#the silmarillion

[annafdd]

Yup. I am.

All my followers, please reblog :)

[ayaosguqin]

The Fate of us all

Lies deep in the dark

When time stands still at the iron hill

Fingolfin’s last stand against The Darkness

[artesdaterramediabykithkerulin]

[sun-snatcher]

Elrond has a conch shell.

Not one of the prettier ones you would imagine, with the spikes and spots— No, this is a weathered and lumpy one; Sandy coloured and boring, for lack of a better word, only offset by the fact there’s a weird star-shaped hole you can peek through.

He brings it everywhere he travels.

Theory goes that it’s a magical trumpet gifted to him. Or, that he keeps secret messages in it for safekeeping. And his favourite: that he’s bound to the shell by oath, and if he steps a mere pace away from it, Ulmo would transform him into foam like a cursed sea-nymph. (You can imagine that one was debunked quite easily.)

No matter; the most important thing the Elves have come to learn about its peculiar existence is that above all: You do not touch it. (One of the younger elven recruits of a party learns this the hard way mid-travel, when he’d— bless him— grabbed the shell and suggested the idea to cast it aside, in exchange for more space to fit a spare skin of water.

It’s the first they’d ever seen Elrond snap like a whip.

Nobody dares question it since.)

That is, until young Estel had found it.

They can hardly blame the little child. Idle hands and curious trinkets never mix well, after all, much less with that of a 6-year-old who’s come to learn his bright-eyes and daisy-face lent him the ability to get away with almost anything.

“Look, Atya!” He’s skipped his way up to one of the open galleries of Imladris, hefting the coveted conch over his head as he peers at the night sky. “I can see the Evening Star through this hole!”

The Elves pale. They wait for the tongue-lashing, but the storm never comes.

“Not like that, Estel,” corrects Elrond patiently, bending to lower the child’s arms. “Put it to your ear, and close your eyes. Yes, now tell me, what do you hear?”

“…The sea!” he exclaims, after a focused minute. Then Estel lights up, and so Elrond lights up, and suddenly there’s a laughter in the air akin to a musical ring of bells, so high and sunny it dispels the witnessing Elves’ tension from the air.

“But how? We’re too far from the shores, and I can’t hear as well as you. Do you hear it too? Listen, Atya, listen!”

“Yes, yes,” Elrond laughs, and holds his hand over his son’s to bring the shell to his ears. And yes, indeed, if he closes his eyes, he could almost see it: The great rushing shores of Sirion, the pitter patter of Elros’ feet splashing at the rolling tides, the salt-winds carrying Maglor’s distant singing and Maedhros’ disgruntlement over grains of sand in his hair.

Elros had had a Conch of his own. His was bright and ivory-coloured, long since laid to rest alongside him in Númenor. When they were younger, they used to believe they could communicate with each other through the shells no matter their space apart— some imaginary fancy planted by Maedhros (“You two are twins. That’s a magic no force nor distance in the world can unmake.”) which was inevitably nurtured by their child-like wonder.

Years after Númenor had sunken, Celebrían caught Elrond once or twice, speaking to the old conch, and bringing it up to his ear in hopes of a reply.

“What do you hear, Atya?”

“My brother,” he says. “Amidst the heart of the sea.”

[azurepancake768]

what does skelly in the doory have to do with the fall of Númenor?

Akalabeth: World of Doom (California Pacific, 1980)

[rinthecap]

[draftsandchains]

ecthelion

[chaos-of-the-abyss]

elrond explicitly preferring his sindarin heritage over his noldorin one and continuing in his own sons the "el-" prefix naming tradition that dior began in honor of thingol... sindar stans we stay winning

[aniseandspearmint]

out of frame is the box Fingon is standing on to be able to reach Maedhros for this kiss!

Fingon and Maedhros for @queerofthedagger <3

[curiouselleth]

Nerdanel’s first project after each of her sons were born was a statue of them. Carved from a stone Feanor helped to craft, the stone would grow as they did, and as they changed and grew, so did the statues. All on their own.

Even as her sons wandered to the edges of Aman, the statues would still change as they did. They cut their hair - a chunk of statue falls to the ground, the lines shift, to reflect it.

When Celegorm got his tattoos as one of Orome’s hunt, they too appeared on the statue, as though the color of the stone changed to match from some natural process.

The day of the darkening, and those immediately after, nothing seems to change. But their eyes do. They take on a strange look, one Nerdanel does not recognize.

Then they follow their father. They leave. Nerdanel is left with just these statues of them, wondering if they will continue to change as they do. If she will still be able to see her sons.

To her relief, they did. But far too quickly her relief turned to horror. As she saw the stone of Amrod’s statue melt on the surface and glow, leaving terrible burns. The statue remained standing.

As she saw lines and cracks begin to cover Maedhros, water turned red from iron in the stone pouring out of these cracks, and though she would scrub and brush them, the stain would not leave the cracks. So many times, she wished to destroy it. All of them. But she couldn’t. They were her only tie to her sons. She watched as the joyous look on Maglor’s face turns to one of severity and sorrow, as the scars on Maedhros multiply. Celegorm and Curufin become more harsh, Caranthir more closed off. Amrod recovers some, he and Amrod too become more harsh and wild.

Until one day. When the right hand of Maedhros’s statue snaps off. She clutches it, holds it as she once did. She sobs. She does not return to see the statues for many years.

Until she does. She cannot bear the uncertainty. They all still stand. The lines covering Maedhros have faded. The expressions of the others less harsh. She hopes.

For a long time, little change comes, and she hopes. The occasional scratch or crack comes, but so few, so infrequent. She hopes. Until one day, new cracks, wounds, appear on them all. But they all still stand.

She watches as Celegorm and Curufin’s faces turn dark. Until one day. When three gain great wounds, then… the statues fall. Nerdanel does too.

Long she is there, amongst the ruined statues. Until one comes, picks her off the ground and embraces her, takes her away, and has the statues covered.

None go in that courtyard after, the rubble of the statues remain on the ground.

One day, a servant peers out into the courtyard. Two more statues have fallen. Word is sent, and she returns.

She does not cry, no tear is in her eye. She already cried them all when the first three fell. She stands amongst the rubble, in dry eyed shock. Her youngests were gone now too.

She uncovers the two remaining. Traces the new scars with her fingers, brushes their cheeks where paths from tears have been carved. But their expressions too stand empty, and no tear falls.

Not long after, a ship arrives. Tells of what happened.

Nerdanel cleans up the rubble of the fallen statues. Carefully tucks it away into chests, set deep in the keep in a room where none go. She stands before the two that remain. She screams. She begs. Why. There is more anger, more outrage, then there is sadness. More confusion too. How could her sweet boys do this?

The war begins to close, or so they hear. She checks on the statues again, for the first time since cleaning up the fallen.

She is there as Maedhros’s statue, in a brief, brilliant moment, glows brighter than the silmarils. Then it crumbles into glowing hot rubble. She sobs. Turns desperately to Maglor, and sees a burn appear on his hand. She knows, it was a silmaril.

She stares, but the statue does not fall. Days, she barely left. Until the hosts return, and tell of his fate. Free. But lost. Never to return. She never goes back to the courtyard again.

[silverstarsandhollowsouls]

in the silmarillion, fëanor once said to melkor, "get thee gone from my gate, thou jail-crow of mandos!" and promptly shut the door in his face, and I think that's beautiful 💕

[aniseandspearmint]

I am a simple person, it brings me delight to picture a Feanaro that fell head over heels with a nis that could pick him up without effort and hold him up against a wall.

Also on my "Let Feanor do delicate work, he's a jewelsmith not a blacksmith" agenda, the ideal Feanor and Nerdanel dynamic should be Feanor working on dainty little gemstones with a very delicate touch while Nerdanel is just chiseling away at a block of marble three times her size

[sun-snatcher]

Elrond headcanons I’ve made that keep me up at night:

i. Elros was the older twin by 2 minutes.

Maedhros and Maglor discerned as such, being brothers themselves, and what with the way the little twins reacted whenever they got into trouble and mischief. 

Elrond might have been the more stubborn between the two, yes, but Elros was the courageous one; some innate elder-brother instinct Maglor could recognise Maedhros in: first to face the burden of punishment and last to lay it down. 

Elrond always dreaded those mere minutes, because it meant he was eternally 2-minutes behind Elros, and because it lent his brother a leverage against him throughout the years they endured growing up together. But he’d only truly dreaded it the most, years after, when Elros had chosen the mortal path.

He had counted the 2 minutes after Elros had died, and then wept as he placed a kiss on his forehead; because, after all these years: 

“At last, Elros, my dear brother, I have finally caught up to you.”

ii. Elrond untintentionally made Círdan (the wisest, stalwart, and most steadily composed of all living Elves) weep full tears over a poorly folded Leaf-boat.

This was at the atelier, in the aftermath of High King Gil-Galad’s funeral rites, where they talked and talked until the sun went down the horizon. Elrond could hardly sit still— an endearingly Mannish trait, Círdan learned early on— and that’s how the Shipwright ended up teaching the Herald how to fold boats out of a banana leaf.

“Oh, dear,” it had started on the first attempt, with Elrond showing him the sad-excuse of a boat, fraying in its green edges, “Show me again, Master Círdan, how do you do it! My craft will surely sail to no shore.”

Then Círdan laughed, because “Indeed, surely, that will hardly survive a ripple, Elrond,” and then his eyes welled with tears, and he bent his head down, and suddenly he found himself crying, unable to stop at all.

He hadn’t wept this hard in Ages.

“Ah, come now, let me show you,” he sniffled, hands trembling as he meticulously corrected the little flaws of the boat. “Forgive me. Artanáro— Ereinion— I remember teaching him too, when he was but knee-high and knew naught but how to scatter sunshine wherever he went. Your boat looks as pitiful as his first try! And, why, for a moment, I—”

He didn’t continue, because there was no need to. 

“Oh, I miss him already, Elrond. How I miss him!” he’d cried. “My dear Ereinion. My darling, dearest boy.”

iii. When at last Legolas finally completed his ship and left with Gimli from Edhellond, crossing the Bay of Belfalas— they had come across a lone, folded leaf boat, bright green and drifting unmoored across the silver crests and falls of Belegaer.

Gimli peered portside (while standing on a box) to point it out. “See there, Legolas! That’s one of them Elven leaf boats, aye? How long has it wandered adrift, you reckon?”

“Long indeed!” Legolas smiled. “Elven leaves are sturdy and crafted to endure. This one was set purposely upon these waters to sail, it seems.”

“A tribute,” the Dwarf mused, eyeing the blown-out candle cradled in its heart. “This far out?”

The elf gazed keenly, South-west upon the distant blue horizon. “Why, perhaps, to the memory of the great star-lit isle of Númenor.” 

[arianwen44]

He’s only a humble smith making totally safe rings! 🧡

[akaanir-of-starfleet]

#totally listening #…so what you’re saying #is that if you REALLY wanted to dilate time #you might want some sort of hyper-concentrated essence of ainu #like say #compressed into a ring (via @tanoraqui)

no no no the presence of Ainur causes relativistic time dilation. the more of them are present in one place the more spacetime warps around them. time passes slowly in Lorien bc Galadriel is pretending to be Melian. it passes more slowly in Doriath than in the rest of Beleriand because of actual original-flavour Melian. SO much more slowly in Aman hence the 9 sun years = 1 Valinorean year. in the Void there is no concept of Time because Eru is there/or at least we reached some critical mass of Ainur and caused a singularity. DO YOU NOT SEE. THE VOID IS LIKE THE INSIDE OF A BLACK HOLE. I will be taking no further questions thank you.