For @silmarillionepistolary day 7, Remembrance and New Beginnings! Artwork at the bottom.
Night has fallen. The lamps have been turned low, the house cleaned, the bedtime routine completed; all Maglor and Maedhros have left to do is tuck the twins and read them their customary story.
They look so small wrapped in the red wool blankets, like two little birds in a crimson nest. They are quiet, too, waiting patiently for Maglor to ask his routine question: “Now, what story would you like tonight? Or would you rather hear a song?”
“I want the one about the Sun and the Moon!” Elros pipes up, scrunching the blanket in his hands eagerly.
Maglor smiles. “Is that what you want as well, Elrond?”
Elrond, the quieter twin, looks bashfully down before murmuring, “I’d like to see the picture book…”
Maglor shares a confused look with Maedhros. They did not own any picture books. “What do you mean?” Maedhros asks.
Elrond tips his head. “The one in your study,” he says. “It’s got gold string around it and lots of pictures on every page.”
Maedhros frowns. “You know you are forbidden from entering my study,” he reproaches.
Elrond bites his lip. “Yes, I know … I just saw the pictures and thought they were pretty.”
Maglor sees the telltale signs of a lecture in Maedhros’s expression, so he swiftly says, “Perhaps we can excuse it this once, if you promise to ask before you touch our things.”
Both Elrond and Elros nod emphatically, and Maglor leaves the room to search for the ‘picture book’ in his brother’s study, which is packed with volumes, scrolls, and papers. Maglor thinks it will take him forever to find the book Elrond described, if it exists at all, but surprisingly he easily locates it in the first bookshelf: a worn book of red leather, tied with a fading gold ribbon. It is familiar to him, but he cannot recollect why until he brings it back into the twins’ room. Maedhros’s eyes widen when he sees it. “Grandfather’s sketchbook? I thought that was lost ages ago!”
“It was in a box in the back,” Elrond supplies.
Maglor looks down at it, a stab of nostalgia and old grief passing through him. “I thought we never even brought it,” he murmurs.
“Can we read it?” Elros asks, leaning forward curiously.
Maedhros frowns, his reluctance clear. There are many memories neither of them want to relive, the life and death of their grandfather among the most heartbreaking. But many of the memories Finwë recorded in his beloved sketchbook were his happiest, from both his life and the rest of his family’s. And the two young children looking up at Maglor are also Finwë’s family … and he wants to share something of his life that is not just the blood on his hands.
The spine of the book cracks softly as he opens it, and the yellowed paper releases a small puff of dust, but the artwork on the inside is still as lovely and life-filled as the day he penned them.
Maglor explains each piece as he showed it to the twins, and lets them look as long as they like. Even Maedhros sometimes asks him to wait a little longer on certain pages, the heavy, dark look in his eyes brightening when he remembers his childhood in Valinor.
It is well past midnight by the time they reach the last pages, and all of them are surprised to see that they are all in full color, when all the previous pages have been only graphite sketches.
“Who are they?” Elros breathes, tracing his finger delicately over the meticulously painted faces.
Maglor swallows, his throat and his eyes clogged with tears. His brother, too, is at a loss for words.
“It’s them,” Elrond says, looking up at the Fëanorians and then back down at thd drawings. “Maglor and Maedhros are right there … but Maedhros looks different …”
It was true. Maglor and Maedhros, along with all of their brothers - still alive and smiling radiantly - and their parents. On the other pages, their cousins and uncles and aunts, before any of them had suffered the horrors of Morgoth.
“That is us,” Maedhros murmurs. “That was us then. We were so happy..."
“What was it like … then?” Elros ventures.
Maglor smiles. “I will tell you.”
“Tomorrow night,” Maedhros interrupts. “It is very late, and if you are to understand a word we say, you must be well-rested.”
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dysfunctional elves (in vyshyvankas (in valinor)) sketches
maglor and maedhros
caranthir, celegorm and curufin ft huan
aaand amrod and amras (designs by @heathcliffgirl2002 because they're amazing)
so, feanorians in ukrainian embroidered shirts, I put in this more thoughts then I probably should have, so some fun facts
the main parts of embroidery is their names, in ukrainian embroidery you can encrypt words, dates, even family trees into patterns and this thing was so interesting to me that I encrypted feanorians names in embroidery
also these names are not their sindarin names, they're mother-names (aka amilessë) because it's very common symbol in ukrainian culture "a mother embroiders a shirt for her child as a protecting charm" especially before said child going to the long adventure and i feel some sad parallels about noldors adventure to the middle-earth
also amrad and amras's mother names are the same, so on their shirts there are two different varieties of "writing" the same name
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Okay, slightly unhinged take, but I'd really like to see more of 'Dwarves are super confused what elves problem with the Feanorians is' actually.
Consider:
Gimli: So, they're father was a famed craftsman whose masterwork was stolen.
Legolas: Right.
Gimli: and he made them all swear a very famous and public oath to reclaim said masterworks.
Legolas: Right.
Gimli: and then a different group of elves recovered one, but rather than giving it back decided to keep it, despite knowing about the aforementioned oath.
Legolas: Right.
Gimli: and... the Feanorians are the bad guys for trying to reclaim the masterwork they swore to their dying father to reclaim.
Legolas: Right.
Gimli (trying so hard to be patient): Okay. Nope. Still not getting it. Let's take this from the top.
Like, do dwarves condone kinslaying? No. But on the other hand, I have to imagine they have a lot of sympathy for people trying to reclaim their stolen treasure.
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