#the most surprising one: nerdanel

[eight-pointed-star]

fics where someone goes to angband instead of/with maedhros

[in the brackets are the characters who are captured]

For Want of a Crown by theScrap_Witch [maglor]

The Price We Pay by theScrap_Witch [maglor]

A Perfect Pair by SunflowerSupreme [finrod and maglor]

A Songbird in Angband by AdmirableMonster (Mertiya) [maglor]

Mountains Don't Sing by MathConcepts [maedhros and fingon]

Animal Skins by Ilye [celegorm]

In Gold gefasst and Prized Jewel by Siana [maedhros and maglor]

A Fair Evil by Siana [maedhros and maglor]

A Broken Voice by Silentx13 [maglor]

Wisdom Prevails by Ardruna [nerdanel]

What If It Hadn't Been Maedhros? by ArvenaPeredhel [maglor, celegorm, caranthir, curufin, amras] (it's five different stories, not "all of them get captured together")

Aphonia and Mother Who Bore Me by ArvenaPeredhel [maglor]

Hard Choices and Silenced by waitingfover [maglor]

+ two in russian

Услышь меня, брат... by Nolofinve [feanor]

Кроме пыли и пепла by vinyawende [feanor]

this list probably isn't comprehensive, if you know more fics with a similar plot, please tell me!

if you are the author of one of the fics here and would like to be @'ed or to have your fic removed from here, please tell me! if i made a mistake in the descriptions tell me also

#the most frequent maedhros substitute: maglor #the most surprising one: nerdanel #disclaimer: i haven't read most of these. honestly i knew there was a lot of these but SO MANY OMG !!!!!!!!!!! #THERE WAS ALSO a fic i don't remember what exactly happened but ? i think all of the sons of feanor were taken #and some of them killed later #and the remaining ones got out but they were super traumatised #i remember maglor died and maedhros was unnormal about it. that's all i remember lol it was a long time ago #IF YOU KNOW THE FIC I'M TALKING ABOUT PLEASE PLEASE SHARE #also TWO different fics in russian by different authors where feanor gets captured surprised me #i've only read the second one but i think in the first fic fingolfin also saves him? more similarities? though i've only skimmed through it #silmarillion #fic recs #maglor #i'm only tagging him lol bc the other characters have like 1 fic per character #well okay #maedhros #he's also there

[imakemywings]

I know Silm tells us essentially that Nerdanel was a moderating force on Feanor, but I refuse to believe she was the “holder of the brain cell” as the current fandom phrasing goes, or the Only Sane Man in the house. #1 because I don’t think someone like that would have married a person like Feanor in the first place; and #2 because it’s just boring as fuck imo

Silm also tells us that Nerdanel was basically the only one to ever change Feanor’s mind through counsel, and that they were “companions on many journeys” and that it was only his later deeds that “grieved her.” Which idk doesn’t sound to me like a description of someone who spent her whole time in this relationship demanding Feanor behave more responsibly and trying to reign in his passions. Feanor and Nerdanel’s relationship is, in my view, very much posited as a love story of equals. Other details we know are that a) Feanor married young (no comment on Nerdanel’s age iirc); and b) His choice in spouse was surprising to the rest of the Noldor. This has always suggested, to me, that Feanor fell very hard and very fast for Nerdanel, and that he was convinced she was The One, and that their relationship was formed on a deep understanding of each other as people. Feanor didn’t care that Nerdanel was “not the fairest of her people” or that as the crown prince of the Noldor, he could perhaps have cast a much wider net in a search for a spouse. Furthermore, because Elves don’t seem to marry for politics, Nerdanel had no serious motivation to agree unless she also wanted to get married.

Which brings me to my main point: Nerdanel saw Feanor’s slightly unhinged behavior and went “damn that’s pretty hot.” You will never convince me that Feanor’s burning passions aren’t exactly what attracted Nerdanel to him in the first place. Yes they make him hot-tempered and impulsive and occasionally (self-) destructive, but they also make him interesting. Feanor feels so much about everything and his deep need and desire to create and to understand and better the world around him was precisely what made Nerdanel take another look at him. She could get underneath the prickliness to the artist, the scholar, and she loved those things, and maybe she even loved how much he rejected anyone’s efforts to make him quiet down or behave differently, to make himself more likeable. They had seven kids together--which, iirc, is the most kids of any Elven couple in Arda--ever. Is that not supposed to be indicative of the passion these two held for each other?

And frankly, I would also buy she willingly took his side in most family feuds, even when she knew Feanor was being unreasonable, and furthermore, that she found a great deal of his disruptive behavior entertaining. Anaire and Earwen can try to convince her to push Feanor to apologize to Fingolfin for his latest Incident, but is she going to? Not unless Feanor’s done something really outrageous. Otherwise, she probably can’t even get through telling him “that was really unnecessary” without laughing. Nerdanel, apologize for Feanor’s behavior? Not likely!

Nerdanel acted as a moderating force on Feanor in that I think he was just calmer around her. He’s a very volatile person and we know that he never meshed well with his step-family and possibly felt out of place generally owing to Miriel’s fate, but I think with Nerdanel it felt like he had found a place. She understood him and they were partners and they were going to do this Life thing together. With Nerdanel, I think he began from a more relaxed, less reactive place, which had a corresponding impact on his behavior. And of course, because he felt Nerdanel understood him (and liked him), and he respected and loved her, he was willing to listen to her counsel (sometimes) when he would take no one else’s.

Lastly, the idea of Nerdanel spending hundreds or thousands of years as Feanor’s put-upon wife, trying to manage him and their seven children, essentially reduced to a Nagging Wife stereotype as she acts as the only restraint on him is just so boring and what an incredible, appalling waste of her character. Why don’t you just slap her down in a 1960s sitcom? I think Nerdanel deserves more than that. She had no reason to marry Feanor except that she wanted to, because she had spent a lot of time with him and she wanted him, she loved him, and she saw a future for them together, as partners.

#I am never going to be capable of being normal about these two #their relationship makes me want to commit arson #feanor #nerdanel #feanel #the silmarillion #tolkien tag #this was supposed to be a short little ''hm here are some thoughts'' post #meta #sort of #mine

[shiroandblack]

Here are the top five Finwëans who would start a Valinor-wide war if their admirers found out they were dating. No plot, just vibes only.

5. Finrod

Said to be the "fairest of all Elven princes", seems to be a multi-talented dude, and got on with just about anyone (except Caranthir but this deserves its own post). He has an ethereal vibe with a down-to earth personality which I think people would dig and is definitely the bishōnen of this list. Poor Amarië probably had to deal with some obsessive fans.

4. Galadriel

The It Girl of Valinor. She was smart, tall, athletic, and had the world's most beautiful hair. Her slightly aloof personality was definitely a hit for people whose type is 'Ice Queen' and she is the picture of lady of war elegance. Think the goddess Athena. Had she and Celeborn married in Valinor pre-Darkening, he probably would've gotten a lot of hate mail for not being 'worthy enough' and if you subscribe to Teleri Celeborn then he probably did receive hate mail when his engagement to Galadriel was announced.

3. Fëanor

The hot eldest son of the king. From a socio-economic perspective this man is a catch. He's hot and a nerd to boot, which the Noldor probably loved. I think people were smart enough to not send Nerdanel any hate mail when they got together, but they probably did talk shit about her considering the Silm's "not the fairest of her people" and people's surprise at Fëanor wanting to marry her. Everyone who ever had a crush on Fëanor hated her by default, but were wise enough to shut the fuck up about it in front of Fëanor.

2. Maglor

Elves love singing and Maglor was stated to be the best. This dude was the Jungkook of Valinor with a horde of fans, and a boost of socio-economic privilege as a prince. What's not to like? We don't get any particular description of his looks in the Silm, but like Finrod he was a pretty boy but not a full-blown bishōnen like his cousin.

1. Maedhros

Ah yes, the Minatozaki Sana of Valinor. Any partner of Maedhros' would've been public enemy number 1 even if that partner was Fingon who has the boy next door vibe down to a T. Said partner would receive hate mail, have to deal with obsessive fans, and of course is talked shit about because how the fuck did that person bag this guy? Forget a war, people would move mountains for him. Like Galadriel, his specs are similar such as the use of brain cells, tall, and pretty hair with the added bonus of being the heir of the heir. There is also the fact that his name means "the hot one". He has very majestic vibes and was the kind of person you would probably trust your life with.

#just for fun #the silmarillion #finrod #galadriel #fëanor #maglor #maedhros #tolkien

[sweetteaanddragons]

Thank you to @thescrapwitch for tagging me in a wip game! Have another snippet of the hopefully forthcoming "Raise Them Well (Or Out of Spite)" follow up. (My AU in which Feanaro and Nerdanel end up having to raise Nolofinwe.)

. . .

“We can change his mind,” Maitimo said. “One vase off the mezzanine next to your head, and there won’t be any question of leaving you alone.” 

The nursery - for lack of a better word, that was still what they called it - was quiet, but not too quiet. He could hear the soft sounds of Makaluare and Tyelkormo breathing as they slept.

The sound was further away than it had once been. Since the room had already needed renovations after Melkor knocked a wall out, hanno had ordered that wall repaired and a different one removed to expand the room and allow them all more space.

The little ones, of course, slept near the far wall, as far as possible from both door and window. Just in case.

Farther than it had once been, when Makaluare was still an infant who cried if he was set somewhere he could not see at least one family member. He had never tolerated the crib long; as soon as his parents vanished out the door, his breath would start to hitch until Maitimo rescued him from its bars and settled with him on his own bed, carefully cradling his brother to his chest.

Farther than it had once been. Still close enough to hear.

They might not be for long.

He did not, directly, respond to Maitimo’s offer to pretend to attempt to murder him. “Did you know he didn’t like her?” he asked, staring up at the ceiling.

It felt like such a small word for an emotion so strong that it would drive hanno to leave him.

Maitimo was silent a little too long. “I wondered,” he said at last. “From some of the things we heard.”

It had been we, Nolofinwe admitted to himself. He had heard the rumors too. He just hadn’t credited them.

They had been surprised hanno looked after him. That was why he had given them no credence. They had been surprised while Nolo had felt the blazing fire of his brother’s fea wrapped protectively around his; they had been surprised while it had been the most natural thing in the world.

And so he had thought the rumors as much nonsense as so many other things.

Yet they had been right. They had been right about that, so had they been right about -

“Don’t push anything off the mezzanine,” he said, turning in the bed to face the wall. “It’s probably best I stay.”

. . .

I'm never good at the tagging people part of this, so if you want to participate, consider yourself tagged!

#silmarillion #fingolfin #maedhros #raise them well or out of spite

[glorf1ndel]

Fëanorians as Taylor Swift Albums

Speak Now: Taylor’s Version is out, so I apologize for the person I’ve become. That being said, here are the Fëanorians as Taylor Swift albums!

Fëanor: Reputation. “Look What You Made Me Do” is practically the Oath of Fëanor, guys. This album combines electrifying love with giving the middle finger to society trying to intrude on that love, which feels very Fëanor to me. (Plus, he would absolutely fight other versions of himself in order to prove himself as the supreme Fëanor.)

Nerdanel: Red. I have to give Nerdanel the album about heartbreak – and the catharsis that comes with writing a ten-minute song about it. The highs and lows of Nerdanel’s life? She remembers them all too well. Red also contains some of Taylor’s most well-regarded music, and I think Nerdanel would appreciate that, as an artist herself.

Maedhros: Midnights. Let’s face it, Maedhros has had more than 13 sleepless nights. And this album has “Anti-Hero” and “You’re On Your Own, Kid,” which are hardcore Maedhros songs. But I’d like to think Mae finds joy in life, and that’s what Midnights is about – being almost surprised that in the end, you’ve stumbled upon happiness.

Maglor: Folklore. This one has to go to Maglor for the intricate songwriting, ocean vibes, and the line I can go anywhere I want/ Anywhere I want, just not home. Plus, this was a triumphant Grammy win for Taylor – and Maglor deserves a Grammy, too. :’)

Celegorm: 1989! Celegorm needs an album to rival his energy, so why not one filled with some of Taylor’s biggest hits? “Bad Blood” and “Out of the Woods” were made for Celegorm: the son of Fëanor, the hunter, the lover of life, and everything in between. Tyelko’s got a blank space, baby, and he’ll write your name.

Caranthir: Speak Now. Here are some of Taylor’s fiercest songs, perfect for the Fëanorian who can get a little angry sometimes. Let Caranthir listen to pop rock! Also, the fairy tale themes of this album suit him; I’d like to think that he dreams of a happy ending with Haleth. Maybe he even gets it. Long live the walls we crashed through, y’all.

Curufin: Evermore goes to Curufin, who’s thoughtful and intense all at once. He’s a clever craftsman, and here is a cohesive album where every song is a little melancholy, feral, and maybe even joyful. I can see Curufin listening to “Evermore,” hoping for the moment when his own pain will end.

Amrod: Fearless! Whether or not you agree with the crispy Amrod theory, there’s no denying that Amrod (and his twin) have a good amount of fearlessness. There are a lot of songs in this album about youth, such as “Fifteen,” which suit a young Fëanorian trying to navigate Middle Earth. It’s even more stressful than high school.

Amras: Taylor Swift. What else could I give the youngest brother? Sometimes Amras might feel overshadowed by his siblings, but there’s no denying it: he’s a powerhouse, too. So here’s the album that contains Taylor Swift’s first hits, like “Tim McGraw” and “Teardrops on My Guitar.” Also, I think Amras would appreciate a good country ballad.

Celebrimbor: Lover. Celebrimbor is a cheerful person who truly loves his life in Ost-in-Edhil. He’s also an expert smith, so Taylor’s first self-owned album, the product of a lot of hard work, is one that I think Celebrimbor would appreciate. And we’ve got to give him the happy ending of “Daylight.” I just think that you are what you love.

#silm #silmarillion #feanorians #taylor swift #feanor #Nerdanel #maedhros #maglor #celegorm #caranthir #curufin #amrod #amras #ambarussa #celebrimbor

[lamemaster]

Nerdanel's Favorite Daughter-in-Law

Pairing: Nerdanel and Maglor's Wife

Genre: Fluff

AN: Really wanted to write this because I feel soft.

If someone asked Nerdanel about her favorite daughter-in-law, the redhead elleth would deny the possibility of having one or would vehemently insist on loving all her daughters-in-law equally.

But. There exists a But. There is one for whom Nerdanel feels greater. The most unexpected of the bunch. Makalaure's wife.

Your arrival had been, to state it lightly wildy unexpected. And maybe Nerdanel would have hated you for binding her son to a mortal but she could not.

You had come to Valinor bearing last fragment of Makalaure's soul. A part of her son that lived in your belly as your child. Nerdanel could have despised you for owning a part of her son but she could not.

Not when her son's presence has been a gift from you. How could she when you are a mortal who dared to give up the gift of Illuvatar for her son's sake.

Maybe that is why you were allowed to step on the soil that even the king of Nuemenor was forbidden.

So, Nerdanel finds herself endeared to you. Even when her eldest, Nelyafinwe, can not even bear to look your way. You are an Easterling from the lands and of the people that once betrayed Maitimo. The wounds of the past run deep and heal slow.

Yet, Nerdanel has found herself unable to hate you. Instead, she can't help but notice how you make the most convincing excuses to not attend a feast that seems to host most of Maitimo’s friends. A sacrifice made out of your will. Not even Makalaure notices it but Nerdanel does.

"Is y/n not coming?" Nerdanel asks Kano, who seems to have arrived dressed immaculately as always. His robes ironed and cuffs straightened. "No she sprained her foot the last minute, so I let her rest for today," Nerdanel knows well about these last-minute sprains that just seem to be a mortal thing. Right at the clap of the moment, Maitimo walks out dressed. "Let's go I'm ready," the one who had no plans on attending the feast seems to have dressed up as soon as the news of you not attending arrives. Maybe the rest did not notice but Nerdanel did. These intricacies of your behavior do not go unnoticed by her.

Nerdanel feels seething rage fill her when her son's words leave your eyes dull and your smiles forced. She knows well enough of lover's quarrel and arguments beyond that but she cannot bear seeing the lines of sadness etched on your face.

The unfairness of your despair tugs at Nerdanel's heart. "Can you not be a brute as such your father?" Nerdanel feels a headache build the more she talks to Makalaure. "But she-," "Makalaure she is alone here in a land foreign to her. Can you least be civil to the one who carries your child?" The carving tool in her hand feels dangerous for a lingering moment.

On nights when her own son's unfairness tugs her heart, Nerdanel seeks you. It isn't hard to find a mortal in Valinor. A mortal who stands out in a world full of immortals. Nerdanel seeks you.

You can't go far. So it isn't a surprise when she finds you in her own backyard. Perched next to blooming roses, Nerdanel can sense your heartbreak. Longing for a time and people long gone lines your eyes. It isn't an easy bargain, the one that you have made at your own cost. You stay here for her son, becoming his anchor you have submerged yourself into the seas of the unknown.

Now Nerdanel has never been much of a cook but today she sticks to her courage with the rounded bowl in her hands. Depositing herself next to you, Nerndal wonders if you can see her the way she can. She does not know the limits of mortal sight. "I hope you like this," gathering a morsel in her hand Nerndanel feeds you. And she feels the wetness of tears on her hands.

"Bibi," Nerdanel feels her heart stop at your words as you hug her. Bibi, the word for mother in your tongue. And Nerdanel hugs her daughter-in-law back. The only one who hugs her.

"My bibi used to make me choori, hot wheat bread mixed with jaggery and ghee. She used to feed me more than any of my brothers," your words from the past ring in her ears.

You have become more than a daughter-in-law, you have become a daughter.

#the silmarillion #tolkien elves #silmarillion #noldor elves #maglor x reader #nerdanel #Nerdanel's Daughter-in-Law #silmarillion headcanon #maglor

[yourlocalnetizen]

Maglor headcanons because he’s my favorite Feanorian

Of all Feanor’s sons he looks the most like Finwe. By extent he looks a fuck ton like Fingolfin, Lalwen, Turgon, and Aredhel who were all also spitting images of Finwe. Earendil was particularly surprised by how much Maglor resembled his loving Grandfather when the two first met, imagining he’s look a lot scarier based on what he heard about him.

The only physical traits he got from Nerdanel’s side of the family were his eyes which look exactly like his mother’s same exact color and all as well as his freckles.

Wasn’t overly fond of Maedhros during his youth. His gorgeous big brother seemed to be getting all the attention and Kano was not having it. He was mad at Fingon all throughout the elf equivalent of his elementary years for being so much more interested in his big brother even though he was the cousin who was the same age as him.

When Celegorm was born, he tried to do everything in his power to make the baby like him more that Maedhros. He would take any excuse to spend time with baby Turko and even memorized the lullabies his parents would sing the baby so he could do it instead. That was how he got a knack for singing.

Initially very shy about singing in front of anyone who weren’t his parents or brothers but his parents once convinced him to sing as a surprise for his grandpa Finwe and it turned out great so he no longer got nervous about performing.

He completely got over his Maedhros jealousy after his baby cousin Finrod heard him sing once at a family get together and started idolizing him for his musical talent. Even Fingon started spending more time with him after he found out Maglor was really into music and really good at it just like he was and Maedhros became Maglor’s biggest fan and would always cheer him on.

After Maglor started to sing more and more often, Feanor started making his son instruments to go along with his vocals.

Feanor was always supportive of Maglor and he adored his father in return for all of Feanor’s life. For all his life in Valinor, Maglor saw his dad as a saint and always justified all of Feanor’s questionable actions to himself.

While he started having some doubts about his dad’s choices after the burning of the boats, he was outwardly always supportive of his dad and was basically Feanor’s emotional support because Maedhros was very pissed at Feanor at the time.

Feanor often told him that he was so much like Nerdanel or Finwe after going to Middle Earth and he often had to help Feanor though his meltdowns which Mags found incredibly emotionally draining but never said anything about.

The only argument Maglor and Feanor ever had was about Mags’s wife. She was a Vanya who was Indis’s relative through being a descent of Ingwe and Feanor was convicted she was only trying to marry his son so he would support the Vanyar who he disliked because of Indis and support the Valar who he disliked because of everything. Of course this was complete bull because what girl would waste her one shot at marriage to gain political support when she wasn’t even a ruler but Feanor thought what he thought.

Of course Feanor had to deal with it because Maglor was completely smitten with his wife and loved her indefinitely. The two were in a secret forbidden relationship for a long time because Mags was so scared of how his dad would react.

He always thought he’d fall for a Noldo or even a Teleri woman before he’d even consider a Vanya but she completely swept him off his feet. Every stereotype he’d heard from Feanor about the Vanyar we’re disproven by his wife, she was stubborn, feisty, passionate, intelligent and had the nerve to question the Valar’s decisions even if she respected them, and she held a twin flame that matched his own.

Maglor always did want to be a father but never had the chance to before the sudden and shocking death of Finwe.

Truly fucking hated Feanor after his brothers started dying. He’d always curse his father through his grief every time he lost one of them.

He felt incredibly guilty for loving Elrond and Elros like sons because deep down he knew he should have never even met them.

I don’t think he ever died but if his brothers ever got reembodied, I undoubtedly see him reuniting with them. Unlike his brothers, he never got closure with his dad so I think one of them would pass on Feanor message to him that their dad did love and miss him and that he was sorry and I think that’s what would have truly allowed Maglor to heal.

Also, he’d totally name a kid after Maedhros or Nerdanel if he ever had kids.

#maglor #feanorians #sons of feanor #maedhros #celegorm #feanor #nerdanel #maglor’s wife #finwe #the silmarillion #silm headcanons #elrond #elros #kidnap fam

[thelordofgifs]

Writing Year Wrapped

Thank you for the tag @eilinelsghost - what a lovely idea!

3 Favourite Fics You've Written This Year

the fairest stars (T, 78k, in progress). So much of myself has gone into this fic since I started writing it all the way back in February. I love all the characters (Maedhros and Maglor my beloveds!!), I love how much it's taught me about plot and structure and evil cliffhangers, and I love sharing it with all my wonderful kind enthusiastic readers!

Ilimbë (T, 15k, complete). This was a new venture for me, both genre and ship-wise, but it was just so much FUN. I like writing things that make me feel clever, and this is probably my most unabashedly pretentious fic. But also baby Fëanor is everything to me now.

in the breaking (G, 2k, complete). I used to call this my best m&m fic, although tfs is probably my best m&m fic. But in the breaking is still one of my favourite explorations of their tragic tender codependent dynamic.

3 Fics That Stretched You the Most

Inflection (G, 10k, complete). This one was SO hard to write - getting the first draft out was very much blood, sweat and tears. The nuances of the kidnap fam dynamic are very hard to get right, balancing the canonical love with Elrond and Elros' genuine trauma. I'm still not entirely sure I got it quite to my satisfaction, but I'm pleased with the final result all the same.

the fairest stars. Yes I'm listing it twice. I'm very fond of tfs, but plotting it out can be SO hard sometimes (which is one of the reasons why part 31 is taking a while to write). I just counted and there are TEN separate plot threads to keep track of at the moment, which is... a Lot.

the salt of the sea (E, 2k, complete). Shoutout to my first proper smut! Definitely a new venture for me (I hadn't written this pairing before, either). People were very kind about it, though.

3 Favourite Lines You've Written

Maedhros has never loved anyone without making of them a god – it is all tangled together in his mind, worship with affection, ardour with idolatry. (tfs, part 29)

To love Maedhros, he has long known, is to grieve him. (tfs, part 22)

Fëanor had never been kissed before. It took him a moment to respond, but then he found he was kissing Nerdanel back and it was the easiest, most familiar thing in the world; her messy curls were brushing his face and one of her strong sure hands had travelled down to rest against the small of his back and there was nothing that had ever been more real than the warmth of her pressed against him; she was certainty itself, as solid as marble, no crafted thing to be shaped and changed, but a maker and a preserver and a promise of forever; and her mouth against his was hot and sweet and golden as the taste of a Laurelin-ripened peach. (Ilimbë)

3 Characters You Enjoyed Writing (that surprised you)

Lúthien! I didn't have many thoughts about her before starting tfs, but she's one of my favourite characters in it now, and so essential to the themes of the story.

Fëanor was a struggle to wrap my head around initially: in my opinion one of the biggest flaws of all those that follow, for example, is the way Fëanor only appears at the edges of the narrative, when I could really have stood to flesh his relationship with Fingolfin out a lot more. Writing Ilimbë really helped me gain a much better understanding of what makes him tick, which was very satisfying, and I do think his characterisation is one of the biggest strengths of that fic.

gonna cheat slightly for the third one and say all my little baby OCs from the glassmaker! OC-centric fic isn't something I'd tried before, but I'm very fond of them now.

3 Unexpected Inspirations

Maedhros' hair in in the breaking is this whole important thematic thing, but the truth is. I also have very long and silky hair and it is a PAIN to deal with. You cannot picture the number of times I have sat on my bed at 1am furiously yanking a hairbrush through it and gone "DID it take long hours to brush out to smoothness again? you fucking bet." Sadly I do not have a codependently devoted sibling to tenderly brush my hair for me, so I have to do it myself.

tfs was initally inspired by some tumblr discourse about Beren and Lúthien's motivations in stealing the Silmaril! which I think is kind of neat. It strikes me as very indicative of the collaborative nature of fandom: a couple of people have a debate, and then someone else goes away and writes fic about it, and then people draw art of the fic... and on the cycle goes.

an ancient song is a very small little ficlet, but it was also inspired by some tags on a tumblr post! Always fun when that happens.

3 WIPs You're Excited About in the Upcoming Year

Ooh, now I feel like I'm committing to having these finished in the next year...

The Unburied: the longfic I am very slowly working on, and managed to put 20k words towards in November. It follows Fingon as he crosses the Helcaraxë and Maglor as he rules in Mithrim, ending with the first rising of the Sun. I am excited about this fic, but it's an ambitious project and very challenging! Also my brain can't really handle working on two different longfics at once, so it's on the backburner until tfs is finished, and who knows when that will be tbh.

boats against the current: another rather old WIP that is complicated and difficult to plot out. This one is the "Maedhros doesn't swear the Oath" AU. Still very attached to the idea! Maybe I'll get somewhere with it soon.

sore must be the storm: my shortest WIP! Surely I can sit down and finish it in the next few weeks (I have been saying, for months). Just some (messy and complicated) russingon after Fingolfin's death.

3 People Tagged to Share Theirs

No-pressure tags for

@searchingforserendipity25

@that-angry-noldo

@welcomingdisaster!

#tag game #my writing

[doodle-pops]

Just The Two Of Us

Nerdanel x reader

A/N: I’m a little late posting this for my dear llama drama master @lamemaster for their birthday. I know how much you adored Nerdanel and wanted something that involved being soft with her, so I decided to whip this up for you. Happy Birthday!!

“This is nice.” Her eyes were closed as she took in the crispiness of the fresh air upon the hill you sat.

Unable to withhold your grin, you nodded enthusiastically at her words and agreed, “You’re right, this is wonderful. I believe it is the most perfect day.”

“But is the is the way you spend your begetting day? In the comforts of solitude?" she asked, voice filled with a tinge of concern, however, her face reflected the opposite. She seemed to understand that it wasn’t solitude, but selective company, though her heart worried that she was not the best choice.

Laughing at her lingering fear, unaware that this was concern normal and a form of peace after many years of experience, you lifted your head away from the straw basket and met her viridian eyes. Her freckled face appeared redder under the warm, radiant sun, even brighter as she was adorned in her favourite green dress. “Solitude is the best instead of being around those who do not care—besides, I’m not alone. I have you here with me.”

“You are strange, Y/N. However, it is endearing,” she murmured and reached forward to assist you with removing the cake from the basket. Her nurturing instinct came out the moment she witnessed you setting up your own cake and treats for a day meant to celebrate you.

Your cheeks grew warm under the compliment she bequeathed. Normally, one would frown at a remark, but you understood it came from a place she had kept frozen for many years after her heart had been broken. All you could do was feel touched that she was willing to be generous with her compliments on such a jovial day made for you. “Happy that my strangeness is touching,” you cheered.

Gathering all the utensils out of the basket and setting them beside the cake, she counted and checked all the items to ensure you had everything before you commenced the celebration. Her lips moved at the speed of light as she whispered and her finger pointed to each item while you just stared at her motherly behaviour. You hadn’t been fortunate to witness her softness during the early months of your meet and greet, but as time rolled by, you experienced her care and less of her pain.

“It is strange that you are still celebrating your begetting day as an adult. Most people stop after turning fifty—are you waiting for a particular time to cut your cake?” Her viridian eyes sparkled as they flashed upwards to inquire. They were filled with more life than you could remember seeing. What started out as dull and lifeless when you first saw her, became emerald gems whenever you were around, and she bore no embarrassment in revealing what your presence had done for her.

“True, but I am not like most people and secondly, I am a mortal who magically fell into your backyard. I’m like your Fairy Godmother who came to whisk you into happiness,” you laughed with a playful eye roll and a wave of your hand, knowing that her face held confusion at your choice of words. “Consider this a surprised wish, spending my birthday with me. An extra slice of happiness for us both.”

Grinning, she said nothing at first as she reached for the glasses and the bottle of wine to fill each. Ensuring that your glass was less than hers, Nerdanel’s hand outstretched to present your drink and gift you a warm smile to accompany your beverage. Then, she carefully whispered once you took your glass, “Then a blessed Happy Birthday to you and thank you for sharing your day with me. I do hope my gift can outdo what my presence brings.”

Turning to face her, your heart grew warm and was reflected in your face once you knocked your glass with hers. “Don’t worry about that! There is no one better to share my birthday with. Let’s drink this out, cut the cake together and then see what gift you brought.”

Masterlist:

Taglist: @lilmelily @ranhanabi777 @rain-on-my-umbrella @aconstructofamind @mysticmoomin @stormchaser819 @batsyforyou @asianbutnotjapanese @sakurayaxd @involuntaryspasms @a-tong

#happy birthday llama drama master #nerdanel x reader #nerdanel imagine #nerdanel scenario #nerdanel fluff #nerdanel #silmarillion imagine #silmarillion x reader #middle earth x reader #middle earth imagine #x reader fluff #x reader insert #silmarillion #doodlepops writings ✨

[essenceofarda]

Little Noldo Princess ✨

aka i've finally succumbed to drawing one of my most self indulgent oc's lol 😅, the youngest child and only daughter of Feanor and Nerdanel. Born many years after Amros and Amrod, she was a surprise baby (if elves can even have surprise pregnancies idk) and is considerably younger than her 7 older brothers. She is also not coincidentally the absolute apple of they and her father's eye. She has them all completely wrapped around her little finger (nerdanel being the only one capable of reigning her in lol, which results in Nerd having to be the disciplinary parent here haha)

anyway--i have lots of arts/ideas to draw for her and especially her interacting with her brothers/family and big cousins :)

#lotr #lord of the rings #tolkien fanart #silm fanart #the silmarillion #lotr fanart #silmarillion #feanor #nerdanel #feanorians #noldor #feanor x nerdanel #tolkein oc #tolkien original character #my art #I know i know i KNOW this is cringe lol but life's too short not to make your self indulgent oc's lol #She's also considerably the youngest of her generation #probably was not yet full grown when the oath was made #I imagine she probably (haven't decided) remained in valinor and was raised by Nerdanel and Indis

[outofangband]

Romantic+childhood headcanon for maedhros? 👀

From this headcanon ask game! Still accepting them

I must admit I floundered trying to come up with a romantic one! I tend to struggle a lot defining romance and so I overthink it and get worried I’m not doing it right.

Please feel free to send in a replacement! Or a more specific area maybe? I’m really sorry

Also anon who requested the sleep, happy and sex headcanons for Maedhros; I’m working on those! Are you ok with darker content (not for the happy one obviously)

Childhood headcanons

cw: Melkor existing

1. Maedhros traveled a lot with his parents as a baby and young child! I love that line in The Silmarillion about Fëanor and his sons never settling and always exploring and I imagine the nature of these trips changed depending on when it was Fëanor and Nerdanel, them and just young Maedhros, them and more sons, etc. He has a lot of happy memories from these early days, some from when he was still being carried on longer hikes in a specially made pack on the back of one of his parents. His first memory is a trip to a waterfall that fell into a shaded valley. The memory is blurry, mist and water swirling as stars shone through and seeming to fall forever. Maedhros’s tiny hands wet from the condensation that soaked the surrounding rocks. The silence of his observing parents.

2. I firmly believe that Melkor enjoyed approaching Fëanor’s sons as children and young adults just to watch Fëanor’s discomfort and anxiety when he witnessed or heard about it. Melkor never directly harms them and would always act benignly surprised if confronted with it by Fëanor. It didn’t matter if his surprise that Fëanor would be angered by this was utterly unconvincing. It didn’t matter that his eyes would glitter with malice as his grip on young Maedhros’s shoulder tightened just enough to be painful (he’s not used to interacting so closely with the incarnates, after all! He forgets their fragility! Why didn’t the poor child say something!). He knows that for now, at least, he can get away with more than Fëanor can and that the latter’s fury will reflect poorly on Fëanor. Of course it would come out sooner than Melkor realizes with the reveals after the sword incident but before that? He is fully utilizing rumors of Fëanor’s instability (mental or spiritual, made worse by the compounding factor of the rumors of Melkor’s role in that! With Míriel’s death and Naro’s birth called a marring, etc) to get away with his blatantly bad faith actions

Maedhros has been approached by Melkor on numerous occasions for this purpose. The first time he was barely old enough to remember though he can certainly recall his fear and confusion upon seeing the look on his father’s face. The second time he was more wary, having that vague recollection of something not being right. He is definitely torn between the expectations of respect, even deference, shown to the Ainur and his own misgivings, as well as a growing awareness of Fëanor’s feelings.

Later most of his childhood interactions with Melkor are in various formal settings. The gaze of the Vala might linger a moment too long upon him or one of his brothers but then, not all the Ainur are used to customs of the Children. It was harmless. Of course it was harmless.

This was inspired in part by my conversations with @nelyoslegalteam

#the silmarillion #maedhros #fëanor #nerdanel #morgoth #melkor #musing and meta #in the iron hell #adjacent

[imakemywings]

Fandom: The Silmarillion

Characters: Maedhros, Lalwen, Fingon, Nerdanel

Summary: Maedhros considers the role of sex and romance in his life and receives support from unexpected quarters.

AN: Something for @aspecardaweek! More notes on AO3.

WC: 5,281

AO3 | Pillowfort | SWG

_______________________________________________________

Maedhros did not yet have Grandfather’s skill for keeping his face neutral. He did have his own parents’ penchant for strong emotions and so the sense of annoyance which permeated his clipped pace down the palace hall was plainly apparent. Even the swish of his robes seemed to speak to an immediate, if mild, irritation.

The heat of Valinor’s soft summer was creeping up over Tirion, which meant most of the palace was out-of-doors, except for Caranthir who was likely tucked away somewhere with a book or a preserved insect, and Maglor, who was either “composing” or languishing artfully on a pile of pillows (these were not always distinct and separate acts), and so perhaps Maedhros was less careful than he might’ve been with the usual palace audience around to provide a bevy of useless commentary. He slid open one of the side doors and slipped out onto the rail-less porch, throwing himself down on the edge with an air of petty temper.

The fresh air almost immediately took the edge off. In the lush palace gardens he could hear the call of birds and the rustle of the fresh green leaves, still tender with new growth. The lychee trees were starting to sway with the weight of fruit and the smell of the flowering plants perfumed the air. Maedhros leaned back against one of the posts supporting the eaves. Curufin and the twins were out with Atar for the day, which meant there was no childish yelling this side of the palace, though if Maedhros listened carefully, he could hear some of his youngest cousins elsewhere on the property.

“You look rather troubled, little one.” The low, smoky voice took him by surprise, partly because he was not often in conversation with his aunt, who bled out of the bushes with a idly curious look. “Who’s put this look on your face?”

“My brother,” Maedhros groused after a pause.

“That still leaves quite a few options,” said Princess Lalwen with a slanting smile, perching on the edge of the porch with one leg tucked beneath her. Her nut-brown skin was already taking on the darker hue of summertime and judging by her dress and the dearth of gems in her hair, he guessed she’d been on an early morning hiking or hunting trip.

“’tis nothing,” Maedhros demurred. No need to go airing family laundry, even if it was the relatively harmless kind. Besides, Aunt Lalwen always looked like she was searching for a secret—to what end, Maedhros couldn’t say.

“If it were nothing, you would not be troubled,” Lalwen said. Maedhros, ever the pragmatist, visibly weighed the pros and cons of sharing—and how much—with Lalwen. Truthfully, he didn’t know her well enough to make much of an estimate. She was often in Tirion, unlike Aunt Findis, but also often in the company of Uncle Fingolfin, which meant not in the company of Atar and Ammë (or their children).

“Kanafinwë is…immature, I think, at times,” said Maedhros at last. “It causes a great deal of trouble for him and for many around him.”

“Little brothers will be that way,” Lalwen said sagely, nodding. Maedhros must have looked skeptical, for then she said: “You doubt it? Arafinwë was a terrible tattle when he was little. Nothing could you tell him if you did not wish to get back to Ammë within the hour. Thank Ilúvatar he grew out of that!” A faint smile crossed her face. “And if you were inclined to ask, it is possible that Arakáno and Findis might have their own stories of me to share.” Maedhros assumed Atar went without saying.

“Kanafinwë is old enough to know better,” said Maedhros with a frown. The antics of a child were one thing—Maglor was a grown adult, if a young one. Lalwen canted her head to the side and her eyes flitted off into the vegetation. She had Fingolfin’s eyes, the same brown that turned gold with just a bit of light, framed in lashes brown where Fingolfin’s were black.

“A little brother is always a little brother with his older sibling,” she said. “At least a little bit.”

“He makes a mess of his own life and then comes to me wailing about his misfortune!” said Maedhros, remembering his annoyance anew. “He never listens to me! Why tell me these things if he refuses to take my advice?”

“What has he done now?” Lalwen asked, and still on the tide of his temper, Maedhros said:

“He does the most foolish things wherever a comely Elf is concerned and he seems to seek the chance to make a mess of things! He can never settle on one thing to want, and as soon as his desire is within his gasp, he loses all interest in it!” A more tempered Maedhros would not have shared, but he was doubly irked because Maglor had recently borrowed several of his favorite hair pins without asking, and had left one of them behind with his tryst, whom he insisted he could not speak to again to get it back. “Already he has a courting companion, yet he has been seeking the company of another!” Now he felt he had to explain the rest.

“For ages did I listen to his laments about trying to win the heart of Culuina, and at last they were courting, and finally they had stopped fighting, and now he tells me he has been seeking the attentions of someone from the actor’s guild! He tells me how this Elf has no interest in him and looks right through him as if he were not even there, and he tells it with a shine in his eyes more than when he ever talks about Culuina anymore! I told him to be happy with Culuina after he spent so long in pursuit of her, but did he listen? Of course not! And rather than end their courtship as might have been honorable, now he chases down some other, like a greedy hunter!”

After this little tirade, Maedhros fell silent, flinty gray eyes narrowed, remembering all over again why he was so cross.

“How can he complain so when he’s done this all to himself? Culuina was happy with him at last, but now he’s ruined it! I don’t understand him at all.”

Lalwen shrugged.

“You know how Kanafinwë is with a pretty face. Arakáno says he’s been that way since he was young,” she said. “How old was he when he told his music teacher he would marry him?” Lalwen smiled indulgently, but Maedhros was not willing to fondly reminisce now (for the record, Maglor had been eight).

“There’s no sense in it!” Maedhros fumed insistently. “He had what he desired! And for what does he tell me these things if he never heeds my advice?”

“Perhaps he seeks only a listening ear,” Lalwen suggested.

“Nay, for he asks my opinion!” Maedhros objected. “But then he pays it no mind!”

“What advice gave you to him?” Lalwen asked.

“That he should be content with what he has!” Maedhros’ jaw clenched. “He sought so ardently after Culuina, how can he set her aside so easily? And for one who cares not for him in the slightest? So what if he has a pretty face? Culuina does as well!”

“You seem rather indignant on her behalf,” Lalwen said with seeming amusement.

“Hardly,” said Maedhros. “I have exchanged not entirely ten words with her. But Kanafinwë is a prince of the Noldor and should behave better.” Lalwen tipped her head from side to side.

“There’s not much sense in it, is there?” she said.

“None!” Maedhros said. “He loses his head entirely about romance; it’s as though he lapses into madness! How is it that so many Elves lack any kind of sense or restraint about these things?”

Lalwen was looking at him then in a way that made Maedhros remember he did not usually speak of family matters to others (even other family). There was something appraising in her look that made him decide he had said too much already and he regretted it at once. Maglor made enough of a fool of the house without him elaborating for others.

“Forgive me though, for taking so much of your time, Aunt,” he said, lowering his head and then rising to his feet, his voice at once level and impassive again. “I should not have troubled you with such trivial matters.”

“No trouble, Nelyafinwë,” she said. “I believed I came from a big family until I saw your parents’ penchant for children.” She chuckled a little. “I cannot imagine having had six brothers! Three was quite enough for me.”

“Most often they trouble me not.” Maedhros murmured out the lie. “I should have less of a temper with him.” Another lie—he believed he had every right to be just as irritated with Maglor as he was. But he should not have shared it outside the house; it did nothing to improve their image.

“What one struggles to understand may often prove an annoyance,” Lalwen posited after a moment. Maedhros gave her a critical look, then bowed his exit and went back inside. Conversations with Lalwen had a way of making him feel he had missed something, and it was not a feeling for which he cared in the slightest.

***

 “Maitimo.”

Maedhros refocused his eyes on Ammë, dredging himself up out of his thoughts.

“I did not move,” he said.

“You are making a face,” said Ammë. “Why this air of sullenness?” Falling out of his pose, Maedhros rubbed the heel of his hand between his eyes.

“’tis nothing,” he said. “I’m only tired.”

“Well, if you keep making that face, the sculpture will wear it too,” said Ammë, tapping her pencil pointedly against her sketchpad. “Oh. Sometime has it been since I saw that look.”

“No ‘look’ do I wear,” Maedhros insisted, resentful of the whining note that crept into his voice. Only Ammë could bring it out.

“There is a look,” she said. “So what is it?”

“As I said before, nothing.” Ammë flipped closed her sketchpad.

“I think we shall be done with this for today,” she said. “If you still wish to help, perhaps you can help me cut wood for the kiln.” With a sigh, Maedhros rose in acquiescence and they went out into the yard, where Ammë handed him an axe.

He was still ruminating on his conversation with Lalwen, and the sense that she had seen something in it he had failed to notice, an idea which peeved him to no end. Furthermore, it was bringing to the forefront of his memory the handful of instances in which Maglor, no doubt in an effort at brotherly camaraderie, had attempted to return the favor that Maedhros granted him in listening to his woes by asking Maedhros about his love life, a line of questioning that invariably made Maedhros both queasy and ill-tempered. If he was feeling particularly adventurous, Maglor would probe into Maedhros’ various relationships, seeking some hitherto hidden romantic intention which Maedhros insisted did not exist. Most recently, he had seized on the notion of Maedhros’ friendship with Ingwion as something that might bear fruit, a suggestion which Maedhros had been too embarrassed to even mention to Ingwion, even to have a laugh at Maglor’s efforts.

Ammë set a log down and Maedhros raised the axe. In a sense, there was something calming about the repetition of it.

Whack, whack, whack.

Maedhros hated not to understand things—it was something Grandfather had once said he shared with Atar. And what he didn’t understand now was how he could be the only one with any sense about relationships—how could everyone else be so careless and obsessed? He had even seen Curufin making eyes at other Elflings his age. When Maedhros had been Curufin’s age, the thought of romance hadn’t even entered his head! It had been as alien to him as the notion of childbirth or property taxes. Back then, he had assumed it was something that would simply come with age. Eventually, he told himself he was a late bloomer, and perhaps just needed more time to come into it than others (another idea which unsettled him—he also misliked the thought of being late to anything).

Whack, whack, whack.

Then, when he determined he must be fully matured, he theorized he simply had not met the right person yet. This made perfect sense. Maedhros was discriminating in taste about nearly everything—why should he be less particular about his romantic partners? He needed to give himself time to meet someone who could pass his standards, and then would experience one of those head-over-heels crushes which people waxed poetic about. After all, Grandfather said that Atar had had next to no interest in courtship of any kind until he met Ammë, and then everything had happened rather quickly.

Whack, whack, whack..

He supposed this theory still wasn’t disproven, but there was an uneasy feeling in his gut that he might be waiting for something which would never come. Technically, there was unlikely to be harm in this, but Maedhros did not like things unsettled. He wanted answers, cut and dry. He wanted to know where he stood. But how did one prove an absence of a thing? And what did such an absence mean?

Whack, whack, whack.

“Does this seem enough to you?” Just as Maedhros was pausing with the axe, Ammë spoke. He observed the pile of wood so far and flexed his hand against the shaft of the axe.

“Perhaps a few more,” he suggested. Ammë looked at him rather than the wood and nodded.

“Yes, I agree,” she said, and set down another log. When Maedhros had split the last of them, he felt that some of the tension in his shoulders had dissipated. He rolled them to loosen the muscles. In an uncharacteristic display of gentleness, Ammë placed a hand against the back of his head and pulled him down until she could press a fleeting kiss to his copper crown.

“This will do finely, Maitimo.” She slapped his shoulder as she drew back. “Now go on, I do not believe you shall be any more help to me today, and as I recall, you have your own work which needs doing.”

Maedhros groaned. He really had been overthinking all this if he’d forgotten, even for a moment, about that blasted essay.

***

“Yes, this is much better,” said Professor Lastarion while Maedhros intermittently held his breath as part of an effort not to fidget while sitting in front of the professor’s desk. “You have still some gaps in logic here, but this is much better.” His eyes flicked up to Maedhros’ face. “They are small, but closing them will make for the neatest possible paper. This is quite good on its own, but I will insist you see to these before the compendium’s publication.”

Having his work published would more than make up for all the effort that had gone into it, including the many late nights he had spent working by candlelight. It was something he had yearned for since his first works had gone into the student publication during his years as a pupil of the university. He had been pleased with those then, but now, to be published as an adult scholar—!

“Leading a reader through your argument is like…”

Leading a horse, Maedhros finished silently to himself.

“…leading a horse,” Lastarion finished aloud. “The slightest hole might result in a snapped ankle.” This was where the metaphor tended to fall apart for Maedhros. “You want to take your readers in an unbroken chain from point A to B to C to D…” He waved his hand in a flowing gesture. Maedhros nodded tensely, waiting for any more concrete feedback.

“It’s quite well-reasoned as a whole,” Lastarion went on. “In fact,” he said, meeting Maedhros’ eyes directly, “I believe it will be the centerpiece of the volume.”

“Thank you, professor,” said Maedhros breathlessly, feeling his heart stop for a moment.

“It has the possibility to be truly remarkable, which is why I have nitpicked so many things on it,” he said. “With a few fine-tuning touches, it will be the jewel in the crown, so to speak.” He passed the paper over to Maedhros. “Have a look at my notes. Connect these last few gaps and you will have a final product to be quite proud of, Nelyafinwë.”

“Thank you,” he said again, taking the paper, his heart jumping as if he had run up a flight of stairs. “I will see to it immediately.”

It wasn’t until he was out of the professor’s office that he let the grin spread across his face. Published! There would be something to talk about at the next party!

***

The summer sun was just edging towards too warm against Fingon’s exposed arms and legs as he lay back in the golden grass, tossing his ball up and down. He kept his eyes closed so as not to be dazzled by the brightness of the sky, but he was so familiar with the weight and fall of the ball he did not need to see it to catch it each time it came back down towards him. The thrust and fall of it was relaxing; the repetitive flexing and bunching of his well-trained muscles lulled him into calm. There was a faint breeze rustling the grass, which occasionally blew over him and swept away the worst of the heat, keeping him comfortable. Overhead, birds caroused, wheeling this way and that, occasionally dashing across the tendrils of wispy clouds that were all that marred Valinor’s skies that day. It was entirely peaceful and Fingon let out a deep breath of contentment.

Ah, but Maedhros was still talking.

“Well?” he was saying, and Fingon realized he had let slip by a crucial moment to interject with a sympathetic or disapproving noise (whichever was most appropriate) and now was being asked a question. “Am I wrong?”

He caught his pigskin ball and opened his eyes, turning to look at Maedhros’ pale, vexed face.

“Well of course you’re right,” he said. “If Makalaurë listened to you, he wouldn’t be in half as much trouble.” When he had missed a cue, it was always good to fall back on “you’re right.” That usually calmed Maedhros down.

“I told him this would happen,” he griped, and Fingon debated whether he could inquire into what “this” was without revealing that he didn’t already know.

“You know Makalaurë,” he said with a somewhat indulgent smile. “Foresight is not his gift.”

“Foresight! I would gladly settle for common sense!” He snorted. “The way this city gossips—and he thought Culuina wouldn’t find out about Eteminion?”

“Well…” Fingon began, then trailed off, not sure if Maedhros would appreciate his speculating on the less-than-admirable behavior of his brother.

“Well what?” But Maedhros would not let a thought go unsaid once it had been hinted at.

“Perhaps he wished for her to know.”

“Wished!” Maedhros exclaimed. “Why would he wish for her to know he had been unfaithful to her?” Fingon shrugged.

“Perhaps he wanted their courtship to end and knew that she would do it herself if she knew,” he said. “Or perhaps he wanted her attention.”

“He was courting her,” Maedhros said. “In what way did he not already have her attention?” Fingon shrugged and started tossing his ball again. “Do share your thoughts, Findekáno,” said Maedhros, and Fingon could hear the annoyance in his voice. A smile twitched on Fingon’s lips.

“Perhaps Makalaurë enjoys the turbulence of his relationships,” he said. “Perhaps he thought if he riled Culuina this way, it would inspire her to passion.” Maedhros was looking at him like he had just suggested they test whether the Children of Ilúvatar had the power of flight, an expression at which Fingon couldn’t help but laugh as he sat upright.

“Passionate in her anger with him, perhaps,” Maedhros said. Fingon shrugged. Anger was passion, of a sort. “For what could he ever want such a thing? I think you have been laying in the sun too long.” Fingon laughed again.

“Is it so hard to understand?” he said. “Never have you wished to make another jealous to prove their affection for you?”

“Never!” said Maedhros, looking perfectly appalled. “Have you?”

“Once or twice,” said Fingon, shrugging one shoulder. “Never have I done it thought—it is rather immature, is it not? Although for Eteminion?” He grinned. “He would be worth the effort! Have you seen him on stage? There is an Elf who knows passion!” Maedhros was still looking at him like he’d gone crazy. “No? You find him not attractive?” he said.

“I never thought about it,” said Maedhros. “I do not watch plays to drool over the actors.”

“Are you accusing me of drooling, Russandol!” Fingon laughed. “One can appreciate both the art and also the bodies behind it!” Maedhros’ look had gone sulky, the way it did when they spoke overlong of issues concerning romance. “Perhaps you and Makalaurë simply cannot see eye-to-eye on this,” he suggested.

“I think perhaps we cannot,” said Maedhros quietly, picking at the grass. “It makes no sense to me, Findekáno, not even when you speak of it.”

“What doesn’t?”

“The way people behave when they find another attractive,” said Maedhros. “How do they manage to lose all sense of reason?”

“That is nature of love and sex,” said Fingon with a little smile. “It renders one a little insane…but that isn’t always bad. One may enjoy a touch of madness.” Maedhros was just looking at him, indirectly, still tearing at bits of grass.

“It makes no sense to me,” he repeated, softer still.

It took Fingon a moment to gather that perhaps Maedhros was trying to tell him something. (He was not always very good at picking up on these things, which Turgon had told him.) Sobering, he folded his legs, setting his ball in the space between.

“You know,” he observed after a pause, “I believe Auntie Irimë is that way.”

“What way?”

“I mean, that she agrees with you. She is unwed,” said Fingon. “And I have never known her to express a desire for it.”

“Aunt Findis is unwed also,” said Maedhros.

Fingon shrugged.

“Auntie Findis has always been a bit aloof, has she not?” Maedhros was shredding a long blade of grass between his fingers, a furrow between his eyebrows. Aunt Findis also spent a great deal of time out of Tirion, and was not in general inclined to discuss such things around her nieces and nephews, which made it harder to guess at her stance.

“Russandol,” said Fingon, and when Maedhros was looking at him, he pitched the leather ball right at Maedhros’ face. His nose was spared the unfortunate content by his quick reflexes, and then he glared in a way that would have made their cousins cower (it was rather reminiscent of Uncle Fëanor).

“What was that for?” he demanded.

“You are thinking no longer about your problem, are you?” said Fingon cheerfully. “You’re welcome!” The ball clocked Fingon in the head right before Maedhros tackled him.

***

It pleased the king to host, as frequently as he could, large dinners for the entire extended family. Atar always insisted they were there, to a man, and there was little that could excuse one from the event—academic demands were about the only thing. Grandfather Finwë would throw a celebratory dinner for nearly anything—Princess Findis visiting from Valmar or the start of a new season or a grandchild getting a particularly good grade or Atar finishing a new project—but often he hosted them for no reason at all. That night’s dinner was one of that sort.

The dining hall was bedecked in lanterns alongside the lamps of Atar’s design and the seats around the table had been cleared to allow family and guests to take food and wander at will. Maedhros and his brothers, as always, were dressed to the nines, as Atar would not tolerate them arriving at any event of his father’s smirched in soot or dirt, or dressed unsuitably. The particular headpiece Maedhros had chosen for that night demanded he move with stately grace, or it was going to fall off his head and with the weight of it, probably take out someone’s foot in the process. (It did look very fine though, and he had spent several minutes in front of his mirror admiring the effect.)

Choosing the right time to approach Lalwen meant not accosting her as soon as they arrived, while ensuring she wasn’t able to slip off before Maedhros got to speak with her. It would need to look natural—he was not interested in anyone else thinking he had cause to seek out his aunt. For a few moments he lingered around the wine with Maglor, to reassure him that there was nothing amiss between then despite Maedhros’ earlier annoyance. Maglor was then distracted by one of his many musical rivals and disappeared to go boast under the guise of conversation.

When Maedhros did approach Lalwen at the table, he didn’t get his greeting past his lips before she said: “You took your time.” Then she turned to look at him, seeming amused with his expression. “I will give your subtlety is much improved on that of your brothers, but your eyes have been burning a hole in me since you arrived, Nelyafinwë.”

“You knew,” he said, deciding Lalwen did not need a lead-in. Lalwen shrugged.

“I theorized,” she said.

“But you said nothing of it. Why?” Lalwen added a few more dumplings to her plate and considered.

“You seem to me rather reserved,” she said. “And we have not spoken much. I did not think you would appreciate my theorizing, nor take it to heart. Some conclusions we must reach on our own, in our own time.” Maedhros was somewhat troubled that she had gathered so much about him despite the brevity and infrequency of their interactions.

“And are you?”

“I am,” she said, flicking her eyes up to him.

“How did you know?” She shrugged.

“It is harder to see a lack of a thing, but at some point, it becomes apparent. Anyway, it is not as uncommon as you might think. It is simply not spoken of.”

“And…Aunt Findis is…?” Lalwen let out a burst of laughter.

“Findis? No, not her. She’s only excessively particular—about what is she not particular—and will take only women as long-term partners.”

“Does…do people…know?” he asked.

“About me?” she asked. “Some do. Some may have guessed by now. My siblings know. But,” she added abruptly, holding up a finger, “that was by my choice only. Such things are private, and no one has a right to know what you do not wish to tell. This you should bear in mind, Nelyafinwë. To none do you owe answers or explanations about this. If I may offer counsel, as your aunt, little though I have taken the role—” This being the fault more of Atar than of Lalwen, Maedhros suspected, for she was close with both the children of Fingolfin and of Finarfin, “—let no one pressure you to speak when you would not. Your heart is your own business, and no one else’s.” She turned to go, paused, and glanced back. “There are many kinds of love. An absence of one does not mean an absence of all.”

Then someone was waving her down from the side of the hall and she departed with a last glance at Maedhros over her shoulder. In pensive silence, he took a few pork buns and meandered off out of the way of those trying to reach the table.

Witnessing Elves in the bliss of courtship and wedlock, it was easy to feel cheated. Taking in the countless works of art labored over with such effort and devotion for the sake of romantic love—for a particular paramour, or simply for the notion of it—it was hard not to be frustrated at his own lack of perspective and understanding. Hearing the way others spoke of romance and of marriage—how could he not feel the rest of the world was in a joke he simply didn’t get? Yet Lalwen seemed content.

“Russandol!” He recognized Celegorm’s excited call as he tore himself out of his thoughts. His brother was coming towards him with an ear-to-ear grin that usually spelled Trouble, and even more concerning, with him was Fingon, who rarely spent time in the company of Maedhros’ brothers, less still without him present.

“What are you doing?” he demanded.

“Not what I’m doing,” said Celegorm in a poor pantomime of innocence. “What Findekáno and Irissë are doing.” Maedhros’ eyes snapped over to Fingon, who grinned.

“And what are Findekáno and Irissë doing?”

“Grandfather has some fireworks from your father he has saved for a special occasion,” said Fingon.

“And?” said Maedhros.

“And Irissë and I have decided tonight is a special occasion,” said Fingon.

“And why is that?” Fingon shrugged.

“Because it is!” he said. “Tyelko is coming with us. Are you? When the party begins to wind down?” Maedhros scrutinized the pair, opposed in so many ways, but united over the opportunity to make things explode in pretty colors. They were both grinning at him, pleased as a bird on the wind with the prospect of their stolen pyrotechnics.

“Come on, Russandol!” wheedled Celegorm. “Come with us! It will be such fun!”

“I suppose I shall have to,” Maedhros sighed with feigned resignation. “Someone must make sure you burn nothing down by mistake.” Fingon pumped his fist in triumph.

“I shall come and find you when we’re ready!” he said, hurrying off for more food. Celegorm flashed a double thumbs-up and went to go steal sweets from Caranthir. There were plenty on the table, but he insisted the ones he took from their younger brothers and cousins tasted better.

The Arafinweans were in from Alqualondë for at least the next few weeks, which meant Maedhros could pick out their golden heads among the rest of the dark-haired Elves. Finarfin himself was there with Fingolfin, debating over what to take from the table, while Queen Indis leaned over the table to remark to them both. Finrod was over by a window with Turgon and a friend, where they were all in animated conversation about something, which presently involved Turgon using cheese cubes to make a demonstration (Finrod gave a wave when he saw Maedhros looking in their direction). Aunt Eärwen, warmly tanned after several months in her hometown, had her had bowed by Aunt Anairë’s, speaking lowly as they did when they wanted no one to intrude on their conversation. Atar was crouched beside Grandfather’s seat, listening attentively to whatever was being said, while Finwë observed his guests. Aegnor and Amrod were either playing or squabbling, it was hard to say, and either way it was happening perilously close to a pedestal housing a priceless vase. Lalwen was leaning back against a red column in easy conversation with the friends who had summoned her away from him before.

Something which had been tense in Maedhros for some time relaxed slightly. Ammë had warned him he had a tendency to overthink things and while he privately considered Ammë habitually underthought things, perhaps in this instance, there was truth there. Maybe Lalwen was right—maybe he was too worried about something that did not bear worrying about.

His bigger concern, in all truth, needed to be making sure Fingon did not set those fireworks off around a building.

#aspecardaweek #aspecardaweek2023 #maedhros #fingon #lalwen #lalwende #nerdanel #the silmarillion #tolkien tag #fanfiction #tolkien fanfiction

[ceescedasticity]

fic: not titled yet but it's another absence of evidence thing, part 1 out of probably 3?

At Narvi's usual greeting question at their monthly meetings — "And what are you working on today, my friend?" — Celebrimbor made a face.

"Something that does not agree with me at all," he said. "I have been writing."

"But you draw runes so beautifully!" Narvi replied, mock-shocked.

"Very funny." Celebrimbor slumped back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. "It has occurred to me that if I am going to put my grandfather's star on my city, I should make sure our history has a better account of his descendants than Loremaster Pengolodh has thus far written. Perhaps my father and uncles do not deserve it, but my cousins and my sister do."

Narvi blinked. "I… did not know you had a sister?"

"It seems most people do not. You would think they would deduce I had a mother, but for some reason people seem surprised when I mention her, too. Never mind— Actually, would you mind reading some of my drafts?"

"Not at all."

"I mean to show the finished work to Lady Galadriel, but not… this." Celebrimbor opened a desk drawer — one of the ones with a puzzle-lock — and drew out a sheaf of messy papers. "Here, here's what I have for my mother and sister—"

Curufin wed the jeweler Maltarainë Maltataniel Maltraen Maltheniel Maltwegiel.

"I forgot for a moment that that grandfather did live long enough to take a Sindarin name… We did see him occasionally in Beleriand, but he fell out with Atya — I think Atya made some insensitive remarks about my maternal uncles — and went to follow my uncle Caranthir instead, so we were not close."

Narvi raised his eyebrows. "If I recall the history correctly, the Lord of Thargelion was, ah, not particularly known for sensitivity himself…"

"No. I can only assume my maternal uncles never came up in Caranthir's presence."

As one might expect of the woman Curufin wed, she was a skilled artisan and entirely loyal to Fëanor, as were all her nearest family. Maltraen carried the feud where Nerdanel was unwilling to, among the noblewomen of Tirion. She was as disrespectful to Indis and Anairë as she could get away with, and actively pursued rivalries with Edhellos and Elenwë. Even when there was friendship between Curufin and Angrod, Maltraen and Edhellos remained at odds, though some said there was a kinship buried under the rivalry. And when distance grew between Fëanor and Nerdanel, Maltraen turned against Nerdanel as well.

The paragraph had been written out and struck through twice. "I gather you're not sure about this part?"

"It seems… sordid, I suppose. Like something that would be included to make people think worse of her. It's just so… foundational to how I remember Amil that I don't want to cut it out completely." Celebrimbor sighed. "I don't think Atya even knew how she got about Grandmother in Formenos. She never did it in hearing of him or my uncles — or my grandfather. That would have gone over poorly. Grandfather didn't always speak well of Grandmother, either, but he was the only one permitted to do that."

Narvi would have liked to attribute all this to elvish dysfunctionality, but it strict honesty there were dwarven houses nearly as bad. (Nearly.) Instead of trying to unpack any of it, he asked, "Were Angrod and Edhellos married? I'm not recalling those names."

"What? Oh, yes. Angrod was one of Lady Galadriel's brothers — not Felagund, she had two others — and Edhellos was his wife. They were also Gil-galad's grandparents." Celebrimbor reached for a pen. "I'll at least put in the rivalry with Edhellos. And I should mention Indis and Anairë."

Maltraen carried the feud where Nerdanel was unwilling to, among the noblewomen of Tirion. Her rivalry with Edhellos wife of Angrod was a regular fixture of Finwe's court. Even when there was friendship between Curufin and Angrod, Maltraen and Edhellos remained at odds, though some said there was a kinship buried under the rivalry. Nor was Maltraen a friend to Indis or to the wives of the house of Fingolfin.

"How's that?"

"Easier to understand," Narvi agreed. "Only the wives?"

"She wasn't trying to pick fights with Lady Galadriel or Aredhel Ar-Feiniel, no."

Curufin and Maltraen had a son Celebrimbor; much has already been written of him and he dwells yet in Middle-earth. But they also had a daughter, Heledhwen. She was the delight of everyone in Formenos.

"Not a position I envied her."

All who knew Maltraen wife of Curufin would have predicted she would be among the first to follow Fëanor on his quest, but she was not. Like many of Fëanor's followers, Maltraen was in Formenos when Morgoth came; like all others in Formenos save Finwë himself, she fled from Morgoth's approach. After Morgoth left with the Silmarils, those who had fled dispersed in various ways. Some went to inform Fëanor; some went to seek help; some set up temporary camp. Maltraen was one of those who ventured into the holdfast to see what had happened there. They confirmed Finwë's death and the ransacking of the treasury.

"Where were you, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Not at all. I was wasting everyone's time trying to convince my uncle Amras that I was old enough to be part of the perimeter they were setting up."

"How old were you?"

"Old enough, but Amras was the baby of the family and took being older than me very seriously, so he would never admit that. Hence it being a waste of time."

While more messengers went forth, Maltraen remained inside Formenos, to tend to Finwë's body. She was aided by others, some of whom had dealt with bodies before in Cuiviénen or in the aftermath of accidents, but she was there the entire time until Fëanor returned, in near-darkness, in the wreckage.

"I'm not sure I'm… conveying properly, the bravery it took to do that, under those circumstances. The Darkening— Well, I'm not the only one who struggles with that."

Fëanor arrived and screamed wailed howled keened already in the deepest grief and the heights of rage. All heard his cries, but his words He spoke It has not been reported what he said then, to his sons or his law-daughter or the Valar to anyone else.

"…Another difficult paragraph here?"

"Everyone knows he was — very, very affected. I don't want to go on about it unnecessarily, but it was significant… I'm not sure I should use that exact wording, either, because I'm not certain it was never reported. I haven't seen any record of it and no one would report it to me. There were arguments among my uncles over whether he had meant whatever it is that he said, but no one ever told me what that was."

…Ominous.

What is known is that when the Noldor were regrouping in Tirion, Maltraen was overcome with horror: of Morgoth, of the Darkness, and of Fëanor. She could not bring herself to go nearer to any of them.

Celebrimbor's eyes were haunted. "What I was most struck by even then was that my father did not try to argue with or reproach her. I think he knew that if something had happened sufficient to rattle her faith, there would be no mending it with words. Her brothers tried. It went badly."

"These would be the same brothers who your father made insensitive remarks about later?"

"Oh yes."

Maltraen proposed that Heledhwen should remain with her. Curufin might have agreed, save that he felt that darkened, near-abandoned Tirion under the dubious protection of the Valar was surely no safer than the heart of the Noldorin host.

"She didn't ask about you?" Narvi asked. "I suppose being older, and a man…"

"I think she would have wanted me to stay if I had been as young as my sister. As it is… I do not believe anyone ever questioned whether I would go, not even I."

So Curufin brought both his children as the host marched, and after the fighting died down they were called forward to ride through the charnel-house made of Alqualondë's piers to the bloodied swan-ships. Celebrimbor bade Heledhwen close her eyes, but she saw enough to be frightened.

"This leaves out the part where my uncles Amras and Amrod continued to treat me like a child, so I sat with Heledhwen outside the city the whole night instead of finding out whether I had it in me to slay kin."

Narvi didn't think there was anything to say to that, so he patted Celebrimbor's hand and read on.

Maltraen's brothers Maltaparmo and Maltayondo were slain by the defenders of Alqualondë, and their father Maltweg was very wroth.

"The brothers, I see."

"Maltatan was angry about them dying, angry that neither they nor Atya had gotten Amil to leave Tirion, and very angry that Atya said they were asses who'd had one job and botched it."

"What did they do?"

"I never had the nerve to ask."

#a tolkien tag #reckless application of spackle

[superloves4]

While I slog through a fic I actually really want to tell (the joys of writing!) I decided to talk about that Feanor as Melkor's son AU I mentioned in my tags

So far I have three possibilities, from least realized to most:

Feanor as Melkor and Mairon bio baby, so far I don't really have much for this one, the Valar find baby Feanor after Melkor's imprisonment (haven't decided why Mairon wouldn't have escaped with the baby) and give him to Finwe to raise (I hadn't realized it doesn't makes sense for Miriel to die in this one until now, so either she doesn't and it's full throwing away canon or in this one she doesn't exist and Finwe just didn't want to tell Feanor who his real parents were, it's both sad and funny)

Baby Feanor kidnap adopted by Melkor, the timeline is bothering me here, maybe Feanor is born before Melkor's imprisonment? Or he leaves imprisonment way before the original? I mostly wanted this to be funny about Melkor and Mairon getting so attached and wanting so bad to be good parents to feral child Feanor that they actually get redeemed (although dark!Feanor x Nerdanel is very intriguing)

And the one I (unfortunately) have the most on (as of right now) is Feanor as Melkor... and Miriel's son, I jokingly thought about this one but alas it got bigger than I expected, so: Melkor decides to go mess with the elves only to find Miriel collecting bugs (they're silk worms, weird bug girl Miriel for the win!) and he gets actually quite impressed with her desire to not settle with the world and wanting to make it prettier with fabrics, they fall in love (or as much in love Melkor can be, so far he is more like canon evil Melkor than the softer one of the other two ideas) but when she finds out who he is, she runs away and falls for Finwe instead.

Finwe is then totally cool with raising Miriel's child because he loves her so much but Miriel keeps feeling she's awful for her previous love for Melkor, combined with the power required to sustain a half-ainur child, and ends up dying.

Finwe of course, absolutely adores little Feanor despite not being his bio dad, and thus names him Finwion (later Curufinwe), but raising a half-ainur child is not easy, especially when you can't actually ask anyone for help without revealing the truth, so Finwe just has to deal with eldritch child Feanor, alone.

(like, one time there's a teacher Feanor hates because he heard the teacher say that Feanor killed Miriel, so Feanor gives the teacher a bracelet he doesn't even understand how he made cursed, the teacher then complains to Finwe, who is just trying to understand how to explain to his son that he can't do that, also he fires the teacher)

Then it's basically the same as canon up until Melkor return, because instead of trying to create discord he arrives and realizes Feanor's his son and tries to pull a Darth Vader and convince Feanor to join him.

Feanor is, of course, against the idea but Melkor is convinced that if he reveals Feanor's true parentage in the upcoming festival then the uproar and hate will cause Feanor to be more willing.

Only, right before he can make his announcement Feanor shows up wearing the silmarils (Melkor decides to rename him Lightbringer but I haven't figured out what that is in Quenya) and instead of going along with Melkor, Feanor

Bows. to. MANWE!!!!!

And does a whole speech about Melkor trying to deceive him by claiming he isn't Finwe's son (Feanor already realized the truth, he's just rejecting it) and doing a whole spectacle of proof

The Finwe family isn't stupid and to Feanor's surprise, the first person to join his show is INDIS!!! Joined then (in order) by Nolo, Nerdanel, and Maglor (if it was political it would be Maedhros but it's a performance remember)

Manwe isn't stupid and understands what they are doing so when Melkor tries to say that it's all Finwe's lie he just tells Melkor that it was clear that Feanor was Finwe's son

Melkor storms out (he still plans to destroy the trees but his objective is Feanor instead of just the silmarils) and the Finweans leave too

Feanor has a cathartic talk and cry with his dad while the rest of the family discuss what this means for them all, Feanor is now more open to his half-family and his relation to the other Valas is totally different, and how that could end up having happier ending to the story.

And that's how much I have of this one, it compels me but it's the only one that I have no idea of how to add Melkor x Mairon and the original idea was about THEM as parents whereas this one is about the original Finweans in a different situation so I'm conflicted

#will I ever write any of these? #maybe when it's less hot and I can actually think #feanor as an eldritch child is so good to me #between this and the “feanor is a third thingol” I think I just like giving him more parents #maybe more parents will fix his attachment issues #or make it worse #feanorians #feanor #house of feanor #silmarillion #the silmarillion #silm #possible fic idea? #my writing #the melkor and miriel was totally because I thought “hehe they're black and white” #I don't control my brain clearly #melkor #morgoth #finwe #house of finwe #miriel #miriel therinde #just throwing it into the void #feanor son of melkor au

[tanoraqui]

excerpT Tuesday

Inspired by the excellent pieces @thelordofgifs has been sharing of their Fëanor/Nerdanel fic, I wrote a whole little scene of my very-slowly-written Finarfin Beats the Shit Out Of Morgoth fic! [not real title]

Unsurprisingly, the gathered forces of the last of the Noldor and their allies, armed and ready for a venture into the very realm of Discord, ended up waiting outside Angband’s fallen gates while engineers and scouts did their best to confirm that the entrance itself wouldn’t slay the next elf to set foot within it. Thus was war!

Finarfin stood easily. His way forward was clear. He watched from across the rallying-ground as Elwing and Eärendil’s sons, who wished to join the main thrust of the attack, argued with Gil-Galad, Galadriel and Maglor, all briefly united in strident opposition to that wish. It was the most genuinely animated that Finarfin had seen Maglor on this cursed shore.

“How is the sword?” asked Celebrimbor, who, like his last living uncles, had invited himself unasked into Finarfin’s vanguard. For this final battle, for the first time that Finarfin had seen, he wore plate and surcoat emblazoned with the eight-pointed star. In addition to his own ruby-hilted greatsword, he bore half a dozen throwing knives, narrow blades all marked with Curufin’s personal crest.

He also retained a distinctly proprietary interest in the craft of his own hands, even when it had been a collaborative project and already handed off to its proper wielder. Finarfin had made his own sword in Aman, the first he’d ever owned, after he woke one night from pain like claws in his chest and knew his firstborn dead. Scant years after knowing, in his and Eärwen’s hearts if nothing else, their second- and thirdborns dead, and Fingolfin at their heels, and countless others. He had consulted philosophies on the nature of Ainur, on the nature of Discord and its defiance, and—with no clear thought of when he’d use it, only that it was this or fade from grief—he’d forged a blade honed for the specific purpose of slaying Melkor.

When he’d arrived in Middle Earth at last, after countless more wrenching deaths and a Silmaril-flash of hope, he’d shown it to Celebrimbor, who was much grown from the restless octogenarian Finarfin remembered. Fëanor’s grandson had held it for a few moments, murmuring, “Oh…oh!”; interrogated him on its making for an hour; then vanished. They’d repeated this interaction several times over the next decades, until one day Celebrimbor, along with a dwarf and man whose names Finarfin never learned but who bore the signs of master crafters, presented him with a new sword. It was called Anan-Noldoron, Justice of the Noldor, he was informed in no uncertain terms; and it would achieve his aims, if anything could.

He drew it now, in the sunlight before Morgoth’s cracked-open gates. Anan-Noldoron shone like flame in the rays of Laurelin’s legacy. Its balance was perfect. It was long, but Finarfin was tall. It brought some of the same peace and purity as the hospital tents, honed to a ruthless edge.

Celebrimbor took it unasked, tested its weight, and handed it back with a judicious nod. He hadn’t really outgrown his youthful restlessness.

Across the field, Elrond and Elros lost their argument, and were consigned to the forces who would stay outside, at the back of the forces waiting to catch the flushed prey. Galadriel thoroughly won hers; her young king, Gil-Galad, looked surprised to realize he’d agreed to stay with them.

(Finarfin knew his daughter followed him into strategy meetings for her own ambition and because she knew that he couldn’t bear to turn her away. She called him “Father” and he drank it in; she never addressed him with any formal title that diplomacy didn’t demand.)

The engineers declared themselves satisfied and all the scouts returned alive and unharmed.

Finarfin hadn’t resheathed his sword. He gestured, and Amarië raised her trumpet to sound the final advance.

Tagging anyone who is inspired to work on their own stubborn WIP!

#the silmarillion #finarfin #my fic #sometimes you are simply seized by the fatal noldorin need to kill a god

[lamemaster]

Call Me Mommy (Nerdanel x Reader)

Pairing: Nerdanel x Reader

AN: I love her and I write this with my heart. I am a proud and shameless Nerdanel simp.

"What are YOU doing here?" Makalaure now known as Maglor asks you.

"Hmm let me think," you dramatically tap a finger on your head as you don a brooding pose. "Wait a second what are you and your brothers doing here? Last I heard you left for the noble quest of avenging your grandfather."

Maglor glares at you with whatever meager rage is leftover after all the ages worth of suffering. "How long have you been here?" In this situation 'here' is the very spacious and 'constructed optimally to capture the best sunlight throughout the day' house that Nerdanel owns.

Despite the confrontational tone, you cannot bring yourself to be mad at the princeling in front of you. "I have been here for four ages," you ease back into your chair trying to ease the pain in your back, age certainly was catching up with you. Despite being immortal it was creeping into your bones. "Someone had to be here," you try not to remember the earlier days of your presence in this house.

It had been a ruin. A house decaying with its owner, who was none other than your friend, Nerdanel. Someone you grew up with. The one you shared your days of prime with. Your partner in stealing peaches from a guarded orchard and your companion in getting caught running away with the fruit.

"Are you trying to take my father's place now that he has been doomed from the world? Trying to woo my mother in her vulnerable state?" Your breath hitches at the accusations. You turn around trying to sense another presence besides yours and Maglor. There is none but relief is short-lived.

Maybe you should have expected this but then again expectations have always failed you...most of them have. "I expected nothing Prince Maglor. I stopped doing that long ago."

It had stopped when your friend gushed to you about the Noldor prince who came to study at Mahtan's. You had smiled with her and laughed with her, you celebrated her love for another with her. You could not fail her as her friend. Your heart would not allow that.

"I have been here nothing more than a friend." You try to ease the agitated elf next to you. It wasn't surprising that Maglor had caught on to your secret. He was smarter than his brothers, sharper with his mind and his notes. "And trust me, I got the hint when she had seven of you with your father." You try not to remember the vivid letter that Nerdanel sent you announcing each one of her pregnancies.

"I will believe what I want," Noldo announces with arrogance lacing his words. Irmo's healers were too good at their job. From the crazed seaside elf to this...they should have worked a little less on his pride.

You stand up from your chair. Straightening your gown you prepare to leave before Maglor can further stall you. "Well then I guess you can call me mommy," you barely restrain your laugh at Maglor's half disgusted, half shook expression.

Maglor sits next to his mother on a chair so high that his legs barely touch the ground. But he does not care, he is sure his mother will catch him at the slightest falter.

His mother sits on her desk which is sprawling with designs for sculptures and other commissions. However, today a section of the brimming desk is meticulously cleared to spread out a series of letters.

Maglor listens carefully as his mother reads to him every single letter. The letters speak of his grandpa Mahtan's town. They are vivid and written in painstaking detail.

They seem to delight his mother. And Maglor giggles with his mother. He mirrors her smile and laughter.

However, in moments when his mother is caught in reading the words Maglor's smile crumbles. Despite the jolly words and colorful scenes painted by the writer of the letters, Maglor can't help but sense the lingering desire for something unsaid.

Late at night when Maglor lies in his bed he cannot help but imagine a solitary writer putting all those words into a piece of paper just for his mother. A writer who does that with a hidden motive.

#the silmarillion #tolkien elves #Nerdanel x reader #nerdanel #maglor #i love her so much #this is me wanting her #unrequited love