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animatorweirdo · 7 months

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Imagine rescuing Finrod with your dragon

Link for the First headcanon

Requested by Anon

Hi Animator Weirdo! Might I request a one shot/mini fic where Ann (Ancalagon) and reader go and save Finrod and Beren, trash Sauron’s place and maybe even steal a silmaril later on? Thank you! And congratulations on the 500 followers! 🎉🥳

( I only recently realized you wanted a one shot kind of fic. I'm sorry. I ended up making a mixed headcanon/one shot, so I hope you still like it)

Warnings: mentions of Celegorm and Curufin being a pair of bricks, mentions of loneliness, fear, manipulation, imprisonment, burning orcs, and werewolves, saving Finrod, Ann having too much fun wrecking Sauron's place, and a lighthearted ending.

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- If you had known how things would have turned out for Finrod, when he left with Beren to claim a silmaril from Morgoth's crown, you would have tried harder to convince him to take you and Ann with him.

- Ever since he rescued you from the river and allowed your dragon friend to live in Nargothrond despite the differences— you were not willing to lose him to anything, including his oath. He was too important and dear to you for you to lose him to death.

- He first refused your offer to join him when Beren arrived in Nargothrond to seek his aid and when the two sons of Feanor, Celegorm, and Curufin, threatened his people to become unwilling to join him with only a handful of people ready to aid him on this journey.

- He feared for your safety, and despite the advantages your dragon friend could provide him, he wanted you both to remain in Nargothrond, away from the enemy’s hands.

- Your heart swelled for his consideration for your dragon's safety, even if it took months for his people to get accustomed and accept one of Morgoth's creations living among them. However, it only made you more determined to see him return safely, but despite your reasonings and fears, Finrod convinced you to stay.

- He left Nargothrond under Orodreth Care and you with false hopes that things might turn out alright in the end.

- You missed him terribly, and things began to change rapidly when he was no longer governing Nargothrond. The Feanorian princes saw an opportunity to take charge and appeal as more eligible leaders to Finrod's people, trying to overshadow Orodreth. And to your concern, Finrod’s people seem to take on their side each day despite Orodreth's rightful kingship.

- Luckily, some didn't and remained strictly on Orodreth's side. Most being those who still held grudges toward the brothers for something they had done in the past.

- You have never been fond of the brothers. They were arrogant and looked down upon you and Finrod for having a relationship because you were a human. They had even jabbed at you for your past, calling you Morgoth’s thrall, and even tried to make you look like a spy when you ventured to Angband to free Ann and returned on his back to Nargothrond.

- That stunt might have made you look like one, but you have never been one of Morgoth's thralls.

- They always played with people's fears, and perhaps since you had a dragon on your side, most of Finrod's people remained on Orodreth's side. It was not something you hoped for, but it seemed to help preventing the Feanorians from taking full control of Nargothrond and possibly overthrowing Orodreth.

- It was a stressful situation, and you couldn't seek much comfort from anyone except Orodreth and Ann, who had taken a liking to residing in one of Nargothrond's caves and guarding its treasures. He made an excellent treasure guard.

- Despite Ann's size and indifference toward emotional affairs, he knew how to make you feel safe and calmly talked about events that helped you feel better. He even allowed you to rest against his warm scales. It was an old habit whenever you wanted a moment of peace and quiet, even though lying on hoards of gold was not very comfortable.

- When days passed, your anxiety for Finrod's well-being only grew, especially when one of the Feanorians had begun trying to sweet talk to you. You never thought you would find someone's voice so agitating, and you hated acting polite and well-mannered with the Feanorian but knew you would end up in trouble if you didn't.

- Then, the day arrived when the Feanorians brought an elven princess from Doriath.

- There was something suspicious about it because the Feanorians should have brought her to meet with Orodreth as a matter of courtesy. However, when she suddenly seemed to vanish, and no new information was heard about her, you decided to investigate.

- You first tried getting it out from the Feanorians, and they claimed she was just a guest and wasn't available at the moment. She was resting or something.

- You were familiar with their patterns of lying, and then you found out in secret that the princess was, in fact, Luthien, the elven princess Beren has fallen in love with. The Feanorian brothers were keeping her as a prisoner and planned to marry her off to one of them despite the laws and the very nature of the elves. You found that utterly disgusting, and they once claimed humans were the only ones who could do such things.

- You knew how much Thingol hated the Noldor and how possibly a civil war could be born if he found out his only daughter was married against her will, so you decided to act quickly since her appearance also meant something was wrong with Beren and Finrod.

- You convinced Orodreth to assist you in retaining the two while you released Luthien from the room they had locked her in. Orodreth may have been easy to persuade, but his fear of Thingol's wrath outweighed any influence the Feanorians could exert, so he was firmly on your side.

- Luthien was incredibly grateful to you and explained how she saw visions of Beren and Finrod suffering in Sauron's isle of werewolves, where they had been captured and tortured with a ravenous wolf hiding in the shadows.

- Having a valid reason to leave, you allowed Luthien to go first upon Huan as the hound was against his master's treacherous actions and handled the Feanorians first before departing.

- Due to their vicious plan, they quickly fell out of favor with Finrod's and their people. You received Orodreth's assurance that they would be dealt with accordingly, and given the severity of their actions, they will most likely face banishment.

- After all that, you and Ann were good to leave. Finrod needed you more than anything.

- One perk of having a flying dragon is that you can get to places much faster than any horse or dog. You didn't waste time planning Finrod's rescue when you finally reached Tol-in-Gaurhoth, the isle of the werewolves. You did hope you were not too late to save your beloved from the fangs of death.

—-

The orcs and werewolves of Toul-In-Gauroth were unprepared for the attack. They were taken by surprise when a fierce wind swept through like a violent hurricane, tearing their master's banners from their places and drowning out all other sounds with what seemed like thunder.

The orcs in the towers had no time to sound the alarms as they witnessed a shadow descending from the sky, its wings enveloping Tol-In-Gauroth.

Only one managed to cry out and alert the others of the approaching beast. "Attack!" the orc screamed as fire engulfed the tower.

The black dragon unleashed a torrent of flames upon the towers and walls. The wretched orcs and werewolves wailed in agony as the dragon's fiery breath consumed them. Their screams of pain reached the fortress's lord, sounding the alarm.

Ann glided around the fortress as smoke pillars billowed from within its walls and the remnants of crushed towers. He landed gracefully on one of the remaining intact towers, gripping it tightly with his claws. With his immense strength, he began tearing through the stone and steel.

The orcs tried defending their fortress, shooting arrows at the dragon, which only bounced away after hitting his armored scales. Ann swiped his tail against the orcs, swatting them away like flies.

Ann then ignored the screaming of orcs and the howling of the wolves, who ran away from the sight of him and began sniffing the air, trying to find a certain scent. When he found the scent emanating from the lower parts of the fortress, he crushed the walls and the ceilings through his closed fist, allowing you to slip in through his fingers where you had hidden before the attack.

You looked around while Ann pulled his fist away and continued tearing the fortress apart, keeping the attention of Sauron and the defenders upon himself.

After ensuring the coast was clear, you ventured into the dungeon, intending to find and free your beloved and his foolish company.

Finrod, Beren, and the rest of their companions were taken by surprise when the stone walls of their cell began to shake, releasing dust and pebbles from the force. The wolf that had preyed upon them from the shadows had left, and a roar was heard from the outside of the dungeon. Finrod's eyes widened as he recognized the roar.

They then heard the door to their cell open, and Finrod saw you walking in with a set of keys and your axe in your hands.

"(Name)? What are you doing here?!" Finrod demanded in shock as you began opening their chains.

"Rescuing you!" you replied as you hit their shackles and chains open with your axe when the keys failed.

"From now on, you will not tell me to stay behind, especially when you end up captured by the enemy and when I have a bloody dragon who is more than willing to wreck his former master's place to free you," you stated as you helped him and Beren up.

"Come on. We need to leave fast before Sauron notices something," you said as you led him, Beren, and the rest of their company out of the fortress.

Ann ripped the fortress apart, crumbling the stone with his weight and setting fire to the rest of Sauron's werewolves.

A shadow rose from the fallen ruin, standing before the great dragon.

"Ancalagon!" Sauron yelled in fury. "Is this how you betray your masters, you traitor?!" he demanded as the dragon looked down upon him with a golden glare. "You fool!" Ann said in a grumbling voice. "I was never yours to begin with!" his eyes blazed brighter with golden fire.

Ann's chest began to glow. Sauron backed away when Ann opened his jaws and then released a barrage of fire upon the Maia.

Sauron changed forms and narrowly escaped in the form of a vampire. He cursed the dragon as there was nothing he could do to save his fortress and forces and flew toward the north.

You watched as Ann continued wrecking the fortress before turning your attention to Finrod and his company. Luthien had arrived later, riding upon Huan and reuniting with her beloved Beren. Finrod’s companions took the chance to enjoy the light and fresh air after being trapped in Sauron’s dungeon for so long. You began tending to Finrod’s injuries.

“Ann seems to have fun wrecking the fortress,” you stated as you wrapped his injured hands and legs in the bandages you had brought along. “I hope you don’t mind that,” you said, and Finrod dryly chuckled at your sentence.

“No…” he uttered. “At least, he ensures Tol Sirion can never be used by the enemy again. And it kinda of looks better. Sauron had a terrible taste in the design and the interior,” he explained, making you snort. “I guess it does look better,” you commented after you finished wrapping and offered him water.

Finrod grabbed the waterskin from your hands and stared at it with a look on his face before glancing at Beren and his other companions. “Don’t worry. I brought extra,” you showed the other waterskin you had taken with you. “I came in a rush, but I planned ahead what you might need after rescuing you,” you stated. Finrod chuckled. “You always come prepared,” he noted. “Well… after doing a few trips away from Angand and doing a trip there once. You learn a thing or two when it comes to preparing, and trust me– you do not want to taste the water in Morgoth’s lands,” you said.

“I trust you,” Finrod said, his voice filled with gratitude as he took a long, satisfying drink from the waterskin. It was evident that he had been deprived of fresh water for quite some time, and the relief was palpable on his face. After quenching his trish, he turned his gaze toward you.

“Thank you, my love. Many more of us would have perished if you hadn't come,” he stated.

You nodded with a hint of determination in your eyes. “It seems sometimes it's okay not to listen, especially when you have a good reason not to,” you said. “And I was already on the verge of going stir-crazy with Celegorm in the same house,” you added, prompting a snort of laughter from Finrod.

“I’m serious!” you exclaimed, your voice laced with playful frustration. “Don’t leave me ever again in the same place as that blondie. I was this close to fulfilling the urge to let Ann eat him alive,” you said, pinching your fingers together for emphasis.

Finrod chuckled, his laughter filling the atmosphere. “Understood, my dear,” he said with a grin, and the two of you shared a hearty laugh, finding solace and humor amid the adversity.

"I don't care what you say. I'm coming with you. I already stole from Morgoth once. I might as well do it again," you said sternly. "I do not think I can convince you otherwise even if I tried," Finrod said. "Good," you said, then chuckled and enjoyed the moment together as Ann returned to you, having reduced once Tol Sirion into nothing but rubble.

#finrod x reader #finrod #finrod headcanon #finrod imagines #silmarillion #silmarillion x reader #tolkien #middle earth x reader #middle earth imagines #dragons #silm fic #Ancalagon

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memoriapraeteritorumbonorum · 9 months

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Hi! 💕

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

Thank you 💗

Ambar - Maedhros x reader

Word count: 1.5K

Tags: Angst, character death.

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

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

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

So they had found them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

No.

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

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

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

No.

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

No, Eru.

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

He was burning.

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

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

His fëa was vanishing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was his father’s son, after all.

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

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novemberthecatadmirer · 5 months

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So my argument about Elwing is, her decision in the end was COMPLETELY LOGICAL

Because what did Celegorm’s followers do to Elurin & Elured?

They did not kill them.

They did not kill them; they got their hands clean from children’s blood by abandoning them into a forest and leave them to die of starvation or cold or evil creatures. Or worse, they might be picked up by Morgoth’s servants and suffer fate worse than death.

Elwing had completely NO reasons to trust M & M would not do anything similar when they said they would let the twins live if she gave them the gem.

—————

Another really interesting thing I realized rereading Silmarillion is that the Silmarillion version did not mention Elwing was threatened with her twins. It does heavily imply that she knew they were captured. But how she knew and whether she was asked to buy their lives with Silmaril is unknown.

And she did the right thing actually when she got turned to bird; she took Silmaril away from Beleriand. If she took the gem to Cirdan or Gil-Galad there was this chance that M&M would just attack them again.

It was actually Earendil who decided to not turn back. The text basically said he “saw now no hope left in the lands of Middle-earth” and “turned again in despair and came not home.”

It’s very interesting that not just Elwing was in despair drove to suicide previously, Earendil was in despair too.

I am just thinking Earendil was probably really in a very bad place mentally all his way to Valinor.

I think he did not even care about whether he got to live or not, and did not mind if he got killed as long as he got Valar to help. There was also a whole case of survivor’s guilt about him not being there when Sirion was attacked, and his decision to not turn back.

I really wonder if his “weary of the world” was heavy ptsd and depression…

And while Earendil was looking for Sirion, Elwing was not doing nothing in canon!

Somehow she wandered by the shore line and somehow went near to Alqualonde and somehow “befriended the Teleri”? And started telling them everything about “Doriath and Gondolin and the griefs of Beleriand.”

That’s a lot of coincidence out there that it almost appear intentional? There was no way Elwing did not learn where Alqualonde was from the Noldor. It almost looked like she was actively seeking the Teleri.

Like, Earendil was on this might-be-suicide mission to look for Valar to beg for help… and Elwing who was ordered to stay behind quickly started to make connection with local population and start actively telling them about all the sufferings of the lost family they abandoned oversea, the not-evil section of Noldor, and their old homeland?

I just wonder if Elwing, the one who actually did the political side of things in Sirion instead of her sailing-obsessed husband, has some backup plans going on here.

Like, if the Valar decided to murder Earendil, she’ll attempt to lead some mass protests to help her husband and have Teleri at least doing a Beleriand evacuation with their ships…

I really think Elwing was less depressed at this moment than Earendil… She still was able to chose life for both of them when Earendil kind of wished eternal rest.

#silmarillion #tolkien #the silmarillion #silm #silmarillion headcanon #silm headcanon #silm meta #silmarillion meta #elwing #earendil #sons of feanor #third kinslaying

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maironsbigboobs · 1 month

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Sliding in late to @candcweek with some (not so) brotherly love:

(Unrequited incest, major character death)

Words Unspoken (ao3)

The wedding of a prince of the Noldor was a spectacle beyond all others. The halls of the groom’s home were decorated lavishly, not a corner left ungarnished.

Tyelko hated it.

It wasn’t just because he thought his brother’s new wife had terrible decorative taste (though he was far from an objective voice on the matter). It wasn’t just because for the last six months, they had had more meetings and fittings than Tyelko ever thought possible (and not nearly enough of them ended with good food) It wasn’t even because Curvo had refused to let Huan be at the groom’s party (Huan wouldn’t have liked it anyway.)

Tyelko was jealous.

He was so painfully jealous; sickening, gut-twisting jealousy that flared up inside him whenever he thought of the marriage. His little Curvo, who had clung onto his side since he could walk, who’d been his little brother like Káno was Nelyo’s. But now he would have a wife, and a child soon after no doubt, and all the attention that once been Tyelko’s would dry up.

But he held his tongue. He bundled his jealousy up into a ball and shoved into the darkest depths of his heart, where not even the piercing eyes of Manwë would see it.

At the wedding he played the jovial brother, throwing himself into the celebration, into the music and dancing and laughing. But it all felt hollow as he watched the couple retreat to their marital chamber and all he could do was wish it was his hand in Curvo’s, and his bedroom they were retiring to.

Fortunately, he did not have to wait long for a distraction.

The Darkness came; first shadow and then flame, their oath sworn and tempered in the blood of the Teleri. Tyelko did not look back when the boats burned, nor when their father died. He had Curvo, and he needed no one else. Even in the depths of shame and humiliation, when Findaráto’s wretched nephew had cast them out, or when Tinúviel’s spells had cheated them of a Silmaril, he had not left Curvo’s side, or rebuked him, and they comforted each other through every grief.

And as he had done since the day they had sworn their oaths, he led Curvo into danger. Into the vaulted halls of Menegroth.

“Tyelko!”

As Tyelko sunk to his knees, he smiled. Curvo was calling for him again. His little brother needed him again. One bloody hand reached out and grasped Curvo’s arm, leaning into his embrace. He felt the cool metal of his brother’s breast plate against his cheek as Curvo pulled him against his chest.

How long had he dreamed of being so tenderly cradled, so close to the heavy beating of Curvo’s heart? How cruel that he would only feel it now, as death sank into his bones.

“Tyelko, do not....” Curvo’s panic was palpable - his cold, unflappable brother, who had not shed a tear for cousin or son, who he had seen weep only once - it was a strange feeling, to see such distress in his sweet face. Tyelko reached up and cupped his cheek, smearing his blood on his face, across his lips with his thumb. Curvo was breathless.

“Cry not, dearest brother.” his voice was high and cracking, and he laughed, too loud and too fey. “I will leave you but for a moment! In the darkness that awaits us we will be together.”

“Tyelko, you are mad.” Curvo’s laugh was half a sob. “There is nothing that awaits us, and that is why you must stay.”

Tyelko shook his head. He knew. This darkness had festered inside him for so long; sinking into it felt like coming home - he was not afraid. In death, he would have Curvo’s undivided attention, and no regret could follow him.

With the last of his strength, he pulled Curvo down to him and kissed him as he had always wanted to. He devoured him, the taste of iron on his lips, the sweetness of his mouth, the salt of his tears. He was as perfect as Tyelko had always imagined.

As he slumped back into his arms, he looked up into his brother’s face, looking for the same darkness reflected in his eyes. Curvo’s eyes were closed in grief.

“Oh, Curvo, how I have loved you. Do not make me wait long.”

Curvo’s cold tears splashed against his brow. He felt his brother’s body heave with a sigh. “I will not, Tyelko. I will not make you wait.”

He died with a smile, and one last Curufinwë on his lips.

#celegorm/curufin #celegorm #curufin #my fic #candcweek

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kanafinwe-makalaure · 1 year

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Serious question @ the silm fandom: where does this notion come from that the Fëanorians might be Cast Into The Void/ that they think they will be Cast Into The Void if they fail to fulfil their Oath? As in, why is it the Void specifically when all the wording of the Oath says "eternal darkness" should claim them? Is the Void referred to as such in any place in a way that would make it reasonable to draw that connection specifically, or something like that, anything that would make that idea one that is in any way supported by the text?

The only connection that I can see is maybe through Ungoliant, who is a creature of the Void and bringer of tangible darkness, but she is only a creature of the Void, not The Void itself. The Void itself is not eternal darkness (but maybe they think it might be?).

Nonsensical ramblings on why the Void reading of it confuses me so much under the cut.

So yeah, the Void doesn't make sense to me at all, although again, maybe I'm missing something, and if so, please tell me.

Because to me, the Void assumption, based on what I know, makes very little sense, that is, unless I am missing something crucial. I just don't see it supported by the text that that's what the Oath refers to, and I don't see how the Fëanorians would be allowed to see the same cruel punishment that the Valar were extremely hesitant to even give to Melkor and Sauron who both did CONSIDERABLY more damage, and yes, I'm saying allowed, because obviously if they really were referring the Void, that would mean they essentially asked for it in their Oath. I see them condemning themselves to whatever "eternal darkness" is in the Oath more as like, requesting that that be their punishment if they fail, because they sure as hell don't control Eru or any of the Valar. (Or maybe they don't know themselves what "eternal darkness" means and just assume it's the Void? Maybe only Fëanor knew? I digress, it doesn't really matter, my question remains the same.)

To me, that line in the oath that says eternal darkness should claim them if they fail to retrieve the Silmarils actually literally just sounds like "so the trees are gone and it's really dark now and it's gonna be dark around us forever unless we get back our glowy gems".

Besides, we know that at least Fëanor would end up in the Halls. Why would the Valar throw his sons into the Void and not him?

Most importantly, would it even be possible to throw elves into the void, since their souls are bound eternally to Arda?

Things being as they are, though, everyone is entitled to their own headcanons especially in this fandom, but I do not see this supported in the text or as even a possibility.

#its just really widespread fanon it seems #and it doesn't make any sense to me #like yes theyre my meow meows and i wouldn't WANT them to suffer such a fate #but i also genuinely dont get where the idea comes from #feanorians #silm #input welcome!

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swanmaids · 10 months

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For the kiss prompts, I'd be very curious to see what you'd do with 40 or 41 for Elwing/Earendil! Could be one or the other, or a combination of both, your choice! Only if you want to of course, and thank you so much!!

- @olorinestel

41. because the world is saved

you should also check out @meadowlarkx 's interpretation of the same prompt if you haven't already!

Her husband shone.

Now bathed permanently in the terrible light of the silmaril, Eärendil glowed day and night with the final remnant of the light of the trees, and after several years in the Blessed Realm Elwing had thought herself accustomed to it, as much as one could grow accustomed to anything in this strange fairy realm. But then Eärendil had been called upon to sail the skies back to ravaged Beleriand once more, and in the time in between, Elwing had forgotten.

Eärendil was an Elf who was a Man, but hallowed by the jewel he looked like neither. He radiated light from the inside out.

The Eärendil who stepped down onto the gangplank as Vingilot docked in the haven where their tower stood had changed further since before he had left Aman. New silvery scars stood out against his skin, and he moved slowly.

But when he at last stood before her and their eyes met, the look on his face was the same as it ever was. It was the same look he had worn each and every time, at Sirion and at Elwing's Isle of Seabirds, when they were reunited after every voyage. I missed you. It's so good to see you. Thank you for waiting for me.

After so much time together, they did not really need words. He fell into her arms silently, and she held him there for many long moments, one hand stroking over his hair the way one might soothe a child.

"The war?" she said eventually.

Of course, she knew that it was ended. The birds had told her as much several days ago, and she had heard the celebrations of the elves on Tol Eressëa proper even from her tower, though she had no inclination to join with them. But somehow, she needed to hear it from him - and she thought that he might need to tell her.

"Over," he said simply, into her neck.

"The dragon?"

"Fish food."

She snorted a laugh, and at the same time felt her eyes begin to well up. How strange it all was - their wish from so long ago granted. The price it had cost them, never to be repaid. She thought of Sirion under the waves. Twin bodies kicking in the waters of her womb.

The thought of peace made Elwing picture walking across a rotted jetty over water. It felt fragile, untrustworthy. After all, she had never known it.

"It's over," she repeated, because she did not know what else to say.

"It's over," he said once more, "and I love you."

Elwing loved him too. She told him so.

Their love had ever been an anchor in an uncertain world. In this new, strange peace, it would be so again. They held on to one another for another long moment before Eärendil drew back, and she held his silmaril-lit face in her hands, and he pressed his salt-chapped lips against hers.

They kissed in the unhurried way of lifelong best friends and lovers, as the waves rolled onto the shores and the seabirds swirled above them, and the First age ended and a new age began.

#elwing #earendil #starwing #the silm #kiss prompts #my post #my fic

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urwendii · 8 months

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The Mai Mae and Ossë Roadtrip in Middle Earth Serie.

Part 4 / ?

"Is there anything that can be done to prevent such an outcome?"

Night had fallen over them in a thick curtain of grey clouds that hung menacingly above their heads but rain had not fallen yet and in such they had time to build a hasty camp with dead woods gathered at the edge of the forest. Maedhros sat by the fire, a book opened on his lap, his right wrist holding it open and adding another log of wood with his left hand.

Ossë for once seemed to be in a quiet contemplating mood and lounged on his side, pale blue hair mingling with the carpet of dried needles. The Maia of water seemed uncaring of the state as his gaze went from Maedhros to Mairon who sat further with his back turned to them.

It had not been a good day for Mairon as they had laboured on the edges of Eregion's ruins and deeper into what had once been the Gwaith-i-Mírdain territory and their great forges.

Maedhros had not probed, whatever had happened there between Tyelpe and the Maia was bad enough that Mairon had retreated into sullen silence through the entire day.

Maedhros had seen the tapestries, had heard his nephew's anguish in the Halls and knew the story of the Rings but looking at the closed off Maia he guessed there had been more to the story of Annatar and Celebrimbor.

Turning from Mairon's distant figure he gazed at Ossë who had let out a strange tired sigh at his initial question.

"Thing is," begun the Maia "Námo loves fucking people's minds over. I think he gets a kick out of it. Like Irmo."

"His Doom for us turned out exactly how he predicted. Even Galadriel, the least concerned of the remaining Noldor with the Doom, was affected in some indirect ways."

Ossë's gaze turned sharp as he stared toward the former Dark Lord's direction.

"Was it her Doom because of some unfortunate fucked up actions in Alqualondë," as usual Maedhros' guilt forced him to bow his head. Ossë was the Teleri's patron "or because her actions put her in direct opposition with our dear Mairon?"

If he heard his own name Mairon made no move to show it.

"So you don't believe in this Prophecy? We Eldar had turned afraid of the mere idea of it. How can we not, immortals as our souls are, dread the Finite ending?"

Maedhros had learned pain and heartache in Beleriand, to such a degree it had scarred his own Fëa so brutally there had been nothing left of Maitimo by the end. Darkness he had known when he had hung on the cliff of Thangorodrim for three decades, darkness darker he had experienced when Fingon had perished so far from him and Darkness Everlasting in the Halls as what remained of his spirit curled and recoiled at the memories of all the lives he had taken, the fire of the Silmarils burning his flesh and fëa alike in a searing pain so dreadful he had barely felt the fumes of lava as he casted himself to his (deserved) ending.

But even then, there had been a hope that Fingon will be born again, untouched as he was by the Oath, and if Maedhros would throw himself in the Void then the better part of himself would still love anew, his Findekáno so brave, so lovely.

So how come he could not fear such an end, for Arda remade implied the destruction of a world where Findekáno has been Returned, safe and loved.

"I think of this more as an allegory than a physical technicality." Ossë finally replied as he sat up and crossed his long legs. "But do I believe there will be some huge battle against that fucker?" There was no love lost in Ossë's eyes as he spat the word meant for their Enemy of old.

"Melkor will fucking return, of that I am sure. The way it was done..." He clicked his tongue as Mairon had leaped on his feet and walked away, head bowed. The clear blue eyes followed the other Maia for a minute until they refocused on Maedhros.

"It was not done properly, it was too hasty. He's still there, you know, behind these doors."

Doors can be opened. Just thinking of Moringotto set Maedhros' spirit on fire. Despite the Healing and the long years, revenge still burned bright through his fëa and hröa but without the dragging weight of the Oath it was easier to manage. Still, if battle there would be, Maedhros expected to find himself on the front lines with a mighty sword in his left hand.

"Eönwë will not say anything but if you see him growing restless and slightly unhinged that'd be your cue." Ossë added with a dry snort.

Maedhros had tried to avoid thinking of the Herald of Manwë, shame still strong as he recalled these last days and yet despite his stern attitude (which Maedhros expected was mostly directed at Mairon and Ossë.) Eönwë had displayed no evidence of resentment toward Maedhros and his folly in the aftermath of the War.

"Mayhapp this is only the deserved repentance to go through the next ages knowing of Arda's impending doom." He mused. There was the sound of displaced air and shuffling of pin needles as Ossë let himself fall back on his back and crossed his arms behind his head.

"Who knows. All things end after all. It should not change our plans." Mairon had come back with them with dry woods in his arms as he quietly took a seat around the fire. Ossë had a little smile on his face as he gazed upward at the stars.

"Sometimes it's enough to believe things begin again in an infinite circle."

Maedhros pondered the words as he stared at the stars twinkling above them. He thought about Fingon safe in Valinor and realised that as long as he consciously loved him, then in its own way their universe would last.

#mai mae & ossë roadtrip in middle earth #ive lost count if its the 4th drabble i write or not lmao #this serie is turning into something more serious lol #guess to whom i have been listening and which song when i wrote this :D #Mae is asking the true questions. Mai is being gloomy (but he deserves it) and Oss is actually being helpful tonight #could not help to throw russingon in it

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nenyabusiness · 1 year

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TOLKIEN TLDR: Why did Galadriel REALLY leave Valinor? (The Exile of the Noldor)

In The Rings of Power, they changed this part of Galadriel’s backstory quite a bit. Yes, I guess you could say that “a legion of Elves went to war,” but the full story is a lot darker and less flattering than that. Want to know what really happened the day Galadriel and her kin left Valinor? Here we go.

(Side note: In canon, Valinor is just a part of Aman, but since the show exclusively uses the name Valinor for the entire continent, I’ll do the same.)

In Valinor, there were once three clans of Elves. The Vanyar (Fair-elves) were the most unproblematic of them all, worshipping the Valar (for more info on the Valar, here’s another TLDR) like they were supposed to, doing very little of interest in general. The Teleri (Sea-elves) lived by themselves near the sea, generally minding their own business. Then we have the Noldor (Deep-elves), our main characters in this clusterfuck. Unlike the other clans who were very content with their lives as they were, the Noldor suffered from this little problem called ambition.

Galadriel was half Noldo, half Teleri, but I think we all know which clan she mostly took after.

This story isn’t really about her, though. The main character is actually a Noldo named Fëanor, who took the whole ambition thing to a new level. He was a craftsman, a smith, and a linguist, and he knew how to hold a good speech. In later ages, he would be known as the greatest Elven smith who ever lived.

In a stroke of genius or madness, Fëanor one day decides that he wants to capture some of the light of the Two Trees (remember: no sun and moon yet, just two trees lighting up an entire island) in a more permanent form, which is how he ends up creating the Silmarils. To describe these three gems properly would take all day so I’m just going to say that they were really, really pretty.

This is where Melkor, who would later be known as Morgoth, enters the story as a strong second lead. After three ages of imprisonment (about 3000 solar years, don’t ask me how that works), he tells Manwë, the King of the Valar, that he’s totally sorry for all the havoc he wreaked in Middle-earth and that he won’t do it again. Manwë, who genuinely doesn’t understand how grudges work, lets Melkor go. After a taking a quick look at the Elves, Melkor comes to the conclusion that the Vanyar and the Teleri are too content with their lives to be of use in his revenge scheme. The ambitious Noldor, though? Perfect.

It doesn’t take much for Melkor to win the Noldor over. He earns their trust and affection by teaching them new things and helping them improve their craftmanship—and he, of course, uses that trust to slowly turn them against the Valar. He slowly convinces them that they are in fact trapped in Valinor, forced into servitude by the envious Valar. He tells them that if they had stayed in Middle-earth, they would have been rulers of their own domains, free do to whatever they wished, servants to no one. He’s obviously lying, but it’s a strong pitch.

Though not for the lack of trying, Melkor never manages to sway Fëanor, because Fëanor only listens to Fëanor. He doesn’t want Melkor’s advice, and honestly, he doesn’t need it. He was dreaming about power and freedom long before Melkor was released. On top of this, he now has this growing urge to protect the Silmarils from anything and anyone going on. Even if Melkor had remained imprisoned, Fëanor would probably have gone off the rails at some point anyway.

Melkor and Fëanor don’t get along, but they have one thing in common: they love the Silmarils way too much for their own good. Is this going to turn into a problem? Yes. Yes it is.

The Valar eventually figure out that Melkor is the culprit behind the Noldor’s strange behavior. Melkor makes a run for it and joins forces with a spider-like creature called Ungoliath, the ancestor of Shelob from Lord of the Rings. Together, they sneak into Valinor and attack the Two Trees. Ungoliath sucks the light out of them, and darkness falls over Valinor. During their escape, they drop by Fëanor’s place and steal the Silmarils, killing his father Finwë, King of the Noldor, in the process. The Silmarils have officially claimed their first life.

Fëanor does not take this well. He calls Melkor the Black Foe of the World, Morgoth for short, which is the name that Melkor would always be referred to as after that.

As I mentioned earlier, Fëanor knows how to hold a speech. He gathers the Noldor, cranks Morgoth’s lies about the Valar up to 11, and starts a full-on rebellion. The Noldor are getting the hell out of Valinor.

If he had just stopped there, The Silmarillion would have been a much shorter novel, but no. He had to go on and swear an oath. Along with his seven sons, he swears the notorious Oath of Fëanor. With the Valar as their witnesses, they all swear to Eru Ilúvatar (God) that they will with vengeance and hatred pursue anyone who would keep a Silmaril from their possession.

No one could have predicted just how horrendous the consequences of that oath would be at the time, but in hindsight, I think everyone can agree that it was a bad idea of epic proportions. Morgoth may be the main antagonist of The Silmarillion, but the Oath of Fëanor is a close second.

Neither of his half-brothers Fingolfin and Finarfin (Galadriel’s dad) swear the oath, but their houses join Fëanor’s rebellion out of solidarity. Some of the Noldor are a little reluctant, while others, like Galadriel, are eager to leave Valinor. Galadriel always disliked Fëanor, but she’s really into the idea of having a domain of her own to rule.

(Fun fact: Fëanor once asked her for a strand of her hair but she turned him down, which is why everyone goes ??? when Gimli gets three.)

The Valar settle on a not-mad-but-disappointed approach to all of this, because hey, if the Elves think they’re powerful enough to take on a being like Morgoth, then sure, have at it, good luck have fun. Fëanor and his sons are banned though. Those maniacs are not allowed to return.

The rebellion rages on. The Noldor are officially leaving Valinor. There’s this one issue though: Valinor is an island (ish), and the Noldor don’t have ships.

Remember the Teleri I briefly mentioned? The clan of Elves who lived near the sea? This is where they become relevant to the story, because unlike the Noldor, they have ships.

Fëanor and his people rush ahead to ask the Teleri to lend them those ships. The Teleri kindly and politely explain that no, their ships are precious to them, and no, they don’t want to play any part whatsoever in this insane rebellion, so the Noldor are going to have to find another way to leave Valinor. Fëanor, who’s gone from overambitious to absolutely unhinged, decides to steal the ships instead. When the Teleri resist, things get really, really ugly.

The Noldor, who had been lowkey preparing for this rebellion for quite some time, came with swords and shields. The peaceful Teleri had basic bows. The slaughter that followed would later be known as the Kinslaying of Alqualondë.

(Most sources say that Galadriel didn’t take part in this. Most sources.)

The Valar are now officially done with the Noldor. In a curse/prophecy that would later be referred to as the Doom of Mandos, the Noldor are told that they are all banned from Valinor now. This is not just a rebellion anymore—it’s an exile. The Exile of the Noldor, even, if you want to use the established name of the event.

The Noldor are now facing a second problem: they have ships, but not enough ships. Not for the whole host, anyway, so… not that much of a problem, according to Fëanor. In a major Dick Move, he fills the ships with as many of his people as he can and then leaves the rest of the Noldor behind. To prevent people from going back (and because of a highly unjustified grudge against Fingolfin), he burns the ships once he reaches Middle-earth. Double Dick Move.

There’s only one route left that the remaining Noldor can take to get to Middle-earth, and that’s the icy passageway/hellscape called Helcaraxë high up in the north. (Like I said, Valinor was an island, ish.) Though the Noldor suffer major losses on this nightmare of a journey, some of them, including Galadriel, make it through to the other side. Under the rule of Fingolfin, she enters Middle-earth.

And there we have it. This is why Galadriel left Valinor.

The Doom of Mandos is lifted after Morgoth’s defeat, but a lot of Noldor, including Galadriel, willingly stay in Middle-earth anyway. This is why I can’t in good conscience call the “Gil-Galad giving Galadriel a golden ticket back to Valinor as a gift” thing a tweak or a canon divergence. The show made that up. Period. In the Second Age, Galadriel could have returned to Valinor whenever she felt like it. She stayed, because she simply didn’t want to go back.

And let’s not forget that our girl did eventually get that domain of hers. Good for her.

Sources: Chapter 3-9 of Quenta Silmarillion and The Unfinished Tales: The History of Galadriel and Celeborn.

#tolkien tldr #The Silmarillion #the lord of the rings #the rings of power #trop #lotr #lore #galadriel #fëanor #might do one covering the full disaster of the Oath of Fëanor #but I'd probably have to go through the entire Sil for that #again #so a big maybe on that

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grey-gazania · 8 months

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Six Sentence Not-Sunday

Tagged by the lovely @welcomingdisaster, who asked me to post a whole scene rather than 6 sentences!

From the Feanorian-child-observing-Elrond-and-Elros ficlet:

I didn’t know, when my father readied himself for battle and rode west with our lords, whether or not he would return. My mother, who was spared from going to the Havens of Sirion by her bad leg, tried to assure my brother and me that he would come home to us, but while Nelmir, only eight years old, was easily convinced, I was more skeptical. I was forty, not a small child anymore, and I was old enough to remember how many of our soldiers had been lost in the attack on Doriath.

Doriath was where my mother had been crippled.

Pretend, Ólloth, Nana had pleaded when I finally confronted her with my doubts. Pretend for your brother's sake. So I pretended, though my heart was sick with worry.

We were lucky; though the group that returned from the Havens of Sirion was much smaller than the group that had set out, my father was among them – wounded, yes, but blessedly alive. Nana didn’t let us see him right away – she left me in our rooms to mind Nelmir – but once Ada’s injuries had been treated, she brought him up, and my brother and I greeted him with enthusiasm.

I didn’t need to ask whether we had succeeded in reclaiming the Silmaril. The looks on Lord Maedhros and Lord Maglor’s faces when they had led the party back to Amon Ereb, missing over half their soldiers and Lords Amrod and Amras, had been confirmation in and of themselves. This attempt had ended in failure, just like Doriath.

I wondered if we even had the strength left to try again.

But I didn’t ask; my brother was in the room with me, and he knew little of our lords’ quest to regain Prince Fëanor’s most wondrous creations. He was too young, my parents said, to comprehend the full weight of the quest and the Oath that drove it. And they were probably right. I had been Nelmir’s age when my parents had gone to war against the thief Dior in Doriath, and at the time my own understanding of the event had been patchy and uncertain. Ada and Nana had explained things to me gradually as I’d grown older and become more capable of grasping subtleties.

I had always known that Morgoth and his monstrous servants were our enemies, but it had taken some time for me to understand that, though they were elves like us, the Iathrim, too, were our foes.

My brother clearly wanted to regale our father with everything that had happened while he had been away, but Ada was wounded and tired, and soon Nana was ushering my brother from the room.

“Why does Ólloth get to stay?” I heard Nelmir demand in a petulant whine just as Nana closed the door. But our mother’s response was too muffled to be understood.

“You didn’t get it, did you?” I asked quietly, once it sounded as though Nelmir was out of earshot.

Ada shook his head and tried to sit up a little straighter, wincing at the pain in his injured arm.

“No,” he said, and his exhaustion was audible. “Elwing cast herself into the sea with the jewel. It’s lost to us, for now.”

It seemed that the princess of the Iathrim was even more foolish than her father had been. Not only had she refused to negotiate with our lords, she hadn’t even sent the gem elsewhere the way Dior had. And she’d chosen to destroy herself rather than yield the Silmaril to its rightful owners. Though I had never met the woman, I couldn’t help viewing her with disdain.

“For now?” I asked. “You think it could be recovered some day?”

Ada glanced at the door and then lowered his voice, as though he was worried Nelmir might have his ear pressed against the keyhole. “We didn’t come back completely empty-handed,” he said. “Elwing left her sons behind, and Lord Maedhros and Lord Maglor took them as hostages. The hope is that if anyone near the Havens or on Balar finds the Silmaril, they’ll trade it for their princes’ safe return.”

“Elwing’s sons are here?” I said, feeling as though the world had just rocked beneath my feet. “How old are they?” I didn’t think they could be all that old, as Elwing had been a small child when our lords had gone to war with Doriath.

“Six, apparently,” Ada said. “But they’re only half-elven, so who knows what that means. They act like they’re a little older than your brother.” He shifted against the pillows, clearly seeking a more comfortable position, and I reached out to help him. As I leaned closer, I caught a whiff of the healing herbs that Melloth must have used to cleanse his wound.

“You’ll meet them tomorrow,” Ada continued. “Lord Maglor is going to leave them in your care for part of the morning, while you watch Nelmir and Arthoron. Hopefully they’ll make friends. My lords don’t intend to mistreat the boys in any way. They only want to keep them here until the Silmaril is found. But you mustn’t tell your brother the details, do you understand, Ólloth? He’s too young to grasp what’s going on.”

“Of course, Ada,” I reassured him. “My lips are sealed.”

But I had to admit, I was curious about these half-elven princes of the Iathrim, and I wondered how quickly they would adapt to life at Amon Ereb. We were a single keep, and our people numbered less than two hundred now. We hunted, and fished, and farmed enough grain and herded enough sheep to keep us fed and clothed, but we had no city nor ocean fleet like the elves at the Havens of Sirion. We had no allies, either. I wondered if the boys would be able to adjust to our kind of life, a life lived in the margins.

Tagging @sallysavestheday, @thelordofgifs, @elfscribe, @polutrope, @leucisticpuffin, @emyn-arnens, @ermingarden, @hhimring, @eleneressea, @nelyoslegalteam, @zealouswerewolfcollector, and anyone else who wants to join in - @ me and say I tagged you!

#dash games

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eunoiaastralwings · 2 years

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Hello 👋 and good day. Congratulations on your 100 followers 🎉🥳.

May I request a Maglor x reader fic? Something a bit angsty where reader is contemplating on leaving him because they don't see a future with him focusing on the oath? Maglor is in a state of understanding the reader, but he also doesn't want to let then go. You can choose how it ends if you choose to write it. - either reader stays or Maglor let's them leave.

Thanks you in advance 🥰😁🙏 - @doodle-pops

featuring maglor x reader

fandom tolkien- the silmarillion

a/n thank you so much hun! good day! I hope you like this

warnings angst

“I have sworn to the oath. . .”

You didn’t know what to say when Maglor— you beloved ellon said this.

For a moment you felt yourself swaying and he quickly wrapped you safely in his arms.

He whispered soft nothings— sweet, beautiful and enchanting words.

Maglor always used the right words and his words grounded you.

But right then, you didn’t want to face him and when you retired to your chambers Maglor didn’t stop you— nor did he follow.

He was being respectful— something you always admired about him.

Maglor let went beyond words and soft kisses if you were uncomfortable.

The ellon also maintained a small sufficient space between himself and you if needed.

But right now the longer you spend alone the faster your thoughts spiralled like a sandstorm.

Maglor swore himself to the oath— the oath of Feanor — his father.

A part of you understood— but the other part you wanted to hate Maglor for this.

But even then you knew— it was impossible for you to hate that musical ellon.

You felt hurt and betrayed.

He chose the oath over every thing you had dreamed of together— the future—getting married— the little adventures alongside each other.

Maglor had promised you would move to somewhere it vast fields— where you would lie on the ground together as he played his harp or sang softly to only you.

A world where just the two of you would be concerned.

Was that future now reachable?

Didn’t you not deserve a future where your beloved would choose you over anything or anyone?

But did Maglor suddenly change himself— change from caring and romantic ellon you loved just for three little gems?

Didn’t you not mean more to him?

How could he swear under the name of Ilúvatar that himself, his father and brother would not rest until the three Silmarils were in their hands again— and cast aside your dreams.

You deserved better than that.

There was no future for you here— not anymore.

You had to leave— before your heart caught up with your thoughts.

Just as you stood up the door to your chambers opened after a light knock.

Your eyes locked with his deep blue eyes— that hint of grey in them too.

“Melda. . .”

He said and pulled at the strings of your heart— beating it to the way he wanted.

When Maglor crossed the distance between you and softly held your hand a shaky breath left you.

You should have been he would come looking for you sooner or later— because even though there was a distance he would sneak himself beside you and wrap his arm around your waist.

“Will you not speak with me?”

He asked when he brought your hand to his lips and pressed a kiss on.

You sighed and shut your eyes.

“I can’t do this. . . you— you chose those 3 gems over me? Over us? Do I really mean that little to you?”

He froze with his lips still lingering on the soft skin of your hand.

You forcefully pulled your hand away from his hold.

The look of ache that flashed over his beautiful eyes broke your heart.

“Can’t you see, Maglor? There’s no future for us anymore! You put your father’s silmarils in between us— you cut us off!”

You started to cry— tears streaming down your face like a waterfall as you spoke to the ellon you loved and treasured.

“I can’t— there’s no future for us so what am I to do? I deserve better than this!”

When you said those words Maglor had snapped his eyes shut and looked away— he felt his heart crack under the weight of it all.

So this is how his mother felt— like something invisible was slicing through his chest and stabbing his heart over and over again.

Oh, how he desperately wanted to yell no and pull you into an embrace.

You were his light— his safe haven— his joy— you were the harmony to his every song.

You sobbed and tried to meet eyes with him.

“Will you not fight for me?”

You whimpered.

“I cannot force you to stay with me, Y/N. . . but— but if I ask you to stay, will you?”

You rested your forehead against his.

“I really want to Maglor. . . but how can I blindly stay with you when there’s no future for us?”

With those words, you left a final kiss on his lips and slipped away— drowning him in loneliness forever.

tara's taglist: @middleearthsweetheart

silm taglist: @doodle-pops

@i-did-not-mean-to fuck safe me! — her favorite silm character is maglor and I wrote angst! Keep Shalini away— she will murder me lmfaooo

#maglor x reader #maglor #feanorians #the silm #the silmarillion #maglor angst #tears #heartbreak #eunoiawrites #answered #first request for maglor #the poor baby— I hurt him #bit personal in some standards

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astrovian · 2 years

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I think my issue with The Rings of Power is that I just wanted it to have really good writing (even if that meant deviating from Tolkien) so badly

What I mean by that is that I wanted us as the audience to be intentionally mis-led and deceived and double-bluffed... especially the Tolkien fans. While yes, they're trying to attract casual viewers, they also knew they'd have a big Tolkien audience and didn't cater to us at all in terms of giving us anything interesting/exciting re: plot

Like yes, it's awesome to see Númenor & Khazad-Dûm & all these 'unseen' things visually but for Tolkien fans there's not a lot plot-wise that's as exciting as the visual interpretations

I almost didn't care how much they changed up lore, if the trade-off was good TV writing... then I could accept that because we all went into this knowing it would be a bit of a bastardization of Tolkien's works

But this season finale was just so bland it's actually a little sad

The Mt. Doom reveal a couple of episodes ago was much more interesting and shocking than either the Sauron or The Stranger reveal which is pretty sad given they based the entire season upon the premise of "who is Sauron/The Stranger???"

Like if the reveals shocked you then great, but honestly both identity reveals were seen coming a mile away by pretty much anyone with a passing knowledge of Tolkien's works

They were basically hitting us hard on the head with a hammer in regards to the clues they left each episode which I was basically fine with because I expected the finale to be a be a big "gotcha! we were tricking you the entire time! It's actually not them at all!" rather than what it actually turned out to be which was just "why yes... it was exactly what you thought/predicted 6 or 7 episodes ago"

As a pretty die-hard Tolkien fan, I'm not as down on and harsh about the show as some others are and have enjoyed it for the most part but like... this episode broke me simply because the major plot twists they've been hinting at all season weren't twists at all by the end

I wanted it to be a big shock and that moment you get with good writing where all the puzzle pieces suddenly click into place and you're like "how did I not see this coming??" rather than reading the clues and knowing where you're going before you've even really left for the destination

In fact, I much preferred other theories we ourselves came up with while watching the first two episodes. If they had ended the series with the Mt. Doom eruption reveal (or something as suprising like it) it would have been a great cliffhanger shock ending. This ending just felt really weak

Really this big disappointment made me reflect on what bugs me the most about the series as a whole:

1) the fight in the Southlands that was like a bad tribute/homage to the battle of Helms Deep. It made it really obvious that the writers were struggling to find Tolkien's voice in the script and that they don't know how to come up with an original battle that still feels like a Tolkien battle

I feel like this is a good summary for the series - a wink and a nod to Tolkien's work with some referential dialogue or a visual scene or a specific important item scattered through-out episodes here or there to mask the fact that coming up with a Tolkien show when you can't write like Tolkien and haven't really captured his voice is hard

It's a very superficial and almost like... surface-level/lazy way of writing a Tolkien-based show imo

2) the whole 'mithril has special Silmaril powers now'/dying Elves plot is just SO BAD AND DUMB. Why would you change mithril like this???

The only good or interesting part about this plot is the tension it creates between Durin/King Durin and the Elves & Dwarves as a result. The actual idea of the plot itself made me laugh because I thought it was a genuine joke in the first few eps but now that it's not it just makes me angry

3) the fact that it was so obvious like 4 episodes ago (if that) who Sauron/The Stranger are lmao

4) there was literally nothing impactful in this entire season finale that made me go "I need more now!!" which is literally the exact opposite thing you want to do when you make a season finale of a TV show

5) the pacing and weird time-skips depending on which group of characters we're following is really weird through-out the entire season which I can mostly ignore but like... you're also just gonna have Celebrimbor make the elven rings overnight like that? alright lol

Theories we came up with early on in the season which would have been so much more interesting:

a) make Halbrand the King of the Dead

b) tbh I don't really care who The Stranger is just don't make him Gandalf because that was obvious the second we met him

they won't do it but even if it was Saruman I'd be like well... at least this makes for an interesting juxtaposition to his treatment of Hobbits in LotR/makes his corruption much more heartbreaking

my personal faves that were so unlikely but were thrown around in this category have been Tom Bombadil, a Blue Wizard or like a pre-Balrog Maiar(??)

c) have Gil-Galad think that the Elves are dying and mithril will save them (and in turn make Elrond etc. and us the audience think so) but have it all turn out to be a massive mis-direct where Gil-Galad has been unknowingly tricked by Sauron into getting mithril from the dwarves

d) I can't remember the episode number but a personal favourite theory early on that emerged during the ep where Elrond finds out Durin is mining mithril is that Sauron is actually in disguise as Elrond all along in order to gain access to mithril/Celebrimbor (though what that means for real Elrond in terms of his whereabouts I dunno). it only made sense during that episode really and look, it practically doesn't really work at all... but you can't say that wouldn't have been an exciting plot twist

TL;DR Yes, Amazon needs to cater to casual viewers who don't know much Tolkien, but the way that they have done so has made the plot immensely boring/predictable for anyone with a decent knowledge of (or background in) Tolkien's work

They demonstrate a basic understanding of some of the core central themes of Tolkien but their inability to cater to Tolkien fans beyond referential moments shows that they have a very shallow understanding of how to build alongside Tolkien's work/story-crafting style (or perhaps an innate inability to do so)

e.g. if you're gonna bastardize something at least make sure it's not extremely predictable and boring for a good 1/2 to 2/3 of your audience - you may as well just go all in

#sorry to take a break from the usual but look i just need to vent #look i am still not super against it and enjoyed in as equal measure as i hated it #but that being said there are major issues lmao #and this ain't even half of them!!#the rings of power #rings of power #trop #spoilers #trop spoilers #the rings of power spoilers

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deadqueernoldor · 1 year

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A scenario for Ranyatinwë I will never properly write but I could imagine nonetheless

Ranyatinwe barely glanced to her right where she knew Elwing stood, watching the spectacle like so many others.

Spectacle.

Apparently trying to decide what to do about the last child of Fëanor – not yet dead but certainly not willingly returned to Aman – was a social spectacle people needed to watch.

She pursed her lips at the silence. They waited for her answer.

"Yes, I am quite aware that the half-elf had a Silmaril," she said at last. "And still holds it to this day."

Her eyes were focused on Arafinwë, the uncle who'd never bothered to tell people to stop saying his niece would end up like her grandmother Míriel. Dead.

Beside him stood Eönwe, Manwë's herald who'd given her brothers the last chance to repent and stand trial, conveniently forgetting to offer her the same.

Both wore faces akin to masks.

"How could I not? My brother was quite clear on the outcome of the charge on Sirion." Her lips curled into a cold smile. "I do hope that Elwing and Eärendil enjoy the stolen heirloom of my family."

She turned to look at Elwing for the first time in her life. The smile was cold as a blade encrusted with blood and fury and repulsion. "You have that, and I have the memories of raising Elrond and Elros. That day you had the choice between being a good ruler and a good mother, and without me even having to try, you cast away both."

She laughed, cold and fey. "You may have thought you won, but in the end, I walked out with two treasures while you had only one. Indeed I hope the Silmaril was worth it, Dioriel."

#ocs that i play with like barbies #i mean i have yet to find a timeline where tinwe goes to aman again and what thay would cause #but if she were to stand trial no doubt she would rub it in elwings face shes just the kind of person who'd do that #tolkien #writing #listen mutuals give me so many ideas i cant possibly write chapters for all

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memoriapraeteritorumbonorum · 1 year

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Oialëa - Caranthir x human!reader

Word count: 3.9k

Summary: Driven to acquire a Silmaril as a token of love, Carnistir's lover had disappeared without a trace, or so he thought.

Tags: Angst, fluff. Happy ending because Cara deserves the world and more

Author's note: Oialëa (Quenya), meaning eternal or forever. Beren and Lúthien are shaking. This doesn't align chronologically with the events of The Silmarillion, I just wrote away lol

Forever.

That was what they had promised each other.

He remembered that day so vividly.

The second he had locked eyes with her, he had known. Every doubt he had harbored in his heart about Men had vanished as quickly as that beautiful smile had appeared on her face upon seeing him.

Carnistir had always been aware of his family’s disapproval when he had decided to court her. He could even understand it to some degree. After all, she was a mortal woman.

He had always been aware of the hurt that would eventually find its way into his life, slowly eating away at his heart to constantly remind him of the painful truth that she would pass on and leave him. That he would fade when that moment came, wishing nothing more than to just perish so that his broken heart would stop bleeding for her. Hoping that he could meet her on the other side, even though all odds were against it. Not even Mandos himself knew where the souls of Men vanished after they passed. Never would he have thought that moment would come so soon.

It had been a rather cold morning when Fëanor had called his sons to join him in the conference hall. It was rare for them to be together in one place like this, since everyone would always tend to their own affairs in their own realms. However, they had decided to stay in Thargelion for a few days after a hunting trip before returning to their homes. This morning, after a chaotic breakfast that had been filled with laughter and bickering, Carnistir found himself zoning out at the round table.

Today marked one year. One year since her sudden disappearance.

Nobody seemed to know. To care. Maybe they just didn’t want to.

Why would they? It had never affected them in the first place. They had never cared about her.

He watched absentmindedly as Celegorm and Curufin engaged in a lively discussion with their father, feeling himself becoming angrier with every second. How could they just sit there and talk about finances and trade when they all knew he was fading?

Not one of his brothers had touched on the subject of Carnistir’s state. Only Makalaurë had sought him out to comfort him, although it had been rather unsuccessful. When it would usually be Maedhros who would reach out to him whenever something was troubling him, the copper haired ellon seemed too engrossed in his own mind. Ever since his return from Angband, his brother had become nothing but a shell of who he once was, which scared Carnistir to his very core, because deep down, it was dawning on him that he too would end up like this, if not worse. Maedhros possessed a fierce spirit and an almost unmatched determination, Carnistir was sure of that. And it was because of his fierce spirit that he believed Maedhros would come back a stronger warrior than ever. He did not know how long it would take his brother to find himself again, but it had rather be soon.

Right now, Makalaurë seemed to be the only one keeping a watchful eye on him. Carnistir could feel his gaze as Celegorm continued to poke fun at the local merchants and their ways of trading. Slowly turning his head away, he looked out of the window to somewhat control the anger that was boiling up inside of him.

He hadn’t felt a great deal of emotion since that day. His chest was heavy. It was hard for him to breathe. The pain had become unbearable over this past year. It was like he could feel his heart being torn apart more and more with each passing second.

While on the outside, he appeared as the quiet, dark and scary prince of the House of Fëanor, his family knew how emotional he actually was. It was the same with his horrible temper.

However, since that day, he had ceased to feel anything.

He remembered how he had lashed out at everyone for driving her away from him. How he had attacked his father and how it had taken all six of his brothers to restrain him. With that, his eyes found themselves focusing on Fëanor. The head of the house. The ellon he had once admired like no one else.

Now, all he could feel was betrayal. Broken trust. Indifference.

Was it not a father’s role to be a guiding light for his son? To help him grow and give advice when needed? How was it that every one of his brothers seemed to have such a strong bond with him except for Carnistir?

Ever since he had announced his engagement to her, Fëanor’s behavior towards him had changed. It had always been a fact that Fëanor had no positive opinions on the race of Men. Only the Ñoldor seemed to have his respect, or at least parts of it. It had been no surprise that he would openly disapprove of their courtship and even hatefully comment on it, calling her all sorts of atrocious slurs that Carnistir would not dare repeat out of fear that his anger would take over and make him do unspeakable things.

He had been lucky to live in Thargelion with her, hidden away from his father’s disapproval. In order to protect her, his precious flower, he had deliberately distanced himself from his family, only allowing his mother and some of his brothers to come visit them in their home. He did not regret his decision. In fact, the distance had opened his eyes in a way he would have never expected. He had found himself discovering the world from her perspective and finding love in all the places he would have never cared to look before.

Before her, his life had been grey, full of routine and work. He remembered feeling like something was missing. Like he was searching for something unattainable. Longing for the unknown.

The moment she had walked into his life, he had felt like a garden about to bloom, full of sensation. The colors around him had suddenly become so very vibrant, he had noticed people’s smiles and had found himself feeling content whenever he had gazed upon the blue sky. He had become impatient to learn more, to feel more, almost like when he had been an elfling growing up in Tirion.

She had taught him how to look at life in a beautiful, romantic way. Through the eyes of a mortal being. To cherish the time he was given in this world, even though that concept was rather unfamiliar to him because of his immortal existence. Time had never been relevant in his life. He had always been efficient and quick when it came to his work. Never once had he struggled with having too little or too much time on his hands. In fact, his endless lifespan had always seemed to serve as a great excuse to throw himself into work and trade deals. Until he had met her, that is. He had learned how quickly the days were flying by. Seeing her plan ahead whatever it was that she was doing in order for her to be able to indulge in other projects and travels before her time would eventually run out had always left him curious. Only when he had started courting her had he found the true meaning behind her planning and eagerness to explore and learn about his culture. Only when she had looked up at him with tears in her beautiful e/c eyes had he realized how precious time was. When she had told him about her fear of death. Her fear of the unknown. Her fear of being swallowed by nothingness and never being able to feel again.

He remembered it like it was yesterday. Her small hands clutching onto his significantly larger ones, chest rising and falling irregularly because of the countless sobs that were wrecking her body, and her usually clear, cheerful voice being nothing but a shaky whisper when she had told him how terrified she was of the thought of leaving this world and most importantly, leaving him behind to fade.

And Carnistir had known he would never be the same after her. He still found himself utterly, unapologetically, painfully in love with her.

It was because of the way she made him feel, the way she had turned his life around and changed it for the better, the way his heart would swell with love and pride whenever he thought of her, that he had chosen to abandon his family’s principles and gaze upon Men with a different mindset. It was because of his immediate, undeniable connection to her spirit that he had decided she was his One.

His fëa felt incomplete without her by his side. It was like a part of him had been stolen away. The part that he had been searching for so long before he had met her.

The souls of Men and Elves belonged in different realms. That was what he had been taught his entire life. While he knew that he would be brought into the Halls of Mandos to be judged and returned to Valinor, his fate did not grant him any satisfaction without her by his side.

And yet, their spirits were connected, deeper than he could have ever imagined. Never before could he have fathomed that Men and Elves were able to form a spiritual bond as powerful as theirs. It was only when he had experienced it himself that he had realized how powerful the union of two souls could be, no matter which background they possessed. There would be no other, no matter how many centuries would pass. He was hers and she was his. Forever.

His brothers’ laughter brought him back to reality. It was no longer Celegorm who was making fun of the merchants and their customs, but the Ambarussar mimicking his storytelling. Carnistir didn’t understand how they could always be this energetic. How they could all sit together and act like a big, happy family, skillfully ignoring all the atrocities they had committed because of those Silmarils — eventually driving his love away from him. As the sun rose higher, his eyes began to wander, no longer feeling the desire to watch his brothers’ buffoonery. Instead, he stared outside the large rounded window, right through Celegorm.

The air seemed moist. He could still see remains of morning dew on the grass and leaves around and could only imagine how fresh it must smell. How he wished he could just vanish. Leave this place to go to wherever she had gone. It could be the deepest depths of the abyss and he would still follow her without looking back once. The Oath be damned.

He still remembered that fateful day, when he had found out about her disappearance. About the reason behind it. Everyone had given her a horrible time. She had been tormented and harrassed from the moment their courtship was made public. Carnistir remembered how much he had admired her stubborn and confident nature, how she had laughed in everyone’s faces when they had told her she would ruin him and his reputation. She had always been very sure of herself. Perhaps her entire existence as a mortal woman had required her to grow a thick skin in order to survive in Beleriand. It had always been her competitiveness and need to prove herself that had him worried. It was because of those late nights spent in front of his fireplace when she would pour her heart out to him — tell him how badly she wanted to show everyone she was indeed worthy of his love, how badly she wanted them to just shut up and stop pestering her — that he cursed himself for allowing her to get close to him. Carnistir had known that she had meant his father and Curufin, most of all. He had thought her temper, which could get almost as bad as his at times, would help her withstand his father’s disapproval. But in the end, it had gone to her head and when that point had been reached, instead of telling him, they had let her leave. Only after beating Curufin to a pulp had Carnistir found out about it. About how after a disasterous run-in with his father, Y/N had declared to fulfill Fëanor’s impossible quest — to acquire a Silmaril to prove herself once and for all.

Carnistir closed his eyes at the thought. He knew the Oath would catch up to him, but never could he have fathomed that it would take a turn like this. He had searched for her in every place and corner, crossed hills and valleys, questioned every single creature of Arda. He would have faced Eru Illúvatar himself to find her.

But after months of unsuccessful searching, his hope began to fade and he had realized that he would soon follow. Life had felt numb and surreal after that. It was as if he was just waiting for Mandos to greet him, for Nienna had drained him of every single one of his tears. There was no beauty in grief, Carnistir had decided. He would rather be engulfed in complete darkness than stay in this realm any longer. It would make no difference. He would never reunite with her again, ever. And yet, instead of being granted the sweet release of death, he was bound to this realm, this oath.

He watched the wind blow through the high grass on the fields outside, growing more and more tired by the minute. How long would it take for his heart to finally stop beating, he wondered. He thought back to his fiercer days. When he had drive and determination. In a way, he felt like he was letting her down by not holding on. After all, this was her greatest fear coming true.

As he sat there, drowning in hushed up misery, his eyes fell upon a small black dot on the horizon. It seemed to move closer. Carnistir welcomed any distraction at this point. He found himself completely focussing on the dot, trying to make out its shape as it got closer.

It seemed to be a deer, by the way it was moving towards him. But the longer he looked, the more suspicious he got. This could’t be a deer — the silhouette was too sturdy. He was surprised to make out what seemed to be a rider on a horse on these dewy fields across from him. What was a rider doing so close to his estate?

"Brother."

Makalaurë’s voice rang in his ears. Turning his head to the side, Carnistir was met with concerned blue eyes. "Whatever is it you are staring at?"

Carnistir silently gestured in direction of the field, where the rider’s silhouette was becoming clearer for everyone to see. And right when everyone turned their heads to see what he was pointing at — that was when he felt it.

A long forgotten sensation, so familiar.

No. It couldn’t be.

The screeching of his chair being pushed back was hardly as loud as his heartbeat. He felt it pulsing in his ears, heavier and more alive than ever.

It could not be.

He could feel it flowing through his veins, sending burning energy through his entire body like he hadn’t felt in ages. The rider.

The round table was dead silent. He felt his brothers’ eyes on him, even his father seemed confused. But Carnistir couldn’t care less. His feet seemed to move on their own and soon, he found himself stumbling outside, his steps growing quicker and quicker until he came to a halt on the edge of the fields, tensely staring at the horse, which was beginning to slow down.

The rider was hooded, clothed in a ragged black cloak that seemed too big for them.

Carnistir’s breaths became shallow as they rose their arms to lift the hood off their head. He felt dizzy. Heat rose to his cheeks, the drumming in his ears became unbearable. His fëa would not lie to him, would it? But it could not be, she-

E/c eyes. Staring right into his.

His breath hitched in his throat. H/c locks spilled out of the hood, onto her shoulders. Her face — thinner and rougher than he remembered, and her mouth agape.

He ran. He ran, faster than he had ever run before. And when she slid off the horse, steadying herself by its side, weak and meager, he knew it was his fëa keeping her from passing out right then and there. He stretched out his arm, desperately trying to get closer to her, as his feet carried him across the field.

They collided with a force greater than lightning itself. His hands were blindly grasping at her, frantically trying to get a hold of her as if his life depended on it, because it did. Her fingers dug into his shirt, clutching onto him, and his ears were met with whimpers, quiet and weak.

"Cara-"

The cry he let out was raw, almost animalistic. He felt his face twist itself into a terrible expression, full of despair, as he buried his nose in her messy hair and inhaled her scent. The scent that had become more and more faint over time, until it had almost completely vanished from his chambers.

Not even the clothes she had left in their closet had held onto it. And now it was all around him.

They sank to their knees, her small form falling into his chest, her hands coming up to caress his neck and jaw, chapped lips placing uncoordinated kisses on his burning skin. It was at that exact moment that he felt their souls melting together in a much too long awaited embrace.

Her nose brushed up against his cheek as her kisses travelled higher until he shakily took her face into his large hands and kissed her fervently. The fire in his soul had been ignited once again, and he could feel her fingers twisting and pulling his hair, her body pressing itself as close to his as possible, teeth clashing in the process. Carnistir was trying his hardest to navigate through this suddenly unfamiliar display of affection, the desire and agony of a long lost lover that had just come back to him. This was the strongest he had felt since the day of her disappearance. When they broke apart, gasping for air, faces wet with tears and eyes glistening and gleaming with passion, unable to grasp that they were indeed reunited again, that this was no longer a dream, he finally mustered up the courage to say out loud the name that had been haunting him day and night.

"Y/N."

It was soft, hoarse, overwhelmed. He almost didn't recognise himself, for he was known for his rich and determined voice, a voice that never wavered. And yet, when the sound fell on her ears, her face lit up so beautifully Carnistir feared he would perish right then and there. Her smile, though small and weak, was enough to have him see stars. Their foreheads came to rest against each other as their heartbeats slowed down gradually, getting used to each other's presence again.

How he loved her.

How his soul burned for her.

How he would never again be separated from her.

Just as he thought the shock was wearing down, his guard shot right back up when he heard footsteps approaching from behind.

He took his time, gently winding his arms around her frail form and steadying her against himself before rising to his feet to face his brothers and father, all of whom seemed to be in complete and utter disbelief. A new fire was raging inside of him, no longer warm and welcoming, as he stared straight into Fëanor’s eyes. The message was clear and every one of his brothers took a hesitant step back, not wanting to trigger Carnistir. He had always been highly protective of her, this they knew. The entire kingdom knew. No one would dare lay a finger on his One, if they valued their life. But right now, even the tiniest sound could send him into complete madness.

Nobody said a word. The silence laid heavy on Carnistir’s shoulders. But right before he could make any remark, voice dripping with deadly venom, sworn to obliterate anyone that came too close to his lover even in the slightest, he felt her straightening her posture and taking a step forward, holding onto his upper arm for support.

Her e/c eyes were cold and calculating, almost hollow as they locked in a stare with his father. He held his breath when she reached inside her cloak and revealed a piece of cloth, wrapped around something. Her hand shakily placed the lump inside Carnistir’s and she proceeded to pull at the cloth, unveiling the object hidden underneath.

The light was blinding.

His brothers erupted in gasps and shocked whispers along the lines of "Impossible!" and "It cannot be!"

There in his hand, it laid.

A Silmaril, cold and hard.

Carnistir could not believe his eyes. Y/N’s stare was fierce, unrelenting. She said not one word, and yet, he felt the power radiating from inside of her — menacing — aimed right at his father.

He could not imagine the things she had seen and endured, to get her hands on this Silmaril. How she had managed to locate and bring it to Thargelion all by herself was almost frightening to him.

Her stance faltered a bit, and he could feel her exhaustion washing over him as a result of their reconnected fëa. She would not be able to stand here any longer. Their stand-off had to be postponed until morn, at least. Her health was of utmost importance, his father be damned.

Taking a deep breath, Carnistir placed the Silmaril on the ground before carefully picking her up, bringing her head to rest against his chest. Not today. Not after she achieved the impossible, all by herself.

His brothers’ deafening silence — Fëanor’s deafening silence — was triumphant enough. They knew.

They had left her to go and die and she had returned.

His stride was headed towards the healing quarters, away from his brothers, away from his father. He could not care less about their disapproval. Thinking of themselves as superior to everyone and everything and finally getting what they deserved. A taste of their own medicine.

The determination of a mortal woman.

It was when he laid in bed with her that same night, her head resting on his chest, arms wrapped around his torso so tightly he believed he would have had trouble breathing if he weren’t immortal, Carnistir felt at peace. Her chest was rising and falling in a steady rythm and for the first time in what felt like a neverending eternity, his bed felt warm again. She would have the whole kingdom in a frenzy by tomorrow. The word had probably spread already. He could not imagine the humiliation his father must have felt in that moment, let alone the fact that he'd have to spend the rest of his life knowing that a mortal woman managed to fulfill the quest he himself failed. Pride crept into his heart at that — his father, humbled by none other than the human he had sworn to never accept as his son's One. Carnistir knew Y/N's temper made her do things she regretted rather often, which had been another reason for their undeniable connection. They were similar in that sense. But he also knew that even though she had acquired a Silmaril and thus proven for everyone to see, that she was indeed worthy of him, he had to talk sense into her the next morning. What she did had been impulsive and reckless, so very inconsiderate and dangerous and yet, his chest swelled with love. He was angry with her, so very angry that she would leave him without a word, travel into the deepest depths of the abyss to retrieve this jewel, just to prove a point. How very mortal of her. A small smile appeared on his face at that thought. And there, in the comfort of his lover’s embrace, in the sound of her soft breaths, in the serenity of this quiet night, a lone tear rolled down his cheek.

How he loved her.

The souls of Men and Elves belonged in different realms. That was what he had been taught his entire life. And yet, her soul had found its way back to him. Carnistir was certain, he would never be separated from her again. Ever. She was his One. There would be no other, no matter how many centuries would pass. He was hers and she was his.

Forever.

#caranthir x reader #caranthir imagine #fanfic #fanfiction #oneshot #angst #fluff #carnistir #morifinwë

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novemberthecatadmirer · 1 year

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Headcanon about Morgoth, the Void and Dagor Dagorath

My crazy headcanon is Morgoth initially stole the Silmarril because he wanted to make sure Yavanna could not use them to make new Trees. Yes the gems were beautiful but he had no use for them.

Then in the horrible Unlight he looked at Ungoliant, this creature from the Void, this being that just existed and eating and eating and never create anything, this thing that’s hunger itself, and realized, Oh.

He realized he could become something like this. Actually, he would become something like this. He already lost the ability to create and he could feel the desire to destroy, the desire to twist and eliminate everything others created, that desire was growing stronger and stronger inside him. He remembered originally he knew what he wanted to create, he wanted to undo the world and build a new one in his way. But now he could no longer recall the full picture of his new world. It was a past dream that was quickly fading, replaced by the wish to just destroy everything. Like a Spider.

He realized he was slowly becoming a Spider. He was already on this path. He had used his one chance to turn back to firmly push himself further down in this direction. Too late.

The family he betrayed, they knew, some of them. He remembered Namo listening to his yelling like some of those elves listening to their horrible kids throwing a fit. Nenna cried for him. Este tried to invite him for tea and demanded him to “heal himself.” Ulmo hated him. Yavanna stayed away from him like he was some kind of foul things that will make her sick. Varda looked at him with that mocking, knowing smile. “I know where you are going,” she once mouthed to him. He remembered Manwe looked so sad. “Why are you doing this to yourself?” His brother, too good to understand evil, ever so condescending, asked him with real concern. He hated it.

Now he understood. Indeed. Why would anyone do this to themselves? Why would anyone condemn themself to become a Spider and end up being claimed by the Void? Of course Manwe knew this. He was the one who knew the most about the vision of Arda. He was the one who knew better. Unable to understand evil? How do you understand why someone do something, when you fully understand doing that brings only harm to themselves? How do you understand why someone do things that will make them a slave of the Void?

Probably the One was the only one that could forgive him now. If he begged. But he would not beg. He might have threw away everything but he had his pride.

The Silmarils burned his hands. Good! That meant he was still NOT a Spider. How foolish the Ungliant was to ask for the gems. He did not know what would happen if the Spider touched them, but nothing good. Maybe they’ll cancel out each other, the Strength and Love and Hope of this world and the Hopeless Hunger from the Void existed before the world was made.

He was going to keep the gems. He was going to clench them until and after the end of this world. He was not going to let them go. They were going to keep him safe, AWAY from the Void. With the Silmarils he would never become a Spider. Everything was going to be well.

——————————

I think the Silmarils really mattered more to Morgoth than them mattered more to anyone else. My headcanon is the more depressed you are the more attractive the gems feel to you. Morgoth basically was drowning in Nihilism in the end of his character arc.

The worst thing to happen to an artist that live for making things is losing the ability to create. Morgoth did that to himself. He did not knew it; he thought he was just going to have fun destroying other people’s artwork and his own creativity would bear no harm. Actually he was the one who got harmed the most. Yet he still would not regret and say sorry and mean sorry, because he would always try to convince himself there would be other solutions (world domination and the Silmarils) that would help him without hurting his pride and forcing him to take responsibilities.

(The evil is clever but also stupid.)

It’s interesting that Morgoth ended up in the Void soon after losing the Silmarils.

My crazy headcanon is the Valar did not push Morgoth into the Void. They would not do that to anyone.

The Void came for him. The Void claimed him, because he was already a creature of the Void. Then the Void swallowed him whole.

He would never escape.

——————————

As for the Dagor Dagorath? My headcanon is it’s not Morgoth breaking out of the Void. Instead it was going to be the opposite way round: It would be Arda sliding into the Void.

When Arda Marred got so aged and damaged, it started to slide into the Void like Morgoth and ungoliant did. That’s why human were so important in that; a lot of elves probably were just too depressed to fully reject the Void.

(Morgoth would escape but that hardly mattered. He would already became a Spider and it would be like a drowned cat trying to climb onto a sinking ship in desperation.

Also that’s why the human left Arda would “return.” They did not. The world just joined them instead. And they’ll be able to rekindle the world with the Hope they found in places out of the world.

#tolkien #silmarillion #the silmarillion #silm #silm meta #silmarillion meta #silm headcanon #silmarillion headcanon #morgoth #melkor #arda #dagor dagorath

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amethysttribble · 3 years

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fluff-24, elrond

Thank you so much for the prompt!! You asked for fluff and I delivered hurt/comfort, but at least I think this one is rather good! And it does take the swing for the positive at the end.

Prompt, Fluff 24: “What do you remember?” Elrond

So like, Elros went through the entire life cycle before Elrond was even 501 y/o. That's a baby elf right there! Like, that's so fucked up and sad, oh my god.

Elrond could smell the silt and salt in the air, and hear the gulls and waves sand together. It was not the most melodious sound, but it put him at greater ease than he had felt in a long time. The peacefulness he was feeling in his breast was helped along by where he lay.

On a grand, sunlit balcony, Elrond reclined on a long couch, his head nestled in his brother’s lap. Elros was running a hand through his long hair, humming an old song that Elrond was pretty sure only three people alive knew.

At least… he hoped it was three. Because if it was not- if something had happened, if he had never survived the the end of the war the sinking in the first place, if a different choice was made than was reported- it would soon be only one person that knew Elrond and Elros’ childhood lullaby.

His brother was dying.

This bothered Elrond far more than it seemed to concern Elros. Their talk of such horrible things was why they were settled like this, Elrond having wept like a child and Elros calm and gentle and grown. Almost parental, and Elrond hated that. That his brother had raised four children, but Elrond was still considered a youth, that his own brother babied him.

Had it not been Elrond who comforted Elros when they were torn from Sirion? When the land turned against them and Maglor and Maedhros went to stave off the dark things, leaving them alone? That first night in Gil-Galad’s camp? When news of the silmarils and their holders’ fates came? When they made their choices?

But here Elrond was, bereft of courage, bereft of comfort when he wasn’t even the one dying. He was ashamed, but he let Elros stroke his hair and sing for him, all the same. When would he lose this?

When could he get it back?

Elrond would break Arda Marred tomorrow, if it meant he could be with his brother a little longer. He knew war, he knew turmoil, he could brave Dagor Dagorath. What Elrond did not know how to do was be alone.

He cracked his eyes open, and Elros still did not look to hold the anguish Elrond was feeling. Ah, the be the one leaving rather than the one left behind.

What does that feel like, Elrond wondered bitterly.

Elros was smiling, looking towards the watery horizon, towards Valinor and the warm sun. His face was tanned from it, greater-lined from a Mannish life of over-exposure to Arien’s light. The wrinkles were around his mouth and eyes though, formed from too much smiling, too much laughter.

The sight made more tears rise to Elrond’s eyes. Fast and hard, Elros’ life had been, but his brother didn’t seem to regret a second of it. Elrond could not begrudge him that, though he wished to. It would be easier if he was just angry, instead of angry and scared and glad and proud and sad and confused all at once.

How did it feel to be utterly at peace with one’s life? Elrond didn’t know.

His brother wiped away his tears with rough fingers, callused from ship-tending and city-building and sword-wielding. Then he picked up a stray lock of Elrond’s hair, and began to braid like when they were children. It was a Sindarin type of braid, one of the few things about either of them that could be called ‘Sindarin’.

Their mother had taught them long ago, though Elrond could not recall being taught.

“What do you remember?” he rasped at Elros.

His brother quirked an eyebrow, and for a moment he feared Elros would ask for clarification. But Elros knew. They still knew each other that well, at least.

“I remember it being a lot like this. Sunlight, what could get through the smog of Morgoth, at least. It was always clearer near the sea.”

It had been. When Beleriand was dying, everyone who could flocked to the edges of the world. The Feanorians,as well, had tried to stay along the coast for greater chance of food and clear air. They were often chased off by Falmari boats, though; not welcome anywhere after Sirion.

Maglor had tried to assure Elrond that it was not their little peredhel princes they drove away, but it had felt like it.

“I remember the smell of the ocean. It clung to them, didn’t it? Father because he was always on his boats, and Mother naturally. Something ainur about her, I think. Hareth used to say that I smell like whatever is calling to me at the moment. Warm drinks with cinnamon in them, usually.”

Elrond laughed despite himself, though it came out watery. He couldn’t verify that, his brother smelled like his brother, plus whatever else might be clinging to him. He smelled like the only consistent home Elrond had ever had, and it did not change. Not as far as Elrond was concerned.

“I certainly never noticed, but that would explain why I’m always hungry around you. You I swear you smelled like mussels our entire childhood.”

Elrond had just tacked that up to the lingering effects of dealing with food scarcity. Frankly, he still thought that was the case. He couldn’t remember what his mother smelled like, after all.

“Mussels,” Elros scoffed. “No, no, I think the dead-fish smell was just from washing in dirty rivers. You know, I look back now, and I think they might have been lying to us about those blockages in the river being natural. I think they might have been orc bodies.”

They had been. Elrond and Elros had had that conversation once before, after the war, while they were still in Gil-galad’s care. They’d been drinking Mannish draughts and trying to list all the lies Maedhros and Maglor had told them. Everything, some of Gil-galad’s people insisted, had been a lie.

Elrond and Elros hadn’t really counted that many.

Like he did back then, Elrond said, “That would explain why Maedhros got so upset about us almost drinking the water. He cuffed me for it.”

Unlike back then, though, Elros drew in a quiet breath.

He didn’t say anything more, but Elrond knew. His brother’s memory was fading, becoming patchy and hazy and selective, in some ways. Elrond had noticed that Elros remembered the good things better than the bad. Probably for the best, but it did make Elrond- and his memory that had only become sharper and better with time and Elvendom- feel lonely.

“He could get angry,” Elros muttered, “I know he could but I can’t remember when… why. I-”

This time it was Elrond who reached for his brother’s face. He cupped Elros’s wrinkly cheek and made him look down.

“Mostly he got angry at Maglor,” Elrond said slowly. “Or some of his commanders. He only grew angry with us when we did something dangerous, or intruded.”

Even then, even when Elrond and Elros went pawing through their dead brothers’ things, Maedhros had just walked away. He’d looked angry enough to kill- looked like he did at Sirion, Elrond’s mind always reminded him- but he’d walked away.

The occasional cuff or yank or painful grip had been reserved for danger, even though Elrond now understood that didn’t make it okay. It was a strange dissonance, what he felt then versus what he knew now. And he couldn’t even ask Maedhros to explain himself.

It probably made it easier. Maedhros was a memory now. Maglor haunted Elrond.

“Do you think about them often?” Elrond asked, drawing his brother from wherever he was lost in thought.

Elros hummed and said, “Which ones?”

“Both.”

Elros sat back and Elrond’s hand fell away. His brother grabbed it, though, held his young hand in his old, waving their fingers back and forth absentmindedly. Hand-in-hand, hand-in-hand, their whole lives. If you believe Cirdan, they were born holding hands.

“Yes,” Elros finally said, “Yes. The letters I have exchanged with Mother and Father, they are not enough. They could never be enough. And they say they understand my choice, but they are grieved, and I am grieved that they are grieved. And you. I am sorry to grieve you.”

“We made our choices together,” Elrond insisted, as if he had not just been sobbing in Elros’s lap about how painful and frightening this all was. How much he wished this didn’t have to happen.

“That we did,” Elros soothed him gently, as if Elrond were one of his children. It made him bristle and but quieted his beating heart at the same time. “But there is still grief. You need not grieve alone, you know. They are still waiting for you.”

So Elrond was told every time Elros received a letter. Elrond had yet to send one. I have more time, he’d always cheekily tell him, putting off that meeting- written or otherwise- off indefinitely.

“I will not sail,” Elrond mumbled petulantly.

“Peace, you do not have to. It’s just an option. Hm, they are waiting on you, but you are still waiting on Maglor. You’ll be waiting a long time.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Elrond said, looking up with a sharp glare. Elros just laughed.

“It’s fine, it’s not a judgment. I am waiting on him too. I’ve said goodbye to everyone else, after all.”

Elrond’s breath stuttered. He did not like that, he hated Elros speaking about his coming… coming death so calmly. He did not want to think about that long, lest he start weeping again.

He sat up.

“I’ll go fetch him,” Elrond insisted, still gripping his brother’s hand tight and leaning in close so that he would understand how serious he was. Elros grinned broadly.

“If I was a younger Man, I’d join you. Perhaps I still will. These old joints aren’t worth much, but I can still stroll a beach. Maybe Maglor will take pity on me and make himself known.”

“I’ll wring his neck if he doesn’t,” Elrond said, and he didn’t know what he was doing. Elros was old, and dying, and did not need to go on a journey to hunt down the singing wraith that allegedly haunted the western shores, from the very top to the bottom. But by Eru, Elrond was selfish and he couldn’t give up the chance for just a little more time.

Just a little more time with the family he had left.

“What do you say then,” King Elros decreed, grinning like the mischievous little brother Elrond knew so well. “Fancy one last adventure?”

#elrond #elros #the silmarillion #tolkien #fanfic #sep. requests #Tribble Post

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