#yes finrod is like that

[eri-pl]

For @morgoth-into-the-void-week day 2: the Void. Again, not much Morgoth in this, mostly talking about… well, about today's topic. Science/philosophy without plot. I think I like those.

Athrabeth Finrod ah Ilmare

AKA too much astronomy

"I don't know," said Ilmare with a smile, just as Finrod approached her and bowed. She sat on the grass, among bloming white crocuses, contrasting against her dark blue robe. A wide view of Aman stretched in front of them, perfectly clear despite the height.

Finrod smiled too, partially to chase away his irritation. "I haven't even said anything."

"Everyone knows your kind of questions. The fate of Men. And Elves. And the end of Arda. Why else would you climb up here?"

"I was visiting my grandmother, it's not far to climb here from her house. Yes, I decided to use this opportunity to ask you a question, my lady. But it has less to do with death or time, and more with the far reaches of the sky."

"Sit down then, as this may be a long discussion. Time and the far reaches… they are not as different as you may think. But ask, then, so that I will not keep answering the wrong questions."

Finrod sat somewhat below her, as respect for a Maia dictated, but still close enough to make the conversation feel more friendly than formal. "What is the Door of Night? What lies beyond it?"

Ilmare blinked. "Is this about your cousins?"

"No, not really. I know— I met them." Finrod shook his head, focusing on happier thoughts. "It's about many things. About the limits of Ea. Earendil goes through the Door, and yet he does not leave it. But when Morgoth was thrown… The way Lord Manwë spoke about it, everybody spoke about it was as if he ceased to exist, or at least, if that's even possible, somewhat ceased. Yet, it is said that he will one day return and Earendil—" He stopped, seeing Ilmare's displeased expression.

"Said by whom?"

Finrod moved away, even moreso with his mind than his body. "The wise."

"If so, then they aren't as wise as you deem them. Who would say such things? Rúmil? It does sound like Rúmil. I am not demanding an answer. I do respect your willingness to protect the reputation of others. Even if they are not wise." She shook her head, silver hair sparkling in the sun. "Whoever said this, do not take your lore from them. I can show you the limits of Ea."

For a while he did not know what to say.

"Not the limits you seem more interested in," added Ilmare, "but one that shall answer this question."

An invitation hung in the air, an unseen plea, and Finrod yielded to it. Darkness seemed to surround him, filled with countless stars, and in the middle of the darkness there was something like a ring, or a star that was empty inside, a crown of fire surrounding a deep darkness not unlike the one that came when the Trees had died. The starlit void twisted around it.

"The Door of Night lead to Ilmen, through which Earendil sails." Those words seemed to echo in the emptiness around, spoken in Ilmare's clear, melodic voice. "And nothing can leave Ea within Time, or enter it, except spirits of the Children. And prayers, messages, yes, this too. But as for beings, only the spirits of the both kindreds may come, and the spirits of Men may leave. And yet—"

The empty star seemed to move closer, but its shape twisted and trembled, like a miswrought glamour.

"Unfortunately, I do not know how do they look when seen with bodily eyes, and I can imagine only this much. Those things do not have a name, but I think of them as Doors of Nothing, or Doors of Forever. Nothing living can stand their closeness. Nothing that is of the matter of Ea. I tried to look at them embodied, but couldn't— they unravel everything that is not spirit. They unravel the Time itself."

Ice crept up Finrod's spine and he was suddenly back on the sunny meadow, trembling, his heart racing.

Ilmare stared at him.

"So—" he managed to say "—so it is, indeed, terrible? but no, it can't— It can't be."

She smiled gently, and slowly reached towards his head, and when he leaned in, started stroking his hair, as if Finrod was but a child. And like a child he did feel now.

"No, it is not terrible. It is strange, and not meant to be touched. But those are part of Ea, and, as each part, necessary. They proved necessary. For you see, Morgoth was bound to his body, by his own choices, but nonethless strongly."

Her hand at his head was warm and calming, and Finrod closed his eyes, letting the sun color his vision red.

Ilmare continued. "And those Doors… if we looked at Morgoth, if I showed you the one he was thrown into, when he reaches it —which I will not show you, as you are already scared enough— you would see him forever falling, stoped in place, unable to reach the center. But for him, from what my lady told me, for him it is a mere moment, and then he falls. And then nobody knows, but I think this means that we shall meet him when Time itself ends, because only then those two stories can meet."

For him? For us? This was not how time was supposed to work. And yet, if Lady Varda herself had said that… "I think I need some time to think about what you told me. Thank you, my lady, and I apologize for rejecting your vision."

Ilmare looked at him with a warm smile. "You do not need to apologize. I know that the Children are scared by things we cannot predict, and amazed by surprising things, and enraged… After all those years, you are still a riddle to us. Please, visit me if you will have more questions, I did enjoy this conversation. I will try to be less terryfying the next time."

As the Maia went away, and the last glimmer of silver embroidery of her cloak dissapeared behind the turn of a mountain path, Finrod lay on the meadow. Something she had said echoed in his head, but he couldn't say what. It still felt like a riddle than like an answer, but neverthless it pulled at his heart softly but deeply, with the feeling he hadn't felt since he died. What had she said? What about the empty star was so important?

No matter how terryfying the vision had been, this was just the beginning of his research.

[violecov]

Saw this comic, and immediately thought of the silm.

I just love Feener too much and couldn't resist.

[likesdoodling]

So y'see, I forgot Orodreth existed up until I had kind of finished this thing, so in case you're curious, here's the original-

Guess who just connected the dots on who was who in a certain series?

So first time through I was like, Galadriel has a brother? (this was me 'pre silmarillion knowledge power up') and I was scrolling through random lotr and rings of power memes the other day (as you do, some of the stuff out there is Hilarious~ gotta get inspiration from somewhere, y'know?) and I was looking at this guy.... And going... 'Wait a minute. Galadriel's brother... Don't tell me... This is.. FINROD?!

*pauses to recalibrate~

:0:0:0

Now. Let me make one thing clear. I actually do like the Rings of power series (if you think of it like, 'someone got a huge budget for their fanfic!' then it's pretty cool/funny - especially if you watch it with fellow Tolkien fans, cause then you can be mock outraged in company~)

But. Finrod. 'killed a werewolf with his bare hands' Felagund. Deserved better. *wipes away imaginary tear~

Honestly I don't really care about the characterisation too much- it was the hair part that made me redirect my passion into making this. Like. My mental image of Finrod isn't necessarily a stern warrior type who is incredibly wise and would never say things like 'you gotta think positive! That's what makes ships float guys!' (wonder how well that worked crossing the Helcara- *ahem - moving on) but it does include long flowing golden locks. I... I just can't imagine him without the hair~

And thus this 'comparison' was born~

Also I thought drawing all the siblings teasing Galadriel (since she is the youngest sibling), would be funny.

:D

[youareunbearable]

Its late and im tired so please excuse if this doesn't make sense but lately, I've been thinking about Angry Aredhel must have been

Like realistically, when has this woman made a single decision about her future for herself, and in the few times when she did, when did it not end in tragedy

She must have been so angry, so frustrated and wrathful at her lot in life. She was meant for other things, greater thing! She was a disciple of Orome, the Maiden in White, one of the best hunters in his group along with her cousin.

Yet here she is, caged and trapped like a pretty little canary in a wire house. Stolen from her purpose because of her eldest brother's blind loyalty, her father's stubborn pride, her second oldest brother's blinding grief, and her baby brother's terminal bravery. She's across an ocean, escaped one cage for another by her tormentor and abuser posing as a husband.

The bastard won't even name their child.

She must have be so angry, stuck in that endless darkness, the forest must be such a familiar landscape but so different, twisted and wrong like looking into a warped mirror.

Shes grieving outside her "home" one night, having managed to convince the trees to part their branches just enough that she can glimpse a star or two so she can bask in the starlight. Its been a year since the birth of her son, and nothing has changed. Eol won't look at the boy, and she can feel herself drifting. Without the ability to see the passage of time, without the Light of the Trees or with the Sun and Moon chasing each other across the sky, things are blending together and she feels adrift.

At least when they crossed they ice, they were able to watch the stars move across the endless dark.

The starlight warms her skin, as weak and distant as it is, so she basks. With her eyes closed and face tilted up she feels like a lizard in the mid day sun. Behind her, she hears a noise, a twig being deliberately stepped upon. Aredhel whips around, raising her glowing lichen lamp, wondering if its her husband or one of his servants come to take her back. She feels a little feral at the idea of being dragged away from the pitiful starlight.

A wolf, with a pelt as crisp and clean as the snow dusting Himring's mountain top, slinks into the soft glow. Its fur takes on an almost sickly colour in the green luminescence. The wolf settles at the edge of the light, resting on its haunches as it observes her.

Aredhel thinks she's beautiful, for it is a female wolf. Even in the weak lamplight the beast's silver eyes seem to glow on their own, piercing her very fea and enticing her to come forward, to come closer. There is a power within the she wolf, one Aredhel craves.

The white beast introduces herself as a member of Orome's hunt, and Aredhel believes it, for the she wolf looks like the perfect hunter. The wolf asks her what she, as a fellow hunter, is doing out so far away from her kin and cub.

Momentarily surprised by the ability to speak, for not even Huan can speak so freely, Aredhel responses. She shares her desire for light, her frustration with her "husband," and how she wants a different life for her son. She never wanted this, and she wishes she had the ability to take control of her own fate.

The wolf is sympathetic to her plights, and offers to help her free herself and her child.

"You do have the ability to change your own fate, young one. Asking for help is something no one else could have done for you."

So Aredhel leads the wolf back to Eol's house. They walk through the entry way, both hunters are silent as the dawn as they go. Aredhel heads towards the master bedroom, but hesitates at the door. She can see Eol on his side of their bed, snoring lightly as he does. She hesitates, seeing a vision of what will happen once he realizes she's gone. Fire, doom and death follows her, poison and a flash of fang would flicker in him before he strikes her down for disobedience, for stealing away the son he won't even name.

The wolf nudges her aside, ghosting past her into the room. Aredhel's throat closes up and she slinks away, heading towards Lomion's nursery. She leaves to go strap her sleeping infant son to her chest, then grabs some supplies from the kitchen in a bag. Not even hearing a mouse skittering in the walls, let alone her wolf companion, she steels her nerves to check the master bedroom one more time.

As she passes her bedroom, she can see through a crack in the door and her breath freezes. Standing over the now corpse of her husband, maw dripping red from the freshly torn out throat, the white wolf looms. Aredhel stares transfixed, she can almost taste the blood between her own teeth, feel the rush of the kill, ache of her gums as tendons and tissue would rub against them. The wolf turns to look at her, silver eyes wild, white fur stained with her kill. Aredhel feels the air return to her lungs, she feels lighter and free, a little giggle slips past her lips and the wolf peels back its lips and bares its dripping fangs in a smile.

Aredhel leaves the house, fleeing on foot and all the while she can hear the wolf following her, keeping pace and shadowing her in the darkness, and at some points, ahead of her, leading her out of the woods. Running like this, oh she hasn't done this in years!. The wind snapping at her hair, branches and leaves kissing her cheeks and arms, the rush of a completed hunt with another one ahead of her feels like her first real breath in a long time. It feels like days later, and seconds, heartbeats, when she can see the treeline, dawn's hazy reddish glow peaking through the trees.

Aredhel gives a joyful cry and runs faster. That laughter bubbling up inside of her finally bursts past her lips once she breaks the treeline. The sun on her skin is warm and bright and all she wants to do is laugh and cry and scream until her throat is raw and her tears run dry. But she has to keep moving, she has Lomion still with her, and she is too close to the woods to feel truly safe yet. She walks north, and east, not really knowing where she's heading but knowing that she'll cross into her cousins' land soon. As she walks, she soon realizes that she hasn't seen or heard from her she wolf in a while. Stopping, Aredhel turns to look back, but no where can she see that brilliant white coat, or any tracks that look like wolf paws. She squint, looking back at the distant treeline and sees nothing but shadow. She mourns for her companion, wishing she could have wished her well or at least thanked her for her help. She wonders if Orome set the wolf to free her, not wanting to see one of his hunters in chains.

Its about mid morning when she comes across some of her cousins men, and they're horrified. They ask if she's ok, of she's hurt, they take her to a nearby stream even though she insists she's fine, that she wants to see her cousins.

When she sees her reflection she's scared for a moment. All she can see it blood, dried and crusted down her throat, staining her lips and chin. There is red all along the collar of her white dress, her sleeves, but her hands are clean, and so is her son still asleep strapped across her chest. She looks into her reflection, not yet comprehending. Silver eyes that seem so familiar stare back above the red, above the proof of her freedom.

She bares her bloody teeth in smile.

[edennill-archived]

So there he was, standing before the Powers of the World, breathlessly spilling the truth of his errand on the sand, word racing word, as if his breath could run out at any moment. Him, a mortal on this shore that he was forbidden to set foot on, who did not want to break that ancient law, unsure whether it was virtue or sin — he said that last part loud —and the words kept flowing, the incoherent ramblings of an older man, he guessed, but hoped it didn't matter. He had come with no prepared speech, or maybe he had tried and forgotten it all when the moment came, did Eärendil prepare his words, he wondered — and again he was speaking this loud, his thoughts rushing through his lips in the order that they came — and then one of the Lords; the Elder King he thought — and trembled, how could he be speaking to the Elder King — raised his hand, and Amandil felt rather than heard the command to cease, and so he did. With a last desparate effort he opened all the barriers of his mind, breathed rather than shouted "See!" and, exhausted, fell upon the ground.

He felt someone, he did not know who, brush over his mind, feather-light, and then he opened his eyes and saw the Lord of the West had crouched in front of him. It seemed incongruous. He did not have the strength of body and spirit to get up and change the tableau.

“Child.”

He was heard and answered.

~ part of a fic I will probably never finish that I found in my notes app

[mairon-goth-minion]

If I had a dollar for ever TRAGIC GAY SHIP™ I’d DIE for, I could GET SO MANY MORE BOOKS

[galadriel-blue]

Why do I feel like if I had to choose and enemies to lovers plot with Galadriel (Since Celeborn isn't here yet) I would choose Adar as the love interest over Sauron?

[softzindagi]

okay in a first age fic do we prefer Artanis or Galadriel bc I technically am having her not meet Celeborn in my fic… but I cannot decide so help

[vorbarrsultana]

Don't close the doors, take me, While I still know you, Truth! Having fulfilled His Design, not knowing it's price, I thank you for opening up to me!

Maxim Rakovsky as Finrod Felagund | Finrod Rock Opera

[silvantransthranduiltrash]

What if Beren and Luthien were genderbent? How does this change things?

Oof,

Well i think it would depend on how much you think the elves put weight into gender roles. If they don’t put a lot of weight on it, i personally don’t think it would chage that much.

If you do think the elves would put a lot of weight in it, i think it can change so much as to say that they don’t even go out to steal a silmarillion.

I do think that if Luthien was a guy, he might have been let out of the girdle more/would have become a warrior, maybe. His parents might not have been as overprotective, especially Elwe. However, it can still be argued that male!Luthien is a soft boy™️ that isn’t a fan of fighting. Furthermore, Elwe can still be overprotective of Luthien by virtue of Luthien being his kid and not wanting to loose him.

Idk, if there would be a close relationship between Luthien and Galadriel, or if now it’s Luthien and Finrod that are best buds.

(Mind you, i’m thinking through all this as i’m writing it, so apologies if it’s not so coherent)

You know what? If Luthien and Finrod are friends, Luthien might be more involved with Nargothrond/might have visited there. Maybe he met C&C there as well. Food for thought.

Regardless, even with the gender changes, Elwe would still oppose marriage between Luthien and Beren, bc he doesn’t think anyone, let alone a mortal, is good enough for his son.

Beren, i think, regardless of gender would still be Beren, up until she meets Luthien.

How they would meet could either stay the same, or change a bit. I do think them meeting in a peacefull setting is important. You know what? Let’s keep it the same/similar. Beren sees Luthien dancing in the moonlight and promptly goes “holy shit he’s pretty”.

And luthien spies her and thinks “oh, she’s cute”.

I personally hc Beren as socially awkward, charismatic when s/he wants to be, but socially awkward when it comes to one on one converstations. Don’t get ‘em started on romance.

And maybe Luthien invites Beren to join him, just for fun (for some reason i have the scene from httyd where stoick and valka are dancing together in my head).

And they have fun, which kickstarts their affection for one another.

I think both of them would appreciate having a partner who’s strong in their own right, just because they’re scared of possibly loosing the other, so with Luthien being son of a maia, and Beren being one of the most wanted people on the planet, they also feel more comfortable trusting each other.

I think Beren would like the levity Luthien would bring, and also not be bothered by Luthien being half maia bc, fuck man, she’s seen so much weird shit. And Luthien likes Beren’s pragmatism, and also that Beren fell for him before she knew he was a prince.

Moving on-

Of course you have the whole drama with Elwe.

Elwe’s like “this bitch is not marrying my son” again, how elwe goes about it would be influenced by the emphasis he would place on gender roles. I think if he were more traditional, he would maybe say things like “she’s not pretty enought for him” “she won’t make a good wife” etc.

Tbf, in this scenerio Beren can still pull something like “well, what if i wore a silmaril around my neck, would i be pretty enough then?” Which can still lead to a quest for the silmaril.

Or elwe could have a whole different challenge for her to win Luthen.

But we’re gonna go on the assumtion that there is still a quest to steal a silmaril.

So Beren sets out with Luthien, bc i think elwe would have a significantly harder time keeping him in place, especially if Luthien is a warrior himself. And they go to Nargothrond for help from finrod, who’s indebted to Beren’s family and who is Luthien’s friend.

And then of course you’d still have drama with C&C.

Bc Beren and Luthien arrive together, i don’t think C&C would bother them individually as much. Also, no kidnapping of Luthien by Celegorm.

There would still be a stir, idk how the party would go, maybe there would be less members, and Beren and Luthien could convince Finrod to stay bc *motions to Luthien* they have a half maiar on the quest, they don’t necessarily need more man power, especially on a stealth mission.

Also, bc of Luthien’s open presence, there might not be a coupe. And maybe even grudging respect.

You know what? What if Celegorm or Curufin or both join them on the quest? I mean they’re going for the silmarils right? With the help of a half maia, surely they’ll do better.

So like the 4 + huan set out. And Finrod still stays on the throne. (Wow, history really is changing)

And maybe, just maybe, the 4 do manage to sneak past sauron. Or maybe they immediatly go option: nuclear and just destroy sauron on their way through.

Celegorm shoots at sauron: THIS IS FOR MY BROTHER YOU POS!!!

And they travel on.

And with Curufin there, when Luthien lulls Morgoth to sleep, with his tools they manage to snag all 3 jewels instead of just one.

And they run.

But instead of headin towards the girdle they go to one of their brother’s outposts. Let’s go with himring.

(Is this slowely turning into a fix it? Maybe.)

And well, since curufin and Celegorm technically have the silmarills in their porssession (and for cautious sake the 2 brothers are the ones holding the silmarils) the vow is lifted.

So all their brothers go “wtf”.

Yada yada yada

They make it to himring and are like “hey look what i got!”.

Cue maedhros having a small panic attack.

Bla bla bla bla bla.

Of course is Luthien excited to be amongst kinslayers? No. But, tbf, he’s also half maia and maia don’t exactly have the same taboo. Beren’s human, kinslaying in and of itself doesn’t bother her.

Tbh, i don’t know how Luthien would handle being around the feanorians, bc yeah they did kill his kin, but also... it’s complicated for him. And clearly finrod doesn’t seem to have too much of a problem with then if they were letting C&C stay with him.

I’d like to think that, now that the vow is lifted (almost called it a curse for a second there), maybe curufin fashions one into a beautiful necklace for Beren as a big fat fuck you to elwe and a thanks for helping them get free.

Idk, it depends on what you think the silmarils are, are they just shiny jewels or do they have a bit of feanor’s faer in them. For the sake of where i’m going, it’s the former.

N e way, beren and luthien get back to doriath with Beren wearing the silmaril necklace while staring down elwe defiantly. And Luthien’s like “i’m gonna marry this women”.

Bc Beren said that “if she were to wear a silmaril as a necklace, would she then be pretty enough?” As opposed to promising to hand elwe a silmaril, the silmaril stays with beren, or maybe she gives it back after having proven a point.

N e way, bc Elwe isn’t the one to have the silmaril in the end, i think both massacres are avoided, so doriath still stands proud for a lot longer.

Also, bc they didn’t die/have to come back to life, idk if Luthien should choose to follow his wife after she dies of old age. It’s be interesting if he didn’t bc that means that the “choice of the peredhel” maybe wouldn’t exist, and that opens up whole new possibilities with aragorn and arwen down the line, and even elros. (Ngl, a little fuzzy on the whole “choice of the peredhel” thing)

Or maybe he does give up his immortality and follows his wife, convincing mandos to let him.

Either way, the story would change significantly enough that the impacts is different (for one, instead of Arwen being as beautiful as luthien or smth, it’d be more that she’s as powerful as luthien? Idk.)

Or you know, maybe canon would still happen, just with genderbent Luthien and Beren.

I really do think that the amount of impact their gender has on their story has to do with how you interpret their characters.

...

You really made me write a lot, huh?

It was fun.

Did it come off across as a bit like a fix it? Yes. But, tbf, Luthien being arguable the most beautiful elleth in the world is such an important aspect of the story, that taking it away would change how people would treat him, and thus the whole storyline, drastically enough that i think a completely different outcome is possible.

[eri-pl]

Silm Advent Calendar 3: the Wise

"This I cannot tell thee."

Why? Finrod shouldn't have asked, but here — where thinking and asking were the same — he could not help it. He'd lost so many friends, Mannish friends (mostly not even at his own fault, surprisingly) and all what Andreth had told him was so comforting, it fit so well, it did feel like truth, and yet, to have a clear answer, even a small bit of it—

"Tis not a knowledge meant for the Eldar," said Lord Námo.

But why? Because it did not concern them? And yet it did. There was more time until it would matter, but it would. He knew so little. They all knew so little, despite the tomes of philosophy that had been written during the Long Peace, despite having learned from the Valar, despite calling themselves "the Wise" they knew so very little about anything that would matter in the end.

Even on the small scale… Lord Námo had told him that Beren survived. But what about his quest?

"Their quest. They shall go together from now on."

But Lúthien— childish, laughing, precious Lúthien, who had danced in the forest, and tumbled down the hills! Will she— Can she— How terrible shall it be?

"Thou asketh many questions. But this one I can answer. They shall win the Silmaril, and Elu Thingol shall receive his price and his doom."

Doom. So the sons of Feanor would slay them all in the end? Finrod's brave friend, his sweet cousin—an impossible victory only to perish because of it?

"See, this is the trouble with giving you answers. They only lead to more questions. Not by the sons of Feanor shall they perish, but perish they shall indeed. And what comes after—this I do not know." There was a hint of satisfaction in Lord Námo's words.

Finrod should feel sorry for having so many questions, or at least uneasy for frustrating a Vala. And yet, he could not help but pity the poor, sweet Lúthien, who often used to say so many words with so little thought, and yet it would not be true to call her less wise than any of the Noldor. It was simply a different kind of wisdom. Loving every flower, wishing to catch a star and wear it—

The wave of Lord Námo's attention—his thoughts touching Finrod's in common wonder—was bright, but not painful. Everything was silent—a silence of minds pondering half-understood premonitions that can't be yet put to words.

A memory of Lúthien wishing to see world's most beautiful treasure, to catch a star and wear it as a trinket—And she would.

Time passed in strange currents unlike in the lands of the living, and on the edges of Finrod's attention, tapestries grew.

Lúthien wishing to have a love as great as her parent's but somehow greater, a love that songs would be sang about—And she had.

The tapestries became tangled and strange.

No, not tangled. Interwoven with others, and pins of silver and gold kept from unraveling the loops that waited to connect to events yet unwoven.

Lúthien wishing to find something beyond what even her mother could deram of—

Unsaid, half-understood like a Mannish dream and yet more like a waking world seen from within a dream—

Finrod wished that he had eyes so that they could be wet with tears. He wished that his voice could tremble and he would say that (after he had this moment now, after he'd seen Lord Námo (surprised?) listening to him—to him!) he would not question why Men are given (fragments, shadows, tangled threads of) an answer and the Elves nothing.

There was beauty in that, even if lined with sadness.

But he was dead and there was no voice to break, no eyes to tear up. All his thoughts were bare, and many of them did not make him as wise as names would have it.

"Still, you are much less of a fool than most of the wise. But I must go now." Lord Námo did not have Finrod's limitations, and his voice—mind or not—trembled. "She is here, seeking to say farewells to her love."

[tathrin]

The uppity-ass websites I have to use for research to write Thranduil, I swear... Anyway if anybody else finds themselves in need of wine terminology, here you go.

[elrondsscribe]

You know smth

I’m not into Harry Potter anymore, and I wasn’t a huge Snape fan when I was

But what the Snapewives had? That experience of a character that could both hold elements of yourself and also be an object of your dedication, desire, and care? That experience of religious devotion, sexual gratification, emotional obsession, and participatory creation thru fanfic all combined in one place?

I want that

I want that very much

[fuckingfinwions]

"Good morning Curvo, do you have a minute?"

"Sure, we've got enough swords finally. what do you need?" Curufin said as he took off his forge apron. He was wearing only two bracelets and no rings, but the apron had hidden an intricate silver net that stretched from a necklace all the way down to fasten to his balls, held in place by delicate chains looping behind his back (and through half a dozen piercings) so it wouldn't get caught working in the forge.

"I want you to make another set of armor. Plain except for the star on the breast, and that raised as little as possible. All steel, no gems, no gold."

"What, did a Balrog damage your last one?"

"No, it's still in good condition. This armor would be for you."

"Absolutely not!"

"Curufin, please. You need to wear armor when going between cities."

"I already have a set of armor, made by the best smith in history."

"The armor Father made is beautiful, but totally impractical. The flames of the edge of the pauldrons are a perfect handhold for on orc to grab you off your horse. The relief of the palace is beautiful, but every one of the gems concentrates stress, and every thin spot is a place it will crumple. You know metal better than I do, you can see the flaws just as well."

"So it's a bit risky to wear. Living in Beleriand is a risk, leaving Valinor was a risk, every time you go out to charge at orcs is a risk. I'm not going to ruin our family's reputation just because I'm scared."

"I don't take risks unnecessarily, only to protect our people, and you shouldn't either."

"So our family name isn't worth protecting, not if the so-called king says so."

"Curufin, that's not what this is about. Fingolfin has nothing to do with this."

"Really? Less than a year ago, the pride of house Nolofinwe disappeared without a trace. And it's complete coincidence that today you ask me to dress plainly."

"I'm not asking you to dress plainly all the time, or to give up the armor father designed. You can wear it whenever you're at court, or riding within a few hours of a city where it should be safe enough. But when you're in the wilderness, or planning to go out and fight, no one's going to be thinking about your appearance. It will just be for some circumstances."

"So only some of the time I'll be humiliating our house, and most people won't notice. That makes everything better."

"It won't humiliate our house to do as the head of the house orders. And just like Father required that you wear an apron and nothing that dangles in the forge, I am requiring that you wear durable armor when in battle."

"Fine. I will make a set of steel armor for myself that has no gems, inlays, or flourishes."

"And that doesn't shine like a beacon, making a target for every orc in sight."

"Seriously? My apron is intricately tooled leather, and you won't let the armor even shine? Even though the first set of armor is already so form-hiding I could have a full body rash and a potbelly, and no one would know?"

"I'm serious. You have to wear it once, so I can see you actually made the armor. After that, if you think it's worth never going out of sight of Himlad, I won't force you to wear something so plain."

"I'm holding you to that."

"Of course."

[eri-pl]

only 3 hours???

#their problem if they don't see that as an honour and a pleasure#< prev tag#Most of them probably did#It's Finrod the beloved giving the presentation#and even if you get bored he is easy on the eye#plus let's face it you're in Valinor#what else are you going to do ?#finrod#silmarillion ← prev tags which are great

*also, insert here a gif of me getting 🤣 on the word "presentation" for extremely niche reasons*

My sympathies for everyone in Valinor who has had to sit through Finrod’s three hour long “The Secondborn: Why They’ll Destroy Arda and Save Us All” PowerPoints.

[edennill-archived]

we are frost upon the window, we shan't pass this way again (443 words, G, Andreth)

Without a doubt, Andreth was proud. How could she not be? She was whip-smart and had known that since childhood. At four she read both alphabets, at seven she taught herself Haladin with only the aid of one woman who married into the House of Bëor, and was known to ask around slyly about the Forbidden Tongue. Adanel soon found teaching her often meant little more than asking the right questions, and she remembered everything. She was quick  and sharp-sighted, and beautiful in a striking way, the fitting child of a lordly house in more than just bearing. Her cousins complained no one should have as much of a good thing

Is it so strange then, that at fifteen she thought herself a marvel, that at sixteen the common illness of all youth that leads one think one has discovered everything worth knowing for the first time struck her with extraordinary might? For a while, if she had not been witty, she might have become insufferable.

Then she was seventeen and she saw the Eldar at near for the first time in five years.

When a child, she had been overawed in their company. They were bright, they were tall and great, their voices were fair, and their swords kept the enemy at bay. She had decided it must have been the glamour of youth in her eyes, later.

It had not.

She could hardly hold the gaze of those whose eyes held the light of Valinor, and it seemed at times as if it shone through their very skin. Her people had called her singing voice strong and clear, but there was power in theirs even as they spoke the simplest greetings. She could have listened enraptured for hours if not for envy.

But all this she could have borne, once the newness wore off. No, it was that at the age of seventeen, Andreth realised she was young, and that she would always be, in comparison. If she devoted her entire life to a single subject, she would never master it in a way that could compare. To them, all her thoughts, works, writings, would never be anything more than a child's clumsy art.

Maybe it is for this, that she threw herself headfirst into mystery, into the things no one knew, into the matter of Men and their fate, and cursed the curse upon mortals bitterly.

At seventeen, Andreth realised that the war would never be won in her lifetime, and she would never live long enough to find all the answers.

...Finrod once said that maybe they did not exist within the world... but then, that was just the sort of thing Finrod would say.