#and maglor is an animal too

[searchingforserendipity25]

Trials By Fire (After).

Maglor afire post-Bragollach, for @maedhrosmaglorweek. Also on AO3.

Part 2 of this installment, with no need to read it first.

-

It does not seem possible that Maglor may survive the year.

So Maedhros wrote to the king - his new king, Fingon, along with his vows of fealty and the full promise to avenge Fingolfin, written and sealed in his own blood.

Maglor nearly followed his half-uncle. His flesh burned with a terrible fever. The whites of his eyes were fully red with smoke; he kept weeping, not with grief, but the poisonous grit that had become the fertile plains of the East.

He had refused to wash the last of the ash that had been his land; and barely permitted the healers to attend to him. He nearly went back to the Gap - would have gone without warning, if Maedhros had allowed it.

"Let go, release me," Maglor demanded.

Maedhros stood before him, between the landing and the gate. He had risen with a cold clarity of premonition, the sudden certainty - One whom you love is to die.

His voice broke and broke, until blood shone on his teeth. The power in it was a monstruous thing, filling the tall, tall stone halls of Himring.

He had been out of the healer's room and nearly down the staircases, enough beastly might in the ugly scrap of his throat to make ruthless warriors turn into peons, opening doors and gates for his passed.

Maedhros wielded in his hand his sheathed sword, the one he slept with like a lover beside him.

Release me, Maglor ordered with the fury of his mind, all his spirit warring against Maedhros; outraged, and betrayed truly to be held hostage.

Maedhros expelled his followers from the room - an effort of will, his dominion fighting against his brother's, and their own awareness flickering at the corner of his mind with animal terror.

And then he raised his blade from its sheath, without hesitation.

Maglor's best weapon had even been his voice - he had meant to make his way back to the Gap unaccompanied, none of his riders were about him.

He had ridden into safety for them, the lives bound to die with him if he had stood fast; he fled, now, as a thief in the night, dying of his wounds, alone, so that they might outlast him.

Maglor in his clear mind would not do such a thing. Maglor, Maglor as himself, took loyalty too solemnly; he would have given them the choice to follow him to the last, if he had been thinking clearly, and not wild with anguish. That was when Maedhros knew for certain what he must do.

Maedhros had his warriors close all the doors and all the windows, and leave them to their reckoning.

Maglor's face looked at him, repelled more than afraid at finding himself trapped. The worst of it was the bubbling foam at the corners of his mouth as he laughed, incredulous. Maedhros, he called. Nelyo, so you too are my enemy?

How could you allow this - how could you permit it! The East was yours to keep - look at what your keeping has made of us, O Lord of Himring! 

Maedhros ignored his insults, his threats, his bragging and begging. He loved him too well not to press him back, back, back, down staircases and corridors.

Maedhros had to lift him up - bearing against his teeth and clawing fingers, pressing him down on the cold springs at the secret base of Himring's thermal baths. Maglor only went limp at last when Maedhros dunked and dipped and half-drowned him back to sense, when at last the terrible blood-fever in his receded.

It took many days, for that. A fortnight and more; and the harm of that time never lifted from him, and left its deep marks.

And years of silence. The healers did what they could, sang the open sore that was his mouth whole; it broke apart, again, again.

He coughed blood at night, stained scraps of cloth scarlet - Maedhros remembered the sail-cloths of Alqualondë, red on white, whenever he saw him wiping his mouth. 

White scars engraved his cheek, from the broken length of his spread as it broke in many parts a gnashing dragon's teeth; and he did not speak for years.

Maedhros knew too well this despair, and loved him too much. He kept his closed away, at first. A high tower, the highest, with not even an arrow-slit to escape from.

Maglor's voice, closed like a fist in his throat; Maglor's face terrible and worse than terrible, the flaring of him as he paced the battlements, when he was permitted to walk, under Maedhros's own guard.

He sought always to see if someone was riding towards Himring, or away from it. Few of his riders had survived the great conflagration; few survived their flight. They went off into the wilds to ride against bands of orcs, or the rumours of Balrods or wyrms, as King Fingolfin had.

They meant to die, as King Fingolfin had.

Maedhros took to sharing his brother's cot, arms holding close his trembling limbs, lest he rise again in the dark before dawn and make for the stables, the scorched plains, the long homeward path back to what remained of the Gap.

Maglor wished it. Maglor wanted it with such a burning desire it left Maedhros breathless, painted the mirage of leaping dragon-fire behind his lids.

He went quiet and cold, that winter, once the fire left his veins - too cold, coals turning to cinders. He shook with chills, until he was wan and exhausted, and then longer still, and made no sound, gave up on the making of sounds.

He looked at Maedhros with a face empty, one eye blind - but it was the loss of his voice that defeated him. That, and Maedhros's unrelenting determination to make him live.

Let me go, release me, he had howled, until he could not any longer. His voice overlaid itself over memories of Angband, when Maedhros slept. The chains of Thangorodrim, and Maglor riding barely in front of a wave of fire, Maglor behind the thick steel-and-stone of Himring's highest tower, sweating through his fever and his fury.

The look on his face, when Maedhros raised him up from the water. At times he woke with the bones of his arms reverberating with the force of pressing him down, certain as he woke that he had done it - drowned him dead. He had to turn and check, make certain he was not in bed with a corpse bloated blue and black.

It did not seem possible that Maglor may survive the year. Maedhros was a mad fool set on accomplishing the impossible - in this one instance, at least, he earned a bitter victory.

Fingon, he suspected, envied it terribly - his dearest person, saved from the aftermath of Morgoth's flames. Maglor, Maedhros knew for certain, did not forgive him. He had not wished to live.

("Let me go," he had screamed, with the last of his beautiful voice wrecked to disharmony. "Do you not know it was always meant to end in this? Let me at the flames, Nelyo, it is my land, mine, no good shall follow if I do not die in it. I know this, if you bear me in your heart with any love at all you must release me -"

He kept fighting for the words, even when he could not speak, choking on them. Maedhros dreamed of that, too).

"Not this year yet," he cautioned, when at last he judged his brother well enough to be able to leave the tower, and give him the freedom to pay his due respect to the king. "Call your standards, your vassals and all the forces at their disposal, and all shall answer in full faith. But wait only one year more; the time is not yet come."

Maglor's voice should be fully his own again, by then. The healers agreed; and Maedhros knew it.

He dueled in the grounds, and fought anyone who dared to try him. His body, forged anew from a terrible crucible, healed its shattered ribs, its splintered femur, the cracks in his skull, the fine, fine fractures in his long fingers. He trained as the healers dictated, drank the bitter tinctures, ate well, worked a sweat of pain for hours as he strengthened his body again, and readied himself for the harp again with plucking loose strings.

Even Maedhros lost against him when they crossed blades, not once, but time and time again. It was a sight of beauty and dread, watching the two lords of the fortress spar. 

Down on the training grounds, hands and knees in the dirt, looking up at his brother standing taller than him, for once - taller, fiercer, the whites of his eyes alight - Maedhros was very aware of the picture they painted, and the road he meant to take to keep that fire kindled.

For Maedhros had been brought to life himself with his brother's insistence, by the shores of Mithrim, knew to be patient. Ruthless, and patient, for the times when their blades crossed, and Maglor's face shone with a new passion, a flare of mirth.

It made no difference that Maglor grew dire, afterwards, and evaded all company, and would not look at him. Maedhros might lose the duel, but those brief smiles were his prize, and those he stole more and more often.

Maglor was nearly whole. Kept court once more with his own warriors, and kept some from their fateful rides, and blessed the ones who took their leave in honour.

Slowly, with his customary discipline, he learned his voice-box anew; carefully, inevitably. The face he turned always eastwards looked at Maedhros without resentment, now.

When he won, Maglor held out his hand to help him rise. Maedhros started to wait, to hope almost.

And when at last, at last, Maglor pressed close in his arms, weeping trails of salt against his neck, that was when Maedhros knew it was time to go to war; for together had never been as strong, or more certain to succeed.

#maglor #maedhros #maedhrosmaglorweek #silm fic #my fics #tolkien fanfiction #sons of feanor #feanorians

[just-another-linguist]

House of feanor pet headcanons

Maedhros: Dogs, preferably golden retrievers and labradors. Therapy-, family- and service dogs in general (family dogs in Valinor, he needed a service- and a therapy dog post Angband). He had a owl in middle earth too. She brought his brothers and Fingon letters, but then she died in the Nirnaeth (together with Fingon. Funny, how you always seem to lose anyone too close to you. Do you think Maglor will one day vanish as well?Maybe you truly are a terrible older brother. You can't even take care of your own pets! Pathetic...) After the Nirnaeth he had a falcon, who later Elros inherited (She died together with him).

Maglor: Songbirds, but only in Valinor (Later in middle-earth he understood the feeling of being trapped as best as he could because of his big brother and set them free, if they were still able to survive outside. The birds who were too domesticated for that he kept). Canaries, cockatiels, budgerigars, etc. Celegorm and Curufin made jokes about the nightingales because Tinuviel *cough*.

Celegorm: Dogs. From. Orome. Do I have to say more? He had at least ten dogs alone for prey hunting. And Huan of course. HUAN.

Caranthir: Not a pet person or animal person. Had sea monkeys and a hamster as a kid, but somehow they died after two weeks. Well, the sea monkeys died after two weeks, the hamster lived three months. Feanor and Nerdanel didn't let him keep any other pets after that. In middle earth, he got fond of cats because they could be kept as pets underground because they have night vision (keyword dwarves). The cats he especially liked were the naked (egyptian?) ones, I don't know their names; they didn't shed and he is allergic to animal fur.

Curufin: Cats. Cat person. 100% cats. Cats are just made for him. They're like him. They're clever, cunning, daring, will do whatever you tell them not to do, territorial, THEY HISS, I mean how amazing is that and they're just so fucking bitchy and picky. Also, in the Tevildo Canon cats were considered evil by elves (Yavanna: I made these guys and they are perfectly fine and you're all just bigoted) and dogs hated them so I think it's kind of fitting for Curufin to like cats so much because they're so misunderstood and wronged by elven society. He had three cats in Valinor who he later took with him to middle earth (all of them made it, luckily). He had a black shorthair, a white longhair and a calico (all female and girls) and they all had cool badass Quenya names that I will not elaborate on due to personal reasons (*innocent cough*)

Amras: He had a tarantula in Valinor who was later left behind during the flight of the Noldoli. This was quite unusual due to spiders being disliked in elven society and being seen as unholy and disgusting (like Curufin and his cats). He loved her dearly and cried alot when he couldn't take her with him. Nerdanel promised him to take care of her while he was gone. When he got reembodied, his tarantula greeted him home. He was so grateful that Nerdanel took care of her the whole time (which was, to be fair, a long time) and thanked her alot. Their whole relationship got better because of this. Also, in middle earth he didn't keep any pets due to him still griefing his tarantula and him not wanting to replace her. He sometimes took care of his brother Celegorm's dogs, but only for a while and he held no love for them.

Amrod: reptiles. Lizards, snakes and amphibians. In Valinor, he had a chameleon, a bearded dragon and a iguana. He only got to get the chameleon in time, the others were left behind and Nerdanel took care of them. However, the chameleon got burned to death together with him at Losgar. Later, the chameleon got reembodied together with him.

Bonus Celebrimbor:

He liked to play with his uncle's dog (Huan) and he loved his father's cats. Curufin wanted to buy him a cat, but little Celebrimbor refused because he loved his father's calico cat so much that she was basically his pet as well and buying him a new cat would feel like replacing her. Later on, Finrod asked him again if he wants any pets and Celebrimbor refused again because he was happy with the calico cat. When Finrod left and he de-fathered Curufin (I am no longer your child etc. I forgot the verb for it. Listen im german okay i sometimes forget words), Curufin and Celegorm left together with Curufin's cats (including the calico cat) and Huan, Celebrimbor grieved the calico cat more than he grieved his father because it was easier to grieve somebody who hadn't hurt him. Finrod, his friend, as the absolute sunshine he is, left him a small poodle puppy behind knowing Curufin will take the cat with him. The poodle grew to be one of his closest companions in his life.

#silmarillion #tolkien #silm #the silmarillion #maedhros #maglor #celegorm #caranthir #curufin #amrod #amras #feanorians #sons of feanor #the sons of feanor #house of feanor #celebrimbor #my headcanons

[polutrope]

I wish you would write more celegorm/curufin. A Salve was sooo good. Thank you for sharing it. You're a great writer!!

Aw thanks Anon! That's very flattering. I wish I would write more C/C also.

But! Your ask reminded me that I did start something about them at Mithrim (my favourite setting for inadvisable incest), for SilmSmutWeek and upon looking it up I don't dislike it as much as I thought I did. So have a little pre-slash Tyelcurvo being their treacherous selves.

~ ~ ~

Once inspected, Curufin sheathes each blade as though its point could silence the chorus of his brother’s cruelty.

Father is dead, Curvo. Scrape. His boldness was rewarded with death. Clunk. So tell me not what our father would have done. Scrape. He is not here. And I am your King. Clunk.

It was not always so between them. Once, Curufin believed Maglor a worthy ruler, and not merely out of respect for the line of succession. Curufin knew how his brother could enthrall an audience; how his voice could soften hearts as readily as it could stir them to violence. Once, Curufin even assessed Maglor more fit to rule than their dissident eldest brother. An observation, only: it was not for Curufin to deal out judgement, especially of one who now suffered death or torment (which, they did not know) for his choices.

Curufin beat that particular thought down into forgetfulness. He is not so cold as that.

Cold and ambitious: these are two of Maglor’s preferred words with which to spear him. Not across the council table, no—there Maglor is all poise, all accord, professing that he would have all of Fëanor's sons rule in concert. Cold and ambitious are words breathed in the shadowed bends of winding stairwells.

And I am your King.

Very well: then act as one.

Curufin hisses, flinches. He has gripped the sheath in his left hand too tightly, thrust its blade off-course. His blood blooms a straight red line across his palm. Like an animal he slaps it against his mouth to suck at the wound.

“Careful. Those are sharp.”

Sardonic, laughter teasing along its rough edges. Curufin need not look to know the voice.

“Fuck you, Turco,” he says, turning despite himself because such is the power that Celegorm has over him. Curufin hates it.

The laughter trickles out from between smirking lips. Celegorm unfolds the knot of his arms across his chest and springs from the door frame on which he leans. Curufin’s gut twists with the knowledge of having been watched. Too late, he throws up shields against his brother’s intrusion and stiffens as Celegorm approaches.

Blood seeps from his neglected wound, curling a path between his fingers.

With a glance down, Celegorm asks, “Are you going to tend to that?” He is already pulling a length of cloth from the satchel at his waist. He spits on it.

On impulse, Curufin whips his hand out of his brother’s reach and back to his mouth. “Out with it,” he sneers around his bleeding palm. “What do you want?” Thinned and quickened by defensive anger, Curufin’s blood keeps flowing. He curses between clenched teeth.

“At least sit down,” Celegorm says.

Eyes burning, Curufin snatches the cloth from his brother’s hand and takes it to a chair in the corner of the armoury.

“You do not deserve his scorn,” Celegorm says, when Curufin has finished wrapping his wound.

Feigning disinterest, Curufin says, “Who scorns me?”

“Our brother the King.”

Curufin grunts. “Macalaurë is not King.”

“Good, I am glad we agree.”

“But he does rule us. And undermining his rightful authority only sinks us deeper into inaction.” Curufin squares his shoulders and sets his hands on his knees. “Why were you not at the council?”

Celegorm shrugs. “I judged there were better uses of my time. Was I wrong?”

... and that's where it abruptly ends. Perhaps to be revived, one day!

#asks #anon #tyelcurvo #celegorm x curufin #feat. Maglor in absentia #because of course

[thelordofgifs]

The Unburied for the wip ask game please!

(WIP titles ask game)

The Unburied is the longfic I am going to finish and start posting once tfs is done! At the moment it's on the backburner, but I'm still very committed to it. A canon-compliant fic spanning the years between the ship-burning at Losgar and the rise of the Sun, from the alternating POVS of Maglor in Mithrim and Fingon on the Helcaraxe.

Here's a snippet:

“You look better,” he said, to change the subject. While Curufin was still very pale, there was some animation now in his dark eyes, and he moved with an echo of his old confidence. “Not that — I mean—” He had never known himself to stumble over his words before, he who had wielded them as a weapon long before Morgoth put any thought of forging swords into the minds of the Noldor in Tirion. A frightening thing, to know yourself so little, to wake up with half your heart torn away and find yourself a stranger without it. “It helped, a little,” said Curufin. “Making this.” He managed a wry smile, and added, “I suppose Tyelko was right when he used to say that I could forget anything with the work. For a time, at least.” “I am glad,” said Maglor, and meant it. “You might try it too, Káno,” said Curufin. He could not grow used to this, the sight of his little brothers all looking at him with varying degrees of nervous concern, as though it was their responsibility to care for him and not the other way round — and why did they bother, anyway? Did they hope to make themselves replacements, as though any of them could say in that fond and laughing voice, Káno, you should not stay up this late, go to sleep, or Káno, you have forgotten to eat again, have you not? No matter, I brought you some fruit — no, I will not leave until you have eaten it all, or even Come for a walk with me, dearest, you have not been outside in days— He still could not weep. “Try what?” he asked, trying to sound interested in the answer. “I have not heard you sing,” said Curufin, “since Tyelko came back.” A pretty euphemism, that: as though it was Celegorm’s return that was the cause of their sorrows, and not the fact that Maedhros had not.

#asks #hobbitwrangler #ask game #unburied verse #oh this one is angsty. I forgot

[lordgrimwing]

First Meetings #06

[for Maedhros and Maglor week, hosted by @maedhrosmaglorweek]

“Come on,” Maedhros whispered, guiding his brother by one hand.

Maglor, with his other hand covering his eyes, set his bare feet down carefully on the floorboards. They needed to be as quiet as possible to avoid waking their parents or one of their nosy little brothers. “I’d be faster if you let me see,” He hissed back.

“Nope, just wait.”

Blindly, he followed the tug on his hand through the living room, kitchen, and—after a brief pause at the door—outside. He felt gritty dust under his toes as they walked along a well-worn path.

“Are you taking me to the barn?” He guessed.

“Shhhh,” Maedhros hushed. “It’s a surprise.”

“Okay,” Maglor laughed. They didn’t need to worry about waking anyone now.

After a bit more walking, they stopped. Maedhros dropped his hand. “Wait here.”

He did and moments later heard the familiar sound of one of the barn doors groaning open. Why would they need to go to the barn in the middle of the night?

“Alright, come on.” Maedhros took his hand again and pulled him forward. 

The barn smelled of dust and hay and animals, as it always did. A goat bleated somewhere as they walked between the stalls. Were they going where he thought they were? Surely, it was too soon for that.

“Let me peek,” He pleaded.

“Almost,” The older teen answered with a laugh. “Just a little farther.”

Maglor’s heart sped up with excitement. Could it be? He’d been waiting so long for this, nearly a year, ever since his father pointed at one of the mares they looked after for Uncle Fingolfin and said they’d keep her next foal.

Maedhros stopped, took his shoulders, turned him to face a stall, and pushed him forward until he was standing right in front of the half-door. At last, he wrapped his fingers around Maglor’s wrist and pulled his hand away from his eyes.

Maglor gasped.

A gray foal lay in a pile of fresh straw, illuminated by a lamp hanging in the aisle. Its long legs were folded inelegantly against a bony body in sleep, but to him, it was the most beautiful creature in the barn. The mare stood next to it, head hanging and already half-asleep but still watchful enough to cock an ear toward her visitors.

“Oh, Mae!” He exclaimed, turning around to hug him. “She’s perfect!”

Maedhros smiled, hugging him back. “Pa thought she was close to foaling, and I’ve been checking on her every chance I got so you won’t have to wait an hour longer than you had to.”

“Do you think the mare will mind if I go in with her?” 

“No, she’s been sweet all night.”

Maglor was too excited to undo the latch, so he scrambled over the door and dropped down into the thick straw bed. The horse lifted her head for a moment, interested, but quickly relaxed again. He settled next to the foal, not daring to wrap his arms around her as he wanted in case that was frightening. Instead, he laid his head next to hers so he could feel the soft puffs of air across his face as she slept peacefully. 

Maedhros rested his elbows on the stall door, grinning down at his brother.

#this family is so silly about their horses you have no idea #(mainly because i haven't written anything about it) #but they love their horsies #getting your own horse is a big deal #maglor is so happy rn #so is maedhors #maglor #maedhros #maedhrosmaglorweek #day 5: new horizons #the silmarillion #old gods au #grimwing writes

[kanalaure]

💛 for the ask game?

💛 - Familial relationships

mm, so i actually think that the general fandom interpretations of who got along best/who was actually friends really.... didn't apply in valinor? the maedhros-maglor, celegorm-curufin, ambarussa, caranthir on his own, type of thing was more a result of the geography in beleriand and who was needed where than who was closest to whom as children. ambarussa, who canonically liked their shared name, were probably always that close, but i think the rest of them mingled a lot more freely and they went to a particular brother depending on what they wanted to do or talk about

tangentially, i've had a headcanon for a while that when celegorm was starting to learn all the animal languages he began with birds because maglor was interested in them too

unusual headcanons ask game here

#thanks for the ask! #silmarillion #silm headcanons #feanorians #maglor #celegorm #ask games

[welcomingdisaster]

Many Sentences Monday!

i was tagged by @meadowlarkx & @thelordofgifs to share some fic! i'm super self indulgent, so here's the first scene of a "maglor comes to aman" fic with a twist.

1: The Pipe.

The little room is not decorated how he would expect. 

Though of course it is exactly as it should be. There are the many intricately woven banisters, hung along the walls, clearly Maedhros’ choices, his style. There are the gouache paintings of leaping long-legged horses, their features exaggerated by movement, so dynamic they seem almost birdlike, painted plainly by Fingon’s hand. There’s the huge padded armchair in a tasteful shade of forest-green—Maedhros—and the short coat of brilliant crimson slung over its back—Fingon—and the tangle of vines outside the windows and the short-legged hound on the duvet and the tabby cats outside and the ornate teal-and-lilac service set on the counter, certainly gifted because neither of them would pick it, and the open easternmost window and the smell of roasting garlic. 

It is the things which are not there, which he has come to expect. 

It is the outhouse, the lack of indoor plumbing, the candle-gems set into the walls, look of slight confusion on the face of the servant when he turns to feel for the light switch. It is the realization that he cannot call; cannot send a telegram; that is had not occurred to him to pack a typewriter and so all his correspondence and his writing will again be hand; that his poems, should they ever again be published in this land, will need to be painstakingly copied, word by word, onto the parchment. 

It ought to be easy to fall back into it. He had missed it, he tries to remember. He had thought the world noisy and overwhelming. He had wanted to run from it. He’d seen soot stains on trees that had once been virginal, had once been white, and his head had spun with it. He had watched the factory-smoke rise and thought it unlovely and unworthy of living for. He had stared at the monstrous bulk of a locomotive, had tasted its bitter smoke on his tongue, and felt the awfulness and sublimity of invention as he had at the gates of Angband. 

And yet he is happy that he has taken along his gramophone. 

No one had expected him. 

News of the boats do not come; gossip travels through word of mouth and webs of osanwë across the city and into the countryside, but his hosts are out hunting. There are two servants only in the house; a quiet young maiden, barely seventy, there to mind the horses and the goats, and a man who had clearly once been a soldier, watching the house in the owners’ absence. 

They speak to him in Sindarin, faintly accented with entirely different accents. The maiden, Cinnogil, lives there full-time, though mostly with the animals; she is responsible for the horses’ training and upkeep, and to this duty she dedicates herself with a fierce passion. He does not ask what brings her out of her house so young, as he would have asked in another life. 

The man, Singdan, is there only some of the time. He lives close by, he says. He comes and helps with the cooking and the cleaning, at times, in exchange for gems and for fresh cuts of hart and for legal work, now and again. 

But really it can barely be called an estate. 

“They keep a room for you, I think,” Singdan tells him, as he helps him unload his mule and stack his luggage in a jumbled heap in the mud room. The short-legged dog weaves around their ankles when make their way down the hall, lit by sparkling silver gems, the walls decorated with rugs far too warm and too heavy for the climate. “They have for as long as I have known them.” 

The room—his room—is at the end of the hall. His eyes trace the walls; the simpler, more elegant decorations in silver, the blue and white bedspread, the lyre and the flute, the inkwell, the bottle of aged rum with the books on the bookshelf, the ceramic horses on the writing table. Someone has hung a change of clothes for him in the corner closet. 

There is no dust, no trace of disuse. Only one thing out of place—the mahogany pipe on the windowsill. 

He crosses the room and picks it up, holding it up to the light. It is well-used. Warm from the sun streaming in through the glass, streaked slightly on the inside. 

Out of them three only Maedhros smokes. Likely he had sat here, and had the window open. 

(Why is there so much guilt, with that thought?) 

“Shall you come and dine,” Singdan asks, “while we wait?” 

Thank you. He is not hungry. 

---

tagging @eilinelsghost @outofangband @melestasflight @polutrope @grey-gazania @that-angry-noldo @searchingforserendipity25 & @polutrope @jouissants anyone else who hasn't done it yet and wants in!

#lena speaks #my fic

[aotearoa20]

Penance: Part Two. One/Two/Three

There is a part of Este’s gardens that bleeds into Mandos. Silvery trees that line a small path up to the great stone doors. It is on one of the Halls uppermost levels and most fëar avoid it if they can. Curufin could understand why. He felt ill and unsteady in the pale half-light, it was too close for the dead to be to the living. A thin, shimmering barrier lopes over him and his brothers and everything on the other side in blurred just slightly. He could just about see a Maia clad in grey approaching and with him a tall dark figure.

“Maglor,” he whispered because he could not help it. Because his spirit sang at the sight of his elder brother and there was nothing in him that could stop it. Everything is transparent in Mandos. He heard the others shuffling and sighing behind him. It had been so long.

He could not wring his hands - they kept flickering in and out of existence - but he watched them spoke to one another. Their words melted against the barrier, a useless hum of noise but he seemed alright. Damned spawn of Lúthien had had them worried over nothing. Celegorm called over to him and Maglor turned his head. He nodded slowly but before he could say a word a flash of light from further down the path stole all their attention.

Someone else, came forward out of the trees. Curufin could not have recognized them, even if he tried. How could he when in their hands, bright and clear and sharper than anything else he’d seen in the suffocating dark, he could see it. The last of their Father’s Silmarils.

He shuddered and hated himself for it. Behind him someone, Amras maybe, whined like a wounded animal. It was so close. Without much thought he reached forward, the edges of his fingers dissolving as they brush against the boundary line. A hand comes up and grips his shoulder. Caranthir, he knew, they all remember the last time they tried to escape through here.

He doesn’t even know his name, the one who held the gem, but he came up to Maglor and the Maia. He spoke even as his brother trembled, taut as a bowstring. A sudden fear gripped his heart. The constant pressence of the oath had been a companion of his for as long as he could remember. He had carried it’s burden until the scraps of the person were burnt to dust. If this was really the end – if, for he has lived far too long in the world not to suspect this to be another trick of fate – would there be anything left of him at all.

“It will kill him,” Maedhros’ voice was deep and dull.

By the edge of the doorway Namo stands, two Maiar are at his side. All but his eyes are obscured behind a veil and they are fixed on Maglor.

“If he does we shall be there.” He replied gently.

And then the stranger holds out what is all in all a very simple circlet, with the jewel fastened to it. Maglor snatched it into himself and wails. Námo’s Maiar brush past him, catching his brothers fëa brefore his body hits ground.

Curufin tried to speak. He reached out again, this time for Maglor. He thinks he might have screamed too. For a moment everything burns. It is as though something is ripping out his heart and every artery that grows off from it, carefully and cleanly as pulling the backbone from a fish. He falls to his barely corporeal knees and thinks he must be coming undone entirely and then... nothing.

He put his hand to his chest. A sob caught in his throat. There is nothing there. Beside him Morifinwë was also crying, but he takes deep needless breaths in between. When he looked he saw a light in his eyes that he knew died in his own, centuries ago. Curufin looked back down at the slate shards that line the garden path. Tears dry on his lashes. He felt nothing.

“So the agreement is sealed,” Námo said, as Maglor was ushered into the dark, “When you are remebodied in the Gardens, there will be someone to guide you to those you will serve.”

“To whom will we be going?” Celegorm spoke up.

“It has not been decided, you will learn once you wake.”

“Don’t separate Ambrassua.” Maedhros very nearly ordered.

Námo nodded and looked across them all, “You are not obliged to leave now, some of you I’d even counsel to remain a while longer.”

His eyes land on him and Curufin seethed. He crossed his arms over himself, trying to cover up the gaping emptiness within his being. How he hated this place. Hated being forced to take any sort of form. He was exposed. Everyone could see everything. Or the severe lack of anything.

A body at least could hide the lack. No, He would not stay here to be mocked or pitied or worse, not for all the jewels under the Earth.

“We will go together.” He heard Maedhros say and nodded vehemently. Whatever waited out in the Gardens had to be better than this.

#penance au #my writing #silmarillion #tolkien #maedhros #celegorm #maglor #caranthir #ambarussa #curufin #gandalf #lorien #silm au #Námo

[whovianofmidgard]

Absolutely moving all your titles (mine feel very plain in comparison lmao) but I have to know more about Light Touched (Elrond's Eldritch Silmaril-touched Parents (all 4 of them))!!!!

Haha its funny you should say that, I very much agonize over coming up with titles. It's often the last thing I add to a fic, so I'm glad they are effective.

Anyway, Light Touched is about how the Silmarils change Elwing, Eärendil, Maglor and Maedhros in both body and soul after the end of the First Age, and how they become legends and rumours and figures of supertitious folktales throughout Middle-earth, doing heroic deeds (some of them more descreetly than others)

Here, have a snippet of Maedhros discovering that he's not so elven anymore:

The Silmaril shone radiantly, still in his hand even after he had let himself fall into the earth’s fire. No, he wasn’t holding it anymore. The gem was literally in his hand, embedded in his palm like it was its rightful place.

Horrified, he reached to touch the gem inside him with his stump, only for a perfectly intact hand to grasp at it.

Air escaped him, and shock seized Maedhros’ body. As his mind began to spiral towards panic and answerless questions, it all became too much, and his right hand was suddenly dissolving and oozing away into a puddle of molten lava.

He yelped and jerked his large frame backwards, animal instinct telling him to get away, despite his hands – the jewelled and the now handless – being attached to his body. Fear and confusion warred within him as he kept backing away.

Then Maedhros caught on fire.

#ask answered #silmarillion #the silmarillion #maedhros #snippet #thecoolblackwaves #thank you so much for asking!!

[animatorweirdo]

Imagine being like Newt Scamander and showing your creatures to the elves.

(I had to do some research to get the names right, and I only managed to come with this three so no fourth one unfortunately, I hope you like it)

Requested by @a-contemplation-upon-flowers​

Warnings: None really, some wizardry and elven stuff and mystical creatures. 

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Maglor

-He thought you were odd upon your first meeting. The bag you carried was oddly shaped, and he wasn’t sure what you would carry in there. 

-You called it a briefcase and a special kind too. Maglor was curious, but you did not elaborate further on what was inside – saying it’s a secret. 

-You were strange, the way you spoke and dressed was nothing he had ever seen, and he was curious about what was inside your briefcase, so he decided to befriend you. 

-You turned out to be a kind-hearted person despite your odd habits. He felt ashamed for thinking lowly of you. 

-You told him you had a task and wrote a book on how to live beside mysterious creatures and even care for them. 

-And that you were a sorcerer of a kind. 

-Maglor found the subject of your book peculiar, and he had seen you do magic with your wand, so he believed the latter even though it was unbelievable a human was capable of magic. 

-However, he was not ready to witness what was inside the mysterious briefcase when you finally said you trusted him enough to show him. 

-He was expecting you to show him an item of some sort, not you suddenly walking in and disappearing into the briefcase. When he hesitated, you showed your arm through and gestured for him to follow you. 

-Maglor looked in and saw stairs leading down, which was unbelievable, but when you called out to him. He cautiously went in and walked down the stairs.

-He found his way into your hut, where you prepared food of some kind and even scared him with a flying creature for shit and giggles. But when he stepped outside the next door – the shock arrived like a slap in the face when he saw the vast world of your briefcase. 

-He couldn’t help but let his eyes wander around, looking at the several mysterious creatures, small and big, mysterious and beautiful. He roamed into every habitat to take a look, and you even allowed him to pet most of them. 

-It was like everything a little kid would dream of in one place. It was beautiful, and he finally understood the meaning of your book. 

-He could not help but smile and laugh when you allowed him to feed the Mooncalves, hold an Occamy, and even pet the strange Graphorns.  

-He even enjoyed watching the little Bowtruckles play around the tree. 

-It almost felt forbidden for him to be there. 

-He came up with several new songs when he was there — among your creatures. 

-He promised to help you find the creatures you lost in an accident and never said a word to anyone so your animals could be safe, and you were forever grateful for that. 

-He found your little performance odd and funny when you two were trying to capture the giant Erumpet, but — he did not like when he accidentally spilled the concoction upon himself and got the giant’s romantic attention. You had to save him on that part. 

-He will never get involved with Erumpets ever again. 

Fingon 

-He most likely met you after encountering one of your creatures. He had an unpleasant encounter and saw you chasing it with your briefcase. 

-Miraculously, you captured the beast and used magic which he thought was impossible for humans unless you were a sorcerer of a kind. 

-None of less, your meeting was accidental, and it was hard to brush him off when he became fascinated with you and wanted to know what you were hiding in your briefcase. 

-He also had some unfinished business with your Niffler as the creature had stolen something important from him, his father’s ring. 

-You agreed to help retrieve his ring if he helped you find the Niffler so you could return his father’s ring. 

-When you showed the inside of your briefcase, his reaction was like Maglor’s, full of wonder and amazement. 

-He would try to befriend most of your creatures, even the dangerous ones, so you had to watch him so he wouldn't accidentally get killed. Some of the creatures you saved were still aggressive from the hardship of the outside world. 

-He would be an eager listener when you tell all the stories about your creatures and how you rescue them. 

-He admired your resolve trying to save and find a way to teach people to live beside these creatures, so they wouldn't have to kill, and the latter wouldn't have to go to extinction. 

-You had even tamed a couple of creatures of Morgoth. Dragons and other creatures he thought were nothing but mindless beasts. 

-He adored the Bowtruckles and even allowed them to climb and play around his body. 

-When you went to look for your creatures that escaped, he was determined to help you and followed all the instructions to raise the success of each capture. 

-When you two finally found the Niffler, the capture turned out tricky as even you had some problems catching it.

-The little bugger even managed to steal one of his golden ribbons. 

-So, Fingon ends up using a little force out of frustration. He would never harm your creatures to upset you, but with your Niffler, his tolerance dropped low. You honestly didn’t blame him. 

-It was thanks to Fingon that the little troublemaker got finally caught.

-He was surprised how the little thief could fit so many valuables in its stomach when you grabbed its leg and forced the thing to empty itself. Your creature dropped enough pieces of jewelry and gold to fill out a treasure chest.

-He got his ring back, so it was all good in the end. 

Finrod 

-Human visitors were ordinary in Nargothrond. Finrod did not want anyone to feel ridiculed or alone, so he tried to make his kingdom for all types of people. 

-He thought you were just one of the commoners with a very peculiar bag. 

-He was curious, so he welcomed you and asked about it, and from that, he learned it was a briefcase. 

-He thought it was an ordinary encounter, but then he began to notice your odd absence. 

-Although he knew you had a room, you were nowhere to be found, neither among your people nor anywhere else.

-Some say you rarely came out of your room, and when you did – you would run away somewhere only Eru would know. 

-He became curious. But when some began to report you for suspicious activity. He took it upon himself to investigate because he believed there was a reasonable explanation for your behavior. 

-He did not expect to find your briefcase wide open and see stairs leading down, which should be impossible because there were no stairs under your floors. 

-He began to get suspicious, so he took a step to investigate where the stairs would lead him. 

-Finrod found his way to a hut filled with herbs and food that would not suit the mouths of ordinary people. It was strange. 

-He then found a door. He wasn’t sure what else he would find, but he decided to go for it and see what was behind it. 

-The world behind the door made his eyes widen with wonder and amazement. He found several strange yet beautiful creatures in habitats, and the noises made by the creatures sounded like songs to his ears. 

-He found you standing in rain, holding a wand that allowed you to create a parasol made out of magic, and above you flew a glorious golden bird with six wings. 

-The mighty bird let out beautiful sounds before it landed on the rocks upon your calls, allowing the rain to disappear and fill with sunlight. 

-He watched as you talked to the beast, letting it eat from your hand and affectionately petting its head. 

-It was beautiful until the bird saw him and screeched, alerting you of his presence. 

-You panicked when you saw the king of Nargothrond and tried to come up with an explanation. 

-Finrod calmed you down and assured you he was not a threat to you or your creatures, but he did demand an explanation of your visit and the meaning of your briefcase. 

-You told him everything. He listened and didn’t mind helping you feed some of the creatures while you told him why you came to Nargothrond. 

-He found joy wandering your mystical world. He was frightened by the giant two-headed snake, and he wasn’t much fond of the Niffler, who tried to steal the jewelry on him, even mistaking his hair for gold.

- He was awed by the giant two-winged horses, the Abraxans. They were simply humongous, and he did not know flying horses were possible. You were surprised when they allowed him to pet them because they were usually very proud creatures. 

-You were trying to find a couple of creatures that wandered into his kingdom. They were harmless, but people were not so much if they found them. Most people do not see your creatures in the brightest light. 

-Finrod offered to help since there had been strange happenings lately and thought maybe they were connected with your lost creatures. 

-The first thing you found was the demiguise.  

-It was surprisingly an easy capture because Finrod decided to befriend it, and it worked. He strolled back to you with the white-haired creature in his arms and asked what was next on the list. 

-The next thing was one of the occamy that inhabited one of the abandoned rooms. 

-Finrod was startled when he learned the beautiful blue-winged serpents could grow their size to fit the space of the current room because the occamy was massive. 

-The capture was tricky because of the occamy’s size and defensive nature. Finrod then concluded a plan when you told him occamies fall effortlessly asleep with songs. 

-So – he sang with his beautiful voice, and the occamy fell asleep, shrinking into the size of his hands. 

-It was a strange capture, but it worked, so you didn’t complain – but it was hard to convince Finrod to let you take the occamy because he didn’t want to disturb its sleep. 

-You were grateful for his help and thanked him for keeping the creatures safe from people. 

-Finrod was happy, but he wanted to try and befriend the rest of your creatures and pet them – so you had to stay in Nargothrond for a little longer.

#maglor x reader #fingon x reader #finrod #finrod x reader #silmarillion x reader #tolkien #silm fic #maglor headcanon #fingon headcanon #finrod headcanon #wizard/witch reader #middle earth x reader #middle earth #middle earth headcanons #silmarillion #maglor #fingon

[that-angry-noldo]

"I told you to go away!"

The scratching at his door stops. Maglor hisses in annoyance when it's replaced with a tiny whine.

"I swear to Eru, if you don't get out of there in a second-"

For a moment it's quiet. Maglor huffs, throwing himself back on the couch.

The scratching returns, now accompanied by whining. Maglor spits a few swears and gets up. His steps sway a bit, wine bottle still in his hand.

He opens the door in one rough movement.

"What the f-ck do you want?! Can't you f-cking- I swear to Eru, Maedhros is right in his room, why are you bothering me?"

The wolf whines apologetically, sliding into his room. Maglor swears, again.

Swears are probably the only thing orcish is useful for.

"Get out," he growls. "I'm not your f-cking nanny, you stupid idiot. Out of my room!"

The wolf lies near the window and looks at him with sorry eyes. Maglor shuts the door, throws his hands up, spitting curses in the air.

"Stupid animal," he finally hisses. "Stupid, stupid animal."

Very creative, says a bitter voice in his head. Insulting a mindless wolf. Truly, an essence of high and noble elven kin.

Maglor hisses at his thoughts and falls on his couch again.

The alcohol burns his throat. He grimaces, puts the half-empty bottle away.

"What an idiot," he whispers into quiet air, staring into dark ceiling. "What a naive, stupid, self-sacrifising idiot."

It's unfair. It's so f-cking unfair, and Maglor feels tears burning his eyes again.

He grabs the letter again.

Cousin Findarato-

- their path laid through Tol-Sirion-

- Sauron-

- Findarato is dead.

"Stupid, naive, self-sacrificing idiot," Maglor repeats. His whisper is hitched, voice coming out broken.

Something wet touches his hand, and Maglor flinches, slapping the intruder. The wolf presses its ears against its head, and Maglor growls in frustration.

"You're insufferable," he says, and pushes the animal away. "I told you, go bother Maedhros."

The wolf - Maglor is not calling him Wulf - plumps by his couch instead, and the elf huffs in annoyance.

He doesn't hush it away.

Minutes tickle by. Maglor is too lost in his thoughts. The wolf looks at him with grey eyes.

(It's always grey, Maglor thinks. It always stands out. Why are it's eyes grey?)

It storms outside. The wolf nudges Maglor's hand with its head.

Maglor sighs and rubs it between ears. The wolf watches him closely.

"You're insufferable, you know?" the elf asks. "If you want to be an emotional support dog so bad, I'm sure Maedhros needs one more than me."

The wolf stares. Maglor purses his lips.

"I'm not spilling my heart out to you," he says. The wolf shakes its head.

It stands up and goes away, stopping by the lyre. Maglor purses his lips.

"Go away," he warns. "Get away from it, you stupid idiot."

The wolf takes it carefully, and Maglor spits curses, rushing to take the instrument from its mouth. The elf glares. The wolf sits down, tilting its head, as if expecting something.

Maglor sits on the ground, leans against the couch. He watches the lyre and purses his lips.

"It was a gift from him," he whispers finally. "You sly dog, you really got your drooling mouth on the only thing that belonged to him in this room."

The beast lies its head down. Maglor feels tears running down his cheeks.

His fingers tug the strings. The lyre answers with a clean sound, echoing in the corners of the room. The wolf tilts its head.

"A gift from him," he repeats, and breaks down.

He hugs himself, rocking back and forth, harp casted on the floor.

He didn't have to die, he didn't have to go this way- why, why did he choose it, why did he-

The wolf nudges him, whines quietly. Maglor buries his face into its fur.

"He was my friend," he whispers in between the sobs. "He was my friend. He was my friend."

I hate him, he wants to say. I hate him, I love him, I want to see him again, I want to scream, I want to cry-

"I miss him," he chokes. "I miss him so much. I miss him so much."

The wolf stares into the darkness of the room. Its gaze is tired. Maglor doesn't ask himself why.

#maglor #finrod #werewolf au #silmarillion #:) #can't you see them being fine and healthy and lovely

[ceescedasticity]

Unforsaken, 9b

(All sections on tumblr)

(AO3, lagging behind but more polished)

Once they're a safe distance from the Beornings, they're rejoined by Turgon, Celegorm, and Sharlinnu.

Happily, introduction of the oxen to the orcs goes fairly smoothly.

("You had to be able to avoid spooking the draft animals," Sharlinnu says to Khitwê and Risyind. "The Dark Lord liked using shaped-to-purpose beasts, but most of the human servants sent tribute with just regular beasts, and of course any herds… You'd be surprised how many orcs found out the hard way they couldn't scare a herd of cows into cowering obedience.")

They now have to answer the question: At what time of day are they going to travel?

—Well, actually, no they don't. They're traveling in daylight hours. The elves (and half-elves, and Gimli) could manage traveling by night, but it would be hard on the horses and oxen. Plus, they're heading into summer and traveling north: avoiding daylight would cut down on time they could be moving.

The question they have to answer is: Are the orcs going to ride in the wagons, under the partial protection of the canvas covers, sitting awkwardly amid the supplies and on top of the crates of Wizard's Clay, on the barges, or are they going to bravely, determinedly walk under the Sun, trying to hide the pain?

They have to answer this every day.

Several times a day, even.

Khitwê and Risyind are very good at getting Sharlinnu to at least take a break with an anxious question or two and worried looks.

Glorfindel is trusting Turgon's judgment, theoretically, but sometimes his worried looks get too awkward and Turgon has to take a break.

Maglor's attempts to get Celegorm to take shelter turn into an open battle of wills every time.

(At least Maglor is getting in practice for setting his will against something?)

(All three of the Pelnûru are familiar with the concept of parasols, but none of them know how to make them in a hurry with whatever they have on hand.)

(Gimli is also walking, having turned down the offer of a horse. At ox speed, it's not a challenge.)

****

Then there's introduction of Turgon to the Hirnedhrim — as in, explaining what their sort-of connection is, which requires explaining who the Fair Orc was before he was an orc. So that's… interesting.

Turgon kind of feels like he should apologize to the Hirnedhrim for not hunting down Ulk every lifetime before he had a chance to go terrorize Dunland? But if he had then they wouldn't have been born, so maybe not?

Celegorm offers to invite them along to kill Ulk one last time after destroying Ghâsh-bagronk. Zena and Dyn politely decline. Zuste says she has other commitments but some of their sisters might be interested. Sharlinnu points out they don't actually know if Ulk is alive right now.

Sharlinnu also takes the opportunity to reiterate her bewilderment about the Fair Orc, because literally no other orc did that.

(Turgon and Celegorm could argue it's not so surprising because Eöl, but… they're both pretty bewildered too, Eöl or not. After six and a half thousand years, Turgon can think of just seven orcs or goblins who engaged in sex at any time not in Shadow-driven multiplication duties or, worse, under orders.)

Zuste isn't sure what the orcs in the Iron Ring thought about the Fair Orc — actually she's not certain what the orcs in the Iron Ring knew about where the goblin-men of Dunland came from. It wasn't a secret, but she didn't know if they'd cared to ask.

(Over the winter Turgon read Imladris's copy of Zuste's accounts of the Fair Orc, the goblin-men of Dunland before the Iron Wizard came, and the orc-husbandry of the Iron Ring. He has not read her account of the fall of the Iron Ring, or he would be trying to change the subject.)

—Speaking of which, Zuste wonders if the orc who warned her to leave was an 'orc-who-knows'? She was called Leafblight?

"There is an orc-who-knows who goes by Leafblight who probably would have been there, yes," Turgon says.

He does not look at Celeborn. Celeborn has no reason to think this Leafblight was Nimloth. The names aren't a one-to-one match. There are multiple orcs called 'Leafblight' or something similar, who probably had several different botanically-themed names.

This is fine.

"Not like her to stick her neck out," Sharlinnu says.

Celegorm shrugged. "Yeah, well, the wizard recruited orcs-who-know by claiming to be a… wizard doing what he's supposed to. Implied his work was sanctioned. With his magic voice. Figuring out it wasn't was probably a nasty shock."

He adds, to Khitwê and Risyind: "Your Tarnish figured him out in a couple of hours, not bad."

(Maglor does not ask how Celegorm knows either of those things, but he definitely makes a mental note on the subject.)

****

The next time an awkward silence falls, Elladan gets Khitwê and Risyind to retell their journey to Pelndoru and back, and about some of the particularly different things there.

Gimli is prevailed upon to share what he knows about the Sorcadê League.

Turgon remembers hearing that Sagmanati Raptores were a real pain to incorporate into Mordor's large-scale military strategy because they would not stop raiding other encampments — not of orcs, or of anyone with real power in them, but there were more than enough mundane Men to keep them entertained.

Sharlinnu remembers the White Empire being a problem when she was alive — yes, of course she means alive and an elf — but is sort of surprised it still exists (or did recently), because she's not sure she ever heard it mentioned as an orc. Did Sauron just… forget about it?

****

They check in with Arwen by palantír every night, whether or not anything at all interesting happened. Often Aragorn says hi, too, and sometimes Eldarion.

(Eldarion Telcontar is eight years old and would love to be going on an adventure with a bunch of cool people he knows — his uncles, Legolas and Gimli who might as well be his uncles, his grandfather, Khitwê and Risyind who are family friends, Zuste Ríanbyr who is kind of scary but cool, Glorfindel… Sadly he's not allowed to do anything fun.)

#a tolkien tag #orc bank #orc bank unforsaken

[polutrope]

And Love Grew: Chapter 4

Rating: T | Violence, Character Death Words: 5.3k (Chapter), 17k (WiP) Relationships: Elrond & Elros & Maglor, Caranthir's Wife & Maglor Characters: Maglor, Elrond, Elros, Caranthir's Wife, Original Characters Genre: Tragedy

As a host of survivors makes the journey from Sirion to Amon Ereb under Maglor’s leadership, old bonds unravel and loyalties crumble. But from the scraps and ruins, new and unlikely bonds take shape. A story of perseverance through suffering.

Chapter 4: The host pauses for rest on the eaves of Taur-im-Duinath. Dornil learns some disturbing truths about Maglor. Gwereth does her best to care for Elros and Elrond while struggling against her own grief and anger.

On AO3

Chapter excerpt:

Taur-im-Duinath was a strange forest. So dense with vegetation, pressing out to its very edges, as to seem untouched by any creature that fed upon things that grow. Indeed, besides small stream-dwellers and the occasional bird flitting in and out of the crowns of ancient trees, they had seen no animals. Strangest was that much of what lived here was unknown elsewhere in Beleriand. The forest, vast and deep and verdant, was a world unto its own. Silent, some called it, and by day it lay quiet indeed, its thick growth swallowing the chatter, the whinnying of horses, the scrape of the whetstone, the fall of water from wrung textile. The sounds, too, of children laughing. Glancing up from her work, Dornil noticed the berry-gatherers’ baskets had been forgotten in favour of a game of hiding and chasing through the understory. Dornil’s eyes rose to the darkening underbelly of the clouds. Dusk was coming on. At night, Taur-im-Duinath was not silent. At night, the forest threw back echoes of the day’s noises in strained, shrill tones. Noises that swirled and churned in the mind long after they had died, turning, turning until out of the confusion of sounds voices rose. Voices speaking, shouting, singing.

#maglor #elrond #elros #caranthir's wife #kidnap fam #my fic #*and love grew

[outofangband]

Birds of Estolad

Written for @melestasflight

Flora, fauna, geography and environment Masterlist

Other bird posts: Himlad, The March

Other information in the Estolad tag including my environment posts

I love doing general flora and fauna posts but I can’t fit everything in them so I’m trying to make more specific ones as well! please please feel free to send categories to work on with locations! Or any environmental world building asks!

Estolad is a region in Northeastern Beleriand. It was a wide plain located between the river Aros on the west and the river Gelion on the east. It was south of the March of Maedhros and north of the Andram.

We have little canonical information about the environment or ecology of Estolad. For this post, I have primarily used the environmental information for other locations in Eastern Beleriand (though it should be noted that the climate of Ossiriand does differ greatly from the areas between the March and Maglor’s Gap and the Andram). I have also used geographic information and the environmental world building I’ve previously done

Tolkien primarily used plains, prairies and grasslands of North America and parts of Europe and Asia

Like my other similar posts, I’ve included world building notes at the end so it’s not just a list of species! A lot of aspects and species are similar to Himlad but I didn’t repeat all of the same because I didn’t want to get too repetitive! Because of this, I don’t have quite as many birds and some of my notes are a little more frivolous which I apologize for

On the plain: common quail, corn bunting, common buzzard, steppe eagle, hazel grouse, grey partridge, pallid harrier, steppe eagle, black grouse, great grey strike, crested lark, golden eagle (rare), common cuckoo (migratory), lesser kestrel, great bustard, pale backed pigeon, imperial eagle, white throated bushchat

Water birds (on the river banks, in wetlands closer to the Andram and Ossiriand, and in small lakes and ponds): white stork (migratory), common crane, mallard duck, white tailed eagle, water rail, glossy ibis, common loon, gadwell

In trees around the rivers and by the Andram: long eared owls, common bullfinch, grey wagtail, mountain accentor (in the north and south of the region), common hoopoe (migratory), little owl, grey headed woodpecker, common raven, merlin, common golden oriole, common nightjar

World building notes:

-The Noldorin host of Estolad rely on birds for food (meat and eggs), feathers (for down, quills, etc) and companionship/aid

--Among the Noldor in Estolad, birds of prey are used for hunting. The species most commonly used are the pallid harrier and the steppe eagle

-The small population of green elves in Estolad do not eat birds however they do eat eggs of some species including ones they’ve domesticated. They also use feathers in and on clothing and with down.

-Birds are common in the folklore, language and art of both elven peoples of Estolad. Though most of the established Noldorin lore originated before their settling there, some tales and phrases and art do develop among their host. Some of these develop in connection to the lore and traditions of the green elves there

One such tradition are styles of paintings of birds, similar to the bird and flower or Huaniaohua in the real world. These developed in part inspired by spoken poetry and song by the green elves, particularly those related to their spring gatherings.

-The green elves of Estolad likewise have an abundance of lore and beliefs about the animals around them including many about birds and symbolic meaning given to species. White storks for example are symbolic of approaching death, winter or other natural changes of a somber nature. Common golden orioles are signifiers of late summer and early autumn. They are associated with the increased pressure to forage and store food for the winter and their image often appears on the cloth bags that hold certain items

-There is a tiny lake near where the initial settlements by Amrod and Amras’s host was. During the first spring, baby cranes were seen on the water. Some of the advisers and higher ups became very fond of the little family.

-Estolad was also inhabited by humans. Several cultures lived there for a time after coming west from over the Ered Luin. Just like other aspects of the environment and life of Estolad, the birds of Estolad entered the lore and knowledge of the Edain hosts, combining and joining with the lore and knowledge from their old homes beyond the Ered Luin.

Note: I want to go more in to their relationship of the humans here with the environment, including with birds on another post so I can do that in more depth 

#the silmarillion #fëanorians #Estolad #beleriand #amras #Amrod #musing and meta

[lordgrimwing]

Brewing Darkness #05

[For C+C week hosted by @candcweek. Prompt: Contrast]

It would have been easier to just say that Celegorm came back different, Curufin admitted to himself, tossing another pitchfork-full of hay from the barn loft to the mangers below, but he couldn’t say for sure Celegorm was different or if, in his absence, Curufin had  forgotten how he was really like—how his laugh cracked sharp and loud like a whip, how he watched people with the same intensity as four-legged game, how he knew just what to say to pick a fight, how rough he could be during sex if Curufin didn’t restrain him. Had he missed his brother so much over the months since he ran off that he’d imagined a softer version of him to soothe the aching wound inside him?

He didn’t think so. 

(Caranthir rather smugly told him that, no, Celegorm hadn’t changed, he was just finally done playing nice and picking favorites. Their brother, Caranthir said, was exactly like he remembered)

But even if Celegorm was different, did it matter? 

The whole family changed in his absence. The things he did around the homestead still needed to be done. In the beginning, everyone said they were only filling in until he came back, but months passed and they got used to the new routine until it felt normal, until there wasn’t a visible hole left behind. When he returned, leading his gray mare, field dressed elk flung over her back like he’d only been away on one of his hunts with Aredhel, the spot he’d left wasn’t there any more.

Did it matter if his presence felt jarring and wrong sometimes? Did it matter if the shiver that went up Curufin’s back when he grinned at him sometimes felt like a knife scraping over his skin? 

The sharp edges would wear down with time. Things would feel right again.

He’d been telling himself that for weeks now.

Mangers filled, he leaned the pitchfork against the wall and climbed down from the loft, stomach grumbling for dinner. Before, Celegorm saw to the animals in the evening, fed them, hauled water from the well, but Curufin and Maglor took over that chore. They hadn’t considered giving it back yet.

Maybe that was part of the problem. Celegorm couldn’t fit back into the family if they didn’t make room for him. No wonder he spent more time in town and alone in the woods now when there wasn’t anything for him to do here. 

Distracted by his thoughts, Curufin didn’t realize he was walking past the gray mare’s stall. There was no greater proof that Celegorm’s old spot was gone than how everyone else seemed to have lost hard learned lessons about his horse.

The horse raised her head from the hay as the elf walked past. With an angry snort, she lunged for the stall door. Her teeth collided with the side of Curufin’s head as she tried to grab his hair.

He swore and dove to the farside of the aisle where Maedhros’ giant gelding stuck his shaggy head out to see what the ruckus was about. The vile mare snorted, pinned her ears back and extended her neck to try to nip the gelding. He tossed his head to the side (he was too tall to toss it up) and went back to his food.

“You haven’t changed,” Curufin grumbled at his brother’s beloved, temperamental horse as he rubbed the sore spot on his head (it matched the sore spots elsewhere gifted to him by Celegorm).

She snorted and kicked the door. 

“Same to you,” He grumbled and left before she got any more worked up.

The walk across the yard to the house was quiet. 

Nights became steadily quieter after Celegorm left and his dogs slowly disappeared. They were always disappearing, whether because they were killed by a predator, found a place with better food, or just got lost in the shifting trees and mountains. More often than not, those that wandered back were shot to put them out of their misery. Normally he was always bringing more home or paying extra attention to new litter of puppies so that the population stayed fairly stable. Once he ran off, though, no one replaced the ones that vanished, until only a handful remained. The nights were quieter without the dogs. No one cared (at least not enough to go looking for replacements in town). 

Only, the night bird calls seemed to be disappearing too over the last few weeks. They were all growing discomforted by the building silence. Fëanor had taken to shutting himself in a shed with some project late into the night as he worried over the changes.

Something moved in the corner of Curufin’s eye. He took two quick steps toward the house before chastising himself for being so jumpy. The homestead was safe. There was no reason to act like a scared child alone in the dark just because things were a little unsettled. He turned to look for whatever had startled him.

“Hey, Curu,” Celegorm said, slinking out from the shadowed trees. He had a bow and quiver of arrows slung over one shoulder but his hands were empty.

Curufin’s chest relaxed. He hadn’t realized Celegorm went hunting and it was rather late to be walking alone, but everyone was adjusting to a new normal. “No luck today?”

Celegorm smiled. “I was just practicing.”

“Pa doesn’t want anyone in the woods after sundown.” The words slipped out before he could stop them. It wasn’t exactly a new rule, the dense forest grew harder to navigate with every passing year, but their father became more serious about everyone being in the glen by nightfall since last summer (since Aredhel crawled home and Celegorm went chasing after her abductor).

“I lost track of time.” He said it in that way that always meant he knew he did something he shouldn’t and would do it again. He got them into the best kind of trouble when they were kids. 

The smile was mostly nostalgia. “At least you haven’t missed supper.”

“You’d feed me, anyway, even if I did,” Celegorm said, throwing an arm around his shorter brother’s shoulder and giving him an affectionate squeeze as they walked to the kitchen door. His hand and shirt sleeve were wet and cold against Curufin. “Wouldn’t you?”

“Only if you brought something for me to cook.” They spent many fond nights over stewed rabbit or fowl. 

Celegorm barked out a laugh, sudden and loud in the silent yard. “I’ll be sure to bring you something fresh.” His hand squeezed Curufin’s arm, fingernails nipping at his skin.

#uh oh #me and *the entity* are rubbing our proverbial hands together so hard right now #one more c+c snap shot to go to finish off their relationship --- i mean the week #celegorm's mare is a monster #she has killed and she'll do it again #she's the meanest crankiest horse #celegorm #curufin #c+c week 2024 #old gods au #the silmarillion #grimwing writes

[searchingforserendipity25]

🦄 for maglor!

thank you for the ask @spiritofwhitefire!! unusual maglor physical appearance headcanons...

lots of freckles and moles.

lost a couple of teeth in alqualonde (harpoons, you know how it goes). they grow back very, very sharp, and too white. draw blood from his cheeks and lips a little too easily; he often has to wipe it away with the back of his hand, terrible on the cufflinks.

looks as unremarkable as nerdanel, with míriel's dimples (and míriel's quick, easy speech). not pretty, exactly.

a wide, wide guy. solid rider type. chest depth pavarotti would envy. very, very strong and nimble.

not short for an elf.

able to walk silently whenever he pleases, and very loudly, too, when he wants to. generally maintains a very strong sense of acoustic control around his surroundings with his voice, will and gestures.

silence, too, can be a weapon. great at thrall-catching; he can make them speak just by the force of not speaking, parsing out in the silence all the words half-willed into speech.

eye bags. lots of them. purple and dramatic.

wounded after the bragollach, loses eyesight in one eye, and is badly burnt on one side after being trapped under dragonfire.

everyone keeps going for his fingers. why do they all go for his fingers? the bones grow back stronger every time, and the skin gets though. he takes great care, with honey and goat milk and possibly the blood of some animals, to make certain the skin remains supple.

does a great deal of physical therapy and stretching even in valinor, as all singers and musicians do. guy who will start improv rehearsal exercises whenever.

gap-style tattoos.

strongly attached to his old layered surcoat of mail and silk (enchanted not to catch fire, enough mesh to keep out arrows and spears) (the fraying brocade leaves damning red thread wherever he passes).

furry hats aplenty. no armour. on account that if you wear armour around a wyrm, that's not your head, that's some wyrm's roasted dinner in a plate.

very curly hair as a prince, perfumed and often decorated with chains and headdresses. stiff braids bound with chains of gold coins as a regent and lord; goes half-wavy and half-straight with stress. fully pin-straight after the 3rd kinslaying. braids fall apart and off, sometimes, in ratty strands, once the salt eats at them enough.

on the other hand, his thick eyelashes and eyebrows remain very striking through his wanderings! so there's that.

#maglor #headcanons #silm hc #thank you so much! i love Him