#the secret name aredhel gave him

[sesamenom]

day 1 of @tolkiengenweek: fingon & maeglin in mandos.

a little while ago i did this piece and @tanoraqui mentioned maeglin in the tags. anyways i was thinking about which nolofinwion would be best at dealing w maeglin's trauma.

turgon means well, but maeglin probably doesn't want to talk to him. aredhel is a) his mom and b) part of the traumatic backstory so that would also be difficult. argon never even made it past the grinding ice (and frankly i havent figured out his personality enough to do one of these). fingon, however, kept nicely to the theme of eldest son & youngest grandson and made sense trauma-wise.

so anyways here's fingon helping maeglin deal with the aftermath of his time in morgoth's captivity and the trauma of losing aredhel.

[doodle-pops]

¨*:·Guess The Cat’s Out The Bag | Getting Caught Dating¨*:·

Headcanon: Amrod, Argon, Angrod, Galdor

˖˚₊·͟͟͟͟͟͟͞͞͞͞͞͞➳❥ Amrod — because he’s a master of pranks and grew up sharing and holding secrets for his twin, the both of you being a secret relationship is tight lip, locked and seal. That is if his twin hasn’t caught on the abnormal behaviour of his twin whenever you’re in the room.

The straightening of Amrod’s posture and the quietening of his voice whenever you set into their circle to reintroduce yourself and greet the nobilities. Amras could see how his brother’s hand shook and the starry, softer look in his brother’s eyes the longer he observed the older male.

A bright was plastered across Amrod’s face the minute you stepped into the room and made your way elegantly to his small clique. The swoosh in the fabric of your clothes and hair made you appear like a deity in his eyes, his grin accidentally stretched further across his face. Both you and his brother caught the moment and while you stared in horror at his slip up, Amras stared in suspicion.

Approaching the twins, you slightly bowed and extended your hand to greet them both, resisting the urge to turn your full attention on the social twin. Even you couldn’t hide the sparkle in your eyes the longer you locked eyes with him. It was as though Amras has vanished from your little circle along with the other guests in the room and all that mattered where you two. The little flustered look you gave him, eyes darting between his face and your glass was interrupted by the clearing of a throat.

“I don’t mean to break up the romantic love scene between you two but, how long have you been together behind my back…brother?” Amras voice rung through the air with a smirk in his voice as he faced his brother’s horrid expression.

Stuttering and stammering, Amrod felt his pressure rising as he darted around, hoping no one else saw and whispered through his teeth, “I-If you spill a word about us, you’ll wake up swimming with the geese in the pond.”

“Amrod,” you warned to calm him down and placed your hand on his arm, “no need to threaten your brother. I’m sure he’ll keep it a secret.”

“Yes Amrod! No need to threaten your brother, he’ll keep it a secret!” Amras teased and eyes shimmered over the rim of his wine glass as he wiggled his brow.

“Though, I am tempted to tell everyone…you did keep a secret from your favourite brother. You hurt me.”

˚₊·͟͟͟͟͟͟͞͞͞͞͞͞➳❥ Argon — he should know better than to keep something hidden in his family especially when his siblings were Aredhel and Fingon. He grew up in their footsteps, mostly his eldest brother, so he was his confidant and advisor, he knew Fingon would be saddened that his baby brother kept such a precious secret from him.

But even Argon struggled on his own to keep your relationship under the radar. Hearing your name would make him giddy and blush, and butterflies would erupt in the pit of his stomach. Your presence would make him malfunction, so keeping your affair under the rug was a failure from the start, but a joyous attempt for laughter sake.

The twinkling of the twilight canopy loomed overhead as you and Argon laid on the slightly warmed blanket in the fields and viewed the constellations. Your fingers eagerly pointing out all the stars and calling them out in the attempt to discover the most and beat Argon, since he had the winning streak. For someone who got distracted easily, he sure had a fixed attention span when something or, in this case, someone caught it.

A mixture of soft and loud laughter rumbled throughout the undisturbed night’s air when he rolled closer to your side and whispered something humorous in your ear, followed by a kiss to your cheek. It wasn’t often he was open to affection sight everything was kept under radar, and you both had a good enough reason for such. Not a single one of you suspected the soft padding of footsteps behind you.

“So, this is why you couldn’t stay for family night,” the accusing voice of Fingon startled you both, urging you to scramble apart and off the blanket. Behind him stood Aredhel with a mischievous smirk on her face, ready to tease her baby brother. “B-Brother…it’s not what you think!”

Everyone except Argon, even you, were appalled by his line of defence, it was pathetic. “It’s not what we think?,” both exclamations came from Fingon and Aredhel before the elder spoke out, “you two were kissing and giggling like teens.” This time, he turned the heat on the tease. The obvious grin on their faces told Argon that he was in trouble from them both.

“J-Just don’t tell amillё and atar, I’ll be pestered worse than you two already plan on…”

Shrugging their shoulders, it was Aredhel who teased, “I actually don’t mind, Finno and I are going to bet on how long you two can keep it a secret.”

“I hate you two.”

˖ ˚₊·͟͟͟͟͟͟͞͞͞͞͞͞➳❥ Angrod — his idea of keeping something a secret stays a secret, so you don’t need to worry about the cat being let out the bag. He’s coherent with his actions which means no one is going to figure out you two are a thing. The most that might happen is the speculation of your relationship due to your friendship you shared as a means to linger close by.

However, they were moments that went by where the both of you weren’t being careful with your actions and everyone got the message. Let’s just say that the teasing was never ending for his huge slip up in that moment. He couldn’t help himself and lose focus when you were sitting so beautifully across from him, shinning in all your glory.

His eyes were locked on you the entire time during the dinner his parents regularly held quarterly. Dressed in your lighter house colour since you were of Telerin descent, pearls and the colours of the sea were your garments. The mistake you made with your outfit was dressing too perfectly to the point Angrod’s eyes remained locked on you at all times. Even while his brothers were chatting with him, he kept his eyes focused on your pretty figure.

“Angrod! Oi, I speaking to you!” shouted Aegnor before giving him a rough shove to make him snap out of his enchantment. Though, it was his eldest brother who was observing how he was quiet the entire night and only engaged in conversation with you. Being the outspoken person he was, Finrod forgot his filter in that moment and allowed the cat to escape the bag.

“Are you and Y/N together?” The entire table fell silent minus the coughs from you two at the abrupt question that blew your cover. “You’ve been staring all night at them brother. More than friendly…”

“I agree, there’s a bit of…affection behind those eyes. Care to tell us something we don’t know, or already suspected?” This time, Finarfin decided to join in on the teasing after observing your interactions all evening. Nothing missed his eyes and Angrod should have known better.

Clearing his throat and making a quick dart in your direction, he cast his eyes at his plate and awkwardly chuckled. Speaking up, he spoke too quickly, giving himself away, “N-No, there isn’t anything between us, just friendship.”

At first, there was a silence that fell over the table before the cheeky announcement from Finrod. “I told you he’d deny it. Pay up, you all lost the bet!”

“Wait! You all placed bets?”

“Yeah, but all you had to do was admit you were together and not lie. Now I have to pay both father and brother,” quarrelled Aegnor, “thanks a lot idiot.”

˖ ˚₊·͟͟͟͟͟͟͞͞͞͞͞͞➳❥ Galdor — the only reason this lovely quiet Lord would keep his relationship a secret would be to prevent the prying and mischievous eyes of his best buddies from making things clustering. Galdor had heard enough from the other Lords’ lovers that they were snoopy, and that was the last thing Galdor wanted. He wanted to love you on his own with any intervention.

All day he was in his study, busy with filling out orders for the upcoming spring festival and ensuring that his produce was healthy and in stock. You didn’t have to be in the room to know that he was tired and frantic hence your reason for visiting during the later hours of the evening when most of his work cleared up. Standing behind him and massaging his shoulders, you couldn’t help but lean in to give him a chaste kiss which escalated.

As sweet and chaste it was, you wanted another and leaned forward to capture his lips in another round of light kisses. You could feel Galdor melting into your touch and tell that he craved them just as much as you did. Turning to face you causing the kiss to deepen, there was the sound of the doorknob twisting and in walked Lord Ecthelion followed by the Egalmoth with awkward stares on their faces. As intruding they were, it was strange to witness their friend being romantic when he claimed he was single.

“So, which one of us won the bet?”

“I don’t believe any of us won. We all bet that he really didn’t have someone.”

“The both of you are aware that I can hear you right?” Snapping their head over to an irritated Galdor they lifted their hands to show their surrender, however, Galdor knew one would speak. The smirk on Egalmoth’s face spoke volumes since he was known for his gossiping tendencies.

“If word gets out, I’ll find you Egalmoth.”

“You want to keep it a secret? Why? We could be celebrating and getting drunk in your honour.”

Huffing, Galdor stood from his chair and rounded the desk to stand with his arms folded across his chest. “Because I will poison your food supply, that’s why. You are the worst at keeping secrets; I don’t trust you.”

“You want to bet that I can keep it a secret?”

“If you lose, I’ll really poison your food supply.”

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[eri-pl]

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

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

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

Long post below cut.

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

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

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

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

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

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

So how would he look?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[oflorien]

@iriysse from X

SILVER  LITTLE  BIRD  LOOKED  AS  THOUGH  SHE  CARRIED  A  WORLD  OF  SECRETS  AND  IT  WAS  CRUSHING  HER  SLOWLY.  the  courage  she'd  managed  to  muster  was  inspired  by  aredhel's  son  who,  in  turn,  celebrían  felt  ease  around  by  proxy.  yet,  it  does  not  keep  her  from  looking  for  her  protector  wherever  she  stands.  reaction  manifested  from  depth  of  her  soul.  she  leans  forward  an  inch,  sweetness  and  caution  for  prying  ears  sets  her  features  with  a  gentle  furrow.  ❛  it's  about,  lomion. ❜  THE  MERE  WHISPER  OF  HIS  NAME  BRINGS  JOY.

wholly  conscious  of  herself,  forever  indebted  to  the  one  that  gave  her  loyal  protector  life,  the  younger  reaches  for  the  elder's  hand,  the  freeze  of  happiness  is  marked  by  silent  desperation.  unsure  of  how  to  proceed.

❛ truth  is,  i  love  him.  ❜  a  statement  that  hardly  begins  to  comprehend  the  depth  of  her  feelings.  ❛  i  do  not  want  him  to  be  punished  for  it.   ❜

[russingon]

AREDHEL & MAEGLIN:

And Aredhel bore to Eöl a son in the shadows of Nan Elmoth, and in her heart she gave him a name in the forbidden tongue of the Noldor, Lómion, that signifies Child of the Twilight; but his father gave him no name until he was twelve years old. Then he called him Maeglin, which is Sharp Glance, for he perceived that the eyes of his son were more piercing than his own, and his thought could read the secrets of hearts beyond the mist of words. As Maeglin grew to full stature he resembled in face and form rather his kindred of the Noldor, but in mood and mind he was the son of his father.

[gellalaer]

Idril Celebrindal

For @finweanladiesweek coming up on Sept 19th.

"But fairer than all the wonders of Gondolin was Idril, Turgon's daughter, she that was called Celebrindal, the Silver-foot, whose hair was as the gold of Laurelin before the coming of Melkor."― Quenta Silmarillion, "Of the Noldor in Beleriand"

Idril Celebrindal was the daughter of King Turgon of Gondolin, the wife of Tuor and the mother of Eärendil the Mariner.

Idril Celebrindal was the only child of Turgon. She participated in the Flight of the Noldor, and had to cross the Helcaraxë with the host of Fingolfin. She and her mother Elenwë fell into the bitter waters, and Turgon risked his life to save them. But he could only save Idril.

Idril lived in Vinyamar during the beginning of the First Age, and she moved with her father and their people to the Hidden City of Gondolin between the years 64 and 116.

In the hidden city the Smith Enerdhil crafted the gem Elessar and gave it to Idril, who wore it upon her breast.

Maeglin, the son of Aredhel, Turgon's sister, became interested in Idril even before coming to the city, and when he saw her for the first time "she seemed to him as the sun from which all the King's hall drew its light." She was the only one who could pierce into his mind, and knowing his thought of her she loved him the less, as they were too closely related.

When Tuor son of Huor was received in Gondolin, the heart of Idril was turned to Tuor, and his to her. Because Turgon had grown to love Tuor as a son (as he had his father before), and remembering the last words of Huor, he allowed Idril and Tuor to wed, thus bringing about the second union of Elves and Men, after Beren and Lúthien. From them Eärendil Half-elven was born, and she gave him the mother-name Ardamírë, that foretold his destiny.

Years later, Morgoth had increased his effords to find the city, "but Idril Celebrindal was wise and farseeing, and her heart misgave her, and foreboding crept upon her spirit as a cloud." Therefore, Idril let prepare a secret way, and she contrived that this work was not known to Maeglin. Thus, when the Fall of Gondolin began, she and Tuor were able to lead many survivors out of the city and save their lives.

After the fall of Gondolin, Idril and Tuor became leaders of the exiles at the Havens of Sirion, where they also received Elwing, daughter of Dior, son of Beren and Lúthien.

When Tuor grew old, he departed in his ship Eärrámë for the West, and Idril went with him. Before leaving, she gave the Elessar to her son, saying: "The Elessar I leave with thee, for there are grievous hurts to Middle-earth which thou maybe shalt heal." It is believed by the Elves and Dúnedain that Idril and Tuor arrived in Valinor, and it is said that Tuor became reckoned in the kindred of the Elves, so that they both lived in Valinor.

The Sindarin name Idril is not glossed, but the form of her Quenya name Itarillë (or Itarildë) means "Sparkling Brilliance".

She was called Celebrindal ("Silver-foot"), because she always went barefoot,from celeb ("silver") + tâl ("foot").

Idril's portrait created using Artbreeder.

[aredhels]

@tolkienvillainsweek day four: corrupted elves and dwarves

And Aredhel bore to Eöl a son in the shadows of Nan Elmoth, and in her heart she gave him a name in the forbidden tongue of the Noldor, Lómion, that signifies Child of the Twilight; but his father gave him no name until he was twelve years old. Then he called him Maeglin, which is Sharp Glance, for he perceived that the eyes of his son were more piercing than his own, and his thought could read the secrets of hearts beyond the mist of words.

[guardianofrivendell]

How the company reacts to finding out you and fili are married 😂

I loved this request and I decided that instead of making into a full blown fic - that would take me even longer to publish - I would do it headcanon style. 

Look at me making my way through requests 💪!

The Company Reacting to You and Fili being Married

Fíli x fem!reader 

Warnings: Fíli has one braincell in this one and he does not use it, open ending because it started to get too long but we all know it would turn out okay in the end, f-word, it is really silly I’M SORRY

A/N: It might not be exactly what you had in mind when sending in the request but it’s where my imagination took me 😆 This should not be taken seriously.

you were a last minute addition to the Company

Fíli and Kíli had kept the Quest a secret but you found out anyway, following them all the way to Bag-End

because there was no way they were leaving you behind

they were not happy - except maybe Kíli who was over the moon to see you

almost breaking his brother’s ribs when he shoved his elbow in Fíli’s side

wiggling his eyebrows while his eyes drifted towards you 

Fíli immediately regretting ever telling Kíli of his crush on you

little did he know you felt exactly the same

anyways

back to the Company

lots of protest from the other Dwarves because there was no way they were taking a woman with them

it didn’t take long for you to wrap each and every one of them around your little finger

them quickly agreeing on you coming along, but you had to promise not to be a burden to them 

Kíli blurting out that he and Fíli would look after you

that earned him a swift kick to the shins from Fíli

he made Kíli promise not to tell you anything and to not tease him about it

Kíli promised to behave and not embarass him in front of you

crossed fingers behind his back

during the journey Fíli had a hard time keeping it together around you

much to the delight of Kíli who found it all hilarious

at the slightest sign of danger, Fíli did his best to shield you from it

it kind of was exhausting really, keeping an eye on both you and his brother while also not trying to get killed himself 

as long as you were safe, that was what mattered most 

he thought he could pick up some signals from you that you might be feeling the same

or that could just be him seeing things

he was planning on asking you if he could court you as soon as they reclaimed Erebor 

so he still had some time to build up his courage

and he was sure not to tell his brother about this 

but everything escalated one night when Thorin decided to share some news

they were all sitting around the campfire, chatting after dinner

when suddenly the subject of marriage comes up 

Ori asking what a wedding ceremony is like, since he never witnessed one before

before anyone can explain, Thorin clears his throat

“You will find out soon enough. We will have a wedding once Erebor is reclaimed.”

Everyone looking at each other questioningly, shrugging shoulders when asked if they know something

“Who’s getting married?”

dramatic silence

then Thorin looks at Fíli

“As soon as Erebor is ours again, Fíli is to be wed to a lady of nobility of the Iron Hills.”

a few gasps were heard among the Company

Fíli had dropped his bowl of stew to the ground

Kíli sat wide-eyed beside him, his eyes flickering to you 

you were completely still, as if frozen in place

you should have known you didn’t stand a chance

Fíli is part of the royal family after all 

but then Fíli stands up with a jolt, as if bitten by something

“I can’t marry her.”

Thorin sighs, he knew this was coming

“Fíli, it is important to strengthen the relations with-”

“No, I can’t marry her because... because...”

his eyes landed on you and his heart broke 

your eyes fixed on the ground, hands tucked underneath your thighs and biting your lip 

in complete panic he said the first thing that came into his mind

“... because I’m ALREADY MARRIED!”

okay well

that maybe wasn’t the best thing to say 

seeing how Thorin was about to burst

“Already married? TO WHOM?!”

...

Fíli panicked again

think of a name think of a name think of a name

any name but-

“Y/N!”

your head snapped up and your jaw almost fell to the ground

Kíli screeched in excitement, clapping his back

“Way to go, brother! You never told me you guys eloped?! No wonder she was so keen on coming along.”

Fíli looked at him and was speechless

did he seriously believe he would marry someone without telling him

without telling anyone?

yes, yes he did

it appeared the whole company believed it

he received pats on the back, a shove here and there

lots of ‘congratulations’ and ‘well done’

Dori was tearing up

Glóin and Bombur welcomed him ‘to the club’

you received the same treatment but were still too stunned to react 

when Thorin stood before you, you almost cowered in fear underneath his stare 

he crossed his arms and gave you a stern look

“Are you pregnant?”

“NO!” both you and Fíli yelled at the same time, absolutely mortified

his lips started to twitch and to your surprise Thorin smiled at you

“It didn’t go the way I expected but... Welcome to the family!”

Thorin hugs you

I repeat

Thorin hugs you

meanwhile Fíli is having a small extensive crisis 

he meets your eyes and you’re shooting daggers at him

he fucked up big time

there was no way out of this 

not this time

after Thorin it was Kíli’s turn to give you a bonecrushing hug

your feet might have been off the ground for a few seconds

“I never thought he would finally grow a pair! I mean... he couldn’t even talk to you without embarassing himself!”

“Thank you Kee”

you locked eyes with Fíli again

“Excuse me, I need a word with my husband.”

you ignored the feeling in your stomach when you said that

how right it felt 

lots of hooting and hollering when you dragged Fíli out of the campsite

you raised an eyebrow at him in question

enter puppy eyed Fíli 

“I panicked”

“Out of all the names you could have blurted out it had to be mine?”

since he was already in too deep he could just as well tell you the truth

it’s not like it couldn’t get much worse at this point

“You’re the only one I’m thinking about.”

smooth Fíli, really smooth

you’re speechless but your eyes betray you

they’re filled with love and adoration

and Fíli’s heart fills with hope

maybe he didn’t screw it up that bad

his hand disappears in his pocket

here goes nothing

“I was going to wait until we were at the Lonely Mountain...”

he opens his hand for you and you see a blue and silver courting bead with intricate carvings

“But since we’re already married-”

 you scoffed, but couldn’t help the wide grin on your face

“Would you do me the honor of braiding your hair?”

Told you it was an open ending... but we all know how this one would continue :) 

Permanent taglist: @roosliefje @kata1803 @entishramblings @artsywaterlily @sleepy-daydream-in-a-rose @marvelschriss @kumqu4t @myrin1234 @dark-angel-is-back @the-fandoms-georgie @lathalea @xxbyimm @sokkasdarling @katethewriter @aredhel-of-gondolin @leethology @thepeanutcollective 

[hxmosuperior]

Headcanons: The Great-Grandchildren of the House of Finwë

➳ Curufinwë Tyelperinquar, born Y. T. 1407, Tirion, to Curufin and Finrod. He was a renowned smith of the Noldor. Sauron, under the fair guise of Annatar, deceived him in assisting with the forging of the lesser Rings of Power, but when Celebrimbor realized Sauron’s plans, he created the Three Elven Rings to counter Sauron’s master Ring, and was executed for his defiance.

➳ Artaresto Artaher, born Y. T. 1431, Tirion, to Angrod and Edhellos. He was the Warden of Minas Tirith until the fall of the island to Sauron in F. A. 457. After his uncle, Finrod, abdicated the throne, Nargothrond came under his stewardship. Following Finrod’s death, Orodreth became the King of Nargothrond, ruling until his death during the city’s fall in F. A. 495.

➳ Idril Celebrindal, born Y. T. 1453, Tirion, to Turgon and Elenwë. She was considered a respected advisor in Gondolin as the Hidden City’s Princess, and married the mortal Tuor. To them Eärendil was born. Forseeing the Fall of Gondolin at Maeglin’s hands, Idril saved many lives by constructing a secret passageway out of the city called Idril’s Secret Way.

➳ Nielindë Menelómë, born Y. T. 1495, Tirion, to Maglor and Liltanel. Born shortly after the news of the First Kinslaying reached Tirion, they were a devotee of Nessa, called “Golden-footed” for their nimbleness. During the War of Wrath, they sailed to Beleriand in search of their father, but were unsuccessful, as Maglor would remain in Middle-Earth for long years after.

➳ Laurefinwë Ingalaurë, born F. A. 22, Himlad, to Curufin and Finrod. The first Finwëan to be born on Beleriand, he was raised mostly by Finrod in Nargothrond. Inglor survived the kingdom’s fall, the Third Kinslaying, and the War of Wrath, and went on to serve as a vassal of his brother in the Second Age. He died during the War of the Last Alliance, leaving a son, Gildor.

➳ Maeglin Lómion, born F. A. 320, Nan Elmoth, to Aredhel and Eöl. Maeglin was orphaned in the course of a single day after Aredhel was poisoned, and Eöl was executed for her death. He became a Lord of Gondolin, even being named its regent during the Nirnaeth. After being captured and tortured by Morgoth, Maeglin gave away Gondolin’s location, leading to its fall. ➳ Halanel, born F. A. 376, Talath Dirnen, to Caranthir and Haleth. Caranthir was captivated by the valour of the Haladin’s Chieftain, Haleth, and the two had become lovers. Halanel was born after the departure of the Haladin westwards, and was raised amongst the people of Haleth, though she was counted as one of the Eldar. Her lineage endures into the Third Age.

➳ Artanáro Erenion, born F. A. 465, Nargothrond, to Curufin and Finrod. Named for both his grandfathers, he was raised by his cousin Orodreth, with his true parentage remaining undisclosed. He later became known as Gil-Galad after being crowned High King. His reign was the longest and most prosperous of the exiled Noldor. After his death, the title became abandoned.

➳ Gwendelach, born F. A. 482, Amon Ereb, to Amras and Ethirdis. She was brought east over the Ered Luin by her mother as Morgoth encroached over the land, and eventually settled with Silvan kindred in Greenwood. She served Oropher and Thranduil as an advisor, and was greatly respected by them, as her daughter was adopted as a ward of Thranduil after her death.

➳ Celebrían, born S. A. 374, Nenuial, to Galadriel and Celeborn. Galadriel, in the spirit of her uncles and father, chose to bestow her own mother-name of Nerwen upon her daughter. Celebrían married Elrond Peredhel, and with him had three children. Kidnapped and tortured by orcs, Celebrían had to sail for Valinor after her rescue to seek healing for the wounds dealt to her spirit.

[arofili]

elves of arda ✹ gondolindrim ✹ headcanon disclaimer ✹ @gondolinweek

          Itarillë Vanisailë was the daughter of Turukáno Ñolofinwion and Elenwë Calimiel. She was only a child when the Ñoldor marched across the Helcaraxë, a treacherous journey where she lost her mother. Her father, always a serious nér, grew even grimmer after this tragedy and kept Itarillë close to his side.           The arrival of the Noldor in Beleriand allowed for Itarillë to exercise slightly more freedom than she had been allowed on the Ice, though Turukáno still would not allow her to wander far. As she grew into adulthood, Itarillë loved and resented her father in equal measure, for he was the only parent she retained and yet denied her the agency she craved.           Itarillë went with Turukáno to Nevrast, and while she loved the sea she missed the company of those few friends who had not quailed from her father’s intimidating presence, including the young healer Meleth who charmed her to distraction. She missed also her uncle Findekáno, a gay and jovial prince who indulged her more rebellious tendencies and shielded her from Turukáno’s anxiety. Itarillë grew restless in Vinyamar, chafing against her father’s stern watch, and eventually fled secretly to visit her uncle in Dor-lómin (and Meleth, who served in his house) without Turukáno’s leave. Turukáno lost his temper dramatically when he discovered her flight, an incident that resulted in his close friend and cousin Finrod taking him away on a journey to come to terms with his fears and losses.           Turukáno was gone for a year, during which time Itarillë finally felt she could breathe and discover what kind of nís she wanted to be. Finrod arranged for her cousins Orodreth and Tyelperinquar to keep her company while Fingon, Galadriel, and Aredhel kept watch over the band of youths; the cousins engaged in many lighthearted adventures and dramatics, including teasing Orodreth over his infatuation with the Sindarin princess Amathluin, daughter of the rulers of the Mithrim Sindar. Itarillë and Meleth flirted for several months, exchanging a few kisses and love letters before they decided that they were not fated to bond, settling instead into a deep and abiding friendship that would stand the test of time.           When Finrod and Turukáno returned, the distance between father and daughter had mellowed their tempers, and they were reunited with gladness. As Itarillë, or Idril as she became known in Sindarin, came of age, Turukáno gradually relaxed his vigilance over her safety and grew to confide in her of his plans to build a city safe from the dangers of Beleriand. Idril proved an invaluable counselor as he began work on Ondolindë’s construction, and Turukáno proved his trust in her by granting her a noble House of her own once they retreated into the city’s walls.           In the safety of Tumladen, Idril reassumed her Quenya name, and was known both as the Princess of Ondolindë and the Lady of the House of the Wing. She took this symbol from the swans she had loved in Vinyamar, having learned their language from her kinswoman Galadriel, originally of the Teleri of Alqualondë. Among the folk of the Wing were Itarillë’s friend Meleth and her house-carl Hendor, a footman she had befriended during her year in Fingon’s court.           Itarillë was a skilled dancer, both as a solo performer and with her friend Meleth as a partner, and for this and her habit of walking about the streets of Ondolindë unshod, she earned the epessë Telpevontál, or Celebrindal. She was for the most part removed from the politics of her father’s court, for she held more interest in dancing and tending to the palace gardens than quarrelling with her fellow lords. Nonetheless, when she held an opinion on King Turukáno’s policies, she was certain to make her voice known, and all respected her input.           Though Itarillë was not herself a hunter, she would sometimes accompany her aunt Aredhel, Lady of the Tower of Snow, on expeditions outside the city limits. She still yearned for freedom, and though the confinement within the white stone walls of Ondolindë was less stifling for her than it was for her aunt she wished to breathe the open air and have space to herself from time to time. When Aredhel left Gondolin to visit Fingon in Dor-lómin, Itarillë half-wished to accompany her, but she knew her place was at her father’s side. Upon Aredhel’s disappearance and her later death, Itarillë was deeply grieved, for she had loved her aunt dearly.           Though Aredhel perished, her son lived, though Itarillë knew not what to make of Maeglin Lómion, the cousin she never expected to have. His apparent apathy upon the execution of his father unsettled her, and though she was naturally sympathetic to a young ellon so cruelly orphaned his oddness made her hesitate to befriend him. It helped not at all that he seemed to shy away from her, even as 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.           Penlod, the Lairde of both the Pillar and the Tower of Snow after Aredhel’s demise, would still at times invite Itarillë to accompany them on hunts outside of Ondolindë. On one such occasion, Penlod also extended the invitation to Maeglin, and he eagerly accepted the chance to see some of the outside world. While on this ill-fated expedition, the hunters were attacked by white wolves from the mountains, and Itarillë and Lómion were separated from the rest of the group.           Lómion suffered a great injury in defending Itarillë from the wolves, and Itarillë, who had learned some healing from Meleth, insisted on treating his wounds. When conventional methods did little to staunch the bleeding, she insisted on Singing the wound closed despite Lómion’s great reluctance. Itarillë and Lómion both were strong in ósanwë, though Itarillë’s talent lay in perceiving the minds of others and Lómion’s in shielding his mind from any who wished to peer into his thoughts; Itarillë had long been curious—and, admittedly, a little suspicious—as to what lay hidden in her cousin’s heart.           As she Sang healing into Lómion’s hröa, their fëar mingled and Itarillë was shocked to discover that Lómion’s secret was his infatuation with her despite their close kinship, now rising to the surface of his thoughts. 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 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. Privately, Itarillë was glad to see him gone, for she trusted her cousin less with every passing year and did not wish to leave Ondolindë in his hands. Indeed, she was offended that her father had gone to him first with this request, and offered the regency to her only after Maeglin had refused. Nevertheless, when the warriors departed, it was Itarillë who ruled the city until the King’s return.           Not long after the disaster of the Nírnaeth Arnœdiad and her father’s ascension to High King of the Noldor, a Man arrived in Gondolin with a message from Ulmo. This was Tuor, son of Huor who had dwelt a year in Ondolindë as a child, and Itarillë was fascinated by the noble bearing and easy charm about him almost as much as she was troubled by Turukáno’s refusal to heed Ulmo’s ominous warning.           Itarillë befriended Tuor, and when Turukáno—encouraged by Maeglin—dismissed her counsel again and again, she and her new companion began to work together on a secret tunnel out of the city and into the mountains. As their collaboration progressed, Itarillë found herself growing deeply fond of Tuor, and gladly accepted his advances when he requested to court her.           At first Turukáno hesitated to see their love developing, but he recalled the last words of Huor his friend: “From you and from me a new star shall arise.” Meditating on this prophecy, he at last agreed to Tuor’s proposal of marriage, giving him the green stone known as the Elessar, once a symbol of his brother’s marriage, to his future law-son as a token of approval. Tuor took the stone and commissioned the smith Enerdhil of the Hammer of Wrath to restore it to its former glory and set it into a necklace he gave as a wedding gift to Itarillë. Tuor joined his wife as the leader of her House of the Wing; in only a year’s time, their son Eärendil Ardamírë was born.           Itarillë’s suspicion of Maeglin only grew in these years, for her cousin made no secret of his distrust and jealousy of Tuor. He gifted little Eärendil a small coat made of mithril, and while she was not so foolish as to deny such a precious gift, she resolved to watch him ever more closely. In Eärendil’s sixth year, Maeglin delved deep into the mines of Anghabar for longer than he ever had before, and Itarillë guessed he was preparing for some twisted scheme.           When at last Maeglin returned to Ondolindë, he was even grimmer and harried than usual; he would often approach Itarillë in private and attempt to speak to her, but his words would die in his throat and he would flee into the darkness. Itarillë confided her worries to Tuor, and her husband thereafter made an effort to remain by her side as often as he could. Shortly before the celebration of Tarnin Austa, Maeglin for the last time caught Itarillë on her own, insisting she take as a gift a curious dagger that would glow should the Enemy come near. Deeply troubled by this veiled threat, Itarillë set aside the blade and never used it, fearing it was somehow cursed.           At last the dreadful doom for which Tuor and Itarillë had long been preparing came to pass, for on the morn of Tarnin Austa the armies of Morgoth attacked Gondolin and its great Fall began. Once more Tuor and Itarillë begged Turukáno to flee the city, but at Maeglin’s urging he instead chose to fight and attempt to hold the city. Itarillë left at once to prepare her secret way, knowing that the hidden kingdom would fall and she would need to lead its survivors to safety, while Tuor reluctantly rallied the House of the Wing to arms.           As Itarillë made her way to her tunnel with Eärendil, she was accosted by Maeglin, whose mental defenses were now tattered and torn. Seeing clearly now that he had betrayed them, Itarillë attempted to fight him off, but with a few of his folk to aid him he captured her and dragged her to the cliffside. Raving and mad, Maeglin ranted that Morgoth’s victory was inevitable and it would be a kinder fate for them all to die at his hands than be tortured by the Enemy’s servants; he seized Eärendil and would have thrown him off the walls of the city had Itarillë not resisted him. He sneered at her for forgetting the blade he gave her, and in a moment of desperation their minds touched briefly one last time.           In that moment Tuor arrived, rushing to the defense of his wife and child. 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—but Itarillë was reeling, for in their very last moment of contact Maeglin had bared his soul to her entirely, revealing that his treachery had been coerced and that he was under a spell of Morgoth, and that he had been attempting to warn her of the attack for months. It was not enough to make up for the death and destruction and doom, but Itarillë could not find it in her heart to be glad that he was dead.           Yet there was no time to process her roiling emotions, for the battle raged on. Itarillë resumed her efforts to usher the commonfolk of Ondolindë into her tunnel, and Tuor led his warriors back into the fray, leaving his friend Voronwë to guard his family. Tuor forced his way to the battle at the gate, fighting alongside Ecthelion of the Fountain, where he slew three orc-lords and five Balrogs. He was forced to retreat when the walls fell and Ecthelion was injured, and the Fountain and the Wing fell back to the Square of the King, joined by the Tree on their journey. There a bitter last stand was made, in which Ecthelion perished killing Gothmog, Lord of Balrogs, and at last Turukáno saw that Gondolin was indeed fallen. He ordered Tuor to lead the retreat of those who yet lived, though despite Tuor’s pleading he refused to flee himself.           Tuor and Itarillë led the surviving exiles through their secret way, giving charge of little Eärendil to Hendor, Meleth, and Voronwë while they ensured the safety of their people. As they fled into the mountains and the city crumbled behind them, the refugees were attacked once more by a Balrog, and were saved only by the intervention of the Eagles and by the valiance of Glorfindel of the Golden Flower, who was dragged to his death by the demon he slew.           Idril and Tuor led the Gondolindrim on a long and winding journey to the Havens of Sirion, and after seeing their son married, departed out to Sea in search of Valinor where Idril had been born. There is more to their tale, and though it is filled with great sorrow it concludes in joy and family reunited against all odds, for though Arda was Marred it shall not be so forever.

[matrose]

Top five secret Irim or Ruiwen facts???

OUH 🥺 THANK YOU

im gonna cheat a bit and do both hehe… these arent really secret just previously unsaid but im letting it count 🫢

Irím (Wife of Glóin, Mother of Gimli)

- she was born in the ered luin (i found very little info on this but ive always been under the impression there was a small colony of dwarves living there that merged with the refugees from erebor? but maybe that’s contradictory to something in the text! she and her sister were born and raised there, big on trading relations with hobbits etc).

-her father is a merchant from erebor falls fell in love with her mother and stays in the ered luin for her, escaping smaugs attack. her mothers passion is stained glass windows. she survives her husband by several years, he dies not long before gimlis birth. (considering that perhaps gimli is named after him? not sure though)

- irim & gloin do not get along well at first! they knock heads a bunch of times, both being very opinionated and outspoken… they eventually fing common ground in some typical romcom way. their marriage earrings are made of tourmaline!

- when the lonely mountain is retaken, she and gimli, under dis‘ leadership, leave behind her mother and sister, and travel to erebor. (as she was very close to her father, she grew up with stories of erebor in its glory days). she and her family remain close through constant correspondence.

- irims favorite game, played during free time, involves complex rules, many small figurines, many lines, cards, small rocks, and, if played well, can span an entire week. gloin lacks the patience for the long games (those are the best of course, but gloin forfeits too early) and her son rarely likes to play. the strange elf though, that gimli brings home after the war, picks up the rules quickly and plays well and gladly.

Ruiwen (Findis‘ Wife)

- despite her occupation as winemaker her favorite fruit is not grape but rather orange 🍊

- she braids her hair with red ribbons that findis gave to her as a courting gift

- findis being the favorite aunt of celegorm and aredhel led to ruiwen being close to them as well. she does make the best wine!

- before she knew findis, she was close with fingolfin (he did not introduce them though). because of this, and because feanors words deeply moved her, she took part in the flight of the noldor. this led to her and findis seperating and it was bitter and painful and plagued both of them. ruiwen was not a fighter but she survived until the dagor aglareb, where she was slain

- findis and ruiwen eventually reconcile! mandos‘ couples counceling service came through for them

[mellar1l]

"And Aredhel bore to Eöl a son in the shadows of Nan Elmoth, and in her heart she gave him a name in the forbidden tongue of the Noldor, Lómion, that signifies Child of the Twilight; but his father gave him no name until he was twelve years old. Then he called him Maeglin, which is Sharp Glance, for he perceived that the eyes of his son were more piercing than his own, and his thought could read the secrets of hearts beyond the mist of words." Tolkien, J.R.R.. The Silmarillion (p. 128). Houghton Mifflin Harcourt. Kindle Edition.

[shandaumath]

Master

{The following is a retelling of RP that occurred largely between Vynlorin and @cerusaniduskbinder with a few points from @aredhelvaltieri and @barirnshadowwind, and @sparrow-of-arnud​ and @nivathostin​ for mentions. 

Very little has been altered from the original RP only for the sake of storytelling flow.}

[A simple parchment was posted on the notice board in the late afternoon. Very few words were written, but the words posted there were large and elegant and demanded attention. The seal of House Shandaumath sat at the bottom of the notice.]

WANTED: Hemomancer

Any who can provide reliable information on the whereabouts of a hemomancer will be handsomely rewarded. Further inquiries should be redirected to Master Vynlorin Shandaumath.

Search with haste. Time is of the essence.

...

“Master Vynlorin. When you have time I have information you are looking for.”

Cerusani’s voice rang out through the communication device that Vynlorin hated so much. He set aside the scroll of hemomancy that he had been researching and clicked the little button on the device attached beneath his shoulder pads.

“I have time now.”

“I am finishing up an appointment. I will be available in about ten minutes.”

He pursed his lips and wrinkled his nose. Another meeting with Cerusani, and it would end with just as much disappointment as the rest. But he couldn’t risk not seeing her. The fate of the sickly Ithildir depended on this hunt.

“Find me in Thornwood.”

Vynlorin left his books and scrolls in an organized mess and retreated from his study only to greet Nivathostin who had been standing outside as patiently as ever. The man had few interests and fewer words, and the master of the house had grown fond of him.

“Come, Nivathostin. We have a guest tonight.” As if being beckoned like a dog, the blue-haired ren’dorei following behind his master, and the pair made way into the dining hall for preparations.

....

It wasn’t long before Cerusani made her way into the room with classical Cerusani confidence. Her shoulders were back with her head held high even though she knew who she was meeting.

“Master Vynlorin. I made it here as quickly as I could. Thankfully I was just across the way and not in the city.” She did not dare take a seat anywhere as she waited for the man to acknowledge her presence.

The table was empty except for the bottle of Dalaran Red and two glasses beside it. One had already been filled and teased by the master of the house while the other remained cold and empty in anticipation of the coming guest. Aside from the usual servants that stood idle along the walls, Vynlorin was not alone. Next to his seat stood a thin ren’dore who, although far too skinny, seemed in decent health. The man boasted short blue hair and steady eyes that were unwavering in their inspection upon Cerusani when she arrived, but Vynlorin met her with a curious gaze as he waved to the empty seat nearest to her.

“Of course. Have a seat.”

A servant peeled himself from the wall with quick feet and reached for the bottle of wine and empty glass, pouring the woman her drink as she settled in.

Cerusani wasted no time in taking the offered seat with grace as she sat upon the wood which made a small noise. The servant who had poured the wine offered it up to Cerusani and she took it by the stem. “Thank you.” The two small words were offered to the servant before she began to swirl the delectable wine that they both enjoyed. However, Cerusani did not look at the wine but instead flitted her violet eyes between Master Vynlorin and the unknown man.

“Is he the one you need the hemomancer for? I thought it was Ithildir. That would be odd though as I told Ithildir what I knew two nights ago.” A brow arched as she shifted around the thoughts within her head. Politely she took a sip of the wine.

Vynlorin quirked a brow. “Did you? So you’ve already discussed it with Ithildir while he made no mention of it to me.” His finger gently tapped against the glass, and he entirely ignored the question she posed to him. After a moment of silent thought, he sipped and continued.

“What did he say about it?”

Cerusani sucked in the side of her cheek for a moment, contemplating.

“He said nothing but thank you. I gave him two names. Baron Herke Kruger and Lord Tion Harrowmire.” She relaxed back into the chair as she crossed one leg atop the other. “Baron Kruger once told me that Harrowmire had asked about learning hemomancy after a House of Nobles meeting. That is all I have. Though since it is frowned upon and illegal within Stormwind I am unsure if either are practitioners. It is better a lead than anything else.”

The wine within her glass swirled as she eyed the gaunt unknown man. “Did he want a glass of wine perhaps?”

Vynlorin twisted his lips and pursed them in displeasure as he received the information, but they soon pressed into a line at the attention sent toward the other man. A dismissive hand waved it off as Vynlorin looked up at the other who still remained as still and steady as ever.

“Perhaps Nivathostin’s biggest flaw is his tongue. He is a whiskey man and scorns wine whenever I offer it to him.”

There was no hiding the surprise on Cerusani’s face as she set the wine down on the table. Her eyes directly stared at Nivathostin as if seeing a made up story one only hears about once in a few moons.

“Nivathostin. Aredhele’s Nivathostin? I thought he was dead. Aredhele has always spoken of him as if he was dead. Not that she did it often. One time.” The words were low and wonderous.

Nivathostin couldn’t help but sneer at the name while his nose raised high as if he had just been insulted. “Perhaps it was always her goal,” he mused quietly with malice thick in his voice.

Vynlorin returned his gaze to his glass and allowed a snake-like grin to spread wide against his lips before chiming in. “I wasn’t aware you knew of him, Cerusani. How curious.” The master then motioned for Nivathostin to sit while waving the servants forward. “Do get a bottle of whiskey for Nivathostin here.”

With the command, the younger men scurried to the liquor cabinet, retrieved a dark bottle, and brought it to the table where they poured it into a glass and offered it to the blue-haired man taking a seat.

Cerusani finally broke her gaze away from Nivathostin and brought the eyes down to her wine glass. The ripples from the swirling radiated outward to the edges as she thought.

“I do not know much. Just the name. I know better than to ask more right now. Even if I did you would not tell me, Master Vynlorin.” As if the words parched her throat like Tanaris, Cerusani brought the wine to her lips drinking a healthy portion of it. As the glass was brought down she shifted in her seat, seeming as if she was no longer comfortable in the room. “Ithildir is dying. He had me run across Stormwind last night to fetch a potion for him. He is in no condition to fight on Sunday.”

Vynlorin shook his head at Cerusani, and Nivathostin fell silent once more as he sipped at the sweet escape of whiskey now snuggled within his hand.

“Nivathostin has had a rough few years, Cerusani, and we will do our best to make sure he’s comfortable. Let’s leave this as our little secret for now, yes?” The warlock’s predatory gaze fell heavily against the woman as his own silent threat, and the look only softened after he sipped back another dose of poison. “Ithildir is dying, yes, which is why it’s important that we find someone or something that can cure him quickly. You would do well not to fight him just as I must stay my own hand until he can recover.”

Cerusani knew the gaze that he cast upon her with the words of warning. Silence fell between the trio for a while with the only sound coming from Cerusani being the tapping of her nails atop the table.

“You want me to keep a secret for you. What do I get out of it? You’ve cast me aside. You call me a cat. You call me a disappointment. What do I get from this arrangement?” She rolled her shoulders back trying to give her the look of confidence she had when entering the room. “From your request I surmise that Lady Aredhele does not know he is here. Perhaps no one but you knows.” A brow arched as the words were pointed directly at the man.

Nivathostin paused his sip as he stared steadily at Cerusani, his breath remaining stuck in his lungs as he awaited the master’s response. Vynlorin too paused as his gaze fell into slits at the dare, and it was as if the room grew colder with a devilish curl of his lips.

“Quite simply, Cerusani, you get to keep your freedom.”

Cerusani set her wine glass down atop the table.

“I want more than that.”

Arms crossed beneath her chest as the two seemed to be in a stalemate. “You can do better, Vynlorin.” This was the first time in months that she had dropped the respect of his title.

All the servants in the room froze, stuck as statues as the tension in the air gripped their rapidly-beating hearts. Nivathostin too could feel the wrath of the master despite his innocence in the conversation. Vynlorin curled that devilish grin wider, and his wicked thoughts flashed before his eyes and danced in his mind as he considered his next move.

“Cerusani. I understand you enjoy being beaten. Perhaps you would like to demonstrate for everyone in this room what it’s like to be the subject of a lesson in disobedience.”

Cerusani should have known better and did know better but still she doubled down.

“No. I do not think I will be the subject of one of your lessons.”

The defiance flickered in her eyes as she took a moment to look from the Master to Nivathostin. Her right hand uncurled from underneath her chest and dipped into her pocket. As the hand came up from the table she held tightly onto her small communication device, finger pressed upon the button. “Lady Aredhele.”

“Yes, Cerusani?” Lady Aredhele’s voice rang out.

She took her finger off the button and cocked her head to the side once more looking at Master Vynlorin. “You can do better. Pick your next words carefully because there are different pieces to this puzzle I could pull out and say to Lady Aredhele right now.”

There was no going back. Cerusani had put this into motion.

Vynlorin squinted at the device as he heard the woman’s words ring out against his own ear from beneath his pauldrons. A soft sigh flooded from his nostrils, but he didn’t pity the woman’s fate that she had just sealed.

“Very well.”

And then, with a gentle utter beneath his breath, the shadows beneath Cerusani’s seat wriggled to life and crawled up the back of her chair only to wrest the woman’s neck backwards with its long, gangly claws. The shadowfiend crawled with tendrils and inches of nails that fashioned into claws, and it sought to squeeze the air from her neck while threatening to pierce the flesh. Nivathostin watched with dark eyes that were far too curious to hold sympathy for the woman, but the servants all sent their gazes downward and held their frightened breaths.

Cerusani pressed the button of the communication device. With all that she had left in her she squeezed out a sound.

“NIVAT-”

The word did not finish as the clawed shadows dug deeper, crushing her throat even more. With that the device fell out of her hand as the woman’s body began to grow limp.

When the radio clicked on again, the sound of broken glass was heard. Then, all was silent. Too silent. The radio connection opened after a long pause and the melodic buzz of static replaced Aredhele’s voice. There was too much emotion. Too many thoughts rushed to her mouth and she spat out with all the passion she could muster. “Where. Is. He?”

Vynlorin slammed his glass against the table and pushed himself to his feet with more fury than she would have ever seen before. His face grew dark like the very demons he commanded, and a quick flick of his wrist snuffed out every torch in the dining hall.

“Cerusani.”

That one single word dragged against the infinite dark of the shadows that now wrapped around them with the weight of every vile thought that had ever crossed the warlock’s mind. Nivathostin inhaled a deep breath that hitched itself in his throat with all the others who were unfortunate enough to be trapped in the cage with the beast and its prey.

“I am so disappointed in you.”

The woman’s eyes fluttered for a moment, taking in the darkness as it came. The little breathing that she was able to manage began to slow, become shallower. Her body limper with each passing second.

"It seems she has not responded. Would you like for me to find her, Lady Valtieri?" Barirn’s voice called out from the device.

“No no, that is alright. I will find her myself tomorrow.”

The shadowfiend grew stronger in the darkness, but its life was short-lived and soon dispersed into the rest of the room only to be replaced by the warlock’s own hand wrapped tightly around her neck. He held her firmly but allowed her breaths to trickle through so she could feel every word he uttered against her ear, his breath hot and heavy beside her.

“You could have shown me that you were capable of doing anything right, but now you’ll just be another pet to hang on my wall.”

The darkness flooded through her nostrils and reached deep into her soul, transcending flesh and breaking the barrier between life and death. His other fingers reached into his robes and pinched an empty soul shard that now glowed with anticipation for its new prisoner, and he muttered a dark and vile language as the ritual continued.

Everything within Cerusani began to twist and ache as her very source of life broke apart from her while the warlock reeled it out, slowly, slowly, until it screeched when it broke into the air and was dragged into the little shard. With nothing to see, the rushing wind that whirled within the room struck hard against the dulled senses of everyone within it, and the cold of the Nether skittered like static across their flesh.

Cerusani felt every little part of her body as Vynlorin worked his magic upon her. Her long lashes fluttered open to see the darkness of the room while the violet orbs looked as if the woman was in the depths of pure agony. Each passing moment Cerusani’s soul left her and entered the shard within Vynlorin’s grasp until there was nothing of it left inside her. Her throat beneath his hand moved as she swallowed to get out anything but nothing came.

The thoughts. The words. Everything stuck within Cerusani as her eyes fluttered closed once more. Nivathostin shuddered at the sensation of the Twisting Nether breaking through into the room, and the familiar touch of death and lost souls made his stomach churn.

Once the shard had fully sealed the soul within it, it sparked in a brilliant flash of light before falling into a soft purple glow that revealed the suffering soul within it. The anger mingling with the unnatural magics gave rise to Vynlorin’s own nausea, but he ignored it as adrenaline still pulsed within him and forced his hand to backhand the woman who had riled him so.

“You are no longer a student. No longer an acquaintance. You are a worthless animal who will learn her place.

The backhand from Vynlorin sent Cerusani’s slumping body to the stone of the floor. For a long while she laid on the cool stone before she began to come about. Her body convulsed as her skin began to glisten. The first attempt at righting her body failed with her body crumpling to the ground once more.

A retching sound came from her throat even with it being so dry. The dark floor was spewed with the wine she had consumed, and a mixture of her dinner of stew one of the villagers had made for her. The stench just before her nose prompted her to try to get up once more. Her weakened body managed to sit up as she looked around, finally settling on Vynlorin.

“Yo-.”

She had to pause a moment.

“Take everything.”

It made no sense perhaps to the men before her but it did to Cerusani. Shaking hands grasped at the chair trying to pull her to her feet, and after a few moments Cerusani was upon legs that felt like a baby deer.

“Ca-can I go now?” The view of the woman now was scant but a memory of the woman who had walked into the room with confidence.

Vynlorin stepped through the darkness, pushing the chair with his foot so he could take another step closer. That wicked hand rushed to the back of Cerusani’s neck to slam her head down against the table like a prisoner beneath his grip.

“You will address me properly.”

While keeping her head steady with one hand, the warlock returned the filled shard to its place in his robes before flicking that wrist to spark the torches alive again. The darkness fled with the flames so that Cerusani could see her captor looming above her.

Cerusani felt the impact of the wooden table against her face. Once more her stomach began to retch but there was no longer anything to give. Her body radiated with shivers as she looked up to the imposing man she had goaded into being the demon she knew lived somewhere in him. With the grasp of his hand on the back of her neck it felt as if she was his puppet when the words came out next.

“Ma-may I go now, M-m-master Vynlorin?” It was a struggle as every fiber of Cerusani ached.

Vynlorin kept her there a moment longer as he considered her plea.

“No.”

He responded with the same confidence that she had uttered to him when she damned herself to this fate. “Guards!” he barked, and the two men who had been guarding the outside of the door rushed in. “Take her to the dungeon. I’ll be along shortly.”

Each bulky man gripped an arm and yanked Cerusani with them, seeking to drag her along if her own feet couldn’t keep up. Vynlorin brushed the filth of the woman from his hands and waved Nivathostin to follow along.

Cerusani could not keep up as her feet dragged across the floor.

“Master Vynlorin. I wo-won’t say anything. Pleas-please.”

The words were the last things that left her lips as one of the guards smacked her on the back of her head, and she fell silent while they descended the stairs.

[sweetteaanddragons]

How to Train Your (Evil) Dragon

A/N: I’d been wanting to write this for a while, and the five sentence prompt I recently wrote finally pushed me over the edge. Definite thanks is owed to the actual HtTYD.

Also, fair warning, this gets progressively crackier as it goes on.

. . . 

Dear Mother,

Someday, I’ll find a way to actually send these to you.

In the meantime, interesting news continues to accumulate! We ran into an exciting new creature on patrol this morning that looked something like a lizard, if a lizard happened to be the size of a horse. I’d include a sketch, but I’m afraid my drawing skills are as dismal as you remember.

My skills with the sword, however, are better than ever - I was able to drive the beast off before anyone was more than slightly injured! I think it may lose one leg entirely. Unfortunately, our pursuit failed, and I was not able to finish it off, but there is another patrol planned for tomorrow; perhaps I can find it then.

There is still no news from Turgon and Aredhel, but as I recently assured Father, that is no reason to fear the worst. If the worst had come to past, surely the Enemy would have found some way to taunt us with it.

I wish dearly that Father would let me go in search of them, but he insists he needs me here. I confess, I feel better keeping him in sight as well  - 

In better news, Maedhros’s letter has arrived after all; later than I expected, but the news in it is good, and my fears are much allayed. We are holding the line, and that’s the most important thing.

I hope you don’t worry too much.

All my love, 

Fingon

. . .

Dear Mother,

I have found the beast! A minor rockfall down by the river pinned its tail and has kept it trapped. When I found it, it had given up hope of pulling itself free and was sulking about it. It looked rather more like a cat than anything else, and I almost laughed.

. . . Which brings us to my next point.

It just looked so helpless, lying there like that, and I’d gotten a bit separated from the rest of the patrol - don’t look at me like that, I was perfectly safe - and it just felt, well, wrong to kill it. When else will we have an opportunity like this, to see if we can save one of the beasts Morgoth has corrupted? Don’t I have a duty to try?

And no, before you ask, this has nothing to do with the whispers I’ve been hearing about thralls -

I promise this will end better than the bear cub I brought home in Aman. And the fox. And that hawk.

This time, everything will work out perfectly.

I’ve started by feeding it fish.

All my love,

Fingon

. . .

Dear Mother,

Day Three of my new project! I am now almost certain that my new friend is male, and he has stopped hissing at me when I approach. Admittedly, this is probably because I continue to bring him fish, but still: progress!

Between the need to actually fish for the fish, for lack of a better phrase, and my attempts to train the horse-lizard (definitely need a better phrase), this has been taking up a larger portion of my time than is easy to conceal from Father. He has been starting to make jokes that are not actually jokes about my riding off into the unknown like Turgon. I’m not sure what to tell him. I want to be further into my project before I try to sell him on it.

So I tried to drop hints that I was actually sneaking away to have the kind of assignations that might eventually end in grandchildren, which successfully distracted him.

If this continues long enough, I might actually have to find a baby somewhere.

I can picture you laughing at me. I wish you were here.

I will try to come up with a better name than lizard-horse soon. I also need a name for this specific lizard-horse, which I admit is harder than I thought it would be. Maybe I can come up with a sneaky way to ask Maedhros to ask Maglor. Celegorm might also be of some help - with the training, not the naming - but I’m pretty sure he still isn’t speaking with me. According to Maedhros, this is because the last time they met, Aredhel wasn’t speaking to him, so now that she’s disappeared, I have to fill in as a proxy.

No, it doesn’t make sense to me either.

All my love,

Fingon

. . .

Dear Mother,

Day 12 of my project! I am spared of calling my new friend a horse-lizard by the wit of one of the people who was on patrol with me; she has taken to calling it a dragon, and I like the sound of it so well that I’ve decided to adopt it. My particular dragon I have decided to call Glaurung.

He gave me a bit of a fright today when he unexpectedly breathed out sparks while I was doing my best to mend his leg, but there was no true harm done, and I think he looked a bit sorry afterwards. He is beginning to look genuinely happy to see me when I come, and I harbor some small, probably foolish, hope that it’s not just excitement for the fish.

Father has begun to poke around to try to find out just who I’m having assignations with; I might actually have to start courting someone to satisfy him.

Or I could come clean, I suppose, but my other idea sounds easier. No luck finding a suitable and available baby to claim so far, but my efforts continue unabated!

All my love,

Fingon

. . .

Dear Mother,

Glaurung can talk! He said his very first word today! It was “fish.” I am very proud and am now attempting to get him to say my name. The first letters are the same; how hard could it be?

I stay longer and longer to sit and talk with him now. Hopefully it will help him learn to speak. Once he can actually hold a conversation, I feel I can present him to Father. 

I’m more hesitant than ever to do so before I can be sure how Father will react. He would be perfectly right to be cautious, of course, but I hate the thought of having to see Glaurung dead. I feel responsible for him now, and I want to protect him if I can, as ridiculous as that may seem directed towards a being that successfully started a fire for me yesterday.

In other news, Glaurung apparently now prefers his fish cooked.

All my love,

Fingon

. . .

Dear Mother,

I have finally freed Glaurung from where his tail was pinned. I confess I had some lingering fear that he would attack or at least wander off, but now that I see the damage, that concern has lessened greatly. He will need a good deal of help before he is ready to do that.

Please don’t worry. I’m being very careful, I promise.

In unrelated news, I discovered dragons can purr if you pet them just exactly right.

All my love,

Fingon

. . . 

Dear Mother,

Glaurung did a bad thing today.

He has been growing at an incredible rate, and I’m afraid my fishing skills are struggling to keep up with him. Today he wanted more fish when all I had left was the one I had intended for my own lunch. When I told him no, the strangest look came over his eyes, and suddenly I found myself bringing him the fish anyway despite my intention.

Fortunately, I snapped out of it before I could actually give him the fish, and I suppose no great harm would have come of it even I had, but the incident still alarms me. His fire is getting stronger. What if this does too?

Well, hopefully I can train it out of him. Immediately after I snapped out of it, I poured the bucket of water I’d brought him over his nose, and he reacted exactly as a cat would, sputtering and indignant, so that will be my new strategy: All misbehavior will be greeted with a liberal application of water. Perhaps I’ll see if one of the artisans can create something a little more manageable for the task than a bucket.

On the bright side, his language skills are improving! He asked for that fish in a full sentence. I’m very proud. Is this what parenting feels like?

Meanwhile, I think Father has questioned every eligible Noldorin woman in Hithlum. Presumably he’ll move on to the Sindar next; I don’t know what he’ll do when he runs out of those.

Possibly I should have come up with a different excuse.

Maedhros’s next letter has arrived, by the way. I referred to my project very discreetly in my last to him, but apparently it was not discreet enough, because he sounded rather alarmed. I’m torn between telling him the whole truth and obfuscating so he doesn’t feel the need to lie to Father on my behalf. 

I’ll just tell him I’ve gotten a cat. A very large cat. That breathes fire.

Maybe not that last part.

All my love,

Fingon

. . .

Dear Mother,

I now have a special bottle that sprays water when I push a little trigger at the top. I like it very much, and after extensive and absolutely necessary practice on various rocks, I have taken to carrying it with me when I go see Glaurung. Unfortunately, this has proven necessary. Twice more he has attempted that eye trick, both times in attempts to get more fish, but after the last attempt he seemed resigned to failure. I also take heart from the fact that he is now fully healed and could easily leave to survive on his own, but instead he has stayed here, seemingly perfectly content to stay with me. In fact, I’ve had to use the spray bottle once or twice to keep him from following me back to the fort.

(I am getting increasingly tempted to use the spray bottle on Father whenever he brings up the woman I am supposedly seeing, but I doubt I would find as good a result. In hindsight, I really should have found a different excuse to use.)

In cheerier news, I can have full conversations with Glaurung now! His own contributions remain simple, but he is improving greatly.

I also have a confession to make: I told you that I was teaching him to speak. I did not tell you that I was teaching him Quenya.

Keeping that secret from you of all people was spectacularly pointless, I know, seeing as you aren’t actually reading these, but I was afraid to commit the words to paper in case these were ever found.

You have to understand, it just seemed so natural! I was alone, doing something secret, so naturally I would use -

Well. I suppose when Father finds out, the sticking point about the dragon will probably not be what language he speaks. On the other hand, when Thingol finds out . . . 

Maybe I should start teaching him Sindarin.

All my love,

Fingon

. . .

Dear Mother,

I have a baby!

Admittedly, I’m increasingly concerned about the provenance of said baby, but Caranthir’s not talking, and Father’s already seen the baby, so it’s too late to back out now.

. . . Though maybe I should back up just a little.

You see, a few letters ago, I’d mentioned to Maedhros that I needed a baby, mostly because I was too tired to think about what I was writing, and then the messenger took it before I could -

Anyway. Maedhros, being the supportive cousin that he is - and also, notably, having survived Feanor’s determination to have 49 grandchildren at minimum - assumed that I had legitimate reasons to want said baby: Namely, Father pressuring me to get to work preserving the line of Finwe by providing more heirs.

Which shouldn’t be necessary but given that we still don’t know what happened to Turgon, Aredhel, and little Idril - 

Which, to be fair to Maedhros, was much more sensible than what was actually going on.

In my defense, I didn’t actually expect Maedhros to - to do whatever it is he did. I thought he would commiserate a little, maybe, and that would be the end of it.

But no. Caranthir is here with the horses he wants to trade for some of our stock, and he brought with him the tiniest, most perfect baby I’ve ever seen.

I’m going to call him Gil-Galad.

I know, I know! I shouldn’t be naming the baby before I’m sure I’ll get to keep him, and I shouldn’t decide I’m going to keep him before I can get Caranthir to cough up more than, “Don’t worry about it,” when I ask where he came from.

But Caranthir managed to smuggled the baby into my arms right before Father walked in, saw it, and jumped to the obvious conclusion, so if I do end up having to give the baby up, I’m going to have a lot of explaining to do.

Actually, I already have a lot of explaining to do because I might have panicked a little bit when Father saw me with the baby.

And by ‘panicked a little bit,’ I mean that when he said, “You have a baby?” I may have, possibly, blurted out, “I also have a dragon.”

So, as I write, Father’s getting kitted up to go meet said dragon.

Do you think Gil-Galah’s too young to come along?

All my love,

Fingon

[aredhelevaltieri]

A Story of the Unfortunate

Aredhele has a few brothers and sisters worth mentioning. Aria is one of them and she had use in Ared’s plays of damnation. Lady Valtieri wasted no time writing her a letter and she addressed it to a shelter for women in Silvermoon.

Aria was stripped of all she had, save for hope, by Ared’s very own hands when the family made journey to the Void’s promised lands. Aria was left with nary a coin to her name, and the coin she did receive she shared amongst those that also suffered an ill fate.

The light gifted her hardship, when she refused to trust the whispers from the abyss. The light gave her struggle and abandonment, where the void blessed her family bliss. Yet still, she remained vigilant in her oath, that vice will never prosper over virtue.

My Darling Aria,

Sister, it has been some time since I last penned. I always promised when we left, riches will be bestowed upon you in heavenly ways. You will not have to suffer the lies men see in gold’s reflection. I took away the damnation that fortune brings. Lives are stolen and wars lost, all for power and coin, things you are not cursed to have.

Seeing I am your guide in life for the rest of your days, I shall always do what I can to see to your comfort. Opportunity has arrived on the back of sour news.

Good things first, I have found a proper home to place you. Lord Teremath Blacksorrow suffers the failure of a lost marriage. As a long time friend of the family, I feel we must save his reputation or he will crumble into the arms of temptation, giving birth to a man of ill repute. A man that could not care for his family proper, is not first choice for greatness. You can save him from this damnation with your honorable reputation, yet to be smeared and ruined by any man. Show him the rewards of chastity by being a beacon of light so that he may not have to endure the consequence of late night decisions.

Speaking of what happens when we let down our guard at ungodly hours, I know you are still untouched, for the Void has told me so. The whispers also warned that if any should ruin you before you are wed, you will forever feel the raw burn of that wrongful night when you drowned yourself in a river of a wanting man’s lies.

I bid you to seek him out Lord Blacksorrow, by any means necessary, and offer service to him as a sweet handmaid. You must save him, and in by saving him, he will save you, from our warlord uncle who is on a rampage as your grandfather enjoys his last days. And you must do this with haste, for good reason. Our victorious Uncle’s warband gains speed every day, and I fear he will come for all of us and rid of from this world well before our time of glorious reign. Take shelter, for even I fear his wrath. Do you know the horrors Warlords commit against their families when they have been overthrown? Have you ever desired a child with mutations, or a cold room locked away as an army of men take you, when your Uncle decides you are no longer fun?

Lord Blacksorrow has always been a good man and, should he allow you to serve his household, you are not to offend him with filthy manners that plague whorish women. Remain covered with modest clothes at all times, and never annoy him with girlish quips. Cook him warm porridge and offer him unblemished, succulent peaches pink and ripe, with a dollop of cream. Serve him with your gaze averted and always make sure he comes from his rides to a clean and organized home.

Tell me of his days, and nights so I may hear of your progress. I will guide you in your new found life of servitude. And in this servitude, you will not have to suffer the hands of lustful men until one day you find a lowborn noble, who will see to your care.

Keep these words close to your heart, in secret, for I do not want Lord Blacksorrow to know my pain. In helping you, I am helping him, and men often scorn help, to save face. This was all happenchance Aria, never show my hand for that will make you a traitor to our family. Then, I will give you to Yroseth myself for stabbing me in the back when all I wish to do is keep you safe.

Your sister and Matriarch of the Valtieri Legacy

Aredhele

Aria received the letter and immediately honored her sister’s request. It didn’t take long before she found herself in the cold loveless estate of the Black Rider. Most days were spent in the barren garden with hopes that one day she could see it bloom. Aria was unable to ask for the simple pleasure of coin to rid the soil of rotting flowers that long lost their scent. She couldn’t bring herself to be that selfish. The sheer joy of watching her Lord carry home hunted trophies should be more than enough to offer her happiness.

Every day was like every other. Make the bed, cook breakfast before Teremath awakes, and hide from any conversation he may wish to give. Every day she read the letter her sister gave, and every night she tucked it into the dresser drawer, where she kept it safe.

And every other day was like every other for Ared. The lust for vengeance reared its ugly face, and Teremath’s crime against her will not be forgotten. Their story didn’t end in the forest where she played a horrific game, and lost.

@blacksorrow-wra @rhys-valtieri @fromoblivionwra

[elesianne]

A Silmarillion fanfic for @finweanladiesweek – Day 4: Aredhel

Summary: Aredhel didn't truly love the gleaming white of Gondolin that tried too much to be like Tirion, and felt like a bright cage; but her new home in Nan Elmoth grows darker over the years, shadows gathering close around her.

Length: ~2,100 words, Rating: Teenage audiences; Some keywords: introspection , family, dysfunctional relationships, light angst

A/N: I might write another fic one day about the joys Aredhel finds early in her and Eöl's relationship – this fic deals more with what there is besides the joy.

AO3 link

*

Shadow-bound

Aredhel thinks more of her mother after she becomes a mother herself than she has thought of her for the centuries that have passed since they parted.

She still doesn't forgive Anairë for not coming along, but she begins to think that one day she will at least understand her. She hopes she will, and that hope of it is new too.

*

She thinks of her mother when she gives her son a name. The mother-name of Aredhel's son is given in very different circumstances from how her own mother-name was given her in the gleaming palace in Tirion. There is no grand feast for her son, no large, joyful family witnessing the naming, and there is no a father-name for the child to abandon in favour of the new name if they so wish. There is not even the sound of the new name spoken.

Eöl loves her son, Aredhel knows it with all the conviction she ever had about anything, and he loves her, but he would not accept this name from her for their son, so Aredhel gives the name in her heart.

Thus there is only the ever-twilight of Nan Elmoth surrounding Aredhel and her dark-eyed child, the twilight that she names him for, in the language of her own people that has been forbidden both by the king in Doriath and by her own husband.

The half-light, half-darkness of the forest is not yet distasteful to her when she names her son Lómion, child of the twilight.

Lómion's eyes, darker though they are than Noldor-grey, remind her of her mother's. Anairë always could tell when any of her children were lying, and many other things about people besides, and already before Lómion is the height of her knee, Aredhel often has the feeling that he sees things that she believed to have hidden from his view.

Eöl, too, has a piercing way of looking at people, but for some reason Aredhel prefers to think that Lómion inherited at least some of his uncanny perceptiveness from her mother too.

Motherhood has made her silly, making her miss her own mother after centuries of separation, Aredhel tells herself. She certainly doesn't miss all the constraints Anairë always tried to put on her, to behave this way and not do that, nor does she miss the way Turgon tried to do the same.

She still isn't certain why she went with him to his hidden city. For Idril, perhaps. Or just for something new to experience.

She has always had a tendency to make decisions based on first, intuitive feelings, and then later to try not examine her motivations too much. It is perhaps a quality of her family, she thinks wryly to herself sometimes, one that has served them well in some matters and worse in others.

She is not certain whether she would recognise the taste of regret in her mouth.

*

As Lómion, or Maeglin as his father names him when he has been nameless but in his mother's heart for too long, grows, he has ill dreams sometimes. They make him pale in the wrong way in the morning, and his mother's heart constrict with worry. For even when he doesn't tell her – and he usually does not – she knows that he finds the path of rest difficult when he has had a disagreement with his father.

On those mornings, Aredhel finds herself growing weary too. She is growing weary and sick of the shadows that surround them, weary of having to wait for starlight, weary of the sternness and silence of her husband that once seemed so enchanting and mysterious to her. Weary of their servants, the only people in their forest besides her tiny family, of their clipped words and smiles that when they appear are always secretive, and never for her. Sometimes she thinks they are at her expense.

The servants are more loyal to Eöl than her, but she knows they are a little afraid of her when she wants them to be, afraid of her sharp tongue and the light in her eyes. It makes her laugh sometimes that these people should be afraid of light when light is the most beautiful thing there is.

She does not hope for the servants' love but for their respect, the kind that her mother commanded among her household. If she cannot have that, she will make do with occasional fear.

*

Lómion is an ever-greater joy to her as he grows. She had not realised how much she has missed the sun until she rides with him out of the oppressive eaves of Nan Elmoth when Eöl is gone on one of his journeys and has refused to take Lómion with him this time. The joy on Lómion's face adds to hers, and she laughs out loud as they race to the river Celon together. They spend the afternoon on the river's shore, splashing in the cold water and then drying out in the sun and the fresh breeze that blows from the north-west across the plain of Himlad.

When they return, the trees seem taller than ever to Aredhel, their shadows more suffocating. That peculiar quality of half-light that she admired in her earlier years here seems less beautiful now. There is a small voice in the back of her head that tells her to turn back to the sun, the light of it now fading into dusk but still warm, to ride hard and leave the shadows behind.

Instead she takes her son home and tells him stories of the glory of the Trees, of how their light was more fair and more holy than the sun, and of how her family with their people came to this land to avenge the death of that light.

Lómion listens like he always does, still and attentive but not spellbound. When she speaks of the Noldor to him, he seems very Noldorin to her, his eyes shining, his long black hair just like that of Aredhel's father and grandfather.

Though her relationship with Eöl and the ever-twilight of their home grows more complicated as the years pass, she knows that even if she were capable of regret, she could never regret coming here and having Lómion. The hard, glinting flint of his eyes is dear to her beoynd the worth of all the jewels her father or brothers or husband ever gave her.

When Lómion was too small for Eöl to take him with him to his meetings with the dwarves, Aredhel sang Quenya lullabies to him out loud, above the whisper she usually had to limit herself to, and in those moments she felt uncommonly at peace with everything.

*

Aredhel always counts the days when her husband and son are gone. She misses them, and looks forward to their return. Her days alone with just the dour servants for company are too quiet.

When Lómion stays home with her, as happens more and more as he nears adulthood, she still counts the days her husband is gone. She is never quite certain whether she does it because she looks forward to his return or dreads it.

As long as she believes that he cannot return yet, not this soon, she asks Lómion to come riding with her almost every day, and they ride to meet the sun. Whether for a moment, or for the whole day, they make their way out of the shadows and let their eyes adjust to the light, enjoying together the simple delight of riding in the sun and the breeze. The wind is always fresh and cool here on the edge of a plain, whether of the plain of Himlad or of Estolad.

Eöl and Aredhel taught Lómion together to ride among the trees of the forest. Alone, Aredhel teaches him how to ride hard against the wind. She always felt best like that, on the saddle, in the middle of wide openness, all paths open to her.

Perhaps it is natural, for the sake of contrast between her living environments in the palaces of Tirion and the hidden valley of Tumladen and the house surrounded by the trees of Nan Elmoth, those tightly constrained spaces.

*

Aredhel believes, still, somewhere in her heart, that Eöl loves their son even now that he is grown almost as tall as he is and more independent of thought besides, but the strict way he loves him makes her heart uneasy. It makes it more difficult to be loving of Eöl, too.

It makes her think of families and of how complicated they are. When Lómion was born she thought that they would be a different kind of a family from her own – small, and free of entanglements with the wider world – but it seems that that was nothing but a passing dream.

Aredhel thinks of her mother again, often. Anairë had been a steadfast supporter of her husband as long as Fingolfin opposed Fëanor but after he swore to follow his half-brother, she told him she would not follow him, not even for the sake of her children.

There is a snapping point for us all, Aredhel thinks. A point where we have to choose sides for all time.

As she bids goodbye to her husband when he once again leaves to meet with the dwarves, Lómion standing beside her silent, sullen, staying with her again – she thinks that she can feel tension growing soon to the point that something must snap.

She thinks that she will stand by Lómion's side on that day too.

It is a miserable, rainy autumn day and after Eöl rides off, Aredhel goes back inside, telling the servants to build a fire. Then she orders them to go to their own cottages, and she tells Lómion stories of the Noldor, of their splendour and might.

It is always good to spend time alone with her son, but in the evening her spirit chafes at going to bed after a day of inactivity. She resolves to go for a vigorous ride tomorrow, to ride as fast as she can among the trees and out to the plains, even if it rains.

Making the decision doesn't help her find rest and after an hour or two of futile trying she goes, quietly as she can, to her son's room to see if he is sleeping well. Lómion is too old for such checks, she knows, but there had been ill feeling between son and father in the morning, and Aredhel is worried.

She finds him tossing and turning in his bed though asleep. He doesn't wake when she pulls up a chair next to his bed, where she can see both her son and through the window, a sliver of the hazy moonlit sky covered in tattered clouds.

She starts quietly singing to comfort him, choosing a song written in the old language of her people in Gondolin in the earliest days of the city when Thingol of Doriath had not yet outlawed Quenya. It is a song about night falling in the hidden city: of street-lamps being lit and torches carried in the white streets, nightingales singing above the sound of flowing fountains, an evening feast in the palace. She has not sung this song since she left the city. For a long time she believed she truly did not miss the things in the song.

These days, the way she feels about having left the safety and the bounds of her brother's hidden city is too complicated to put into words.

Or perhaps she just doesn't dare to.

She stays there on the hard wooden chair for much of the night, first singing, then just listening to her son's breathing. She watches the light outside, and inside the dark-walled room, barely change as the moon climbs to his peak and then begins his descent.

When the stars begin to fade she sweeps back the hair from her son's face – he looks serious even in his sleep – and goes to her own bed. It is cold and too large when Eöl is gone, but it is easier to fall asleep there all the same.

Her bed in Gondolin was too cold and large too, and the stark-white walls had crawled with night-shadows from the tall trees outside her chambers. She had hated those trees.

Here her walls are shadow-dark all over, like her son's, and there is no light before the dim sunrise.

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A/N: Thank you for reading! I would love to hear what you thought of this fic :)