#elrond&elros: so when will you be abandoning us for a silmaril?

[hollowwhisperings]

Justice For Celebrian!

Celebrian is a Character of Absence in Tolkien's Legendarium: we never truly meet her and yet her absence lingers throughout the text, affecting most every major actor of the Third Age (the eldar most of all).

How-so it this? Through this: the devastating grief, unspoken yet doubtless, of those who knew & loved her.

For Celebrian was this: to Celeborn & Galadriel, their daughter and only child; to Elrond, the Great Love of his life; to Elladan & Elrohir, a mother whom they failed to quickly rescue; to Arwen Undomiel, the mother whom she was never to meet again for choosing the Path of Man.

Celebrian was the Lady of Imladris, the princess in all but name to Lothlorien. She was kin to two Ringbearers and yet neither Ring could save her. We know only that she was gentle and beloved, by some of the most crucial players in the events of the Second & Third Ages of Middle-Earth.

Why Celebrian is Absent

Celebrian's status as one "beloved" by the eldar creates a formidable motive in their hatred of The Shadow. For the means by which Celebrian was "absented" from Middle-Earth was entirely of Its Reckoning: in the 2509th Year of the Third Age, Celebrian was "waylaid by orcs". She was "captured and tormented" until she was, at last, found and rescued by her twin sons.

This Fate is one of Horrific Implication, one that Tolkien's Appendix B avoids elaborating upon (beyond her "receiving a poisoned wound").

Fans have Imagination Enough to consider what Hurts could be beyond even Lord Elrond's means to Heal, beyond any of Galadriel's many powers, beyond the careful comforts found in Imladris & Lothlorien. Whatever befell Celebrian by the creations of Sauron, it left her so wounded that Sailing West (& thus Away from most everyone she had ever known) was her only Hope for recovery.

"Justice" within the Legendarium

The Fate of Celebrian was yet one blow more in a long list of Personal Grievances borne by her Kin against Sauron. The vigilance and ample assistance of Celebrian's Kin during the War of The Ring was undoubtedly inspired, in no small part by her Fate & subsequent Departure.

While Elrond & Galadriel would doubtlessly have aided The Fellowship without this most recent grievance to drive them, the otherwise reclusive eldar of Imladris & Lothlorien would certainly have found Celebrian's Fate "inspiring" enough to take arms once more, "postponing" (or hastening) their Leave of Middle-Earth to seek Justice for their Lost Lady.

"Injustices" in Adapted Works

The Injustices that adapted Tolkien works have done unto Celebrian are many: they have erased her very existence (TROP); they have denied her her Epic & Untold Love Story with her Husband (TROP, again); they have Lessened the person she chose to love by making him a Minor Antagonist (both of PJ's film trilogies); they have stolen the kinship between other characters that they share for her existence (PJ's trilogies imply her existence but fail to utilize its possibilities, many of them comical: Elrond is Galadriel's Son-in-Law; Gimli's Championship of "Grandma Galadriel"; Arwen's Looks being inherited not from Celebrian but from Elrond; etc).

The effects the Live-Action Adaptions have had on the Modern Tolkien Fandom are also Significant: Hugo Weaving's portrayal of Elrond is the most commonly known, despite its OOC-ness; the relationships between Celebrian's Family are unrealised or dismissed; the "Last Homely House", a title probably earned by Elrond & Celebrian both, is considered falsely named; the Many Incentives for Galadriel to Hate Sauron & to have ALWAYS Hated Sauron are... forgotten to enable a "will-they won't-they" romance(???).

To erase Celebrian is to remove from the Second Age one of its silliest love stories: she & Elrond were silently pining for each other for almost 2000 years! This surely amused her mother, who had become afflicted with Sea-Longing some few years prior, & caused Conflict at the Court of King Gil-Galad (for, by wedding Celebrian, Elrond's Claims for High Kingship of the Eldar would become even stronger). The politics are, perhaps, the primary purpose of the would-be couple's long silence: audiences do not know as the potential of their love story has had little attention dedicated to it.

Injustice to Celebrian exists also in the mischaracterization of Elrond: what impression must an audience have, afterall, of the one to love & be beloved by someone so antagonistic to those most in need of "The Last Homely House"? The hostility, the begrudging "hospitality" exhibited by the Elrond of PJ's film trilogies tarnishes not only Elrond but the Legacy of Celebrian as that House's Lost Lady.

(It also creates some varyingly minor/major Plot Holes, such as Elrond's ability to host a Council of the "Free Peoples" in the first place. If his hospitality is so poorly to non-elves, why on Arda would he so frequently be sought for counsel? Furthermore, the Elrond of the Third Age has made himself a Healer: how many elves of this Age would ever need his skill?)

More, varyingly serious charges of "injustice" to Celebrian are sure to follow: my discontent began in the rendering of her husband into a petty antagonist; it has been reignited upon my learning of Amazon's choices in its adapting of the Second Age. Mostly, however, my rallying cry is made in jest: "failures" of adaptions to make Elrond sufficiently pretty for his wife; the lack of "Celebrian/Elrond" content in tumblr feeds; melodrama over how many elven names start with "Celeb".

#celebrian #tolkien meta #silm #house of elrond #elrond meta #galadriel meta #justice for celebrian #let elrond be hot #let galadriel be a grandmother #let gil-galad have headaches over the political clustercluck possible were elrond to ever admit to pining for celevrian #srsly how stressful must it been for gil-galad when maglor tagged him as elrond's new guardian? #maglor: i found this in a cave plz look after them #gil-galad: the missing princes of doriath??? #elrond&elros: so when will you be abandoning us for a silmaril? #gil-galad: oh no they have anxiety #i wonder how elrond reacted to hearing galadriel gifted gimli three strands of her hair #srsly the guy was abandoned by parents over silmarils THREE TIMES #and then people started calling his daughter evenstar & luthien reborn #i imagine that celebrian spent most of her kids' early childhood pointedly telling them that she loved them more than the stars #and keeping her mother from going around in her recreated swanboat #galadriel sending the fellowship off from a swanboat while singing in quenya was peak pettiness at the valar #her exile was lifted so she just went all in with noldolante references #celeborn: why are you like this #galadriel: do you remember where i put that tunic with a star of feanor on it #galadriel powerhoused through the entire exile powered by spite & thirst for celeborn

[polutrope]

Amrod threatens Elrond and Elros by @runawaymun

Illustration for my fic And Love Grew commissioned by my dear friend @melestasflight. I am so grateful to them both for this chillingly beautiful, emotional piece that truly captures the horror of the scene.

Snippet below the cut.

A former follower of Amrod speaks to Maedhros and Maglor of what he witnessed on the cliffs near Sirion:

“My lord, he flung his sword about with such abandon, such hate, that I thought he might slay one of us, or himself. But it was thus stumbling into the night outside the city that he caught sight of a small group mounting the hills in the distance. Suddenly returned to himself, Lord Amrod commanded, ‘After them!’ We gave chase, but Lord Amrod ran so swiftly, as if driven by a fire within, and the men with us were weary and injured, so that all but myself fell behind. I was with him when he caught up to those we pursued, where the hills begin to rise and drop steeply into the sea, where you saw...”

Orfion paused, working his jaw around his next words.

“It was the Lady Elwing with her children and a woman-servant and their guard. I knew him for a warrior of Gondolin by his livery. He turned to engage us, but Lord Amrod paid him no mind. Swift as a hawk, he had snatched the children before the Lady or her servant were aware of him. And dropping to his knees and holding both terrified boys to his chest he held his sword to their throats.

“‘Hand over the Silmaril and they will live,’ he said. One of the children squirmed and a line of blood bloomed wet on his throat. There was no feint in Amrod’s voice. None dared to move or speak for a long moment. Then the servant spoke first, denying that her lady had the jewel with her. Lord Amrod laughed. ‘Of course you have it,’ he replied. ‘In that box you are clutching. Was it that very same in which you smuggled our birthright out of Doriath, where my brothers died in vain? Hand it over or I will slit your children’s throats.’ But Elwing had already silenced the other woman, and she drew the necklace out of the box. I thought she might hand it over, but she clasped it about her neck.

“Its light, my lord — I could scarcely breathe for the beauty of it, and the terror of the Lady wearing it. There were tears on her face that had been hidden by the darkness, and they now shone like little streams in the moonlight. I have never feared darkness before, my lord, but I did then. I fear I will evermore shun the night, having seen that light.”

Tears had gathered in Orfion’s eyes, and he sputtered to a halt. “Please forgive me, lords, I am not one prone to weeping, but the memory— it is impossible not to weep. I do not know why.”

“I do,” said Maglor. Compassion for the simple soldier who had become entangled in their doom warred with envy: it ought to have been him there, and Maedhros, looking upon the Silmaril’s light. Maglor would not have let it slip through his hands.

Orfion collected himself. “Even Lord Amrod was struck dumb,” he said, as if in answer to Maglor’s guilty thought, “and in his moment of faltering the children nearly escaped his grasp. Elwing lurched forward then, but he clutched them closer. He bared his teeth. ‘Hand it over!’ he commanded. She did not speak. She gazed long at her children, as if speaking to them mind-to-mind. She touched the Silmaril on her breast, and for a moment I thought she would remove it. Then a fell cold light washed over the Lady’s face, and she spoke, quiet but hard, in the tongue of Men.

“And then she turned and raced to the cliff’s edge. She leapt, and as she fell she loosed a horrible cry. The light of the jewel glowed along the precipice — and then it was gone.

“All was a confusion of shouts and fighting. The woman-servant screamed her Lady’s name and ran to the cliff’s edge. The guard commanded her to stop, and there was a struggle between them — I saw little of it, for Lord Amrod had risen to his feet and held again the edge of his sword to the throat of one of the children, who stood altogether still. The other wailed, and Lord Amrod drew his dagger and swung it at him. Rising and holding both blades aloft, he cursed them, saying that he would take them both with him. And then suddenly he dropped his weapons and crouched down before them and embraced them, and he murmured that he would save them, that he would spare them the burden— the burden of living.”

Orfion choked back the last words. “Then the guard leapt at Amrod, and dragged him to his feet — but as he did, Amrod drove his dagger deep into his thigh, and the man stumbled, and Amrod dropped the dagger and seized him by the neck. ‘I do not want to kill you, old friend,’ he spat. ‘Stand down, Galdor. This is not your fight.’ Then he threw the man to the ground. Amrod turned on the children again and then — my lord, I was certain he would slay them, and I could not bear it.

Read the fic on AO3

#amrod #elrond #elros #third kinslaying #*and love grew

[cosmic-walkers]

Title: Perhaps All is Forgiven

Summary:

Maeglin survives the Fall of Gondolin and years later he finds himself a Lord of Sirion and adviser to Elwing. And though he prefers to live quietly, it is near impossible with two twins always pulling on his robes (not that he minds at all). Still, for a time things are peaceful. Yet when messengers come requesting the Silmaril , Maeglin fears the banners of war will emerge soon. And when Elros and Elrond are taken following the destruction, he unfortunately becomes a prisoner with them.

Or

AU in which following the Sacking of Sirion, Maeglin unintentionally (and completely unwillingly to begin with) becomes part of the kidnap fam and is a participant of the shenanigans that ensue. 

Ao3 Link

__

“She does what she can, with what she has.” Maeglin spoke finally, unable to take the insults much longer. “You forget Eärendil left when she’d just given birth, Idril and Tuor also did not stay to guide us. Thus, no one has taken the mantle or made any offer to. She does what she can.”

At his candor, which was rather rare for someone like Maeglin, the other lords remained silent.  

Maeglin did not wait to see if they would respond, he quickly turned on his heel and began his stride back toward the city. It did not surprise him that Elwing had already returned to her citadel, quiet as she sat in her study, a parchment spread on her desk. They were books on leadership of course, Eärendil’s old scrolls, some writing from her father Dior and even king Turgon, himself. 

Her head was  in her hands, signifying just how stressed she was; however, when Maeglin knocked his knuckles gently upon the door of her study, she perked up.

“Maeglin.” She said softly , closing the books. There was a tired expression on the young woman’s face, as Maeglin was quick to sit in the chair across from her table. His own face mirrored the worry of the others outside, so he spoke calmly.

“Three times have the Sons of Fëanor asked for a peaceful surrender of the jewel.” He began. “I doubt they will be as kind following this attempt. If their oath compels them, keeping the Silmaril…” He shook his head. “I know this is a difficult decision for you Elwing, but please consider returning it.”

This was a conversation the two of them had with one another quite often; since Eärendil’s departure nearly a year ago, the Silmaril had been ongoing topic among the people of Sirion. When first the Sons of Fëanor asked for it, many were indifferent to it, seeing as violence did not proceed. Yet when the second attempt came, unrest grew in Sirion. It seemed as if they were more urgent in this request, and fear grew in the havens. At that point many in Sirion had petitioned for the jewel to be returned, as did half of the ruling lords, yet Elwing and the remaining declined.

That day, the third and what Maeglin feared would be the final herald was sent, and Elwing refused proudly. All of the other advisers instructed her otherwise, but she did not listen.

Now, a cloud of doom loomed over the people of Sirion. They saw the herald leave, the star of Fëanor adorned upon his banner. None knew if he’d come back with another message or with an army. For those in Sirion, who had been the victims of both the Fall of Gondolin and Sacking of Doriath, the last thing they were ready for was another war and destruction.

Sirion was not a kingdom, they had no armies, they had barely a malitia. If the sons of Fëanor were to attack, it would be a slaughter.

They all knew this, as did Elwing yet, she refused to surrender the jewel.

Many would say it was out of poor leadership, or stubbornness, but Maeglin knew otherwise. And like he himself stood, he understood how it felt to be judged and misread for things he had no control of. As it was now, Elwing was the same way, she had always been the same way since she married Eärendil and he abandoned her upon the shores.

“It is all I have left.” She looked Maeglin in the eyes, her own irises nearly filled to tears. “Of my family. My father died for it, my kingdom was destroyed for it, my grandmother won it fair…it is as much a curse for my family as it is our heirloom, and it is all I have of them.” 

She placed the scrolls down, gazing at Maeglin again.

“Eärendil has abandoned me, as have Idril and Tuor…” She paused, looking away. “Not that Idril ever had love for me to begin with, nor did her son. Yet, I have nothing but the jewel.” She motioned toward a lock box upon her book shelf, one that of course, housed the Silmaril. “It has been my guiding light, and a symbol of hope and prosperity. Without it , I do not know what to do.”

Maeglin exhaled deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose as he did so. He did not want to appear annoyed, and truly, his anger was not toward Elwing at this moment. 

Thinking of Idril, Eärendil or Tuor in moments like this frustrated him, and a wound of years ago upon his arm tended to throb when he did so. A wound that Idril had given him not to long ago, when she sliced his own blade upon his skin.

He shook his head. “Is it not their jewel, Elwing?” Maeglin asked. “I understand, and you are free to have your own thoughts regarding what you and your family suffered for. But don’t you see? Since your ancestor, the jewel has caused nothing but pain and devastation–why invite it here?”

Elwing exhaled, taking one of her scrolls and reading it. This was on that Idril had brought, regarding Turgon and his policies.

“Your uncle kept a kingdom hidden in the mountains, and killed those who dared to leave.” She said, softly. “One could argue that that, was a poor strategy of leadership yet, it kept your kingdom running and thriving for years. Until you brought Morgoth’s forces into–”

She paused, seeing how Maeglin’s face contorted first to shock and then shame.

She closed her eyes, tightly, shaking her head. “I am sorry.” She spoke, quickly. “That wasn’t a very kind thing to say at all.”

Maeglin exhaled. “It is just the truth.” He responded plainly.

“Not the full truth.” Elwing responded. “You were taken and tortured by the Dark Lord and cursed by him to betray your kin. You cannot hold full responsibility, that is why your people forgave you and why you were welcomed into the Havens of Sirion.” She looked outward the window. “Furthermore, you are the only Lord who still has any respect for me, and when Idril compelled you to sail to Valinor with her you stayed here, to help advise. I should not be making low jabs at your past.”

Maeglin smiled, and reached his hand across the table, gently squeezing Elwing’s. “I am not the only one who has been scarred by trauma and violence, and even if others do not realize it, I know that you are trying your best. And for what you have, you have been doing well.”

Maeglin wanted to speak, but he heard a crashing sound just a few floors down. Laughter followed.

Elwing’s face turned rather distant as she looked back toward her work. “The boys are in your forge I suppose.”

Maeglin rose. “I will go get them. They’re probably looking for me.”

Maeglin did not know when the boys had woken, as the servants had not informed him of it. 

Yet it was no surprise when he saw them in his forge; the younger one with dark hair had a hammer. The elder one (not by long) with lighter, blond hair had currently held one of Maeglin’s finished piece. Both twins stopped what they were doing when the dark skinned elf had walked past the threshold, and each wore smiles on their faces.

“Maeglin!” They both screamed in unison, nearly tripping over one another to get to him.

“We’re hungry!”

“But we ran away from the chef so you could eat with us!”

He had no time to calm his nerves, for the moment he attempted to approach the boys they jumped on him, hands in his hands and clutching on to his robes. Maeglin chuckled, holding them close and walking them out of his forge.  

“Well, if you’ve refused to eat, you must be starving so perhaps we can go to the kitchen and have a picnic outside!” 

Eventually Maeglin, with the twins in his hands, made it through the corridors of the main fortress and into the kitchen. After managing three places, and two young boys, he was able to leave the citadel and make way to more quieter areas. They found their peace on the grass lands upon one of the mountain peaks, where in silence they all looked on for a while. 

That is when the twins, or at least one of them, spoke.

“Is it true our father is on those waves?” He asked.

Please read the rest on Ao3

#maeglin #idril #elwing #elrond #elros

[nikosheba]

The Mother’s Choice

Hi, i want to talk about the theme of maternal abandonment via death in Tolkien’s works.

I’m certain someone else has already written meta on this subject, but I couldn’t find it, so, hey, two cakes. If you’ve already written one, sorry, I’m not ripping you off, I just also have thoughts.

Specifically, I want to talk about mothers who in some way exercise their right to choose death, and offer a brief thesis on why I think that is. We see this as a repeated theme in Tolkien’s works, so, first, a crumb of context.

Tolkien’s father died when he was quite young; the last time Tolkien saw him, he would have been three years old. His mother raised him and his younger brother, Hilary, back in England (they were born in South Africa). Mabel, his mother, was a Type 1 Diabetic. She also converted to Roman Catholicism, which becomes important to the story. They moved back in with her parents after the death of her husband, but her parents were Baptists, and she refused to renounce Catholicism. She taught her children at home, struggled to make ends meet, and died of complications of diabetes in 1904, when Tolkien was 12. After this, Tolkien and his brother were raised in an orphanage.

Of her, Tolkien said, “My own dear mother was a martyr indeed, and it is not to everybody that God grants so easy a way to his great gifts as he did to Hilary and myself, giving us a mother who killed herself with labour and trouble to ensure us keeping the faith.”

He does not say that she died of a disease. He does not say she was killed by lack of charity (her family stopped all financial assistance to them when she would not convert). He says she “killed herself,” specifically to ensure that her children were raised in faith.

Let’s take a look at Míriel, Elwing, Aredhel, and Celebrían.

Míriel þerinde

Míriel is the first wife of Finwë, and the mother of Fëanor. She is an acclaimed crafter, weaver, and needleworker, and passed a love of beautiful things on to her son, who loved her dearly, though he did not share her gentle and patient temperament. 

Famously, Míriel chooses to die. Giving life to Fëanáro saps her life’s essence, and she holds on until he is just barely an adult, then passes away and refuses to return, too weary of life. Her son is raised by his father, who himself is consumed by grief, and eventually by a stepmother he despises.

Elwing

Elwing, daughter of Dior and Nimloth, does not exactly die. She does, however, choose to throw herself off of a cliff clutching the Silmaril, rather than let it be taken by the Sons of Fëanor. She is then turned into a bird by Ulmo and spirited away across the sea, but as far as we know, never sees her young sons, Elrond and Elros, again (or at least not until the Dagor Dagarath). I could go deeply into Elwing’s choices here, but suffice to say: she chooses the Silmaril’s protection, and her belief that it keeps her people safe in a world falling to ruin, over staying with her children. It’s important to note that she had no idea she would survive. She did not call upon Ulmo. She simply jumped, and believed that she was going to her death, and her sons were raised by their kidnappers.

Aredhel

Aredhel is the only daughter of Fingolfin (and a particularly dear character to me). She is a free and unbridled spirit, until she is captured by Eöl and taken as his wife. Eventually, she escapes Eöl with her son, Maeglin, and returns home to Gondolin, only to be followed by Eöl. He throws a poisoned spear at Maeglin, and Aredhel throws herself in front of it--choosing death, in essence, and leaving her son without her, in a city where he is a stranger.

Celebrían

Celebrían is the daughter of Galadriel and Celeborn, and the wife of Elrond. Much like Elwing, Elrond’s mother, she does not specifically die. She is attacked and tortured by orcs, and despite all of Elrond’s skill in healing (famed throughout Middle-Earth), no ease could be found from her torment, and she sets sail for Valinor, leaving her daughter and two sons behind.

Over and over, we see the same theme: mothers choosing death or permanent separation from their children, but not in a way that holds them to blame for it. (Lúthien could technically also count here but I’m not including her and I’m right not to.)

I just think it’s fascinating that multiple times, we see mothers dying--but in a way that always makes it clear that they have agency, they’re not just being killed to advance pain for a male character. It’s tragic and horrible that they die, and damn I wish Aredhel’s story had ended so differently, but I think it’s important to note that Tolkien was giving them what he thought of as the most possible dignity and power in their deaths, from what he saw at a very young age.

#meta #lotr #silmarillion #elwing #aredhel #celebrían #míriel

[arofili]

number one with the kidnap fam??! I love me some soft family content

1. Abandonment Issues

Maglor’s away, trading for supplies a village over, which means when the children start crying loud enough for Maedhros to hear several rooms away, it’s his responsibility to comfort them.

He lies still in his bed—he hadn’t been sleeping, but the ritual of scheduled rest is something his warrior’s body can’t quite shake even when his prisoner’s mind won’t let him relax—for a few moments longer than he should, in the vain wish that the weeping will cease on its own. It doesn’t, of course, and he forces himself to rise, not sure if it’s the bedframe or his bones that creak at the movement.

He turns the doorknob (it’s not locked; Maglor told them it was but he’d stopped bothering weeks ago when it was clear the children were too terrified to attempt an escape) and pokes his head inside the small room. It’s drab and empty of anything save a bed and what could pass for toys in a place like this.

Maedhros finds himself yearning for Amon Ereb once more, but that fortress had been abandoned after Sirion when it became clear that the amount of their people who had died or deserted had depleted their forces too much to maintain a strong defense there. Thus this ramshackle burned-out village, far too close to the shoreline for anyone’s comfort, has become their new...not home. Camp, perhaps; or...base. For now.

The crying ceases the second he steps inside. Two sets of wide silver eyes stare at him in mute terror. They’re so like his own eyes (and he knows what his eyes look like, has seen them staring back at him glittering with malice, set in a perfect handsome face that hasn’t been his in a long time—) that he stops in his tracks, sent back to Angband for just a moment.

But then the color in the twins’ eyes shifts, a talent passed down from their Maia ancestress, and now one has their mother’s soft brown (though she could change it too; Maedhros remembered her pupils expanding, consuming the whites of her eyes, as she screamed and leapt into the water) and the other their father’s piercing, Nolofinwëan blue. Maedhros bites his lip and tries hard not to think about the last time he saw eyes that blue.

“What’s wrong?” he rasps.

“M-Maglor?” stammers one of them. Maedhros wishes he could tell them apart.

“He’s not here,” Maedhros says shortly. “I am. What’s wrong?”

“Elros had a nightmare,” whispers the other twin—Elrond, then.

Maedhros grimaces. “Well, I know what nightmares are like,” he says, awkwardly sitting at the foot of the bed they share. “You did not wake me with your crying because I was not asleep for fear of them.” That’s not exactly the truth, at least not all of it, but something in Elros’ eyes seems to soften.

“But you’re the scariest thing in the world,” Elrond blurts out. “What are you afraid of?”

Maedhros closes his eyes. “Many things,” he rumbles. “There are more fearsome creatures than myself in this world, and once I was their captive. I fear those memories, and a return to their clutches.”

The boys shrink away from him. Damn it, that had not been at all comforting.

“I am also afraid of—” he coughs, then admits— “of being alone.”

“Oh,” Elros says. “Me too.” He glances to Elrond, who clutches his arm tightly.

“I won’t leave you,” Elrond promises.

Elros doesn’t return the vow. Just as well, Maedhros thinks bitterly; oaths cannot be counted to keep brothers together, not in dark times like these.

“Do you miss Maglor?” Elros asks.

Maedhros blinks. “...Yes,” he says, though he knows his brother will return in the morning. “And—others.” Those who had left him, for good, whether they wanted to or not.

“We miss him too,” Elros murmurs, and Elrond squeezes his arm until he yelps, hissing, “What? It’s true!”

“We’re not supposed to...” But Elrond trails off, glancing up worriedly to Maedhros.

“It’s alright.” Maedhros shrugs. “We are quite literally monsters from a nightmare. If it was me you dreamed of, covered in blood and ash and burning down your home...I would not blame you. It is only natural.”

“You—” Elros squeaks. Then he sticks out his chin. “It wasn’t you. It was—it was Nana.”

Nana? Oh—Elwing. Elros’ chin wobbles, and instinctively, Maedhros opens his arms. (As much as his body cannot forget he is a warrior, nor his mind that he was a prisoner, his spirit cannot forget he is an older brother before all else.)

To his astonishment, Elros falls into his embrace, weeping openly. “She left us,” he sobs, “and she—in my dream she told me she wasn’t coming back. She’s not coming back, Elrond, we’re alone...”

Now Elrond is crying too, worming his way into Maedhros’ arms, and for a moment he’s back in Valinor again comforting the Ambarussat after a bad dream. It’s second nature to murmur assurances that everything will be alright, that the children are loved, but his throat closes up when he tries to tell them Elwing will return.

She won’t. He knows she won’t. She soared away on swan’s wings, and if she somehow managed to turn herself back, she will never surrender the Silmaril. She made that much clear.

“We’re here,” he whispers instead, astonished by the rush of love that overcomes him; “we’re here, Maglor and I, and we won’t leave you. You aren’t alone, little ones, you’ll never be alone...”

After a few minutes they cry themselves into sniffles. They don’t leave his arms, and Maedhros suddenly finds he is exhausted after all. Elros is already snoring, and Elrond yawns as he tries to lay the children back down in their bed.

“Don’t go,” Elrond whispers, grabbing his arm when he makes to leave. “You...you said...”

Maedhros sinks back down, tears budding in his eyes. He doesn’t deserve such comforts, such trust, not when he has not earned it—but he said he wouldn’t leave them, so he won’t.

“I’ll stay,” he murmurs, tucking one twin under each arm and lying down with them. His legs hang off the edge of their small bed, and they’re practically on top of him, but he hasn’t felt this needed in years. Decades.

“I’ll stay,” he repeats, his eyes fluttering shut. I will, I always will.

#maedhros #elrond #elros #kidnap dads #kidnap fam #prompts #my writing #my fic #tefain nin #thatfeanorian #answers #silm #ask games #love grew after between them

[matchasparrow]

Exploration of a Maglor AU - part 3 - On Doriath and the fate of the Silmarils

Part 1 Part 2

Now the important question - the first kinslaying - what happens?

Dior has a Silmaril, her brothers need the Silmaril.

Maedhros sends letters after letters, asking, explaining, apologising.

There is no reply, no other answer than Dorinthian pride.

Maglor goes. She travels through the dense forests and spell woven woods, through wildlands and settlements of Nandors alone. Her sole company being the memory of Aredhel speaking to her.

She stands before the proud lords and ladies or Doriath, before beautiful Dior, and sings as Luthien sang before Mandos. She pours her grief and guilt and the darkness that is the doom. Sings of a future, free of blood oaths and darkness and hateful fueds. There were few dry eyes in the audience. But Dior still sits, eyes sombre but unglistening on Thingol’s throne. Even her voice does not have the power to erase the sins of the Noldor in the eyes of Luthien’s son.

She kneels. Both knees on the ground. Scarlet dress stained with mud spread out on pristine white marble floor. Voice still carrying the lingering notes of the song.

“Please. Give me a chance to make this right. “ she pleaded, tears flowing unabashed.

A heavy pause. They look into each other’s eyes, hooked and searching.

Dior waveringly stood, and treaded towards her. He bent down and delicately took the starlit gem from around his neck and dropped it into her palms.

“Then make it right.”

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

Or at least, that’s one version of the events.

In this version, Maglor collects the Silmarils. So how did Eonwe and the host of the Valar come to middle earth without Earendil and Elwing and the Silmaril? How did Earendil even meet Elwing?

The Silmaril leaves Doriath, Morgoth attacks. Doriath’s been vulnerable for years, and he wants revenge. The slaughter was merciless. Reinforcements poured in from Himring and the Pass of Aglon on Maedhros’ orders, but they were too late. Dior and Nimloth were dead, along with a fifth of the people in Doriath. Elwing survives, carried by her nursemaid and a horde of guards, they fled to Sirion along with the rest of their people. Elurin and Elured were missing. Taken by the enemy, perhaps. They hoped that they were dead. Weeks passed, and there were no taunts, no mock ransom from the enemy. And thereafter nothing were heard from the sons of Dior ever again.

(Perhaps, in the chaos of the invasion, the boys ran and ran, directionless and fearful, till they reached the dark lands of Nan Elmoch. There the boys clung unto each other, cold and famished in the abandoned, drowsy woods. They curled up under tall, unfamiliar trees as they breathed in air laced with heavy magic. - except - it was not wholly unfamiliar. They were the scions of Luthien, of Melian. And the life of the forest responded to these part Maian creatures. They unfolded their secrets to them - the sweet honey and rich purple fruits offered themselves up for their tastes, the low humming plants sang them to sleep at night, moss and vine stitched themselves up to be their blankets and cloaks. Leaves sheltered their way and white luminescent flowers bloomed for them, lighting their way to each other whenever they became separated. They were enchanted, and the enchanter. They loved these woods and the woods loved them. And together, they sunk to the bottom of the ocean as tall waves rolled over Beleriand.

Perhaps the trees again wove themselves into a net, warding the forest from the water, sealing themselves off from the world, and forever hence Elured and Elurin wandered the woods as princes of an Atlantis. )

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

Back to Maglor.

So there is a greater force this time since they were on heavy guard against an attack and reinforcements, though late, did arrive.

And the survivors were stronger, Sirion was a refugee camp, but it was also powerful - and now all the forces of middle earth were united, martyred by evil.

Maglor was a Feanorian. Her brothers felt no urge to snatch the Silmaril from her hands, so in turn, Maglor used the light of the Silmaril to help Sirion grow whenever she visited Sirion, which was often. The Feanorian forces defeated much of Morgoth’s forces when they attacked at Doriath, so Maglor could worry less about retribution and attack on their own forces, at least for the next few years - so Maglor, guilty about the sacrifice of Doriath, spent a lot of time with Elwing in Sirion, and almost helped raised her along with the courtiers and Celeborn and Galadriel.

Being at Sirion was an advantage in other ways too. It was at the crossroads of many lands and peoples, and a perfect place to perfect strategies and alliances.

Elros and Elrond are born. They adored Maglor with her stories and songs. And always they want more, more, more. Their hands always tugging on her dress and getting her to play catch with them on the beach.

---

They are stronger, but it is not enough.

It was peaceful. Too peaceful. The calm before the storm, the silence of a predator before he pounces.

Sirion and Himring and Nargothrond are attacked. They win. They lose more than a quarter of their people. Celegorm and Caranthir die. They cannot hold on much longer.

Idril and Tuor left, and they have not returned. Earendil sits at the docks every day, sometimes with his family. Elwing lace her fingers through his, but there is a disquiet and restlessness in his heart that she cannot understand.

Earendil sails. He comes back more tired and defeated every time. He cannot reach Valinor.

“He thinks he needs the Silmaril.” Elwing said to Maglor.

Maglor stands with her on the edge of the cliff, looking at the far horizon for lands that she has not seen in centuries. She sees nothing. She closes her eyes and searches within her bond with Nerdanel, and she feels nothing. This is the long defeat, and she will lose her brothers one by one, with or without the one Silmaril she has by her side. “I think so too.” she replied.

She gives the Silmaril to Earendil, and says nothing of it to her brothers. For all they know, the Silmaril is still with her. She could tell them, she suppose, what could they do to Earendil, far out at sea. But she is caught between lying to them, and betraying their trust in the worst way. She feels sick to the bones, as she answers them with cheerful letters from afar, casual to ease suspicion. “I’ll come to visit soon” She lied.

Could she tell Maedhros? Who’s now aloof and half-mad with grief? Curufin was the one brother she has never quite been able to control. They loved each other, despite everything - every fight, every hair pulled, every disappointed look - but Curufin would be the last person she would confess to. She could not bear looking into the ghost of her father’s face to tell him that she has given away his most prized creation (prized above his children, she’s sure) to the Sindar, all for a chance of bribing the Valar to their aid. A bitterness grows in her heart, and she cannot swallow it down. The Ambarrusa are good secret keepers, but she will not burden them ...with what? She asks herself. With the task of forgiving you? So you can feel absolved of your guilt? And feed your fantasy? The days without a reply or sign grew longer, and she began to despair.

---

Her brothers grow uneasy, something burns in their chest. They think it’s the other 2 Silmarils calling to them. “We must attack.” Curufin seethed at every opportunity, eager for revenge.

The time is indeed coming, Galadriel has sensed as much.

---

A new star appears in the night sky. And that’s when they knew. Hope and despair and fear jugged for space in her heart. But in the end she will not be conquered, she gathered her troops, checked the defenses, and prepared for attacks.

No letter of accusation and rage came from any of her brothers. No letters came at all. She writes to them, letters of confession and apologies and firm reasons. Still, there is no reply.

Finally, Maedhros writes a letter telling her to return to the gap, for they sensed an attack was imminent. It was signed “Regards, Maedhros Feanorian”

She goes.

The Ambarrussa dies. She never got to apologise to them face to face, nor hear their forgiveness. She would hold their hands again, hear them laugh, and run through the woods, free and unburdened, she resolved. She would not let them fade in the void. Curufin's empty eyes stare into her, and it burns her promise into her fea the way the oath burns into theirs.

---

The host from Valinor arrives.

They finally got the other 2 gems together, this time, she did not have to steal them.

Earendil descended from the night sky. He could not touch the ground, but there was no rule about her going up. The last 2 Feanorians stood on Vilgront and held the 3 Silmarils together for the first time in an Age. She feels no different, but Maedhros slump in relief. “We’re free’ he said, and he gave the Silmaril back to Earendil. “May your hope shine on middle earth and bring aid to all those who need it” He gave his blessings and turned to Maglor.

“Thank you, for eveything” and clasped her so tight she couldn’t breathe. She held him, wrapped her arms round his tall, slender frame and tried to picture that she’s embracing Celegorm, Caranthir, Curufin, Amrod, Amras and...father.

She cries, tears flow unabashedly and she’s just so happy that they’re free - free from darkness, free to start anew, free to go home.

---

They readied the ships back to Aman. One Silmaril they gifted to Earendil, one they gifted to Gil-galad and Elrond, to give aid and light to whoever is in need in middle earth, one they brought with them back to middle earth, as a symbol of victory and remembrance.

When they go back, their brothers and mother are waiting for them on the shore. This time, the Valar were merciful.

#i realise that this probably should have just been an no oath Maglor!Au #but happy ending #there are other endings of course #maybe i'll post the other stuff later #maglor #Maglor AU #fem!Maglor #Silmarillion #Feanorians #Elurin #Elured #Elwing #Elrond #Valar #The Oath #Earendil #Doriath

[yellow-faerie]

17, 20, 22, celebrimbor

Absolutely!

17 - Regrets

I don’t think that Celebrimbor regrets allowing Mairon into Eregion because I have a feeling that he knew this Annatar figure to be bad news (Elrond did have him thrown out of Lindon and Elrond is not stupid) but decided to let it slide because he thinks everyone should have a second chance and he doesn’t change this opinion.

I do think though, that he regrets not doing the most he could to help him. He takes Sauron’s reappearance personally because, to him at least, it signifies that he didn’t do enough to show him that he didn’t have to be under Morgoth’s influence anymore.

20 - What-Ifs/Alternate Timelines

So I have a few (I like AUs, they fascinate me) but I’ll only do one.

I think that a particularly interesting AU focussing around Celebrimbor is one where he follows his father from Nargothrond.

Now why he does this - I’ve always been on the side of Curufin and he having a good relationship and he being rather Fëanorian at heart (although he does disagree with some of the ideals) so he stays behind in Nargothrond because his father tells him he can and he should for his own safety.

In this AU, he just doesn’t, and follows his father and uncle.

I think the first opportunity for something to be different, is before the first kinslaying. Celebrimbor doesn’t want another: he doesn’t want his family to kill more people and he doesn’t want anyone in his family to potentially die, so he sneaks into Doriath and steals the Silmaril stealth like. (I don’t really know the logistics of this but it happens).

After that...no kinslaying so the Fëanorians aren’t on a bad level and there’s all of them (unless you think Amrod died at Losgar). They’ll look back to Angband to get the rest of the Silmarils.

Gondolin still falls so Elwing and Eärendil could meet if Elwing is a diplomat from Doriath. They have Elrond and Elros and then Eärendil goes off and I guess Elwing joins him somehow and her Maia blood could maybe help get them across the sea? Again, logistics of how that would work.

Elrond and Elros are sort of accidentally abandoned and, if you staunchly love kidnap dads, you could have them wandering away from their caretakers and found by Fëanorians - except this time they have six uncles and a cousin.

I suppose that the Valar may look a bit more kindly on them and might deign to give them the Silmarils (as they are actually theirs).

And that’s all I’ve really got. It got a bit away from the original but I would think there was certainly potential there for maybe a more drastic canon divergence as well. I would write it if I didn’t have three thousand other things on my list, so if anyone else would like to, I would very happily read it.

22 - People who’ve influenced them greatly

Right, this one. I have thoughts.

Firstly, his parents. Midhwen - as I call her, it means dew maiden and is Rinwendë in Quenya (I think) - is the daughter of a mine manager. She is very forward and straight about everything where Curufin equivocates almost all the time about everything. He takes a sort of middle ground between the two and from both of them, he has always loved to make useful things rather than pretty things.

His uncles and grandfather and grandmother have as well, in little ways that I can’t think of right now (but they’re definitely there). And, in fact, all of his extended family to some extent.

Probably the most important of these is Finduilas, who becomes a dear friend of his in Nargothrond and who’s death shapes a lot of what he does in the second age. He thinks of her a lot when he makes the rings because he has vague sort of reasoning that if the King of Nargothrond had had a ring like this then, maybe everyone inside would have been protected.

#Celebrimbor #Tolkien #Silmarillion #Ask #Headcanons #feanorianethicsdepartment

[eccentricmya]

Still taking asks for dialogues? What's your take on Maglor: pain and regret forever or he went to live with Elrond according to the Silm's older versions? What did they say either in their last meeting or alternatively when they meet again after the Silmaril theft and Maedhros's death? Your fics are great. Thank you so much.

“I thought I would find you here,” Elrond said, finally spotting Maglor as he stood staring at the looming fortress before them. The Peredhel had waited a long time for the Fëanorions to return after they had escaped with the Silmarils. He had been confident in their love for the twins that if nothing else, they would send word discreetly of their well-being. But no news had come and Elrond had grown restless. Elros had suggested asking the Valar about their fate but Elrond was reluctant to reveal the depth of the love he held for the Kinslayers. There would be no sympathy for them, not there. So the twins had searched on their own. When at last Ulmo took pity and informed them of what had occurred with the Fëanorions, Elros had abandoned the search for Maglor in his grief over Maedhros. His twin may tease him all he wanted for his softness, but Elrond knew that it was Elros who was the more sensitive of the two. No wonder he had chosen mortality over an eternity of watching his loved ones die. But Elrond could not leave the one he called ‘adar’ to grieve alone. So here he was, on the isle of what remained of Himring, once the great seat of Lord Maedhros.

“I always found Himring to be a reflection of Maedhros,” Maglor remarked, never once looking away from the tower he gazed upon. If one looked hard enough through the fog, they could see the window of the study where Maedhros had spent most of his time in. “Tall, proud, defiant… weathering the harshest of storms all with the inner fire undimmed and strength unfailing. And I wondered if Himring had survived this latest tribulation of the Valar when my brother could not.”

Elrond flinched at the blankness of his tone, “I am sorry.”

“For what?” Maglor asked.

“For his death.”

“No. If Maedhros himself was not sorry for having jumped to his death, then you and I do not get to be sorry either. He made his choice, the least we can do is not regret it for his sake.”

Elrond stared at the profile of the elf who refused to turn and meet his eyes. But he knew what he would find there if he did. “I do not regret it for his sake, but for yours, Adar. His choice of death meant leaving you behind.”

Maglor, at last, turned then, looking far older than how Elrond remembered him. “No. I’m left behind because I will it. The same choice is before me as was before him. And I’ve chosen to live. For death is not repentance enough for all of us.”

The bitterness in his voice surprised Elrond. It was so unusual for Maglor to speak against his elder brother. But recalling his own furious words after Elros had taken the mortal path, he supposed bitterness was an inevitable aspect of loving deeply. “Yes, but you do not have to repent alone. Come with me. Please.”

Maglor sighed, closing his eyes briefly before replying, “I wish I could, ion nín. But you know as well as I that I cannot. Our paths diverged long ago, and for the better too. I’m a relic of your past now. A terrible, terrible past. You must let me go.”

“Not all terrible,” Elrond stated, closing the distance between them. “Most of it was a time I shall cherish all my life. You’re my family, Adar. You, Elros, Maedhros. Yet one of them is dead and the other is dying. Do not deprive me of your presence too.” He reached out then, taking Maglor’s hands in his own and raised them to kiss the burnt flesh of his palm.

“Oh, penneth,” Maglor breathed out, freeing a hand to touch his face. “You have a far greater family than Maedhros and I could ever be. There yet live your cousins Gil-Galad and Galadriel. And your Sindarin kinsmen, Celeborn and Círdan. Go to them and find my nephew if you can. But live the life you were always meant to, Elrond. You’re destined for a far grander fate than being a Kinslayer’s foster-son.”

“I care not for a grander fate, Ada-”

“You should. My role in Arda’s song is done. But you, my son, have barely begun singing. Let the world hear what you have to say.”

Elrond shook his head, “I can do it all with you by my side. Indeed, I will live better with you, Adar. Please, come with me. I beg you.”

“Do not beg!” Maglor said, a hint of the power his voice was capable of, returning in that moment. “Your mother Elwing never did. She rather chose to jump than beg us to spare her. I secretly admired her for that. Foolish it was, but it takes courage to do what she did.”

“And pride,” Elrond added sullenly. “It wasn’t courage alone that moved her feet that day. She may not have begged, but you taught me that there’s no shame in bowing. No pride greater than love. So yes, I will beg if I have to. Come back with me.”

“Tell me, what do your visions show you?” Maglor asked abruptly. “Am I ever by your side in them?”

“Yes. You are.”

Maglor regarded him with a very familiar knowing look in his eyes, “Was the vision perchance of this moment right here and now?”

Elrond looked away guiltily, “Er… But visions change! They depend on the choices we make. Nothing is certain.”

“Yet I’ve made my choice and that is certain. And though I do not deserve it, I ask you to respect my wishes one last time. Leave me and do not come back.”

“Adar…” Elrond whispered, knowing that there was no bargaining with Maglor now. The Fëanorion could be stubborn when he wanted to.

Maglor caught his face between his hands then, “Know that I love you. I cannot fathom why Eru blessed me with you and Elros, but I’m immensely grateful that he did. I’ve known no greater joy than being called ‘adar’ by you. Go with my blessing now, whatever is left of it for me to give. Go and prosper, ion nín. May the grace of the Valar always be with you.”

Elrond was crying as Maglor kissed his brow, then both his eyelids in the custom of a Noldor father. “Adar, please,” he tried to say, but the words came out as a sob and he flung himself in Maglor’s arms, who held him just as tightly as he had when Elrond was an elfling scared of ringing bells.

“It is fitting that our last meeting be when once again the blood of our kin stains my sword,” Maglor commented wryly as he drew back after a while, wiping at his own eyes.

“I forgive you. I did long ago,” Elrond asserted, keeping hold of Maglor’s shoulders.

Maglor smiled sadly, “And while I am thankful, I cannot accept your forgiveness. Not here, not now.”

“You rejected my forgiveness once before too. But I will not let you brush this aside again. It is mine to give to whom I will. And I freely give it to you, Maglor Fëanorion, whether you want it or not.”

“Then it is one down and countless more to go,” Maglor commented with a self-deprecating twist to his mouth. “Yet it’s alright for I have eternity to earn them all. I hope.”

“And I shall be waiting for when you are done. On these shores or the other ones. I will look for your return, Adar,” Elrond replied and with a brisk nod, turned to walk back to the boat he had travelled on. Yet just once more he looked back to promise, “I love you. Always.”

And as he watched him depart, Maglor echoed back, “Always.”

#Maglor #Elrond #Here it is at last! #I merged both last talk and after death scenario #This was sad #Silmarillion #Angst #poor unfortunate souls #Wow that's an actual tag #My writing #Ficlet #JustBizarre #Hope you like it #Did you catch the Arwen LoTR reference?

[lendmyboyfriendahand]

Amrodnor

Amrod was on the ships, but when he saw Feanor approaching with a torch, he jumped.

He swam to shore. He figured is his family was going to kill him, he might as well leave - the plan had been to go back to his mother, but that was no longer possible.

He ran into a group of Nandor, and joined their community.

His old names didn't fit – he’s no longer the smallest Finwe, having rejected his house. He keeps half his name, and instead of Doomed or Upwards-Exalted, he becomes Exalted-by-Fire; the burning of the ships was what gave him the strength to turn from an evil path.

It takes him a bit to decide on this, dramatic Finwean he is, and in the meantime the Nandor called him Bright Eyes, for the Treelight reflected in his gaze. He says this is a more appropriate name for a horse than a person, and they compromise on calling him Star Bright

So Amrod hangs out is southwest Beleriand, avoiding Sindar and Orcs and Noldor and Men alike for over four hundred years.

The Bragollach, the Nirnaeth; Beleriand isn't safe.

The Nandor decide to go east across the mountains. Amrod decides to see how the Noldor are doing - despite himself, he hopes his brothers are okay. He finds Nargothrond.

He says he is Rodnor Gil-Galad, called in his youth after his hair.  

Orodreth doesn't recognize him - Orodreth is young, born after the division between their families was already stark. Orodreth rarely saw Amrod in Tirion, and everyone saying he looks just like Amras means the brown hair throws him.

Celebrimbor does recognize him.

"What are you doing here?" "I'm trying to avoid our family!" "I thought you were dead!" "Don't you dare tell anyone you met me!" - excerpts from the whispered confrontation in Celebrimbor's workroom

Eventually they agree that yes, Feanorians are terrible and blindly loyal, and they're both glad to be out of it.

They spend time together, a bit, more as escapees from the same cult than out of a desire to reminisce about Tirion.

Celebrimbor accidentally mentions Fingon as if they both know him in public. People ask how Gil-Galad knew him. He fumbles and says they're related. Later he slips and says Celegorm “turned out to be the family disappointment after all.” That makes him pretty obviously Finwean, though he still doesn’t admit who.

Someone tries to draw him out, and spends a whole conversation deliberately referring to Maglor Feanorian, Fingon Fingolfinion, and Finrod Finarfinion.

Rodnor eventually says, “By that manner I suppose I’m Gil-Galad Erenion.” This shuts up the first guy for a moment, but people start speculating how he can be the descendant of multiple kings – did Thingol have any other kids?

 Turin arrives; Rodnor has no opinion of him or of men in general, and no official seat on Orodreth’s council. When the dragon kills Orodreth and kidnaps Findulias, Rodnor leads the survivors away to the south. He feels bad about abandoning them, but the number of soldiers they ‘d lose rescuing her is too high, and just because a life is royal (or family) doesn’t mean it’s more valuable. (Feanor burned a prince, his son, as easily as he killed fishermen.)

His opinion on royalty isn’t widely held though. The people of Nargothrond have decided he is Orodreth’s heir and started calling him Lord Erenion. He declares that Cirdan is lord of the Falas, which gets people to at least decide bring some of their issues elsewhere, and tries not to stress about the details.

So Rodnor is in charge of the Noldor in Sirion. Galadriel is in Doriath. They do meet when it falls, but only for a few hours as the Iathrim refugees settle in, and she speaks more with Cirdan than with him. He tells her of the Nandor tribe he was with and their plans for the journey, and off she goes to the East.

After the council is over and every newcomer has a bed, Rodnor goes to Celebrimbor. They mourn privately those who neither of them dare speak of publically. Rodnor is back in his own rooms long before morning. He spends the next few weeks solemn, but everyone is gloomy after news of another kinslaying.

Gondolin falls. There are suddenly a lot more Noldor in Sirion. Pretty soon they're calling him King. He considers telling them it's not true, that the succession hasn't come to him yet.

On the other hand, having a leader be whoever happens to be the son of the previous leader is kind of silly. The Sindar tribe he was with acknowledged Elwe, but not Dior. Your leader was whoever you trusted to do right by the community. When Denethor died, his son took interim authority, and then they all met and discussed it and decided that actually Enellas knew how to manage people better, and so Denethor’s son stepped down.

If Rodnor squints, this is the same. At the very least, if the Nargothrondrim hated him one of them would have proposed crowning the ten-year-old Eärendil instead. So King Gil-Galad takes up the throne.

 He was on Balar when the attack came. He told himself later he couldn't have stopped it, couldn't have helped. He could guess by how much more enchantingly beautiful the Silmaril around Elwing's neck seemed, that his brothers would attack soon, but not the month or day. And she was a queen, he could not order her to hand over the jewel. So all he did was warn her, not tell her his birth name, or leap across the council table and pull it off her throat. He could not have known there was no time to wait for Eärendil’s return. He had not set a watch on the island towards the city, but he had no reason to.

He did not want to kill his brothers, but he was a king and he could not let that make his decisions.

He can't stop himself from crying when he sees Amras's body. The Feanorians had tried to make a pyre, but must have left with it still burning and the wet sea wind had extinguished it, and the wood had barely caught.

"Relight the pyres."

"Your Majesty?"

"For the dead Feanorians, relight them."

"But they're murderers! They showed no such respect to us." Indeed, the city is still littered with the corpses of Noldor, Men, and Sindar alike.

"And we are better than they are. We will bury our dead, with a week of singing and lamenting, and tales of their deeds told by friends and kin. We will mark our people’s graves, and the Men will leave grave goods on theirs. And we will not leave the enemy dead to rot where they lie or be eaten by beasts, though they showed us not that respect." He sighed. "We have not fallen as they have, and we must hold onto that."

"Yes, your majesty"

"Have someone take a census of those who are left. And lists of the dead – ours and theirs." He needs to know how strong the rogue army was. If it is now leaderless, he would... he isn't sure. He wouldn’t have to declare a feast for victory over the Kinslayers, they'd lost enough of their own. But some kind of amnesty, with reparations, if any Feanorian soldiers wanted to rejoin... He thinks of the abstract plans now, while he is unsure, because he knows he'll barely be able to keep together if Maedhros and Maglor are dead and he is alone. (Three died last time.)

His eldest brothers are not among the dead invaders.

Lady Elwing and her sons are not found, either dead or living. Gil-Galad knows that his brothers would have no interest in taking her prisoner, for if she was under their power they could rip their glorious, wonderful jewel from her neck and cast her aside like so much wrapping. So he assumes that instead Elwing got away somehow, taking her sons with her. Whether the Feanorians have the jewel or she does is unimportant, he reminds himself, at least unless she returns. He decides then that Balar will never house the Silmaril – he'll bury it beneath the mountains with his own two hands if that's what it takes. His people deserve one place, just one, that isn't destroyed around them. Please Valar, grant them this, for Cirdan's sake if for none of the Noldor.

Ships come one day out of the West. King Finarfin leads them, and Eärendil is with them. Eärendil says that his wife Elwing escaped, but not the boys. (Eärendil is politely told he must either take off the necklace, stay on his ship, or go to the mainland.)

Gil-Galad realizes where they must be. It's hardly fair, but he knows at least they're being treated as well as can be. Maedhros and Maglor did alright by the five of them, and have never been cruel to children.

No one else seems so optimistic, though they are willing to believe that the boys are alive, even after seven years, simply to avoid believing the alternative. Gil-Galad and Finarfin cooperate to get a letter and a messenger (a newly arrived Noldo) that will be demanding but – hopefully – not provoke violence.

It takes two years more, with messengers from both parties expressing grave concern for the boys’ safety on a journey and reluctant to meet the other too close, but Elros and Elrond are returned. They meet Eärendil again, but he is on the front lines and so they spend most of their time in the camp. Gil-Galad has them sit in on strategy meetings to keep them occupied.

 The war is over, Morgoth is defeated, and the Noldor are allowed to return.

Gil-Galad finds he doesn’t want to.

Returning had been as much about getting out of Feanor’s shadow as finding safety, and he realizes he has done the first and the second is near at hand. If he goes back to Tirion, he will be again Pityafinwe, one of Feanor’s youngest sons, half of the twins with a missing twin. The child so redundant his own mother had known so, and asked Feanor to leave her one of the youngest without care for which. Pityafinwe had led no armies, fought no battles, earned no praise. Pityafinwe killed Teleri and was murdered by his father, and did nothing else.

Sure, he could try to be both, admit he was Pityafinwe to start with, but no one will understand. The will see him as the usurper of the crown that should have gone to – Eärendil perhaps?  and then Elros? or Galadriel? Maybe they’ll weigh his victories in battle against his theft of the crown, and say they make up for it, but maybe they’ll say anyone could have done them, or he should have done them as a general in the real King’s army. So he’d be Pityafinwe, who pretended to be a king for a bit but understands now that it’s not his place, and that his place is to be the sixth-born son of the (dead, disgraced) Crown Prince.

Besides, they’re making the ‘leaders’ apologize for leaving, and Gil-Galad spent enough years wandering Beleriand safe behind Noldorin fortresses he can’t really be sorry they came.

Gil-Galad does write a letter though, to the Lady Nerdanel, his mother. He tells people that it’s commendations for her grandson’s valor, and assurance that Celebrimbor will be regarded on his own merits in the Age to come. The letter does contain those, but it also contains “You were half right about my mother-name; I was fated to die but leapt out of Fate’s way.” It’s rather blasphemous, but Gil-Galad isn’t going to be setting foot near the Valar again.

ao3

#silmarillion #amrod #Gil Galad #The Silmarillion #silm #My fic #gil galad son of plot hole #amrodnor

[elvesofnoldor]

not to rant about highly idealized and highly romanticized and therefore unrealistic and fairy-tale like medieval fantasy elven royalties aka shits no one follows me cares about yet again, but like, these days im so into the concept of tolkien AU in which aredhel and luthien fell in love and married each other. it’d messed up the entire timeline in his universe cause it can probably prevent the doom of mandos from coming to pass, prolong first age, therefore utterly change second age and third age and the events of lotr and the hobbit but do i look like i give a shit abt events of lotr and the hobbit? i care more about a story in which two gay women’s love for each other and desire to live free of men in their lives save the day, mend two divided people and possibly prevent the doom of angry god from coming to pass. Also it’s bullshit that Aredhel’s entire story is about how she got lured to live with this abusive asshole man and that man killed her and her son brought ruins to her people, like, she deserves better and this AU would give her a better story. i also know this au’d make beren and Eol irrelevant and Maeglin non-existent but these are three men and tolkien’s universe is already crowded with men, so if an AU can make more women important and gets rid of some unnecessary men then i’d say that’s a good AU.  

Also, Aredhel and Luthien’s relationship would be like, the elven huntress (Aredhel) and the elven Maiden (Luthien). not to bring in dragon age lore, but they’d be like, the Andruil and Ghilan’nain we (dragon age fans) deserve. except that, unlike Andruil and Ghilan’nain, Aredhel and Luthien are good people aka NOT tyrants and slavers (lmao). 

just, Imagine luthien, princess of Doriath, taking a liking of aredhel when she spots the handsome warrior princess from the woods of doriath when aredhel tries to gain passage through her father’s kingdom. That has the same vibe as morrigan watching female warden in her animal form and finding her “formidable”, and i REALLY dig this vibe. Imagine luthien, curious about a noldor elf--whom she never really get to know--uses her magic to open a passage for aredhel to enter Doriath when aredhel is being pursued by vicious giant spiders and greets her once she reaches safety. Imagine the two princesses learn of each other’s different elven cultures within the woods of Doriath, falling in love with each other in each other’s company.  Imagine Aredhel, while enjoying luthien’s companionship, still longs to once more rides on open grassy plains (which was the reason she left Gondolin in the first place). Imagine the sheltered luthien, having heard Aredhel’s tales of adventure at Tirion and dwellings of noldor in Valinor, wishes more than ever to see the world and the noldor realms outside the cirdle of her mother Melian. Imagine Aredhel proposes that both she and Luthien leave Doriath together so that both of them can see the outside world, and Luthien hesitating out of fear of her controlling father’s wrath. Imagine Aredhel saying something along the lines of, “must we live in the shadow of fathers and brothers in our life? Must we ignore our heart’s desire to abide by theirs? is that the life you wish to live forever?” to pursuit Luthien to leave. Imagine that Luthien still hesitating after that and Aredhel decides to find her way out of the forest. Imagine luthien, forlorn from the absence of her dear friend whom she discover that she held too dear to her heart, comes to her mother in the time of doubt and heartache. Imagine Melian, having known about Aredhel’s presence by her daughter’s side this entire time, helps luthien to get out of forests of Doriath with Aredhel despite her own distrust of noldor elves (due to the first kinslaying they committed), because she wants her daughter to be happy above all and deep down she think it’s wiser if the two divided people can be reunited. Imagine Aredhel, the white lady of Gondolin and Luthien, the princess of Doriath, finally settles on a land of their own somewhere on beleriand, say, the land where havens of Sirion would be, or lindon. It’d be a land under the Luthien’s magical protection, guarded by the rider/warriors Aredhel gathered throughout the years. Imagine the land that Aredhel and Luthien rules later becoming a place of haven of refugee for elves and men alike fleeing from the lands that morgroth’s minions now occupied. Luthien doesn’t get roped into a quest for silmaril, and neither does finrod so finrod doesn’t die. Finrod’s kingdom probably still falls and gets sacked out of some other reason but he survives. Thingol still died from some sort of dispute with the dwarves--even thought there is no involvement of Silmaril, but Doriath doesn’t get invaded by anyone. Melian doesn’t abandon Doriath after Thingol’s death, and rather she stayed for her children (dior and luthien) and Doriath is still safe under her rule. Maybe Gondolin stills falls because of some other reasons, maybe battle of unnumbered tears still happened in some form because Morgorth’s minions are encroaching on noldor realms either way and noldor elves would suffer from heavy losses anyways so it’s kinda unpreventable that maedhros would want to unify everybody for a final strike against him. But say, fingon doesn’t die from the battle despite the heavy losses because finrod’s host and elves of doriath are present at the battle and their involvement allows fingon to retreat successfully. Instead of fingon, celegorm curufin canrathir and the ambraussa twins died in the battle of unnumbered tears. The noldor elves held their own for longer and the first age is like at least a decade if not a hundred year longer but War of wrath still happens at the end of the first age. However, more noldor elves that suffered in the war of jewels against morgorth survived, and most of them had the strength and willingness to fight in the war of wrath when finarfin’s host finally comes to their aid from the west. With the host of valar and finarfin’s help, the noldor elves gathered the three silmarils from a defeated Morgroth. Maedhros and Maglor either gather the silmarils themselves or they were given the silmarils but neither of them want anything to do with the silmarils anymore. Now that they have fulfilled the oath, both of them allowed the three silmarils to be taken back to Valinor and two trees were reborn on valinor upon their breaking, and now it makes more sense that valinor still counts as the undying lands. Maedhros doesn’t kill himself, maglor doesn’t sing in grief by the sea forever and all the former noldor lords who survived war of jewel and war of wrath brought their people to the land/haven under Luthien and Aredhel’s rule and protection, whose realm still stand because of luthien’s magical protection and her mother Melian’s additional help. Elrond and Elros doesn’t lose their mother, but Earendil still went on that journey to find the valinor and brought the valars’ aid to middle earth and become a star in the sky so they don’t have their father. The twins still grow close to maglor either way, and maglor, pitying the fatherless twins and missing his youngest twin brothers, still cherishes the twins as if they are his own children.  Tears are still shed, bloody battles are still fought, and the noldor (and in this au, sindarin) elves still suffered heavy losses, but there is catharsis at the tale’s end. More people survived, more people get to leave for the west, and those who fought against morgroth for thousands of years get to participate in the war of wrath. Noldor elves still left middle earth en masse at the end of first age and second and third age, but there are more noldor realms on middle earth than eregion by the time second age comes. Elves would still all left middle earth by the end of fourth age. And maybe a few noldor elves like Maedhros and Maglor are not pardoned to return to valinor or simply wishes not to return out of shameor pride (in galadriel’s case), but they helped in the war against sauron in some way and eventually all redeemed themselves in the eyes of valar from helping to defend the men of middle earth against sauron, servant of morgroth and were allowed to return eventually, at the end of third age.  imagine the friendship between fingon and maedhros brought hundred years of peace between their divided family, and the love between luthien and aredhel brought two people divide people together and brought hundred years more of peace for all of their people. 

#luthien/aredhel AU is like. silmarillion as written by gay girls #gay girl is me but i didn't come up with the idea of luthien/aredhel. another person did. very legendary of them #yolanda talks #should put this long post under read more but idc #i read silmarillion for the first time at the age of 13 and it took me 10 years to flesh out a fix it au but HEY

[sweetteaanddragons]

Seas and Shadows

I’m not dead! I’m sorry I haven’t been posting much . . . or at all . . . lately. RL caught up with me, I’m afraid. I’ll try to put a post up tomorrow letting you know what you can expect going forward, but in the meantime, have a fic!

“Ulmo, lord of waters, I gave you my father’s heart. If that has bought me any mercy, spare me my heart now. Uinen, I beg you, grant these waters peace, for the sake of those who have done you no wrong. Osse - please. Please just let me reach the shore, and then I will throw myself through your waters to the Everlasting Darkness if that is your wish, but please - Manwe, lord of winds, on I alone is your Doom left, do not touch these, I pray - Ulmo, for the love that you once bore my kin, please - “

The songs of appeasement from the first days of the voyage were long spent. By now even Maglor’s voice could not bear the strain, and his thoughts, so long left to wander, scattered with every crash of thunder. It was all he could do to keep their small boat afloat.

If either of his passengers had been at all capable of managing the boat themselves, he would have thrown himself into the sea as soon as the storm arose and prayed it would be enough to placate the Valar. As it was, he and the Valar’s mercy was the only thing between them and arriving at Aman not at the beaches, but at Mandos’s Halls.

One of them cried out in the grip of some nightmare or waking dream as the waves tossed the boat dangerously. 

“Steady,” Maglor sang to boat and passengers both and wished desperately that he could spare better comfort. 

He had felt the Shadow each time it had arisen anew. He had felt it in the air. He had felt it in the music of the world.

More prosaically, he had seen it in the increased number of orcs he had to fight to keep them off his stretch of the shore.

He had also felt it when Sauron passed. He had hoped - foolishly, he later admitted to himself - that his death would mean the end of it. That the long war was finally, truly over.

But now a pale Shadow was creeping in again.

It was not as strong. There were fewer orcs, now. Fewer monsters. And whatever the leader of this new evil might be, he was no Sauron, and certainly no Morgoth.

Of course, the armies left to face them were hardly the glorious hosts of the First Age either. The dwarves were hard pressed, and there were so few elves left to raise a sword, and none were as strong as they once were. The Men, at least, were numerous enough to fight, but the tide turned slowly, and while the war ground on, evil ran freely in the land.

Maglor made his camp in the ruins of his cousin’s fair city by the grave of his foster-son’s daughter and fought for his small corner of it.

He had watched unseen as Elrond sailed away, beyond where he dared follow. It was fitting, he knew, and he’d had no intention of inflicting his company on Elrond regardless of where he was, but -

But still. He had not been able to bear the sight of the sea after that.

Another voice joined his frantic chant. The boat began to slide more easily through the mountainous waves.

Elrohir’s eyes were closed, head not even strong enough to be lifted from the side of the boat, but his voice rang out all the same.

Ulmo had favored Turgon’s line once. Maglor prayed he still did.

The Galadhrim had long abandoned the woods, so the handful of woodland elves fleeing through the trees was not expected.

They were half-faded, eyes dull, lacking almost all of the Firstborn’s power. Their enemies chased them fearlessly, sure of victory.

Feanor’s son thought of the easiest skirmish of the First Age and rose, bitterly amused, to fight.

When it was over, they asked him to travel with them in a language he only half recognized.

They had problems enough. He would not burden them with his Doom.

Instead, he followed their directions to this new Enemy’s main camp. It was a direction to go in, at least, and that was more than he’d had in a very long time.

All he had to do, they’d told him, was follow the light of the brightest star.

Maglor had looked up at that cursed light and laughed until they thought him mad.

Knew him to be mad. One of the two.

It was a sign, perhaps. 

Perhaps this could finally be the end of it.

As Elrohir’s voice faded, Elladan’s picked up. Neither of them was strong enough to keep the song up for long, not in their current condition, but it helped. It was enough.

It had to be enough.

The camp was big, he supposed. It certainly had more people in it than he had seen together in a long time.

Still. He couldn’t help but fail to be overly impressed. He supposed after one had faced dragons and Balrogs and seen Morgoth himself, it was hard to be impressed by much of anyone you had to fight.

It was easy enough to remain unseen. He had, after all, thousands of years of practice.

He slipped around the edges of the camp looking for - something. Anything. Another sign. A goal. Something worthy to charge at. 

In the end, it was his ears that guided him, not his eyes.

He followed the sound of screams.

He thought, for a moment, when he saw the source, that he truly had gone mad. Mad past all functioning.

Because Elrond was safe, he was safe, and wherever Elros was, it certainly wasn’t here, and yet -

His eyes were playing tricks on him, he decided firmly. It was simply hard to see past all the blood. These were just two elves, two unknown elves who happened to have more power than any of the other scattered remnants he’d come across and yet who had been overwhelmed by treachery or too great a force. That was all. 

Earendil’s star burned directly overhead. He had his target, at least.

Although with this as his target, a change of plans might be in order. No glorious last charge for him; skulking in the dark like one of the Enemy’s servants it was.

Fitting, probably.

Blinding rain lashed the deck. To Maglor, it was nearly nothing. To his wounded, half-elven passengers, though, he feared it could bring far worse. The storm had to end.

He looked over the side at the churning water.

For the first time in days, he ceased his desperate song. “Do you think you could sail this?” he shouted over the storm to whichever twin was currently trying to stay alert.

“No,” both said instantly, and though he thought they had started to recover, perhaps even enough to sail this alone if the storm ceased, they sound too much like another set of twins in that instant for him to turn away from the desperation in their eyes.

“Patience,” he begged Osse when he thought the thunder was too loud for even an elf to overhear. “Just have enough patience for them to be spared, and I will surrender to whatever justice is demanded.”

Through the storm, he thought he saw a star.

There was a battle going on nearby that he was pretty sure their side was winning. He used the term “their side” loosely, of course. The orcs were dying, and that was the important part.

He paid only enough attention to keep them ahead of it. He soothed the horses he stole into running as smoothly as possible when he had to and kept his charges safely hidden in caves when he could. 

They were delirious with pain and fever, and he was painfully reminded of Maedhros when they’d first recovered him and of Celebirmbor’s last pain filled moments when his mind had reached for anyone at all.

He sang songs of healing and comfort and cursed his broken mind for making them look so much like his twins, even with the blood washed away.

When one finally woke enough to notice him and ask his name, he was so startled he gave it.

He expected panic, or, if he was very lucky and the elf was poorly educated, confusion.

He did not expect the quietly delighted, “Grandfather!” before the half-elf he later learned was Elrohir was reclaimed by the fever.

The storm ended gradually. He wasn’t sure if his pleas had finally placated the Valar or if the storm had begun interfere with other, more favored ships, or if, perhaps, his hubris had arisen and the storm had never had anything to do with them at all.

Regardless, the shore shone bright before them, not far at all now, and in these clear waters, he had no doubts they would make it.

For once, all had not turned to evil. And Elrond would be happy.

But for each deed done well, there must be a price in tragedy, and he had offered, after all. 

The water was calm, but it was still deep. He remembered when it had been red.

There was a Silmaril somewhere in those depths. This was almost like fulfilling his Oath, wasn’t it? Perhaps his father wouldn’t be too angry.

“Almost there,” he said quietly and took one last look at Elrond’s sons. “Your father will be pleased to see you.” He took a half-step towards the side of the boat.

The twins sang out in sudden, perfect unison, with all the power they had managed to hoard. There was more of it in them than he had realized.

Maglor swayed to the deck, overtaken by exhaustion, a suggestion that the song had not so much needed to implant as to give a light nudge.

Elladan was the closer, and he caught the falling elf and lowered him to the deck. “He’ll be pleased to see all of his,” he said firmly.

There was a problem with that argument, Maglor was sure, but he supposed it would have to wait.

#silmarillion #fic #cw: suicidal thoughts #maglor #elrohir #elladan #fix-it of sorts #there will probably be a sequel to this

[silmarillionwritersguild]

This February, we are taking our cue from Valentine’s Day and invite you to join us in a contemplation of love! Your prompts for this month will be quotes from the Legendarium that are all about love. But in Middle-earth as in our modern day and age, love can take many shapes, and romantic or sexual attraction are only two aspects of it. Tolkien’s characters experience different kinds of love: love of family, love of friends, love of a place, love of treasure, love of abstract concepts like duty or freedom … and sometimes, they may feel no love at all. We have made a list of quotes about love from the Legendarium, and you can select one - or several - that inspire you to write about that crazy little thing called love. It doesn’t have to be a love story; it just needs to respond in some way to the quote(s) that you’ve chosen. Although we are sorting the quotes according to their context, feel free to disregard that in your response! For example, you can use a romantic love quote in a platonic way, or turn a feudal reading of love into something romantic. February is also Black History Month, so we encourage participants to focus on characters of color or characters from cultural groups we don't hear from a lot in the texts. Participants are also welcome to combine our love prompts with SilmLadyLove’s Femslash February prompts. Fanworks for this challenge are due on the archive by March 10 in order to receive a stamp.

Romantic or ambiguous love

"[Melian] spoke no word; but being filled with love Elwë came to her and took her hand, and straightway a spell was laid on him, so that they stood thus while long years were measured by the wheeling stars above them; and the trees of Nan Elmoth grew tall and dark before they spoke any word." ~ Of Thingol and Melian

"The love of Finwë and Míriel was great and glad, for it began in the Blessed Realm in the Days of Bliss." ~ Of Fëanor and the Unchaining of Melkor

"Galadriel his sister went not with him to Nargothrond, for in Doriath dwelt Celeborn, kinsman of Thingol, and there was great love between them." ~ Of the Return of the Noldor

"But it is said that not until that hour had such cold thoughts ruled [Finrod]; for indeed she whom he had loved was Amarië of the Vanyar, and she went not with him into exile." ~ Of the Noldor in Beleriand

"[Gorlim’s] wife was named Eilinel, and their love was great, ere evil befell." ~ Of Beren and Lúthien

"And it seemed to Thingol that this Man was unlike all other mortal Men, and among the great in Arda, and the love of Lúthien a thing new and strange; and he perceived that their doom might not be withstood by any power of the world." ~ Of Beren and Lúthien

"But Gwindor sat in dark thought; and on a time he spoke to Finduilas, saying: 'Daughter of the house of Finarfin, let no grief lie between us; for though Morgoth has laid my life in ruin, you still I love. Go whither love leads you; yet beware!’" ~ Of Túrin Turambar

"His heart turned to Níniel, and he asked her in marriage; but for that time she delayed in spite of her love. For Brandir foreboded he knew not what, and sought to restrain her, rather for her sake than his own or rivalry with Turambar; and he revealed to her that Turambar was Túrin son of Húrin, and though she knew not the name a shadow fell upon her mind." ~ Of Túrin Turambar

"The Eldar wedded once only in life, and for love or at the least by free will upon either part." ~ Morgoth’s Ring, "Laws and Customs among the Eldar"

"’Love of Indis did not drive out love of Míriel; so now pity for Míriel doth not lessen my heart’s care for Indis.’" ~ Morgoth’s Ring, "Laws and Customs among the Eldar"

"And Ilúvatar spoke to Ulmo, and said: '[...]Behold rather the height and glory of the clouds, and the everchanging mists; and listen to the fall of rain upon the Earth! And in these clouds thou art drawn nearer to Manwë, thy friend, whom thou lovest.'" ~ Ainulindalë

"Now Hador Lórindol, son of Hathol, son of Magor, son of Malach Aradan, entered the household of Fingolfin in his youth, and was loved by the King." ~ Of the Coming of Men into the West

"Thus ended Beleg Strongbow, truest of friends, greatest in skill of all that harboured in the woods of Beleriand in the Elder Days, at the hand of him whom he most loved; and that grief was graven on the face of Túrin and never faded." ~ Of Túrin Turambar

"But when all was spoken, Manwë gave judgement, and he said: 'In this matter the power of doom is given to me. The peril that he ventured for love of the Two Kindreds shall not fall upon Eärendil, nor shall it fall upon Elwing his wife, who entered into peril for love of him; but they shall not walk again ever among Elves or Men in the Outer Lands.’" ~ Of the Voyage of Eärendil and the War of Wrath

Parental and feudal love

"Therefore when [the Ainur] beheld [the Children of Ilúvatar], the more did they love them, being things other than themselves, strange and free…" ~ Ainulindalë

"Nonetheless Ulmo loves both Elves and Men, and never abandoned them, not even when they lay under the wrath of the Valar." ~ Valaquenta

"Therefore those who dwell by the sea or go up in ships may love [Ossë], but they do not trust him." ~ Valaquenta

"Then Aulë answered: 'I did not desire such lordship. I desired things other than I am, to love and to teach them, so that they too might perceive the beauty of Eä, which thou hast caused to be.’" ~ Of Aulë and Yavanna

"The Vanyar [Manwë] loved best of all Elves, and of him they received song and poetry; for poetry is the delight of Manwë, and the song of words is his music." ~Of the Beginning of Days

"Greater love was given to Fingolfin and his sons, and his household and the most part of the dwellers in Tirion refused to renounce him, if he would go with them; and thus at the last as two divided hosts the Noldor set forth upon their bitter road." ~ Of the Flight of the Noldor

"But there were many who loved the Lady Haleth and wished to go whither she would, and dwell under her rule; and these she led into the Forest of Brethil, between Teiglin and Sirion." ~ Of the Coming of Men into the West

"For Turgon took great liking for the sons of Galdor, and spoke much with them; and he wished indeed to keep them in Gondolin out of love, and not only for his law that no stranger, be he Elf or Man, who found the way to the secret kingdom and looked upon the city should ever depart again, until the King should open the leaguer, and the hidden people should come forth." ~ Of the Ruin of Beleriand and the Fall of Fingolfin

"'Sit now there; and look out upon the lands where evil and despair shall come upon those whom thou lovest. Thou hast dared to mock me, and to question the power of Melkor, Master of the fates of Arda.’" ~ Of the Fifth Battle: Nirnaeth Arnoediad

"For Maglor took pity upon Elros and Elrond, and he cherished them, and love grew after between them, as little might be thought; but Maglor's heart was sick and weary with the burden of the dreadful oath." ~ Of the Voyage of Eärendil and the War of Wrath

"[The Elves of Beleriand] were admitted again to the love of Manwë and the pardon of the Valar; and the Teleri forgave their ancient grief, and the curse was laid to rest." ~ Of the Voyage of Eärendil and the War of Wrath

Love of things and places

"[Yavanna] is the lover of all things that grow in the earth, and all their countless forms she holds in her mind, from the trees like towers in forests long ago to the moss upon stones or the small and secret things in the mould." ~ Valaquenta

"Oromë loved the lands of Middle-earth, and he left them unwillingly and came last to Valinor; and often of old he passed back east over the mountains and returned with his host to the hills and the plains." ~ Valaquenta

"For Fëanor began to love the Silmarils with a greedy love, and grudged the sight of them to all save his father and his seven sons; he seldom remembered now that the light within them was not his own." ~ Of the Silmarils and the Unrest of the Noldor

"But the Sindar had the fairer voices and were more skilled in music, save only Maglor son of Fëanor, and they loved the woods and the riversides; and some of the Grey-elves still wandered far and wide without settled abode, and they sang as they went." ~ Of the Return of the Noldor

"’But love not too well the work of thy hands and the devices of thy heart; and remember that the true hope of the Noldor lieth in the West and cometh from the Sea.'" ~ Of the Noldor in Beleriand

"And the Númenóreans answered: 'Why should we not envy the Valar, or even the least of the Deathless? For of us is required a blind trust, and a hope without assurance, knowing not what lies before us in a little while. And yet we also love the Earth and would not lose it.'" ~ Akallabêth

"Moreover [the Noldor] were not at peace in their hearts, since they had refused to return into the West, and they desired both to stay in Middle-earth, which indeed they loved, and yet to enjoy the bliss of those that had departed." ~ Of the Rings of Power and the Third Age

Absence of love

"Therefore all the more did [Melkor] feign love for them and seek their friendship, and he offered them the service of his lore and labour in any great deed that they would do." ~ Of Fëanor and the Unchaining of Melkor

"The wedding of his father was not pleasing to Fëanor; and he had no great love for Indis, nor for Fingolfin and Finarfin, her sons." ~ Of Fëanor and the Unchaining of Melkor

"There [Aredhel] was often in the company of the sons of Fëanor, her kin; but to none was her heart's love given." ~ Of Eldamar and the Princes of the Eldalië

"For Manwë was free from evil and could not comprehend it, and he knew that in the beginning, in the thought of Ilúvatar, Melkor had been even as he; and he saw not to the depths of Melkor’s heart, and did not perceive that all love had departed from him for ever." ~ Of Fëanor and the Unchaining of Melkor

"Of like mind with Galadriel was Fingon Fingolfin’s son, being moved also by Fëanor’s words, though he loved him little; and with Fingon stood as they ever did Angrod and Aegnor, sons of Finarfin." ~ Of the Flight of the Noldor

"Men have feared the Valar, rather than loved them, and have not understood the purposes of the Powers, being at variance with them, and at strife with the world." ~ Of Men

"’And this counsel I add: return now to your dwelling in the darkness of Nan Elmoth; for my heart warns me that if you now pursue those who love you no more, never will you return thither.'"~ Of Maeglin

"And however that might be, Idril loved Maeglin not at all; and knowing his thought of her she loved him the less." ~ Of Maeglin

"Therefore [Brandir] renounced his lordship, and all love for the people that had scorned him, and having naught left but his love for Níniel he girt himself with a sword and went after her; but being lame he fell far behind." ~ Of Túrin Turambar

"No love was there between Ar-Gimilzôr and his queen, or between their sons." ~ Akallabêth

#swg challenge #silmarillion #tolkien

[grundyscribbling]

from the anon: Maedhros with real Dwarven babies :) I bet that they must look like tiny dolls for him

Ok, anon. You asked. Here you go, ~2000 words of Maedhros and dwarves, some of whom are babies:

Maedhros straightened, subtly checking that he was dressedappropriately. He needed this meeting to go well. If it did not…

The consequences did not bear thinking on. He has lost father,brothers, and cousins, but he will notlose his children. The children, hereminded himself yet again. They are not his, though they are likely the closestto sons of his own he will ever have. He tried not to think of them in suchterms, to keep them kinsmen and not sons. It has not worked.

Elrond and Elros’ lives depend on his success this day. Thatleft him no choice - he must succeed.

There was only so much that could be done withintermediaries, when dealing with dwarrows. Beyond a certain point, theyexpected to negotiate face to face. Underlings might be trusted with preliminaries,but not with finalizing such a treaty as he sought.

It at least had novelty on its side. Morgoth will not expectthis – indeed, he is likely even now preparing to cut Amon Ereb off from anypossible escape to the Sea. The Enemy could sense the change in the West windseven as they could. He will expect them to send the children to Balar beforemaking their last stand. That they would instead strike out East would neverenter his head. That they would bring Thingol’s last surviving heirs here of all places…

The dwarrows of Návarot have both traded and warred with theelves of Beleriand, but never before have they sheltered them.

Maedhros smoothed his hair and straightened his circlet,smothering a smile as he did. Would that Elros could have been here to see thatsuch things were as needful in their proper time and place as he has been toldfor the past seven years.

The twins’ lessons have turned to dwarrows of late, thoughof course the boys do not yet realize why. If today goes well, in a few short weeks,they will know all.

“Greetings, Prince Maedhros.”

The speaker was as richly dressed as Maedhros himself, for onformal occasions, dwarrows showcased their work. This was not the finest eitherof them had to offer – that would be reserved for the presence of the king,probably at dinner that evening – but it was not far off.

Maedhros had opted for the copper circlet he liked best, acollaboration between his brother and his father in the days before Fëanaro wasopenly feuding with his brother, set with several clear white stones. They werenot the Silmarils, but their light remembered the Trees, and few gems craftedhere in Beleriand could equal them. His tunic was a rich red brocade, which heotherwise seldom had cause to wear these days.

His counterpart, of course, outshone him. The dwarrow’s beardwas an easy match for Maedhros’ hair, but woven with bands of silver studdedwith gems the elves named star sapphire but the dwarrows called Light of Mahal,and the ornamental leather jerkin over a deep blue doublet was embroidered withgold and silver as fitted a prince of the realm.

“Prince Kheli,” he replied with a formal bow.

Kheli smirked, and Maedhros knew it meant he had still notquite mastered the proper pronunciation.

At least he had trained himself to use only the masculineaddress when speaking. Dwarrows did not use gendered forms of address, preferringwhat both Sindarin and Quenya generally translated as male pronouns and titlesfor all, for they considered gender to be a private matter. Maedhros had notdealt with any of the other clans, but he knew the Firebeards found it ratherodd and perhaps even a bit insulting that the taller kindreds openly made suchsharp distinctions between male and female.

“Have no fear, Copperhead. A lisp is not an insult,” Kheliassured him. “I dare say many will find it endearing. And perhaps a bitreassuring.”

The flicker of Kheli’s eyes up and down his long frame didnot escape him. He was considered tall by his own people. To the dwarrows hewas a veritable giant. The largest of them stood only to his waist.

“At further risk of insult, honored prince, I had expectedto meet your father,” Maedhros ventured. “I had understood him to be amenableto my proposal.”

He definitely didn’t miss the twinkle in Kheli’s eye.

“You might wish to review your Khuzdul, noble friend,” Khelitold him. “That word is formarriages, not treaties or trade.”

He inclined his head politely. Such a mistake was probably aneven greater faux pas given that he knew he spoke to the daughter, not the son ofthe Telakh. (It had been some years of dealing with both the king and theprince before Maedhros realized that, and he had never raised the point, uncertainif it was rude to acknowledge it or not.)

“I live to learn, venerable one” he replied, hoping he hadthe phrase correct. It had originated among the dwarves, but was as apt for hisown people as it was for them.

Kheli nodded in return.

“As do we all,” she replied gravely. “And yet – my father isno longer young by our reckoning, though in yours I understand he would bescarce more than a youth. He feels that as it will be those younger than himwho must bear the consequences of this agreement, for good or ill, the finalsay should be mine, not his. He leaves the decision in my hands.”

Maedhros paused, considering.

Kheli would be King after her father, but he had not expectedthat for another fifty to a hundred years – years it may yet prove that none ofthem truly have, given that Morgoth now dominates nearly all of Beleriand andhas never known the meaning of satisfied orenough.

“In that case, Prince Kheli, I would hear your thoughts onmy – suggested course of action?”

It was frustrating not being sure of his words, but thegesture of using the dwarrows’ preferred language has been too well receivedfor him to abandon it now. And the folk of Návarot pride themselves on honesty –part of the reason their rage at Thingol had run so deep – so he knew they wouldensure he signed nothing he does not fully understand.

“Walk with me, tall one,” she suggested, looking rather amused.“You may need to be careful of your head – these halls have been enlarged withyour kind in mind, but you are the tallest elf we have ever seen, Elu Tightfistincluded.”

Maedhros thanked her as gravely as he could, given that hereally wished to laugh. If nothing else, the elves of Amon Ereb and thedwarrows of Návarot had this much in common: they agreed Thingol had been a fool.

It turned out he only needed to duck twice – the corridorsand even the rooms they passed were all more than acceptable by elvenstandards, and wanted only furnishings to be comfortable. They might lack thegrandeur and elegance of Menegroth, but Maedhros and his brother had not askedfor elegance – security was their priority, and space enough for their peopleand their animals their main requirement.

The hall Kheli stopped in was not empty. There were severaldwarrows within, attendants if Maedhros judged correctly. And something he hadnever seen before – dwarrow younglings.

He regretted more than ever not bringing one or both boys.The young always seemed to get on, regardless of what their elders might do.

“My sons,” Kheli announced. “Gabil and Farin.”

Gabil was old enough to walk cautiously on his own, butFarin was still only a babe in arms. Maedhros had no sense of what their agesmight be, and did not trust that it might not be some breach of etiquette toask.

“You honor me, Prince Kheli,” he said cautiously, uncertainwhat the proper compliment would be. “They look to be fine, strong children.”

“I hope it proves so,” she replied.

And then, to his immense surprise, she handed Farin to him.

Maedhros managed not to drop the tiny child, but it was anear thing given how shocked he was. The little one was scarce more than ahandful for him, and looked solemnly up at him, apparently less disconcerted atbeing held by a giant than Maedhros was at holding a child so very little.

He blinked at the unfamiliar sound of dwarvish laughter.

“It’s only a wee thing, he’s much too small to take an axeto you yet,” one attendant chortled before Kheli hurriedly hushed him.

“I am honored by your trust, Prince Kheli,” Maedhrosstammered. “But I must ask – why am I holding your son? Are you not worried?”

“Less worried than I would be had you not asked thequestion, or shown such obvious concern not to do him harm,” she repliedsolemnly. “You’ve dealt with us before, Prince Maedhros. You know well that we maydrive a bargain, but at the heart of our business we have always treated eachother as equals.”

“Indeed,” Maedhros said, solemnly offering Farin the tip ofhis little finger.  The tiny dwarrow gavehim a puzzled look when he discovered it to be much larger than the fingers hewas used to grabbing at, and gummed it indignantly as if that might bring itdown to size.

“I have heard that this treaty is for the good of your young,”Kheli continued. “You know you are taking a risk in bringing them here. Iwanted you to see that you are not the only one at risk in this venture.”

Maedhros offered young Farin back to his mother, whoaccepted him without any sign of undue worry.

“You worry enough for both of us, Copperhead,” she observeddrily. “I did presume that as you have young ones of your own, you had held a child before.”

“Never one so small,” Maedhros murmured.

“Ah, yes, I suppose our infants would not be as large asyours,” Kheli said ruefully. “It would make birthing rather difficult. There, nowwe have both learned something this day.”

Gabil toddled boldly up – he did not even reach as high asMaedhros’ knee – and lifted his arms imperiously, unwilling to miss out on hisshare of the visitor’s attention.

Maedhros, after a quick glance at the prince of Návarot, pickedthe child up and sat him on one shoulder, where the boy squealed with delightat his unexpected perch.

“These ones will not be old enough to wield an axe, if thewar you expect comes as you say it will,” Kheli told him grimly. “We – you andI, your people and mine – will have to be enough to protect them.”

“We may not be enough to protect my young,” Maedhros repliedquietly, doing his best to keep one eye on the boy on his shoulder lest he fall.“The Enemy wants them dead. And theymay well be old enough to take up arms in their own defense before the end.”

“So long as you understand the stakes, and that we expect noless in defense of ours than we offer for the protection of yours,” Kheli saidfirmly, “then we have a deal, elf.”

Maedhros looked down sharply, though he did not release hiscautious hold on the young dwarrow.

“We do?”

“Indeed, Prince of the Noldor. Tumunzahar has not forgottenour old grudge against the evil in the North that slaughtered so many of ourkind and daily defiles our Maker’s works, nor your reputation for being hischiefest foe. But for the sake of your young, I would say we should set pen topaper without further delay, that you not wait any longer to move them. Messengersarrived this morning from Gabilgathol, and I suspect the warning they bringmeans your time runs shorter than you guessed.”

Maedhros thanked whatever Vala might hear him that theyalready had nearly everything in readiness. The fortress could be evacuatedbefore the week was out.

“Then let us conclude our treaty, Prince Kheli,” he said,swinging a reluctant Gabil back down, “and I will send word to my people atonce.”

#fic #not on AO3 yet #Maedhros #dwarves #Nogrod #pardon my khuzdul

[arofili]

#45, kidnap fam?

(Dear anon: I’m sorry.)

~

45. “How much of that did you hear?” Maglor asked quietly.

Elrond looked up at him, his eyes hard. “Enough.”

Maglor nodded, closing his eyes. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said. “We sent you away for a reason.”

“Well, I am here.” Elrond sighed. “Atar...you don’t have to do this.”

He laughed hollowly. “You heard me. I tried. But Maedhros...he won’t let this opportunity slip through his fingers. You know our curse, yonya. If we don’t try we will be consumed, turned to worse things. Like we did to you.”

“You made up for it,” Elrond said fiercely. “You must know that.”

“I wish I did.” Maglor looked up into the sky, where Gil-Estel shone bright and damning. “Your father has one Silmaril. Your real father, I mean. Your other fathers...we must have the other two.”

“Atar,” Elrond blurted out, “I came to ask you to come to Valinor with me.”

Maglor stilled. “You’re going to Valinor?”

“If you will come with me, yes.”

“And Elros? What about him?” Maglor looked up at him again, something undefinable glittering in his eyes. “Where is he? He didn’t come with you.”

“Where’s Maedhros?” Elrond asked. He grimaced. “Elros is...busy. Like Atya.”

“Your atya is drowning his sorrows and preparing for a Fourth Kinslaying.” Maglor clenched his fist. “I certainly hope Elros is not.”

“We were offered a choice,” Elrond said, looking at his feet. “Of which kindred we shall be counted as. They said—the Valar said that if we chose mortality, they would give us a land, a blessed land, to the West. Not the Blessed Land,” he added hastily, “not Valinor. But we could take what remains of the Edain and find a new place to live.”

“Beleriand is certainly not habitable anymore.” Maglor nodded, dread coiling in the pit of his stomach. “And if you chose Elvendom...?”

“We could go West, to the Uttermost West, and live in bliss in Aman.” Elrond’s voice was tinged with longing. “Like you, when you grew up.”

“There is a reason we are here now,” Maglor reminded him.

“And you want to stay?” Elrond demanded.

Maglor laughed bitterly. “I have no choice, unlike you.”

“If you forsake this madness, convince Atya—”

“Maedhros will not be convinced. You heard, Elrond. He has been a captive once; he would kill himself before he faces such a fate again.”

“The Valar are not like Morgoth!” Elrond protested. “They would not—”

“Let me remind you which of us was raised in the Blessed Realm,” Maglor said flatly. “This choice of yours, it was offered by Námo, was it not?”

“...Yes. And Manwë.”

“Námo the Doomsayer. Námo who cursed all Noldor who followed my father. Námo who holds my father, and all my brothers save Maedhros, in his keeping even now!” Maglor’s voice grew heated. “No, Elrond. This choice—it is not just. You are peredhil; why must you decide which kindred is better? You are both.”

“I chose Elvendom,” Elrond snapped.

Relief washed over Maglor, dispersing a fear he had not realized he held. Good. He may be damned, but at least his sons would be safe, and live eternal. Aman was not so bad a place, after all. He wanted to go back, wanted to join the peredhil and see his mother again, even at the cost of the Valar’s judgement—he was so tempted by Elrond’s offer.

But Maedhros would not go, not even if asked by Elrond, and Maglor would not abandon Maedhros. Not again.

“Then go,” Maglor rasped. “You and Elros—you have not wronged the Valar as we have. Go with them to Valinor, and live in peace. You will be happy there.”

“I can’t,” Elrond whispered, a single tear streaming down his face. “I can’t go alone.”

“You won’t be alone,” Maglor said. “Even without us...your parents will be there, your real parents. And you will always have Elros.” As much as this conversation hurt, he longed to see Elros again, wished he had come with Elrond.

“I have already lost him!” Elrond wailed, falling into Maglor’s arms. “He—he chose mortality!”

Maglor held him tight, cradling his son like he had when he was a child, though he neared adulthood now. Numb shock overcame him: how could Elros do this? How could he abandon Elrond? Did he not know the pain his fathers had endured for their brothers’ sake, the soul-rending torment of Ambarussa sundered from one another this long age, how utterly this could destroy them both?

Mortality. He would take that kingdom offered by the Valar, lead the Edain, and for what? A life lived in the blink of an elvish eye? The promise of...something, beyond the boundaries of Arda? His grandmother Lúthien’s legacy, to doom his family like she doomed hers? Thingol had not outlived his daughter; would Maglor survive this loss? Daeron, her brother, Maglor’s onetime-lover, had lost himself in his grief; would Elrond be able to endure the long ages of Arda alone?

“It’s selfish,” Elrond wept, “he chose first! We’ve been living with the Edain, when Gil-galad is too busy to mind us, and they’re good folk, they love us, they love him, and he told me how much he wants to know what is beyond Arda. He says he feels his mortality in his blood, that no matter how we study, elves will never know! He was so studious, I was the wild one, you know this, and he’s—he’s pursuing knowledge, just like you taught us, knowledge over glory and eternity, and I told him it was a worthy choice, a good one, and then I chose Elvendom.”

Maglor had no words to comfort him, still reeling with shock and horror. “He...he will die?” he rasped. “And we will lose him forever?”

“I could have followed him, gone with him,” Elrond sobbed. “But I am a coward. I want peace and light and the easy way out. But now I will be alone, and Eärendil will sail the skies and Elwing sits in her white tower doing nothing but mourn and you and Atya are going to get yourselves killed or worse chasing the fucking Silmarils!”

Elrond tore himself away from Maglor, wiping his eyes. “I don’t know what to do,” he said, his voice cracking. Maglor could scarcely stand to look at him: he was so young, and already faced with so much pain. Such were the children born in Beleriand. And so much of that pain was Maglor’s own fault.

“Please, Atar,” Elrond begged. “Please listen to Eonwë. Come to Valinor with me, I will plead for you, and you and Atya can be freed of your Oath and I can have a family there. Please.”

“We cannot,” rumbled a new voice, and Maglor jumped. Maedhros walked out of the shadows, his red hair, once so burning bright, dark and matted with sweat and blood.

“Atya, please—”

“You should not have come, Elrond.” Maedhros used to be so beautiful, once. It broke Maglor’s heart to see him like this. Even after Angband, he had been beautiful, for he shone with purpose and love. Now...even with Maglor here, even with Elrond here, that was all gone. Only the Oath kept him living, Maglor knew.

“Where will I go?” Elrond cried. “Without you, without Elros—what will I do?”

“Gil-galad will not give up his kingship for Valinor,” Maedhros intoned, his voice flat. “Go with him to the east. Celebrimbor is going with him; he wrote inviting us to join him, if we would but forsake the Oath.”

Maglor had not known that. He flashed a look to Maedhros, asking without words if he had been planning on sharing that information. But Maedhros didn’t blink, didn’t acknowledge him.

“Gil-galad... Gil is your brother,” Maglor said softly. “You know that, right?”

Elrond looked between them. “He is Fingon’s son, not yours.”

Maglor bit his lip until it bled. It was low, dirty of him to use Fingon against Maedhros at a time like this, but if it would convince him...

Maedhros blanched, turning pale white beneath the web of scars across his face. “This is cruel of you, Makalaurë,” he rasped, still not turning to look at him. “I thought better of you.”

“You—” Elrond broke off. Maglor saw him calculating in his mind; truly, it was not that difficult to figure out, though Fingon was never spoken of in Maedhros’ earshot, and thus he had been forced to learn of his deeds thirdhand. “You and him—and Gil-galad—oh.”

“He will want a herald. I heard his was slain in the last battle.” Maedhros was back to monotone. “Go east with him.” He shook his head. “Elrond, I...”

“Atya?”

Maedhros looked on the verge of saying something heartfelt. Maglor gripped Elrond’s wrist, hoping, yearning for some spark of the brother he loved to flicker back to life.

But Maedhros’ eyes only darkened. “I wish I could choose to unmake myself as Elros has,” he said. “It would be easier.” Without another word he retreated, leaving Elrond and Maglor staring dumbfounded after him.

“He doesn’t mean that,” Maglor said tiredly, but his words did not even fool himself.

“I understand now,” Elrond murmured. “I...you’re right, Atar, I should not have come.”

“Elrond...” Maglor wiped at his eyes. “I am sorry. Truly. For everything we have done to you. You—oh, child, you deserve better than the lot you have been dealt.”

“I have plenty of time left to make something better out of it.” His words were dull. “Gil-galad will take me, but...he cannot replace Elros. He doesn’t even know me as his brother.”

“He will. He will love you, Elrond. Who couldn’t?”

Elrond looked at him, the full force of his betrayal shining through his tears. “I can think of a few people,” he whispered.

If Maglor’s heart had not already been shattered into countless pieces, it would have broken then.

“Goodbye, yonya,” he mustered, and Elrond gave him one last embrace.

He could not bring himself to wish his son joy. It would only serve as a last reminder of all they both had lost.

#silmarillion #elrond #maglor #maedhros #kidnap dads #kidnap fam #my writing #my fic #tefain nin #silm #ask games #HAHAHA i broke myself while writing this oops #i dont? necessarily think this is how it all went down? necessarily? #not my main headcanon is what im trying to say #but uh. sure a fun and angsty one!!! #also: this is the last time elrond sees maedhros. #however it is NOT the last time he sees maglor!!! they reconnect later!!!!! and reconcile!!!! #but there is a hot minute where mags thinks elrond hates him ;-; #also WOW this got long oops #anon #answers #love grew after between them

[aruthla]

Day 2 - Maglor : Redemption

He never stayed more than a week in the same place, constantly moving like water which travels without ever stopping. Over the centuries, he had seen the world changed, both in form and appearance, and he had met people just as different from each other. He had met saint and wise person, fighter and scholar, ignorant and idiot, assassin and murderer ... He had spoken and taught something to each of them and in return, they had spoken and taught him something else. He remembered each of these meetings, whether they were good or bad.

But the first one remained forever in his memory ...

He walked slowly, feet bruised by his long walks without a break. His clothes weren’t more than rags, standing by some miracle, and bleached by the sun. His hair, black in the past, were only a whitish mass. His blue eyes were empty of life and looked without seeing the world around him. Suddenly he toppled forward and fell into darkness.

When he woke up, he didn’t see the sand like every time he fainted. Instead, he saw wooden beams supporting a floor. Getting up slowly, he discovered a small room where a fireplace was broadcasting a gentle heat. The furnishings were simple but they possessed a small discreet charm. The bed where he lay was covered in several thick blankets presenting embroidery relatively simplistic, but pleasant to the eye. A window near the bed informed him that it was dark.

Getting free slowly from the covers, he left the comfort of his bed to resume his way. However, when his foot landed on the carpet, the door to the room opened and a man of strong stature came in.

- Oh ! You're awake ! Exclaimed the man, a huge smile devouring his face, This is going to make more than three days you sleep, we began to worry, my wife and myself! I’m called Bern, and you my friend? Asked Bern, his brown eyes sparkling with life, before frowning when he didn’t answer, Can you speak ? What I’m saying, it must be days that you didn’t drink drinking, of course you have difficulty to speaking, he muttered, don’t move, I'll get you some water and eat.

And just as quickly as it had appeared, Bern disappeared. The elf remained motionless for a moment, still under the shock from this flood of words, before trying again to get up. But again, Bern arrived with a pitcher, and accompanied by a woman with black hair holding a tray.

- Hello. Bern told me that you had difficulty to speak, so I brought you a herb tea of sage, lemon, ginger, cinnamon, mint and chamomile, as well  a little soup and a pitcher of water for the night. If you ever need anything, please come get me. In the day, I'm either in the kitchen or in the garden and Bern is in his workshop, a building just next to the house, so you can hardly missed him, especially with all the noise he makes. Oh ! I’m Lúviel by the way. We will let you rest. Good night ! Continue the woman named Lúviel without resuming once her breath during her whole tirade.

And the couple disappeared again, leaving the elf with a bowl in one hand and a cup of tea in the other one. It was at this moment he noticed that his left hand was bandaged and he was wearing clothes worthy of this naming, but also that his hair had been cut. Hesitantly, he put the cup on the bedside table and carried the bowl to his lips.

Lúviel opened quietly the door and penetrated on tiptoe into the room. The elf was asleep eyes closed, evidence of fatigue, and his pale face was marked by dark circles and hunger even after having spent the week staying in bed and be pulled out by her or her husband. On the bedside table was a cup half empty and a barely consumed bowl of soup, which drew her a pout. She took the dishes, taking care to make no noise to wake their guest, and just as quietly left the room.

- So ? Asked her husband.

- He barely touched the soup ...

- I’m going continue to watch him. Make something light for him, he can’t remain so long with an empty stomach.

- I wonder if ... She began after a pause.

- Give him time. He will eventually tell us himself, he murmured, kissing his wife who happily left again to the kitchen after acquired.

He listened for a time his wife bustled in the kitchen, then he concentrated again on their old guest whose restless sleep indicated an imminent awakening. With a leisurely pace, he went to the bathroom, great deal of ingenuity of the dwarfs, and ran a bath. Just as slowly, he returned to the room of their guest and gave a few knocks on the door before entering.

The elf was sitting on the bed, his back against the wall, distraught and pale face, wide and agitated eyes and restless and labored breathing, fixing the door as if he expected to be attacked. Keeping a smile, Bern slowly approached him, taking care to make no sudden movements and letting his hands in sight to not cause more violent reactions from their guest.

- There is a hot bath waiting for you. Come, he said kindly and gently grasping the hands of the elf, who followed him without resistance, still lost in the throes of the nightmare.

Once in the bathroom, he helped their guest to undress and to go in the bath. Little by little, the elf seemed to regain his senses. WhenBern decreed him sufficiently awake, he helped him to wash, then to dry off and to get dressed. Once all this was done, he took their guest in the kitchen, where a new cup of tea and an apple was waiting for him on the table. With a smile, Lúviel invited him to sit down and to begin to eat while she was serving her husband. When she was about to sit down, she noticed that the bandage on his left hand of the elf was about to come undone and thus left to get bandages to redo it. Seizing gently the hand of their guest, she removed the bandage and began to make a new one.

- Why…? Asked the elf, his voice hoarse from lack of use.

- I could give you an answer, but it probably will not be the one that you hope, she replied softly without leaving her work of her eyes.

- Why did you help me?

- Why not ?

- Because I don’t deserve it, he blew, eyes haunted, I have committed many crimes, too important to be forgiven! Even my death can’t buy back half of the offenses that I have caused! He yelled before his voice broke into a sob that he tried to choke.

Calmly, Lúviel took him in her arms, as we would take a child frightened by the thunder to comfort him, and began rocked him, before whispering in his ear: "I forgive you.". Then he snapped, releasing for the first time all his tears he had held over the centuries, screaming his sadness for his destroyed family , his dead brothers and all these lost and destroyed lives...

It’s with a smile that he remembered that day when he could finally begin to heal. It’s with a laugh that he remembered the long months passed with Lúviel and Bern, both acting like mother hens. It’s with a touch of sadness that he remembered the day he left. And today, it was with a free and light heart that he went towards the sea.

Sitting on the edge of the cliff, he grabs his harp, present of his father's whom Bern had repaired, and sang for the first time since he had thrown his silmaril into the sea. The music of his harp was sweet as his innocent young years spent in Valinor with his family, before taking a darker tone, a sign of the influence of false words of Morgoth on his father over the years. It was filled with lamentation when he sang the Kinslaying Alqualondë, the Doom of Mandos, the abandonment of Fingolfin and his followers in the Helcaraxë and the death of his father. He didn’t conceal any of his actions during his long centuries he had lived in Middle-earth, singing the Kinslaying of Doriath and of the Havens of Sirion. Then his music took a new note of hope when he sang these years when he took care of the twins Elrond and Elros. But soon came the darkness again in his song when he told the theft of the Silmarils with his last brother alive, who didn’t stay after this action. He spoke of his long years of wandering to sing his pain on the coast until his voice broke of fatigue. And suddenly, his singing resounded with life when he sang his meeting with Bern and Lúviel and all the other people he met thereafter. Whereas his music drew to an end, he heard the sea, silent, waiting.

Then he stood up and said:

- For a long time I carried the weight of the sins of others, without ever relieved my burden. Today I’m free from this chain because I was forgiven, but especially because I was finally able to forgive muself. I am Kanafinwë Makalaurë Maglor, second son of Fëanor Curufinwë and Nerdanel, brother of six other as brave and loyal as stupid and father of heart of Elros Tar-Minyatur and Elrond Peredhil!

At the same time he pronounced his words, the sea gave way to her joy and soon, a white bird flew for his last trip.

Same warning then yesterday. See you soon !

#feanorianweek #maglor #Probably Ulmo #I mean #He is everywhere and anywhere #as long there is water

[heartofoshun]

Silmarillion Questions: Tagged by @jane-ways

 – thanks for thinking of me!

How do you think the Oath worked practically? I like to write it as magic—it sleeps and then awakens under certain in-world pressures and then it is all but impossible to resist. I think Tolkien wrote it under the influence of belief systems in the Northern tradition which considered one’s sworn oath to be sacred—to break it was the lowest thing a warrior could do. For him, it makes a great story conflict—absolute fealty to a sworn oath even if it will lead to one’s doom. He makes us love the Noldor (he does!!) and then rips our hearts out. Incomparable storytelling. But the guy is filled with contradictions. His modern, Catholic-self thought that the oath could and should be broken if in contradiction to other moral issues. (It’s a long discussion. Too long to have here.) I ask myself, how come the good characters in The Silmarillion are not nearly as appealing and attractive as the ones Tolkien wants us to judge? Accidental or intentional? Were the Valar in the right to bring the Elves to Valinor? No. The One/Eru never intended the Secondborn (Men) be left alone in Middle-earth to face Morgoth and without the aid of the Firstborn (Elves). I do not doubt the good intentions of the Valar, but they did not consider the implications of their action. And they did not consider that not all of the Elves would appreciate the trade of freedom for a gilded cage. They claimed the Noldor were free to leave, but then cursed them—leave and you can’t come back, no help from us, and unnumbered tears you shall shed—wow, harsh!

Which Silm character do you find the most relatable personally and why? Probably Fingon. I love his loyalty and his courage. He is a real hero over and over, rescuing Maedhros alone, facing down the first dragon they encounter, acting as military commander-in-chief throughout his father’s reign. His extraordinary personal heroism and his epic friendship (or more) with Maedhros makes him incredibly attractive, but his political instincts and leadership qualities were sound also. He is said to have “resolved to heal the feud that divided the Noldor, before their Enemy should be ready for war.” While he lived, he was able to hold the Noldor together, despite differences, after their reconciliation, which he, along with Maedhros, had engineered. If you could ask one character one question (to get clarification on their motives, to ask their opinion etc), who would you ask and what? Finrod.  I’d like a fully developed and detailed answer as to why he came to Middle-earth. I adore Finrod—what’s not to like—but there is not a clear enough motivation for leaving. An urge for travel and adventure? Intellectual curiosity? An attachment to his cousins? I’d like to hear it from his POV. Would you have gone with Fëanor, Fingolfin or Finarfin?I’d have follow Fëanor – the revolutionary who thought for himself and didn’t accept received-wisdom without reasoning. He fought for the rights of his people to make their own decisions and for their self-determination. By the time the Valar had released Morgoth, he had no reason to trust their judgment over his own. It’s canon that he did many things better than did them. I am inspired by Fëanor’s words, along with the 90 percent of the Noldor who left Aman: “We are threatened with many evils, and treason not least; but one thing is not said: that we shall suffer from cowardice, from cravens or the fear of cravens. Therefore I say that we will go on, and to this doom I add: the deeds that we shall do shall be the matter of song until the last days of Arda.” I’m not nearly as moved by the motivations of the others or lack thereof. Fingolfin did what he saw as his duty: not to abandon the Noldor, to avenge his father, and, originally, with perhaps a bit of ambition to hang onto the crown. Finarfin withdrew to make his peace with the Valar (and his wife’s people, whom he loved; and his mother and her people whom he revered). I do not condemn Fëanor’s brothers’ motivations out of hand, but only say that for myself he would have been the one of the three who could have lit a fire under me. What do you think was the determining factor/reasoning behind the Doom of the Noldor? Does it hold for scrutiny in your opinion? It was a threat pure and simple. There should have been no punishment at all. Quite the contrary, they should have been willing to help them out in Middle-earth, early and often. One cannot offer aid only with precise and restrictive conditions that effectively take away one’s freedom to make decision (as much the Valar argued that was not their intention). Who is the scariest of Tolkien’s characters? That light-sucking spider who scared the shit out of Melkor himself. Any other versions of a story you prefer over the version published in the Silm? I tend to like the Silmarillion the best.  But I do like so many of the added details. The ones that add to backstory and flesh-out characterization. Things like Law and Customs Among the Eldar not so much. In my own stories, I had constructed an outline and written a novel and a couple of novellas before I ever encountered certain characters. So, I was not prepared to go back and re-write those. Favourite story of the legendarium and why? There are so many! I first was attracted to Fingon rescuing Maedhros and the two them reuniting the Noldor. I loved Fingolfin bringing so many of the peoples of Middle-earth together at the Mereth Aderthad, despite Thingol’s resistance. I love Fingon and Maedhros’ bromance/romance and their maintaining the military alliance that held back Morgoth for nearly 500 years. I love all of the sons of Fëanor (Curufin a little less than the rest—Sorry! I know he had a hard life—just like his father only not nearly as brilliant—poor guy!). I count Huan among the Family—what a hound! He’s the good part of the story of Beren and Lúthien—the rest is kind of a snooze for me (heresy, I know). I love Fëanor and Nerdanel—the power couple of the power people! OMG! I want to reunite them! I love Finarfin (despite him make the wrong choice about going into exile)—love his wife and his kids and his non-Noldorin preference for the Telerin names and customs. I adore Tuor—especially the part of coming to Gondor and running into Voronwë, the sea god, and the swans, and finding the armor (that’s awesome storytelling!). Of course I love Arehel and Galadriel! Dark and light. Impulse and cunning. Wonderful women, who should have had more space. I love Idril, getting her hands dirty as an engineer in Gondolin and saving so many, with a little help from Ecthelion and Glorfindel and her husband. I love Idril and Tuor’s baby Eärendil—so heartbreakingly cute—dipping into HoMe for that! I love Ecthelion and Glorfindel—the descriptions of those two alone would make me love them without their deeds.  Giving short shrift here to the Sindar—but I have plenty of crushes among them also: Daeron, Beleg, and Mablung. How about Húrin saying good-bye to his wife and kid and his brass balls at the Battle of Unnumbered Tears? And Azaghâl  at Unnumbered Tears: “the Dwarves raised up the body of Azaghâl and bore it away; and with slow steps they walked behind singing a dirge in deep voices.” I want to see that filmed. Last but not least, Maedhros, Maglor, Elrond, and Elros! There are so many more great storylines and so much delicious heartbreak! Almost forgot to mention how much I adore Finrod--so much so that he get’s a citation from the bio I wrote for him: “He is a brilliant, beautiful, golden icon, bigger-than-life, and shaped from the same heroic mold as all of his flame-eyed compatriots, those notorious and charismatic Noldorin Lords of the West. If that were not enough, Finrod is also a great wizard, a friend to Men and Dwarves, and loyal to his allies and closest kinsmen, even when faced with safeguarding their dirtiest secrets. While his virtues are extolled well beyond those of any of his cousins or brothers, Finrod remains just flawed enough to be sexy.” And non-Quenta Silmarillion stories? Well, there is that three-volume book about the Third Age and its outcome. Not to mention Númenor. Don’t make me chose! The latest thing you learned that made you reconsider or change your view on something in Tolkien’s world? Honestly, I do that constantly. I have to admit I get the most enlightenment from within the fandom and not from the voluminous works of Tolkien scholars I read when I am doing research for my own non-fiction ruminations. Thoughts on Fëanor not wanting to share the Silmarils after the Darkening? I have to agree with @jane-ways who said it felt “like it had more to do with his distrust of the Valar than selfishness.” And, not even Fëanor himself could replicate them for a part of his life force was spent in their creation. Nonetheless, the Valar insisted that he relinquish them. Only Aulë appeared to understand the breaking of the Silmarils would result in the destruction of Fëanor. He told his brethren: “We ask a greater thing than thou knowest. Let him have peace yet awhile.'” Of course, they ignored him, the one amongst them who understood Fëanor best.

I’m tagging @vefanyar, @himring, @nimium-amatrix-ingenii-sui @lucifers-cuvette, @ignoblebard , @grundyscribbling   @imindhowwelayinjune anyone else who would like to answer!

#silmarillion questions #noldor lover #all the doomed elves #canon heretic