#this was not my intention but. guess he's in love with thingol.

[chaos-of-the-abyss]

why did i write this oc like he's in love with thingol

[z-h-i-e]

Could you write a Galadriel/Celeborn piece about them in Doriath with supportive Lúthien and Melian? (Also I really liked your sympathetic Thingol piece!)

Sure I can! (I can write anything! Proven with that Glorfindel/Balrog piece I can never unsee.)

I have a soft spot for Celeborn–you know it, I know it, his wife knows it (gave me the title of Homewrecker of Lorien, you know). But, because I love Elrond/Celebrian so much, and I know there’s no Celebrian without Celeborn/Galadriel, I guess I’ll go with a schmoopy romancey story for them. Anyhow, I tend to go with a timid Doriath Celeborn with a stutter when he’s nervous, and that is who showed up for the muse casting call today. Enjoy! (Also, no wonder we don’t get Sindarin version of Nerwen from Tolkien – Nerwen was bad enough. Read on…)

---

“Good afternoon, Celeborn.”

“Good afternoon, Princess Luthien.” 

The two happened to come around the same corner of one of the florist stalls set up in the courtyard market.  Walking in opposite directions, Celeborn was intently inspecting the blooms in the baskets that lined the stall; he would have walked right into Luthien, had she not been the more attentive of the two and stepped safely aside. 

“I see you have selected some of the more vibrant flowers they have here today.  What is the occasion?” asked Luthien. 

Celeborn tried not to blush, and failed miserably.  “I happen...to have...a meeting tonight...with a friend...for dinner.”  The words stuttered out, each phrase from the young scribe a little softer than the former. 

Luthien smiled.  “It must be a special dinner if you are bringing flowers.  Or are you hosting a party?”

Celeborn shook his head.  “N-no.  No party.  Just myself...and a...friend.”

Luthien leaned down to sniff one of the orchids Celeborn was clutching.  He had also selected lilies and hydrangeas.  “Your friend must like large flowers.”

“I...do not...know?”  He bit his lip and looked down shyly.  “Truth told,” he whispered, “this is more of a…social engagement…of a…romantic nature.”

“And you have chosen orchids?” wondered Luthien.  “She must like the bright and the bold.”

Again, Celeborn chewed at his lip.  “I am not...not sure?”  His shoulders slumped and he whispered, “I am doing my best.  I d-do not have a sister, and m-my brother said I am...reaching...too high.”

Luthien stepped beside Celeborn and placed her hands on his shoulders.  “I have an idea!  I can help you shop!  I have no brother, so this will be fun–for both of us!  Of course, you will have to tell me who she is, so I can help.”

Red flushed Celeborn’s cheeks again.  “She is j-just about the prettiest g-girl I have ever seen.”  He swallowed audibly.  “D-do you know Princess Dirgwend of N-nargothrond?” 

“Oh, yes!”  Immediately Luthien cringed and looked over the flowers Celeborn was clutching.  “Oh, no.”

“N-n-n-n-no?”  Celeborn frowned.  “You think I am t-t-too far b-beneath her, too?”

“No!  I think, honestly, you are such a gentle person, and thoughtful, and kind, and brilliant–because she is as sharp as a hound’s tooth–I think she is lovely and you would be a lovely match!”  Luthien grimaced and slowly extracted a hydrangea from Celeborn.  “Ah, this, though…”  She caught sight of someone in the crowd and lifted the hydrangea above her head.  “Ulli!”

Melian was only five or six meters away, and smiled at her daughter, standing beside the youngest of the library scribes.  

“Ulli, akaeί akablanditiae tαdιχαόου mūαtheteυόmūeνος” called out Luthien.

“Oh!” Melian approached with a approving look on her face.

Luthien held up one of the flowers.  “akaόχοtte akadίν aū iniðel”

“Ooooh.” Melian clasped her hands together and slowed her steps as she approached.  “I seeeeee.”  She stopped in front of them and appeared to analyze each flower separately.  “May I safely assume this is your first time arranging flowers?”

“Y-yes, your majesty.”

“And may I safely assume you wish to make a positive impression on our visiting diplomat?” 

Celeborn nodded. “I need help,” he said sadly. 

Luthien was already pulling the bountiful bouquet from his hands.  “Are you familiar with roses, Celeborn?  I believe I saw some lovely peach and pale pink varieties around the corner.”

Artanis calmly picked up her gloves from the desk as she heard the knock upon her door.  She made sure to have them on and took one more look at her hair in the mirror and waited a moment more until there was a second knock before she opened the door. 

Before her stood Celeborn, holding an exquisite collection of roses, carnations, and delicate buds, a swirl of white and pastels.  He held them out to her.  “Good evening.  May I...present you with this...small token of affection?”

With lips pressed together to mute her grin, Artanis took the flowers and sniffed them experimentally.  “These are lovely.”

“I picked them out m-myself,” he said, and then added, “With help...f-from some…f-friends.”

Artanis sniffed them again to hide her next smile.  “My brother always says it is a wise man who knows when to ask for aid.”  She peered over the flowers at the tall, lanky scholar who was trying not to appear nervous, but the fidgeting of his hands while they were hidden in his sleeves gave him away.  

Yes, he was as sweet as Luthien had said, and as kind as Melian told her.  Her brother had hinted to her that while his time in Middle-earth would be one of solitude, that he did not see that for her, but no suitor would she find in Nargothrond.  It was part of why Artanis chose to spend so much time in Doriath (though her studies more than filled most of the time).  

There were many occasions when Artanis had asked for assistance from Celeborn when she visited the library.  There were many scribes there, all willing to help, but something seemed to draw her instead to the shy one who insisted on carrying books for her, holding the door, or retrieving more ink for her any time the well ran dry.

She still played coy when he finally gathered the courage to ask her to dine with him.  He nearly took it as a rejection, the poor dear.  She decided he deserved a token himself, for his good behavior.  “Would you like to come in while I put these in a vase?”

“Yes, I would.  Th-that would be very kind of you,” said Celeborn. 

Yet he remained standing on the doormat while Artanis walked to a cabinet. “Are you going to come in, then?” she asked. 

“Y-you only asked if I should like to.  I did not...wish to...assume.”

Artanis smiled with her back turned.  “You may come in, if you like.”

Celeborn took a deep breath and stepped just inside of the suite. 

Artanis turned, and studied him with amusement as she carried the vase with the flowers to a table.  “You have chosen to leave the door open,” she observed. 

Celeborn gave a quick nod, and said, “I shall not have anyone question your honor, and so, in-in lieu of a chaperone, I f-feel it appropriate.”

The vase was placed on the table. While Finrod had encouraged her to seek out true love, her other brothers seemed wary that she might become entangled with a less than savory courier in the kingdom.  Celeborn was clearly anything but. He would more than do. 

“Shall we dine?” asked Artanis as she came to stand beside Celeborn. 

He offered her his arm, which she took, and after the door was closed, the two walked down the hallway together, both a little nervous, both a little excited, neither noticing Luthien spying from around the corner. 

--

Notes:

I had to fuss around with Valarin, mainly ‘making shit up’, because if you think that Khuzdul and the Black Speech are limited, you haven’t met fucking Valarin yet. 

I put my research goggles on, found references about Valarin being a sexy mix of Latin and Greek, so I came up with some words for Luthien and Luthien’s mom. 

Ulluiός : Water Parent (I didn’t think Luthie would be using ‘mom’ and ‘dad’. I also thought about it, and with how the Ainur are, even the mom and dad thing seems not quite right. So I came up with this concept of, there’s a water parent, and a fire parent. In this case, Melian was the water parent.)

Of course we can’t have Luthien using the full ass version, so ‘Ulli!’ sounds way more like a title an Ainu kid would call their parent. 

There are two sentences, and before we get to the ‘what is it supposed to mean’, I have a lot of thoughts about Valarin, and how the sentences are open ended at the start and end, that the Song of Creation at the beginning of the legendarium is a loop, and that language for the Ainur is woven in and out of the song, and there’s no capitalization unless the first word is a proper noun and there’s no punctuation unless there is a question but that does not mean the question mark has to go at the end. A little language chaos. So! Now that you know that, here’s those two sentences, keeping in mind, I spent more time figuring out these two sentences than I did the rest of the story, and yes, it’s shit I made up because Tolkien didn’t leave us a lot of Valarin words, and what he did leave is shit he made up. So let’s all go make up some Valarin words mashing Greek and Latin together until it sounds good or at least looks impressive enough to be spoken by the Valar. 

akaeί akablanditiae tαdιχαόου mūαtheteυόmūeνος - Celeborn is courting your apprentice 

akaόχοtte akadίν aū iniðel - He intends to give her lilies

And I find it perfectly reasonable that Luthien shouts this across a market to her mom because the two of them are the only two people who can speak the language who are in that vicinity. 

[polutrope]

for the character asks, Melian!

You and @undercat-overdog both sent me this one! And it's a good one. A complicated character I've thought a lot about and still don't feel much closer to understanding.

Sexuality Headcanon: idk, pansexual I guess? she does not understand this question.

Gender Headcanon: Ainu (Generally fem-presenting. Sometimes tree-presenting, bird-presenting, etc.)

A ship: Not to be boring, but Thingol. It's a fascinating relationship to explore - just, WHY? I interpret their relationship as ultimately very tragic. I believe she had good intentions and did really love him, in her eldritch way, and it just goes so badly.

A BROTP A Gen relationship: Daeron. [put this explanation under a cut because it got a bit long - how shocking]

A NOTP A rarepairing: Eöl. I have this one cracky theory that she met Eöl before she met Thingol and it didn't work out. An unrequited situation would be interesting here also.

A random headcanon: I think she feels a lot of guilt for her unique 'intervention' in the affairs of the Children largely failing. Also I think the starry ceiling of Menelrond changes based on what's going on in her mind.

General Opinion: I find her the most sympathetic of the Ainur, whom I tend to side-eye quite intensely. [Also putting the rest of this below the cut].

A BROTP A Gen relationship: Daeron. Because:

... there were none more beautiful than Melian, nor more wise, nor more skilled in songs of enchantment. It is told that the Valar would leave their works, and the birds of Valinor their mirth, that the bells of Valmar were silent and the fountains ceased to flow, when at the mingling of the lights Melian sang in Lorien. (Of Thingol and Melian)

and although [the Sindar] were Moriquendi, under the lordship of Thingol and the teaching of Melian they became the fairest and the most wise and skilful of all the Elves of Middle-earth. (Of the Sindar)

[Daeron] it was that made music for the dance and song of Luthien, before Beren came to Doriath; and he had loved her, and set all his thought of her in his music. He became the greatest of all the minstrels of the Elves east of the Sea, named even before Maglor son of Feanor. (Of Beren and Luthien)

I know the implication of the last is that Daeron became great because of his love for Lúthien (I want to talk about this so bad right now but focus!) but I think it's no coincidence that the greatest elf minstrel ever had the goddess of song for a queen.

I have written their relationship as a complicated mentor-student type of thing with a maternal figure flavouring. My hc is that he's a bit of a prodigy from birth but Melian picks him out when she first shows up with Thingol. She takes him under her wing and turns him into a supercharged Song-wielder. More supercharged, perhaps, than a poor Child of Eru can handle. Oops?

General Opinion: I love how she interacts with the Children in a totally unique and intimate way; I love that she messes up; I love that she is the only Ainu to procreate (excluding Ungoliant maybe) and the tragedy of a being older than Arda, who will exist beyond Arda, losing her child; I love that she holds it down in Beleriand, defying Morgoth's power, through the whole First Age while all the other Ainur are, at best, sending dreams on streams and, at worst, binge-watching the Doom of the Noldor from on high.

Oh! And I love the stuff in NoMe about her being the leader of the guardians sent to Cuiviénen - the others being the Maiar who would later be the Istari (!!). I think it says a lot about how Tolkien saw her character that he gives her that role. Melian and Olórin would be another amazing relationship to explore.

[eri-pl]

Apparently today is a "too many good posts to rebly*, too little time" day.

\* I couldn't decide between "reply to" and "reblog", but I like the result.

Oh, Melian. How much I have in my head about her.

Anyway, wouldn't she …not know, maybe, but at least have some ideas? Melian who married an Incarnate. She must have had thoughts about them, a lot of thoughts. She must have pondered. About the long-term questions too. She's a Maia, she would consider those.

And if we assume that Thingol did share his dreams (bad dreams about Men) with her, or that she had any foresight whatsoever about what may lay in Luthien's future — she would jump at every tidbit about Men even more than Finrod (I assume) does.

Also, I get that Tolkien maybe imagined Melian and Thingol like "fate hit them in the heads, regardless of their personal preference, because that's how love works", but no other Maia fell in love with an Elf (or Man), and I think she must have been weird enough from the start.

"I found this lowly, pitiful thing in the desert forest so I loved it and we got married" is… a lot. It's just so different? wild? eldritch? Shocking.

And she does like this and she raises her daughter to be weird enough to repeat it. She couldn't have been a normal, well-behaved, level-headed Maia like Eonwe. (It's not that I don't like Eonwe, he is a good guy and all)

So, to sum up, I have a hard time imagining Melian not talking with Finrod for whole nights (assuming he came to her with those topics to talk about). But I don't know how the timeline works, when did he meet Men at all and how often he visited Doriath and when.

Námo. I think I imagine him as more literal and less verbose than you do. (My version goes a bit against how he speaks in the book, but anyway). So I would assume he did start the conversation with a short and direct "I cannot tell you". Which is a bad assumption, because it invalidates the idea of writing a fic about it. ;) Unless Finrod then goes to pester some Maiar. Who don't know much and may have some incorrect guesses even. ;)

I imagine Námo as knowing all the story. I know the Silm is cautious about it, I think like Tolkien needed a — what to call it — a safety mechanism and it make sense that he did. So that's why he added a possibility of exceptions. But I am not really buying the idea as part of the setting.

Also he gets more interesting to me as a character if I see him as "knows all, but can tell very little". This gives him some angst and many internal facepalms and generally makes him an interesting character to imagine. His reaction to various situations. And to other characters.

To be claer: what I mean by "knows all" is that he knows all the outside facts. Who does what and so on, like on a movie. He does not want what they think and generally what's in their minds. This interpretation makes sense to me with how he's described.

Which (again, in my hc) results in him not being very emotionally inteligent for a Vala. He knows what people will do, so doesn't need or have a good model of why they do it. which makes him a bit awkward at times. ("Not the first" AKA probably the most trigerring of all the well-intentioned lines).

Also, I imagine the Feanturi (which canonically don't include Nienna but I don't like this exclusion, so I use this name for all 3) as: Námo knows everything intelectually, like memories of audiovisual+facts, but he feels only the emotions related to what he is currently perceiving, like a normal person would (and usually doesn't show them at all, and very, very rarely shows intense emotions). Irmo and Nienna share the emotions that came with his knowledge.

So, Nienna reacts emotionally to all the things that ever happenned, without knowing the events. Sure, she has more emotions about what is currently happening, but her emotions are not limited to present or past.

This even has some slight canon support: when Yavanna plants the Trees, the Valar are awed, and Nienna is crying. It reads as if she's crying more than usual. I think she is already mourning them, even though she doesn't really know this.

And Irmo has the other part of feelings. Joy, awe and such. Plus, he is the one most connected to the topic of "what would happen", even though I don't think it's a fully valid type of questions.

So, anyway, (in my hc) Námo knows the whole story, but doesn't much emote about it. Also, of course he has perfect ability to not emote what he doesn't want to hint at. He has the perfect ability to keep the secrets, because of course he does.

I am still very curious, what are "topics that are actually mysterious to the Vala too", but yes, if Finrod knew any he would probably try to discuss them.

Thoughts about Finrod and Namo:

Kind of for @eri-pl since we're both interested by what his stay in the Halls must have entailed

The thing is that for all his years in ME, Finrod, ever the philosopher, has been collecting experiences and knowledge he really wanted to discuss with — any — of the Ainur. (Melian, of course, Melian was better than nothing — but that's still only one perspective, and the things he was fascinated by were usually not matters on which she knew much more than him)

So, now that he has an occasion to — he is absolutely going to bother anyone within his reach. (And he would have bothered Namo anyway, because most his questions are about the Fate of Men)

Mandos actually canonically knows where mortals go¹. He is also bound not to tell anyone which puts him in a kind-of awkward position when confronted with an insatiably curious elven prince full of goodwill.

I really imagine it takes him some time to just burst out "have you considered it might not be my secret to share?"

Finrod: You could have started with that! — Namo: You know, I would have assumed an adult and head of his house would know what "no" means, but maybe I was mistaken.

...The probable result of that is that Finrod moves on to topics that are actually mysterious to the Vala too; it's debatable whether that's for better or worse.

[foxleycrow]

Thranduil & Túrin playing together in Doriath, for @tolkiengenweek —when I realized they could have been kids in Doriath at the same time, I had to draw them together.

This one also comes with a short accompanying fic about their meeting:

To Wear an Elven Crown

Thranduil had longed to meet the Adan since he had heard the first tales of his arrival in Doriath. His wish had displaced most other longings in his heart. If he could speak to an Adan, he could practice his Mannish and ask him about so many things, like the life of his people and the world outside the Fence. Beleg Cúthalion had found the Adan lost in the woods, and then King Thingol had adopted him! Thranduil had never heard of anyone adopting an Adan, let alone the king himself. If he were now Thingol's son, did that mean he was an Elf, as well as a Man? 

Thranduil had asked his father several times whether he could visit the Adan, but each time he was told the newcomer was too unwell. He had been sick and weak when he was discovered, and he was not yet strong enough to entertain company. This news sank him into a deep state of worry. The Edain could contract illnesses, and were mortal. What if this one became very sick, or even died! Of course, the healers of Doriath were the greatest in Middle-earth, but the Adan had come from dangerous lands far from the protection of Doriath, where anything might have befallen him. Thranduil had heard stories of strange fevers and chills that Edain could suffer from; what if the Elven healers did not know how to treat them?

"If he were to speak with someone his own age, Ada, he might feel better." The Adan was young, like himself. Not precisely the same age, since Edain aged so differently, but near enough in essence. He wondered what kind of games the Edain played. Maybe they had invented some no Elves had dreamed of…

"Do you believe so?" asked Oropher, raising an eyebrow. "An interesting perspective. I did not know you had become such an expert on the matter."

"I would feel better, if it were me." In defiance of his father's eyebrow, he added, "I asked Beleg to tell me everything he knows about the Edain."

"Oh, so you are an expert. My mistake." Oropher's hand settled on his head. Thranduil felt the warmth of his father's skin on his brow and blinked. "He has been through much, little Tuil," said Oropher. "We will not tax him any more than we need to."

After offering a gentle pat, Oropher withdrew his hand. Thranduil lay back, resting his head among the grasses. Thranduil did not expect his father to understand, for Oropher was very old. There were no children in King Thingol's house, and if they would not allow Thranduil to visit and talk to the Adan, then they would not have let any other children in to speak to him; that was obvious.

"I am an expert," Thranduil murmured, closing his eyes. Beleg had told him that the Edain could grow lonely and sad, like Elves, and that they too loved to dance and sing and tell tales. The Adan was named Túrin, and his father had been an Elf-friend. That meant he was an Elf-friend, too. If he was a friend, then he should be treated as one and given a warm welcome by everyone in Menegroth. Surely that would make him feel better than being kept away from others.

"Are you falling asleep?" Oropher asked. "I'll take you back home."

He shook his head stubbornly, the blades of grass making themselves felt on his cheeks and chin. Narrow, but not quite sharp. They did not hurt, but he sensed each one keenly. "No, I want to nap out here in the sun." They were well behind the Fence and close to Menegroth, so these woods were safe and guarded. He could play or explore or rest among the trees whenever he liked, because Queen Melian kept them all from harm.

He heard Oropher's soft laughter and felt his father's hand settle on his head again briefly. Then he was only aware of the warm sun heating his skin and the faintly prickly touch of the grass carpeting the clearing. Soon, he was not aware of the clearing either, lost in a dream, wandering far from the waking world. He dreamed he was journeying through a dark, withered wood, bristling with dead branches. The sky was veiled with dense, gray clouds. There was an unnatural air to them, as if storm clouds had been thickened with smoke.

There was a cold wind at his back, and he was all alone. The dead trees were so tall, they made him feel smaller. He heard something moving behind him, breaking branches and rustling through shriveled leaves. An animal? Or something worse? He did not know, and he did not want to turn to look, so he ran. He ran until he felt he had been always running, yet no matter how quick his steps, the noises behind him persisted, never any closer, but never farther away.

Thranduil woke with a gasp. He sat up and scanned the clearing. It was as green and tranquil as it had been when he fell asleep. He heard the low buzz of insect song and the faint voices of the trees. Father was gone. He saw no sign of anyone nearby, although that was not unusual. The sun's light was starting to fade from the sky. It was that between-time when patches of sunlight were still scattered across the forest floor, while the first stars appeared in the purpling twilight above. Thranduil rose to his feet. He was a little hungry, but he was well-rested, and he wasn't ready to return home. He would rather play, until Father came to fetch him. He left the clearing, slipping into the undergrowth as soundlessly as possible.

One of his favorite games was Marchwarden. It was more fun to play with someone else, but it was a game he could also play alone, simply by moving as quickly and quietly as possible, so that no enemies could see or hear him—exactly like a Marchwarden. He was tracking. Not hunting, but searching for any sign of danger, to keep Doriath safe. He studied whatever tracks he came across, or other signs of passage, such as broken twigs or bent grasses, trying to judge who or what had come the same way, and how long ago. He could wander like this for hours, happily, alone.

He was not entirely happy. He was more uneasy as he searched for signs in the grass, because of his dream. Within the dead wood, he had felt like he would never be allowed to rest, racing with an enemy eternally at his back. Dreams always meant something, but not always what you thought they meant. It took a wise Elf to read dreams. He could have asked his father about it, and maybe he would later. Now, he stalked through the dense growth, crouching low so his pale hair couldn't be seen.

When he heard low and distant voices, Thranduil was still lost in his game, so he crouched lower, listening intently as he crept closer. He slowed his breathing, his heartbeat, hiding as he'd been taught.

"—where he could have gone��?"

"We will find him, and soon. There's only so far...."

"I hadn't thought he was strong enough. I would never have guessed he'd be so quick."

"You shouldn't underestimate—"

The speakers moved away, out of the range of his hearing. Those were two of Thingol's guards. Could they have been talking about the Adan? It was possible, and not only because Thranduil thought of the Adan so often. Who else would they have thought wasn't strong enough? If the Adan was lost, he might grow sicker. Imagine how upset King Thingol would be. If Thranduil was a Marchwarden, then he had a duty to do whatever he could to protect everyone in Doriath: including any Edain. He moved on again, more quickly and with greater purpose.

He studied the forest, down to the least leaf, and he listened to the birds singing, the faint breeze moving through the branches. He listened for telltale noises, or telltale silences. He wondered whether the Adan had had a nightmare, like he had. Maybe that was why he had run off. It must have been hard for him to leave his home behind, especially because of the war: that distant, dark shadow hanging over everything, even the forests of Doriath.

Where would an Adan go? Possibly into the undergrowth, where he was. A place where someone small would hide. Thranduil knew of many secret spaces ideal for concealing himself, but few of them were nearby, close to where the guards were hunting. A slight Adan would leave faint footprints. Like Thranduil, he would have been trained in how to hide, if he were in danger. Thranduil was sure that the great trackers of Doriath could find anyone, but maybe Túrin would be difficult to find, more difficult than they expected.

Thranduil headed toward the Dome—it was a vast, curving structure of twisted woody shrubs, crowned with flowering vines. It was bright enough to draw the eye of a stranger to these woods, and dense enough to provide ample cover and shelter. Thranduil often crawled in there to play, because it was like a fortress. He could pretend he ruled there, lord of the branches and leaves and blossoms.

Thranduil found a faint indentation that might have been left by someone running this way. Shortly after that, he spied a tiny tuft of thread, caught on a hooked thorn. It was bright blue in color, so it stood out more than it might have otherwise. Could he have been correct in thinking the Adan might have been come this way? He had been guessing, but maybe he really was a Marchwarden. He would have to tell Beleg, if he succeeded in his hunt.

Emboldened by the thought that he might be better at tracking than Thingol's own guard, Thranduil sank to his knees and crawled into one of the narrow passageways that led into the Dome. With twisting branches on either side of him, and a ceiling of ivy above, no one outside would be able to see him, once he had travelled the length of a few paces. There were no wider  ways in, the growth here was so dense. Anyone who was much larger than Thranduil would have had to cut their way through. Among the branches, Thranduil caught sight of another slight scrap of blue thread. The branches here loved to tug on clothing.

Encouraged, Thranduil moved faster, until he arrived at a fall of dense vines, pushed through them, and found himself confronted by a pair of dark, shining eyes, staring at him. The Adan gave a start, but did not run. It was hard to travel quickly within the Dome, especially if one didn't know it as well as Thranduil did. Thranduil had half-suspected he was imagining his grand success in tracking, so he sat, blinked and stared back at his quarry, startled and bewildered and pleased.

The Adan was seated with his knees drawn up toward his chest. He was very thin, the thinnest child Thranduil had ever seen. His narrow face made his eyes look bigger. Here, he was walled off from the world—or most of it. He looked a great deal like an Elf, although Thranduil could tell he was different as well. It was hard to say exactly why; he simply felt different, like the night air felt different from the air of day, or the atmosphere before a storm as opposed to in the dry season: different in so many various slight ways, some of which were easier to describe than others.

Although Thranduil had longed for their meeting with joy, he felt unexpectedly solemn, now that it was taking place. "Hello," he ventured, in Sindarin. "I'm Thranduil, Son of Oropher."

The Adan blinked, and for a moment, Thranduil wasn't sure if he would—or could—reply, but at last he answered softly, "I'm Túrin, Son of Húrin."

"Why are you out here?" Thranduil asked. He didn't wish to sound accusatory, so he added, "Did you want to play?"

Túrin looked away, into the shadows between the leaves. "I wanted to be by myself."

Thranduil nodded, as this was perfectly understandable. "I like to be by myself, too."

Túrin's gaze shifted back to Thranduil. He seemed relieved to hear this, exhaling.

"Can I stay, though?" Thranduil asked. "Now that I'm here."

"You can stay," Túrin said.

Thranduil knew that Thingol and all his guards and attendants and everyone must be nervous, but he didn't think a little while longer would do any harm, especially not when Túrin must have run here for a reason. Being surrounded by everyone at court could be overwhelming. Thranduil had never been far away from home and everyone he knew before, but it must be hard. It would be better not to rush him. He would let Túrin rest for a little while, and then he would take him to Thingol—just as Beleg had, before.

"I can show you something," he offered.

After another hesitation, Túrin nodded.

"Follow me," said Thranduil. He crawled ahead, between the branches, into the gloom. The last of the day's slight, slipping in through the leaves and vines above, made soft, pale shifting shapes on their hands and on the ground beneath. After a long way, the structure of the dome opened up onto a green glade, surrounded by dense undergrowth on all sides. No one would walk here casually, and if he and Túrin didn't stand up, no one would be able to see them from outside the enclosure. The glade was also hidden, but there was more room to stretch out, and even lie down. It was a fine place for a nap, with soft earth and open sky above. Clusters of flowers grew in profusion, along with tufts of dense grass. Thranduil and Túrin admired their new hiding place in silence, while birds sang in the trees overhead. It was not yet true night, only early twilight. The birds would keep singing a little longer.

"I come here sometimes when I want to be alone," Thranduil said. In the past days and weeks, he had formulated an ever-growing list of questions he would like to ask the Adan, but he did not ask a single one of them now.

Túrin nodded again, lowering his gaze. He reached down and ran his fingers through the grass. There were shadows beneath his eyes, and he did not smile.

"Everyone's looking for you," said Thranduil. "They must be worried."

"I didn't mean to make anyone worry. They shouldn't worry. I don't know why I—" He broke off, closing his eyes.

"It's all right. No one will be angry with you," Thranduil reassured him quickly, moved by Túrin's pained expression. "I'm not angry. I've been waiting to meet you. I've never met an Adan before."

Túrin's eyes reopened, slowly. "Never?"

Thranduil inclined his head in confirmation. "Never."

"I hadn't really met Elves before," said Túrin.

"But now you have. You've met Beleg, and King Thingol, and me. Everyone's happy you're here, that's why they're worried. But we don't have to go back right away. We can wait until you feel better." He cast about the glade, looking for something else he could show the Adan, to cheer him. Along with the two of them, the glade was bursting with life, all the usual green and growing things, rising from the earth and insisting on themselves… "Here—I'll make you something."

"Make me what—?"

"Look." Thranduil's gaze went to a stand of nearby pale purple flowers. These particular blossoms were edible and often harvested. It would do no harm to take a few, especially at this time of year. Quickly, he plucked a few of them, leaving a length of green stem on each. Once he had gathered enough, he wove them together. Flowers and grasses were easy to weave, especially into a circle. When they were joined, he tapped them with his fingers. He could feel the energy moving through the blooms and stems. He closed his eyes briefly, concentrating on that living force, pressing the separate strands of it into one: forging it into a single, singing ring and willing the flowers—live, preserve. They were no longer separate blooms; they had become a single entity. Their petals, which had been in the first stage of wilting, straightened with pride, made fresh and new. It was such a simple thing to do, yet Túrin was wide-eyed and rapt, staring at his hands as if he had performed a wonder. "A crown for you, Prince Túrin." Thranduil reached out and settled the circlet of blooms on Túrin's head.

Finally, Túrin smiled at him. Thranduil smiled back.

They did not stay long, alone in that green glade together, hidden by a conspiracy of leaves and vines and branches. They were never meant to stay long. The world outside was waiting for them to emerge. While the sun receded and the stars began to show themselves—one by one at first, then all at once, like a rain of jewels scattering across the sky—they played and laughed for a few moments.

As Thranduil predicted, when they returned to Menegroth, Túrin did not receive a single scolding. Thingol wrapped him in a fierce embrace. Beleg was as impressed by Thranduil's skills as Thranduil had hoped. He praised Thranduil for his skill in tracking, and said he could visit Túrin whenever he wanted. Eventually, he was able to ask Túrin every question on his extensive list.

Many long years later, tragedy faded into myth for so many, but not for those who were there. Thranduil rarely listened to the sad songs that touched on the subject of Túrin Turambar, but when a certain mood was on him, he would ask the harpers to play one of the few he approved of. Thranduil had grown very old. Seated on his throne, wearing his own heavy crown, he would lean back and remember the smile of a young boy with his dark hair full of flowers.

[child-of-hurin]

So I’m thinking of a Narn AU where Húrin isn’t set on Thangorodrim and remains a prisoner in the fortress. His children are still cursed and he is still regularly shown images of them but it doesn’t take up all his time as it does in canon. I bring this up because I was curious what you think about how much of the bad things that befall Túrin and Niënor were explicitly planned before. Because I’ve always thought that the compelled incest part was at least in some way planned before and was very specifically about Húrin watching the ruining of his bloodline (which goes back to my other cursed HCs) in addition to the suffering it would bring his children.

Anyways no pressure to answer or anything I was just curious if this was something you had thought about

-@outofangband

(Disclaimer: I haven’t read much of the HoME besides what pertains the Narn, meaning I haven’t read any extended material on Melkor and so on.)

Honestly this is a very interesting question that I have posed myself before. It brings to mind this passage:

[Transcript:

Report of the Dragon-helm in the land west of Sirion came swiftly to the ear of Morgoth, and he laughed, for now  (1) Túrin was revealed to him again, who had long been lost in the shadows and under the veils of Melian. (2) Yet he began to fear that Túrin would grow to such a power that the curse that he had laid upon him would become void, and he would escape the doom that had been designed for him, or else that he might retreat to Doriath and be lost to his sight again. (3) Now therefore he had a mind to seize Túrin and afflict him even as his father, to torment him and enslave him.]

My conclusions here are:

(1) Melkor’s ‘eye’, which Húrin had been forced to access as well, couldn’t penetrate Doriath under Melian’s power. Makes me think the whole time Túrin was growing up, Melkor had Húrin watch Morwen and Nienor’s growing misery in Dor-Lómin instead?

(2) Everyone has talked about this a hundred times because it is so incredible. So the doom was defeatable? So, cosmically speaking, there was some validation in Túrin’s methods of seeking war and power? Much to think about

(3) This bit is the only passage I can recall where instead of vague threats, the text gives us a concrete plan of Melkor’s for this family. When he sets Glaurung forth, we have absolutely no idea whether his actions were meticulously planned by Melkor, a mastermind, or just strokes of Glaurung’s own evil creative genius as derivated from Melkor’s will or whatever.

So. My opinion is that it isn’t a plan. First and foremost because I hate the anime villain type who was secretly controlling all the variables of the game, but also because I genuinely don’t get this aesthetic from Melkor/Tolkien. Melkor’s power is godlike; it doesn’t come from logic control over the material world, but from a more intimate relationship with what makes the material world itself. 

Thinking of two events: one, when Melkor releases Húrin. Melkor has changed and posioned Húrin’s spirit, but Húrin isn’t aware of that. Húrin still hates Melkor, but, as we see in the Wanderings, he is still an agent of Melkor (to use a term @promin-blog​ used in [that interesting meta post you reblogged recently]). Compare that to Niënor, to whom something very similar happens: Glaurung poisons her spirit and then sets her free.

In my understanding, in neither of those two situations did Melkor or Glaurung know exactly what was going to be the outcome; they just knew it was going to be bad for their captives, and thus, good for them. Melkor is a being of chaos against the benign order of the world, so he fundamentally gains from an increase in the chaos, or a corruption in the order of the world. So when he explains the curse to Húrin, he says:

‘You say it,’ said Morgoth. ‘I am the Elder King: Melkor, first and mightiest of all the Valar, who was before the world, and made it. The shadow of my purpose lies upon Arda, and all that is in it bends slowly and surely to my will. But upon all whom you love my thought shall weigh as a cloud of Doom, and it shall bring them down into darkness and despair. Wherever they go, evil shall arise. Whenever they speak, their words shall bring ill counsel. Whatsoever they do shall turn against them. They shall die without hope, cursing both life and death.’

I take that at face value in terms of, this is literally how it works. He didn’t know exactly that Húrin would kill Mîm, bring the Nauglamír to Thingol, then fight with his once-beloved Haladin kin and cause their destruction, just like I don’t think Glaurung knew Niënor would find Túrin, fall in love with him and have his child. BUT they knew releasing these poisoned agents would benefit their cause one way or another. (I do think Melkor presumed correctly that Húrin might try to find Gondolin though! Hence the spies). So I guess I don’t agree with you that the incest was pre-planned, although I do think the ruining of Húrin’s bloodline was definitely a huge point that, in Melkor’s mind, was probably inevitable. If Túrin had, say, had a baby with Finduilas, Melkor would have gotten a hold of that baby too, at some point... I think when he says he is the master of the Fates of Arda, he means that his will has too powerful a hold over Arda to be broken, and not, necessarily, that he controls every detail of it.

That makes me think of that passage you mentioned recently in your blog:

“But ever the Noldor feared most the treachery of their own kin who had been thralls in Angband; for Morgoth used some of them for his evil purposes, and feigning to give them liberty sent them abroad; but their wills were chained to his and they strayed only to come back to him again” (”Of the Ruin of Beleriand”, p188, The Silmarillion)

It makes me wonder how many of these elves were, like Maeglin, aware of their own collaboration, and how many might have hated Melkor their whole lives while still being agents of his will 😬

It’s a super depressing thing, this possiblity that the Narn puts forth, of an otherwise free person being permanently and inescapably ruined for as long as you hold your material existance in this realm. It is the ultimate corruption of free will, because it means no matter which choices you make, they will always come to evil. You’re helpless: intent doesn’t matter, hard work doesn’t matter. I think it’s fitting with Melkor being a god, after all! That’s why it’s relevant that out of the five members of this family, only one is directly murdered by Melkor’s actions. The others take their own lives, although more indirectly in the case of Morwen - the only one who “was not conquered”. The rest of them, Túrin, Nienor, and Húrin, end up choosing death as an escape, and I think it is in a way because they ultimately understand that Melkor is playing on a godlike level that they, as mortals, cannot reach.

WHICH BRINGS ME TO ANOTHER DEPRESSING THING. We, as readers, have the benefit of knowing that Mandos exists and Eru exists and the Ainulindale happened. We have also read about Beren’s spirit lingering in Mandos waiting for Lúthien. So we ASSUME there is an afterlife for the second-born. We know Tolkien envisioned that, spiritual man that he was. But in the narrative, mortals themselves don’t have any reassurance of that! 

So this exchange here becomes even more chilling:

So? 

Did he lie?

[factorialrabbits]

Maeadis, Wife of Curufin, and Mother of Celebrimbor

Some of the sons of Fëanor were married. Curufin even managed to have a child. This is a picture of my version of his wife. There are headcannons under the cut, though they do necessitate Celebrimbor being born in Beleriand so if that’s not your thing, well, here’s just an elf lady I guess. In this picture she’s wearing the sort of outfit she’d wear when visiting Curufin’s brothers and banned from working.

My camera appears to have elongated the whole picture. Again. :/

She is Tatyarin Avari. 

Specifically, she is of the Windan tribe, who in the version of my canon where she exists kinda scattered over the bits of Beleriand Thingol doesn’t care about.

She is also a blacksmith. Poor Celebrimbor never had a hope of doing anything else.

She and Curufin were introduced by a mutual aquaintance, with the intention of forcing them to share smithing techniques and hopefully combine them to make something even more interesting. Curufin was the better smith, but she was used to working with the specific impurities in the area.

As predictable, they were both too snappy to get along at first. However, the introduction paid off with a vastly improved system of purifying the local types of ore, greatly increasing the amount of usable metal. Somewhere along the process they came to tolerate each other.

She is *slightly* less obsessive about her work than Curufin, and slightly more practical about the rest of life

Exactly how ‘we tolerate each other’ became ‘we’re getting married’ isn’t entirely clear to anyone beyond the two of them.

If either of them were asked they would say they married their forge assistant for convenience’s sake.

Nobody who has ever spoken to Curufin would accept the idea that he was Maeadis’ assistant, due to his pride and fussiness about his work. Nobody who Maeadis has bothered to grace with a response would believe it of her, either.

Both the existance of Celebrimbor and the fact that they are quite clearly in love (and genuinely happy), despite their often loud disagreements largely about best practice in the forge, is evidence that its not actually just a marriage of convenience, though neither will ever admit to otherwise.

She dies very early on during the Dagor Bragollach. 

[dawnfelagund]

Character Ask: Caranthir

@fefe-homu-akemi, @floralegium, and Anonymous asked for Caranthir, so here goes!

Favorite Thing: I wrote a pretty lengthy defense of Caranthir, who I believe was misrepresented by the narrator of The Silmarillion. I’m not going to rehash that now, but one of the points I make is that he, along with Finrod Felagund, is among the most cosmopolitan of the Noldor: He forms positive relationships with many groups of people outside his own culture. Where Finrod is lauded for this, however, the same actions in Caranthir are downplayed or negatively represented.

Least Favorite Thing: For all of the Fëanorians so far, I’ve discussed their violence for this item, so let’s consider that boilerplate at this point. For Caranthir specifically, I wish he hadn’t told off his damned cousins about their palling around with Thingol. It’s a regrettable moment that Pengolodh seems to lean on heavily in his assessment of Caranthir and that looms large in the imaginations of fans as well, when they take Pengolodh’s word or, in the case of fanworks creators, otherwise develop a character that would act like this routinely rather than looking at his other actions (such as his success in relating to diverse people).

Favorite Line: “Then Caranthir looked kindly upon Men and did Haleth great honour ...” (The Silmarillion, “Of the Coming of Men into the West”)

This is evidence of the Favorite Thing but also ... man oh man, there is so much mystery embedded in those two words “great honour.” Is it simply what The Silmarillion tells us he offered her? Or is there more there? Up to and including a romantic relationship?

brOTP: Caranthir is very much a one-man wolfpack in my mind. In fact, given the number of positive relationships he forged with other people, I imagine him wearily doing his best to behave to cultivate and maintain those connections because he knows he has to but silently shaking his fist at the universe for putting him, of all people, in such an ironic position.

(In this, I relate to him a lot. I’m deeply introverted. And I’m also a middle-school teacher, and a good one--I won Teacher of the Year last year at my school. I excel at building relationships with my students, and not just the ones who are like me. So I run the gamut from warm-hearted and constantly smiling with my kiddos to a snarling misanthrope at home. I’m exaggerating a little on the last one but, yeah, I get Caranthir.)

OTP: I love Haleth/Caranthir, but my OTP for Caranthir is his wife, Taryindë (as she is called in my verse). They grew up together, both were rather awkward (really awkward, in Caranthir’s case) and experimented with each other as teenagers, and eventually married. They had two daughters, who were born in Middle-earth and survived through the First Age.

There are spoilers for future stories ahead.

Taryindë went to the Nirnaeth with her husband but agree not to ride into battle because, after all, they had two youngish children and one of their parents should survive to see them into adulthood. Only, in the grand tradition of Tolkien’s women, she did ride into battle, unbeknownst to Caranthir. When she found him unconscious on the battlefield, she defended his body with her own and saved his life.

When he woke up, she was gone. He never learned what happened to her.

(Yes, I will write this story someday but at the rate I’m going I’ll be about 73.)

nOTP: I mean, I guess Nerdanel again? I really don’t do the hardcore shipping thing where liking one pairing more than others automatically rules the others out. Caranthir is sexually precocious on the sly in my verse--this idea is explored most fully in The Sovereign and the Priest--so my imagination has already gone all sorts of places.

Random Headcanon: It’s not terribly random because I feel like it’s the elephant in the room where my Caranthir is concerned. It’s definitely the most obvious fanon that my writing has created: the idea that Caranthir was unusually sensitive to the thoughts and emotions of others. He is also not fully bound by time: He is able to perceive things in the past and the future the way that you or I could look off into the distance in place.

I’ve written many times before about where this idea came from. Essentially, I was trying to explain his animosity to the sons of Finarfin, which didn’t seem to make much sense to me. As far as Finwëans go, they are pretty harmless, at least based on what we see in the texts.

(Had I tackled this question a few years later, once I had access and had read parts of the HoMe, I probably would have gone with him being jealous of their friendship with Celegorm and Curufin, while he--stuck in the middle--was overlooked. But I was a baby in the Silm fandom when I tackled this question, hadn’t read any of the HoMe, and developed my characterization of Caranthir as a result.)

Because of his heightened sensitivity to others--a trait we know ran in Finarfin’s branch of the family tree as well--Angrod and Aegnor were able to be unkind to him without others perceiving it. Much of this centered on the fact that Caranthir had a crush on their brother’s betrothed, Amarië, which they found out about. And Caranthir was very awkward and had trouble controlling his emotions--being a constant radio tower for others’ unfiltered feelings will do that to a person--so he provided them with plenty of fodder.

(I also honestly wanted to write mindspeak in a way that wasn’t a bunch of characters sitting around and thinking at each other, which was how it was usually written at the time. I mean, imagine explaining taste or smell to a being that doesn’t have it; I tried to do that with Caranthir’s perceptions.)

Anyway, from this came my Caranthir, who is strange to the point that he is off-putting to others; in my recent Cradle of Stars, Anairë calls him “the wild one who’d been born half-mad.” Hence, also, Pengolodh’s eagerness to depict him as angry--he certainly would have looked that way at times, to those who did not know him well.

Of course, I’ve since taught many a Caranthir. @heartofoshun first suggested that Caranthir was on the autism spectrum. I never intended that reading but certainly don’t mind him being read that way at all! I’ve worked most of my career with boys with emotional disabilities and have a lot of empathy and love for people for whom interacting with the world isn’t always easy. In retrospect, even though it wasn’t my intention at the time, I’m glad I gave one of them a prominent place in my verse.

Unpopular Opinion: I suppose my argument that he was not as awful as Pengolodh claims wouldn’t be popular among the anti-Fëanorians, who have always been a significant part of the Silm fandom and who lean rather heavily on the belief (the word is very intentionally used) that the Fëanorians were not fallen but evil to begin with.

Otherwise, my Caranthir has been popular over the years, which is ironic, because in the conservative moment in Tolkien fandom history when I began writing, I was convinced that I would be excoriated for my writing of him so beyond the bounds of what Tolkien gave us (although always informed by the canon). The exact opposite happened for the most part.

Song I Associate with the Character: Bush, “Glycerine.” (Actually, the much of the angsty ‘90s alternative catalogue could fit Caranthir. He has Stabbing Westward and Linkin Park on permanent repeat.)

Favorite Image: Caranthir by @albuum. Because Caranthir is a character that I have such a strong sense of, I often find artwork that I like but don’t particularly connect to as my Caranthir. This one is pretty doggone close and features his wife too. *happy sigh*

[gaolcrowofmandos]

Eleven Questions

Tagged by @cerulean-shark – thanks so much! <33

I love your questions *resists urge to make a separate post for each one*

1. Who are your favorite members of the House of Finwe, and why?

Gah I love them all, but at present I’ve gotta say Turgon, Curufin, and Celebrimbor. They all have such distinct but fascinating tragedies and a ridiculous amount of pride. Plus geniuses in their respective fields :)

2. Favorite weird bit of Tolkien lore?

I always love the canon story of Azog’s death in LotR Appendix A… The whole decapitation/shoving the money bag in his mouth thing is both weird and hella hardcore.

3. Favorite ship?

Just one??? Guess it’ll have to be Curufin/Finrod.

4. How do you feel about Melian and Thingol?

To avoid the Dazed In The Woods Discourse, I’ll say my piece about Thingol’s death and Melian leaving Doriath defenseless. Ethically, big No. She completely abandons her people and realm, allowing the Second Kinslaying.

Narratively, however, I love it–Melian’s just about one of the toughest characters in the whole Silm–we see next to no objective ‘mistakes’ on her end–but then she just reaches her breaking point after losing Thingol, and knowing it’s imminent she’ll lose Luthien, too.

5. Opinions on Maeglin?

Like his mother, his biggest issue is freedom. He spends his life going from cage to cage, from Nan Elmoth with Eol’s abuse to Gondolin (trapped in the shadow of his parents’ deaths, chained to his love for Idril but unable to act on it) to Angband (where he’s offered the supposed chance at real freedom and takes it), then back to Gondolin, to find he’s still in mental bondage to Morgoth. Damn tragic.

6. Opinions on Manwe?

SO well-intentioned. Like, more well-intentioned than you would believe. However, not the best when it comes to empathy. At least Thorondor makes up for a little of that

7. Least favorite Feanorian?

Least favorite? Hmm. I guess it would have to be (in the twin-lost-at-Losgar version) whichever twin is Umbarto (in your chosen version of that version), just for deficit of characterization to make a call on how much I like him.

8. Crossover you’d like to see?

This is terrible, but like… random classic lit stuff? Like, take the premise of The Brothers Karamazov or The Count of Monte Cristo or The Picture of Dorian Gray and insert Silm characters/plot elements and see what happens.

9. Favorite Ainu?

This is unoriginal, but: Mairon is objectively the best. just sayin’

10. Random headcanon about Feanor, Fingolfin, or Finarfin?

Fingolfin’s challenge to Morgoth isn’t a symbolic or courageous or even tragically desperate act; it’s a 100% break with reality, mentally snapping.

11. Opinions on Celebrimbor?

Two big ones which are more like headcanons:

(1) The Rings were his idea. Yes, Annatar is 100% there to trip him up, corrupt him, and tear him down–and ultimately he takes the bigger role in the Rings project, of course–but the idea reeks too much of Fëanor for it to be all him.

(2) He’s a smart guy. He knew who Annatar was (or at least had a solid guess) pretty early on, but kept his secret because his Daddy/Uncle Issues make him a bit of a sucker for redemption arcs. Annatar’s 'big reveal’ isn’t his identity, but his ill intentions.

My Questions:

1) Favorite Third Age ship?

2) *opens trench coat to reveal bags of crack* Take your pick: Gorlim/Celebrimbor, Manwë/Fëanor, Melkor/Ungoliant

3) What’s the first thing (image, scene, quote, aesthetic, anything) you associate with Maedhros?

4) Do you like the 'Hobbit’ films?

5) Why/why not?

6) Which of the three C’s (Celegorm, Caranthir, Curufin) do you think has the saddest story? (yes, i’m aware they’re all terrible ;P)

7) Was the Prophecy of the North/Doom of the Noldor fair?

8) Name one song that makes you think of The Silmarillion (any character, any scene, whatever :).

9) Favorite Dwarf? (First, Second, or Third Age)

10) To what extent was Túrin responsible for his actions?

11) Most recent Tolkien book read?

I tag: @ten-summoners-fails, @fernstrike, @mythopoeticreality, @feanope , @cycas, @raisingcain-onceagain, @straightouttahimring, @filmamir, @alia-andreth, @prackspoor, and @cataclysmofstars , if y'all would like, plus anyone else who’d like to answer!