#where is nelyo?

[sandwichmustbetasty]

okay.

so it's either a very fancy very nerdy little anvil paperweight

OR

little tyelpe had a teeny tiny forge-like dollhouse made for him by feanor, who painstakingly designed every tiny detail and made all toy equipment himself because tyelpe, too young to be in forge, insisted that he absolutely needs to be a smith like his father and grandfather and needs to begin learning now.

and who was feanor to refuse his only grandson who wanted to learn his craft when he only started to walk without bumping into everything? feanor would be elated and would spend hours playing with tyelpe in his little forge. it was before the silmarils when feanor had all the time in the world for his beloved grandson.

the anvil was one of many parts of that dollhouse, one of few that made it to beleriand and the only one that made it through to the second age with celebrimbor.

he could never make himself part with it.

[nelyoslegalteam]

#WOULD KILL DRACULA AND SURVIVE#listen maedhros feanorion and jonathan harker are fundamentally the same genre of person. no im not elaborating just trust me. #actually that’s a lie i made a long unhinged post elaborating but like #‘​‘his spirit burned like a white fire within’’ / ‘‘in fact he is like a living flame’’

PLEASE elaborate on Maedhros and Jonathan being the same kind of person! Is Jonathan the living flame quote?

YES LISTEN OKAY YOU HAVE TO UNDERSTAND. first of all i have been unhinged already here but. look i just really love a character who makes decisions they know are putting them in danger because they’re bound to some duty beyond themself. love a character who was trapped and imprisoned and makes for a juicy study of what the power structure of that entrapment was like (and for maedhros i have to shout out @outofangband for just utterly sinking their TEETH into this in the BEST way). love a character who SHOULD’VE died, who DIDN’T, except they did go through some kind of metaphorical death. and now they’re back. and they’re not as soft and measured as they used to be. and now they’re spurred on by rage and trauma - and also the desire to protect their people (maedhros has his little brothers and also All Of The Noldor, jonathan has mina) from the horrors that they faced. and they WILL face those horrors. violently. with a knife. no matter how much it opens their own trauma, they’re taking the blow. and fuck do i LOVE a character who’s willing to meet the worst version of themself along the way, who’s willing to Become The Thing They Fear for the people they love. (maedhros, who refused to burn the ships, doesn’t want to be the kind of person who slaughters refugees. but he will be that, for his family. jonathan doesn’t want to be dracula. but for mina, he’ll turn to vampirism without second thought.)

also listen. a character who is physically changed by what they went through, as a metaphor for the way their trauma has altered who they are. maedhros losing his right hand. jonathan’s hair turning white. you see. you get me.

AND YEAH. YEAH THAT’S A DIRECT QUOTE ABOUT JONATHAN!!!!!!! it’s from the october 3rd entry, where jack describes jonathan as such:

The poor fellow is overwhelmed in a misery that is appalling to see. Last night he was a frank, happy-looking man, with strong, youthful face, full of energy, and with dark brown hair. Today he is a drawn, haggard old man, whose white hair matches well with the hollow burning eyes and grief-written lines of his face. His energy is still intact; in fact, he is like a living flame. This may yet be his salvation, for, if all go well, it will tide him over the despairing period; he will then, in a kind of way, wake again to the realities of life.

(emphasis mine but!!!!!! TELL ME THAT ISN’T THE MOST MAEDHROS-CODED OUTSIDER POV ON JONATHAN HARKER EVER)

anyhow. i love them both dearly. and the living flame quote is one of my favorite lines of all time <3

[eloquentsisyphianturmoil]

Given Celegorm x Oromë, Tyelko would’ve seen Lúthien and her maiarin blood and thought she reminds me of him.

[inthehouseoffinwe]

I sometimes think about Fingolfin being the sole Uncle looking after all his nephews/niece/kids. Like, there’s 16 children. Before taking the Helcaraxë he no doubt promised Finarfin that he would take care of them. And I feel like once he found out about Fëanor, and especially saw the state of Maedhros, he silently promised his half brother he’d do his best to look after them too. Not that he wasn’t going to anyway.

But the burden that must have been, especially with how volatile and independant all these kids are. Oh they might be grown. But he’ll never see them as such. Even now he remembers Nelyo’s birth and how the baby would toddle after him, crying when it was time to leave. Curvo going through all his mechanical devices, Turukano right behind him as Fingolfin explained where each came from and listened to the children tell him all about the workings. Carnistir carefully running little hands over the embroidery of his cloak, Anairë laughing quietly and explaining the techniques that went into it. Ambarussa and all the chaos they caused, enough so that Fëanor and Nerdanel would dump them at his house for days at a time, usually a couple of brothers tagging along. Tyelko and Irissë wrestling in the mud, neither group of parents knowing what to do when they trudged in, a sticky trail behind them.

Findekáno’s duets with Makalaurë, the little musician quietly asking to play before his uncle and cousin to make sure it was perfect before he showed his father. Finno, Nelyo, and Findarato encouraging him with whoops, Fingolfin and Anairë applauding with wide smiles at the end as he was swarmed by his cousins and brother. The four’s ‘secret’ sleepovers whenever they were in the same place. Aikanaro and Angamaitë raiding his kitchens, Fingolfin joining in with a finger on his lips, helping steal pastries in the middle of the night. Artanis insisting she could join in whatever game his boys were playing, Ireth backing her with a scowl until they were let in. Little Orodreth and his own Arakano, friends since birth. The screams of delight whenever they saw each other.

Despite everything, or maybe because of everything, he doesn’t know. All of them are now his children. He couldn’t stop the Fëanorions from taking the most dangerous lands because he had no argument to give. He can’t stop Turno and Ingo from making hidden kingdoms and taking Ireth and Artaresto with them. He couldn’t save little Arakano. He can’t stop Artanis hiding in Doriath, although he’s grateful at least one of his kids is safe… even if that safety comes with disowning the rest of her family.

He can’t even protect little Tyelpë and Itarillë who never asked for any of this.

So when the Dagor Bragollach comes and he hears Aegnor and Angrod are definitely dead, Curufin, Celegorm, and Celebrimbor might as well be for the trail of bodies leading to Doriath and the mass murder at the Girdle, Maglor’s land has been burned so far beyond recognition, they can’t even *find* bodies, Turgon, Idril, and Aredhel he wouldn’t even know if they were killed, and he hasn’t heard from Finrod in months-

He can’t.

So he makes a last ditch attempt because maybe, just maybe, he can make their battle the slightest bit easier. Give his kids if any of them survive a weakness to exploit. A slight advantage to turn the tables…

A stab to the foot does the trick. Morgoth will be limping on that one for millennia.

He hopes his brothers can forgive him.

[sakasakiii]

not really a modern au but more like a weird future timeline thing where beach hermit maglor Hibernates™ all through the 2nd and 3rd ages & misses the last boats to Valinor.... thus resulting in him skulking about history until he ends up living among modern day humans haha?? the kicker is that he one day finds an abandoned baby thats all-too-suspiciously like a certain dead brother and becomes a single dad-younger brother-adopted guardian person...

i wrote a few pages of this back in 2022 but never really thought abt it further after i started posting less frequently hahaha.... heres just some feel good domestic sketches of this AU bc i miss drawing modern clothes 🤭 i have sooo many thoughts about it that i couldnt fit into these doodles !! its quite a lot of yapping so feel free to skip past the cut haha

assorted au thoughts:

i planned for maglor to eventually find all 6 of his brothers one by one through the power of Accidental Child Acquisition ✨ example: he'd spot a kid lurking around some woods near his home and eventually realise said wild child living amongst stray dogs is a bit too similar to celegorm

i just couldnt fit in the time to draw that this round... maybe next time!

though he's raising reincarnated-Maedhros, i think it makes more sense for him to give him a modern name and not explicitly call him Nelyo/Maitimo/Russandol just bc he'd not want to get his own hopes up or shove said identity onto the kid

(the occasional 'hey Nelyo' does slip out by accident from time to time however)

i think as Mae-the-kid grows up he will in time start to remember bits and pieces of his original identity? with the nicer familial things (like valinor, his brothers, feanor and nerdanel) first, and then the darker things (kinslayings, angband, war) once he's grown up that Maglor will struggle explaining or even helping him through

i promise this is a wholesome au 😭

side characters include a high-strung but good guy policeman named Officer Borden who's very suspicious of Maglor bc of all the random kids he keeps adopting.... and his younger brother Farren, who happens to be Maglor's scholarly coworker

as well as Maglor's next door neighbour Morgan, a witch-woman married to some guy named Hugh... she's got 3 kids who visit from time to time but from what Maglor's heard, the oldest son is followed by misfortune and has supposedly never met his youngest sister...?

credit to Ted Nasmith and Cartoon Network for some assets used in the doodles :D

[eleneressea]

#god i love everything about this but that last addition just makes me FERAL#TELL ME YOU KNOW THAT YOU'RE WORTH MORE TO ME THAN SOME JEWELS#(he doesn't. he did once. he's long since forgotten)#aiya eldalie ar atanatari (@arafinwes)

Yes! You! You get it! Maitimo knows that his father loves him more than the Silmarils, but at some point Maedhros forgot that. (When? Thangorodrim, maybe, with Morgoth pouring poison in his ear, or maybe later, maybe just before Doriath, but certainly by Sirion Maedhros has all but fully forgotten his father's love; and any lingering traces are burned away when he takes the Silmaril in his hand.)

Which means that this Fëanor, who has not descended (fully) into paranoia and bitterness, whose father is alive and well, who has had no one else demand the Silmarils as being rightfully theirs, has absolutely no idea how, where, or why his son got the idea that Fëanor wouldn't tear the world down to protect them? They had an argument about the Silmarils, maybe that was it, but it wasn't that big of an argument, really, and this seems like the sort of thing that's been festering for a long time, it must be older, but Maitimo had never given any sign that he thinks that Fëanor doesn't love him…

thinking about a fic in which Maedhros, kinslayer thrice over, haggard wreck of an elf, having lost all hope and purpose casts himself into a volcano—

and wakes up as Prince Maitimo, eldest son of the eldest son, safe and sound in Tirion-upon-Túna, with Treelight streaming in through his window.

[erendur]

I'm strongly convinced that the reason Maglor took so long to complete the Noldolante (he wrote it "ere he was lost", which to me suggests it wasn't done straight after Alqualondë or even soon after reaching Beleriand, but was the work of many years, maybe even written in his last years before the 4th Kinslaying, as a "where did it all go wrong" retrospective kind of work after everything had been lost) was because he wrote it on "down" days, when he was feeling depressed and hopeless, but these were, before the 3rd kinslaying, interspersed with "up" days, during which he would, instead, gleefully write incredibly mean songs directed at the people who had annoyed him.

And I mean INCREDIBLY mean songs, as in everybody would have expected Fëanor's son, haughty and fell and gifted with words, to write mean things, but they would have been SO mean that somehow every single one of them managed to seem unbelievably mean - and clever of course.

Obviously a lot of them would have been directed at his brothers. Yes, even Maedhros, because when you are a grown-up Elf who has been regent for years and also is the lord of the Gap there are only so many times you can listen to your big brother instructing you about the proper way to train a horse or the correct way to handle underlings or the frequency at which you should practice with your sword, really, before snapping and smiling and say "Yes, of course Nelyo" before darting to your room and write a mean song about your brother's braids that will somehow ("somehow") have done the rounds of Beleriand in a matter of weeks.

Nobody called Celegorm "the fair", before his failed attempt at wooing a Sinda princess. Yet somehow ("somehow"), that's the name under which he is remembered in (*checks notes*)..."songs". If not for songs, nobody would have remembered that Thingol was decidedly much, much better looking AFTER having met Melian than before. Who would have remembered "Beren's Leap" (ie, the fact that the guy - *checks notes* - jumped far), if not for a particularly catchy song that described with great gusto how Beren unhorsed and throttled Prince Curufinwë before stealing his knife ?

Fingolfin tried to explain for years to all that would listen that he actually "gave as much as he got" and had some burning one-liners directed at his brother during the famous sword incident. Alas, none are recorded in the songs describing the incident that have passed down to posterity. Finrod was not the only Elf lord to have a hard time leaving his jewellery behind, but is, somehow ("somehow"), the only one to be recorded hauling his treasure over the Ice.

In spite of valiant attempts coming year after year from Lothlórien trying to explain that "Felagund" was an praiseful nickname given to King Finrod by his Dwarven friends and meaning "Hewer of caves", "the wise" haven't been able to completely dismiss the idea that it actually meant "badger" and found its origin in a song that had circulated in Beleriand circa YS 54.

You wondered why Eöl had such a beef with the Noldor ? One song too many. He tried to leave Doriath and live alone with his MUTE people in the depth of the forest but, somehow, ("somehow"), some of the catchy mean tunes directed at him always seemed to be able to make their way to him, carried by the wind through the dense dark foliage of Nan Elmoth.

How do people know what went on between Turgon and Ulmo, you say ? Well, funny you ask, most of what we know comes from a couple of songs that heavily seem to imply that King Turgon was a bit...simple, to put it much more mildly than the songs do.

Yes, all of the songs were pointedly written in Quenya. Yes, in spite of the fact that the Sindar did not learn Quenya, there somehow still managed to be some available translation of every single one of them, to be sung along with the very catchy tunes. Yes, they were so catchy that they were sung all over the place. Some even whisper that Lúthien might have been singing something something Caranthir sucks when Beren saw her for the first time. And something something the Valar suck when putting Morgoth to sleep. What she sang to Namó nobody can say, but if she is famous for her voice, she isn't for her song-writing abilities. Enough said.

The only reason Celeborn has a clean record (ie : almost doesn't exist) in the records of the First Age is because the one condition Galadriel selflessly put to giving her consent for her daughter to marry Elrond was that he would personally undertake to track down and destroy every single copy of the mean songs written about her husband because they made him cry (given that most of them were kept at Imladris, that was promptly done). The only remaining unflattering depictions of him are kept in the halls of King Thranduil in Mirkwood, but they are of a much inferior quality and "the wise" are inclined to think that they were not, in fact, penned by the famous Maglor. Who their real author might be remains a mystery.

[dlatl98]

Maglor was confused. "Oh. How could the palantir have done so much harm, when my father had put so much care into making them? I always thought they were one of the most harmless of his inventions."

Olórin, or Gandalf, answered. "Perhaps by the standards of the great ones of Fëanor and his sons. they were too great and dangerous a force to bear for the weak-willed of Middle-earth, especially since the Dark Lord was the one holding them against them."

"Ah…my father made Safety precautions of his own. Didn't you use it?" "Yes?" "Nelyo! We had palantiri! Where did it go?!"

Maglor ignored Gandalf's confusion and called out to Maedhros. Maedhros answered back in a pitiful voice. "You never lift a finger when I clean up, but you only call out when you need to!"

Despite the complaints, Maedhros immediately brought a palantir that was rolling around in a corner of the attic of the house. (Gandalf groaned at Fëanor's house, where the palantir was rolling around like some kind of slipper.) Maglor was touching something. He handed it over to Maedhros(Maedhros touched the palantir, mixing in some rather vulgar language as he said, "Damn it, it's been thousands of years since we were all grown up! When will this damned kids lock end?"), and Maglor hastily apologized to Gandalf. "Oh, it will take a while. My father has set the kids lock to always turn on when we catch him. Rather, it will take me some time to unlock the kids lock.”

“Kids lock?”

Gandalf’s voice grew louder. Maedhros didn't care and held out the palantir. Feanor’s Tengwar appeared inside the palantir. [The following video or dialogue may contain violent or suggestive content, or flashing lights. If there are any minors who wish to watch it, please watch it under parental supervision. Since the kids lock is on, only adults can unlock it.]

[elficially-done-with-life]

My Little Fire

Fëanor & daugther!reader

Summary: You, Fëanor's daughter, go to visit your father in the forge.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Fëanáro immediately realised that he was being watched, for he could see his beloved daughter's silver hair glistening as she secretly peeked around the corner of the forge.

It was the hair she had inherited from Míriel that Fëanáro would recognise it anywhere.

And he knew it didn't belong to Tyelkormo, as his boy never went near the forge for fear his father would force him to stay inside all day.

"Little fire?" It was one of at least a hundred nicknames he had come up with for you over the years. Nerdanel made fun of it because there were so many, but how could he not? You were his sweet, wonderful daughter.

You peeked around the doorframe again and your eyes lit up when you saw your father.

Fëanáro laughed softly and put aside the necklace he had just forged for Nerdanel and approached you.

He put his hands under your arms and lifted you up in his arms to press a kiss on your cheek.

"What brings you here?" he asked gently and then added a little hopefully: "Do you want to learn to work in the forge?"

You grimaced. "Too much fire." you mumbled softly. "I do not like fire."

"Right, you do not. "Fëanáro nodded. Two years ago, you once had a bad nightmare about burning ships and your family in the middle of them and have been afraid of fire ever since.

But that had only been a dream.

"But then what brings you here, my dearest daughter?" he asked with a smile

"Well, you Atya! I missed you!" you announced.

Fëanáro laughed and rubbed his nose against yours affectionatly.

"But also that I have to hide." you whispered softly. "Nelyo, Moryo and I are playing hide and seek."

Fëanáro grinned. Normally his Morifinwë always held back in such games, but you had him practically wrapped around your finger. You were born after Curufinwë and had practically attached yourself directly to Morifinwë and now you were inseparable.

If you couldn't be found, one simply had to keep an eye out for Moryo, usually ypu were holding his hand, sleeping curled up in his side while he embroidered or persuading him to play with you and the others.

Then Fëanáro heard footsteps.

"Let us hide you then," he said quietly to you and you pressed a hand over your mouth to stifle a giggle.

Fëanáro took a cloak from a handle he had placed in the corner of the forge where the fire couldn't reach it and threw it over you.

"Just stay under it, then Nelyo will not be able to see you."

The very next second, Nelyo entered the forge and looked around. His red hair was tied back in a braid and the freckles on his forehead rippled slightly as his eyes landed on his father.

"Atya?" A slight smile played around his lips and Fëanáro knew immediately that his eldest son had seen through him. "Why are you standing so far in the corner?"

"You know, Nelyafinwë," Fëanáro grinned mischievously, "somethimes one has to look at ones forge from a different angle."

A soft giggle sounded from under his cloak.

Nelyo laughed softly. "Got you!"

"Nelyo!"you shouted loudly and jumped out from under the cloak to tackle him in a hug.

"Y/N!"Nelyo exclaimed happily, wrapping his arms around you.

"Now I just have to find Carnistir. "Nelyo said, looking at his father.

Fëanáro raised his hands in defence. "I was just hiding one child."

"Me! I know where he is!" you shouted in a chant and danced around your big brother."

"And where?" Nelyo asked, although he was aware that you wouldn't tell.

You put your hands on your hips and said with feigned indignation: "I am not betraying my Moryo!"

Nelyo laughed and tousled your hair, "That is probably for the best."

"You two. "Fëanáro shook his head with a smile. "Why do you not look for him upstairs? I do not think he is outside. Irissë is visiting and she and Tyelko are tearing everything apart and you know Morifinwë does not like that.

Nelyo laughed, picked you up and threw you over his shoulder.

"Hey!" you shouted indignantly.

"I am off to find Carnistir," he said, kissing his father on the cheek as a farewell and carrying you out with him.

Fëanáro smiled gently as he looked after you. He really loved his children.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

[antlered-vixen]

I'm curious about your opinion on Nolofinwe's nicknames, Nolvo

Ah, I was wondering if someone would ask after that comment! So, first things first, we only have about 8-9 canon nicknames to reverse engineer the mechanisms, so everything is somewhat loose and subjective. That said. Let's take the textual/canonical Curvo, from Curufinwë . Where does the "v" here come from? In my opinion, because "r" by itself, like "l" by itself, are a little abrupt/insufficient in Tolkien's phonetic tastes (both "l" and "r" are liquid consonants, he seems to not want to permit them to stand alone in nicknames) and Quenya phonetics like to soften transitions, it borrows the v from Curufinwë, with a mutation from bilabial to labiodental. (Consonant mutations are VERY common in elven tongues. In fact, pretty much all of Sindarin is shaped around consonant mutations and specifically soft mutations, so we know Tolkien was really into that.) Similarly then for Telufinwë, which canonically/textually we know to give Telvo. Nelyafinwë doesn't need anything extra, it's just Nelyo - the "y" already smooths the phonetics. And the "n" is Cáno for Canafinwë is apparently already smooth enough. Now if we transfer this rule to, let's say, Ñolofinwë, like the similar Telufinwë>Telvo, we expect Ñolvo. However, Turucano would give Turno. The liquid consonant ("r") will not be permitted to stand alone, but the "n" doesn't need mutation, we already established with Cáno from Canafinwë that "n" is not mutable. By these same rules, Arafinwë gives Arvo, Aracáno gives Arno. However, what do we do when a sound is abrupt/unsoftened but we have nowhere to borrow from? Like, Idril's Quenya name, Itarillë? In my opinion, you add "y". We have already seen the addition of "y" in childish or affectionate Quenya speech to soften sounds, so we have precedent. Therefore, I'd wager Ityë! Fëanáro most of the "fandom" seems to agree gives Náro, and I have obeyed that before because, you know, dominant fanon - that said, if a standalone liquid "r" was alright, we wouldn't have Curvo. So, what do we do here? Again, when there's no end-consonant to pull from, I'd soften with "y". I reckon Fëanáro should give Náryo. And what about voiced stops, like "g" and "d"? They exist in Quenya, but old-school/archaic/Aman Quenya seemed to soften them to voicelessness when possible (like how the archaic form was Moricotto which in exilic became Moringotto for Morgoth), and we canonically know that the Vanya even softened "f" to something like "hw", and obviously still used the thorn. So I reckon, in soft, Aman-Quenya, Ingoldo would give Inco rather than Ingo. And that's also why Findecáno "feels right" as Finno which is the fanonical version (or possibly even Finto) rather than Findo. By that rule, Angaráto would, for example, give Anco.

PS. The only one of the canonical nicknames we have that seems to disobey the trends I've gleaned above is Moryo, which should give Morvo. But Tolkien has a long history of cheating his own rules to make things "sound nicer" (see Aegthelion becoming Ecthelion), and also "Morvo" sounds morbid. Furthermore, because "y" is also possibly indicative of an adjectival suffix ("-ya" like in the three rings, Narya, Nenya, Vilya, which are "of fire/the firey", "of water/the watery" and "of air/the airy", but with the -o masculinisation), Moryo is also pretty much a nicknamized version of his canonical monicker/epithet, "The Dark", which might be why it was chosen.

[carmisse]

Of Tyelkormo and Moryo.

Tyelkormo loves Carnistir.

It was hard for him to be so at first. He was happy when his Ammë told him that he would be a big brother, he thought constantly about the new baby and waited impatiently for its arrival.

It turns out that Moryo is not what he expected.

Atya tells him that when the baby grows up he will be delighted with him, and that he will not leave him alone, for his part he really hopes so, he wants someone to follow him like Makalaurë to Maitamo, he has always wanted his own little brother.

He makes sure to be present with Moryo, he even taught him to walk, the first time Carnistir walks he addresses him, not Maitamo, not Makalaurë, Ammë or Atya, just him.

He waits a little longer but things turn out strange, because once Moryo is a little boy he has no intention of staying around him, in fact whenever he tries to take him to play with him, Carnistir slips away and the next time he sees him, he is being cradled by Nelyo or Atya. Makalaurë says it's okay, that he can play with him instead of Moryo, but I can't help sobbing at being ignored by his brother.

Trying hard to find things to do together, the first thing they do is to go to the forest where the noises although soft, are too much; Moryo cries because of the noise, Atya is the one who comes to calm him down while patting Tyelko's back.

He thinks about giving up when Ammë tells him that there will be another baby at home. Maybe the new baby will love him, Curufinwë is born, but as much as he loves him intensely, no one will replace Moryo.

One day, when they are all out in the gardens of their home, Moryo is the one who takes a feather from the grass and braids it against his hair, his brother has soft fingers, they are gentle and skillful.

He says nothing to him, never says anything, is silent, speaks to no one except perhaps grandfather, but Morifinwë smiles, at least when he feels safe to do so, he loves Moryo for the way he is, even if other elfings say he is strange.

Morifinwë is the one who embroiders his first cloak when he joins the cult of Oromë.

Morifinwë is the one who takes his hand when he feels Atarinkë overtakes him.

Morifinwë is the one who dies in his arms with an expression of fear in his eyes.

[whovianofmidgard]

Day 4 – Caranthir – Childhood, Appearance

For @feanorianweek You can also read on AO3

Life in Valinor for someone like Caranthir was an overwhelming existence. His dark eyes never quite got used to the brightness of Laurelin, like most babes usually did after some months. He ran away so fast on his short legs from the clanging of forges and choirs singing, the sounds too loud for his sensitive ears. He screamed and cried when certain fabrics and textures touched his skin, blotchy red patches and rashes forming inexplicably after an hour of wearing new clothes.

Caranthir didn’t like going outside. He especially didn’t like going out for chores. However, Ammë and Atar were busy with their work, and Maglor and Celegorm had their studies, so he was left in Maedhros’ care while he did chores that needed to be done. Like shopping.

Caranthir trotted after his eldest brother, small hand clutching large hand, as they waded through the noisy market. He was mostly being guided by Maedhros, for the elfling was left half-blind from the mid-flowering light of Laurelin. Caranthir alternated between staring down at his feet, squinting with tears obscuring his sight, or just simply closing his eyes.

Maedhros stopped by some vegetable stall, leaving Caranthir to hold on to him and be bored. The swish of fabric caught the edge of his sight, a rich dark purple in colour, yet so thin it let light peek through its weave. Letting go of his brother’s hand, he went closer to the textile stall curiously. He slid his little fingers through the dark fabric, unfortunately it was itchy and burning, but he lifted it over his head.

Caranthir could perfectly see right through it, he could see the market, the elves milling about, everything. The only difference the fabric made was that the light and colours were muted. And most importantly, it didn’t bother his eyes.

“Nelyo, Nelyo!” he bounded over to his brother, purple textile still on his head. “Look, Nelyo! I can see and my eyes don’t hurt!”

Used to his little brothers’ oddities, the strange image Caranthir made didn’t even phase him.

“You can see everything?”

“Uh-huh,” Caranthir nodded.

“And there is no pain at all?”

“Nuh-uh,” Caranthir shook his head. “Well, the fabric is itchy.”

Maedhros looked at his little brother for some time, deep in thought. Then he removed the fabric from Caranthir’s face and after returning it to the stall he led them to different part of the market.

“Come, I have an idea,” he said, stopping in front of a vendor selling glassware.

Maedhros talked with the vendor for a while, then the elf rummaged for something underneath the stall, finally producing a small sheet of glass. Maedhros took it then handed it to Caranthir.

“Try looking through it.”

The glass was almost completely black, but it still let a little bit of light through. He put the glass up against his eyes, and relief flooded him as the stinging sensation abated.

“It doesn’t hurt!” Caranthir exclaimed, his hands fluttering about him in a rare show of joy.

Maedhros ordered a full sheet of coloured glass to be delivered home, and the very next day Caranthir was gifted with dark spectacles that protected him from the light.

-

Caranthir liked sitting with Maglor. The harp had a gentle sound, not too loud, and his brother practicing his scales and harp solos made for enough repetition and predictability that he could read or do his numbers homework in peace.

Maglor’s voice was nice too, but not up close. There needed to be at least two walls dividing them, so his singing didn’t hurt Caranthir’s ears with its loudness. Usually, when Maglor reached the place in his practice where he’d start singing with his harp, Caranthir would pack his books up and leave Maglor’s room for his own.

Noticing the pattern, Maglor once asked his little brother about it, and once hearing the answer he fell into silent contemplation.

The next time they were comfortably doing their own thing in Maglor’s room, his older brother gave him something.

“Try it on and tell me what you hear,” Maglor said, and helped Caranthir put the thing over his head, two padded pom-pom-like balls covering his ears.

“Can you hear me? And is it itchy at all?”

“You’re all muffled but I can hear you a little. Not itchy, but it tickles.”

Maglor just grinned, and later when he started to sing during practice, Caranthir stayed and continued his studies, unbothered by the loud sound.

-

The itchiness he partially figured out on his own, when a bit older Caranthir ironically got into fibre crafts. He now knew which fabrics his skin tolerated and which ones he didn’t, yet from time to time his hands would still turn red with rashes. An occupational hazard when working with all sorts of textiles.

[nelyoslegalteam]

I often think that some elves are meant to be a follower of a particular Valar or just like one of that Valar faves; like Orome and Celegorm is obvious, Fingon and Manwe I think too. Anyway, I think if Melkor hadnt gone all ~discord~ and massmurdery, and had been whatever eru planned (my money is on spirit of change and movement, something to avoid stagnation), Maedhros would have been his lil dude, his emotional support elf or whatever. The whole fire nature, icy conviction, and ends justify means, mightiest of the siblings (maybe) thing… maybe the parallels came out in middle earth as kidnap-torture…

YOU’RE SO RIGHT. something about the Bright Clear Line, y’know?

and i think so much about how maedhros is tied to despair. something about how melkor is more or less the vala of destruction. something about how maedhros destroys himself. is this anything.

[actual-bill-potts]

PROMPT TIME can I have some m&m and “enduring grief and anger in silence” please!!

hehe yes beloved <3

TW for discussion of death and funeral practices

Nelyo had not cried once after Atar’s death.

He had wept, bitterly and without comfort, after Atyarussa had died. There had been a kind of grim satisfaction in Tyelko’s face; Curvo and Moryo had been silent, Curvo tall and straight at his father’s shoulder; Minyarussa had simply stood, swaying, eyes so bright he looked like a sick animal. Makalaurë’s own eyes had been dry; he had been full of fear so hot he felt as though he were burning along with his youngest brother, and in his mind only one thought had circled, round and round like the wheels of an organ-grinder: at least one of us is now safe.

But Nelyo had cried and cried, doubled over on the ground like he was playing again on Atyarussa’s little drum-set, and Minyarussa had stared at his shaking eldest brother with a dull sort of relief on his face. Atar had half-heartedly said, “Get up,” then shook his head and strode away as Nelyo behind him gasped, “the baby, our littlest one - the baby -”

He had raged at Makalaurë, after. “Why did you not weep? Little Atyarussa! My brother the musician, composer of dirges, can still weep for a pet rabbit lost these hundred years, but not his smallest brother, who we were as fathers to -”

“You were, perhaps,” said Makalaurë, not caring that he was being cruel, not wanting to think about it, “but I had other matters to attend to. In any case, brother, at least he is not here.”

Nelyo’s face had frozen in open shock; but all he had said was a quiet, “It should have been me.”

Only - only now Atar was gone, and it seemed to Makalaurë that some rotted abscess within him had torn open and was draining, for he could not stop crying. There was grief for the father who had lifted him upon his broad shoulders when he was tiny, and swallowed his dislike of the Vanyar long enough to send Makalaurë to Valimar for tutelage - for a little - and taught him his letters. And there was grief for the days of his youth, the bright happy house and his mother’s unshadowed eyes; and finally, finally - where had it been before? - there was grief for his littlest brother, for whom he had fashioned a little violincello and whose piping voice had lifted with him in duets.

It was his turn, now, to lift his voice in mourning; but Nelyo was silent, and refused to help spread what they could gather of Atar’s ashes in the fields that were taking shape by the lake, laying him to rest as close to Cuiviénen as they could manage. He and Minyarussa stood on and watched, twin shadows of Ammë.

Does she grieve for us, he wondered. Will she know he is dead, and did not know whether he meant Atyarussa, or Atar, or himself.

But after, Makalaurë could bear it no more. “Why will you not weep for him? Our father is dead!” he demanded in a whisper in their tent. And then, pouring out of him, “you wept more for Findekáno, who is alive! Atar will not see the hills of Tirion on Túna again, nor Finwe his father; he is Doomed, and all of us with him! Will you not weep! For us, if not for him!”

“He murdered my brother,” said Nelyo, quite casually, “why should I weep? As for the rest, we have been Doomed a long time since, and I shall not grieve twice what I was commanded not to grieve once. I will fulfill our Oath; is that not enough?”

Makalaurë blinked back tears, again, and said, “Not for me; where is my brother?”

“He died on the ships,” said Nelyo; and they did not speak again until the messenger from Moringotto came.

[revee-nyardil]

In an au where Fëanor was sent back to Middle-earth just after Nolo crosses the ice

Fëanor learns about Maedhros' capture. His sons (minus Nelyo) blame Fëanor. Because HE crafted the Oath. Maedhros wouldn't have gone (in their minds) if it hadn't been for the Oath. He was compelled to go because Morgoth offered the Silmaril and Fëanor "made" him swear (not true, but they are freaking out).

I'd just love to see the confrontation. Like, would Fëanor feel guilty? Justified? Just more revenge-y? Which of his kids would punch him first (finrod has a betting pool going)

[anna-dreamer]

What would happen if Elwing and Earendil were actually allowed to return to Middle-Earth? I suspect in this case Maglor and Maedhros wouldn't even have the chance to go for the silmarils, and for the better. I imagine Maglor's eleventh hour crisis to be not "but less evil shall we do in the breaking" but, shielding Maedhros from Elwing, "Smite me, Lady. It was I who took your children. My brother was against it. Shut up, Nelyo! Enough I've listened to you. Look where it brought us both. Lady, I took you sons, because I was desperate and cravenly sought redemption in all the wrong places. It was I who benefited most from the death we brought onto your people. Kill me, Lady. Let my brother go."

@maedhrosmaglorweek

Day 4: Heroism/Villainy

(Though it's technically an AU and could belong to Day 6?? But heroism though, and i love my occasionally brave Maglor.)