#so that’s what happened to maglor’s silmaril

[eleneressea]

but what if Maedhros died before/instead of Fingon

#maedhros #yes i'm being mean again what of it #the feanorians would immediately go feral #maglor can control them a little but not nearly as well as maedhros #so the second kinslaying happens sooner and probably worse #elured and elurin are definitely dead this time #although they're pretty young the first time around so they might not even be born yet this time #thus no elwing to carry the silmaril to safety #thinking thoughts

[victorie552]

Why were Silmarils hallowed?

(I will be speculating about some things here but I think the main question of the post remains interesting, headcannons or no headcannons)

Do you remember this part in Silmarillion where Feanor makes the Silmarils and everyone loves them? Well, this paragraph caught my notice:

All who dwelt in Aman were filled with wonder and delight at the work of Fëanor. And Varda hallowed the Silmarils, so that thereafter no mortal flesh, nor hands unclean, nor anything of evil will might touch them, but it was scorched and withered; and Mandos foretold that the fates of Arda, earth, sea, and air, lay locked within them.

And Varda hallowed the Silmarils

And Mandos foretold that the fates of Arda, earth, sea, and air, lay locked within them

Assuming that both events actually happened (it’s not lies, it’s poetic license), how did it happen?

What event was first? Did Varda hallow Silmarils and at the exact same moment Mandos was like “Oh shit, gotta share some important info about this”? Or did  Mandos say his prophecy first and Varda decided to do some damage control? Was Melkor there, already looking weirdly at Silmarils?

Personally I think learning fate of WHOLE ARDA depends on (admittedly pretty awesome) jewels made by an elf would freak Valar out. The WHOLE WORLD (that thing that they made) will be influenced by Silmarils (pretty, innovative, never seen before but most importantly NOT MADE BY THEM). Being made by Feanor specifically may not even been a factor at the moment. It’s just something they didn’t have any hand in creating and just have no control over.

Again, personal thoughts here, but do you remember how Valar went to war with Melkor before over their plans for Arda? Few times actually. And Melkor lives with them now? They don’t exactly like it but they can’t do anything about it at this point. They got MANY traumatic memories from the past and the cause of these memories is sitting next to them at the breakfast table. Nobody except Manwe likes it. So the Valar are feeling a little freaked out and uncomfortable no matter how just and kind Freeing Melkor was.

AND THEN Silmarils show up! Metaphorically saying “You think you have everything figured out? Nope :)” to the Valar. “Well” say Valar “thanks for telling us beforehand, now we can do something about it”. And Varda decides to take control of the situation and hallows Silmarils in a “Well, nothing bad can touch it, so nothing bad can HAPPEN” fit of wishful thinking. 

Probably offending Feanor in the process.

That’s one interpretation. Here are some others:

- Silmarils were made with Light of The Trees and Valar felt somewhat entitled to them, so why not hallow them?

- Silmarils were made from a whole new material, better hallow it just in case

- Melkor was looking weirdly at them, so Varda hallowed them in an iconic “Fuck you” move

- “They are just SO pretty, it would be a shame if something bad happened to them, here, let me do a quick...”

Another thing: What was Feanor’s opinion on the hallowing? Well, he probably was very proud that Valar pay so much attention to his creation (when I say probably, I mean obviously. He may not like the Valar but he DOES like to have his ego stroked). And to say Feanor knew Silmarils were important would be an understatement.

But, uh. Did he ask for Silmarils to be hallowed? I kinda operate on the assumption he did not. Reason: Being Feanor. I mean, knowing his history and characterisation, why would he?

So the idea of hallowing didn’t come from Feanor. It most likely came from the Valar, thought Finwe or Nerdanel (people Feanor sometimes listens to) also could say something, to better relations between Feanor and the gods (valiant effort, but no).

Another another thing but it’s just a bunch of questions:

Did Feanor AGREE to the hallowing? Or did it happen without his consent?

How did that happen exactly? Was there a ceremony with all the pomp and everyone important showing up? Was it a small private audience where Feanor came to the Valar (Or Valar came to Feanor, lol) and Varda did her thing? Or did Feanor arrive at the party wearing Silmarils and Varda went right for his forehead?    

What was everyone thinking about hallowing of the Silmarils? Were they happy about it? Or were they asking why was it even necessary, is there something wrong with jewels Feanor made (before seeing the Silmarils. It’s pretty much canon that whoever sees Silmarils likes them)? 

And I sidelined Mandos’ prophecy here but what was everyone thinking about That? Were they happy? Proud? Scared or uneasy?

#silmarils #silmarillion #feanor #varda #mandos #hallowing of the silmarils #if the topic was already discussed in the fandom I didn't see it sorry #did these events actually happened I say when I believe they had to happen #I'm just saying they didn't have to happen at the exact moment it is written they happened #because bard embelishements #is what silmarillion is supposed to be? #well Maedhros and Maglor WERE burned so it had to come from something #thought if one says silmarils were not hallowed the Why did M&M got burned becomes a nice conspiracy theory #and I took a look at Mandos prophecy #I think you could make a case that the prophecy is still unfullfilled #is that what That Last Battle is about #metal #should read more about it

[winterpinetrees]

Rereading the hobbit after reading Lord of the Rings and The Silmarillion for the first time is unlocking special new emotions that I cannot describe. They’re close to EXU Calamity emotions, but so much stronger.

The Hobbit introduces Elrond like this. “The master of the house was an elf-friend—one of those people whose fathers came into the strange stories before the beginning of History, the wars of the evil goblins and the elves and the first men in the North. In those days of our tale there were still some people who had both elves and heroes of the North for ancestors, and Elrond the master of the house was their chief.”

It’s vague and it sets the scene. It’s enough.

But like, that’s the Silmarillion right there! “wars of the evil goblins”, you mean the war against Morgoth? The battle of sudden flame, the fall of Gondolin, Fingolfin’s duel, every high king and kinslaying and death contained in a line. Elrond’s ancestors aren’t just some “elves and heroes of the north”, they are Beren and Luthien and Melian and Earendil! No one but Tolkien knew back then, but they did happen and they did matter!

The Silmarillion is out there now though, and so many people have read it. I read it. Maedhros and Maglor’s kidnap family mattered. Elros and Numenor mattered. There used to be a continent called Beleriand and a dog that talked three times and entirely too many grandchildren of Finwe. And it’s all gone now.

What’s left? Well, there’s two swords in a troll cave. There’s a wandering Maia with a fun hat. There’s a shiny stone that feels suspicious now, even though I know Tolkien wouldn’t have put a silmaril into a story so casually. Lastly, there’s Elrond, and he’s as kind as summer.

Elrond is as kind as summer.

#by me #tolkien #the silmarillion #the hobbit #lord of the rings #Elrond #exu calamity #kind of

[the-elusive-soleil]

Silm AU with the Feanorian death order reversed

I apologize in advance, but:

Maglor regrets the Oath and kinslaying on the voyage over. He stays aboard the ships, meaning to stow away back, but falls asleep (it's been a long day) and wakes up on fire. His brothers and father become aware of the situation when they hear the screams. Maglor's cries become a permanent echo in that area, much like Morgoth's at Lammoth.

Maedhros does not have the clearest head in the ensuing battle. He gets separated from the others and is beaten into the dust by balrogs. His family isn't even able to retrieve a body.

Feanor is very shaken and very mad. He doesn't parlay with Morgoth, not even for the Silmarils. He and his remaining people spread out across Beleriand and establish fortresses.

Things are chilly at best when the Helcaraxe group arrives thirty years later. Feanor does not yield the crown. The two groups don't fight, because Morgoth's a bigger problem, but they're not working together. Partially because Fingon refuses to speak to the Feanorians after he hears what happened to Maedhros, and Finrod won't even be near them after what they did to Maglor.

Feanor is very careful with his remaining sons.

Time goes on, the Bragollach occurs on schedule, and so does the Silmaril quest, except that C&C aren't in Nargothrond because of the Finrod-hating-them thing, so Celegorm never meets Luthien. She doesn't get Huan, but still manages just fine.

We do still eventually get to the point of "Silmaril at Doriath" + "no Girdle" + "stubborn Dior" = Second Kinslaying. But this time Celegorm's not grudge-fueled and Curufin's not having to cover for Huan and watch his back, and... Amrod and Amras die instead.

Elwing escapes to the Havens. Elured and Elurin aren't left to die, but Feanor has no interest in keeping around Sindar reminders of his dead sons. He has them sent away. (They don't know where Elwing and the Silmaril are, so ransom isn't an option.)

Then they do learn where the Silmaril is, at Sirion. They attack. Caranthir dies.

Curufin has been doing increasingly badly since Celebrimbor forswore him right before Doriath. Celegorm decides the solution is to pick up Elwing's twin sons and get Curufin to help parent them.

Feanor isn't thrilled, but he can't say no when he sees how Curufin latches on.

Love grows after between them, as little might be thought.

War of Wrath happens. Feanor keeps his tattered family out of it, but contributes weapon designs via courier. The Host uses said designs, because even if he's problematic they need this stuff.

Afterward, the claiming and theft of the Silmarils proceeds. Curufin sends the twins to Celebrimbor to preempt another rejection.

He's hollow, disillusioned, attacking the camp. The guards don't have to work very hard to kill him.

Feanor and Celegorm escape. The Silmarils burn them. Celegorm starts laughing and laughing and can't stop, and backs away...right into a chasm of fire.

Feanor flings the Silmarils after him, hating the things he chased so long at the cost of his sons, and staggers to the shore as the sea encroaches.

No one knows what happens to him.

#silmarillion #feanor #sons of feanor #alternate universe #tw: character death #i'm sorry #i feel like this might have *worse* Greek tragedy vibes somehow?

[nelyos-right-hand]

I've been reading post-reembodiement fics lately, and Fëanor trying to fix his relationship with his sons/ making amends for his mistakes is a pretty common occurrence in them.

Whenever that happens Curufin is almost always the first to forgive his father, and if Fëanor starts to make stupid choices again, he is often the first to support him.

And I see why many people see it that way. In the Silm, Celegorm and Curufin are their father's strongest supporters and the most ruthless when it comes to following their oath. Curufin is also described to be Fëanor Junior and they probably had a very close relationship.

But what if that changes after the first age?

Through the entire first age, Curufin continued to believe in the oath and their father. Sure, the others followed the oath as well, but I don't think that any of them did it because they actually believed in it.

Maedhros did it because Fingon was dead and he had stopped caring. Maglor, Caranthir and the Ambarussar did it because the oath was driving them. Celegorm did it because he was no longer sane and wanted revenge and bloodshed. He did it because he was hurting and now it was time for others to hurt.

But Curufin still did it for Fëanor. Because yes, right now things were looking pretty bad, but in the end everything would turn out fine. They were going to get the Silmaril, and then they were going to defeat Morgoth, fulfill their oath and make their father proud. Things were still going according to plan. Curufin himself might be unable to see it right now, but that's just because Fëanor was a genius. He had planned for this because he wouldn't have made them swear the oath if he hadn't, right? Everything was gonna be fine, all he had to do was trust his father.

But then suddenly he turned around just in time to see Dior drive his sword through Celegorm's chest. And he didn't even have time to process that because in the next moment he was hit by an arrow, and another, and another, and another.

Curufin didn't live very long after that, maybe two or three seconds. But in that time he realized something.

Things were not going according to plan. They couldn't because there was no plan. Fëanor didn't have any idea what he was doing when he swore the oath. And he most certainly didn't have his sons' welfare in mind at that moment.

They wouldn't get the Silmarils, not even one of them. They wouldn't fulfill the oath and they wouldn't defeat Morgoth. They wouldn't even survive.

Celegorm was dead and Curufin was dying and their other brothers would die soon too, and it would all be for nothing. He had spend the last five-hundred years believing in and fighting for a purpose that wasn't even a real purpose but the fantasies of a dead madman.

He had been betrayed by the person he loved most and now he would die for him.

(Hint-Celebrimbor-hint)

(Alright, so Fëanor didn't actually betray Curufin because that would mean that he did it on purpose or that he had any ill intentions towards him. That, of course, wasn't the case because Fëanor did love his sons dearly, he just, you know, went absolutely mad after Finwë's death. Curufin just feels betrayed because he is dying and stuff.)

So back in Valinor Curufin has the most trouble forgiving his father. That surprises Fëanor as much as the rest of the family cause it kind of contradicts his actions in his previous life but maybe death does that to people.

In the end he does forgive him of course, but it takes some time to fix their relationship and it takes way longer for him to trust Fëanor again then it did for the rest of his sons.

These are just some loose thoughts cause it's the middle of the night and I'm bored but I think it's interesting because it's different from what we usually see of Curufin.

#curufin #feanor #feanorians #sons of feanor #silmarillion #lotr #the silm fandom #the silmarillion #tolkien #maedhros #maglor #celegorm #caranthir #amras #amrod and amras #amrod #celebrimbor #headcanons #silmarillion headcanon #my post

[vidumavi]

Caranthir specifically having beef with "the sons of Finarfin" is so intriguing to me. because it's kind of an outlier? iirc there's a version where angrod and aegnor are friends with celegorm and curufin, finrod hangs out voluntarily with maglor and maedhros and is able to peaceably coexist with celegorm and curufin until a Silmaril gets involved and even Feanor seems to be way more focused on Fingolfin in his animosity so it really just seems personal on caranthirs part. What the hell happened

#also this was 100% not the intended meaning of the sons of finarfin phrasing but i choose to believe that he had a really funny relationship #with galadriel in valinor where they fucking hated each other but also sat together at parties sometimes to judge people

[thelordofgifs]

In light of recent interesting discourse about Beren and Lúthien's Silmaril theft, and the Fëanorions' priorities in the lead-up to Nirnaeth and after, I started wondering how things might have changed if B&L had managed to steal two Silmarils rather than one. Would pulling the Union together be harder with only one jewel left to draw focus in Angband?

Then as soon as I thought about it some more, I realised the most inevitable path diverged earlier than that.

Then I started writing a fic, got 400 words in, and realised I wanted to actually figure out what happened first. So here's a half (or potentially a smaller fraction) of a sort of bullet point fic/plan/thing, which may or may not get properly written up later. First I need to work out where to go from here.

Angrist was forged by the greatest of the Dwarf-smiths in the master-workshops of Nogrod. It cuts two Silmarils from Morgoth's iron crown before the blade snaps, and Morgoth stirs in his enchanted sleep.

Beren passes one Silmaril to Lúthien, and they run for it.

Carcharoth still meets them, snarling, at the gate. Beren still holds out a Silmaril to ward him off. His hand still gets bitten off.

But when the Eagles come for them, and Lúthien clambers sobbing onto Thorondor's back, she clasps a Silmaril in her hand.

The Eagles bear them towards Doriath, and the Treelight undiminished shines out over Dorthonion and Gondolin.

In chilly Himring, Maglor is shaken awake from nightmares of fire and smoke by his eldest brother, who drags him out of bed and towards the window. "Look! Is that not a Silmaril that shines now in the North?"

Maglor recognises it, of course. Moreover, he recognises the size and shape of Eagles in flight, even at a distance. Recognises, too, that as often as not they bear doom itself upon their great feathered backs.

(His father's jewel stinging his Oath awake, his brother's emaciated bleeding body wrapped in Fingon's cloak - they all mean failure.)

"Thingol's daughter and the mortal must have succeeded," he says. "What can we do?"

Maedhros and Maglor, you see, are Not Happy with the news out of Nargothrond.

That Celegorm wanted to force an elf-maid to wed against her will, after what they heard befell Aredhel—

That Curufin could turn against his favourite cousin, and betray him to his death—

"I am afraid," says Maedhros, "of what it will make us do. What it will make us become."

"We could ignore it," says Maglor, whose first response is always inaction. "Let it go to Doriath—" But it is hard even to finish the sentence, with the Oath choking his words.

And there is a bigger problem: Celegorm and Curufin, who are sleeping now (it is only Maedhros who can be relied upon to pace the fortress by night), will not do so forever. They have already attacked Thingol's daughter once - will they do so again, before she can pass into the safety of her mother's Girdle?

"We have to get to Doriath before they do," says Maedhros, and wonders when his little brothers became the threat to be outpaced.

"And then what?" asks Maglor, who never shies from difficult questions.

Maedhros gives him one of his quick strange smiles. "This is how it works, you know," he says. "Huan has turned from Tyelko. Tyelpë has repudiated Curvo. It turns you into the worst version of yourself, and then it strips away the best thing you have left."

Maedhros has ridden out to claim a Silmaril before, and lost all of himself in the process.

Maglor, too, has been offered all he ever wanted - his dearest brother, returned to him - and turned away for the sake of the Oath he renewed at his father's deathbed.

They are both afraid of what they could become.

They ride out from Himring anyway, swiftly and secretly, before the dawn.

Meanwhile, Thorondor sets Beren and Lúthien down on Doriath's southern border.

Huan comes to join them, and with the power of the Silmaril, Beren is healed sooner than he might have been, otherwise.

The Quest is fulfilled. Beren has no reason to stay away from Thingol's house.

Instead of wandering in the wilds, the lovers return to Menegroth, present a Silmaril, and promptly get married.

Thingol is very surprised (and overjoyed) to see them; the last news he had of Lúthien was that she had vanished from Nargothrond.

In fact, he's just sent out a couple of messengers, led by Mablung Heavy-hand, with a scathing letter to Maedhros Fëanorion demanding his aid in finding the princess.

North of the Girdle: "Hey, isn't that Maedhros Fëanorion?"

"Sure is," says Mablung, who was at the Mereth Aderthad.

"Hail, Mablung of Doriath!" calls Maedhros, who never forgets a face. "What news from King Thingol?"

Well, there isn't news as such. Just... fury.

Maedhros considers the merits of keeping his cards close to his chest versus the dire diplomatic situation he's currently in, and opts to share what they saw from Himring, and what it bodes for Beren's success.

He decides not to share that Lúthien was definitely with Beren, which he knows because his brothers attacked her.

Maglor is not sure how stopping to chat with an Iathren marchwarden is going to get them closer to a Silmaril, but he isn't in the habit of arguing with Maedhros.

Anyway, before the conversation can wrap up, a marauding werewolf appears.

Right. Carcharoth.

The Iathrim make the sensible call and scramble up some trees. Maglor follows a beat later.

Noldor don't climb trees very often. It isn't one of the skills Maedhros has had cause to practice one-handed.

Not that it matters, because he's frozen where he stands, eyes wide and bright and thoughtful.

This is unusual. Maedhros would not be the most renowned warrior of the Noldor if he were constantly dissociating in the midst of battle.

He saves the dissociation for after the battle, thank you.

The wolf is almost upon him.

Well, thinks Maglor, about time I did some saving for a change.

Maglor is not Lúthien. Does he need to be? He knows enough about madness, and enough about torment. He knows how to sing the suffering to sleep.

He drops down from his perch to begin a lullaby.

Carcharoth slows down when he sings, and comes to a momentary halt, and Maglor takes the time to hiss, "Nelyo, run—"

"They burned him," Maedhros breathes, still with that bright faraway look in his eyes that means he is half-lost in memory. "His hands were black and ruined. No evil thing may touch them."

The wolf lunges.

[I want to kill Maglor off here but I'm a coward. so.]

Carcharoth savages Maglor's leg and he collapses.

That brings Maedhros back to himself.

Mablung and his party aren't heavily armed. They were only meant to be messengers, after all. They get a few shots in at the wolf, who runs off, still maddened.

Maglor isn't moving isn't talking and there's so much blood—

(to be continued)

#silmarillion #my fic #bullet point fic #beren #luthien #maedhros #maglor #I think I know what happens next #but not what that leads to #I had to look at a map for this do you know how traumatic that was #anyway turns out bullet point fic is quite fun to write #maedhros and maglor have entered leithian and derailed it #maybe fingon will make an appearance too #who knows I'm tired #what even is this actually #cw blood

[symphonyofsilence]

At all times I'm thinking about the poetic grandiose, the wretched grace, the brutal beauty, the hard-won victory, and the sad magnificence with which Maedhros falls.

It's about the way Maedhros finally gives in and yields to what he's been fighting against since the first kinslaying, the way he still has his unyielding determination & great battle strategies but when once they were considered good qualities of him now they drive him and the Middle-earth he once fought so hard to protect to their demise, the way Celegorm was the driving force behind the second kinslaying but still as the overlord of the Fëanorians Maedhros was the one who had the final say and decided to go with it & the third kinslaying happened with the reluctant agreement of all of the four sons despite their best effort (and they who held the borders and protected the people of Middle-earth once now ravaged a refuge) but at the end, Maedhros-who once was a beacon of hope before Nirnaeth & would not slay his kin hoping that he would free the Simarils from Melkor's grasp- was the driving force behind the fourth Kinslaying out of desperation. It's about the way he who once led the free folk against Melkor wouldn't even fight in the War of Wrath anymore. It's about how he who once held the banner against Melkor and whom Melkor was weary of at the end helped Melkor in some ways. It's about how all throughout his spiral you can see his inner turmoil & noble nature still shining through as he searches for Elured & Elurin, tries to forswear the oath, tries to negotiate in peace, and at least agrees to take Elrond & Elros in and protect them, and eventually when the Silmarils burn his hands he can't live with himself anymore. The way he loses the one battle and war that he truly wanted to win and after that in a new war that he doesn't want, wins every battle that he doesn't want with every realm but cannot win the one thing he truly wants (and the thing he supposedly "wants" is the thing that ruined his family and his life. So the Sons of Feanor in the whole Arda must have been the only ones who truly didn't "want" the Silmarils) so he still loses the war. It's about the way Maedhros' final downfall comes with him "winning" his last fight. With him "winning" the thing he spent all of the story seeking and fighting for. It's about the way that thing truly wasn't a thing Maedhros himself ever sought or desired. It's about the way in which his story truly comes to an end. Just not the end anyone hoped for but the end that anyone could see coming. The way it was both preventable and inevitable. It's about the way in the end he essentially fills the role of Fëanor against whom he was a voice of reason (if still a loyal follower) at the beginning and despite how he tried to do things differently than his father, he eventually became Fëanor. He did, in the end, burn people's ships. He did burn his way back. He did ignore Eonwe and took up arms against the Valar and convinced Maglor to do so, too. The way Fëanor always haunts the narrative from the beginning but before Nirnaeth it's in a mute far away subtle way but after Nirnaeth it becomes completely obvious to the point that it's like Maedhros' story essentially ended with Nirnaeth & it's now Fëanor's story that continues through him. Maedhros after Nirnaeth is like a dead man haunting his own life trying to finish an unfinished business so he can finally die in peace. But at the same time, at that point, it all seems like a natural, fitting end to him. He was always meant to be a tragedy.

#the silmarillion #tolkien #jrrt #jrr tolkien #jirt #lotr #the lord of the rings #the silm #maedhros #maitimo #nelyafinwe #the feanorians #the noldor #the sons of feanor #russandol #feanor #feanoro #curufinwe #my two cents #tolkien meta #silm meta

[teecupangel]

As somebody who has pored over your past stories, I cannot help but find the hunt for the pieces of eden to be akin to the events of the wars of the jewels as mentioned in the silmarillion. In your view, how would you think a post-death Desmond (who winds up possessing some magic Isu powers) in beleriand getting involved with either the quest of the silmaril or the fostering of elrond and elros (referred to as the kidnap fam by sectors of silm fandom) by the last sons of feanor would go down?

It would be fun if Desmond doesn’t know about the plot of Silmarillion. He only watched the Lord of the Rings trilogy but he never read any of the books. Didn’t even get to watch the first The Hobbit movie because he was busy trying to save the world.

Shaun did go on a tirade about how it was possible that JRR Tolkien had some knowledge about the precursors and used that as the basis of the books. (Years later after Desmond’s death, Shaun would wonder if it was possible that JRR Tolkien was a Sage) but Desmond had been to busy trying to remember how his body worked to pay him much attention.

So, when Desmond gets transported in the middle of the Quest of the Silmaril, he knows he’s in a different world but he didn’t know he was in the same world as the movies he watched before.

It’s only when he meets Galadriel by chance that he realized where he was and even that information is useless considering he’d been pushed into the distant past.

For this one, we can go two different routes:

(1) Desmond gets in the thick of the entire thing because he saw the death and misery brought upon the land by the greed and desire to possess these ‘stones’.

(2) Desmond gets roped into it against his will because Morgoth lose another Silmaril and no one knows how that happened. All they know is that the ‘distinct feeling’ of the Silmaril is encasing Desmond. Desmond swears he doesn’t have any stone or jewel or whatever but no one believes him.

Both routes would have Desmond take in a rogue third party of some sort role. Would he create his own Brotherhood? Not in the beginning but after more and more people follow him, he’s forced to acknowledge that, yeah, he’s definitely the mentor now.

And his targets are those who would stop at nothing to get those damn stones.

And yes, that includes the Sons of Fëanor.

It is during his pursuit after them that he finds Elrond and Elros, effectively stopping Maglor from ‘adopting’ them. Desmond tries to help Elrond and Elros in finding their father because, as far as they know, their mother is already dead.

Desmond definitely assumed their father is an asshole for not even looking for them after what has happened and sorta-kinda adopted the two.

Desmond has a problem of his own though.

He noticed that he wasn’t aging at all.

No matter how many years have passed…

(If Desmond is the silmaril given ‘human’ form, he would be the silmaril of the earth, ‘cursed’ to walk Middle-Earth until Dagor Dagorath)

#aka he’s the earth version of earendil #if he is the silmaril #if not #he’s just a normal dude who suddenly doesn’t age #it’s because he’s not of this world #so time has stopped in his case #assassin's creed #desmond miles #ask and answer #teecup writes/has a plot #fic idea: assassin's creed #fic idea: silmarillion #fic idea: crossover

[echo-bleu]

those towers we built

Alright, so the (very AU) concept I've been toying with for a bit is this: the Valar, fundamentally misunderstanding the nature of elves and the concepts of consent and self-determination, after beating Morgoth and getting the Silmarils back, decide to just... erase the war.

Like, Ëonwë doesn't let Maedhros and Maglor go, instead fights them, they drop the Silmarils when they get burned and run (and still kill themselves/end up wandering). Everyone goes back to Aman, Yavanna restores the Trees, and the Valar, who don't understand the nature of trauma, decide that the best way to heal everyone is to just erase their memories of what happened. Námo agrees to release everyone who died (short of Finwë and Fëanor) and everyone's memories of everything from the Darkening forward is removed.

The Valar kind of suggest a version of events (Morgoth killed Finwë, Ungoliant ate the trees, there was a fight, but Morgoth was captured and Fëanor sacrificed the Silmarils and himself to remake the trees) and lets the Song run from there. The Noldor naturally take Maedhros as their king, and he has no reason to abdicate.

Eärendil, who doesn't have a star to sail with, is the only one whose memories weren't removed, and he's tasked with watching the seas, so no one can sail between Middle Earth and Valinor. In Middle Earth, everything is going as programmed, with Maglor and Galadriel among the only Exiles remaining. Their family thinks them dead in the Darkening and not ready to come back.

Of course, the issue with all that is that erasing memory doesn't erase trauma, and none of the re-embodied elves were actually ready to be re-embodied. Everyone's memories are kind of vague, but the suggestive power of the Valar is strong enough that they're not exactly questioning anything. They have the strangest triggers and nightmares. It's especially noticeable with the Exiles who were very young, or those actually born in Middle Earth, like Maeglin, who straight up doesn't remember his former life.

There's a general uneasiness that no-one can quite put a name to, and they ascribe it to Arda Marred. More people are re-embodied with no or confusing memories -- Gil-galad, Celebrimbor.

And then one day in Middle Earth, Elrond, watching his wife start to fade, prays loud enough that his father hears it. And Eärendil, fed up with the charade and deciding that he'll show up for his son the way he couldn't before, sails with his daughter-in-law to Aman.

Celebrían's memories and knowledge of the First Age are veiled on the way, but things have already started to unravel, and the mismatches are becoming glaringly evident. King Nelyafinwë Maitimo is no fool, and neither are his Consort Findekáno or his First Advisor Ingoldo. It might take them another five hundred years, but they'll get to the bottom of this mystery, and find the missing members of their family in the process.

Only the truth may prove to be much harder to bear than the lie they've been fed for six thousand years.

#silmarillion #tolkien #tolkien legendarium #silm fic #or fic concept anyway #i've started writing it it but i'm a slowish writer #maedhros #celebrian #elrond #earendil #echo's fanfiction

[cochart]

Some blurbs about Silm headcanon and interpretations that I DON'T enjoy.

I mean, why bother talking about stuff I don't like? But here's some random hump day chit chat. These are just my preferences so I hope people can just fun-read this.

Feanorians forcefully taking the twins: Technically, they end up taking Elrond&Elros away from their people, but I personally don't enjoy the interpretation/characterization of murder bros cruelly/violently taking the kids. My personal interpretation is that Maedhros and Maglor didn't mean to take the kids, but by the time they were done in Sirion, everyone--including their remaining brothers--was dead and Elwing was gone with the Silmaril. So the brothers took the twins as a sort of selfish/twisted repentance. They remember what happened to Elured and Elurin back in Doriath, so maybe that played into their decision. Though their act in the end is as noble as someone running a mother cat over and adopting the kittens, I don't think the two brothers stooped so low as to actually rip away the children from their mother or use them as bargaining chips.

Elwing vs. Feanorians/good vs. evil trope: I don't really find pure, innocent Elwing against evil Feanorians trope that interesting personally. I also don't enjoy Elwing the tragic holy mother characterization. While I don't think she's "bad" for "choosing Silmaril over her kids," I don't think she's a kind of loving, tragic mother either. I always enjoyed portrayals of "less than perfect" moms Tolkien's texts. Elwing loved her kids, but her husband likely mattered to her more. She likes having a family with him, but if she had to choose between being with her husband or her kids, she would probably choose the former. She chooses to stay with her husband after Ulmo turns her into a bird, and Earendil basically chooses Elven fate over Men's fate for her sake. I think for Elwing, who had a pretty depressing life, Earendil was her hope and light, and nobody could take his role, even her own sons. Anyway, I really enjoy seeing women who are not "my kids are my everything" once in a while. As an extension of this, I don't enjoy Elwing bickering with Feanorians and all that drama either.

Maglor being an innocent victim in the final act: I don't think Maglor was an unwilling victim/participant when he and Maedhros went to steal the Silmarils nor was he ever a victim in any of the kinslayings. He probably didn't enjoy any of it, but he knew he couldn't escape the Oath alone so he decided to just face it. He knew what was coming, but he didn't want to leave his brother alone or betray him. So he joins in knowing this would only end badly. Btw I think Maedhros is the type to unalive himself when he's faced with overwhelming tragedy/guilt, but Maglor is the type to live forever in misery because he thinks he deserves an eternity of punishment.

[elerondo]

there is just something so poetic and beautiful about Elrond consistently doing for others what he would have liked for himself :> and i do think he learned the measure of tolerance and benevolence from the feanorian brothers first, before anyone else. it’s very knife twisting of me to say this, but hear me out.

the feanorians were long enemies of his house. had dealt Elros and him a great and terrible sin, and should by any and all accounts kill the twins and be done with them. would not have been the first time or last time, would not have been a surprise to anyone. yet when the Silmarils, the object of their Oath, were deemed lost to them, did the narrative change. quite drastically in fact, for a time. there was a softness that is largely non existent in the silmarillion when it comes to the house of feanor. for about ten years (?) there is no person dying in Maedhros’ and Maglor’s storyline. there is no enmity. it might be quite domestic, such as it never was since the flight of the noldor.

do you not think that Elros and Elrond would have thought the feanorians might kill them at some point in time ? the twins must have thought it. yet it never happens. they are fed, washed, clothed, by two persons instead of one ( their mother. ) it confused the twins. the days turn into weeks turn into months, and love grows. how can it not ? they are all the twins have left.

some in fandom might sue that Elros and Elrond had no choice. they were young children, impressionable. escape from the feanorians largely impossible for their skills. but if Maedhros and Maglor never killed Elros and Elrond after one month, two years, five, then surely there was a choice for the twins to cry, hate, scream, and all that. have you seen who their mother is, her stubbornness and undying pride ? the twins do have agency. they are not dumb. it was a conscious choice of understanding and forgiveness.

#elrond #the silmarillion #tolkien's legendarium #lord of the rings #lotr #✵ ᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇʟᴅᴇʀ ᴅᴀyꜱ — insight #death tw #murder tw

[pearlescentpearl]

I'd love to hear more about doomed if you do!!

-@outofangband

Okay! So, you know how the silms are hallowed against the touch of mortals, but Beren could hold one anyway because he was so strongly driven by fate? And because of fate/Doom the silm 'suffers' his touch? (literally, the word choice is 'suffered') But he couldn't take the other two because it wasn't their Doom so the knife Angrist snapped.

So I thought, if such improbability can happen around the silms for the purpose of seeking their Dooms/fate, what if we turned that up to 11 from their start and dragged the Fëanorians along in their wake?

So now you have one jewel that keeps trying to drag Maedhros into the nearest fire, one jewel Maglor is being driven mad by trying to find the right bit of coastline to chuck it, and one jewel the other five feel compelled to herd to Mahanaxar but frustratingly can't find the right person to hold the dang thing.

And this is all happening shortly after Fëanor made the silmarils so he's not yet obsessing over them.

Here, have a snippet!

Fëanáro leaps the table, one more body between his son and another nasty burn, and cups Nelyafinwë’s face. His gaze is clouded and far away. “Talk to me, yonya, why are you doing this?”

No response. Not even recognition.

Fëanáro tries to pry the jewel from his son’s fist and only succeeds in eliciting a furious snarl. He reels back, almost more confused by the rude display of temper than he is apprehensive of it being turned on him. So proud is his eldest of his cool, self-control; he wouldn’t dare be so unseemly to his own father. But he falters only a heartbeat, surging forward again to grab Nelyafinwë, seeking for his mind, so familiar and beloved, with his own.

The sound of crackling flame slams against his mind, overwhelming and beckoning and singing to him and surely this is some curse of Irmo’s to desire to be enveloped in its searing warmth down to his bones. No, deeper than his bones. A fëa deep yearning that drowned out such pitiful things as hröa-bound self-preservation—

But this is not Fëanáro’s yearning. He will not be ruled by it.

Why do you seek the flame?

And Nelyafinwë, mindlessly, replies with tumbled series of emotions and disjointed images that best translate as, that’s where I’m supposed to be. Where ‘I’ is indistinguishable from the Silmaril.

In response, Fëanáro flares his own fiery spirit, stokes it hot, flooding the parent bond between them. I am the brightest, hottest fire in this room, he tells him. Come to me.

And his son does. Stepping into his arms, Silmaril pressed insistently to his chest, his son finally stops fighting with a desperate shudder. 

Nelyo, yonya, Fëanáro probes gently, as steady as he can make himself in a mind awhirl with fire. Do you feel that I am here? I am real. The fire is not. Can you hear me? Reach for me, yonya. I know you can.

It takes many more minutes of coaxing, of gently plucking at the foreign desire flooding Nelyafinwë’s mind for his son to find his foothold, to separate self from not-self.

The Silmaril falls to the floor.

#silmarillion

[the-elusive-soleil]

Some things that might have happened if the Valar had gone to war with Morgoth immediately after the Silmaril theft, and evacuated the Sindar, Avari, and very first Men to Aman to escape the continental destruction:

Nobody swears any Oaths. Feanor doesn't get the chance to, because the Valar go after Morgoth before he can.

He would have liked to go help with the war, but the Valar have made it clear that the Eruhini need to keep out from underfoot, and Ulmo is actually enforcing this one.

Feanor does contribute weapon designs in exchange for the promise of the Silmarils being returned to him ASAP.

(We have the sun and moon, I feel like I should say. The Valar made them when they needed light sources for the war and it was clear they weren't getting the Silmarils back all that soon.)

There's a lot of excitement when the new arrivals show up. Olwe is ecstatic to see his brother again - with a Maiarin wife and a daughter, too!

Thingol is upset about losing his realm and also grieving his friend FInwe, but cautiously intrigued to meet Finwe's family.

Feanor has become High King of the Noldor at least in name, but in practice what's developed is that Fingolfin and Maedhros and Caranthir and Turgon handle a lot of the day-to-day and Feanor is so busy crafting that he never noticed the shift. No one is super interested in telling him.

Thingol very nearly breaks it all open by accident, but they avoid a crisis just in time.

The Avari disappear into the outlands and forests and assimilate as little as possible.

Thingol and Melian start up a new city, but it's...not quite the same.

Luthien is restless. Her parents' new city might not have a girdle, but she feels fenced in anyway - partially with her parents not wanting her to stray too far in this strange new place, and partially because she's the one and only half-Maia and stunningly beautiful and everyone wants a piece of her, so to speak.

Funnily enough, certain of the Feanorians know exactly how those itchy feet feel, and her father doesn't hate them in this timeline.

She's not into hunting to kill things, really, but Celegorm teaches her this neat trick that sometimes you can just say you're 'going hunting' and head off to the woods to do whatever you want, like running just for the sake of it or dancing without anyone watching you, and no one will ask any questions.

She ends up spending a lot of time with him and the twins and Aredhel.

(Celegorm and Luthien eventually get married, because why not.)

(Melian gives her blessing on the condition that their firstborn son marries Nimloth, who goes along with it because she trusts Melian's foresight. Or, alternatively, they might have a daughter who marries Beren when he comes along; that'd be a fun twist.)

(The point is that Elrond and Elros eventually exist. They aren't in need of adoption, but they develop a surprising bond with their uncle Maglor.)

Almost forgot, the dwarves got brought over, too.

Caranthir does a lot of the negotiation with them, since his bluntness meshes best with their ways.

They and the Men keep having new generations be born and die, and it's...an adjustment for the elves.

Finrod, nonetheless, becomes great friends with a Man called Balan and his folk.

Caranthir encounters a Haladin woman named Haleth when she comes to court to arrange for greater independence for her people. He's in love at first sight. It takes her a little longer.

None of Caranthir's family understands why he'd choose to go through the eventual heartbreak of losing a spouse, but he ignores them all, and gets married anyway.

They have an astounding number of children. This is partially because they have better proximity and aren't in survival mode, partially because it takes them a sec to figure out how human conception works, and partially because Caranthir wants there to be as much Haleth in the world as possible before she's inevitably gone.

Hurin Thalion and Morwen have three lovely children. Nienor probably has a different name. Lalaith lives to an astoundingly old age, healthy as a horse.

Tuor and Idril, of course, get together. Turgon is a bit less enthusiastic about it this time, what with Tuor just being A Guy and not Ulmo's champion, but when would that ever stop Idril. Tuor does die eventually, but they have a good life till then.

Feanor ends up liking the Men and dwarves a lot more than anyone thought he would. He learns All The Languages, and loves to swap techniques with the dwarves and bounce off Men's ingenuity.

Also, the Sindar introduce a radical notion called marriage counseling, which is apparently something you invent if you're coping with Arda Marred instead of trying to maintain an assumption of perfection. They've also invented family therapy. Feanor and Nerdanel, and really the whole House of Finwe, benefit hugely from this.

Oh, and elf/dwarf relationships become hugely popular among the Noldor, because when your dwarf spouse dies you can literally go see them at Aule's house still as long as you're discreet about it, so no one bats an eye when Celebrimbor announces his engagement to the craftswoman Narvi some time down the line.

#silmarillion #alternate universe #feanor #house of feanor #house of finwe #halenthir #celebrimbor x narvi #also i'm not sure how this happened but #celegorm x luthien #mutual and everything #huh #fix-it

[memoriapraeteritorumbonorum]

Hi! 💕

Can i request a Maedhros x female elf reader angst fic?

Thank you 💗

Ambar - Maedhros x reader

Word count: 1.5K

Tags: Angst, character death.

Summary: Maitimo's fate catches up to him at last, and there is nothing left to be done.

Author's note: Ambar (Quenya), meaning fate or doom. I had goosebumps writing this. Enjoy!🥀

-

"Where is he?" You were out of breath, almost every ounce of strength left inside you had been spent, desperately searching for him. Maglor’s eyes were wide, gleaming with fear. You did not miss his hand, burned and blistered. 

So they had found them. 

"Where is he, Makalaurë?" Your gaze shifted behind the singer’s figure and immediately, your heart sank. There he stood. Alone, dangerously close to the edge. 

"Maitimo!" You yelled. Anyone would have felt relieved to be reunited with their lover, but something inside of you told you this was no time to feel relief, or any positive emotion, in fact. Something horrible was upon you all, and you knew it. You felt it in your spirit which was intertwined with his — a terrifying premonition was beginning to settle into your bones. 

His face was wet with tears, twisted into an agonizing expression. Red hair sticking to his sweaty face, the fire in his remorseful eyes seemed to be stronger than ever, or maybe it was just the crimson sparks flying all around you that made it seem that way. There was a terrible turmoil raging in him. He was a vision in flames, beautiful, even in his demise. It tore your heart in the most woeful of ways when you realized what was about to happen. Panic was beginning to gnaw at you, growing worse by the second. You felt your knees grow weak. It could not end like this. 

His brows were furrowed, scars on his once gentle features enlightened by the flames below. He winced at his blistered hand growing redder until the smell of burning flesh was strong in the air. But he didn’t let go. He clutched the jewel, bringing it to his chest with a pained expression. You could tell he was trying his hardest to stand straight — in a way, he was fighting for what was left of his dignity to be able to take a last stand before you — however, the pain made him hunch over the closer he brought the Silmaril to his heart, surrendering to his father’s forsaken oath. He was crumbling. Everything he had lived, fostered and practiced was falling to pieces before you. 

"Mai," you begged "Maitimo, my love, please." Your voice was distorted, strained from the cries you were fighting to be able to speak to him. 

The memory of his happy face flashed before your eyes — skin unharmed and clear, blue eyes kind, merciful and full of love. Of hope. He used to be hopeful, determined to make things right, to keep the memory of his father alive. You found yourself searching for that spark, only to be met with nothing. It frightened you how dull his eyes were. How dejected and empty they seemed. Unrecognizable, even. How the fire in his spirit seemed to be going out. This was it. You locked in a stare with him, too stunned to say anything else, for the tears and his state of being had robbed you of your capacity to form a coherent sentence. He seemed so far away. So helpless. You tried taking a step towards him, beckoning him to come closer, only to be met with more tears streaming down his dirty skin, carving rivers into the grime that had accumulated on his hollow cheeks. He shook his head. 

No.

"I’m sorry. I love you. Please, close your eyes."

Those were last words he uttered before he released a breath he had seemed to be holding forever.  Only this time, something new was shining in his eyes — acceptance. There appeared to be one sole way to rid himself of this pain and you both knew it. This burden had accompanied him for what seemed like an eternity, only for all of you to realize it had been in vain. 

For the only remaining testimony of his father’s existence and brilliance to reject him. His brothers. Each of their deaths, their suffering. Everything they had done, for nothing. Maitimo turned towards the edge of the chasm, not looking back. 

No. 

The last glimpse you caught of your One were his tangled copper locks blowing in the wind, for a protective hand was cast over your glossy eyes from behind, just before you could witness the inevitable. 

No, Eru.

Maglor’s arms around your waist were the only thing holding you back from jumping after him. Your wails ripped through the thick air so loudly, any living creature in the farthest of realms would have shuddered at the sheer terror they carried. You screamed and cried like never before, because now, you felt it. The scorching pain shot through you relentlessly, as though you were the one going up in flames. 

He was burning. 

He was burning and there was nothing you could do about it. 

It felt like your heart was being torn out of your chest. Like Morgoth himself was opening your ribcage to rip it out as a souvenir of his malicious deeds, delighting in your torment. You were pulled against Maglor, locked in place no matter how hard you tried to escape. All you could see were flames. The scenery in front of you was eerily contorted and flimmering, partly because of your tears, partly because of the searing heat that was all around you. You found yourself reaching out towards the edge, praying he would float back up into your arms. It felt as though you were no longer in your own body. Your arms suddenly seemed much longer and Maitimo only seemed to stray further away. You felt your connection to his spirit weaken at an alarming rate. 

His fëa was vanishing. 

The security you had fostered for the last century was slipping from your fingers all at once. Your companionship and his vow to always stay by your side were now becoming nothing but a broken promise, a soon to be memory. All you could do was squirm in his brother’s iron arms, limbs flailing around aimlessly. 

You didn’t feel Maglor’s grip on you. You didn’t feel him pulling you close. You didn’t feel your throat growing hoarse from all the screaming, wailing, crying — hopelessly trying to hold on to the last whiff of Maitimo’s spirit. Only when he forcefully turned you away from the abyss to face him did it break over you. And when it did, you found yourself clawing at his hair, his shoulders, his face. Anything to keep you here, to keep you grounded. His arms enveloped your shaking form so very tightly as to remind you that he was here with you. That he was in just as much pain. That he had lost Maitimo in the same way that you had. 

But you needed him. Eru, you needed him here with you. 

Craning your sore neck towards the sky, you let out a cry, channeling all of your hurt and the last ounce of your strength into a plea: 

"Have you no mercy? After everything he has suffered! Eru, if you hear me, give me a sign! Any.. Anything," you finally sank to your knees, falling into the last remaining prince’s frame — knowing there would be no sign coming your way. Not after everything they had done. 

"Please…Bring him back.." Your breaths were shallow, the burning sensation of your One’s cruel fate still vividly inside of you, stripping you of any power you had left. 

The last fragment of Maitimo’s fëa had thus faded from within you. He was removed from your soul for all of eternity. There was no chance of reuniting, for Mandos would not grant it. He was gone. Your One was gone.

And only now did his voice echo inside your head, warning you about how you were risking everything, throwing away any prospects of a happy, promising life if you decided to court him. Warning you about the Oath. How it would loom over you until the end of time, reminding you to let go of any hopes of settling. You had been naive, thinking it wouldn’t catch up to you eventually. Maitimo’s love and partnership had not only clouded your mind but also encouraged you to put off the thought process about your life post-quest. Just what were you to do? He had told you from the very beginning that there would be no chance of a happy ending for you. How could you ever believe your love would shield him from this burden, keep him safe and sound in your embrace and forget about his duty. About his brothers and their unfulfilled lives. Lives that had been stolen and fates that had been cruelly sealed the day they had made this horrible vow. 

Maitimo had never been yours, no matter how many times he had declared it to you. No matter how deeply he had loved and cherished you, held you close to his heart. You had simply forgotten because there was nothing you would ever want more than him. There was nothing your soul burned for more. Nobody. And only now that he had been taken from you did it catch up to you at last. 

He was his father’s son, after all. 

#maedhros x reader #maedhros imagine #fanfic #fanfiction #oneshot #angst #angst no comfort #maitimo #request

[thelordofgifs]

the fairest stars

What if Angrist was a little tougher, and Beren and Lúthien managed to steal two Silmarils from Morgoth instead of one? Somehow I’ve already written NINE parts of this unhinged bullet point AU here and decided it was time for a fresh post to avoid that one getting too long.

Where we left off: Lúthien has been negotiating with Mandos like a pro, Maglor is nearly-but-not-quite-dead in Menegroth, Thingol has taken one Silmaril from him, Fingon has the other Silmaril and ditched Curufin outside the Girdle even though they did some bonding on the Worst Road Trip, and people are still upset about Celegorm’s death. YES I am well aware that the pipeline from the fairly normal first sentence of the post to this mess is insane.

Fingon and Maedhros are both very, very good tacticians. Between them, it isn’t very difficult for Fingon to follow Maedhros’ directions towards Menegroth, and then to find the hidden pathways by which Huan led Maedhros out of Thingol’s halls.

It helps that Thingol is still under the impression that the Girdle is impenetrable with the aid of his Silmaril, so he doesn’t have anyone keeping an eye out for the High King of the Noldor sneaking into his realm on an Adventure.

Finding Maglor's sickroom/prison cell/whatever is a little trickier, but not impossible. Long ago in Tirion Fingon was a mischievous child, so he's well aware that the best way not to get caught sneaking into a forbidden place is to make it perfectly clear that you belong there.

He strides confidently down the corridors, silently reciting Maedhros' directions to himself. Nobody stops him.

He's hoping that Curufin was wrong, and he'll know Maglor's door by the holy light showing through the cracks; but when none is evident he's forced to take his chances and start trying doors in the area Maedhros indicated at random.

Since he has plot armour is very lucky with this whole improbable-rescue thing he comes across Maglor without any trouble.

Maglor is only half-conscious – quite apart from the wounded leg, he hasn’t eaten in days – but his eyes flicker open when Fingon comes in.

“Hello, Makalaurë,” Fingon says, deliberately cheerful. “I’ve come to take you home.”

“You can’t do that,” Maglor says dazedly. “It burned – in the Bragollach – remember?”

Fingon opts not to answer that. “Russo said you were healing when he left,” he says instead, frowning at the bloodstained bandages around Maglor’s leg. “What happened? Has Thingol been mistreating you? I thought Lúthien at least was kind!”

Maybe he was too hasty in leaving Curufin outside the Girdle.

Maglor hurries to explain that Lúthien is dead, and that he’s actually in this pathetic state by choice or something.

“Right,” says Fingon, “well, you’re coming back to Himring now.”

But Maglor shakes his head. “I can’t, Finno,” he says. “Thingol took the Silmaril from me. I don’t – I’ve been trying to hold it back. The Oath. But I can’t leave it in Doriath and go, I can’t. So you’ll have to leave me behind.” He manages a brave and tragic smile.

On Thangorodrim while Fingon was struggling futilely with Morgoth’s iron shackle, hopeless tears running down his face, Maedhros said, You’ll never be able to free me, Finno, just kill me, please—

Fingon is rather sick of Fëanorian melodrama.

“One step ahead of you,” he says brightly, and he produces Maedhros’ Silmaril from its box, handing it to Maglor before his Oath can stir at the sight of it. “Here it is.”

This would never normally work. But Maglor is very tired and ill, and not thinking as clearly as he otherwise would.

As long as the obvious question doesn’t occur to him until they get outside the Girdle again—

Maglor takes the jewel and gives a relieved little sigh as the bite of the Oath eases. “You really took it from Thingol?”

“Of course,” Fingon lies. “Let’s put it back in the box for now so that it doesn’t attract too much attention?”

Maglor acquiesces. He and Fingon aren’t close exactly, but they get on well – certainly far better than Fingon does with Curufin. There’s an odd shared camaraderie that comes from loving Maedhros; it lends itself well to cooperation in difficult circumstances.

Fingon picks Maglor up – he's alarmingly light – and they begin to make their way back out of Menegroth.

"You're to be my betrothal gift," Fingon tells Maglor, and Maglor actually laughs.

Unfortunately it's much harder to look innocuous when you're carrying someone about five minutes away from expiring on the spot.

They haven't got very far before an angry voice comes from behind them: "Who are you and where are you going with the Fëanorion?"

Damn.

Meanwhile

[I should clarify my definition of "meanwhile" here. Evidently time runs much slower in Aman than it does in Middle-earth, even post-Darkening, or it's difficult to fathom why Beren and Lúthien canonically took two years to return from death. In vague support of this, the Fellowship find that time runs slowly in Lothlórien, presumably with the aid of Galadriel's ring, so I posit that the more Divine Stuff there is near a place (and Galadriel was ofc a student of Melian too), the more weird time shit occurs. So since I've anyway fudged the timelines so that travel times work out conveniently, we can also put the bits of story occurring in Aman here for funsies.]

Meanwhile, Finrod has been following Celegorm around in the Halls of Mandos.

"Was it worth it?" he asks. "Did you take joy in the lordship of Nargothrond, once I was gone?"

"I could ask you the same," says Celegorm, responding for the first time. "Did you die for anything in the end, Ingoldo? The mortal's here, after all your efforts. So much for your oath."

"So much for yours," says Finrod; "it looks like that eternal darkness you doomed yourself to wasn't that dark. Or eternal. So what was it all for? Do you even regret any of it?"

The dead can't lie. Artifice and deception are matters of the flesh, and they are buried with it.

"I didn't want you to die," Celegorm says.

"Well, that's a start!" says Finrod. "I can't say I'm glad to see you here, either."

"O Fair and Faithful one," says Celegorm, "spare me none of your pity. They are already whispering that you will be released soon, first of all the Exiles to walk again in Aman. So it's all turned out rather well for you, despite your evil cousins' machinations."

"I suppose it has," says Finrod, thinking.

The thing is, it was worth it. Beren's life mattered. It mattered that he saved it, even if he died to do so, even if Beren is dead now too (although word is that might be changing).

He did not do it expecting a reward.

"And my werewolf was bigger than yours," says Celegorm.

Finrod rolls his metaphorical eyes. "At least I actually killed mine."

Cousinly bickering is still kind of fun, even when you're dead.

Curufin, fuming outside the Girdle, would not agree.

After a time he's forced to conclude that the only thing he can do is head back to Himring.

The ride through Himlad, once as green and fair a land as any, does not improve his mood.

Also his burned hand is still hurting.

Look: here's the little stream where Celegorm caught a huge fish once; and here are the low hills where, a couple of centuries ago, they held some war games and Curufin's people thrashed Celegorm's decisively.

Here's the copse where, years before the Dagor Aglareb brought tentative peace to East Beleriand, Curufin and his son were surprised by a party of orcs, who took their small patrol all captive.

Tyelpë was just barely of age at the time. How trusting his eyes, then, how baby-soft his hair: how easily he had believed that his father would fix everything.

As for Curufin, he spent the hours-long ordeal learning anew what terror was, rendered compliant by the mere possibility that they could hurt his child.

They were fine, in the end. Celegorm rode up to the rescue while the orcs were still quarrelling over where to take them.

But Curufin remembers: how disabling love can be.

Meanwhile Fingon finds himself surrounded by a crowd of angry Iathrim in their home city.

He sets Maglor down on the floor and sets a hand on his sword-hilt, wondering if he is about to become a Kinslayer again.

(Fingon regrets Alqualondë more than anything; and he'd do it again, for Maedhros' sake. He knows this about himself.)

Before things escalate too far, Thingol shows up at the scene of the disturbance.

"We haven't met," Fingon says. "Fingon son of Fingolfin, High King of the Noldor in Beleriand. I've come for my cousin." He gives Thingol a rather dangerous smile.

Thingol thinks he might be in serious trouble. He attempts to adopt a conciliatory tone (which is really really hard for Thingol ok he's trying).

"He'll die if he's moved," he says, nodding to where Maglor is slumped against the wall, shivering.

"He'll die if he stays here!" Fingon says. "Is this the famed hospitality of your halls?"

"He has been offered every treatment he could ask for," Thingol says. "It is not the fault of Menegroth if he chooses to refuse them. Now tell me, son of Fingolfin, how came you through the Girdle of Melian – without her leave or mine?"

Maglor puts the pieces together. "Finno, you lied to me," he breathes, glancing at the box in Fingon's hand.

Fingon wonders if it would be diplomatically insensitive to kick Thingol.

"The jewel alone does not explain it," Thingol insists. "While I hold the Silmaril my daughter won, surely—?"

"I could have told you that, had you asked," says Maglor. "Silmarils aren't weapons! You can't use one as some sort of military defence."

Thingol is now questioning all his life choices.

He only took the Silmaril from Maglor in the first place because he thought it would protect his kingdom, and now—

Maglor is feeling resigned. He should have known Fingon's claim was too good to be true. Thingol still has the Silmaril, and Maglor can't leave Menegroth without it.

Face pale and set, he attempts to get to his feet, mostly unsuccessfully.

Fingon looks down at him. "Seriously, Makalaurë?" And when Maglor ignores him, he says, "Sorry about this," and kicks Maglor's bad leg – carefully, but still hard enough to hurt.

Maglor faints.

Fingon picks his limp body up. "The Silmaril isn't yours," he tells Thingol.

"The white ships of Olwë my brother's people were not yours, either," Thingol returns.

Fingon inclines his head, acknowledging the point. "I don't wish to start a war over the Silmaril," he says. Maglor is so cold and still in his arms. "My cousins have done enough for that cause lately. Only let me take my kinsman home."

Thingol hesitates. The iron box in Fingon's hand is so close, and Fingon is outnumbered, and he has his injured cousin to worry about—

It could all be over, if he took the second Silmaril. He'd never need to worry about his people's safety from invasion again.

"Elu," comes a voice from behind him, "enough of this. Let them go."

"Queen Melian," says Fingon, bowing his head.

She barely looks at him, meeting her husband's gaze instead. "Time and again you have disregarded me," she says. "Lúthien is lost, and yet you persist with this. Will you heed me now?"

Thingol stares at her, and then, finally, he waves his hand. The bristling guards move aside, allowing Fingon free passage down the corridor.

"I trust you can remember your way out," Thingol tells Fingon, and turns away.

Fingon looks at Melian. "Thank you," he says, "and I am very sorry about your daughter."

He has met Maiar before, of course, in Valinor: but Melian is still unsettling, with her implausibly flawless face and eyes that hold yet the memory of a time before Time.

"Little king," she says, "only hope that you will not know any such pain yourself."

Fingon manages a smile. "I'm good at that," he says. "Hope."

On that note he leaves Menegroth, carrying Maglor, and begins to make the long trek back through the Forest of Region, and thence to Himring.

Curufin has managed the journey significantly more quickly. On a crisp cold morning he rides back through Himring's gates.

Maedhros has been... managing. Not well, but he trusts Fingon.

Beloved, I will bring them back to you. Beloved, I will bring them back to you. Beloved, I will bring them back to you.

But here's Curufin by himself, looking pale and tired, and after all it was only a hastily-scribbled note, not an incantation.

Maedhros arrives at the gate at a run.

Scarce weeks ago it was the other way around, Maedhros riding into the fortress with Fingon's cloak only just concealing his bloodstained clothes: and Curufin met him as he came in and he can still feel the terrible jolt of knowledge in his stomach, and Celegorm is still dead.

How can it be borne?

A thought comes to Curufin and for a moment he thinks it the cruellest idea he has ever had, but Celegorm is dead and his hand is still burned and nobody expects any better of him anyway.

"They're dead," he says flatly, "they're both dead," and Maedhros just – stares at him.

(to be continued)

#silmarillion #my fic #bullet point fic #the fairest stars #fingon #maglor #finrod #celegorm #thingol #curufin #maedhros #theme of the day: lying #thingol makes one (1) good decision! #curufin makes zero (0)! #maedhros has a really bad day! #what else do we expect from this au