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squirrelwrangler · 3 years

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For the fic meme: will you update the "Of Ingwe Ingweron" fic (it's so interesting)? Also, do you have any headcanons for how Indis' kids and grandkids relate to/what they think about the Vanyar? Random, but the tidbits we get about the Vanyar make them seem almost equal to the Maiar imo. "Friends of the gods" sounds badass. Also, I just really love your Ingwe; he absolutely seems like the kind of king that "all elves revere his name". That's it, sorry for being so incoherent lol

You’re fine!

I haven’t given up on of Ingwë, don’t worry - it’s just that I’m trying not to leave Cold Shower, Service, and some of the fluff pieces unfinished. But I love Ingwë and the elves at the beginning and I’ll never be able to start that Elu/Ingu swap places AU if I don’t finish OII. Wisp’lights took me five years to return and finish, but I did. The next section has to be the boys off to Valinor, which requires spectacle.

Indis’s kids and grandkids and the Vanyar- ok, well there is the Summer Olympics fic. Indis when she marries Finwë tries to fully commit to being Queen of the Noldor and adopting her new people’s culture and ways - and unlike Míriel she’s truly interested in the governing elements of queenship, but she still takes her children to Vanyar events and they have Vanyar food every so often. Fëanor’s court faction especially as they become entrenched in the politically rivalry with Fingolofin and the efforts to purge/purify the Quenya language make any sign of non-Noldor partisanship derided. Findis retreats to her library and then to Valmar, but she deep down is very Noldor in her scholarship and attitudes. She does like to read Vanyar philosophical and theoretic texts, but she’s a fiction author foremost, so it’s only for research. Fingolfin bonds with Uncle Ingwë after the First Age and rebirth and not beforehand. But his wife Anairë is the daughter of a man that is in a very close partnership with a Vanya and her family runs basically the giant publishing company of Tirion that is staffed almost exclusively by Vanyar immigrants to Tirion. Therefore their children were used to Vanyar- but the Vanyar who chose to come work for a few years as a minority among the Noldor and then return home, which colors their ideas of what is ‘Vanya’. Fingon is sort of ironic in that he could have fit in most among the Vanyar jocks but he’s one of those unthinking racists and didn’t want to hang around the stuffy workshops of these strange commoners and he doesn’t want or excel at reaching out to people, especially anyone seemingly different from him. Turgon is more bookish but also way more extroverted and likes meeting and interacting with different people and takes the time to listen and learn. He falls in love with Vanyar music and mathematical notation and even their ag studies - all which puts him into contact with Elenwë, help him when interacting and integrating the Sindarin population with his followers, and then building and running Gondolin as a highly successful isolated city for centuries. Also traits shared with close friend, Finrod. Most of Ingwë and Ravennë’s children are older than their cousins - Minyë was born during the Great Journey, Ingwion is older by a few years than Fëanor and was only ever cordial as fellow princes, but their younger daughters were the same age as Findis down through Maedhros (who according to timelines is far closer in the generational bracket to Fingolfin than Fingon). Netyarë and her sister in particular are closer to Findis, Lalwen, and Finarfin (but then Finarfin as he grows older starts to hang out in Alqualondë and gets semi-adopted in with the rest of Olwë’s sons) and it’s their children who befriend Finrod, Turgon, and the others and whom they visit. Maedhros’s husband, Urumarillo, is the one to hook Celegorm up with the Hunters of Oromë via his connections in the Valarin horse scene, but the Hunters are a mix of Maiar, Vanyar, and Noldor (mostly Noldor as years go on). The ones that hang out with the Vanyar monk types that run the houses of learning and mediation either in the city of Valmar or up in the mountains are Finrod and to a lesser extent his siblings and Turgon. Therefore Finrod and Artanis are the ones most used to Maiar that aren’t horses or hounds mingling. Argon does join the Vanyar wrestling and boxing junior league right before the Darkening destroys that.

As a treat, the start of Chapter 9:

The earth tremors ceased, and as the duration of their absence lengthened, so grew the easing of the Kwendî’s tension and fear. Enel, chieftain of the Third Tribe, monitored the volume flow of the waterfall beside his village with lingering trepidation, for the quantity had diminished in the shakes, and the song of the waterfall had altered. Nervously he awoke and listened for its roar, irrationally fearful that if the cascading water was ever silent, then he that was the Third to Awake would no longer wake. In those first seconds of life, opening his eyes to see the bright stars without knowing what he saw, only their beauty, Enel’s ears had not opened as his eyes had, but in the irrational yet deeply emotional center of his mind Enel thought that it was music and not starlight that woke him. He could not prove it, but he believed that it was when the first drops of water poured into the lake, that the sound was the same cue that awoke the Kwendî. Enelyë, his spouse, chastised her spouse for his paranoia, dragging him away from the stakes he had driven into the muddy bank to measure the water depth and worry over each shift in the tide.

#replies #arrogant golden-haired lions of Valmar #Vanyar aren't Boring #Anonymous

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squirrelwrangler · 7 years

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Ingwë of Cuiviénen, (6/?)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9

You didn’t think this story was dead?

Finally we reach “Of the Naming of Indis” - and the beginning of a long series of moments where awkward bystanders look on to Imin and Ingwë’s battle of wills. Happens right after Erikwa.

Primitive elvish names and terms still left mostly untranslated, but context clues should explain them. More world-building in my mode from Klingon-Promotion-Vanyar and young bucks of Cuiviénen.

...

Though the introduction of the people of Elwë’s village to one of the creators of their universe had happened with success and ease, the three young elves were not such foolish optimists to assume an equal ease in all other introductions, especially when they were not leaders or holders of high regard and respect among the other Kwendî. Elwë was the firstborn son of the now-lost leaders of his village, but for him to inhabit the position they had held was still something newborn and thus as weak. Enel and Enelyë knew him not and had not gifted him their approval. Finwë was admired for his craftsmanship in his own village, but it was Rumilo who led and made decisions - and even he bowed to the will of Tata and Tatië. And all bowed their will to the First among Chieftains, Imin. A great problem faced the three that led Oromë and Nahar to the Minyar village.

This problem was not what the man that would become Ingwë Ingweron thought of as he returned to the Minyar village. Plotting how to successfully introduce the Vala Oromë to his chieftain and tribespeople should have encompassed all his mental efforts. His mind should have been formulating what words to say, the correct level of deference and obstinate conviction to show in both tone and action to his chieftain. He needed both to garner respect for his words and by association to the Valar he had found. To ensure that the Hunter Oromë swiftly gained the full acceptance from that village that the man who would become Ingwë Ingweron had never accrued, this should have been his concern. To overcome the uncertainties that would be raised merely because he was the one to find Oromë, this was the disadvantage the man that would be Ingwë faced. That he had disobeyed his chieftain to leave his village when ordered not to, and that such a betrayal of trust disrupted the fabric of his tribe as gravely as had he disobeyed an order while hunting, the gravest of crimes because a hunter that could not be trusted to follow orders meant empty bellies for everyone, should have been his worry. The man that would become Ingwë existed under censure from his tribe for his sullen and solitary ways and could ill afford more. These were not his thoughts.

His thoughts were for his newborn sister - and the name he wished to bestow upon her.

He that even now knew he should be Ingwë knew his sister should have the name Indis.

Indis, for Nessa, for the Bride, the sister of the mighty Hunter, and thus he wished to claim for her a name of one of the Powers that created and held stewardship of the very universe itself. There was an arrogance in naming her this, in proclaiming that she would be as swift as the deer, as graceful a dancer as to be beyond words to describe, and that her chosen love and equal could only be a warrior unconquerable. Yet the alternative, more conventional reading of the name he gave his newborn sister was, while less cosmic in its ambitions, no less confrontational and bold. Indis, First among Young Women, was an usurpation of Iminyë and especially Iminyë’s daughter, Ravennë.

The second child of Imin and Iminyë must be here described, their daughter Ravennë. A boast it was to name their child the lioness, in honor of the great hunting cats that instructed by example the Minyar how to hunt and who shared with the first tribe a similar tawny golden pelt. It was a proud name for a proud young woman. ‘Most beautiful’ the daughter of Imin and Iminyë was lauded, the princess of the Beautiful Ones, but this was falsehood. All Kwendî were comely, and the golden hair of the first tribe was esteemed as highest beauty by others outside the tribe, but objectively Ravennë did not outshine her peers in appearance. For one, she was short among a people that prized height, and her mouth considered ill-shaped for her face. She inherited her father’s jawline that made Imin handsome but his daughter not. Her eyes were the bluish purple common to the Minyar, whereas had she inherited the golden brown of her father, the striking similarity to her namesake would have elevated her to the acclaim so liberally bestowed. Her brother was handsome, insufferably so. None regularly praised him for his looks. But Ravennë embraced the flattery of her beauty and made falsehood reality. She cared herself as the most beautiful daughter yet born to the elves, and could not fathom a rival to this claim.

In the darkest roots of his heart, where the veins drank bitter resentment to survive his shattered childhood hopes, spite towards Ravennë fueled this decision of the man who wished to proclaim himself Ingwë. Ravennë, proud and beautiful and beloved by the village, possessed everything he desired for himself and his family.

More so than Imin’s son, the bumptious prince, Ravennë was his target.

----

The journey by foot from the small Nelyar village to the singular large village of the first tribe was not arduous or long - though despite the wetter terrain, the distance between Elwë and Finwë’s villages was shorter. On a rise of land away from the direct shoreline of Cuiviénen, the Minyar village with its ever-present fires was easy to spot only a few minutes after the lights of the other village had faded. Like a lodestone it directed their path, the shapes of its fence and buildings slowly growing more distinct in the ever-night. Soon their feet found the well-worn path.

The man that privately thought of himself as Ingwë began to lengthen his stride as to separate himself from his companions as scouts did on the long hunts.

Finwë began to play with the dyed fringe of his shawl, a nervous tick, and turned to remark to Oromë. “We let Kwendê take the lead here. This is his village.” Finwë had often visited his friend, Elwë, to attend village celebrations like roof raisings and the addition of new children, but he had never stepped a foot inside of the Minyar village. Elwë, as heir of a governing couple of one of the numerous small groups that had branched out of the main following of Enel, had spoken formally to the chieftain of all the elves, and the prospect of meeting Imin was not an idea completely foreign to him. This was not to say Elwë felt no nervousness, only when compared to his good friend.

Oromë gave a solemn nod.

Nahar pushed against the elf’s back in a gesture meant to be reassuring, yet the force of the nuzzle unbalanced Finwë.

Elwë had fallen back to fill his waterskin in one of the streams that flowed outside the Minyar village, for the large stream that fed his village still held the tainted taste, and he wished to limit how often he drew from their stores of good drinking water. He said nothing as his friend stumbled or his other friend jogged towards the village gate.

That such an arrangement among the three friends of who ran eagerly forth and who fell back should be later repeated, to profound historic effect, should be no surprise.

The two elves, Ainur, and horse-shaped Maiar waited as Ingwë returned to his home village. From their positions behind him, none could see the tightness to his normally stoic face or the worry hiding in the tension of the skin around his eyes. The Lord of the Forest sensed it, and restrained from making a fond sound.

Asmalô, seventh-born of the Minyar and one of their more promising young hunters before the depredations of the Dark Hunters curtailed the long hunts, rose from where he crouched on a hillock outside the thorn-lined and torch-brightened palisade that delineated the confines of the Minyar village, his lanky body nimbused by the village fires. His movements were jerky, though his distance from the village’s safety was not great enough to explain his fear. Even in this eclipsing angle, the whites of his widened eyes were clear. “Ûkwendô!” he called out to the other member of the first tribe. “Please be you! Imin knows you are not in the village, that you disobeyed his command!” The former childhood friend of the man that would be Ingwë spoke with concern when Ingwë expected only angry censure. “You give no heed to anyone in the tribe, and I fear tolerance of your defiant ways has ended. You can no longer go alone as you wish,” the young hunter began to scold, then dropped his lecture as he beheld the companions of the one he thought of as a loner. “Who do you bring with you? ....Lo, Ûkwendô, what have you brought to bear upon your people?”

“Peace, Asmalô. Elwê of the Nelyar and Phinwê of the Ñgolodor are known to us, and the ones with us mean the Speakers no harm.”

“Who are with you?” Asmalô stammered, staring at tall Oromë and Nahar gleaming silver in the starlight.

“Not the Dark Hunters that so scare you and our mighty leaders,” the man who would be Ingwë Ingweron said in a false mild voice, the undercurrent of mockery rising to color his speech. Asmalô caught it, and his thoughts warred if to openly rebuke the slightly younger man for the confrontational audacity.

Finwë began to run towards the two Minyar to forestall further conflict, but Oromë pulled him back with a hand on the young man’s shoulder as he stepped forward instead. Seeded within the action was a gradual increase of the Vala’s size and the incorporation of an uncanny luminosity to his skin, until the Power stood half again in height taller than the elf beside him and glowed with a holy faint blue light. The texture of bark and dappled fur had returned to his skin, and a sweet scent of crushed pine needles waffled strongly from his form. Such action naturally pulled the attention away from the elf who had transgressed against Imin’s decree and displayed towards it a blatant disregard. Had Asmalô held his weapons in his hand, he would have dropped them.

“Greetings, young one,” Oromë called out in a voice that boomed like his hunting horn, the Valaróma. “Your concern for your friend and people do you credit. And forgive me my amusement, for it is not so that your mother named for the yellow songbird beloved by both my wife and king? I had not known that the Fruit-giver had allowed various seed-eaters to awaken on the far shore, aside from those like the pine buntings.”

In later recountings of the meeting of Oromë and the Vanyar, that the first topic consisted of the habitat range of small birds was allocated to a footnote.

The population of the Minyar far exceeded that of Elwë’s village, and all that were of age were gifted in mind-sight as to feel the true nature of the spirit of Oromë as he that would be Ingwë had in the forest glade. Thus the meeting between the Vala and the first tribe of elves need not be imagined as greatly differing from the first assembly, aside from a few particulars. It was tall Imin, crowned with a pair of feathers and draped in beautiful striped and spotted furs, and Iminyë in a gown made of hundreds of rattling bone beads and a thick cloak of a white auroch hide who greeted Oromë, while his tribe stood behind in amazement but not fear, and the Vala bowed to them and spoke in a tone less informal than before to humor the first-awaken Children of Iluvatar.

Oromë swiftly recounted the identities of the Valar, their origins and their appointed task in Arda, their maliciously recalcitrant member and his war against their rightful authority, his search for the elves and his wayward servant, and the sudden encounter, as well as his intentions to aid the Kwendî by clearing the hunting grounds of the evil shadows that abducted the elves. The sheer magnitude of new information to confront would have daunted anyone, yet the Unbegotten had awoken once to an entire world with which they needed to fill their blank minds, and even this shock was not as great. Imin and his wife had the comfort, when they gaze upward, that the stars still shone down. A disservice it would be to their characters to say they were hidebound and unwilling to accept the cataclysm to the society and world they had outlined and commanded. One should not judge too harshly those that would lead the Refusers.

Oromë and his horse were welcomed into the village, led to the clearing in the center of the village between the circle where disputes were settled and warriors trained and the grand hut of the chieftains family. Here Imin and Iminyë pulled out a pair of stools to sit and listen, as everyone gathered around them. . Finwë and Elwë were included in the invitation, but fundamentally ignored. Elwë made a token effort to shoulder all responsibility, as it was his need to avenge his parents that had drawn his friends Finwë and Kwendë from their villages, and Finwë was eager to praise his friend's virtues to a disbelieving audience. The Minyar response was quiet but profound befuddlement.

In the excitement and upheaval of Oromë’s arrival and the revelations about their entire universe, the transgression of venturing far from the village in secret seemed forgiven. This was a false assumption, but the meeting of ones’ deities took priority.

Ingwë stood before Imin as a young buck would face an elder male with a herd, muscles coiled tense and eyes staring straight on without subservience. His spear he had handled off to Asmalô, and his face was bare of paint or markings. The expression of his face was not one of challenge or anger, though its impassiveness was barely less confrontational. His thoughts, as always in the village, he guarded from others to sense. This stoicism dismayed Finwë and Elwë, who knew of the joy and excitement their friend had felt with the discovery of the Valar, and were leaning their hopes on that confident delight to convince the Minyar of Oromë’s goodness, as it had for themselves and Elwë’s people. “I returned with bounty, and the stars shined upon my hunt,” he said to his chieftain, the ceremonial words of hunters when entering the village with success. The Minyar tittered at the incongruity of likening all this to bringing back some felled deer, and even Imin smirked. Imin and Iminyë’s son, vain Inkundû, disliked the sensation of feeling envy towards the village pariah. His sister, Ravennë, appraised the son of feared and pitied Skarnâ-Maktê with fresh eyes and shrewd calculation.

Oromë excused himself from the undercurrents of these interpersonal interactions, though his interest in observing them was strong. His opinions and observations he would hold private until he returned to the Mánahaxar.

Of particular interest to him were the small children, from the half-grown teens lean with hunger to the toddlers and infants clutched tight to their mothers and fathers.

Maktâmê held her infant daughter in her good arm, openly weeping to see her son returned hale and in high spirits. He did not run to her, but his pace to reach her side was decidedly quick, and it was a firm voice that bade her listen to the name he had chosen for his newborn sister. Bitter resentment of her tribe and those that lead it encouraged Maktâmê to eagerly embrace her son’s suggestion, even if she had not yet heard the full story of Nessa and knowing full well the conflict this would bring with Iminyë.

When Maktâmê’s son returned his attention to the discussion between Oromë and his tribe members, the topic was the proposed hunt.

Kanatyë, whose spouse was the first taken by the Dark Hunters, spoke. “Are you truly so mighty, Great Arâmê, as to scare off those horrible things that stalk us?”

To this Oromë replied by hefting aloft his great horn and bringing it to his lips, then blowing a single pure and roaring note that rang across the shoreline and deep into the surrounding forest. “Those that I hate, hear that sound and fear me. Those that I hunt, hear that sound and flee from me,” Oromë proclaimed. His voice was low and deep, especially in contrast to the aural lightning strike of the Valaróma’s call.

“Then we shall hunt, all who are most able,” Iminyë said. “Our food is near depleted, and we wish to see you and the skill and might you promised. Then my husband shall take you to meet with Tata and Enel.”

The implication that he and his friends would stay behind was not lost on the man than would be Ingwë, and he shoved aside Inkundû to stand before his leader once more, ignoring the sputtering anger of the prince.

“Do you care to speak now, Kwendê?” Imin asked, a lilting note on the name that outsiders used to call a member of his tribe. The rebuke was unsaid but hammered like a waterfall, fueled by hurt feelings and confusion, for the man that would be Ingwë had kept himself aloof from his people.

“Now that I have worth to share,” Ingwë eventually snapped out, a curt gesture in the direction of the Vala.

Oromë interjected, “The three shall come with us. It is right, as they were first to find me. Though if I am to meet with all the Children, if you are spread out along this giant saline lake, it might be prudent of me to teach you how to ride.”

...

Asmalo is named for the yellowhammer. Don’t ask me why Tolkien chose that specific bird to give a PE name. That, crow, and nightingale are it.

#my fic #silm fic #fic wip #young bucks of cuiviénen #arrogant golden-haired lions of Valmar #ingwë #imin #oromë #Vanyar aren't Boring #indis #had to name an OC #had options on which way to go - of course i picked the version i did #if you know me and gilgamesh you know why #this whole chapter could be summed up with reaction gifs #of people in the background going on face journeys #hunting action scene can go in next chapter with the Off-Screen War Against Melkor

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squirrelwrangler · 8 years

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Ingwë Of Cuiviénen (5/?)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9

Considered this the rough draft to what goes up tomorrow or in the next few days on AO3. As this really is the direct continuation of last chapter’s ‘Oromë Recounts the various Valar and the History of the Beginning of Days’ there isn’t a ton of plot advancement. But this necessary section had to be done and I wasn’t going to gloss over it like I originally planned. Next chapter will eb the naming of Indis and hyper-focus on the Minyar.

Primitive elvish names and terms still left mostly untranslated, but context clues should explain them. More world-building in my mode from Klingon-Promotion-Vanyar and young bucks of Cuiviénen.

...

Of the fellow Powers like himself did these gathered elves of the Nelyar village who now called themselves the followers of Elwë question of Oromë, wanting to know of the Powers what were their numbers and their strengths and where the Valar lived and what all they looked like. The total number of Powers who came into this world from the Timeless Halls, a hand gesturing to the dark sky but obviously pointing to some indescribable void beyond it, Oromë could not answer, though he explained that of his kindred, fourteen were accounted the strongest, the appointed leaders. Fourteen, the man that would be Ingwë noticed smugly, was the first number of the Minyar after Imin and Iminyë found a cluster of golden-haired elves sleeping and claimed them as their people, back in the beginning when the elves were awaking and searching for one another. Evenly divided by seven were the Valar, but as Oromë explained, not an even seven couples. Thanks to the query from a woman of Elwë’s tribe, the gathered elves learned that Oromë’s people had kinship bonds that the second generation of elves possessed but not the first, for the Unbegotten were sibling-less. A strange dissimilarity, thought the followers of Elwë, for all that the Powers had emerged from the thought of Ilúvatar just as the first of the elves had awoken in the clay.

“We haves bonds to one another,” said Oromë, “many different types of which I search for your words to describe. Some were a part of us at our creation by the One who made all. Some we found among each other, that we saw a likeness in our songs and what we loved. Friendship and that internal qualities by which you divide yourselves into tribes would be the parallel. Then there is one of whom the bond between us was set at her inception, whom I love I would say the way you, Elwê, love these two before you that you call brothers.” Oromë pointed to Olwë and Elmo. “The way the two who raced up to see you returned safe, that is very familiar. When I return to my home, my sister who is swiftest of all us shall race up to me and demand an accounting of my journeys. She shall be cross if I have come to harm, delight in anything that pleased me or my victories, and then shall still scold me for leaving in the first place, while understanding why I must go. Is that not the bond of siblings? Then the deer that surround her wherever she goes shall nibble at my hair, and I will have to shoo them away.”

He pointed back to the questioner, a heavily pregnant Lindar woman with her dark braided hair twined with duck feathers and whose hands gripped those of Elwë’s youngest brother. “The one you would say I am husband to, that I love as Elmo loves you, she is very dear to me, and shall be the second to greet me. Her song is the fairest of anything I have heard, since long before I entered Arda. That is how we found one another, the bonds between us, in the place that had no place or time. We would at first sing alone, or with those the One had said we shared a bond, but as we sang and listened to others sing, we found those that we preferred to sing with, or those who singing we liked most to listen to and they to listen to us. It is that way with my wife. Beauty itself would be her name, Banâ, and not be sufficient enough to encompass her. Her songs are ever those of new life, of the creation of newness and beauty, of the young things. She is the seeds that will make new trees, of the nursing animals and act to make them, the new leaves that unfurl pale and green. Always she is newness and youth and love.” Oromë’s voice sang with love to describe his wife, and even without the mind-sight of the Minyar, all the elves present could feel the tender joy and see without sight the image of a woman none had met. It was not a clear picture, just a pair of soft hands cupping a caterpillar and allowing the fuzzy creature to crawl up her fingers, but there was a golden light that infused the image.

"Not all of us have bonds of that you would call siblings or spouse. The one that delights most in the song of water, be it the smallest of rivers or the oceans that make this lake seem small, has neither. Ulumô is what his name would be, before you interrupt to ask.” Oromë gave a teasing glance to Finwë, and that the Power could joke with such easy and gentle humor dissipated the villagers’ lingering worry. “But he does have companions who also delight most in the songs of water, river, lake, and ocean.”

The wife of Elmo smiled and placed a hand over her bulging body, her other hand holding her husband. “I am most glad to hear that, Good Hunter. That the powers that made this world are like us. Or that it is the other way around, that we are like you? I would like most to meet your spouse the Everyoung.”

Oromë smiled to the wife of Elmo, Linkwînen of the reed cloak and duck feathers twined in her hair. “There is the echo of her song in you, Linkwînen.”

“What of children?”

To this question Oromë grew still. “That we do not have, nor can.” His solemn face returned to the bright smile, “but of the weaker Powers that follow me and my wife, our tribe perhaps you would call them, there are a few small and foolish ones that despite my love I would say I am in constant exasperation trying to tend and parent them. One of my hunters, for example! Oh, he is very strong and determined, very skilled, but he has no head for directions or time, constantly distracted and forgetting his duties. Hopelessly in love, the poor sod, so I forgive him always if he errors. But I worry, for the Enemy may take advantage of him. The reason I was riding in this direction was to find him, for he has not checked in with me in a year. The explanation could be as innocent as he found something silver and stopped to admire it. Or it could be ill.”

“The Enemy steals your people as he does ours?” Elwë asked.

The likeness between Oromë and Elwë grown more pronounced than ever, grave did the Power answer, “Sometimes. Or Mailikô convinces them to join his side, through persuasion or by overpowering them. Many of his number are such, Gothombauk and the other horrible ones, ñgwalaraukô if I were to use your words. And then there are the willing traitors like he that was chief servant of Aulë. Ah, there is a story I must tell.”

Once more the Vala regaled his listeners of how he and his brethren fought against their Enemy in the vast expanses outside the world, the emptiness on the far side of the stars, and then in Arda itself, back before anything grew in the soil or in the water, not even the algae and tiniest particles that the minnows and shrimp fed on. How the very stone raged as molten fire so there was no firm land to find purchase, and Aulë was sorely pressed. He told of how Mailikô used the extremes of temperature to turn Ulumô’s waters to steam or ice, then pausing to explain what ice was, as the land surrounding Cuiviénen received no cold snow. Fortunately for the need of example there were mountains in the distance tall enough to see that their crests were paler than the rock below. The concept of snow kindled a new wanderlust in the breast of the man that would be Ingwë Ingweron. Before Oromë, the elf had not pondered the possibilities that the distant mountains may hold.

Continuing on, Oromë told of how their battles were long and inconclusive until help arrived in the form of a newcomer. Uninvited, unexpected, but gratefully needed and welcomed, Tulkatho defeated all the Enemy’s followers and scared Mailikô away from Arda. Oromê described Tulkatho running into battle with laughter and a ruddy smiling face, carrying no weapons and using little in the way of strategies to fight but so strong as to not matter, and of his good humor and golden hair. Collectively everyone turned to look over at the only member of the first tribe that these elves had any regular contact with. Appraising Elwë’s friend, together the Lindar shook their heads and decided there was no resemblance.

Oromë described the time of peace and bliss that existed for a while, of their first home in Arda on a green island in the center of a lake. Two tall pillars topped with bonfires Aulë crafted, one to the south and the other to the north, and together much of the entire world was bathed in light. Here the Powers rested and made long celebration of their victory against their Enemy, though their chieftain mourned the brother who had turned against the One. He hoped that having been driven from the confines of Arda perhaps Mailikô would return to Iluvatar and repent the folly of his destructive avarice. The Enemy did not choose that wise and goodly course, alas. But with Tulkatho’s overwhelming strength, none saw a way in which the Enemy could hope to assault the peace of Arda, and in this false confidence, unaware of treachery’s threat, the Powers celebrated their victory on the verdant island in the center of the world where the light of the two great fires met and mingled. Wearied by his long labours, Aulë the shaper and tamer of the stones of the earth rested upon a bed of soft grass that his spouse, she that created all living things, grew for him. As he rested, so did the mighty warrior Tulkatho, who had lent his strength to all the Powers without reservation. As the warrior rested and received the congratulations of others, the sister of Oromë proclaimed her love for he with golden hair and a laughing spirit. As this, the weary warrior sprung from the grass with a glad shout brighter than any he had in battle and proclaimed his equal admiration of the lithe-limbed and deer-swift sister of Oromë. Nessa she was, the Dancer, the Bride, and Oromë smiled to describe her. It was decided to have a wedding to celebrate their love and choice to espouse another, and so many of the Ainur, from the fourteen great Valar to their least servants, attended. Only in hindsight did the absence of many servants who should have attended or the swift departure of those like Mairon, the highest of Aulë’s attendants, once the initial vows were made and the dancing begun, reveal that Mailikô’s departure from the confines of Arda had been only temporary.

The concept of a wedding, to make a large celebration involving the entire community out of the decision between two people, was unknown to the Kwendî. The union of two tribe members would affect the tribe as a whole through the changes in the social network, this was true, yet it was not occasion to hold a tribal event on par with the raising of a new communal building. The true motive of this particular wedding, as the listeners could readily perceive, was to have an excuse for joy after a long and terrible period of conflict. For what could be more contrary to such a violent division between those that should have been complementary in thought and efforts than the celebration of a new union?

Oromë listed unfamiliar names and described fantastic forms of the gathered Powers: of the lord of clouds with wrens and warblers nesting in his hair and on his shoulders, his lofty lady wife who made the stars and whose eyes were as bright as her creations, the spouses who fashioned the earth and then filled it with the living growing things, of Oromë’s wife with pale yellow and pink flowers floating from her feet to coat her hands as she braided the bride’s hair, and himself, the nervous older brother. Of the three siblings whose duties were not the material world but those of spirit Oromë noted as having been in attendance: a sister who wept for all and thus encompassed both grief and wisdom, her brother who resided over judgement and would have in his custody the spirits of those departed, and the youngest of the three who dealt with dreams and unlike his elder siblings was actually pleasant to share company. More Powers he described, attending the wedding with their host of servants and followers, of the lady of repose and healing with her soft pale robes and hands as light as lake mist and the lady who recorded all that had come to pass, each who had as spouse one of the lords of spirit, of the lord of waters standing uncomfortable in the gathered crowd but smiling as the butterflies that followed Banâ sipped at the water that dripped off his scales, and last of all the bridegroom and bride. Oromë described the procession on the soft grass as bride and groom approached each other to the resounding cheers and songs of the gathered, of the lord of clouds standing in witness for Ilúvatar as Tulkatho and Nessa spoke vows to another. The bright purple eyes of his sister had glowed with joy to announce the golden warrior as her husband, and she only released her grip on his hands as to make a dance of celebration at the completion of their vows.

Oromë grew silent as he conceded that in even the language of the Valar there were no words adequate to describe the Dance of Nessa.

No celebration would last unended, and it was as the newlyweds slept, and all the attending guests in likewise slumber and stupor, that the betrayal came. Servants of the Powers who had switched their allegiance in secret to Mailikô hastened to the north and south to destroy the pillars that upheld the lanterns of Aulë. While Tulkatho snored and Oromë admitted he too had been lost in hazy remembrance of his own first union with his lovely spouse, and none of their loyal warriors were stationed with alert eyes facing outside the island where the wedding had been held, no one noticed these traitors approach. Former servants of the Star-kindler cloaked themselves in shadows and the blue wolf that once hunted beside Oromë stilled any warning cry. Ossai, rebellious servant of Ulumô, generated terrible storms to pound at the great stone pillars with lashing winds and drown the light with onslaughts of water, yet it was the chief servant of Aulë who caused the most harm. Once a figure most admired, chief of those admirers being himself, this Abhorred One knew the fissures and stress points in the pillars that held the world’s illumination, and it was his hands that showed Mailikô and his terrible followers where to strike. With blows to the wide base of each stone pillar, cracks that reached through the centers to spider out on the far side, the grinding of loose and liquified rock, down the columns fell with a roar greater than any peal of thunder. Long shadows fell over the earth before the twin lights guttered out, and in darkness the broken pillars smashed into the earth. Continents broke. The two fallen lamps pushed out the very oceans, causing tidal waves and earthquakes as the once perfect symmetry of the world was irrevocably shattered. The Powers awoke to darkness and the despoilment of the world they had long laboured to create. Fires raged where the land had once been green. In shock did they behold the seabeds emptied and dry, trees uprooted, gentle hills flattened, and over everything immense clouds of dust. Of the multitude of species of both plant and animal Aulë’s spouse had devised, only a handful survived this cataclysm.

Oromë bowed his head. “If my sister’s dance is the expression of joy indescribable, then the song of grief from Nienna was the expression of sorrow no words of mine can recount. Not even the poetry of my king can match the articulation of feeling.”

War resumed, and the Powers retreated to the far west. At the edge of the world there was a large landmass that had survived mostly intact from the cataclysmic collapse of the two pillars, and it was here that the Valar gathered examples of all of the surviving lifeforms. Then they rose a great palisade of mountains, the highest to ever be. Behind the wall of these mountains the Powers built their houses and tended their crafts, creating ever newer and more beautiful things. “And in the center is our city, our home village, and there is a green mound blessed by my spouse’s elder sister, where she has poured all her thought and song of the green things that grow from the earth that is her domain. The Weeper watered this green mound with her cool tears, and from this mound grew two trees. As they grew their flowers emitted a dew that gave forth a light more pure and bright than the lamps that had been destroyed.” The Great Hunter paused and pulled two items from his brown tunic, the leather of the fabric briefly shifting to the texture of bark before parting before his fingers. The effect was deeply unsettling, and Oromë winced in apology. A small pouch grew from his belt like a budding fruit until it transformed, hanging off the braided cord around his waist like an exact match for the bag tied to Nöwë’s belt. Oromë unfurled his fingers. “Here are two leaves from the Trees.” He used his other hand to pull them apart and unfold the leaves until they draped across his lap. “This one, narrow and dark with the silver underside, belongs to the elder. The one underneath, pale green like a beech, is a leaf off the younger.” The leaves were larger than any the elves had seen before and shimmered in the firelight. “The light from the elder tree’s flowers is silver and cool, whereas the younger is a fierce golden brightness. They alternate their lights as to not overwhelm, and thus our time is divided into days organized by this cycle of light.”

Oromë encouraged the audience to reach out and feel the texture of the leaves. They had an aroma that was faint but pleasant, and completely foreign. Once curiosity was satisfied, Oromë methodically refolded the leaves into small intricate star-like shapes and tucked them into his newly-formed belt-pouch.

“The Star-kindler collects the dew of their flowers to make many lights to illuminate all corners of our homeland, vats and jars and small glass vials full of silver and golden light, and has used them to create the brighter stars you see in the sky. I did not bring any of these lamps with me, but I find it a comfort to bring a piece of the Trees with me wherever I travel.”

Such familiar behavior, to carry a physical piece of home while on long journeys away, comforted the listeners and reduced the alienness of Oromë. Then the Vala stood, towering over the elves, and spoke several sharp words in his native language, the syllables stinging their ears. Nahar pulled away from one of the huts where the giant horse had been nibbling at the thatched roof. Ears pinned back in a strange expression of guilt, the horse snorted and bowed its head, then trotted off to the shoreline to sulk and splash his hocks in the lake water. Oromë’s language shifted back to that of the Kwendî, his sounds no longer piercing and painful. “We are guests, Næchærra, and there are plenty other plants for you to eat that shall not inconvenience the Children.” The stallion turned to face away from Oromë, tail swishing back and forth, and waded deeper into the lake, kicking and splashing with his front legs. “Cover yourself in mud if you wish, but know we must leave soon to visit the other villages as we have promised.”

“Shall you leave soon?” Nôwê asked.

Oromë turned to look at the three who had discovered him. “I have promised to travel with them to the village of your leader, the first chieftain who is senior above all other villages. It would be improper of me otherwise. I cannot making binding promises on behalf of my king, but I can convey messages. To the three chieftains in order, as I have been made to understand, shall I visit, and to as many of the other groups as Kwendê and his friends can guide me. As it is my duty to hunt the creatures of Mailikô, it is the first village of the hunters that shall point me in the proper direction.” The Great Hunter smiled. “I look forward to that.”

...

14 Minyar goes from the counting tale, but i keep it ambiguous if that’s the final starting first gen for the Minyar. There’s studies done for the aboriginal population of Australia that prove there needs to be a certain starting pop number as to have a lasting society.

Yes, same Linkwinen that has a nasty final fate in Wall the Heart.

Recounting large chunks of Chapter 3 from The Silmarillion, this passage especially:

“Now it came to pass that while the Valar rested from their labours, and watched the growth and unfolding of the things that they had devised and begun, Manwë ordained a great feast; and the Valar and an their host came at his bidding. But Aulë and Tulkas were weary; for the craft of Aulë and the strength of Tulkas had been at the service of an without ceasing fax the days of their labour. And Melkor knew of an that was done, for even then he had secret friends and spies among the Maiar whom he had converted to his cause; and far off in the darkness he was filled with hatred, being jealous of the work of his peers, whom he desired to make subject to himself. Therefore he gathered to himself spirits out of the halls of Eä that he had perverted to his service, and he deemed himself strong. And seeing now his time he drew near again to Arda, and looked down upon it, and the beauty of the Earth in its Spring filled him the more with hate. Now therefore the Valar were gathered upon Almaren, fearing no evil, and because of the light of Illuin they did not perceive the shadow in the north that was cast from afar by Melkor; for he was grown dark as the Night of the Void. And it is sung that in that feast of the Spring of Arda Tulkas espoused Nessa the sister of Oromë, and she danced before the Valar upon the green grass of Almaren. Then Tulkas slept, being weary and content, and Melkor deemed that his hour had come. And he passed therefore over the Walls of the Night with his host, and came to Middle-earth far in the north; and the Valar were not aware of him.”

#my fic #silm fic #working on silm fic #young bucks of cuiviénen #arrogant golden-haired lions of Valmar #ingwë #oromë #elu thingol #finwë #Linkwinen and her brother (and Elmo)#NAHAR #horse tries to steal the spotlight yet again #story time with oromë again #the beginning of this chapter was written as a response to an ask a long time ago #had fun looking up the PE names of Valar #some of them I just name-dropped the translations #if you see any typos or needed corrections tell me #consider this the early birthday gift to my followers

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squirrelwrangler · 9 years

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So the new SW doll-maker is incomplete (probably at least two more updates), but I am having fun with it and that I can already make a vaguely close to accurate Cuiviénen-era Ravennë amuses me.

And for kicks, the oh-so-boring couple version w/ Ingwë and Ravennë. I have the two pairs of the love cube from the haunted cat story as well, and tried to make a few of the Rose Red characters before getting annoyed with the lack of hair-covering hats for Rohese.

#dollmaker silliness #i should share these more often like the rest of my dash #arrogant golden-haired lions of Valmar #queen ravennë #the lack of spears for either game hurts my soul

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squirrelwrangler · 9 years

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Snippet for Chapter 5 of “Of Ingwë”

(Yes I know I should finish Chapter 4 first)

Where I divert the narrative to describe our long-belated second heroine:

The second child of Imin and Iminyë must be here described, their daughter Ravennë. A boast it was to name their child the lioness, in honor of the great hunting cats that instructed by example the Minyar to hunt and who shared the same tawny golden pelt. It was a proud name for a proud young woman. Most beautiful the daughter of Imin and Iminyë was named, the princess of the Beautiful Ones, but this was falsehood. All Kwendî were comely, and the golden hair of the first tribe prized as beauty by others, but Ravennë objectively did not outshine her peers in appearance. For one, she was short among a people that prized height, and her mouth considered ill-shaped for her face, especially having inherited her father’s jawline that made Imin handsome but his daughter not. Her eyes were the bluish purple common to her tribe, whereas had she inherited the golden brown of her father, the striking similarity to her namesake would have elevated her to the acclaim so liberally bestowed.

#working on silm fic #queen ravennë #young bucks of cuiviénen #arrogant golden-haired lions of Valmar #Vanyar aren't Boring #oh shit my OC is a purple-eyed blonde I fail at life #(but yeah among the list of reasons to hate the Targs was that)#she has huge killer thighs though #but yeah short haughty elven high queen :D

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squirrelwrangler · 10 years

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WIP of the Plotless Imin/Iminyë fic

A standalone ficlet in the same universe as all the Klingon Vanyar and young bucks of Cuiviénen, where much like the other Imin one-shot and dive into the thoughts of very first elf and the leader Ingwë replaces. Where I decide that if I have that origin story where the wives of the first three elves are named like opposite-sex clones and treated as the extension of a set, then why not run with it and turn Imin and Iminyë into a creepy uncanny valley synchronized pair with an enforced quasi-hive mind. Plus, I needed to establish these characters for the next chapter or few.

...

Imin awakes loudly, with a great gasp of air as if he had held his breath during sleep and only upon this cession of sleeping did he come up like a diver from the great lake Cuiviénen reaching the surface. It is almost a fearful sound.

His gasp, like the very first gasp of air that the first of all elves ever took, wakes his wife Iminyë from her sleep. She opens her eyes and turns to her husband. Sometimes in these moments she will reach a hand to touch him. She reminds him in these simplest of movements that he did not sleep alone, nor does he wake alone.

He is always the first to wake, and that moment between his gasp with eyelids flying open in alarm and the opening of his wife’s eyes is both the shortest of moments and yet the longest and most fearful of times.

It is the great fear of the first generation of elves, spoken lowly amongst themselves. They fear sleep, and a return to the oblivion in which they laid before their awakening, before they cried out at the sight of stars above them with the first opening of their eyes. They fear returning to the dumb unknowing unwaking, and it is the closest the Firstborn of Ilúvatar ever come to the mortal fear and understanding of death. They know not what woke them first, so they know not if this awareness will end.

The deep sleep, when eyes are closed and minds blind, isolates the elves. They learn how to sleep with eyes open and minds quiet but still able to sense other minds around them with that feeling which involves neither eyes nor ears. Imin and his people have honed this skill to the point that they can read even the thoughts of other minds, but it was a skill formed out of the need to reach just for the warmth of another consciousness in the coldness of the unknown. Isolation is the fear that drives the first of elves, the fear to reach out and feel no echo of other minds, to call out in a voice and have only dumb silence answer. In this twofold fear of the sleep he will not wake from and the fear that only he alone shall wake does Imin, the First of All Elves, gasp and turn for Iminyë.

As his wife reaches for him with grateful eyes he hears the flicker of her thoughts return to him. She is relieved that he is here, that he has called her from sleep, that she is not alone.

#working on silm fic #imin #Vanyar aren't boring #young bucks of cuiviénen #arrogant golden-haired lions of Valmar #Vanyar #prehistoric elves #iminyë

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squirrelwrangler · 10 years

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ingwion, ingwe :)

ingwion

Ok he’s mostly an OC with the stiff, slightly pompous, easily embarrassed and ruffled but overwhelming kind-hearted and earnest personality driven by a need to live up to the expectations and honor of his family, subjects, beliefs, and ethics that I find magnetically endearing. But he also leads the Vanyar to utterly wipe-out Melkor during the War of Wrath, so he does have his badass moments, but he was born and raised in Valinor and peace and he’s loyal and devout and doesn’t harm anyone but the true ultimate villains of Middle-earth, which makes him better than at least a third of all elves.

Ingwë

I’m sorry, did you just mention the most successful and the most revered and highest elven king in all of Arda? Yes you did. Leads all of his people to a land of safety, bliss, and joy. They never fall prey to Morgoth or internal division caused in part by the king’s lack. Who I’ve written and am writing stories about the early years of Cuiviénen and am not particularly subtle about how much I like said character in those fics.

#replies #crocordile #Vanyar aren't boring #arrogant golden-haired lions of Valmar #young bucks of cuiviénen #my HC ingwion is easily flustered and wants to please his parents #Chief of Chieftains

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squirrelwrangler · 10 years

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I will be ttly obvious and ask about Ingwë/Imin! (One day I will ask about something not Vanyar. That day is not today.)

• when or if I started shipping it:

I don’t fully ship it romantically. But the kernel was with seeing them as separate characters, and by the time I made it a formal duel I saw the seeds of a mutual respect possible, and then between ideas involving a re-embodied Imin returning in time to participate for the War of Wrath and your fic about being the oldest elf… There’s definitely an understanding and odd camaraderie between father-in-law and son, the former king and the new.

• what makes me happy about them:

Symbolism out the wazoo for the Minyar versus Minyar-Vanyar, the tribe before Oromë’s arrival and after. Imin is old-school, original school, the first ever, and yet they are elves, so he does get old, doesn’t diminish in his age. But Ingwë is driven and strengthened by conviction and Aman, so he is greater than the elf without an equal. And they understand each other.

• what makes me sad about them:

Um, wow, who else besides me even sees them as separate characters?

• things done in art/fic that annoys me:

the whole ‘they are separate characters’ hurdle is hard to get over. But for either of them, yeah the idea of Ingwë/Imin as a bland boring character, or Valar puppet conniving on their behalf. Or making either of them flaky talkative characters. And idk personally I don’t like them too short or too pale, and I want curly blond hair instead of straight, for pet peeves.

• things I look for in art/fic:

Pictures of either of them, for starts. Either of them with a muscular physique, tanned skin, curlier hair, if Cuiviénen-era I want something that isn’t white fabric robes. Elven Men that look like powerful hunters and very authoritative.

• my happily ever after for them:

Imin plays Patton to Ingwerion’s Eisenhower. Or Sherman to his Grant by the end of the war. And when the Army of the Vanyar return Imin goes up to Ingwë and says how proud he is of Ingwë’s leadership and care for his people, and how he’s made Ravennë happy and given him fine grandchildren. And Ingwë needs that acceptance and absolution and his has someone that understands the burdens and how life in the beginning was. And also is there for a handy secondary target to distract Ravennë when she gets upset.

#replies #otp meme #arrogant golden-haired lions of Valmar #Vanyar aren't boring #don't worry Imin is reborn eventually #hopefully i'm not alone in having ingwë and imin as seperate characters

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squirrelwrangler · 10 years

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? lions

Ah, this is easy, what with the #arrogant golden-haired lions of Valmar.

Though the son of Imin and Iminyë is named from the term kundû meaning prince, their daughter is Ravennë the lioness. Prides of lions (and not just the saber-toothed tigers but probably animals that most closely resembled the cave lions and american lions of the late Pleistocene) hunted around Cuiviénen and was one of the hunters that the Minyar learned to mimic. Ravennë loves and feels honored by her namesake, and when she was considered mature enough to go on her first hunt, afterwards she painted designs of lions and lionesses on her body. (I definitely have the Minyar/Vanyar obsessed with body paint, though I’m not sure about elves with tattoos -or if they would last several thousand years without degradation. Aie tangent~) But that Ravennë has a lot of lion-motif jewelry and belongings, and Ingwë and the rest of her family indulge in presents with those themes. And that is a pet name for her and they both call Minyë ‘kitten’ and there is a lot of poetry and offhanded remarks from the king of all the elves about how much he loves cats and their graceful movements and soft fur and playfulness but also strength and *bedroom eyes in his wife’s direction*

So, lions and Minyar. After Oromë’s first visit, his partnership with Nahar is the final push for livestock domestication. This I’ll go into detail for the Ingwë story, but with the fear of Dark Hunters constraining the hunters to the villages and shores of the lake, the idea of doing the same thing that the Nelyar are doing with not just going out and gathering plants but taking the seeds back and planting them next to the villages, is being tossed around. Oromë and Nahar prove it, so the Minyar go out and wrangle up a bunch of deer and goats and cattle (do have primitive elvish for sheep) and begin the process of domesticating them. Plus early attempts at horseback-riding, which should be fun. (Oromë has to set in and help with this). By the time Ingwë, Finwë, and Elwë return from Valinor, the elves of Cuiviénen has shifted from hunter-gather to livestock and early cultivation. It’s not a complete shift, and the streams that feed Cuiviénen have been damaged and blocked thanks to the War against Melkor, so the lake is beginning to dry up and diminish, though those that will be the Avari refuse to acknowledge that.)

And with the husbandry of livestock comes more conflict with predators, and why the Minyar really become the lion-hunting culture that one sees in this snippet. Of course, by the time the great farms and ranches in Valinor are worried about lions and such, Yavanna steps in. Still, the Vanyar make it a sport to hunt- but not injure- lions as a right of passage. Tulkas thinks lion-wrestling is a *great* idea, and Meassë often incarnates as a giant lioness. (somewhere is a post I rebloged about Sekhmet and Meassë).

#replies #Vanyar aren't boring #arrogant golden-haired lions of Valmar #young bucks of cuiviénen #high queen ravennë #meassë drunk on beer #the Vanyar are the people of Tulkas as much as they are Manwë #the otp of the lioness and her ascetic asskicker #there's more than a little Massai in my Minyar inspirations

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squirrelwrangler · 10 years

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kot-t- "quarrel" (KOT > KOTH)

khotsê "assembly" (KHOTH)

#laughing wildly #primitive elvish #young bucks of cuiviénen #arrogant golden-haired lions of Valmar #y'all know where I'm going with this #first drafts for fun and profit #language dictionaries too

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squirrelwrangler · 10 years

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I can't reblog this, but I went back and edited a few typos and re-read the notes for this post with general information and universe building for Ingwë, Ravennë his wife, and Indis.

Les Thoughts

Yeah, my brain is heavily over-loaded with ideas for my Vanyar recently, be it Ingwë at Cuiviénen, Ravennë's struggles in an AU where her husband instead of Elwë goes missing, or the various Vanyar soldiers during the War of Wrath - the half-Noldo son of Nerdanel's niece who teaches Bortë future Queen of Númenor to speak Quenya, of the Vanya kin of Elenwë - Ellowen who has a counterpart in Akallabêth-era Númenor and another in the original SF canon she's borrowed from - and her secret affair with a Noldo survivor from Gondolin, of the teamwork between the Vanyar, Falmari, and Faithful Noldor. And most of all poor Ingwion, would has enough on his plate already before the Valar decided it was time to re-body Grandpa Imin and send him to help fight in the War, and the oldest of all elves and former leader of them is basically Patton to Ingwion's Eisenhower. Fun times.

recently?

#Vanyar aren't boring #young bucks of cuiviénen #heget head-canon #arrogant golden-haired lions of Valmar #high queen ravennë #ingwë #Silmarillion OCs

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squirrelwrangler · 10 years

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I'm kind of curious about the details of your Ingwe is lost AU. How does the First Age work with no Doriath etc?

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* \(◕‿◕✿)/ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

My Ingwë swaps w/ Elwë AU. I’ve actually been meaning to write a full post or two (or many) setting out this AU and what happens, how it works, etc…

Okay, so it’s really a Vanyar swap with all the Teleri AU, because I was thinking about the tribes as a whole and attitudes. And tightly on the idea of the Minyar alone on Middle-earth and how do they choose on what I call “Olwë and Elmo’s choice”.

So the first step is that the Vanyar tribe has to be the only ones left when the island ferry leaves- which means no Lenwë turning back and then Vanyar-Nandor confrontations. Which, I could do an AU of the AU with that….

But, everything is resting on the characterization of Ingwë and his tribe as established in the Klingon-Promotion, Ingwë at Cuiviénen, ‘arrogant golden-haired lions of Valmar’. And it starts with when Lenwë is having his argument with Elwë about staying and turning back and not crossing the Blue Mountains. Because the difference between Ingwë and the other two ambassador-prophet-kings of Finwë and Elwë is that those two tried to use oratory and speeches to convince their people to follow them to go to Aman - and of course Ingwë just honor-dueled his leader and used the warrior-king authority to demand his tribe all follow him. So Elwë (and Olwë) are in this shouting match with Lenwë when Ingwë, having heard there’s a hold-up in the back, asks if he needs to get involved. Cue panic from everyone else, especially Elwë and Lenwë. Not that Ingwë isn’t making this offer as anything but concerned friend and follow leader - but the rest of the Eldar tribes aren’t like the Minyar with a martial outlook, used to solving arguments with fighting matches. And frankly even Ingwë’s close friends are spooked at how the stoic leader -sanctioned or not- murdered Imin. So a slightly confused and bemused Ingwë watches as Elwë and Lenwë wave him off frantically with calls of “No, no. No need. Minor disagreement. You know how tired and worn out we get with all this marching. We’re reconciled. Don’t worry about us.”

And we have a rare moment where Ingwë does worry about a fellow king and want to be a good friend, but here- have Ingwë act more as High King for the many Kings during the March- that he’s travelling between the various tribe camps, making sure they are on-task to Valinor, that they have enough supplies, watching out for attacks from Melkor’s leftover monsters and henchmen after the Valar captured Melkor and cleared out Utumno.

Which then gives to opportunity for a Sauron that is a little more proactive and bold in this timeline. Than instead of hiding until closer to the end of Melkor’s imprisonment, Sauron wants revenge now and goes after what he sees as responsible- the Eldar that the Valar crushed and imprisoned Melkor for attacking. Sauron is going to want the leaders of the Elves, the one that talked to Oromë- especially the head of them.

So it isn’t the beautiful song of nightingales in Nan Elmoth but Sauron’s spell that calls and traps Ingwë - that Ingwë tries to fight and duel Sauron and there is this battle of wits and song and spiritual pressure. The duel between Sauron and Finrod combined with the slowing and freezing of time from the Melian/Elu moment.

Speaking of Melian - she is still in the woods of Middle-earth hanging around and wanting to see the elves. And the feeling of this power duel involving one of Melkor’s evil Maia is going to call to her. Also - there is zero reason that Melian would be in a elven bodyshape at this point; she hasn’t met any so she doesn’t know what they look like. Her job in Lorien was tending Estë’s garden and singing - teaching the nightingales to sing. So much like Nahar, Thorondor, Haun, Yavanna-as-tree, Melian’s shape at the moment is that of a larger-than-normal nightingale with the power of speech.

And she finds Ingwë fighting Sauron, and it isn’t romantic love - he is married, she isn’t destined for him - but she loves the elves, she wants to fight evil. Melain as the nightingale joins with Ingwë, raises her song of power in a voice to challenge and drown out Sauron’s. Together they defeat Sauron, and Melian uses her power to capture the diminished Sauron -definitely thinking of the Lay here and what Lúthien threatens him with:

“ thy spirit roam quaking back to thy master’s homehis scorn and fury to endure; thee he will in the bowels immure of groaning earth, and in a hole everlastingly thy naked soul shall wail and gibber “

And hmm, maybe something like how May chan had “fetus-Envy” in a jar carrying him around after captured.

So when Ingwë emerging out of the forest his has captured Sauron and a Melian as nightingale as a Huan-like helpful companion at his side- and he is looking for his people.

The other side of the coin is the dilemma of Ravennë, and as she must decide what to lead her people in when Ingwë disappears. With debate and imput from her mother-in-law and her sister-in-law Indis, the internal tribal pressures, the abnormal relationship to begin with between Ravennë and Ingwë.

That they wait and don’t wait and what would Ingwë do and/or want us to do?

Yeah, needs own post.

- As for in the end, the Vanyar will get to Aman, probably by walking across the ice bridge. It’s whether they leave before or after Ingwë reappears that’s the question, but they will reunite and I see that it’s bird-adviser Melian answering how the tribe can get to Aman. The Helcaraxë comes up and the Minyar are, “Sure! Sounds doable. Kill some woolly mammoths for coats. Not like there’s any more mountains.” And bringing up the Pelori, they shrug to each other and laugh at the new challenge. They are the arrogant first elves who get shit done, have never turned or looked back during the March for fear of the journey.

So, finally reunions in Aman. Some …fun readjustments for everyone. That Elwë is the unmarried king of the vast majority of the elven people living in Aman - groups that have split into their own things as Lenwë has his group, Elmo his, Olwë and Círdan at the beaches. All of them also having started large families and Elwë both with the pressure of “are you going to get married?” and “I have more nephews and nieces and honorary nephews and nieces than I can keep straight.” And he will finally meet Melian as she returns with the Minyar she helped get to Aman, waiting in the Gardens of Lorien resting after her adventures and getting a lecture for leaving. And they have their fall-in-love moment which owes as much to Finwë and Indis falling in love as original canon. And causes an even bigger scandal and uproar in Valinor, even more furious debate among the Valar as they try to get confirmation whether Elven/Ainur marriages are allowable.

(Yeah, nothing in this AU would be a snowball big enough to change Finwë marrying Míriel in Aman, her giving birth to Fëanor and then dying. Thus Finwë as the widower in Aman dealing with a brilliant but temperamental son, spoiling him rotten, trying to lean on Elwë for support- who has enough problems and second-hand family drama of his own and is not encouraged to marry and have a son with Finwë and Fëanor as his reference.

Honestly I don’t think Indis in this AU would be as eager on Finwë anymore- affectionate love flaring up when she sees him in Valinor once more. But she has grown up in the wilds of Beleriand, struggled with her disabled mother and her sister-in-law queen Ravannë (who has given birth to baby Minyë, their eldest daughter, right before Ingwë disappeared) to hold her tribe together, no longer the luxury of peace. And Finwë and his Noldor abandoned the Minyar but not waiting when Ingwë first went missing, so Indis lost a lot of any hero-worship she might have for Finwë. But she is drawn to qualities on the Noldor and their way of life and she still has feelings of love for Finwë. And I refuse to have any AU without at least some form of Finarfin, Fingolfin, Findis, and Lalwen, especially if I’m keeping Fëanor.

Frankly, this is the AU where I want a gender-bent Nerdanel who falls in love with Indis first.)

But at the end of this AU almost all the elves are in Aman- but there are less evils left in Middle-earth - no Sauron to corrupt early humans. I’m not sure how different the situation would be when Melkor is paroled, but it won’t be like canon, for sure. So honestly, Middle-earth belongs to the dwarves and the humans.

#replies #laurelsblue #Vanyar aren't boring #So my happy AUs aren't like most #arrogant golden-haired lions of Valmar #heget head-canon #need a tag for this AU #ingwë #melian #high queen ravennë #this isn't the bestest mirror universe where I eliminate that one thing #taking all the Teleri family drama and condensing it into First Age Valinor #sauron is chump #to parallel canon while changing it #Minyar Sindar Swap AU

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