#three houses of the edain

[sesamenom]

Family Tree Version 3, now featuring dwarves, hobbits, and the intricacies of however ainur are related!

Double lines on each side of a line break are used where lines overlap (---ll | ll---). Dashed lines indicate unknown numbers of generations, and dotted lines are for adoption. Grey text is used for alternative/old draft versions and assumed relationships (such as sticking oropher in with the sons of galadhon, or putting one of the dunedain as the tooks' fairy ancestor).

Version 2 here

[boop-le-snoot]

kinktober #2

Strange Candy

kinktober day two | aphrodisiac | 18+, cw: intoxicated sex (all consensual), female reader. both of them hella sassy, book-ish!thran because no angst in my house. this is very silly, just like the author. don't eat funny mushrooms you find in the forest! | wc 3,7k | want more kinktober? click here |

“Strange indeed.” Said the King thoughtfully. The group of hunters who'd led him to the newfound development traded a long look. Crouching down, the King's majesty eyebrows met in the middle of his forehead as he studied the newfound addition to his great Elven forest. “And the beasts have returned seemingly unharmed, you say?”

“Yes, my Lord. The bears had retreated into a den and so did the foxes, emerging approximately three days afterwards. All seemed in good health and very hungry.” The Silvan hunter replied.

“Then these must be harmless.” Deduced the King, taking out a thin blade to poke at a dense cluster of brightly coloured fungus.

At least, he guessed it was a fungus. Upending one cluster, he found no roots. The flesh of the mushroom was white and fragrant, pleasantly earthy and rich, with subtle floral undertones that made his mouth water slightly. The smell intensified tenfold upon cutting the mushroom down the middle. The King brought it closer to his nose, carefully scenting for any bitterness or rot.

“My Lord...” A concerned Feren piped up from his spot behind the King.

You offered the Captain a glance full of genuine compassion, without a doubt considering his job to be the most complicated and tedious in the whole of Thranduil's kingdom. Minding Greenwood's fiery monarch was not for the faint-hearted.

“Surely you are not thinking of putting it in your mouth?” You added a dash of sarcasm into your question, equally concerned.

You were sassed right back, eyeroll audible. “It is a mushroom, where else would I put it?” Thranduil straightened up, holding the newfound addition to the flora of the forest impaled on his knife. As soon as his eyes zeroed on you, you gulped. Thranduil gave you a nasty little grin. “What is the worst that could happen? I have the best healers of my realm at my disposal.”

Feren's fingers twitched, a tell-tale sign of his withering self-restraint. You sighed and contemplated the best time to begin backing away.

Thranduil simply raised an eyebrow, a silent challenge. “Worry not, the Kingdom has forgotten of your and Feren's...” Elegant pause, Feren's sigh. “Accident.”

“'twas no accident,” you said defensively. “You gave us your Ada's moonshine to see if it was still good. On purpose.”

Thranduil shrugged as the mushroom was evenly divided into two parts with the help of his knife. A perfect picture of innocence, he held up the treat in his palm, grey eyes sparkling.

“I am NOT doing it, my Lord!” Exploded Feren, and gave into his urge to take a step back. He, more than anyone, knew how insistent Thranduil could get. A seven-thousand year old elf giving huge puppy eyes! And it worked! The Captain shielded his own face with his palm. “Throw me in the dungeons for a fortnight, I care not!”

Contrary to your expectations, Thranduil simply rolled his eyes, and swiftly stuck one part of the colourful fungus in his mouth. Everyone gasped, including you, but the old Elvenking remained completely unbothered.

“Hm,” he blinked after a second. “That is not bad.”

Waves of impending doom washed over you with each contemplative movement of Thranduil's jaws. Looking first to the left, and then to the right, you found no immediate means exit of the situation. It was you, the resident human, and the tree behind you, which your King had no problem with crowding you against. Not that he moved or anything. He was just... Large. And very handsome. And spectacular at rounding his shiny, bottomless eyes with great purpose.

“We must know if this fungus is harmful to Edain,” he said, honey-sweet. You hated that he was right. “According to hunters, there is an abundance of it, and, knowing how curious you Edain are...”

“Ugh!” You shook your head. “Just give me the mushroom. If I die, I will haunt your halls for all eternity.” Obediently and with no small worry, you snatched the piece and stuck it in your mouth, chewing quickly, not even taking note of the taste.

Thranduil's last experiment that involved you and Feren still fresh on your mind, you turned back towards the Halls before you'd even finished chewing. You'd rather be in the privacy of your rooms least intoxication has you do something embarrassing... Again. Thankfully, the King conceded, and after giving the hunters a command to gather more of this mystery fungus, the party set out back home.

It was Feren's turn to offer you fleeting looks of compassion. You quietly smiled back, not feeling anything out of sorts. The ride back was pleasantly uneventful. Not a creature was stirring: even the ever-present spiders were absent in their bothersome scuttling.

Too smug for his own good, Thranduil entered his halls with a spring in his step. “The haunting of halls of Greenwood has been postponed indefinitely, I see,” he said in passing as he shrugged off his outer travel robes. A maid immediately offered him a silver robe of heavy satin which he politely declined. “Nay. The discovery has warmed me plenty.”

You noticed that yes, the weather has turned rather warm indeed and bowed before departing back to your daily business. Mid-way through your chores, a thin, translucent sheen of sweat glistened on your brow as you silently cursed the Vala responsible for such unusually pleasant weather. The Halls had already began to prepare for a long winter with covering unnecessary exits and patching up drafty areas.

What wouldn't you give for a gulp of fresh, cold air! Chores forgotten, you hurried to the nearest balcony. There was one not frequently visited by Elves as it was hidden behind a clever alcove; stepping aside and squeezing through the narrow opening, you sighed happily and deeply as your clammy skin finally felt crisp late night air.

Your shoulders dropped as you exhaled, finally shaking off some of that uncomfortable heat. A tranquil scene of swaying treetops and budding stars over a darkening sky emphasized the calamity of your solitude.

“Hm.”

“My Lord,” you greeted without turning, familiar with the timbre of voice and soft swishing of expensive fabric coming from behind you.

Thranduil's profile appeared within your field of view as he posted up next to you and demurely placed a hand over the stone railing of the balcony. “I was unaware someone had found the secret entrance to my private balcony.”

“Oh,” you froze. “I apologize... I was simply...”

The corner of his mouth turned up. “I take no offense. Indeed, it was quite clever. Even keen Elven eyes miss the opening behind the alcove.” Sans outer robe and clad in a simple but rich ensemble of sateen shirt and velvet breeches, it became evident you'd caught the King in a private moment of relaxation. His brow, usually tinted with concern with kingdom, was pleasantly warm.

You swallowed, looking away. He was a beauty even among his own kin, and like this - relaxed and comfortable - bordered on irresistible. A flash of heat spread through your body at the realisation. It took no small effort to squash these thoughts and steer them towards some semblance of propriety.

“The Valar have blessed us with good weather this autumn, my Lord. I was doing my chores and nearly felt faint from the heat.” You said, noticing Thranduil's eyebrows rise. “And the construction of your halls is incredible! Not a single drafty corner.”

“Heated, you say?” He interrupted suddenly, turning to face you fully. Etiquette (whenever you remembered it) dictated you should, too, and you two faced each other. Thranduil radiated curiosity, eyes lingering on your flushed cheeks and the warmth crawling down the neckline of your clothes. “Strange.”

“What is, my Lord?”

“I have said the same thing to Galion but he gave me a very pointed look and gestured towards Lady Anariel, who had been complaining to her maid about not lighting a fire in a timely manner.”

You frowned, too. The Lady Anariel was as Northern as Elves come and was fairly tolerant of wintery weather. When others wore furs, she got by with an outer dress of wool and, perhaps, a pair of gloves.

“Do you feel... Strange, my Lord?” You had a slight suspicion. Just a teeny-tiny one, that boiled down to those Eru-forsaken mushrooms.

In response you received an impish sort of shrug. “Not necessarily so. Do you?”

Your face blanched. Aside from suddenly finding him irresistible and feeling a little hot under the collar, nothing was amiss. But the longer you lingered on those two thoughts, the stronger they became. It was as if you were an adolescent again: barely any impulse control and all feeling.

‘twas a delicate situation. You could speak to a healer, of course, or let the strange circumstance run it's course. If it even could do that. Thoughts growing jumbled by the second, you said the only clear thing on your mind.

“Those cursed mushrooms.”

Thranduil was unperturbed. “I do not believe they are cursed. Potent, yes, but not cursed.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “... You too?”

He sighed. “I came out here in hopes of clearing my head from this fog of lust.” As you prepared to mutter- what, exactly? Apologies? - Thranduil's finger reached out for tour face to trace the curve of your jaw. “And in the process I found something much more exciting.”

Your bottom lip trembled. Such a simple gesture felt heavenly. Wherever his skin came in contact with yours, the heaviness receded briefly. Your breath caught in your chest as your heart picked up a hare's pace.

“Am I being propositioned?” You wished to say to yourself but in the fog, managed to sputter out loud.

“We could help each other out...” The King, unfurled to his full height and radiating heat equal to that you felt on the inside, grinned a crooked grin. It sat youthfully on his timeless features, just the right amount of flirtatious and reassuring.

You pretended to think about it. No, you really did, out of concern for your dignity. Throwing yourself onto the King was simply uncouth. Such was your next course of action, but the necessary amount of time had passed and the need, having been brought to the forefront or your mind, took hold of your sense. Slowly, you leaned into the touch and brought your hands to Thranduil's forearm, tilting his fingers to your mouth. Hot breath caused them to twitch.

“Does this answer your question?” You tilted your head, lips brushing against the multitude of rings he wore on his persona. It was most exhilarating to see his pupils widen and his mouth tremble.

Adam's apple bobbing, Thranduil swallowed. “No.” And smirked, the stunning bastard. “I need a clear, straightforward statement.”

You sighed, feigning annoyance. “I enthusiastically consent to having uncouth, untoward and potentially nasty things being done to my body by my Lord and King...”

You did not even get to finish. In a flash, Thranduil's hands had encircled your face and he bent himself over you, pushing your body into the balcony as he devoured your mouth with his. There was no grace and no finesse; something heavy and hard poking your stomach showed you just how much self-control your King had.

Seconds ago, you'd been having a perfectly normal conversation and now you found yourself airborne, having been unceremoniously picked up by the tall Elf and carried towards his chambers like the most coveted spoil of war while he devoured your mouth. You hummed into the kiss and responded with a groan, tearing the back lacing of your clothes clean off.

Your back connected with the mattress of his bed. Blinking at the rapid change of pace and scenery, you moaned out in frustration regarding your ruined clothes.

“I will commission more for you,” he said carelessly, throwing his own shirt Mordor knows where. His bare chest, chiseled with lithe muscle and pale as fresh milk, captivated your attention.

Previously having contended yourself with the occasional glance at the tiny window of bare skin where the sides of his robes met, you used your newfound opportunity to drink yourself full of Thranduil's fair skin. It felt as soft as it looked when he laid upon you, the weight of his body offering a delicious momentary reprieve from the tension building up in your muscles. Gossamer hair shielded you from the outside world as he leaned in towards your mouth again, this time capturing yours in a sensual dance of tongue and teeth.

A nimble hand took care of your bottoms, sliding inside your underwear as slick and cunning as a snake, to cup your mound. Thranduil groaned into the kiss, finding you soaked and willing, fingering the cleft of your lower lips with practiced gentle moves. The tenderness of it drove you crazy. Your need flared as a wall of standstill fire and you were surprised you did hadn't noticed it earlier. If the pulse in your cunt was anything to go by, you would come undone the very moment your King would finally allow you to feel full.

He was fairly content with sucking your soul out through your mouth and mapping the fat outer lips of your cunt. Never quite breaching and wholly avoiding your throbbing pearl, Thranduil simply basked in the amount of sticky juice your cunt was capable of producing.

The first loud moan of the night broke free if your lips and it was one of frustration.

Thranduil smiled into the kiss, your teeth clashing together. “What is it, mm?” He queried in-between wet pecks.

“I want to come.” You whined.

He chuckled. “And what's in it for me?”

Thankfully, your eyes were closed and he did not see your eyeroll. “You'll get to come, too?” Cringing at how lame it sounded, you were nonetheless powerless beneath him and overwhelmed from your desire.

“I prefer to play with my food.” He grinned a predator's smile, all shiny teeth and lidded eyes, but tugged down on your bottoms nonetheless. “Try harder.”

That became difficult as you were now bare; shivering in your King's arms, you cracked open a hazy eye to see him settle himself closer to your dripping center. It captivated him. Sliding two fingers along your lips, your eyes closed and head fell back as every nerve in your body came alight. Rewarded by a long moan, Thranduil gathered ample amount of moisture on his fingers and brushed over your quivering entrance.

Your back arched as he plunged them deeply within your aching cunt. The sticky noise it made was positively scandalous.

“I will-ah! forgive you for gathering the entire -ahh! King's guard to look at Feren and I!” You managed to form a quasi-coherent sentence through the moans and gasps spilling from your lips and were rather proud of yourself for it.

Thranduil's laugh echoed in the room as it did in his chest, a pleasant rumble vibrating through your core. “Whether Galion forgives you two for barking at him remains to be seen.”

Genuine amusement briefly overshadowed your shame at the situation of the past and at your own current neediness. The combination of emotion startled a laugh out of you, causing your core to clench around Thranduil's fingers and coat them in your wetness. He groaned low in his throat and rubbed your inner walls, reveling in the resulting moan. It did nothing to bring you closer to the peak.

“Sadist!” You accused and attempted to grind down on his hand, fisting the crumpled sheets.

“Slander!” He punctuated the rebuttal with an expert curl of his fingers. You arched. He smirked. “You should learn patience.”

There was no strength in your mind to formulate another witty comeback. Sensation, low and insistent, built up in the pit of your belly, an ache so sweet and tender you were sure it would be any second that you'd burst with it. Every pore on your skin open and receptive to touch, even the slide of silk sheets as your body bent with pleasure was overwhelming. You panted wetly through parted lips as a third finger joined in, the stretch of it making your eyes roll back into your head.

Thranduil would kill you. You were sure of it now. He would end you with a blinding smile and clever fingers never ceasing to move within you, the movement just shy of where you needed him most.

“Mercy!” You moaned. “Mercy, my King!”

You should have known his idea of it would be no less torturous than the ‘kindness’ that led you to your current place writhing atop his bed. Slowly, his tongue traced a path around your outer lips before dipping inside; it was hot and wet, like a summer storm, when it connected with your engorged clit and flicked it from root to tip. Electric feel of sensation pierced your body in a lightning bolt as your leg muscles seized. The King gave a pleased rumble and went for seconds and thirds, effortlessly holding your thighs open with one strong, long arm, palm digging into the soft meat.

Even the pain of it echoed with pleasure.

While the need within your loins kept steadily climbing with no end in sight, your King treated himself to a leisurely late night snack. His tongue delved in and out of your cunt, lapping up the waterfall of arousal. You would have been mortified, really, for the mess had you glued stuck to his face, your hips attempting to follow his mouth in circles.

Coupled with the digits slowly but surely stretching the entrance to your channel, brushing over the sensitive fornix, you knew the night would be long. Dark, but not cold. Hazy.

“Ngh!” You articulated through gritted teeth, feeling him pull away from a particularly sensitive spot in favour of sucking a bruise onto your inner thigh. Thranduil followed a path only he himself knew, marking your flesh with pulling, precise bites that left discoloured spot damp with spit. They pleasantly ached.

Over your stomach and at the underside of your bottom rib. The sides and bottoms of your breasts, all the way up at the root of your nipples. He took each one in into his mouth, suckling on it like a hungry babe, before releasing them with a wet pop just blow a gentle breath onto the pebbled nubs. Through parted lashes, you watched him, aptly fascinated by the lack of colour in his eyes, pupils blown wide and deep with lust.

You tasted your cunt on his tongue as he made way back up. Risking a glance downward, you saw Thranduil's cock hard, flushed and heavy, hanging out of his breeches. He hadn't bothered with removing them and that single detail had you nearly undone. How the King himself could not wait to he inside of you!

An understanding of his previous games had come too, for he was rather proportional everywhere. Just the slide of his weeping tip against your bruised thigh invoked a shudder in you, back arching. You presented yourself to your best ability, eyes shining with pleading as he rested his forehead against yours.

Thranduil held himself above you, weight on his elbows, as his cock nosed at your sopping entrance. Immediately, it tried to suck him in, coaxing his lips to bend into a smirk. Such proximity was putting your sensibility directly into negatives. With a wild look mirrored in his own darkened pupils, you petulantly stuck out your bottom lip and panted with all the sarcasm that you could muster:

“we'll get to the good part... About tomorrow?” You wished to add more, something about him being old, but that remark and many more drowned in the absolute extasy flooding your body as he slid into your cunt in one single smooth stroke. “Aah...” Left your lips instead, and with it, any remaining oxygen departed from your lungs as well.

“Mouthy,” Thranduil remarked, sounding unfairly put together for someone who's mouth was as slippery as wet stone and cheeks brighter than a ripe beetroot.

You forgave him then and there. In awe, you watched him give you another one of his impish grins and nudge at that spot deeply within you. And he did it all over again, plush mouth releasing the sweetest, quietest of moans as he did so. Time got lost in the tug of war tour cunt played with his cock; like this, your release was imminent and fast approaching.

You grabbed Thranduil's arms, rubbed his shoulders as your legs wound up around his narrow waist while he contentedly and systematically unraveled you apart with rapid, smooth snaps of his hips. For a while, there was nothing in the room but the two of you and the lewd noises of damp skin slapping against skin. Clutching harder, you felt yourself tighten around his girth. Each measured stroke abused your engorged clit, heavy sac adding extra sensation on your perineum.

A low, feral groan joined the thrilling cacophony of sex. Thranduil fucked you through your first orgasm with gritted teeth, barely slowing with the new resistance of your cunt attempting to milk him for his worth. Hair hanging over your faces like a curtain, he claimed your lips in a searing kiss as you whimpered with overstimulation. Evenly, his thrusts became shallow, grinding.

Having become a acquainted with your bearings somewhat, you made a confused noise. The King just grinned. His palm connected firmly with the side of your hip as you squealed. He withdrew.

“Present yourself to your King.” He ordered, both smug and slightly breathless, helping you along onto all fours.

You chuffed into the damp bedding and obeyed, arching your back at a sinful curve. Within seconds, you were once again blissfully full.

a/n: I am way too horny of a person to write anything LACE compliant. Or is that my commitment issues talking? Anyway, ELVES FUCK SEVERELY! At least this October. mwah 💋

I once ate like 12 grams of cubensis and was a cat for 3 hours, so Feren barking at Galion with the help of some 3k+ year old mushroom infused moonshine isn't that far-fetched.

[thelien-art]

Of the Three Houses of the Edain; Bëor, Haleth, and Hador

I swear! This is the last time I change Bëor´s design! I am happy with him now!

[rana-temporaria]

Thoughts on vampires, cause they are freaking canon to middle earth

-the "original" vampires of middle earth are dark maiar who got a taste for elvish blood at cuivenen and chose to take a bat-like form (though they can look elvish, human, or dwarvish!)

-They also hunted the edain as they made their journey west

-Maiarin vampires soon discovered they could "turn" the free peoples of middle earth

-Being bitten by a vampire has three possible results:

1. The vampire takes an interest in you and makes you their thrall, this means you will be controlled and forced to do their bidding (this is usually achieved by blackmail, abuse, or sometimes magic) victims of this possibility sometimes become attached to the vampire that turned them in the way someone being abused might be attached to their abuser

2. The vampire has no interest in you; you are stilled "turned" but lose your mind in the way someone with rabies would, the victim craves blood and often ends up attacking people around them

3. The vampire takes no interest in you and you are not "turned" despite being bitten, in the same way you could be a carrier for a virus you could be a carrier of vampirism! This person most likely lives their life normally, unless they are killed (usually in mercy as it is an awful thing to become a vampire and not being "turned" is rare)

-"turned" vampires crave blood and can eat or drink nothing else; they still need nutrients they would get from other foods but can no longer stomach them, in the way rabies makes animals extremely thirsty but terrified of water

-After Finrod found the Beorians he and Balan (soon to be Beor) would often patrol while others slept in order to prevent attacks from vampires (can you tell I ship beor and finrod)

-Unlike "original" vampires, "turned" vampires can walk when the sun is out

-The house of Haleth was the most hunted on the edain's journey west, the Beorians had Finrod (who's magic was a great vampire repellent) and the folk of Marach (later the house of Hador) famously had a lot of people so they weren't as easy prey

-thralls are sometimes released by Morgoth after being "turned" in order to create more fear and mistrust

-The Sindar actually have quite a few vamp carriers who never "turned" and they are for the most part accepted, though there's a constant fear of these carriers eventually running into the vampire who bit them, for trauma reasons and because if the possibility the vampire may have power over them

-"turned" vampires can infect others

-Vampirism cannot be cured

[anghraine]

I've seen some posts lately assuming that the Rohirrim are basically descendants of Hadorians who didn't go to Númenor. It's an understandable assumption because that is an in-story belief about the Rohirrim. However, Tolkien repeatedly suggests this is essentially a Gondorian myth.

They're not lying—by the WOTR, they genuinely believe it's correct—but it isn't true. In "Of Dwarves and Men," Tolkien wrote (c. 1969) that Gondorians "attributed to them [the Rohirrim] actual direct descent from the Folk of Hador in the First Age." Furthermore, he said:

This was a general belief in Gondor at that time [the War of the Ring], and was held to explain (to the comfort of Númenórean pride) the surrender of so large a part of the Kingdom to the people of Eorl.

In a footnote, he adds that the Rohirrim had no ancestral traditions or cultural memories of the wars of Beleriand at all. They don't really have any reason to care about this version of their history, though they accept it as it contributes to the strength of their alliance with Gondor.

Then there's a marginal note about the footnote (because this is Tolkien) that says this belief in an ancient Edainic kinship with Men of Middle-earth could have actually been true of some of the Men the Númenóreans found when they came back to Middle-earth, but not of the Rohirrim specifically. The Rohirrim may be similar to the Hadorians in appearance and temper, but they are at most related to the larger group of First Age Men that all the Edain had originated from and not any of the Three Houses in particular.

This "Edainic" concept of the Rohirrim's history is also thrown into doubt in Lord of the Rings itself, right before their first appearance, when Aragorn explains to Legolas and Gimli:

'they are true-hearted, generous in thought and deed; bold but not cruel; wise but unlearned, writing no books but singing many songs, after the manner of the children of Men before the Dark Years ... They have long been the friends of the people of Gondor, though they are not akin to them. It was in forgotten years long ago that Eorl the Young brought them out of the North, and their kinship is rather with the Bardings of Dale, and with the Beornings of the Wood...'

You know who are actually kin to the Edain, though?

Also it must be said that 'unfriendliness' to Númenóreans and their allies was not always due to the Shadow, but in later days to the actions of the Númenóreans themselves. Thus many of the forest-dwellers of the shorelands south of the Ered Luin, especially in Minhiriath, were as later historians recognized the kin of the Folk of Haleth; but they became bitter enemies of the Númenóreans because of their ruthless treatment and their devastation of the forests, and this hatred remained unappeased in their descendants, causing them to join with any enemies of Númenor. In the Third Age their survivors were the people known in Rohan as the Dunlendings.

[melestasflight]

I’m a Russingon girlie at heart and will never miss an opportunity to read into the romanticism of Maedhros’ rescue from Thangorodrim: ancient friends/lovers coming back together, Fingon finding compassion despite betrayal, all that good tear-jerker stuff.

But what makes Fingon’s heroism massive to me has nothing to do with the personal and everything to do with the politics at Mithrim. The fact that had he not gone to Thangorodrim, the Noldor in Beleriand would find themselves at literal war against each other.

This little passage from the Silm really deserves a lot more attention:

No love was there in the hearts of those that followed Fingolfin for the House of Fëanor, for the agony of those that endured the crossing of the Ice had been great, and Fingolfin held the sons the accomplices of their father. Then there was peril of strife between the hosts

Years later, when Fingon decides to look for Maedhros, the conflict between the hosts comes back as a primary reason behind his decision:

Then Fingon the valiant, son of Fingolfin, resolved to heal the feud that divided the Noldor, before their Enemy should be ready for war

This makes me conclude that the three years between Fingolfin’s arrival at Mitrhim (FA 2) to Fingon’s rescue mission (FA 5) must have been a continuous civil crisis. The hosts are in close proximity, a single lake dividing them, Fingolfin on one side, Maglor on the other, and for three years they cannot find a compromise. This crisis must have gotten pretty bad for someone to decide that braving Thangorodrim might be worth it.

And to me, this is Fingon's greatest contribution he ever made, not his battles, not his chasing of dragons, but preventing civil war among his people.

Of all the children of Finwë he is justly most renowned...

Yes, indeed, he is. Because without Fingon’s deed, there would be no victories for the Noldor, no Long Peace, no meeting of the Edain and Eldar. They would have fought each other endlessly until one group obliterated the other, or alternatively, Morgoth used this division (as the book seems to imply) to destroy them all swiftly. 

Fingon effectively accomplishes what Fingolfin and Fëanor never managed: peace, at least for a good while. Maedhros of course contributes in return by giving up the crown. He meets Fingon halfway, and they stay true to this alliance until Fingon’s death. They cross an impossible bridge no matter how you read their relationship. 

I’ll never tire of it. Ever.

[violetumbrellalover]

Haleth of the Haladin 🏹

Haleth was a daughter of Haldad, leader of the Haladin. After her father and twin brother Haldar were slain in an Orc raid, she became chieftain of the Haladin.

The House of Haleth was the second of the three Houses of Edain. The men of this House were descendants of Haldad, but the house was named after Haldad’s daughter Haleth, who led people from East Beleriand to Brethil. They were a reclusive folk, separate from the other Edain and spoke a different language.

[glorfindel-of-imladris]

The Case of Erestor Half-elven

It’s been a hot minute since my last fandom meta, but this one I accidentally stumbled upon gathering notes for—would you believe it—a Glorfindel meta I intended to write. Man, I’m not even going to question the process, so let’s just get right on to it!

I like to joke around that there are only six instances when Erestor was mentioned in the entire legendarium, and by this I mean in The Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit, and The Silmarillion (in which he does not even appear in the latter two). 

But let’s talk about the early draft of him that is often referenced in fandom. If one extends the search, in The Return of Shadow, which details the writing process of what ultimately would be The Fellowship of the Ring, Erestor does get a mention, and is described as follows:

“There were three counsellors of Elrond’s own household: Erestor his kinsman (a man of the same half-elvish folk known as the children of Lúthien), and beside him two elflords of Rivendell.” -- In the House of Elrond, The Return of Shadow 

By the final version of The Lord of the Rings, however, there is no more reference to Erestor as Half-elven. The final published version goes:

"Beside Glorfindel there were several other counsellors of Elrond's household, of whom Erestor was the chief..." -- The Council of Elrond, The Fellowship of the Ring

By this final version of the story, the Half-elven trait no longer made sense for Erestor, and was replaced instead by him being Elrond's chief counsellor. 

The nature of Half-elves

Tolkien acknowledges three unions of Elves and Men:

“There were three unions of the Eldar and the Edain: Lúthien and Beren; Idril and Tuor; Arwen and Aragorn. By the last the long-sundered branches of the Half-elven were reunited and their line was restored.” –Appendix A, Return of the King

One of the later themes Tolkien came up with surrounding the Half-elven line (which likely did not yet exist at the early stages of the story when he was first forming the fellowship) was how they united and reunited all the houses of the Eldar and the Edain. Beren was a descendant of the three houses of the Edain—the Houses of Bëor, Haleth, and Hador—while Lúthien was the daughter of a Sinda (Teleri) and a Maia. Idril was the daughter of a Ñoldo and a Vanya. Lúthien and Beren had Dior, who then had a daughter, Elwing, who wed Eärendil, the son of Idril and Tuor. Elwing and Eärendil then had Elros and Elrond, and the line was separated for many generations when Elros chose to be counted among Men, and Elrond among Elves. The two lines were reunited with the marriage of Aragorn and Arwen.

One important detail here is that before the “Choice of the Half-elves” that was later gifted to Eärendil, Elwing, and their children, the children born out of an Elf-Man union led lives akin to Men. Dior was able to rule Doriath at age 33, and Eärendil and Elwing married at 22. These, as we know, would have been too young for Elves, given:

“Children of Men might reach their full height while Eldar of the same age were still in the body like to mortals of no more than seven years. Not until their fiftieth year did the Eldar attain the stature and shape in which their lives would afterwards endure, and for some a hundred years would pass before they were full-grown.” -- Laws and Customs of the Eldar, Morgoth’s Ring

and

“The Eldar wedded for the most part in their youth and soon after their fiftieth year […] Those who would afterwards become wedded might choose one another early in youth, even as children (and indeed this happened often in days of peace); but unless they desired soon to be married and were of fitting age, the betrothal awaited the judgment of the parents of either party.” -- Laws and Customs of the Eldar, Morgoth’s Ring

After the events of the War of the Wrath, Eärendil, Elwing, and their sons Elrond and Elros, for their deeds in the war, were gifted with the choice to be counted either among the Eldar or the Edain. Eärendil, Elwing, and Elrond chose to be counted among Elves, and the choice continued on to Elrond’s children: Arwen, Elladan, and Elrohir. Elros chose to be counted among Men, but in his case, the choice no longer extended to his descendants; every descendant of Elros was mortal. 

The only thing I can conclude for why Elros’ line did not get to choose is because the Gift of Ilúvatar—that is, a death that transcends the world of Arda—trumps all other gifts. It is a blessing that followed the line of Elros—never mind that the latter Númenóreans did not all agree that this was a blessing at all.

A similar sentiment can be found in earlier versions of the Quenta Silmarillion, where Manwë said to Eärendil:

"Now all those who have the blood of mortal Men, in whatever part, great or small, are mortal, unless other doom be granted to them; but in this matter the power of doom is given to me." -- Quenta Silmarillion, The Lost Road and Other Writings

Although this was no longer included in the published Silmarillion, Christopher Tolkien still considered this in judging that Dior, son of Beren and Lúthien, would have been mortal, regardless of whether Lúthien was Elf or mortal when she begetted him.

Bonus extra: The fourth case of Elf-Man union

Despite the excerpt from Appendix A, there is another case of Elf-Man union that we know: Mithrellas and Imrazôr. This was alluded to in Return of the King when describing Prince Imrahil: 

“...and with him went the Prince of Dol Amroth in his shining mail. For he and his knights still held themselves like lords in whom the race of Númenor ran true. Men that saw them whispered saying: ‘Belike the old tales speak well; there is Elvish blood in the veins of that folk, for the people of Nimrodel dwelt in that land once long ago.’” The Siege of Gondor, Return of the King

Although it seems as though this was only a rumor among Men, in the wider History of Middle-earth, Mithrellas is indeed mentioned to have been the spouse of Imrazôr who bore him children, of whom Galador was the ancestor of the princes of Dol Amroth. Of their line, it was said:

“But though Mithrellas was of the lesser silvan race (and not of the High Elves or the Grey) it was ever held that the house and kin of the Lords of Dol Amroth were noble by blood, as they were fair of face and mind.” The Heirs of Elendil, The Peoples of Middle-earth

The princes of Dol Amroth, of course, are mortal, and this does not contradict anything that has already been established. It is easy to imagine how, in a world where Elves and Men co-exist, there could be many other undocumented cases throughout the years. But what we do know is that no other Half-elf outside of Eärendil’s line would have led a long life by choosing the path of Elves. Therefore, if there were any other Half-elves in the Council of Elrond, aside from Elrond himself, they would have been not much older than Aragorn or Boromir. 

Erestor’s age and role in Rivendell

We now return to Erestor. One of the clearest things in “The Council of Elrond” is the Elves’ reluctance to take the One Ring. Erestor is one of the most vocal about this, and this is one of my favorite themes to explore about his character in the Third Age.

Given the character's history in Tolkien's drafts, Erestor's narrative role seems to have always been to drive the Council of Elrond to its conclusion. Where people strayed from the topic (which then allowed Tolkien to expound more for world-building), Erestor's purpose even in early drafts was to bring everyone back to the task at hand. In addition to this though, thematically, I think Erestor eventually also represented the fading of the Elves. He is most known for his quick suggestion to give the Ring to Tom Bombadil. This tells us:

The Elves do not want anything to do with the Ring anymore, a sentiment that would be especially potent for one who was there during the Last Alliance, in the Second Age when Sauron was at the peak of his power; and 

The time of the Elves is ending, and there is little more they can give to Middle-earth.

Granted, Legolas remained a member of the Fellowship and thus represented the Elves, but by Elven standards, Legolas was young, and did not have the weariness that someone older would have. Erestor reads to me as someone older, even older in spirit in comparison to Glorfindel. 

‘We know not for certain,’ answered Elrond sadly. ‘Some hope that the Three Rings, which Sauron has never touched, would then become free, and their rulers might heal the hurts of the world that he has wrought. But maybe when the One has gone, the Three will fail, and many fair things will fade and be forgotten. That is my belief.’ ‘Yet all the Elves are willing to endure this chance,’ said Glorfindel, ‘if by it the power of Sauron may be broken, and the fear of his dominion be taken away for ever.’ ‘Thus we return once more to the destroying of the Ring,’ said Erestor, ‘and yet we come no nearer. What strength have we for the finding of the fire in which it was made? That is the path of despair. Of folly, I would say, if the long wisdom of Elrond did not forbid me.’ -- The Council of Elrond, The Fellowship of the Ring

Erestor has a weariness to him that is even notable especially beside Glorfindel's vitality, whom we know was reborn in Aman as though young again, with "the primitive innocence and grace of the Eldar" (Peoples of Middle-earth). Glorfindel, however, is a special case even among all Elves in the Third Age, while Erestor arguably would have been more representative of them, at least of the ones that remained in Middle-earth.

Another case to be made about Erestor being one of the oldest in Rivendell is by virtue of his status as chief among Elrond’s counsellors. Considering the population of Elves in Rivendell, this is no small feat. As Gandalf told Frodo:

‘Here in Rivendell there live still some of [Sauron’s] chief foes: the Elven-wise, lords of the Eldar from beyond the furthest seas. They do not fear the Ringwraiths, for those who have dwelt in the Blessed Realm live at once in both worlds, and against both the Seen and the Unseen they have great power. [...] Indeed there is power in Rivendell to withstand the might of Mordor, for a while: and elsewhere other powers still dwell.’ -- Many Meetings, The Fellowship of the Ring

So what is he?

The last quote about the Elf-lords of Rivendell is one of the main reasons why I say Erestor is likely of the Ñoldorin Calaquendi. This makes the most sense given his position in Elrond’s household and given the sorts of Elves that dwell there. Fortunately, this still gives us many options: he could be an Elf from Gondolin, from Nargothrond, even among one of the many houses of the Fëanoryn. 

Could he have been any other kind of Elf? Sure! I even particularly have a soft spot for Erestor being Sindarin, but again, given his position, I would guess one of the older lines. Doriath, in particular, would make sense. Given how Elves seem to be “ranked” by wisdom defined by their exposure to the Valar and the rest of the Ainur, Doriath, with Melian’s influence, would have been a special kind of place. 

Could Erestor still be Half-elven? My easiest answer would be that it’s unlikely. But! Do not despair! With fiction, really anything is possible. Erestor could be an exceptional Half-elf and that is why he is chief counsellor. He could still be a kindred of Elrond’s by some obscure line, such as an unrecorded child in the line of Beren and Lúthien, or as a popular fanon, either Eluréd or Elurín survived. Or he could just be the son of some other Elf and Man. But whatever version it is, Erestor Half-elven would not have had the choice of the Half-elves, and so likely would not have been alive beyond the lifetime of a Númenórean.

[redreyenotarget]

Haleth🗡️

Haleth was the daughter of Haldad, leader of the Haladin (or Halethrim), one of the Three Houses of the Edain..

[silmarillihoarder]

The fic I was making art for --

https://archiveofourown.org/works/61599394

Parmalassë(oainulindalë) had been my dream project for a while now. stemming from the fact that I love both Silmariliion and Harry Potter and wanted a good childhood for harry.

So thought Maglor would be the best for it.

Summary:

At near the end of fourth age, after eight millennia of exile, the Valar gave Macalaurë Canafinwë a task to raise a child. an symbol of hope in the wizarding world and a vessel for more. he is determined to do it properly even as he is overwhelmed.

First chapter

Privet Drive was an odd place, no matter how normal its residents claim it to be. A whole street full of atleast a dozen identical houses can’t be normal, not even by Maglor’s standard. And he is definitely accustomed to unnatural things by now.

What happened to the Edain? They were still fairly artistic only a century ago.

Infact Maglor would say the Victorian era was the pinnacle of artistry in a whole millennium. Of course, he is talking about the isles only. He hasn’t travelled much out of isles in recent centuries or even in the isles itself, not since that Black Death appeared. He preferred solitude over potentially dying and being outcast from Arda. The only reason he knew anything about Victorian era was for that blasted Daeron. That guy had to drag him all over the United Kingdom like he had no other things to do (they both know neither had anything to do at all). Maglor has restrained himself from throttling the Sindar only for he doesn’t want more blood on his hands and a little company is good.

The street was fairly empty given it was noon of a Wednesday. Good. Less things to worry about. He grimaces walking down the street. It was November and the weather is pretty cold. He doesn’t even have anything warm given he doesn’t really get sick from it (though he definitely hates feeling cold. He is just too much into his grief still to earn and spend money on himself). But the child he is to pick up will definitely need something warm.

When Ulmo sent Ossë (really? Did the Vala had none but that perpetually angry maia to send a message-an order really?) to basically order him pick up this ‘Harry James Potter’ from ‘Number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey’ (the straightest order one can get from those Ainur. And Maglor still had trouble finding the place while knowing little of the modern England), Maglor had decided to take his time to prepare for the whole thing. He won’t abandon it of course, no matter how he feels about the Ainur and of Edain (The two World Wars reached even him when he was hiding), a little child is in question (he tries not to think about that one time he bloodied his hands with blood of children). Though he has doubt on his own abilities to raise a child now, he did raise his sons, didn’t he? Surely, he can do it again. It’s only for one-and-a-half-decade he told himself.

Still, he won’t be rash about anything again. That blasted Oath of their father was enough of a lesson. He had thought he would spend the winter trying to get a good job and a better house than that cottage in a village of Seaford.

That was until he contacted him two days ago. Through their bond. Urging him to take the child already. It was eighth time the bond was open between them. And much like the earlier times, Maglor followed his urge.

And now he is infront of Number 4 Privet Drive. Somehow the place feels even more unnatural and reeks of blood magic. In itself it is entirely normal in Wizarding world. No, it is the nature of the caster that made him stop. It feels like his magic. Not he being here, like it is one of his kind that has helped in making this ward around the house.

“Ah, are you visiting Dursleys, young man? Did they not mention they will be out for a tour?” Maglor turned to face an aging lady. “A tour?”

“To the beaches. A tour for three days, I think.” A cat—is that a Kneazle?—walked to the lady, butting its head on her leg. She picked it up, “I am Arabella Figg, dear. And you would be?”

“Estel. Just Estel, Ma’am.” Elessar definitely won’t mind using his name. “I will return later then.” He will return in a week to be done with this.

“If you don’t mind, please come with me for a tea. I often babysit their nephew-well, I am babysitting Little Harry right now. I can tell them whatever you need to inform them about.” She smiled a sweet smile at him when Maglor’s eyes lit up on hearing Harry’s name.

------------------

The summon disguised in a request wasn’t unusual but still irritating. Atleast there is Minerva to share his owes with. She looks positively terrifying being summoned from her extra class for seventh year NEWT students, still grumbling about having a lot of students not grasping ‘the third principle of Gamp’s Law’. How someone can not understand it and still pass Transfiguration with a ‘O’ is beyond him. Those dunderheads were probably trying to conjure up galleons again. He has been telling to be more strict with them just like he is. But, no. Like she won’t fall to his level she had sneered at him. Look at his sixth and seventh years, no accidents at all.

But, for now, both head of house are feeling same towards the old geezer—irritated and angry.

The Gryffindor Head of House was there before him.

Minerva is screaming at Albus for loosing James and Lily’s precious child, for placing him with those muggles when she told him they were the worst sort.

Severus has to bite the inside of his cheek to not crack a smile. Hopefully, those muggles had beaten some sense into the Potter brat and he won’t turn out like his father. And maybe whoever kidnapped that brat would keep the boy so that he doesn’t have to deal with a Potter in a few years.

“Minerva,” Albus still look unruffled by all yelling, “my devices say he is totally fine.”

“Fine? yes. But where he is? You told me he isn’t with his ‘family’ and don’t know where he is! You aren't even sure when he was taken away!"

Oh, this is interesting. Not knowing exactly when he was taken away? Surely Dumbledore won’t leave his golden boy unsupervised.

Albus turns towards him, his eyes glowing, “Severus, please do me a favor and keep an eye on your social circle? If one of them has gotten Little Harry, I would like to know.”

“Of course, headmaster. Is there anything I should know about Mr. Potter’s –” It came out like a vile word, “—abduction?”

A sigh came out, “I only get to know about it when I went to check my dear friend Arabella. She keeps quite a collection of half-kneazles to sell. Unfortunately, her home is sold to someone else as she is no in a muggle hospital being in a coma from brain-stroke. Has been there for last two years.”

Well, condolences for her but what it has to do with that Potter’s situation?

“She had brain-stroke when she was looking over Harry. After I checked my devices thoroughly, it was around this time that Harry was removed from Private Drive as the wards collapsed.”

“It was two years ago and Petunia didn’t even contact you?” He doesn’t add any questions on why those weren’t checked before in these two years. Minerva did.

“Neither she nor any residents of Private Drive know anyone named Harry.” Dumbledore answered him first then turned to the Transfiguration Mistress, “Minerva, I never needed to check before. Arabella always sends me missives about Little Harry. Infact last two years are not an exception. I still have letters from her.”

“How? How, Albus?”

“I don’t know.” He shook his head, “The letters even have her handwritings and magical signature.”

“Mass used Memory Charm?” That’s a possibility given none ‘know’ Harry. As for the mails… “How can someone copy other’s magical signatures?” Even muggles have little magical signature that helps identifying them and as far as he knew Arabella was a squib.

“No magical signature present for Memory Charm, my friend. And I have no answer for your second question.”

“Mind Manipulation is next best guess then.” Did one of the Death Eaters who aren’t in Azkaban did it? Was it Narcissa helping her husband? Lucias is still blatantly supporting the Dark Lord’s ideologies and Narcissa loves him enough to help him in Mind Magic, her specialty.

“Then it’s not a singular person we are dealing with or whoever did this is extremely proficient in mind magic. They all lose the memory of Harry around same time. Even those who weren’t in Private Drive at that moment but knew the Dursleys forgot about Harry.”

Minerva has calmed down a bit, “Do you think the Death Eaters did it?”

“That’s a guess at best. Still, Severus, please keep an eye on them.”

It’s not going to be a good year then, with a powerful wild card in play.

-----------------------

Harry- no, it’s Lómëar now, or Tittaílë as Atto calls him- loves it here in this small cottage. No one calls him ‘freak’ here and he even has friends to play with—James, Juniper, Kristein. Though he was but a little three years old when Atto took him away from his aunt’s family, he knows he had no friend there, his cousin made sure of that and his bedroom was a cupboard which used to seem big to his little-self, but feels like a cellar now.

He is happy here. Just like he was when he had mum and dad and…and…

He can’t remember what he used to call them, but he remembers a big dog who was actually a man, a very funny man just like dad. And then there was one who was also a wolf though he can’t remember if he had ever seen him like that.

He remembers being loved by them. He remembers being hated by his aunt’s family and now he has Atto who loves him and friends who play with him and love him just as he loves them back. He will remember them always.

He loves going to school, to learn about modern things. While Atto teaches him of the old time.

He loves seeing the sunset into the sea, just like now, he is sending a silent wave to the lady who carries the light of the world though he doubts she saw him ever.

He turned to go back to their cottage, and came across someone with literal fire on his head, a gentle fire like that of Laurelin’s fiery blossoms who used to exist only for a few hours during the Noontides.

A pair of green eyes meet with grey eyes.

“I thought I would greet you first before meeting my brother, nephew.” He looked just like the memories Atto has shown him.

“Atto is waiting for you in the cottage, uncle. Please come with me.” Lómëar doesn’t wait to see if the nér was following him or not. He is here to meet with his Atto afterall, where would he go if not following Lómëar?

[swanmaids]

thank you @ethanray for letting me write for your gorgeous @fall-for-tolkien piece young elwing with birds! i hope you like this short drabble sequence. read it on ao3 here.

~

The daughter of Nimloth the White and Dior Eluchíl the Beautiful is born at night under a blaze of stars shining against the silver waters of the Lanthir Lamath. Star-Spray, her mother names her as she rests, for the beauty of it as it lights up her newborn face, each tiny eyelash picked out perfectly in the light. Eyes closed, she curls into her mother’s breast.

The song of the nightingale has scarcely been heard in Beleriand since the departure of Melian. But as the dawn rolls over the horizon, their chorus rings throughout Ossiriand. It seems to say: sister. 

~

Hello, the terns that nest in the soupy marshes at Sirion say to Elwing, we love you.

We love you, say the gulls, as they dive between the painted houses of the Edain. We love you, say the petrels as they make their way overhead to faraway places unseen and unheard of. 

It is a small thing, but it helps, in its way. Elwing is only three, and she is very lonely. She holds her secret kinship with the seabirds of Sirion close to her chest –- like her father’s gem, it is precious, and so it is worth caring for. 

~

“Is it true you can speak to birds?” the boy Eärendil asks her, not long after his arrival at the Havens. 

Elwing shrugs a little. “They speak to me. Sometimes they listen, too.”

“Wow.” He kicks lightly at the sand. “I wish I could do something like that.”

She looks at him, from the corner of her eye. There is an earnestness in his young face that she likes. “I could show you how I call them to me, if you’d like.”

She holds out an arm, whistles, and they watch together, smiling, as the seabirds dive down towards them.

~

Here, the gull tells her. Look. 

Elwing follows it across the sand, to the small tidal pool where it perches. Floating in the water amid the hair-like weeds: a bottle of blue sea-glass stoppered with a cork. She pulls it out, and unrolls the parchment within. 

Elwing, beloved , the letter begins, all is well on the maiden voyage of Vingilot. But I miss you so!

She feels herself begin to smile, and hugs the letter against her breast. The gull rises into the air, its work done, and Elwing’s heart soars with it, high among the stars and the clouds. 

~

The fairy terns hop along the shore in a miniature ballet, while Elwing’s sons watch, enraptured. Friends? One tern asks, shy. Friends. She assures it. 

She pushes her bare toes into the sand as she observes the scene. Sirion is at its best in high summer: the laughter of children ringing along the beach, the shimmer of the sun and the Silmaril against the waves, the migratory birds returning towards the warmer weather. The twins’ father will be home soon, too. 

One brave tern steps onto Elrond’s chubby hand. Another flutters towards Elros. All around them, tender joy takes flight.

[warrioreowynofrohan]

Doing Silmarillion Daily has made me notice more about the Edain, and wow, some of the lesser-noticed characters had incredibly hard lives once you put the pieces together.

Take Galdor and Hareth, the father and mother of Húrin and Huor. They get married in Brethil (Hareth’s home), in a big double wedding (Galdor’s older sister and Hareth’s older brother also marry each other), at an incredibly young age - they’re nineteen and sixteen respectively, though they don’t have kids until they’re in their twenties. Hareth has to move to Hithlum, away from all of her family, while she’s still a teenager. When her kids are still fairly young, she has to send them off to Brethil to be fostered by their uncle according to Haladin custom, so she’s separated from her kids as well as parents and other relatives.

Then, while the boys are in Brethil, the Battle of Sudden Flame happens. The times of relative safety are over. Galdor’s father and his younger brother are both killed. Only a couple years later, they learn that their sons (teenagers, 16 and 13) fought in a battle against orcs and are missing, presumed dead.

A year later their sons return under mysterious circumstances and will say nothing about where they’ve been.

And only three years after that, Galdor is killed in defence of Eithel Sirion, the same place his father and brother died defending, and his son Húrin - only 21 years old - leads the counterattack.

Hareth has now lost her husband, father-in-law, brother-in-law, and spent a year thinking her kids were dead or worse, in addition to having been separated from all the rest of her family since her mid-teens - and her son, barely out of his teens, is now fighting in the same war that took everyone else from her and is called the head of the House of Hador.

And then, nine years later when she’s 51 years old, her father Halmir dies in Brethil, and a year after that comes the Nirnaeth Arnoediad and the occupation of Hithlum, and one of her sons is missing-presumed-dead for the second time in her life and her other son is dead. And after that all the tragedies of Húrin’s family.

Just…ouch that is a lot!

[tolkienmatters]

Thus ended Nirnaeth Arnoediad, as the sun went down beyond the sea. Night fell in Hithlum, and there came a great storm of wind out of the West.

Great was the triumph of Morgoth, and his design was accomplished in a manner after his own heart; for Men took the lives of Men, and betrayed the Eldar, and fear and hatred were aroused among those that should have been united against him. From that day the hearts of the Elves were estranged from Men, save only those of the Three Houses of the Edain.

The aftermath of Nirnaeth Arnoediad, the Battle of Unnumbered Tears. Silmarillion, Of the Fifth Battle: Nirnaeth Arnoediad.

[serregon]

Húrin and Morwen’s kids are the descendants of all three first age Edain houses. Túrin takes after the Bëorian side the most, tall with dark hair and almost passing for a Noldo. Nienor takes after the Hadorian side, tall with blonde hair. so I propose Lalaith took after the Haladin side and she would have been short

[dalliansss]

The first problem came in the form of Balan, an Adan, a mortal Aftercomer, whom Finrod bestowed the honorific name Beor. Even then, to be truthful, Finrod was causing problems with the beginning of his long absences from his realm. The King would do his duties faithfully for some years, maybe even an entire decade uninterrupted, then he would abscond to Eru-knows-where, leaving the business of ruling to his aristocratic court. Ninimben and all the older elves, the heads of the noble houses, disapproved of the king’s growing restlessness, and they began to push back slowly, carefully, but Finrod cheerfully ignored their complaints on this front. 

Tension, however, increased, when this Balan, this stinking, wrinkling nobody, arrived in Nargothrond. But Finrod was not yet done offending sensibilities and even risked damaging the age-old loyalty of his subjects, especially when he began to flaunt Balan openly as his lover, showering the adan with gifts of treasure and title. With Balan’s arrival, Nargothrond opened up its doors even more, daring to allow the establishment of not one, but three Houses of the Edain under its glittering caves: the Houses of Lapis, Chalcedony and Carnelian. 

Ninimben and all the old elven lords would have revolted, if not for the fact that thankfully and luckily, the edain had too short a life, and their heads of houses in Nargothrond were never given power nor jurisdiction to affect major policies of the kingdom, as the rule-making was still lodged exclusively with the King and the elven houses. The men were honored, but they were given only the barest hints of power in an elvish realm: a taste of prestige, some niche for belongingness, but never outright influence.

And for a while, watching the three houses of men scramble among themselves and scheme to one-up each other became a sport for Ninimben and the true powers of Nargothrond. 

Then the time came that finally, the nuisance that is Balan, Beor – finally grew too old to function, and died. 

Gone finally was the Great Nuisance of Nargothrond.

(Ninimben threw a party in his underground manse celebrating this fact; a very hushed-up affair. He ordered that the kitchens cook sumptuous foods for the entire household and he even distributed thirty bottles of Years of the Trees vintage to everybody under his banner.)

[all that glitters is not gold / AO3]

[sillylotrpolls]

(Notes on names and translations below poll. Click the read-more link to see, for example, why "star", "noble", and "silver" were used in options.)

I can't be the only person who thinks "Elf-man" is a terrible name, right? Like, I get it Elrond, your family tree is a giant mess and you're like half elf, three-eighths man, and one-eighth demigod, and everyone you know love naming their kids with the same first letters as their own name (thanks for that, Tolkien, I just love trying to keep all those Fi- names in the Silm straight), but maybe you could have broken with tradition and given your boys slightly nicer names? It's not like it's Latin, either, where most people have forgotten what the words actually mean; this is your everyday language here.

At least Elrond and Celebrían wised up by the time Arwen came along, though "Noble Maiden" still isn't very creative. I think Elves just might have something to learn from Mormons in this case.

Pictured: definitely not Jolkien Rolkien Rolkien Tolkien.

Anyway, translations for Elrond's family's names and where I got the names for the poll choices after the cut:

Elladan and Elrohir (Elrond's twin sons)

The name Elladan is Sindarin for "Elf-Man" or "Elf-Dúnadan," referring to his dual descent from both Elves and Edain (a name given to those descending from the three houses of Men from Beleriand).[15] It comes from the words el ("elf or star") and adan, singular of Edain.[16] On the other hand, Elrohir means "Elf-knight", but rochir also means "horse-lord".

Elrond (Elrond)

Elrond is a Sindarin name that means "Star-dome" or "Elf of the cave", from el ("Elf" or "star", interchangeably) and rond ("cave, vault").[17][18][19]

Celebrían (Elrond's wife)

The name Celebrían means "Silver queen"[6], from the Sindarin words celeb ("silver") and rían ("queen").[7]

Arwen (Elrond's daughter)

The name Arwen means "Noble maiden", from Sindarin ar(a) ("royal, noble") and wen ("maiden"). Her epessë Undómiel means "Evenstar", from the Quenya Undómë ("evening twilight") and el ("star").

Elros (Elrond's twin brother who chose to be mortal and founded Middle-earth Atlantis and was, for the record, much better at naming children than his brother)

Elros was a Sindarin word that meant "Elf of the spray", from el ("elf" or "star", interchangeably) and ross ("foam, spray").[8][9] The name came from the Quenya word Elerossë.[10]

And while we're all here, epessë:

The epessë or the "after-name" is the third type. The after-name is given later in life, but not necessarily by their kin, as a title of admiration. In some circumstances, the epessë is chosen by the Elf himself or herself. An Elf could be referred to by any of the three, but the epessë typically took preference.

Galadriel is the Sindarin translation of Alatáriel, the latter being the Telerin epessë originally given to her by Celeborn. Galadriel means "Maiden Crowned by a Radiant Garland". The name itself is an epessë: her father-name is Artanis (noble woman) and her mother-name is Nerwen (man-maiden).

The poll choices were created using this Lord of the Rings Elf name generator. I tried to make sure I picked the Sindarin options, in keeping with Elrond's family's clear preference. I primarily used the "meaning" option, but you could also specify "starts with 'el'", "male", and "Sindarin elvish names" to turn up a list of names like Elunaer ("Light blue bridegroom") or Elanorchanar ("Star sun flower brother").

Although the generator has obvious limitations due to the nature of Tolkien's conlangs, it's a lot of fun to play with. Just be careful or you'll next find yourself on the Parf Edhellen (Elvish dictionary) and from there it's just a hop skip and a jump until you're in a discord chat trying to figure out how to properly conjugate "knitting" or something.

Finally, just because I have always loved this paragraph, a quote from Bigger Things by Blossomwitch on Ao3:

Most people had trouble telling the twin sons of Lord Elrond apart. Gimli did not share this problem. True, they were very similar physically, but to Gimli the difference was plain. The one hanging all over Legolas like the Mirkwood Prince somehow belonged to him was Elladan; the one with enough sense to keep his paws off other people's elves was Elrohir. Simple enough.