Beleriand - England
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Really want to write a fic exploring Finrod's position as a member of the Telerin royal family after reembodiment. Do they welcome him back? How forgiving would they be after his rebirth?
His father left Tirion at a young age, and seems to have stayed with the Teleri most of the time. Where (Shibboleth) Indis is saying she will speak as Finwë has decided the Noldor now will, and she will speak like her new people, you've got Arafinwë pronouncing th again (a conscious decision, his mother stopped when she assumed her new identity long before his birth, as did his father). Where his mother abandons her Vanyarin identity he reclaims it (and integrates into Telerin culture too).
Anyway back to Finrod-- given what we know about Arafinwë (spent most of his time with the Teleri, learned their language, married a Telerin princess, doesn't seem keen on insisting on his Noldorin identity or his rights as Fingolfin does) -- I think Finrod was raised as a much if not more as Telerin prince than a Noldorin one, despite being friends with his cousins and skill as a sculptor. We hear about Galadriel si-sa-ing as an exception in her family, both because she disliked Fëanor and because she wanted to speak as 'her people' did-- meaning 1. Galadriel very much sees the Noldor as her people despite her father's choices and largely not being Noldorin by descent 2. She is mentioned as an exception in Shibboleth; Finrod and his brothers are not. Despite his mothername and title there is no reason to assume he identified more with the Noldor than he did with his mother's people, or his grandmother's.
And about that title.
Finrod is a prince of the Noldor through his father. But even if the Teleri, like the Noldor seem to in Silm-- only pass the crown down through the male line (and there is no reason to assume they do; why should power work exactly the same way in every elvish culture?)-- he is still also a prince of the Teleri (Thingol emphasises his Telerin identity when he calls him "son of Eärwen").
A prince who did not fight for the Teleri.
Because that is never mentioned. There are versions in which Galadriel fights against the Fëanorians in defense of her kin.
There are no versions I am aware of in which Finrod does.
At best he was too late, and then decided to sail away on ships still wet with the blood of his people because he did want to go, and there was no way to undo it anyway. Worst possibility; he and Galadriel arrived at the same time, and only Galadriel did anything. Either way --he was ready to sail on those ships. That he didn't get to wouldn't mean much to the Teleri.
So-- would he ever be able to return to Alqualondë? What would Olwë's reaction to his reembodiment be, his cousins', his mother? Would he have lost his status as Telerin royalty? Because he certainly abandonned his duties as Telerin royalty. Would they be willing to forgive him (and his father) in the end?
Also-- if Galadriel fights while Finrod and his brothers stood by and did nothing that (aside from foresight, which their family all had anyway) that might explain part of why she largely kept herself uninvolved with the Siege, even though her brothers did a lot. Being the only sibling to fight for the Teleri seems like it could something of a conflict/tension.
Also-- Shibboleth Galadriel and her insistence the Noldor are her people vs living in Doriath, marrying a Sinda, and later settling among the Sindarin/silvan population... from the one Arafinwëan most insistent about her Noldorin identity to the one least involved in the Noldorin Siege of Angband effort. Maybe she rethought the way she identified after Alqualondë, even if she continued to drop the thorn.
While Finrod, who never was as insistent about being Noldorin -- ends up not acting in defense of the Teleri and insists on calling his father Finarfin i.e. High King of the Noldor after Fingolfin's death. Interesting dynamics to think about. :)
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Dior the Beautiful, king of Doriath, for Tolkientober day 20 : beauty!
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"where are the ships at losgar?"
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dont know where i was going with this i just shut off my brain and spewed out some weird Sauron art I guess
also sorry for inactivity! I’ve been busy with uni work as of late and have a bad case of art block
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Sometimes I forget how tall the elves are
And even alot of humans
Aragorn is 6'6
Faramir is said to be tall
So I would like to think some elves didn't know humans can only grow to be like 5'0 and once they meet a human of 5'0 they are very confused for awhile cause that short thing is a human????
The gargantuan halls of Gondolin echoed before you with mammoth elves.
Maedhroes is, of course, diplomatic, but behind your back, he gestures to his brothers in question. How could any but a child be so small?
Celegorm is a dick. He puts his hand at your forehead and sends it straight back to his abdomen, and resulting in him cackling like a hyena. If you kick his shin's no one would fault you.
Curufin smirks at his brother's antics but laughs all the harder after you take your revenge. He still continues to track whether or not you've grown.....at all.
Glorfindel is concerned. He takes you to Elrond to be assessed for illnesses. Leaving the healer of Rivendell to assure him that you are perfectly sized for your race.
Erestor believes you're a part hobbit. He shall not be convinced of another answer.
Ecthelion just watches you with concern, sipping his tea watching your face at eye level with the cart.
Gwindor is very much accustomed to being seen as different due to his hand loss. Assist's you by telling you where everything is located on the tray.
Maglor, the darling, has deep empathy for your difference. He makes and carries both cups back to the table, Gwindor's and yours.
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This is my idea concept for a mother for Celebrimbor from Tolkien’s lore. She is not mentioned at all in the stories, but as Celebrimbor is one of, if not my favourite character from middle earth history I’ve been trying to expand upon his character in my head, and that included trying to consider who his mother might be, lol.
I’ve tentatively named her Mísil. I think that she died when Celebrimbor was quite young, but when she was alive she was a very positive role model in his life, unlike his father Curufin, who in the lore he later ended up disowning, lol. Celebrimbor also made lots of jewellery for her as he was studying to become a blacksmith.
I literally have SO much more story and character ideas planned out for her, but I don’t want to make this post too much longer. I’d love to do other character designs for other characters in the Silmarillion & middle earth history!
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my favs from tolkientober so far
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Maedhros, Son of Fëanor: little watercolor portrait.
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Today in Tolkien - October 21-23
During these days, Frodo is unconscious in Rivendell as Elrond labours to heal his wound from the Morgul-blade. As Gandalf tells Frodo after he wakes:
“Elrond has cured you: he has tended you for days, ever since you were brought in…foyr nights and three days, to be exact…We have been terribly anxious, and Sam has hardly left your side, day or night, except to run messages. [Bilbo was also there; he later tells Frodo, ‘I have sat by your side with Sam each day.’] Elrond is a master of healing, but the weapons of our Enemy are deadly. To tell you the truth, I had very little hope; for I suspected that there was some fragment of the blade still in the closed wound. But it could not be found until last night [the night between the 23rd and 24th]. Then Elrond removed a splinter. It was deeply buried, and it was working inwards.”
“What would they have done to me?” asked Frodo? “What were the Riders trying to do?”
“They tried to pierce your heart with a Morgul-knife which remains in the wound. If they had succeeded, you would have become like are, only weaker and under their command. You would have become a wraith under the dominion of the Dark Lord; and he would have tormented you for trying to keep his Ring, if any greater torment were possible than being robbed of it and seeing it on his hand.
…Fortune or fate have helped you, not to mention courage. For your heart was not touched, and only your shoulder was pierced; and that was because you resisted to the last. Bit it was a terribly narrow shave, so to speak.”
Just think what it must have been like to be Gandalf during these days! The hobbits know that Frodo is seriously injured, and would be worried, certainly, but they don’t know clearly what the danger is. Strider is a relatively new acquaintance. But Gandalf has been a friend of the Bagginises for decades, he knows exactly how dire the danger is, and as he admits here, he ‘had very little hope.’ He thought that Frodo would become a wraith, and he must have thought that it was in part his fault, or at least his responsibility. It happened because he believed Saruman, be ause he was captured and couldn’t get there on time, because he wasn’t able to get word to Frodo to set out sooner - and, in the longer term, because he took 17 years after Bilbo’s Party to be sure of the Ring’s identity, and in the years before Bilbo’s party believed Saruman’s claim that the Ring had gone down Anduin to the Sea. Quite possibly no one since Celebrimbor has been so horrified by the consequences of trust misplaced.
The other thing I take from this is the nature of Elven-magic (and, to some degree, of evil magic as well). This healing , a few earlier mentions with Glorfindel, and Galadriel in Lothlórien are about all the details we are shown of the abilities of elves of the First Age and how they work; Aragorn’s healing abilities, though lesser, likely have similar roots. And so far as we can see, they appear to work primarily through will, and to an extent through song (when Aragorn finds the hilt of the Morgul-knife, he ‘sings over it a slow song in a strange tongue’) and touch (when Glorfindel touches Frodo’s shoulder, it becomes warmer and the pain and shadows recede). And they don’t seem to have a lot to do with what we would consider conventional methods of medicine - Frodo had a splinter of the Morgul-knife in his wound, and Elrond removed it, but there’s no indication of surgery: he doesn’t have stitches or anything, and his arm heals very quickly (in less than a day) after the splinter is removed, whereas healing from surgery takes time. So the identification and removal of the splinter must have happened in a manner more concordant with the other types of elven-powers we’ve seen, to identify the spliter and draw it out without cutting open the shoulder. This should probably inform our understanding of the kind of healing that occurs in the First Age (for example, of Maedhros after Thangorodrim, and of Beren by Lúthien; the poetic Leithian described Lúthien as healing Beren through song, after Beren jumps in front of Curufin’s arrow to save her).
The thing we learn about evil magic from this is that the exertion of will also matters greatly in response to it; the fact that Frodo ‘resisted to the last’ the influence and commands of the Ringwraiths was a major factor in why he was able to keep the Morgul-blade from his heart for long enough to be healed.
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Inktober day 17: "Collide." The Eagles are coming!
Day 18: "Moon." A witchsona for my birthday looking at moon runes.
Day 19: "Loop." Glorfindel and Eowyn, because it was Glorfindel who predicted that no mortal man could destroy the Witch King of Angmar, and Eowyn fulfilled that prophecy a thousand years later.
Day 20: "Sprout." Yavanna, Giver of Fruits.
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So I am working on this fanfic, and got curious about Celegorm’s name because usually in Sindarin Cele- means silver. So I google it, and its a translation on his mother name Tyelkormo which means Hasty Riser.
That he was given by Nerdanel because he is quick to anger and has a habit of leaping up when angered.
So again why is Caranthir named the “easiest and quickest to anger” out of the Fëanorians when Celegorm is literally named for his anger?
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If Aredhel's name Írissë is from írë (desire) + issë (feminine suffix) and the Vala Irmo is Irë + mo (agental suffix)--
1. is a more accurate translation of írissë then not 'desire' (feminine name) and not 'desirable lady', as Irmo is translated as 'the desirer' (masculine name)?
2. If so, that fits her as a character because she dreams of freedom (which she never quite archieves/loses soon), and is motivated by her own desire to leave Gondolin. And of course she desires freedom again in Nan Elmoth.
3. You might be able to argue her name indicates a special connection to Irmo, Vala of dreams. And nightmares. What happens to her in Nan Elmoth, the enchantments she gets caught in, going out by moonlight-- is decidedly dreamlike. But you might also simply imagine her as often visiting Lórien when still in Valinor. I know she loves to hunt, but I don't think she is mentioned as having a special connection to Oromë as Celegorm does. Maybe Aredhel as a follower of Irmo somehow... She also navigates a nightmarish place on her own in Middle Earth; Nan Dungortheb, "where the sorcery of Sauron and the power of Melian came together, and horror and madness walked."
If any Vala is associated with madness (or its healing) I wouldn't be surprised if it was Irmo, Vala of dreams.
4. I'm not a linguist and could be wrong about all of this, but I really like an interpretation of Aredhel's name that doesn't (to me) point to the worst thing that happened to her except for her death. Desire (her own) and an association with being led by dreams and desires feels better than 'desirable lady' as a name for this character, which I think elfdict tells me is not a translation provided by Tolkien himself anyway (?).
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Tolkientober day 21 : laughter
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Daeron of Doriath
Great Minstrels of the Eldar (5/5)
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Sketch of Mairon and Melkor because why not
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Dress for Idril - Huishan Zhang
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The Halls of Mandos and Rebirth, Maeglin Lomion, thought was a bit like dropping a rusted and bloody knife in an acidic solution in order to stripe all that grime off.
It burned and bubbled away the decay. A fundamentally violent process. It removed all evidence of growth and change and age. The bad.
The most insidious part was that it was all voluntary. You had to offer up your soul, dunk yourself in that acid bath, choose to scrub and scrub and scrub. And it hurt.
But Maeglin Lomion was familiar with pain; in many ways it was more comfortable than languishing. Then, the rust and grime had cut at his skin at odds and ends, had weighed him down, had made him itch. The steady burn… easier.
There were whispers from some of the more reticent. They worried some good might come off with the bad. Or maybe, less ‘good’, and more sweet, naughty indulgences that you just couldn’t give up.
Maeglin Lomion had one of those once. It had consumed him, and Idril was gone now. He wanted his thoughts and feelings for her gone too.
Mother was one of the reticent. She gently took his face in her hands once and whispered, “People are not daggers.” He had more grime to wash off, but that thought process was why she would spend longer in the Halls than him.
He had not had the heart to tell her that he was not scared of losing something important, even if his souls was not a dagger to be cleaned and set back to its pure, original form. To be set right. He liked that idea.
There had never been anything good in Maeglin Lomion to lose.
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So I mentioned here both Maedhros and Húrin have similar scars on their shoulders!
blanket Angband content warnings for captivity, restraints plus Morgoth being creepy and enforced nudity
themes of sexual assault in the first part, it’s not graphic but it’s a present theme nonetheless
in the second there’s nothing explicitly sexual but still like, heavy violation of boundaries and personal space...
This is the first part I’ve posted something with Húrin experiencing this aspect of Morgoth’s personality and moods so that’s fun!
I bolded where Húrin’s part starts!
(Maedhros’s snippet touches on some of the themes most explored in “Scar Touching”, and Another Darkness” and other pieces in the hidden hours tag, you definitely don’t have to have read those though)
Morgoth’s hands traveled lazily over his chest as Maitimo snarled in frustration, pulling on the restraints as though there is a chance they will give way. They do not. His attempt is performative.
His hands gripped his thighs, forcing them apart, nails digging into what little flesh remained there. No sounds did He manage to elicit at the moment, the elf was tense with the effort to remain neutral, to deny his Enemy the reactions He wanted. Clearly the effort was wasted as he both felt and saw the smirk on the Vala’s face as He bit into Maitimo’s shoulder. It hurt naturally but the pain he had become used to. It was odd to him, what he could and could not become used to.
The crooning voice sought to lull him into the most treacherously vulnerable state. “Foolish, ruined king, now you know you are mine forever.”
Pain, hunger, the viscera and gore he saw sometimes upon his own form and sometimes in other poor thralls…they were hardly pleasant but they seemed to be reaching an almost mundanity. They no longer constantly tore at him though this itself was hardly a comforting idea for him.
“Now, now, Fëanorian…” teasing, smooth as silk, the voice utterly at odds with the being who spoke it
There were other things though, including many that seemed less severe by comparison that Maitimo still could not become used to. The sense of vulnerability that came with frequently being disrobed in front of his Enemy was one of them. Not merely the simple humiliation of nudity but something deeper that Morgoth could inflict by gaze alone.
He was naked now, splayed on his back with arms and legs apart. The Valar did not have the same views of the elven form as they were originally formless beings but at some point Melkor had learned enough of them not merely to manipulate their physical flesh but to know far too much of how they themselves saw them. And naturally the ways He could utilize this for His own advantage or amusement were many and horrifying.
“Thou shalt not escape me as thy father did, Nelyafinwë.”
Maitimo very much wished he could say that his form was not his own anymore or that at least it was as simple as that. His form was not his own but he could not detach from it, remove all the aspects he could recognize even as the Vala manipulated them. He could see them clearly. It was at these times he most believed his captor’s claim that he was owned just as the Silmarils were.
…(Many years later)…
This is a scene I’ve had in my brain for way too long.
The Vala dragged his claws over his shoulder, tearing through the skin, joining previously made cuts together and letting blood drip so steadily down his back, Húrin felt it down to his knees before it slowed. There was a silence where his ragged breathing was all that could be heard in the cold chambers. It was only ever his breathing that sounded. Maintained silence was of course his objective yet the dread that Morgoth could so effortlessly exude made it almost unbearably tense.
To his horror, Morgoth leaned forward to actually lick the blood away. Húrin lost his battle with himself to keep his reactions hidden. A sound of alarm and disgust escaped his dried lips as he felt a twitch run down his spine. Morgoth laughed softly.
“You did not like that,” The dark god commented almost dryly, “I admit to some interest. Stubborn as you are, you so rarely show me what you think of our little sessions.” There is a note of familiarity, of intimacy in the Dark Lord’s voice that makes Húrin’s skin crawl. He knows it is being done for precisely this reason. And as though his enemy hopes by using the hushed tones of treasured secrets he will receive them in return.
“Perhaps I should allow one of the vampires to join us,” Morgoth speaks in his deep voice of stones and ice even as he whispers so closely in Húrin‘s ear. He remained ever silent. This was not the worst he had been threatened with. The Dark Lord’s hand moved to grip his throat. Húrin waited for the sudden deprivation of air but it never came.
Instead, Morgoth leaned closer to him, other hand resting on his leg, nails digging lightly into the already bruised skin there.It was almost a kiss that was placed on his back just under his shoulder. No, it was a kiss, foreign and repulsive though the thought was to him. The Vala’s fingers at his throat must have felt the shudder that ran through him as he swallowed, body tensing even as he willed any response to remain hidden. In this Húrin failed and the laughter echoed softly in his ears for some time after Morgoth left.
(If a line in the last paragraph sounds familiar it’s a reference to “Blurring”!)
I couldn’t find anything where Húrin got to experience Morgoth’s creepy faux intimacy that he exhibits even in canon (and for example in the Lay of the Children of Húrin) but I’ve been thinking about it a lot
If anyone else writes some, please tell me I will be in your debt
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Headcanon that Mairon learns wordplay from Melkor. That he speaks bluntly and harshly when they first meet—he can’t not say things, can’t understand feelings (he dissects them, studies them, even his own).
Melkor is the one who speaks eloquently. Melkor is the one who suggests changing his name. Mairon doesn’t care (and neither is his true name, so what does being the Abhorred mean?).
Sauron is evil, but in a different way. He dissects people. He looks at their feelings and pries them apart, drinks their anger and eats their happiness. He does not understand them. He observes, and makes notes, and revisits things.
Melkor is naturally talented at wordplay. He can understand exactly what you are saying before you say it. He can tear you to pieces and you wouldn’t even know it.
(In my ‘verse, the language I use for Angband’s language is Irish, so keep that in mind.)
Angbandian is a complex language. It has a grammar that takes a while to understand, has words that don’t sound like their spellings.
Orcish is simple. Easy. No double meanings, no eloquent turn of phrase. It is blunt. Thus it is clear who made it.
Melkor would not like Orcish if he were to return from the Void. At Dagor Dagorath, few Orcs (if any) speak Angbandian.
Sauron, if we try to understand him, is simple. He likes order, likes to be in control, will do anything to achieve his goals. He is an excellent strategist, but a horrid diplomat. He’d like to face you in a contest of strength—words mean nothing, as they are taken up by the wind and torn away.
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