#polutrope

[zealouswerewolfcollector]

#i wish i was the kind of writer who could pull off writing #maedhros/himring

I just had to tell you this is so inspired. I think you could pull it off, but regardless I agree Would Read. Tell us more...? If you wish.

Thanks! I keep putting it in the TRSB suggestions list, but so far nothing :D

If I wrote it, I'd write about Maedhros building Himring and rebuilding himself at the same time. Putting a bit of his defiance, his stubbornness, his will to live into its stones. Building it as a shield and feeling possessive over it like a lover. They are intertwined. The connection is tangible, almost physical. Losing it after the Nirnaeth is akin to losing a limb, which Maedhros is more than familiar with.

Orcs give it a wide berth even after it's conquered because Maedhros's white fire still burns in its stones.

Himring lives even after Beleriand dies. It's derelict, barely a few stones remain from it, but it lives. It preserves the best that Maedhros had, though Maedhros himself loses it and falls into despair.

It's stones glow under the light of the morning star.

#ask #polutrope #maedhros #himring #silmarillion #it's just that beautiful descriptions aren't my strong suit #but this fic would need them

[emyn-arnens]

No need to do this because I already got one, but if it inspires, any character(s) + Angband (and area) + 'shadows of madness and despair'. (You did say darker ones...)

An age later, here this is! An AU with Finrod and Sauron in Angband, ~700 words | AO3.

Finrod stood in the dark of his cell, searching. A hushed song fell from his cracked lips. Its notes buried themselves deep within the stones and mortar of his cell, probing for fissures and points of weakness.

In whispered words, he sang of loosening, of breaking, of splitting, of falling free, of light piercing the shadows. The stones trembled at his voice, and his chains shivered against his skin. Dust trickled over his fingertips, pressed against the stone wall behind him. He scratched at a line of mortar with his fingernail as he sang, and a spray of dust fell upon his hands.

He sang of the lashing rain throwing down great rocks in mountain passes, of the flash of lightning cleaving mighty trees in two, of the thunder of cavalry rattling the mountainsides, of the howling of wind splitting strong walls asunder. The stones of his cell danced and quivered in response, and dust and shards of stone fell like rain, biting into his bare skin.

Finrod sang louder, until the stones shook with both the power of his song and the ringing of his voice.

And then, in an instant, the stones fell silent and still, and his voice died in his throat.

Shadows, darker than those he already stood in, gathered in a corner of his cell, and from them came a voice: “Thou hast great power in thy voice, but it will not avail thee.” The shadows twisted and coiled, and from them stepped his captor.

Finrod bore Sauron’s mocking appraisal in silence. 

Sauron circled him, the shadows following him like the swish of a cloak. He tipped a clawed finger beneath Finrod’s chin and looked deep into his eyes, searching. His own eyes burned like the hearts of embers.

Shadows and whispers pressed upon Finrod’s mind, probing, prying. He held his mind silent and still.

Sauron tilted his head. He lifted his hand to Finrod’s face, studying it with appreciation, and the slow stroke of his fingers down the side of Finrod’s face was like a caress, even as the tips of his claws drew beads of blood from Finrod’s skin. “Wast thou a king? Thou hast a kingly bearing.”

Finrod did not speak.

Sauron gripped his chin and leaned closer until his breath stirred Finrod’s hair, lying lank against his neck and shoulders. “Thy tongue is better suited to song than silence,” he murmured. His words skittered over Finrod’s skin like the grazing of claws. He released Finrod and stepped back, a smile playing upon his lips. “Sing for me, little king.”

Finrod did not speak.

Sauron’s smile spread. “If thou dost not wish to sing of thy own doing, I can aid thee in loosening thy tongue.” 

The shadows that clung to him peeled away, and in an instant, they seized Finrod’s throat and forced open his jaw, and a cry tore from his lips.

“Sing.” The command filled the cell until the stones trembled.

Finrod’s voice tore from his throat despite himself, and he sang. He sang until his tongue was thick with dust, until his lips cracked and bled, and until his voice was no more. He sang until his limbs shook and trembled, and he sagged in his chains, utterly spent.

Only then did the shadows about his throat relent and slink back to their master.

Sauron cupped Finrod’s face in his hand, and his eyes burned into Finrod’s. “I will learn thy true name in time, and thou wilt come to do my bidding of thine own will.”

Finrod’s tongue was too heavy to respond.

Sauron brushed his fingers over Finrod’s lips and then smiled, sudden and sharp. “Dost thou thirst?” The sound of falling water filled the cell, and a rivulet of water trickled from a crack in the wall mere feet away from Finrod.

Sauron vanished as quickly as he had appeared, and Finrod stood alone in his cell once more. He strained at his chains, but though he strained until his limbs burned, the trickle of water evaded his reach, and he collapsed against the wall more weary and parched than he had been.

The rivulet of water disappeared. Lilting laughter echoed about the stone walls of his cell. How foolish thou art, little king.

And all through the night came the sound of gently falling rain, though not a single drop fell upon Finrod's skin.

#the silmarillion #finrod #sauron #asks #polutrope #my fic #posting this is only *checks notes* seven months after receiving this #iirc i wasn't able to finish this one before i had to pivot to working on tolkiengenweek pieces and then i had writing burnout for a while #after that #but it's written now and my inbox is all cleared out for the new year wooo! #this was a lot of fun to write thanks for the ask!

[grey-gazania]

I'm sorry someone bombarded you with bitchy comments 😭. While my To Read list is lengthy and continually lengthier (actually I think something of yours with her is on it), I'd like to hear more about Ianneth-Fingon-Maedhros if you want to talk about them.

@polutrope

It wasn't really upsetting, just annoying and honestly a little bit funny. This guy left comments on all six chapters of By Love or at Least Free Will, every time I updated the story, just objecting to the entire premise of the story and ranting about how Elves have incorruptible pure souls and are immune to lust. I was sorely tempted to respond with this quote from "Laws & Customs Among the Eldar":

Even when in after days, as the histories reveal, many of the Eldar in Middle-earth became corrupted, and their hearts darkened by the shadow that lies upon Arda, seldom is any tale told of deeds of lust among them.

'Seldom' is not the same thing as 'never', and furthermore, I don't think lust is even a major theme of my story. It's more about conflicting obligations and unruly hearts.

In the end I deleted the comments without responding, because I have a personal policy of not engaging with people who are acting in bad faith. But I have to assume that this guy has no actual hobbies if he spends his time hate-reading entire stories instead of just...closing the window and moving on with his life. Maybe take up crochet, bro? Or volunteer at a soup kitchen? Watch a TV show that you like? Grow some tomatoes? Do something that will be more fulfilling than typing long screeds on AO3. I promise it will make you a happier person.

Anyway. On to the actual topic of your ask! As you've probably noticed, I am very fond of Russingon. However, I am also very fond of Fingon as Gil-galad's father. At first I balanced these two ideas by keeping my Russingon ideas and my Fingon-father-of-Gil-galad ideas in two separate universes, but then I started really fleshing out Gil-galad's mother, and it made me think some thoughts. To repeat something I said to @cuarthol in a comment on AO3:

...half the genesis of Ianneth was seeing so many stories (in multiple fandoms, not just Tolkien) where the woman is written out of a canon or semi-canon couple to make room for a popular M/M ship instead, without the female character being treated with any respect. I decided that the female perspective on that situation would be a nice change of pace and interesting to write.

I'm not trying to point fingers -- I'll readily admit that I have my male faves just like the next gal and that it's fun to make them kiss -- but the wives and girlfriends don't get a lot of love in fandom, do they? And it doesn't help that the legendarium in general tends to be a bit of a sausage fest. So I decided that Fingon would have a wife and be in love with Maedhros. But instead of focusing just on the forbidden love, I was going to focus on the wife's feelings, too.

Ianneth ("bridge-woman") is one of the Northern Sindar, from the community that lives around Lake Mithrim. She's the daughter of Annael (yes, that Annael), whom I've imagined to be one of the more influential leaders among the Northern Sindar, and particularly among the Elves of Mithrim.

Her betrothal to Fingon starts as a political arrangement. Fingolfin loves Fingon dearly, of course, but he's also been hinting for a while now that Fingon really needs to settle down and start having kids so that there will be a strong line of heirs should Fingolfin die. After all, Argon's dead, and Turgon and Aredhel abruptly fucked off to god-knows-where some three hundred years ago and haven't been seen nor heard from since. Your dad needs some grandsons, Fingon, and this also seems like a ripe opportunity to strengthen the Noldor's alliance with the Northern Sindar.

I don't think political marriage is unknown among the Elves of Beleriand. (For one example in the text, see Celegorm trying to marry Luthien to force Doriath into an alliance.) And the quote I drew the title of the aforementioned Fingon/Ianneth story from, also found in "Laws and Customs Among the Eldar," is:

The Eldar wedded only once in life, and for love or at the least by free will upon either part.

Free will could easily mean, "Are we in love? No. But I'll still marry you, for the good of our peoples, and I'll bring some of Dad's soldiers along with me." That sort of thing happened all the time among real-world nobility, so I see no reason why it can't happen among Elven nobility in Beleriand, too.

At any rate, Fingolfin arranges for Fingon to meet the daughters of some of the more powerful leaders of the Northern Sindar, and he's hint-hint-hinting that Fingon really needs to pick one of them to be his wife. Fingon, having been in love with Maedhros since they were young in Valinor, is not exactly keen on this plan. But he goes along with it anyway because he is a dutiful son, he knows that his father is right about needing to strengthen the line of succession, and he also knows that revealing his (quite taboo!) relationship with Maedhros to his father would probably break Fingolfin's heart.

It takes Fingon a while to decide who to court, but he picks Ianneth because he likes her sense of humor; she has the guts to gently tease him at their first meeting, which he finds quite charming. He doesn't think he can love anyone besides Maedhros, but he does look at Ianneth and think, "This is a woman I could grow to care for and whose companionship I think could enjoy."

The trouble begins when, over the course of their courtship, Fingon starts falling in love with Ianneth without falling out of love with Maedhros. And he doesn't know what to do about this. He can't call off the marriage, and he doesn't want to break things off with Maedhros, so he decides to just...keep the whole thing with Maedhros a secret and marry Ianneth anyway. It's not a good decision, but really, are there any options here that won't end with someone getting hurt? I don't think so.

So we have Ianneth, blissfully ignorant of her husband's infidelity (for now); Fingon, in love with two people at once and feeling horribly guilty about it, but unwilling to pick one partner over the other; and Maedhros, resigned to the situation but still hurting because Fingon is no longer his alone.

Maedhros' feelings are complicated by the fact that, once he meets her, he finds that likes Ianneth. It would be easier, he thinks, if he could write her off as just a political necessity for Fingon, but it turns out that she's charming and intelligent and kind, and he can understand why Fingon loves her. His feelings soften further once Ereiniel is born, because Fingon is so happy being a father, and he loves Fingon, so how can he begrudge him that? There's a line from "Famous Blue Raincoat" by Leonard Cohen that I always think of when I'm getting into Maedhros' head at this point:

And thanks for the trouble you took from [his] eyes. I thought it was there for good, so I never tried.

Things tick along about as smoothly as they can for thirteen years, until, in the aftermath of Fingolfin's death during the Dagor Bragollach, as Fingon prepares to send Ianneth and Ereiniel to the Falas for their safety, Ianneth learns his secret. This is understandably devastating for her, and leaves her wondering if Fingon ever really loved her as she loved him, or if his marriage to her was simply a politically expedient sham.

Add to that the fact that she leaves for the Falas less than ten hours after this revelation and spends most of that ten hours either crying or asleep, as she's too upset to really talk to Fingon about what she's discovered, and it leaves her with this horrible knowledge and all the worst thoughts that come from it gnawing at her nearly a full year until Fingon next comes to Eglarest -- time that she spends as the sole caregiver for her young daughter, among strangers in a foreign city, without her mother or her sister or any of her friends who might have theoretically been able to offer her some emotional support.

Theoretically is a key word there, though, because even if, say, her sister had come to Eglarest, Ianneth isn't sure she'd even be able to tell her. For one thing, she can't help feeling ashamed, because infidelity is very rare among Elves, and she can't help thinking that maybe she failed as a wife somehow, and if she'd done something different, Fingon wouldn't have strayed. Then there's the fact that he's the High King of the Noldor, and if this gets out it could cause a crisis in the Noldorin government and possibly tank the alliance between the House of Fingolfin and the Northern Sindar. Ianneth is a practical woman, and she's of the Northern Sindar -- the people who have been living practically on Morgoth's doorstep for centuries, with no Maia queen's magic girdle to protect them. Their alliance with the Noldor is vital, and she would never want to jeopardize it.

So Ianneth is just...completely alone with this pain. She has no one to turn to, no one who can comfort her. And that pain is central to her story, and a not insignificant part of Ereiniel's story, too.

#polutrope #turns out when you ask me about my ocs i turn into treebeard #ianneth #fingon's wife #fingon #maedhros #gil galad #woman king au #my ocs

[meadowlarkx]

wild-wandering by wood and glen

Elves poured out of the palace-fortress that was Menegroth, into the woods that the queen’s magic had made safe again. They were deep and green and dark, starlight trickling faintly down through furled leaves that had never seen another kind of light. The Elves sang, Daeron’s hands flew upon her pipes, and the wood grew more beautiful. Trees grew new bark over the scars made by enemy weapons. Moss covered bones that sank calmly into the thick loam, vanishing forever. Thingol wore the great sword Aranrúth and spoke still of danger, but it was danger’s absence that many felt, for the first time in this land complete and wonderful.

Daeron had her study back, which had briefly been converted into a storehouse for maps and missives. She drew pen to ink and then to paper and began again with a poem set to the notes of a zither. Thingol and Melian laughed and drew into each other’s arms in the beech grove when she played it, as though reeled by a thread.

There was only one restless soul in this new paradise.

“Come away with me,” Lúthien whispered as Daeron packed up her instrument.

Holiday gift fic for @polutrope! Three little moments ft. fem!Daeron/Lúthien | Read here on AO3

#daeron #luthien #lúthien #silmarillion #silm fic #sapphictolkien #the silm #the silmarillion #etc #silmarillion fic #my fic #polutrope #I HOPE YOU LIKE THIS at least a little !! it fought me but your concept is so so incredible and (to me) so bittersweet

[gwaedhannen]

💖 for Maedhros

✨ for Elwing

(Unusual headcanons ask game)

💖 - Romantic relationships or ships. (This could be as simple as sharing a rareship you enjoy, or an unusual interpretation of a popular/canon ship!)

I mean just saying I usually don't care for Russingon counts as unusual around here. But in all seriousness, dude is almost too asexual to function. No time for fucking when there's Thangorodrim to glare at.

✨ - Worldbuilding or background story elements.

She—she was three years old, terrified out of her mind, she almost certainly generated a false memory after the fact, the timing shouldn't have worked, she knows this— but when she was being carried out of Doriath through the woods, bundled against Evranin as tight as possible to not let any hint of the Light she carried escape, she thought, just for a moment, that she saw two small figures watching them.

And she can't help but think, for the rest of time: if they were really there, if I had called, they would know my voice. They would have known we were safe.

#silmarillion #tolkien #maedhros #elwing #ask game #polutrope #stormthinken

[niennawept]

Random ask! Okay, I never finished RoP (didn't like it) but I find it irritating how often Silm fans just assume *no one* liked it. Often quite innocuously, but the assumption is there. So I love your positivity about it.

If you like, tell me why you love Adar. He was definitely the most interesting character to me.

Ahhhh! I'm so glad you asked! I'm sorry it took so long to reply, but I felt I needed time to distill it so I wouldn't ramble too much.

Spoilers below the cut for anyone who hasn't seen TROP, and still wants to

It's implied in one of the later episodes that Adar is an elf of Cuiviénen because he's one of the first orcs (he and his family prefer uruks - so I will call them that from now on). I already had a build-in interest in Cuiviénen. It's one of those times/places in Tolkien's worldbuilding that I'm just bursting with curiosity about. What's it like to wake up an adult? What's it like to discover parenthood? And language presumably? And cooking and clothing and everything? I wish we knew more about those first elves. And the thought of one of them being here in the Second Age and twisted into the father of uruks?! That leads me to my next point.

He was changed! He's ruthless and pragmatic and a very organized leader, if his results are anything to go by. He's not squeamish about doing objectively terrible things. BUT! He's not completely lost his elveness, nor his goodness, which I view as separate things, though I think the show wants us to equate them. Morgoth himself couldn't completely stamp either thing out of him and that's so compelling to me! He could easily have taken some form of revenge on Arondir who just killed one of his sons, but he doesn't. He offers to let the Southlanders go, if they will swear fealty (in order to not fight them). It makes me wonder about the others who were twisted into uruks. Were they the same? Different? A spectrum of degrees of corruption? To me, it also echoes returned thralls. Gwindor has always found a soft spot in my heart and it's hard not to see the parallels.

The fact that he doesn't belong perfectly anywhere. He's not fully elven and he's not fully uruk. He has experiences that each group can understand and can never understand and I just think that's incredible! This character as an island between two peoples with different traditions and cultures!! [incoherent screeching about the THEMES]

Bonus: When I was a lot younger, I had "first orc" OCs. I can't remember the details of any of their stories now, but something about the idea of being captured and changed appealed to me as a story-telling device. I liken it to the Borg in Star Trek, how people are forever changed by the experience of being assimilated but they can be reclaimed too.

I think that answers your question in more detail than you could ever possibly want. Thank you so much for letting me ramble about the blorbo from my shows 💖

#niennaanswers #polutrope #adar rings of power #gosh - he's just all of the things I like to explore in a trenchcoat #I am so normal about this uruk

[welcomingdisaster]

Appearance and quirks/hobbies headcanons for Maedhros? (His appearance is so fanonized, so I'm curious...)

Thank you for the ask!! I have to admit my appearance HCs for him are inspired in large part by the art I've seen in fandom! (This is variably true for my appearance HCs. I've got a few I will one day fight fandom about /lh).

Tallest of his brothers and immediate family, obviously, but shorter than Turgon and Thingol. You mostly think he's impressively tall because he's standing next to six other tall guys and he's the tallest of them all.

Handsome/beautiful/etc but also not notably the fairest of his brothers (that's Celegorm!). I think his mother-name is more about his build (very athletic, practical, lean muscle) than his facial features.

Pale grey eyes.

Very deliberate way of moving/holding himself. You would expect him to bump into things because he's, generally, very large, but he does not.

I think the majority of his post-Thangorodrim scars are not from torture/blade/etc but from smashing against the rock wall when he hung, and out of boredom/desperation/etc clawing at his own skin, especially around his right arm. Slightly crooked nose where he smashed against the cliff face and broken it before.

To add on to that: shoulders unevenly set post-Thangorodrim. One is notably higher than the other, giving him a weirdly lopsided look.

I have a lot of Noldor nail-painting hcs & I think Maedhros tends to go for a very classic red/pink/purple nail color when he paints his.

Not a ton of piercings. Has his usual ear piercings and wore a nose ring in Valinor, but doesn't bother with jewelry beyond maybe a few rings and a chain or two in Beleriand.

I usually HC him wearing a prosthetic only for special occasions. He cannot stand to have something strapped to him that way for long. I do think he is very practical about using the stump of his right arm, and uses it very fluidly.

Excellent poker face. Delivers both serious news and jokes in the same flat tone of voice. Genuinely hard to tell if he's fucking with you.

He's one of those guys that has a various hobbies he's pretty invested in without having a strong Thing. He reads, he hunts, he likes to go on walks. He gambles and plays games. He keeps hounds and is fairly invested in their well-being. In his youth he was a semi-okay painter (mostly landscapes) but he stopped doing it during the exile never picked that back up again.

If he's speaking to someone and thinks they're not listening, he'll start saying something ridiculous and/or insulting in the exact same tone of voice to see if they notice. This is mostly a habit he's gained from talking to Maglor, who is fairly distractible when he's bored.

Tendency to think through every action before he takes it, very pronounced. He does not start packing until he knows everything he needs. He does not write letters until he is sure what he will put to paper. Sometimes it is very easily to predict where he is going to go because he maps out his exact path with his eyes.

His bed is a big pile of heavy furs draped over with a few blankets over top. He's a very big guy but there's such a wild misshapen blanket situation going that it's genuinely hard to tell if he's in bed or not if you don't see his head.

A few streaks of white in his hair after his captivity. For a while he dyes his hair, which doesn't end up matching the color due to the dyes he has access to (so the streaks will usually look either bright yellow or red, not copper). Gives up on this towards the end of his life.

#mentions of self harm #maedhros #polutrope

[searchingforserendipity25]

For the Silm Phrase Prompts, any character(a) + Ossiriand + without wish or purpose?

Thank you @polutrope! It took a while but it's here. A more whimsical approach to one of the most heartbreaking line about Túrin, now with Finrod and his problematic cousins on their famous road trip. 

-

Tourist Traps 

Finrod rose, tottering a little on his feet, and grasped a helpful bough with one hand.

“No, hearken to me. There is no danger of us being eaten, therefore we should go. We are, indeed, obligated to go on. For are we not hunters, we are scholars, and, most of all, we are princes of the Noldor. We are, seekers and inquirers of every wonder in the great kingdoms of Beleriand -” 

“Speak for yourself. The flesh-eating begonia was enough. If I wanted to chat with deceitful creatures set on dominating my spirit and eating the remains, I would have stayed at home and hosted the dragons, or invited my brothers for a visit.”

Maedhros did not need to open his eyes to tug at his brother’s plait. 

“I did not wish to use the Ice as such petty leverage,” Finrod said. “But.” 

“But,” Maedhros said, not bothering with inflections, nor to open his eyelashes from his doze.

Maglor at least had the grace to stop braiding his damp hair to look at him with a vaguely solemn look. He had drunk too much cider for it to be very convincing - like Curvu and their esteemed father, he went terribly pink all around the ears after three glasses - but he did try. 

Finrod lifted his nose. “I am surprised at you, cousin. The journey was your notion. It is a diplomac endeavour. We are on a hunting trip, as is the way of noble princes, and restablishing ties of kinship, and the like.”

“Methinks Finrod has had enough reestablishment,” commented Maglor slyly. That could not be blamed on the drink. “With us, at least. Really we are very easy and steady people, and very boring; it has to be the poisonous flowers for Felagund to enjoy his holidays, and nothing else will do.” 

“This orchid is not said to be malicious,” Finrod says, coaxingly. “It merely makes forceful osanwë contact on very rare occasions, by all accounts.” 

“I am not following you into the maw of a ravenous plant because of remorse,” Maglor told Finrod, very seriously. “You get a sorrowful song about it, and you have already said you do not want the song.”

“No one wants the song,” Finrod reiterated with feeling. Turukáno had been very clear about that. 

“And that is fair! But it does not mean I am willing to abase myself merely to please you, or please myself into feeling better about past errors; therefore, I am regretful, Ingoldo, but not enough for ravenous plants. I do not think this is unreasonable.” 

“Children, please,” Maedhros said, from somewhere underneath his impressive straw hat. “You are both too bony and, frankly, stringy to an unappetizing degree. No self-respecting flora, or fauna, or uruk would take a bite out of you.” 

“See,” Finrod said, quite pleased. Maedhros’ say-so was powerful leverage, among the grandchildren of Finwë; it was said to have a powerful effect even upon king Fingolfin. “Maedhros is an expert in his field, and he agrees with me.”

 Maglor wrinkled his nose, in very much the same way he always did when Maedhros agreed with someone that was not him. 

“Besides all else,” Maedhros added. “The Laiquendi have given us leave on condition of our best conduct, and we all known Finrod’s naturalist efforts do not always mind such things as local legislature.” 

Finrod splashed his feet in the water, just at the right angle to dampen Maglor’s hems. “Bah. Spoilsport. The two of you!“

“Cowards,” Maedhros said dryly. “Dreadful faint hearts, truly.”

Maglor tied off his hair and bend down with the wooden comb to start brushing his brother’s, not without tugging at him in retaliation.

“Poor Felagund, stuck in such wretched company. I am most sorry, of course; your quest is high-hearted, but there is nought in this world that would urge me to go into the mazes of caves under the wood for the pleasure of inquiring into the mind of a sentient plant.”

“Nought,” Maedhros agreed, in a tone that was like the closing of a door.  

There was silence, for a little time, such as there was ever silence in the sweet green light of the glen. A dragonfly wove its way between the reeds; the wild doves spoke earnestly at each other above their eyes. 

Maedhros deigned at last to turn his head and open one eye of burning white. “Shall you go alone, if we do not follow?”

“Oh, very likely,” said Finrod, quite unembarrassed.  “Tis a patrolled land, safe as much as any in Beleriand, and safer than most.” 

The trick of getting his cousin to do anything, Finrod knew, and Maglor knew, and Fingon knew, was to be cheerfully self-interested, and tug him along into his own enjoyment. The fact that Maedhros tended to know when it was happening did not make it any less effective. 

They did, of course, go with him. 

-

Finrod, he felt, could be excused some complacent smugness; for all things had gone quite as well as he had contrived them to be. Art, lore, and culinary pleasure: half-way through a long trek down the talan road and the charming road by the high canopies, he started entertained the notion of writing a little travel guide when he returned to Nargothrond, for truly there was a great deal to be said of the beauty of Ossiriand, and all that one might do and see in it.

 It was a hunting journey, even, in the sense that they had followed both orc tracks and harts on the way to the forest, before entering it properly. 

The peace the Green-elves kept was quite perfect, however, and the herds of deer were only to be hunted a few scant times a year; for they were friends of the trees and friends of the beasts, the singers of the forest, and even their diet was mostly of those untended plants and fruits that grew in plenty out in the wild, carefully stewarded over long, long years. 

They had pledged solemnly to respect the peace of the Green-elves, and even mostly done it - Maedhros had a talent for interrupting whenever Finrod’s inquiries and interviews on the lore of the Avari grew wearisome, and as Maglor would as much talk to the streams as those who kept them clear, he fit in quite well with the people of Ossiriand. 

Dutifully - his itinerary notes, Finrod had noted, were quite strictly planned and unpleaseantly reminiscent to his maps of war - his cousin had lead them from sight-seeing landmark to landmark: Tatië’s Parlour, the beautiful caves with remarkable drawings left behind during the Journey, and the the great salmon-leaping competition down the Legolin and the great singing circles of celebration afterwards, and even, at Finrod’s insistence, timed their trip to coincide with the famous Laiquendi Bicentennial Berry Tour. 

 (Fifty different kinds of blackberries in a single biosphere was really quite remarkable. Finrod had a number of interesting conversations with the bush-stewards all throughout, while Maedhros stood tall and grim beside him, with his pale mouth juice-stained and his great arms holding a growing number of baskets whenever Maglor came back from his mercenary wanderings from stall to stall.) 

 He was very thorough, Maedhros, enough to become a little more at ease: and when all dramatic waterfalls and interesting ancient trees were met, he went about the high grass and the wildflowers with the fierce determination of an elf looking for optimal levels of sun-dappled sunshine and healthful photosynthesis. At which point, when it was found, he laid down his very, very long self, arranged his hair charmingly about himself, and fell asleep into a stillness greater than the stillness of the boulders by the water. 

Maglor liked to complain, and to make his yielding cost a great deal to everyone involved if it could be arranged, but he had been the one to connive with Finrod to decide upon the times and the places of their escape.

Between his cunning references and Finrod’s insistent offers, they had gained a slow victory in the long work of convincing Maedhros that Himring would not be attacked by surprise or fall into rubble if her lord went to the forest for his health for a year only, not even that long.

 It had been a great effort top prepare for such a journey. It was only afterwards, when they rode idly under the green leaves of Ossiriand, that they came to find all the planned excursions paled before the plain pleasure of swimming in the clear rivers and fishing trout to eat when hungry, with no hurry and no duties to attend. For a time it was a little like a return to the Noontide, when all was joy, at least never so great a trouble a journey through Aman could no diminish out of sight. 

Finrod had known the peace of green Ossiriand would do Maedhros good, and it did. Maedhros, who had little chance for warmth in Himring, shed his furs only when it proved untenable, and went about the endeavor of enjoying himself with a steady vigilance that was more unnerving for being so constant. 

It was not an arrangement without self-interest, and Finrod was not sorry to admit it. He had so long wished for such a journey, and set about elaborating all his collecting of stories and specimens with care. 

And he suspected Maglor had only been half-jesting, when he wrote saying he was to be exiled for the year out of command; he became ever more impossible to bear, the less time he had for his art; a little time to retreat from the Gap was a considerable benefit to all his loyal riders.

After the first fortnight of discourses and re-acquaintance, and all the great events and views had been sharply scratched out of the list, Maglor had gained a distracted look in his eyes, and started giving the strong impression he would far rather be left to his devices and his harp for a short eternity, without having to speak to anyone, and be perfectly content in this way. 

Finrod enjoyed the opportunity for collaborations, when they came; but this was not that. Mostly they laid about in the shade drinking cider and eating a dozen variety of nuts, hunting for the best place riverside rock to sun-bath on.

It was not, it had to be said, particularly exciting stuff. Finrod started to grow a little mad by the second fortnight of peaceable, thorough journeying - there was, after all, so much wisdom found only in the hidden wonders of the wild, and his own list of places that must absolutely be perused at length.

 In all fairness, the orchid did blossom fully into mind-contact very rarely. It made its displeasure known in more straightforwardly most of the time. There was, perhaps, a reason why the land around it was kept so secure.

(And then Maglor put his foot down and decided he really did need to finish his composition, and bullied Maedhros’ into taking an appointment in the hot springs while he was occupied, quite well-deserved after he was through with the grueling work of explaining matters to the local ranging authorities; and Finrod did go on alone, in the end.

Singing as he went, he sought beauty with no aim but to seek it, well-inclined to find a new marvel under every canopy, finding it indeed in the least expected of guises - thought his cousins never did cease to tease him for his hankering for strange specimens, begonias and orchids and slumbering Aftercomers all.)

#asks and answers #finrod #maedhros #maglor #my fics #polutrope #this was not supposed to be so long and so late or so silly but honestly it's been whittled down a fair bit

[maironsbigboobs]

Beleg for the character ask game, and Thingol.

Give me a character and I will give you my thoughts on

I already talked about Beleg (sentences I could say everyday) so here is my dear Kingy Thingy

one aspect about them i love: He is such compelling figure! He's the antagonistic father in a fairy-tale, he's the kindly foster-father, he's the proud elf king. I love that we get to see his shift in his attitudes to Beren and men in general.

one aspect i wish more people understood about them: I think people forget (or overlook?) that before the Nauglamír incident, the relationship between Thingol and the Dwarves (of Belegost, but I can see no reason why it wouldn't extend to Nogrod) was good! They were friends! Which makes Thingol's actions in the Nauglamír incident more tragic and more symbolic of the destruction in Valinor, if that makes sense.

one (or more) headcanon(s) i have about this character: I think he was a very involved and doting father.

as well as

one character i love seeing them interact with: Shocking no one, but Beleg and Mablung (who count as 1, okay). I love the three of them.

one character i wish they would interact with/interact with more: The children of Finarfin! Those are his grand-nephews and nieces. We know he let them in Doriath and Gal lives there, but I wonder what their relationships with him were like. (Also - they count as 1. to me.)

one (or more) headcanon(s) i have that involve them and one other character: I think he has very complicated feelings about Fëanor and Fingolfin. Those are dear Finwë's boys.... but they aren't him and you know, the kinslaying and the fact their arrival coincides with the return of Problem #1 (Morgoth)

#answered #polutrope #thingol #<3

[thecoolblackwaves]

Dying at "Family Orgy Thing (this sounds bad but it's Feanorians)" 😂please say more

😂 It's about as ridiculous, smutty, and taboo as it sounds lmao. I'll give you a snippet:

Maitimo wasn't sure if he ought to be angry or not. His drawer full of sex toys was unlocked and raided, his favorite purple jelly dildo missing. It was either being used for its intended purpose, or as blackmail, but either way, the person who had it was almost definitely Carnistar. He crept silently down the hallway towards the room Moryo and the Ambarussa shared - he got on with them quite peacefully despite the skip in birth order, while Curufin and Celegorm condensed their crazy to a different room, hence this arrangement - and snuck up to the closed door. He eased it open as slowly as posible while pinching the hinge to stop it from creaking, and peaked inside. Aha! There, on his brother’s nightstand, was the missing dildo. In plain view! He would have to tack on a discussion about age appropriate behavior around the twins onto the ones they would already be having about stealing personal possessions and sexual exploration.

I started this one night when I was feeling rather, ahem, horny, and it's kind of spiraled from there into anything and everything I can think of for the seven sons to do together, whether in pairs or as a group. Lots of exploration and new ideas and acrobatics and only one trip to the hospital so far. I'm also debating if I should add in Nerdanel and Feanor or not, perhaps in a sequel if I ever get that far.

#polutrope #thanks for asking!!!! #my writing #ask #tolkien #feanorians #mutuals #feanorian ot7

[emyn-arnens]

How about any character(s) + Nargothrond + old and forgotten?

Gildor Inglorion, G, 880 words (from this prompt list)

Nargothrond’s silence rang loud in its empty halls. 

Once, these halls had been filled with the music of harps and lutes, the bubble of laughter and conversation, and the sweet songs of nightingales. Once, fair tapestries had hung upon every wall, and warm light had spilled from jeweled lanterns.

Now, the halls were dark and cold, and no light pierced through the gloom. The lanterns that had hung upon the walls and pillars had been torn off, plundered for their jewels, and the tapestries hung in scorched tatters. The once-graceful carvings etched upon the floor were rent with gashes from the dragon’s claws.

No birdsong spilled from the shadows of the Hall of Song, and no music carried from the Hall of Harps. The Cave of Deep Water, where luminous fish had once swam, sinuous and serpentine, in the dark depths, was clogged with fallen stone. The Hall of Memory, where tapestries of Valinor, as beautiful as if Vairë herself had woven them, had once hung upon its walls, lay in ruin.

And upon everything hung the lingering reek and dread of Glaurung, a foul pall cloaking grief with horror.

All this Gildor saw as he sought the innermost halls, where stood the king’s throne, where Finrod, and Orodreth after him, had once sat, the silver crown of the King of Nargothrond glittering bright upon their brows in the light of the jewel-netted lanterns that hung from the ceiling. 

Rats and mice scuttled about the corridors, fleeing from his passage, and he watched the ground closely as he walked, for the rotted armor and bones of Elves and Orcs alike littered the floor. And everywhere was the scent of decay, noisome and rank, and the dread of Glaurung’s spirit grew.

The Great Hall opened before Gildor, lined with mighty pillars whose arching crowns disappeared into the gloom overhead, now cracked and broken from the passage of the dragon. Gildor stopped upon the threshold of the hall, his heart in his throat. 

At the end of the hall, the carven throne where Finrod once had sat and ruled with wisdom and justice stood cloven in two, and the tapestry behind it depicting the foam-washed shores of Aman had been rent by great claws. In the center of the hall, spreading from pillar to pillar, Glaurung’s hoard glinted dully, illuminated faintly by a crack in the ceiling.

Here, where Glaurung had long lain in pride and greed, sated by the death and ruin he had wrought, the reek and dread of the dragon lay heaviest, marring what had once been the fairest hall in Nargothrond. 

Gildor passed quickly through the hall to the cloven throne at the end, which stood proud still, even in its ruin. The emerald eyes of the carven serpents that twisted together to form the chair’s back glinted in the gloom, looking down upon Gildor as he approached. 

He knelt before the throne, as he had so many times before when Finrod and then Orodreth had sat upon it and received Gildor’s reports of the city and the surrounding woods. Withdrawing the sword at his side, he laid it at the foot of the cloven throne and bowed his head. “I am the last of the Knights of Nargothrond," he said, "and though I would have served my city and my king unto death, both have fallen and are no more, and my life yet lingers. I now lay down my sword, having fulfilled my final duty given to me.” Raising his head to look up at the serpents’ emerald eyes, he murmured, “ Savo hîdh neñ gurth .”

With a heavy heart, he turned and made his way back through the hall, until a glint of blue caught his eye and he stopped.

There upon the dragon hoard lay the blue brooch Finduilas had once worn glittering upon her shoulder—Finduilas, who had ever been generous with her smiles and laughter. Finduilas, whom he had been charged to protect—until in the madness and horror of that day, she had become lost in the panic and press of bodies, and in the chaos, one of the lords of the city had grasped his arm and bade him to escort Celebrimbor, who had little knowledge of the secret paths through the woods encircling Nargothrond, to safety and to guard his flight from the city.

Gildor had heard her cries as they fled, and he had thought he would never cease to hear them in the depths of the night, when the memory of her terror woke him.

He knelt before the hoard and picked up the brooch, running his thumb over the delicate filigree surrounding the blue stones. They were the color of bright flax flowers in the sunlight or shimmering butterfly wings and shone even in the dim mirk of the hall, as fair as the lady who had worn them.

“Forgive me, my lady, for failing to protect you,” Gildor whispered. “But I would keep this in memory of you and of the fair days before the end, for such a thing should not be left here to molder, forgotten, and your memory should be honored, as long as there is one left to guard it.”

He pressed the brooch tightly in his hand and left the hall.

crossposted to AO3 | SWG

#thank you so much for the ask! this was such a great prompt to fill! #i thought about using celebrimbor for this at first but gildor ended up being the perfect blank slate for this #the silmarillion #gildor #finduilas #silm fic #tolkien fic #my fic #asks #polutrope

[grey-gazania]

Fingon, 18, 23, 25?

@polutrope || character ask game

18. How about a relationship they have in canon with another character that you admire?

I'm a basic bitch -- I just adore Fingon's relationship with Maedhros. Anyone who's been following me for more than five minutes is probably aware that Russingon is my OTP of OTPs, but I have also read and enjoyed many a story that posits them as friends, too. I'm here for every permutation of their relationship, and I just love seeing all the different ways that various writers interpret their dynamic.

23. Favorite picture of this character?

The Death of Fingon by Tuuliky

25. What was your first impression of this character? How about now?

"Sure, he accidentally slew his kin that one time, but he felt really bad about it and never did it again, so we can forgive him." - Cirdan, probably, and also me on my first read-through

Now? He's heroic and he's Doomed, and he tries so hard but gets beaten into the dust with their maces for his efforts. He's justly most renowned of all the children of Finwe, by my god is he a mess. (I fully admit I make him messier in my fanfiction than he is in canon, but he's still a mess.) He's a Golden Hero with major flaws beneath the surface and I love him dearly.

#polutrope #dash games #fingon

[wifeglor]

What’s the most surprising smut pairing you’ve written?

Share a DVD commentary on Scripts and Tongues?

Share a smut rec for Maedhros.

thank you so much for the asks! 💖

13. What’s the most surprising smut pairing you’ve written? 

I think at this point, Gandalf/Círdan! I told a friend on the phone that I was going to write that pairing a couple months ago and was cackling at her reaction. Otherwise, maybe Daeron/Thingol (and thank you for your support of both of these!) Both are the only smut fics for these ships in their AO3 tags, so I guess I'm happy to feel like they fill some kind of niche!

22. Share a DVD commentary on [one of your smut fic/smutty scene from a longer work]. (Scripts and Tongues, the aforementioned Gandalf/Círdan)

Heheh. So this fic was born of 2 things basically: a past discussion with @searchingforserendipity25 that set up Gandalf/Círdan as A Ship in my mind, ft. beach imagery, and then my preparing to write some things for smut week and having the VISION implanted in my brain of like "sex joke featuring 'I'm missing your STAFF'". And then I thought it'd be charming to have this sexting take place sometime around LotR, in familiar events--I wasn't at first decided when and where, or if it might be like a "throughout FotR" kind of thing, or in Moria, but, I'm rereading LotR quite slowly now on audiobook and so had the episode of Gandalf recounting at Elrond's Council his research in Gondor's library on the brain. Initially, I wasn't settled on that setting/moment but the more I wrote it (and the more innuendos I could work in related to it) I quickly decided I was keeping it. :D I'd thought initially I might write a longer, sexier scene, but realized I liked it as a briefer piece just moving into the sexier part, focused on the part I was most excited to write and share (the sexting).

Also, I'm honestly full of thoughts about them now: in my head there's like a dramatic whole soap opera thing where Gandalf arrives in Middle-earth and is perhaps greeted with a little skepticism from Círdan (who instantly sees he is a Maia and who's already lived thru like the whole First Age, drowning of Turgon's and his own mariners, sinking of Beleriand etc), vs. Evil Rivalmance smooth-talking Love Interest/Ex Saruman, Círdan coming to trust Gandalf and give him Narya as a token of MARRIAGE um trust, becoming snarky yet relied-upon confidants and then naturally boyfriends, Saruman very personal inevitable yet slay betrayal, later angst and hurt/comfort (pain when the osanwe bond is severed as Gandalf 'dies' and returns??), seaside retirement and coming to know Gandalf's Maia form in Valinor after they sail... IDK IDK. There's so much there and I'm coming to have a lot of feelings about Gandalf as a character. I wish I wrote faster and had the motivation to do some kind of 50k longfic old man yaoi for them; I doubt that will happen but I hope you can imagine and experience for yourself the beautiful vision that it would be.

23. Share a smut rec for [character]. (Maedhros)

Oooh okay. I'm going to share just a few of my favs from across time and space...

Maedhros/Maglor:

Do Not Bait Me With Your Laughter by The_First_And_The_Last - SEARINGLY HOT times in Valinor ft. slightly dubcon Maedhros seduction of trans!Maglor. Absolutely formative!!

Hunting Time installment 2 by Divano_Messiah - Yes I did read this via googletranslate which makes some interesting choices, but the sheer poetry of this omegaverse series transcends language and culture. In this fic, Maedhros returns to the family home to realize Celegorm has taken advantage of Maglor, who is his own, and he restakes his claim. Just brilliantly indulgent, and contains the line "Nelyafinwe, are you fucking insane?" from Celegorm that rewired my brain about unhinged Maedhros potential.

No Pearls, No Feathers by dur - For something entirely different, rough and highly charged moments between Maedhros and Maglor in late stage Beleriand. This fic is packed with beautiful, weighty writing that really arrests you, making the reader feel and experience each second of this brief in time, yet SO POWERFULLY CHARGED and sexy scene with its rise and awful fall alongside Maglor. Really breathtaking, and Maglor thinking of Maedhros denting a goblet in his hand won't leave me ever now.

Maedhros/Fingon:

I already recommended Death and Taxes on another one of these asks, but...

Pantië by orphan account - Maedhros/Fingon, past Maedhros/Sauron - to this day the ANGSTIEST Nirnaeth fic to me even though it ends right before the battle itself. Maedhros' intimacy issues. Maedhros' control issues and desperate need to give up control. Sexy angst and manipulation all around, alongside and coexisting with this real, strong undercurrent of loving romance between Russingon.

Exchange of Favors by daphnerunning - this fic series I honestly read before I read the Silmarillion itself and it's meant so much to me, even as I've moved off in some interests! This installment is the sweetest, funniest, most intimate and tenderly charged Elves Roleplaying As Humans (Maedhros as Fingon's mistress). I love it so!

Maedhros/Thingol:

YEAHH babey secret sexiest ship of the book.

Guidance by iddump (and in fact the whole series that goes with this, but this is an incredible, soo sexy bite-sized version) - Thingol edging Maedhros while advising him (mentor to mentee... one lord to another...) on his correspondence.

Maedhros' Good Report Card by @imakemywings - fem!Maedhros as fem!Thingol's younger sugar baby in a modern AU. Being dommed so thoroughly and with such steady affection could probably fix everything wrong with Maedhros. I have to mention this one because fem!Thingol blew my mind this past week and I'm still reeling and recovering.

#answered #polutrope

[meadowlarkx]

Daeron/Finrod & 17. to distract

😘

“I have heard a new tale that may interest you.”

“Oh?” Finrod’s quick fingers toyed with the end of Daeron’s braid. “You know how I relish your stories.” He was in fact at work upon a compendium of Iathrim epics for his own reference, though Daeron had laughed to hear of the project and implied such a book would never be of any import while he lived as Menegroth’s loremaster. Of course, now neither of them were at any work at all. They sprawled upon the great mossy limb of a tree the size of a small Teleri lighthouse, and while autumn’s chill already bit at Beleriand, within the Girdle the air was temperate enough that Daeron’s tunic was enticingly open.

“Mmm.” Daeron was smiling. “You will relish this one even more, because it is about you.”

Finrod’s stomach dropped, yet he drew up the corners of his own smile. “I hope the teller has mentioned my wit and verve.”

Daeron laughed. “I will have to write that part in.” He turned lightly upon the bough to better face his companion. “No, dear Findaráto—” he used the Quenya name as a joke and a private boldness “—you are painted drear indeed. Why, your folk are told to have come across the Sea as exiles, thieves, and night-hunters—”

In haste, Finrod grabbed Daeron’s face and kissed him, though lacking the Sinda’s grace in the trees he nearly toppled them both to their deaths. Daeron made a startled noise, which turned into a pleased noise. As Finrod bore him back against the moss-covered bough Daeron flung out an arm to steady them, thus preserving both of the Elves to live out a few more tales. That settled, he relaxed into Finrod’s efforts and made several more melodic sounds. He was very warm and smelled of cedar and something greener, like dewed grass.

“Let me paint you a finer picture,” Finrod said, short of breath and rather flushed. “In a fonder medium.”

Daeron blinked a long moment as though trying to recall what their conversation had been about. His braids were quite askew. Still he waved his free hand with something like elegance. “Please go on.”

#my fic #daeron #finrod #silmarillion fic #silmarillion #daeron x finrod #etc. #polutrope #I HOPE U LIKE THEM #real talk: I like to imagine the rumors told were WILD ranging from 'they were exiled for cannibalism' to 'feanor tried to kidnap varda :(' #but for the purposes of this and also me checking and finding thingol did get valuable info from them i went with smth more traditional #kiss meme

[niennawept]

Could you share a quote and/or tell us about pax valarum 👀?

Oh, I'd be happy to; thank you for asking!

pax valarum is a fic set during the Chaining of Melkor and told from his perspective. I'll be writing a series of 100 short chapters (preferably drabbles) to explore his psyche and his relationships with the Valar that do interact with him during this time (mainly Námo, but to a lesser extent Nienna and Manwë). I think it's going to end up being a meditation on what makes the Valar think it's alright to let him out and the extent to which what he showed them was true or false.

This is the first drabble:

The chains bound him, but did not bite. Aulë’s work wouldn’t. Not as Mairon’s did. No, the great Angainor locked his power down deep, where he could scarce even feel it. When Tulkas kicked him, he fell to kneeling; his knees flared with vulgar, common pain. Weak as an elf. “Melkor.” Manwë’s voice rolled down from the throne like thunder over the mountains. “You have been—industrious.” It took all of his strength to muster a carefree smile. “Thank you for noticing, little brother.” But Manwë’s gaze lay behind him; a slim hand landed on his shoulder. “Well met, Námo.”

#niennaanswers #polutrope #wip ask game #pax valarum #Thank you so much!

[welcomingdisaster]

For pride month, I think you know who I want to see 😁. Daeron/Maglor being embarrassing -- to everyone else, they have no shame -- drama kids together, pretty please? Your art is so joyful, even when it's sad. I love it.

ahh thank you so much!! :,)

this ask spoke to the "put glitter on everything" side of me. i hope you enjoy it!

#i cheated a tiny bit but both of them DO have every rainbow color on them : #my art #polutrope #thank you for the ask!! #daemags #daeron #maglor