred percent sure human languages didn’t die out and never do, humans must have shit talked elves a LOT in taliska (oh yes, that is the name of at least the language spoken by the hadorians and beorians, the people of haleth spoke a different dialect) and I think a lot of humans give more in resources (aka men, power, infantry). I mean personally if I was having at a guess I don’t think (as the latecomers) men got very many places to actually farm and have good land and relied on elvish goods to survive. I think this unevenness kind of spurred this idea that ‘elvishness = superior’, so to make this full circle I think a lot of pre edain culture was lost to make place for diet pepsi version of elf culture that we see human cultures like numenor and gondor have, because that’s better than their orn because elves are SPECIal BETTER AND DON’T DIE LIKE US BROKEN AND FALLEN PEOPLE.  ((screams)) 

Okay let’s talk about the death thing. Human and Mortal and Men all mean the same thing, humans die is not a statement that should be up for debate. But the humans of edain, at least from what we see of Andreth is that this was not how it always was. Humans were once immortal like the elves until they were bad and listened to morgoth and then they became mortal and all sick and ew. 

yeahhhh, I don’t think thats true. I think in-universe its a great myth. I love finrod ah andreth for this reason (also andreth is tolkien’s best female character he ever created and the fact that she’s not in the published silm is why we are in the bad timeline) , but I think humans...always were mortal. 

And thats okay. 

We talked about human ambition above, I think that is fueled by the fact that we all die. We have a timer, so we have to do things now, and that’s not a bad mindset to have. I think it gets humjans into trouble but also, imagine your a human in beleriand, you have children, a family, they might have children someday you want to do what you need to do to make sure THEY have a chance. 

(also lets talk about the fucked up fact that humans are punished for lsitening to morgoth in the first place like im sorry that humans didnt have any other valar looking for them, there was no orome, no fucking chance that they could have met anyone else because no valar came for them only morgoth with his lies so yes humans are bad for listening to the only god like entity that seemed like he wanted to help them, the elves did that too but they had nice gods so they are wise while humans who have illness and sickness and death over their heads listen to a guy with power okay jirt i see your double fuckig stnarad and its STUPID) 

And you can’t wait for that chance, so you leap. I think this is best illustrated by Turin of all people. Turin gets called elvish a lot in looks but in actions, he, like most of his family, are allllllllll human. The bridge in nargothrand even though it’s stupid and ends up horribly kind of reminds me of this. Turin doesn’t have time to wait like Gwindor, and Orodreth, etc do. his people have already been fucking disomated, he’s lost his father, his mother is trapped in enemy territory.  He wants to help. 

Sure it blows up in his face, but yknow...the want to do good is there. 

I think on the whole humans get a bad rep...like they’re called stupid and dumb and ugly by both fandom and in universe elves alike. But I don’t think that’s the case. Humans have a lot more balls and have collectively been through more trauma as a species than I think all of the elves (especially valinorian) elves combined. I think when humans fuck up, whether it be turin or numenor, it’s proof of their incompetence, that their inante (eru-given ability) to have ambition to seek beyond the world they live in for something better for something more is evil and they should be more like the elves, stagnant, already at the height of ‘perfection’, never changing....instead of being humans. Like look at these fools trying to act like than can be GOOD at something, sit down and let these elves be best at everything obviously. How many of you would look at me funny if I said, maybe the race of men was BETTER THAN THE ELVES AT SOMETHING? A lot of you im sure, and someone would have a rebuttle for how I was wrong and how this elf was considered the best. 

(like that post going around how could turin actually be #that pretty to thot his way through all of beleriand? Maybe he just Was like that, sure he may have a little elvish ness but honestly I think that be a funny thing elves say to cover up the fact some elves found a icky human was actually just that fucking hot, because obviously humans could never be that actually hot ever, not to intangle a sindarin mast of a guard, a NOLDORIAN VANYAR-DESSCENT PRINCESS, ect) 

Also just to go back to numenor, ever want an example of why it doesnt work for men to act like elves...look at numenor, early numenor was as elvish as humans could produce....but then they got bored. And then numneor became an empire and everyone eventually had so much of a bad time, eru reshaped the fucking world just to wipe the valar’s ‘humans but better’ ocs off the face of the planet. Like just to stray off topic I personally think men can’t go to valinor 1) because the two trees are actually nuclear, and the whole damn island is chernobyl instant death right there and thats why the valinor elves are like #that (they GLOW for gods shake) 2) the monotonous never changing perfection of valinor while amazing in the short term for humans would eventually drive them crazy. Not to say that the race of men doesn’t like some peace and quite or even humans (like myself) can be obverse to change, even I can admit doing the same thing ever day would drive me crazy. 

This got super rambly, but its been a lot of thoughts Ive been having for a long ass time. Basically, I just want people to talk to me about the atani, edian, race of men, whatever you want to call them. They deserve a lot better and a lot more respect than just playing a supporting role to the elves. 

They didn’t kill all those dragons to be ignored like this. 

[dawnfelagund]

artanis/galadriel for the meme?

This one’s harder than perhaps it should be. Given the size of her role in the canon, I’ve thought shamefully little about Galadriel as a character.

Favorite Thing: She’s an overachieving badass. She does not fade into anyone’s shadow, least of all any male character’s shadow. She wants to be the best and she owns it. I like, too, how Tolkien resists softening her character. She doesn’t just get borne along with her people to Middle-earth; nope, she wants and chooses and pushes to go. (See favorite line below!) She doesn’t strive for excellence in anything soft and feminine; nope, she wants to be in charge and to lead her people. (Not that there’s anything wrong with excellence in soft, feminine things, but we need to see women as unapologetic leaders too.)

Least Favorite Thing: As I wrote for the character ask for Finrod, I take issue with the hidden Elven kingdoms. I called them “morally dubious” in that post and stand by that:

But the fact still remains that the brunt of assault from Angband falls on other settlements so that Nargothrond can expend its energy being the beautiful place it is celebrated for being. That’s not just, and there are too many parallels–some people taking on unappreciated, unseen, often dangerous labor so that the privileged may cultivate their genius and be lauded for it–to real-world injustice for me to dismiss these concerns.

I was willing to cut Finrod some slack since he was personally willing to come forth and support his family’s effort–in a roundabout way, this willingness is what got him killed–but I can’t extend that same sympathy to Doriath, aside from Beleg and Mablung. I know I’m a Fëanorian sympathizer with the biases of a Fëanorian sympathizer, but Maedhros’s words at the council in Mithrim are an accurate assessment in my view: “’Doriath alone would be his realm this day, butfor the coming of the Noldor. Therefore in Doriath let him reign, and be gladthat he has the sons of Finwë for his neighbours, not the Orcs of Morgoth thatwe found’” (Silmarillion, “Of the Return of the Noldor”).

In Galadriel’s case, it has always felt odd to me that she was willing to push for exodus from Valinor and then becomes content to languish behind the Girdle of Melian. I know that fanfic could derive all kinds of plausible reasons for this, but the texts are disappointingly mute on the reason why. The best I can figure is that she knew access to the tutelage of Melian would be to her benefit; all the same, spending the entirety of the First Age in seclusion seems an irresponsible choice. (See below for me trying to justify this.)

Favorite Line: “Galadriel, the only woman of the Noldor to standthat day tall and valiant among the contending princes, was eager to be gone.No oaths she swore, but the words of Fëanor concerning Middle-earth had kindledin her heart, for she yearned to see the wide unguarded lands and to rule therea realm at her own will.” (Silmarillion, “Of the Flight of the Noldor”)

brOTP: Aredhel. I love friendship stories of the two of them in Aman that has them as hellraisers willing to challenge the social order.

OTP: Celeborn, I suppose. @heartofoshun makes a convincing case (borrowing heavily from Marnie’s work) that he is not as dishwater as fandom has made him out to be but a fitting match for Galadriel.

All the same, I enjoy femslash pairings of Galadriel. I just don’t know that I’m committed to any single one to call it an OTP. But Aredhel and Melian would both make good pairings for her.

nOTP: The usual … parent/child incest is not at all my thing.

Random Headcanon: In my effort to justify Galadriel’s sequestration in Doriath for all those centuries, I like to imagine–as I noted above–that she was learning from Melian. And, with her Arafinwion foresight, she knew those skills would be of great importance and need someday, so it was worth the sacrifice of being active (and relatively untrained) in the First Age in order to have her full might and wisdom available in the Third Age.

Because I can’t go with the explanation that she was so in luuuuv that she was willing to make that sacrifice. I just can’t.

Unpopular Opinion: I don’t know that I have one. If I do, I suppose it would be that I emphasize her Noldorin qualities that brought her to Middle-earth as equally important to those qualities, generally acknowledged by scholars as What Tolkien Was Trying For, that permitted her to return to Valinor, namely humility. She is definitely an example of how pride and ambition can work out for a person.

Song I Associate with the Character: “Short Skirt, Long Jacket” by Cake

Favorite Image: Perusing Galadriel art, there is much that is beautifully done by ridiculously talented artists … but much of it is modeled after Cate Blanchett (fair enough! she was a brilliant choice for the role!) and nearly all of it is in the flowsy-gown-Elven-queen style. I am missing something a little more … active, I suppose. I’m open to recommendations.

[silmarillionwritersguild]

Holiday Feast - The final round-up

Happy New Year! Our holiday feast challenge came to an end on January 10. We hope you all had a good start to 2019. Thank you for sticking with us through 2018! We′re looking forward to discussing, enjoying and sharing our excitement for the Legendarium and for Silmarillion fanfiction with you in this new year. In this final round-up, we′re going to give you the answers to the scavenger hunt for the Starter course and celebrate the participants who joined our little feast by reading, commenting, writing stories and meta, or producing fanart and playlists. Thanks for joining us – we hope you enjoyed your meal!

Reading

For the starter course, we gave you a couple of first lines to search. Participants didn′t have to find them all, but discover at least one and read the corresponding chapter (or work). For everyone who didn′t manage to hunt down all of them and is curious, here are the answers:

There was a cold wind blowing off the North Star when they got near the world’s edge, and the chilly spray of the waterfalls splashed over them. ~Roverandom, Chapter 4

In that time were made those things that afterwards were most renowned of all the works of the Elves. ~The Silmarillion, "Of the Silmarils and the Unrest of the Noldor"

’Well, master, we’re in a fix and no mistake,’ said Sam Gamgee. ~The Two Towers, "The Taming of Sméagol"

In the South from sleep | to swift fury / a storm was stirred, | striding northward / over leagues of water | loud with thunder / and roaring rain | it rushed onward. ~The Fall of Arthur, III

Ægidius de Hammo was a man who lived in the midmost parts of the Island of Britain. ~Farmer Giles of Ham

It is said that Beren and Lúthien returned to the northern lands of Middle-earth, and dwelt together for a time as living man and woman; and they took up again their mortal form in Doriath. ~The Silmarillion, "Of the Fifth Battle: Nirnaeth Arnoediad"

In the days of the Dark Kings, when a man could still walk dry-shod from the Rising of the Sun to the Sea of its setting, there lived in the fenced town of his people in the green hills of Agar an old man, by name Hazad Longbeard. ~The Peoples of Middle-earth, "Tal-Elmar"

Grundy, Zdenka, Independence1776, StarSpray and Nienna have let us know that they′ve completed the full Reading menu. Great job! Mysterious_jedi completed the cheese course. Well done!

Commenting

Of course, everybody who commented on at least one of the fanworks created for this challenge took a nibble of the cheese course for this aspect of the menu. Accordingly, Silver Trails, StarSpray, Kimaracretak, Himring, Gabriel, CeeCee, BaileyBoyBee, Dawn Felagund, Oshun and yours truly have already earned a Commenting stamp for this challenge.

Grundy, Zdenka, Independence1776 and Nienna have managed to complete the entire Commenting menu. Again, congratulations! If you, too, have completed one of the Reading or Commenting prompts – or even completed all five courses – and we′ve somehow missed it or you haven′t told us yet, please drop us a comment here or on LJ, send us an ask or mail us at moderator@silmarillionwritersguild.org.

***

We were hoping for a splendid array of responses for our Artwork, Meta and Writing prompts, and you did not disappoint. 38 pieces have been newly created for these aspects of the challenge – a spectacular holiday buffet that we present you now. If you enjoy an author's work, please consider dropping them a comment to let them know!

Artwork

Starter:

Gil-galad with Palantír  by hennethgalad.

"They’re out there." - first line of ‘One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest". (digital art)

Arien/Ilmarë Playlist by Nienna324.

It is a little harder to fit the prompts with fanmixes, but it sort of fits in three ways. One, some of it takes place before or in the beginning of time. Two, it could be thought of as the start of a relationship or at least a few of the songs are. And three, my prompt for this course was "It was a pleasure to burn"-Ray Bradbury. This made me think of Fëanor, but also Arien.

Fish:

Tropical Waters Uinen by Hrymfaxe (watercolour)

Temperate Waters Uinen by Hrymfaxe (watercolour)

Númenor Playlist by Nienna324.

A Youtube playlist for the Art challenge of the Holiday Feast Fish Course.(fanmix)

Main:

Never Fade Away by Nienna324.

A Youtube playlist for the rebellion and exile of the Noldor. (fanmix)

Dessert:

And She Might Know Me Well by Kimaracretak.

This mix is dedicated to Elleth, the one who got me into the world of Tolkien-fandom-on-the-internet in the first place. She requested something with Goldberry femslash, because "eldritch river spirits are always good". A Goldberry/Lady of the Blue Brooch sad eldritch ex-girlfriends mix, set in my AU where the Lady becomes a Black Rider! (fanmix)

Maglor and the Twins Playlist by Nienna324.

A gift for independence1776. (fanmix)

Cheese:

Beren and Lúthien Playlist by Nienna324.

I know Beren and Lúthien were listed for the reading challenge, but as far as "scene that you think they would ham up the most" is concerned this would be it, so I think it fits either way. (fanmix)

Meta

Starter:

A New Day: The Dawn of the Second Age by Grundy.

While the Silmarillion includes the Akallabêth, and an account of the line of Elros is included in the Unfinished Tales, very little is written about the early years of the Second Age. (Part of the Collection "Food for Thought: A Meta Feast")

Fish:

Naming the Sea-Elves by Grundy.

The text is concerned primarily with the Noldor and presents most events from their point of view. Nowhere is this more readily apparent than in the treatment of the third group of elves to undertake the Great Journey – first named as the ‘Teleri’. (Part of the Collection "Food for Thought: A Meta Feast") Main:

Blinded by the Light by Grundy.

If there is one thing that stands out about the Noldor, it is how important light is to them. (Part of the Collection "Food for Thought: A Meta Feast")

Fate and Free Will in Arda by Lyra.

An informal bibliography with tongue-in-cheek commentary.

Dessert:

Sugar in Middle-earth by Grundy.

We don’t have much to base our knowledge on in the First or Second Ages, but The Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings give glimpses of the food of late Third Age Middle-earth, including sweet dishes and desserts. (Part of the Collection "Food for Thought: A Meta Feast")

Sweet Speculations by Grundy.

Random headcanon that may or may not be in any way defensible. (Part of the Collection "Food for Thought: A Meta Feast")

Cheese:

What It Says On The Tin by Grundy.

I searched out all mentions of cheese I could find in the books. (Part of the Collection "Food for Thought: A Meta Feast")

Writing

Starter:

Moments of Healing by eris_of_imladris.

Nerdanel receives comfort and healing from an unexpected source.

The season will not wait by quillingmesoftly.

Elwing does paperwork.

All That May Become by Grundy.

After the Sack of Eregion, the situation for the elves is dire. Celeborn's army is on the verge of being caught by Sauron when unexpected help arrives.

Negotiations by arafinwean.

Haleth looks at Caranthir and wonders what he's lost.

A Trace of Light by Silver Trails.

Glorfindel misses his cousins and feels lonely after Fëanor is exiled to Formenos.

Lovely, Dark and Deep by StarSpray.

Elwë gets sidetracked on his way to visit Finwë.

Fish:

From Sleep to Swift Fury by Raiyana.

Ossë's rebellion.

Missing the Past by StarSpray.

"But no, it is not ruins or pottery I am interested in. They told me that Maglor was living on Himling." (also covers some Main Course themes)

Times of Change by hennethgalad.

Ereinion Gil-galad sets out for the Falas.

Long Time Passing by Grundy.

Eärwen's thoughts on a journey to Alqualondë prior to the War of Wrath.

Music and Song by Silver Trails.

Little Maglor hears Omar's and Salmar's music for the first time in his life.

Main:

Kinship by hennethgalad.

Gil-galad, Idril Celebrindal and Celebrimbor meet on the Isle of Balar.

By Any Other Name by Grundy.

After the Sack of Eregion, Celebrían is trying to reach the valley where her father's forces have taken refuge. The situation is grim until she gets some unexpected help.

Light and Darkness by Silver Trails.

Caranthir and Aegnor meet again after the crossing of the Helcaraxë.

Dessert:

Yule 3018 by hennethgalad.

The Fellowship have just left Imladris... (for anneway-nithiniel)

The Dance of the Lights by Narya.

Aredhel and Egalmoth share a quiet moment on the Grinding Ice. (for Tolkien Secret Santa 2018)

Smoldering by Grundy.

Finrod discovers at least one family feud he'd hoped was settled hasn't been laid to rest yet. (for gabriel-seven)

The King′s Peace by Idrils Scribe.

In the dead of Hithlum's icy winter, a battered Maedhros restores what peace he can to himself and his people, much to his brothers' chagrin. (for Dawn Felagund)

Still a Child by Silver Trails.

Findekáno wants to go out and meet his cousins. (for Mor2904)

Cheese:

Ode to Gil-galad. by hennethgalad.

Cheesy ode for the cheese course of Holiday Feast.

The Cheese Stands Alone by Grundy.

The twins thought Arwen would enjoy the lesson on Beren and Luthien. They were rather surprised...

Writing a Song by Silver Trails.

Daeron reflects about love and time. Maglor tries to help him.

As you can see, Nienna324 has created a fanmix for every course of the Artwork menu and Silver Trails has written a piece of fic for all five Writing course.

Hennethgalad has created content for every course across different prompt sets.

Grundy, on top of her achievements in Reading and Commenting, has written an amazing six pieces of meta and five stories for the Meta and Writing menues. Awesome work!

***

Whether you felt inspired to comment, read or create, and whether you created several pieces or one, we′d like to thank you for joining our holiday feast! We hope you had fun and found something to your tastes. And if you were too busy to take part in this or any of the previous challenges, take heart! As we already announced in our newsletter, the January challenge will be dedicated to beginning another year of creative accomplishment on the right foot. For our first challenge of 2019, participants can choose to complete any of the previous year's challenges. Did you miss a challenge you wanted to complete? Do it now. Did you start a fanwork for a challenge but never completed it? Here is your chance to finish. If you didn't leave any unrealized or unfinished projects behind you (congratulations!), choose from any previous prompt and start the year by creating a new fanwork. You will receive a stamp on your 2018 collection for any 2018 challenges that you complete now, as well as a stamp for this challenge on your 2019 collection. So this is your chance to catch up on challenges that you didn′t manage to fulfil last year!

The official announcement will be posted on January 15. See you then!

[djinmer4]

Paimë i Valaina (Silmarillion)

“Are you worried?” Elrond approached the figure at the rail, watching the rapidly nearing quay.  The other ellon turned to look at him, grey eyes calm with none of the apprehension the Peredhel had expected.

“Not anymore.  I was worried at the beginning of the trip, that the Valar might choose to do something dramatic during the journey.  But we seemed to have made it safely through the Straight Road.  Even if Manwë takes it into his head to hit the ship with a lightning bolt to drown me, we’re close enough to the shore that the rest of you can swim to safety.”  Maglor leaned back and shaded his eyes.  “I’m not seeing a company of Maiar on the docks to escort me to the  Máhanaxar so I’ll take that as a good sign.”

Indeed, when the ship docked there was only a small contingent to meet them.  Galadriel had taken it upon herself to be their spokeswoman and commented on the lack.  The head of the delegation apologized, “We were indeed warned by Uinen and other Maiar of Ulmo, but ‘The Ship bearing those who fought against Sauron will arrive soon’ doesn’t actually give a time frame for expected arrival.  Your parents, Princess, could not take leave of their duties for such a great time period to meet you here, although word will be sent to Tirion to let them prepare a celebration for your arrival.”

“That is acceptable,” piped in Elrond.  “But the ship that left prior to ours should have given word that we would be the next.”

“Indeed they did.  However, they did not know if a new ship would be built from scratch or if you would take whatever was available or if you would wait a few more years to tie up any loose ends or even what the weather conditions would be like.”

Now it was Maglor’s turn to interrupt.  “Practical enough.  But I believe you were told that not only the leaders of the Resistance would be coming but also a notorious criminal.  Were there no preparations made for that?”  The Teleri ner simply looked confused, and the Feanorian realized that he was far too young to have known who he was currently speaking to.  To make his point clear, the eldest Elf there slipped off his black leather glove and held out his hand, palm facing the other.  Even then, it took the Teler a few minutes to understand what the bright red design on his hand meant.  “Oh, uh, yes, we were informed.  Again though, we weren’t sure if the rumors that you had chosen to return was true.”  Maglor put his gloves back on and spared a bemused glance to his cousin and foster-son.  “Well, as you can see, it is.  Perhaps we might get things over with and you can escort me to Máhanaxar so that I may face the judgment of the Valar.”

Brown eyes looked away, the ner darting glances back at the Noldo.  “That won’t be necessary.  There will indeed be a trial over your actions back in the First Age, but the advocates from Tirion, Alqualondë and Tol Eressëa will need at least a month to prepare.  In the meantime, given your good behavior since then, your bond has been given to your family.  You can spend the wait in Formenos, catching up with them.”

“My family?  Surely you must be mistaken.  My mother and grandparents perhaps, but my family has been condemned unto the Void for being unable to fulfill our Oath.”

“With the exception of Maedhros, the rest of your family has returned from the Halls of Mandos.  And given that you’ve returned, I’m sure your last brother will also be released soon.”  Before any of the three Elves could comment, the Teleri delegate continued.  “I’m a bit surprised you mentioned facing the judgment of the Valar.  Surely Olorin and Aiwendil had mentioned that the Valar no longer rule Aman.”  That statement made even Galadriel jump.

“Truly?”

“The Valar have not ruled since the end of the Second Age.  Did not Curunír or any of the other Istari tell you so?”  Before they could respond, they heard Bilbo gasp behind them.  “Why Gandalf!  You look so young!”  Turning around they saw that Olorin had returned to his form of shining light.  (Trust a hobbit to describe it as looking young.)  Tired but still compassionate eyes looked over all of them.

“I think it’s time for you three to see the truth of Aman.”

The cavern was deep underground, underneath the crater of what had been the  Máhanaxar.  It was cut off from any wind or light.  Inside the gloom they could hear a thin, reedy voice, begging for news of the outside world, for someone to answer its cries.  “He once was the King of all the Valar in this world.  But when the Downfall of Numenor occurred, so too was the Ring of Judgment struck.  The Noldor eventually discovered this cavern while searching for new veins of ore.  Now he crawls alone in the dark, blind and deaf to anything around him.”

Galadriel and Elrond were struck speechless.  Only Maglor had the presence of mind to respond and even he took more than a few minutes to recover.  “How did this happen?”

Olorin shrugged, as much as any being of light could.  “The survivors are not certain but the most popular theory is that it is Eru’s punishment.  The Valar exist as custodians of Arda and as guides to the Children of Eru.  By the time of Numenor, it may have been that they had failed all their duties.”

“I can think of plenty of ways they failed the Elves but how did they fail otherwise.”

“They ruled the Firstborn but aside from the Maiar sent to help the creation of Numenor, ignored the Secondborn completely.  As for they’re other duties, they restricted themselves to Aman.”

“Some of that was fear of Melkor.  But even after he was gone, very little effort was made on their part to repair the damage from the war.”

“Exactly.  So when they called on Eru to defeat the Numenorean invasion, apparently Eru decided if they were going to be derelict in their duties, they should not have the benefits of power that went with their position.”

Eyes that still glowed with the light of the Trees contemplated the black hole in the ground.  “Surely they are not all like this.  The Telerin delegate mentioned Ulmo.”

“No.  Ulmo, Aulë, Irmo, Nienna, Estë and Vána have all been seen since then and appear to have retained their duties.  They have given up ruling the Firstborn but will offer advice if one seeks them out.”

“May we see any of the others?”

“The other Valar are scattered across Aman.  However, Yavanna is close by and we can walk to her prison within an hour.”

Not far indeed.  Yavanna was standing on the mound where the Trees had once grown.  The strike that had destroyed Máhanaxar had also caused the hills around it to cave in.  The Giver of Fruits was dressed in rags of brown and as far as she could see, nothing grew.  She did not move, staring at where her greatest creations had fallen.  “Not all of them are uncommunicative and still.  Varda and  Vairë were only struck blind-”

“Given those two, that’s punishment enough.” stated the Feanorian dryly.

“On the other hand, Nessa, Tulkas and Oromë were all encased in partially in stone.  And we’re not precisely sure about Mandos.  He still rules over the Dead in his Halls but he hasn’t left them since the end of the Second Age.”

“I’ll bet he makes no more prophecies either.”  The Vanyarin guide gave Maglor a funny look.  “You’re right about that.  How did you know?”

“It’s fairly obvious.  Eru must have quite a sense of irony or humor.   Manwë had the winds bring him news from all over the world now he knows nothing about anything.  Yavanna was in charge of growing things now all she sees is sterility and decay.  Nessa, Tulkas, they never stood still and now they can do nothing but.  Varda loved the light, all she sees is the dark.  For Mandos, he ruled over the Dead but also the living and pronounced Doom over the Firstborn.  Although I suppose he didn’t fail his duty, just tried to rule over the living Eldar and reduce their free will.  Maybe that’s why he’s still Ruler of the Dead.”

The blonde looked too much like his step-grandmother, and Maglor’s tone was more condescending than perhaps he intended.  “Tell me, did the decision to reduce themselves come before or after the end of the Second Age?”

“I-I don’t know.  Nienna, Ulmo and some of the others had long withdrawn away from Taniquetil before the Incident occurred.  But the others, Vana and Nienna were still seen.”

“Hmm, I’ll bet then, that the ones who were punished were the ones who voted to let Eru take care of the Numenorean problem.”

“I can’t confirm that.”

“I suppose even the Valar have their own secrets.” 

“Cousin.”  Maglor turned from where he was saddling a horse.  Last night it had been decided that he would await the trial in Formenos with his family.  Elrond would follow later, after meeting with his wife in Lorien.  Galadriel had not yet decided if she would go to Tirion to meet her parents but was staying longer on Tol Eressëa to take the time to make up her mind.

“Cousin,” he responded in kind.

“What you said yesterday, do you really believe the Valar deserved what happened to them?”

Glowing grey eyes looked into the same.  “Artanis, do you agree that the Valar abandoned their duties to Aman after the War of the Wrath?”

Reluctantly she nodded.  “Melkor was gone.  They could have helped us all rebuild and did not.”

“And do you agree that they also abandoned the Secondborn?”

“I’m not so sure about that.  But certainly, aside from the Gift, no aid ever came to them after the First Age.  And really, the only thing that happened before was Ulmo trying to warn Gondolin and that wasn’t even for the benefit of the Secondborn.”

“What about their treatment of Melkor?”

Here her face hardened.  “No, they were definitely in the wrong there.  It’s all well and good to say that Manwë didn’t understand evil, but even after being shown he was wrong, they took no responsibility for his actions until the War of Wrath.  Melkor was a Vala, one of them.  Instead, they abandoned the rest of us, Noldor, Secondborn, Sindar, everyone to the mercy of him and his lieutenants.”

“Then I take it the part you object to is their treatment of the Eldar?”

“Maglor, they are not like us.  They couldn’t possibly understand what they were doing was wrong.”

“Perhaps.  There have been times when I too want to believe they had good intentions and were merely misguided.  Certainly, the line between advising and guiding and actually ruling is very blurry.”  His eyes were as hard as hers.  “But even if I ignore the crimes to our family, that still leaves them guilty of three out of four charges.  And I think even one of those still shows an unforgivable breach of duty, with no signs of remorse or restitution in sight.  In my view, Eru is only handing out the just retribution those of Arda would inflict if they had the power to do so.”  He finished saddling the horse and easily mounted despite the scarred hand.

“Talk to others here, cousin.  Life is more complicated now than it was during the Years of the Trees.  But I think you will find most are satisfied with the trade-off of more responsibility in return for freedom.”

[ivanaskye]

Y’all need... chapter FIVE of elrond fic?

(at this point, it is fair to say I am not sorry.)

The first rains of the season are falling, the very first, the first since I have chosen, and I am smiling to find myself memorize their rhythms on the leaves above.  I sit with Elros, and look to him, and that itself is a comfort I know I will carry with me through the long years—him, my mirror image, so different from me and yet so familiar.

And the rain makes such a gentle melody as we take shelter under one of the larger trees.

“Well, this came about suddenly,” he comments.

“Indeed it did!” I say, smiling to watch the white of it around us, the way it grays and blurs the world and yet makes the green seem greener.

“Will your mirth ever cease,” Elros mutters, although I know it is not in disdain, not at all.

“No, never,” I say, a light of playfulness flashing in my eyes and my voice.  “That is what I promised.  That is what I chose.”

“Although did you not say that two days ago you spent the whole of the night crying?”

“Well, there is that,” I say, and smile at him, and I know what he sees in my smile: me, his brother, his twin, insufferable always and forever, to the ends of the earth.

“I would say that I do not understand you,” Elros says, “if you haven’t regularly spent hours and hours explaining every last part of your thought processes to me—“

I laugh.  “And rightly so!  For does it not do you well to understand your own brother?”

“It also does well to have some moments of silence and peace,” Elros mutters.

“You have some!” I say.  “Occasionally.”

“Not anytime I’m within earshot of you.”

I grin, not having any way to deny this.  “But you love me all the same.”

He rolls his eyes.  “You seem to seek to hasten my departure, to lead my people, to maybe have some freedom from your constant chatter—“

“Don’t worry, I’ll visit!” I say, still grinning.

“I am to lead a kingdom,” Elros says, almost a mutter in the gentle and misty air.  “And what, exactly, are your plans?  Other than visiting me and my descendants, and bothering them for all time?”

I smile, and let that smile be gentle.  “I have been thinking of it.”

“Have you now, for last I heard, thinking requires not talking—“

“I have!” I say.  “And it seems to me that so much is lost, or might be, and I do not wish that for it, I do not wish it—“ I almost choke in a sob, the emotion coming fast, as it does in Elves but also always has in me, even before my choice.  “I wish to remember, brother.  You know that.”

“And…?”

“And so I find myself daydreaming of long travels to collect the knowledge of our peoples, to hear all they remember of Beleriand and also all they know of the crafts they have learned, and cooking, and language—all of it.  And in me it will be kept, safe—and when I write it, it will be safer, safe even from the possibility of my death.  And for that reason I wish to know all that both our peoples know, in case, in case—“

“You are so greedy!” Elros says.  “For time, for knowledge, for everything! It is never enough for you, is it?”

“What, life?” I ask.  “Because, no, Elros, life is never enough for me and never will be, not in the sense that I will tire of it!  I will never have had my fill, I will drink from its cup and drink and drink, though centuries may pass, and millenia, and pain and sorrow and war, and still I will not turn back from it!  I will not escape it!  I will not ever have enough!”

In a moment as I talked, Elros almost shrunk back from my voice, but now he smiles, a strange peace in his face.  “Then do that, brother.  Do that, do it all, and tell me how it goes, after the breaking of the world—“

“But I thought you wanted me to give you peace from my words?” I ask.  “For then, so far from now, when our different paths finally reconnect after long years—then, Elros, I will have so much to tell you, and I doubt all the powers in the world will be able to stop my tongue.”

“I know,” Elros says.  “And perhaps that is why I ask for some moments of peace now.  And why I am glad you may spend some years—maybe even more!—wandering distant mountains and fields in search of knowledge, giving me some years of peace without your visits.”

“Though you might miss me,” I comment.

He rolls his eyes.  “I will hold celebrations each time you leave.”

“You’ll still miss me,” I say.  “You’ll suddenly find yourself restless at night, and wonder why, until you realize that you can’t find anyone better than me to be irritated at, it will feel so strange—“

He slaps me, gently, on my head.  “Wishful thinking, brother.”

I just smile at him.  “Oh, you love me, and you know it.”

There’s footsteps, and even though the sound is though mud rather than hard dirt ground, I recognize them immediately, for of course I memorize so quickly now.

“I was wondering why you two had not come back with the rest of the hunting party,” Gil-galad says.

“Well, it is raining, you see,” Elros says.

“So was it when the rest returned,” Gil-galad says.

“Ah, but there was also the problem that we were already further behind, because Elrond could not help himself but to show me a strange beetle he found—“

“—It was blue and orange, and shining like the sun!” I protest.

Elros shakes his head.  “Anyway, my brother here delayed me, and so it started pouring while we were still somewhat far, and we sought shelter.”

Gil-galad smiles.  “Well,” he says, “now that I know where you are, would you mind if I relax here with you?  I find that I might enjoy the company.”

I nod, but am sure to glance to Elros, in case he disagrees—and he says, “yes,” and I hear no lie in his voice nor see any on his face.

And so Gil-galad sits across from us, water dripping off his dark hair.  He sits on a bed of grass and pine needles, less under the crown of deepest shelter that Elros and I have found, but still far dryer than he would have been out in the open.

“So I hear you’ve been getting to know my terrible brother,” Elros says, and had I been drinking something, I am fairly sure I would have spat it out.

“That appears to be the case,” Gil-galad says with a smile, surprising me: he has never himself said something so irreverent about anyone, so I did not expect him to respond to such a statement with case.

“Tell me,” Elros says, “have you gotten him to shut up yet?  And if so, please do inform me as to how.  I’m listening.”

If I had not lived with Elros all my life, I might find myself embarrassed at this.

“No, not particularly,” Gil-galad says with a smile.  “Nor would I want to.  In fact, at first I had some difficulty getting him to freely say things to me.”

“So you have discovered it then!” Elros says.  “The secret for him to be quiet.”

“Intimidation,” Gil-galad says simply.  “But nevertheless, how are you faring?  Both of you, whoever is interested in answering?”

“I find myself planning,” Elros says.  “Preparing.  I have much ahead of me.”

And he worries whether he will be able to manage it, or how.  He does not say this, but I hear it in his voice—it’s not a waver, it’s an added hardness.  As if to cover the fear up.  I know him too well not to hear it.

But he has not said it, so I know he does not want Gil-galad to know, and so of course I will respect that—by turning the subject away from him, by talking incessantly about myself, just as he always complains about.

“Well,” I say, “I find myself listening to the rain, memorizing it, although of course I always memorize everything now, it is sinking into me and becoming like the fabric of me, or no, like a fabric around me that I will never lose possession of.  It is mine to hold, and I need not fear its loss, no matter what next happens, no matter if the rain stops falling this next second and the sun begins to shine.  It will not be lost in me, not really.”

“Not even at the breaking of the world,” Gil-galad says with a smile.  “Elrond, some of your words remind me to be truly happy to be alive.”

I smile genuinely, without thinking—but also bow, playfully, with thinking.  “In that way, I will be at your service,” I say.

“Elrond!” Elros says.  “He is the High King of the Noldor!  Did you just—“

I think I can feel myself blush, realizing what I said.  “I just technically pledged … well, I meant—“ and yet, I cannot finish the sentence, for it seems strangely wrong to take it back now.

Gil-galad smiles, in that calm and kind way that I am already growing used to.  “You do not have to mean that as a true pledge.  I would not mind, either way.”

And yet, and yet, in these past few days I have grown to like him, and I know the way the words I spoke feel in me.  “And yet, I think it was a true pledge.”

When I glance to the side, I find Elros’ face firmly in the palms of his hands.

“Brother, if this must be embarrassment, it is not yours to bear,” I tell him.

“I still had to listen to it,” he complains, and I understand—he bears so much without thinking, and he always has.  And I know the way pain weighs on him, I have seen it so often in his eyes.

“And yet it is just embarrassment,” I say to him, gently.  “It is nothing worse.”  I turn to Gil-galad, and I smile, and I say, “Although I do not think I am embarrassed.”

“Shut up…” Elros moans.

“Never,” I say.

[vardasvapors]

Do you have any Lindon headcanons, if so please throw ALL of them at me because I have zero and it's terrible. This was more Elrond-centric bc I've been trying to fill in that thousand-year gap between Elros and war but then I realised how LITTLE I can actually picture of... the biggest Elven kingdom in Middle-earth... Galadriel's off collecting fairie court campsites, and Celebrimbor's kickstarting a magic object Renaissance, and what's every other elf doing this millennium? I just don't know!

omg i’ve lazily on-and-off thought about making a wip list of vague Lindon headcanons before so this is the perfect excuse. hope you don’t mind me limiting this to just the timeframe you mentioned, or this post would be WAY too long, instead of just regularly too long:

First: observe, my Lindon tag! It’s not very long, but

This and especially this are some of my favorite headcanon visuals for Second Age Mithlond as a capital city. Starting as a giant camp for everyone who escaped from Beleriand, lots of flux, more like a RL city than most Tolkien cities: gorgeous, but very disorganized, patchwork, built up ad-hoc, happenstance and convenience slowly rising into districts. All the people stopping in it or passing through it, either east or west, leave another layer of their presence there. um….I still haven’t read invisible cities despite buying it because of bamboocounting like….months ago. Anyway it’s 90% turned to dust by LOTR.

With abruptly going from lush inland forested river-filled Ossiriand to this newly-formed bluff-edged shoreland with a huge new saltwater gulf splitting it down the middle, I headcanon it being a pretty big mess for decades. Before Galadriel took a lot of them to Eregion, I picture all the characters you mention spending a lot of time on fixing up – collecting and reuniting scattered people, building houses, establishing diplomatic ties and supply chains, etc.

eg: there is very little formality or ingrained institutions and no palaces full of comforts let alone luxuries for at LEAST a century, thanks

BUT, the fixing-up period being mostly a very happy time! Like, I think there was certainly a ton of hardship and stress with trying to keep people fed and housed in this chaotic near-post-apocalyptic situation while new villages and stuff were built, and fighting stray dark creatures who had also escaped, but still a lot of general relief and feelings of being insanely fortunate and curious exploration, finally free from being under constant overwhelming threat again even if this peace is quite a different kind from the peace before Morgoth returned, going hand-in-hand with the work, and building together as a conduit for bonding and feasting etc – and celebration and joy as deliberate defiance against the loss and grief and war they suffered. I think this real-world thing would fit it well.

Not a very big population at first, since not a lot survived at all, and most of the elves went to Eressea and most of the humans went to Numenor, and most of the Sindar who remained went east. I headcanon the early “kingdom” as more…scattered villages along the shore with a large but transient population concentration around the Havens because most of those were just looking for their friends and relatives and waiting for seats to open up on the constant flood of ships heading west, and when the passengers finally dwindle down this distribution has taken root and multiplied, but not a really powerful force until post-The Mariner’s Wife.

After the establishment period, now that it FINALLY isn’t a time of war, after centuries of it, elves start having babies all over the fucking place, and all the accoutrements that go with it. Dozens of new and half-forgotten festival days that are literally just giant bacchanalias, zillions of weddings, society shifting to be very oriented towards sex and romance and children and child-rearing, rather than warfare, etc. With this showing up a lot in their songs, and art, and lifestyle, etc.

One of the most delightful Lindon-adjacent nuggets in the Histories of Middle Earth I think is that elves of Lindon spent at least 50 years, if not more, ferrying the Edain to Numenor. I won’t repeat the tag ramble I appended to that passage here, but just… *blows kisses off fingers* it’s so absurd and fitting….I think of this as a big post-war self-image thing, the cataclysm and Morgoth’s defeat just so utterly scrambling their view of the world and their role in it. >_o

Speaking of that, not a lot of cultural continuity between the Noldor of the First Age and the Noldor of Lindon. The people of Cirdan and therefore at first for Gil-galad were the Falathrim, so I hc that especially after lots of Noldor left for Tol Eressea and Eregion the dominant culture of Lindon was a blendy Falathrim twist.

But that’s mostly just dominant as a plurality – the real “main culture” of Lindon is the hodge-podge mixture itself. Exiles who stayed because they wanted to, exiles who stayed because they are ex-Feanorians or otherwise can’t face going back or aren’t allowed. Descendants of exiles, mixed Noldor/Sindar elves who weren’t even born during the early Silm. Noldor who feel totally alienated from everything, Noldor who feel more connected to their fellow people of Sirion than to the Noldor generally. Survivors of Gondolin, survivors of Nargothrond, Sindar who didn’t want to go east, Edain who didn’t go to Numenor, Edain who are just waiting around to go to Numenor, Dwarves who had to leave the Blue Mountains due to them being broken up in the war, other peoples of all kinds, who all scrambled convergently to Lindon to flee the incoming war and water like ants. The areas of Lindon, and the districts of Mithlond, array themselves as reflections of, or deliberate eschewings of, the weird headlong rush into intertwining and splitting apart and morphing into new things that characterizes late Silm-era dynamics and groups.

In addition to pre-existing Falathrim attitudes about the sea, a major cultural/religious/etc tradition would spring up in Lindon in relation to the sea – the destructive, overwhelming, healing, saving, unfathomable, un-tameable, enticing, perilous sea that broke the earth, yet cleansed it, destroyed both enemies and homes, the place that now holds everything that Beleriand was in its depths, the place that deliverance came from. Kind of a less cynical but still very terrified version of Voronwë’s complete lack of chill about it. Sea-longing and going to sea and either never coming back or not coming back the same carves out a major place in their understanding of the world. One of the Standard Identities available to a segment of the popular in Lindon is like, “oh, he’s Waiting For A Ship,” An overlap of understanding grows between them and the Numenoreans over this. Ahem. Feel free.

eg: great Implied Significance for the new shoreline and the gulf of Lhûn as the place where Beleriand broke off and sank. References to these places as idioms to refer to being just past the furthest reach of a calamity, or a now-innocuous reminder of past calamity, or the duality of homecoming and escape

also eg: “lmao X is as unpredictable as the Lhûn amirite #microclimates”

the Numenoreans love them, but are sort of boggled by them. They have the same strange varied mixture and mood swings of cheer and gloom and Issues as the ex-Exiles and ex-Sindar of Tol Eressea, but the Numenoreans don’t entirely understand why they stuck with Middle Earth, for after a few generations have passed, the Numenoreans can only really guess, from their own lore, what having life experiences that were once concurrent with the long-distant sufferings of their Edain ancestors might be like. The Tol Eressean elves, on their island of release, are easier to understand, they’re sort of like us! But what of these weirdos back east – and that way lies the peril of like…you know. Everything wild, that Numenor is not

ETA: Later, when they realize the shadow has returned, this slow kind of infuriated disillusioned backslide…like, really? really? again? and the buildup back to war being really grim and depressing, though a minority of them always knew something like this would happen again. And rising conflict short of outright hostility with Eregion. People relearning to be soldiers again…or generals…

[arofili]

elves of arda ✹ gondolindrim ✹ headcanon disclaimer ✹ @gondolinweek

          Laurefindil was a Noldo of Valinórë, the son of Findis Vórimë and her wife Elemmírë, and a friend and companion to his cousin Turukáno. He stuck by Turukáno’s side through the crossing of the Helcaraxë while also growing closer to his long-time friend Ehtelion. Upon arriving in Beleriand, he was among the first expedition of Noldorin explorers in Hísilómë, serving beside Turukáno under Prince Findekáno. He followed Turukáno to Vinyamar and was his close counselor as Ondolindë began to take shape.           At the Mereth Aderthad, Laurefindil, now known as Glorfindel, met Ehtelion once more and realized how deeply he cared for him. His friend had taken the name Ecthelion, and the two of them bonded and flirted throughout the celebrations, though neither made any attempt to turn things more serious.           Glorfindel and Ecthelion exchanged letters between Dor-lómin and Vinyamar and visited one another often, and eventually Glorfindel revealed to him that he planned to leave for a place of hidden safety with Turukáno, who had promised him a lordship in his secret realm. Ecthelion demanded to accompany him, and at Glorfindel’s request Turukáno extended the same offer to him. Ecthelion and Glorfindel were among the last to depart for Gondolin, serving as guards to the last great host of Turukáno’s people.           In Ondolindë, Glorfindel became the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower. He remained close with Ecthelion, and volunteered to escort his cousin Aredhel, along with Ecthelion and Egalmoth, when she left the city. Her loss deeply affected him, and when she returned only to be slain by her husband, Glorfindel was shaken and put off from his endeavour to win Ecthelion’s heart. It took many years for him to return to confidence in this pursuit.           Among the folk of the Golden Flower were the gardener Þennë and her husband Landion, both Noldor who made the first Great Journey from Endórë to Aman and chose to return during the Flight of the Noldor. Indeed, Þennë lost her life on that perilous journey and had already once been reborn in Aman, reuniting with her sister Ontamë, mother of Nerdanel wife of Fëanáro. But Þennë was undaunted by the troubles of her past, and much of her motivation to return was out of concern for her great-nephew. Landion was not caught up in Fëanáro’s promises of freedom and vengeance, but took the journey for the sake of his wife and his parents, Remwë and Satya of the Tower of Snow.           Þennë and Landion both fought in the Kinslaying at Alqualondë, though neither slew any of their opponents, and they accompanied Fëanáro across the Sea in the stolen swan-ships. By the time the Host of Ñolofinwë arrived in Beleriand, they were bitter and weary of the horrors hanging over the House of Fëanáro and left that folk for Turukáno’s banner. Many were hesitant to accept them, but Laurefindil welcomed them into his House and gave them a chance to prove their loyalty. They were faithful vassals until the very end, when both were slain—Þennë for the second time—in the Fall of Gondolin.           Glorfindel fought alongside his king in the Nírnaeth Arnœdiad, and when the battle turned ill he and Ecthelion and their soldiers were the main defenders of the retreating host. It was after this dreadful, intense experience that Ecthelion finally confessed his love for his friend, and at last they entered into the relationship they had long denied themselves.           On the eve of Tarnin Austa in the year 510 of the First Age, Glorfindel and Ecthelion at last plighted their troth. They were eager to announce the joyous news as the celebrations began, but before they could make their proclamation of betrothal, Gondolin was attacked by Morgoth’s forces.           Glorfindel and his warriors held the Great Market from the advancing orcs, flanking them and taking them by surprise before they themselves were ambushed and surrounded. They fought fiercely for hours, cut off from any support, until a dragon came and leveled their ranks with its fiery breath. Most of his followers were killed, but Glorfindel and a few of his strongest warriors cut their way out. Even then they may have all been destroyed, but for the House of the Harp arriving just in time to save them.           The Golden Flower retreated to the Square of the King where the remnants of the other Houses had already been driven in. As many of his fellow lords had fallen and the rest were occupied or wounded, Glorfindel joined Tuor in leading the defence of the square. Glorfindel was loath to leave Ecthelion’s side, for his betrothed was wild-eyed and wounded, but he could not disobey his king’s direct order to defend the fleeing survivors as they retreated through Idril’s secret way. Glorfindel passed through the gates just as Ecthelion was killed in single combat with Gothmog, Lord of Balrogs, and was filled with rage and despair.           Yet Glorfindel held firm for the sake of his people, holding the rear of the escaping host until a Balrog and a contingent of orcs. His remaining warriors defeated the orc band, and Glorfindel recklessly defied the Balrog. His last stand bought the Gondolindrim vital time to escape, but just as he defeated the creature it grasped him by his long and flowing golden hair, come unbound amidst the chaos, and pulled him down with it into the mountainous abyss.           Thus perished Glorfindel, though his body was recovered by the Eagle Thorondor and a cairn was built for him upon the banks of the river Thorn Sir. Despite being an unkindly place, yellow flowers grew upon the mound, and the place was protected by the Eagles until the drowning of Beleriand.           Glorfindel’s stay in the Halls of Mandos would be a brief one compared to that of Ecthelion his beloved, for he was reborn in the Second Age and sent back to Middle-earth to continue the fight against the Shadow. His story continued apart from those he loved, but in time he would forge new bonds and eventually return to those he left behind.

[arofili]

elves of arda ✹ gondolindrim ✹ headcanon disclaimer ✹ @gondolinweek

          Turukáno Núrondil was the second son of Ñolofinwë Arakáno, and the King of Ondolindë. On the treacherous journey across the Helcaraxë, Turukáno lost his wife Elenwë to the icy depths, a traumatic experience that altered his fate forever. He was always a serious and fastidious nér, and in Beleriand his character grew even grimmer. He kept his daughter Itarillë close by, quarrelled with his elder brother Findekáno over whether to forgive the Sons of Fëanáro, and soon realized that what he wanted was to never have left the gleaming city of Tirion-upon-Túna.           But there was no turning back time, and Turukáno had no recourse to return to Valinórë either. Instead he set his mind to the creation of a new city, safe and hidden, where he would have total control over his life and his loved ones would never be in any danger.           First Turukáno settled in the land of Nevrast on the western coast, where he built the city of Vinyamar and spent much time looking out over the Sea, missing the life he used to have. Yet he was not idle: with him in Vinyamar were his cousin Laurefindil, a charismatic lord with a faithful retinue of warriors, and the harpist Nandáro who led a small group of farmers and musicians. In Nevrast, the Noldor mingled with those who dwelt there already, and Turukáno allied with Galdor, a lord of the native Sindar.           At the Mereth Aderthad, Turukáno broke bread with many lords of the Noldor and the Sindar, forming alliances and making many great speeches. He kept his plans for his hidden city vague, but promised safety and sustenance to those who would ally themselves with him. Not long after the Feast of Reuniting, Turukáno recruited the archivist and architect Penlod, a friend of his sister, to aid him in preliminary designs of a city resembling Tirion of old.          His daughter Itarillë grew ever more restless under his stern watch, eventually culminating in her secret departure to visit her uncle Fingon in Dor-lómin without her father’s leave. Turukáno dramatically lost his temper when he discovered what had happened, and his close friend and cousin Finrod decided he needed some time away from home to come to terms with his losses and fears.           Thus Finrod invited Turukáno to adventure with him across Beleriand. They spent a year together, wandering alone through hills and valleys, and Turukáno finally let his repressed emotions spill out. Finrod comforted and supported him, hiding his secret affections for his cousin all the while—at least until his own resolve broke as they spent a night together on the banks of the river Sirion.           The passions Turukáno and Findaráto exchanged beneath the summer stars were not to blossom into anything lasting, for that very night both were visited by Ulmo in their dreams. The Lord of Waters imparted visions of hidden kingdoms to them both, urging them to pursue their goals, but each thought they were the only one to receive the calling. Their minds were muddled when they woke, the night before hazy and indistinct, and clinging to their secrets neither Finrod nor Turukáno spoke to one another of either their dreams or their half-remembered confessions of passion.           Turukáno spent much time alone searching for the place Ulmo had shown him in his dreams, at last discovering the hidden valley of Tumladen. There, he knew, his people could be safe, and he immediately began to call upon the friends and allies he had made through fifty years of politicking to aid him in constructing a new kingdom.           In the one hundred and seventeenth year of the Sun, the city of Ondolindë was at last completed. Around him Turukáno gathered the greatest lords in his service, establishing ten noble Houses, with himself and his household as the eleventh. Thousands of Eldar, Noldor and Sindar both, quietly made their way to the gates of Ondolindë, but only one hundred were counted as part of the House of the King.           Among the folk of the King were the Unbegotten brothers Bruithwir and Finrun, serving as Turukáno’s personal bodyguard. They were grim folk, alike to their King in mood; they knew well the dangers of Middle-earth, for both had perished on the perils of the Great Journey and had been reborn in Aman. They served as guides to the exiled Noldor who had never before seen the far shores, and attached themselves to Turukáno, the prince they believed best knew how to endure the horrors of Morgoth.           A hundred years after Ondolindë was completed and its gates shut to the outside world, Turukáno completed his greatest creative project: artistic recreations of the Two Trees of Valinor, wrought in silver and in gold. He called them Lingancal and Valisil, known to his Sindarin-speaking subjects as Glingal and Belthil, and looked upon them with great pride.           Yet the day of their unveiling in the King’s Square, Turukáno’s counselor the prophet Amnon was gripped with a dreadful foresight. She prophesied that though they dwelt in a mighty and beautiful city, “great is the Fall of Gondolin, for when the lily of the valley withers then shall Turgon fade.” Already, Ondolindë had gained a number of praising names, including Lothengriol or Endillos, the Flower of the Vale, and the golden blossoms of Lingancal resembled the bloom of a lily. Though Amnon’s words unsettled him, Turukáno dismissed her warning and took heart in the artificial nature of his creation—for how could a lily of gold wilt?           Another hundred years passed in peace before trouble stirred in the valley of Tumladen. King Turukáno’s sister Aredhel Ar-Feiniel, Lady of the Tower of Snow, had come with him to Ondolindë for the sake of her friends and kin, but now she grew restless within the confines of the Echoriath and its surroundings. Though Turukáno was reluctant to let her leave, she refused to be kept caged any longer; Turukáno, knowing she would depart whether or not he permitted it, sent with her an escort of his three most valiant Lords and begged her to head straightaway the home of Fingon their brother.           But Aredhel went not to Dor-lómin as she had been instructed, instead turning toward Himlad where her friends Celegorm and Curufin dwelt. Along the way she was lost in the treacherous forest of Nan Dungortheb, and try though they might, her escort could not find her. They returned to Gondolin in sorrow, and Turukáno retreated into grief once more. Eventually he granted permanent leadership of his sister’s House to her friend Penlod, who had taken stewardship of her folk upon her departure, and all of Gondolin mourned her as dead.           Thus great was their surprise and joy when Aredhel returned unlooked-for—and with a son! For a day there was feasting and merriment, welcoming the indomitable Lady of the Tower of Snow back home, but soon the celebrations were cut short upon the arrival of Aredhel’s wicked husband Eöl, who when faced with the King’s decree that he may not leave Gondolin, slew his wife and was slain in turn.           Upon this great tragedy, Aredhel’s son Maeglin was left orphaned, and Turukáno took him under his wing. Maeglin was odd and reclusive, and Turukáno had never been the most emotionally intelligent nér, so while they performed an awkward familial act they were never as close as Turukáno wished. Upon Maeglin’s coming of age, Turukáno named him the Lord of the new House of the Mole in an attempt to show his love for his nephew.           When the Siege of Angband was finally broken, Turukáno did not send forth any aid to his kin outside Ondolindë’s walls. He did, however, send a select few mariners out to sea so they might beg the aid of the Valar, but none ever returned. Then came the fall of High King Fingolfin in single combat with Morgoth himself; his body was recovered by the mighty Eagle Thorondor and delivered to Ondolindë, where Turukáno grieved and built him a cairn. At this time Turukáno added to the emblem of his House a scarlet heart, representing the loss of his beloved father, before the symbols of the Sun and Moon.           Two years later, Thorondor delivered Turukáno another gift, this one more pleasant: he rescued the Mannish children Húrin and Huor and brought them to Gondolin, where never before had Men been seen. Turukáno grew fond of the boys, and at Húrin’s insistence he finally sent word to his brother that Aredhel had died, breaking his utter isolation for the first time. He was sorrowful to see the lads go when they returned to their homelands in Dor-lómin, his brother’s domain, and remembered them when word came to Gondolin a decade later of the formation of the Union of Maedhros.            Unlooked for, Turukáno led an army ten thousand strong to reinforce High King Fingon at the Fifth Battle. Gondolin’s sudden appearance turned the tide of the dreadful battle for a time, but in the end the Union was overrun and Fingon slain only days after he and Turukáno had reunited for the first time in over 300 years. The House of Hador, led by the now full-grown Húrin and Huor, defended the retreat of the Gondolindrim; in their final meeting, Huor urged Turukáno to escape and prophesied that from him and the King “a new star shall arise.”           Turukáno returned to Ondolindë amid great sorrow, having lost many soldiers including his faithful bodyguard Bruithwir, and assumed the title of High King of the Noldor in the wake of his brother’s death. The free-peoples of Beleriand were defeated in all but the three hidden strongholds of the elves—Doriath, Nargothrond, and Gondolin itself—and he saw himself as the last great leader of his people. Despite this, other Noldor yet lived outside his jurisdiction, and Turukáno’s new title did not extend his duties any further than the walls of his city, now more isolated than ever.           More mariners were sent begging aid from the Valar—and though none made it to the Blessed Land, this time one, Voronwë, survived, returning to Gondolin with a Man sent to the King with a prophecy from Ulmo. Turukáno was counseled to open the gates of his city and prepare for battle or else face the destruction of his people and city, yet Turukáno could not see any path to victory in open war and trusted rather in his own counsel and that of his nephew Maeglin.           Ulmo’s messenger was none other than Tuor son of Huor, and in memory of his friend Turukáno gave him leave to stay in Ondolindë. His daughter Idril was charmed by the Man, and in the course of a few years they asked for permission to wed. Turukáno hesitated at first, but recalled the last words of Huor and was moved to agree. Tuor and Idril were wed amid great joy, and he joined his wife as the leader of her House of the Wing; in only a year’s time, their son Eärendil was born.           But Ulmo’s warning soon proved true, for when Eärendil was only seven years old the golden lilies of Glingal were found tarnished and dented. Amnon urged her King to take heed of the obvious sign from the Valar and the fulfillment of her prophecy, but once more Turukáno refused to listen. This would prove disastrous, as on the morn of Tarnin Austa the armies of Morgoth attacked Gondolin and its great Fall began. Most of Turukáno’s Lords urged him to abandon the city, but Maeglin, who had for a year been acting fell and strange, convinced him to remain in an attempt to hold the city.           For much of the awful battle, Turukáno kept his House in reserve, but when Gothmog, Lord of Balrogs was slain he came down from his tower in all his splendour to cleanse the Square of the King. They drove back the enemy monsters for a time, but many of his folk were slain. The remaining folk gathered beneath Glingal and Bansil, slowly melting from the heat of dragonfire, and Turukáno at last saw that he had brought ruin upon his city. Now at last he recognized the truth in Amnon’s words, lamenting in an echo of her prophecy, “Great is the fall of Gondolin!” But Amnon did not live to see her King’s remorse, for she had perished in the battle.           Too late, Turukáno ordered the remainder of his people to flee through Idril’s secret way, though many had already begun the march. He threw down his crown and proclaimed that though all were free to leave, he would stay and fall with it. Galdor of the Tree attempted to return to him his crown, and Tuor and Idril thrice begged him to escape with them, but Turukáno refused and instead ascended to the height of the Tower of the King and cried out a challenge to the Enemy. He was assailed by dragons and Balrogs, fighting them off with his mighty blade Glamdring, until all his guard perished, Finrun defending him to the last, and the tower was felled by the might of many dragons, its weight and their flame killing Turukáno at last.           In time all those who were slain in Gondolin’s fall would be reborn in Aman, even twice-slain Bruithwir and Finrun and war-wearied Amnon. Turukáno’s return would come in time for him to visit Númenórë, the kingdom of his Elros his great-grandson, and he would be reunited with Elenwë his wife and Itarillë his daughter and even Tuor the Blessed, granted clemency by the Valar—and also his dear friend Findaráto, with whom he could now at last find new love amid the restoration of the old.

[arofili]

HCs about Elemmírë?

Oh man, for a character we have next to no information about other than “Vanya” and “sang a really sad song about the Trees,” I have a lot of headcanons for Elemmírë!

First of all, Elemmírë is named after a heavenly body (possibly Arda’s version of Mercury?) and the name is not given in either a masculine or feminine form, so we don’t know Elemmírë’s canon gender. This of course means that Elemmírë is trans, you can’t change my mind! I’ve seen depictions of them as nonbinary, which I love, but personally my Elemmírë is a trans woman!

All the rest of my headcanons are pretty much made up whole cloth :)

I intended to make like, a bullet point list of headcanons, but I ended up referencing my recently created personal timeline of the Years of the Trees and the First Age, and...it kind of expanded into an essay on Elemmírë’s role in the larger story of that verse of mine. So, under the cut is a roughly 2,000 word essay on my take on this blank slate of a character!

~

Elemmírë is one of the Unbegotten elves who awoke at Cuiviénen. When she awoke, everyone assumed she was a male elf, which didn’t really sit right with her but she didn’t know how to express herself at the time. For the first part of her life she lived as a nér.

Elemmírë has a sister*, Calima (one of my OCs). Calima marries an Avar, who she manages to drag with her on the Great Journey despite his reluctance to go West. Right before Ulmo takes the Vanyar and the Noldor to Aman, Calima’s husband leaves her and disappears into Taur-im-Duinath...but not before Calima becomes pregnant. Elemmírë comforts her and supports her through the birth of her child, Elenwë - the first child to be born in Aman.

*(My headcanon around Unbegotten siblings is that some elves woke with soul bonds that connected them to other elves, which while they aren’t genetically related, they consider to be siblings of their fëa. This is the case for Elwë, Olwë, and Elmo; I also gave Nowë (Círdan) and Ingwë OC siblings. Finwë is a loner, which is part of why he’s so concerned about creating and keeping a marriage bond...)

While Ingwë is busy building Tirion with Finwë, his sister-in-law Alcariniel (the mother of Indis; her spouse died on the Great Journey and has yet to be reborn) leads some of the Vanyar to the foot of Taniquetil and founds what will become Valmar. Calima, Elenwë, and Elemmírë go with Alcariniel.

At this time, Elemmírë enters into the service of Varda. She develops a close relationship with her Vala, and feels more comfortable in the beautiful starry robes and among the company of mostly priestesses than she ever did in the more gendered Vanyarin society. She sings and composes hymns to Varda and the heavens.

About a century later, Elemmírë is an established and well-renowned musician in Valmar. It is then that she meets Findis, daughter of Indis, when Findis is visiting Taniquetil with her grandmother Alcariniel. Findis greatly admires Elemmírë’s songs and engages her in a discussion about poetry; the two quickly become friends.

After another hundred years or so, Findis’ half-brother Fëanáro has his fourth child. Finwë invites his whole family to the celebration; Findis now lives in Valmar and does not always attend these begetting day parties, but she happens to be in Tirion for the occasion - with Elemmírë, who tags along to the party.

At the celebration, Makalaurë (a young teen in Elf Years) sings a piece he wrote for his new baby brother, and Elemmírë is greatly impressed by his talent and offers to teach him personally. He’s had music tutors before, but none so renowned, and he is absolutely star-struck. Fëanáro has an inherent distrust of the Vanyar, but he cannot deny his son anything, especially when it comes to furthering his craft, so he agrees to let Elemmírë teach Makalaurë, on the condition that she move to Tirion. Findis offers to move back as well, so her friend won’t be alone; they move in together.

A few years later, Elemmírë takes her star student Makalaurë to Valmar so he can perform at her niece’s 200th begetting day party. This is, of course, Elenwë; Makalaurë is immediately besotted with her, and does his best to impress her. Of course, Elenwë is well into adulthood and Makalaurë is still an awkward adolescent, so nothing ever comes of this, but they do eventually become friends.

All this time, everyone has assumed that Elemmírë is a nér, but with every passing year she becomes more and more certain that is not actually the case. At last she confesses to her dear friend Findis that she thinks she might be a nís, and while Findis isn’t quite sure what that means at first, she’s very supportive and encourages Elemmírë to go to Varda with this revelation.

I do operate in a verse where some homophobia and transphobia exist in Aman, kind of accidently put into place by a well-meaning but ultimately harmful decision by Manwë, but Varda is significantly more chill than her husband. She doesn’t really get what Elemmírë is saying, but she supports her servant’s change in expression. Elven gender roles are pretty loose, so it’s not really that much of a difference, and with Varda’s support Elemmírë feels more confident in herself and comes out to the public.

Most elves, especially the Vanyar, likewise don’t really get it, and privately they still see her as a nér, but there is a firm taboo against rudeness which means they will refer to Elemmírë with the correct pronouns and honorifics and such because it would be incredibly rude not to. The discomfort with someone else’s non-normative expression is easier to deal with than the social impropriety of deliberately refusing to respect someone’s wishes about their personal identity.

This, along with Varda’s kind-of-confused-but-she’s-still-got-the-spirit support of  Elemmírë means it’s a pretty smooth transition process for her. Since her name isn’t gendered, she decides to keep it, and she is much happier now that she can express her true self. She also has a staunch ally in Findis, who she has recently begun courting.

Again, there is some homophobia in my verse, and two níssi in a relationship is generally frowned upon, but the half-acceptance of Elemmírë’s gender allows them to exploit a loophole in that particular Law/Custom. Manwë, at least, still sees Elemmírë as a nér, and so doesn’t see anything wrong with her dating Findis. It’s not the ideal situation, but Elemmírë and Findis aren’t really the “fight the system” type, so they’re content to live with the happiness they’ve been allowed.

Eventually, Makalaurë reaches his first coming of age** and Elemmírë takes her student on a tour of all Eldamar to show off how exceptional a musician he has become. He is declared a master singer, and leaves Elemmírë’s side to pursue mastery in instruments, beginning with the harp. His teacher couldn’t be more proud.

**(In my headcanon, elves have two coming-of-age ceremonies: one when they reach age 50, and are considered physically mature and old enough to be given more freedoms in their decisions, including now being of a socially acceptable age to start dating; and the other at age 100, where they are considered a Full Adult and able to marry. Sometimes elves marry younger than that, but it isn’t super common. Age pretty much stops mattering, especially when it comes to age gaps in relationships, when an elf is about 150.)

Not long after this, Elemmírë and Findis get married! Makalaurë performs his then-masterpiece at their wedding. Also at the wedding, Findekáno is caught up in all the glorious romance, and the possibilities of same-gender marriage now that two níssi (one a princess!) can be wed, and confesses the depth of his love for Maitimo. Maitimo...immediately panics and brings up all the reasons why their love is doomed, how their aunts are the exception and not the rule and besides there’s that loophole they’re taking advantage of that doesn’t really work for néri like us - but notably does not deny that he feels the same way. Findekáno is heartbroken by the rejection; Maitimo is terrified of his feelings and distances himself from his beloved cousin for a time.

But of course that doesn’t last long - and it’s at the celebration of the birth of Laurefindil, Findis and Elemmírë’s son, that Maitimo brings himself to reconcile with Findekáno...platonically. Of course. Until a few months later where he just can’t take it anymore and breaks down and confesses he can’t deny his feelings any longer, and they get together at long last.

Findis, Elemmírë, and Laurefindil return to Valmar and settle down there. Laurefindil is buds with both his Vanyarin cousin Elenwë and his oodles of Noldorin cousins. At his first coming of age celebration, he introduces his cousin Elenwë (on Elemmírë’s side) to his cousin Turukáno (on Findis’ side), and Turukáno immediately falls madly in love and begins some intense pining that will rival even his older brother’s romantic dramatics.

As strife grows among the Noldor, Findis and Elemmírë distance themselves from Tirion as much as they can; Makalaurë is pretty much the only Finwëan who is allowed to visit them. However, Laurefindil misses his Noldorin cousins and, after his second coming of age, chooses to move to Tirion and join his grandfather Finwë’s court. He becomes even closer to Turukáno (who has by now married Elenwë) and is very loyal to his older cousin.

At the Darkening, Elemmírë is deeply grieved at the destruction of the Two Trees, and it is then that she composes her most famous song, the Aldudénië, “Lament for the Trees.” Her grief is compounded when her son chooses to go into exile with his Noldorin kin - and, almost worse, when her niece Elenwë chooses to leave as well.

Elenwë is the only Vanya who leaves (well, the only Vanya who is fully culturally Vanyarin without any Noldorin ancestry), mostly because she cannot bear to be separated from her husband and young daughter, but also because she knows the story of her Avarin father who stayed behind in Endórë and hopes that she will meet him on the hither shore. (Unfortunately, she perishes crossing the Ice. Idril will eventually meet her maternal grandfather, but not until just before she and Tuor sail West. Elenwë is reborn in Aman shortly after the founding of Gondolin; she reunites with her Vanyarin family and with her good friend Amárië.)

I don’t have a whole lot of headcanons for Elemmírë and Findis during the events of the First Age; they live mostly a quiet life. I think Elemmírë rededicates herself to the service of Varda, and pleads with her Vala to show mercy for the Noldor in their need. (Perhaps that helped to convince Varda’s husband to send an eagle to Thangorodrim?)

When they hear of Laurefindil’s death in the Fall of Gondolin (because of course Glorfindel followed his favorite cousin Turgon to his hidden city, and got a noble house out of it!), Elemmírë and Findis grieve his loss all over again. They don’t know how long it will be before his rebirth, and they soon decide to have another child together. This is their daughter, Faniel, who grows up on stories about her brother’s bravery.

Eventually Glorfindel is reborn, and he has a few good centuries in Aman with his family (and his husband Ecthelion, who he finally gets to marry; they had gotten betrothed the day before Gondolin fell, RIP) before the Valar send him back to Middle-earth to play the hero again. Elemmírë and Findis are once again heartbroken to lose him, but they are at the same time incredibly proud of their son for his bravery and dedication to all things good in the world. This time, he leaves with the blessing of Varda, his mother’s patron Vala, and a promise that he will return when his task is complete. He does, but not until the Fourth Age, when he sails back to Valinor with Elladan and Elrohir!

[elesianne]

Laws and Customs of the Eldar: Selected passages about betrothal and marriage

I’m posting these as background info for the last chapter of Your spirit calling out to mine so readers can tell, should they wish, which parts of the betrothal and marriage ceremonies I made up and which are Tolkien’s. As usual I mostly fleshed out the simple description Tolkien wrote.

The Eldar wedded once only in life, and for love or at the least by free will upon either part. [----]

Marriage, save for rare ill chances or strange fates, was the natural course of life for all the Eldar. It took place in this way. Those who would afterwards become wedded might choose one another early in youth, even as children (and indeed this happened often in days of peace); but unless they desired soon to be married and were of fitting age, the betrothal awaited the judgement of the parents of either party.

In due time the betrothal was announced at a meeting of the two houses concerned, and the betrothed gave silver rings one to another. According to the laws of the Eldar this betrothal was bound then to stand for one year at least, and it often stood for longer. During this time it could be revoked by a public return of the rings, the rings then being molten and not again used for a betrothal. Such was the law; but the right of revoking was seldom used, for the Eldar do not err lightly in such choice. [---]

[---] at a feast, again shared by the two houses, the marriage was celebrated. At the end of the feast the betrothed stood forth, and the mother of the bride and the father of the bridegroom joined the hands of the pair and blessed them. For this blessing there was a solemn form, but no mortal has heard it; though the Eldar say that Varda was named in witness by the mother and Manwë by the father; and moreover that the name of Eru was spoken (as was seldom done at any other time). The betrothed then received back one from the other their silver rings (and treasured them); but they gave in exchange slender rings of gold, which were worn upon the index of the right hand. Among the Noldor also it was a custom that the bride's mother should give to the bridegroom a jewel upon a chain or collar; and the bridegroom's father should give a like gift to the bride. [---]

But these ceremonies were not rites necessary to marriage; they were only a gracious mode by which the love of the parents was manifested, and the union was recognized which would join not only the betrothed but their two houses together. It was the act of bodily union that achieved marriage, and after which the indissoluble bond was complete. In happy days and times of peace it was held ungracious and contemptuous of kin to forgo the ceremonies, but it was at all times lawful for any of the Eldar, both being unwed, to marry thus of free consent one to another without ceremony or witness (save blessings exchanged and the naming of the Name); and the union so joined was alike indissoluble.

From History of the Middle-Earth, volume 10: Morgoth’s Ring (1993) by J.R.R. Tolkien, edited by Christopher Tolkien