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the-elusive-soleil · 5 months

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our tracks untraceable

For @tolkienfamilyweek Day 6: Ancestors and their legacy

All quoted lyrics from "Sons and Daughters" by The Decemberists

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"When we arrive, sons and daughters," Elros sings under his breath, "we'll make our homes on the water…"

He nearly bumps into Maedhros, who has halted in front of him as they and Elrond and Maglor make their way through the woods. It takes a moment for Maedhros to speak. "Where did you learn that song?" he asks, a little hoarsely.

Elros, confused, says, "Nana sang it to us sometimes…before."

"Ada sang it sometimes, too," Elrond adds. "But the version he knew was in Quenya."

"That makes sense," Maglor says, sounding puzzled. "If it had been passed down through Fingolfin and Turgon… But how would Elwing have known it?"

"She said it was an old family song," Elrond says, just as confused.

***

"We'll build our walls aluminum, we'll fill our mouths with cinnamon," Elwing sings. Music is supposed to be a gift of her family, but she can barely manage this song, words promising a safe and bountiful home, when what they have is this ramshackle haven at the edge of the world.

"These currents pull us 'cross the border," a deeper voice joins in from the doorway. "Steady your boats, arms to shoulder…"

Eärendil enters the twins' room, coming up behind her to slide an arm around her shoulders. "It's a good song," he says quietly, and looks at the babies sleeping in their clumsy bassinet. "Full of hope. They're going to need that."

Then, "I didn't know the Sindar knew that song, though. I thought it was only my family."

Elwing shakes her head. "No, I remember my father singing it…I think."

***

"Take up your arms, sons and daughter," Dior sings, "we will arise from the bunkers…"

He makes sure to sing quietly, not letting his clear tenor carry. These lands are no longer as safe as they were in his own childhood. But he wants to still make this trip as cheerful for his children as possible, under the circumstances.

The circumstances being his grandfather's violent death, and Dior's taking up the kingship.

"Is that one of your Nana's songs?" Elwing asks sleepily. He's carrying her, while the twins walk with Nimloth.

He holds her a little closer. "She did sing it to me, just like this," he says. "And someone else sang it to her before that. All the best songs are like that."

***

"By land, by sea, by dirigible, we'll leave our tracks untraceable now," Lúthien sings playfully, dancing her small son around to the tune and the silly words. It's a good day. Almost every day is a good day on Tol Galen. She has her husband and her son; what more could she want?

"Nana?" Dior interrupts, nose wrinkled, "what's a dirigible?"

Lúthien frowns. "You know, I don't actually know, ion-nin."

"But you know everything. Ada says so."

"Well, that's very sweet of him, but he's not quite right," Lúthien says, tapping his nose affectionately. "It's probably just a made up word. But why don't you ask your grandfather next time you see him? He's the one who taught me the song, so if anyone would know, he would."

***

"When we arrive, sons and daughters," Thingol sings under his breath, "we'll make our lives on the water…"

"What's that song about, Ada?" Lúthien pipes up from where she's skipping at his side. "It's silly. We don't live anywhere near the Sea."

Thingol pauses a moment. He hadn't meant to sing for her to listen to, exactly - it just tends to come out of him wherever he walks a noticeable distance, as they have been this afternoon. But there's no harm in telling her. He just hasn't talked about it much since meeting Melian.

"It's a song from the Journey," he says at length. "Before I met your mother, I and my brother and our people were traveling west to go over the Sea. We sang the song then about what we would find at the end."

"Your brother who went on without you?" Lúthien says inquisitively. She's been going through a phase of being curious about other people's siblings, since she has none of her own. At Thingol's nod of confirmation, she asks, "Do you still miss him?"

His throat suddenly feels thick. "Yes. Yes, I do."

"Did he make up the song?"

"…No." Thingol shakes his head slowly. "It was a…a friend of mine."

***

"We'll build our walls aluminum, we'll fill our mouths with cinnamon…"

"Finwë, what in Arda is that song about?"

Finwë turns and spots his friend Elwë, and grins broadly. "It's to keep our people's spirits up as we travel," he explains. "To take their minds off the hardships of the journey and give them an idea of what awaits us."

Elwë appears to consider this for a moment. "That is all very well," he says, "but why would anyone want to fill their mouth with cinnamon? It is far too strong for such a thing, not to mention the waste."

"Of course it's ridiculous," Finwë agrees readily. "That's the point. There will be so much in Aman, and it will be so safe. It won't matter if we waste things every now and then, or use ridiculous building materials."

Elwë humphs. But he also, a few moments later, says, "Can you teach me the rest of it?"

Finwë can, and does, and soon enough the song rings through the wilderness as both Noldor and Teleri sing in chorus.

***

"When we arrive, sons and daughters…" Atya sings, and then trails off. Fëanáro frowns up at him, not understanding why his father has slowed and is no longer swinging their clasped hands to and fro, why he looks so troubled.

"Atya?" he asks. "What's the matter?"

For a long moment, Atya looks very far away. Then he shakes himself slightly, and looks down at Fëanáro with a smile.

"Nothing to worry about, yonya," he says. "I was just thinking that the song doesn't quite fit us, is all."

Well, of course it doesn't. Fëanáro doesn't have any brothers or sisters; he's Finwë's only son. But that's fine, and the song isn't supposed to be about them anyway - it's about the Great Journey.

"Does it need to?" he says. "We can make up a different one if we need one about us."

That makes Atya smile properly at last. "Maybe so, Náro. Maybe so. But we should find a spot for our picnic first."

***

"Till tides all pull our hull aground, making this cold harbor now home…"

Makalaurë frowns as his father sings under his breath. The song is familiar, but the tone doesn't seem to match it - it's meant to be a happy, excited song, but Atar's making it sound angry and vindictive.

That's pretty much been Atar's sole mood ever since the banishment was announced.

"There!" Atar calls out suddenly, breaking off the song and gesturing up ahead. "That is where we shall build our fortress, the envy of all in Tirion. Curufinwë, with me!"

He sounds more enthusiastic and less bitter than he has in weeks. Perhaps, Makalaurë dares to think as Atar and Curvo ride ahead, this can be a turning point for the better, for all of them.

***

"It's strange that your family would know the song, too," Elros ventures. Elrond knows what he means. They were told for the first six years of their lives that the Fëanorians were monsters, wholly other than them. This odd little point of commonality contrasts sharply with that.

He doesn't want to think too long on that right now, doesn't want to let it pull up all the complicated things between them.

Instead he says, "Perhaps since we do all know it, we can sing it together."

Maedhros looks hesitant. But Maglor, after a moment's hesitation, gives a small nod. "How does it go again? It has been years…we may not remember all of it."

"That's all right, it repeats a lot," Elros shrugs. "Here, I'll start--"

And they continue on through the woods, singing quietly so as not to attract unfriendly attention, but all in tune together.

"Hear all the bombs fade away, hear all the bombs fade away, hear all the bombs fade away…"

#tolkienfamilyweek #silmarillion #elros #elrond #maedhros #maglor #elwing #earendil #dior #luthien #thingol #finwe #feanor #songs that get passed down and reinterpreted differently in different circumstances #the family that sings together stays together #one can only hope

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swanmaids · 1 year

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She visited her son’s empty grave on his birthday every year, and the following day she would spend mostly in bed. Her husband was always loathe to leave her when the night fell then, but the Star of High Hope had no choice.

And so, twenty years after the death of Elros Tar-Minyatur; on the morning after what would have been his five-hundred and twentieth birthday, his mother recieved a visitor.

Turgon greeted Elwing with a fierce embrace.

"Granddaughter," he said simply.

"Grandfather," she replied, "I am glad that Eärendil sent for you to come."

She was. Her husband had always spoken of his grandfather fondly at Sirion, and when she had met him after his rebirth, partway into his service at Alqualondë.; she found that she liked him too. As a girl, she had opened the gates of Sirion to the remnant of the Gondolindrim in exile in spite of whatever deeds they may have committed before, and as a woman she did not find it difficult to apply the same logic to their former king. And it was good to have company on this most painful of anniversaries, if only to force her to leave her bed.

Turgon brewed them each a mug of black tea, the slightly misshapen mugs a gift from Finrod, and they sat side by side to drink them on the stone steps of the tower.

"It is not his choice which hurts the most after all this time," she said abruptly, after several silent minutes. "My husband was close to choosing the same. All that I have heard from Númenor tells me that he was a wise and beloved king, and that he was unafraid of death, and I believe it. No- it is that some days I feel as though I failed him, as his mother."

There was no judgement in her grandfather's face. She continued.

"I look back on that awful day, and I do not know what I could have done differently. When the minstrel came to me with the Fëanorian terms, Sirion was ravaged. He did not bring my children before me, and I thought them slain already when I jumped. And most days I do not blame myself for our sundered fates, but on days like today it pains me, knowing that I sought to die while my sons still lived, and that almost all of their lives I missed." She spoke quietly, and her voice did not break, but her eyes misted over all the same.

Turgon nodded slowly, as though gathering his thoughts before he spoke. When he did, his voice was steady.

"When I lost my wife to the Grinding Ice, the next night I left Idril asleep in our tent and walked out into the snow. I sought to die, and it was only by the grace of Aredhel and my brothers, who heard me leave and sought to drag me back, that I did not.

"For a long time, I believed myself evil for such a thing. My daughter had just lost her mother, and now I sought to take her father from her too. It took me a long time to accept that she held no grudge against me for it. When my city fell and I saw the scope of my failure, again, I set my mind to fall with the tower, and I did. You know that I was longer in the Halls than many. I could not bring myself to accept the forgiveness of my people, nor my daughter.

"I think we have both known despair, granddaughter. Perhaps we have known it better than many. I would not have you hold yourself evil for it. Elros was accounted wise among his people- I am sure he would not wish for you to think such, either."

Elwing managed a watery smile, at that. She leaned on her grandfather's shoulder, and they waited together for Eärendil's ship to come in.

inspired by @arlenianchronicles amazing and very painful art of Turgon and Fingon after Elenwe's death.

also fits the @spring-into-arda back to middle earth month prompt 'embrace'.

#elwing #turgon #the silm #my post #my fic #peredhil

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gardensofthemoon · 19 days

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curious about golden son!

Ohhhhh my favourite one! Thank you for the ask! *rubs hands in anticipation*

So, this one is my longest-standing wip, begun back in December, and from a throwaway idea it has shaped itself into a medium/longfic set in the Noontide of Valinor about falling in love, coming of age, friends to lovers, and family drama, where the central relationship is Curufin/Finrod. It started out because of me wanting to write smut, but when I got to it I had to create a backstory and it just... grew out of my hands. It is bittersweet with a rather sad ending, it tackles some topics like insecurities and the relationships between fathers and sons, growing up as yourself vs having to perform/to obey your parents' expectations of you, friendship vs love vs family. The other main romantic relationship is between Turgon and Elenwe, serving as a foil for Curufin and Finrod, as Finrod evaluates his own feelings and juggles between what he wants and what's expected of him. As for vibes, think of long summers, flowers in bloom, cold lakes, laughing and arguing, kisses stolen in gardens, the nervousness and giddiness of first love.

And now, a longer snipper - the beginning of it.

Curufinwë, Findaráto knows, looks too much like his father. It has been laid out from the beginning in his name: Curufinwë Atarinkë. Little father. Little Fëanáro. All of his half-cousins are named after the whims of their sire, who used them as a means for subtle insults in place of open dissent, and the fifth one, the youngest, bears the greatest expectation: that he needs to measure up to his namesake. Findaráto is not really close to that side of the family; they do not live in Tirion, but travel across Valinórë with their extended household; every now and then, his father receives a trinket from the last place they visited: a gold bracelet decked with opals and mother of pearl, a particularly smooth stone picked up from the heights of the Pelóri. He grew up with the loud Ñolofinwëans, whose brashness is, if irritating, at least not duplicitous. Findaráto prefers serious Turukáno to his wild siblings; in fact, he spends almost all his free time strumming his lyre while Turukáno is perched on a cushioned armchair close to the west-facing windows, with a historical scroll of some kind. As of late, the documents have undergone an intriguing transition to poetry books; and that would not have been such a bizarre choice — after all, it is the custom for elder myths to be told in verse — if not for the content: where Findaráto expected to read, whenever he peeked over his cousin’s shoulder, legends of ancient deeds of valour sung in trochaic metre, he discovered with a certain wonder that Turukáno secretly enjoyed the romantic art of Elemmírë with all its verbose lyricism. “Snooping is a poor look on you, Ingo,” Turukáno admonishes him when he takes notice of his meddling with the pile of to-read saccharine pamphlets he stored under the said armchair. “Anyway, you cannot understand the longing for a most beloved soul.” He punctuates his statement with a sigh, then shakes his head and buries himself in the newest collection of love ballads, all the while Findaráto watches unhappily.

#elio replies #silm fic #elio writes

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aurorapillar · 6 months

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One of my favorite headcanons for Eol is him being the son of Thingol and Melian, who was basically a test run before they had Luthien, to make sure that an elf and Maia having a child would work out okay. Which in the case, Eol would have some Maia powers and so likely would Maeglin.

With that in mind, AU where when Eol gets to Gondolin and is given the choice to either stay or die, rather than deciding it's better for his son and him to die than live under Noldor rule, he enchants Turgon, Aredhel and Maeglin into letting Maeglin return with him.

Turgon gives his ultimatum and Eol goes "No, Aredhel can stay but Maeglin is leaving with me."

And Maeglin goes "Okay, I'll go."

And Aredhel and Turgon go "Yeah, that's fine."

And so Eol leaves and takes Maeglin with him and everyone in Gondolin is baffled by it being allowed but their King has ordered it and who are they to disobey.

And so Maeglin goes back to living in Nan Elmoth and it's not a pleasant experience for him because Eol has major issues with possessiveness and the need for control, and he is not happy that Maeglin not only ran but went to his Noldor relatives, who Eol had repeatedly told him were murderers.

For a time Eol fullfills his past promise of binding his son with chains, but after many years Maeglin slowly regains enough of his father's trust to be given more freedom.

And one day sometime after the Dagor Bragollach, something happens. Either Eol trusts Maeglin enough again to leave him alone in Nan Elmoth while he goes to the dwarves, and Maeglin takes the opportunity to run, or Maeglin goes with his father to the dwarves and is out in the mountains with some of them, but either way there's an attack by orcs and Maeglin is captured.

He's taken to Tol-in-Gaurhoth along with some other captives, with the intent of them being food for Sauron's werewolves. But Sauron realizes that Maeglin has Maia blood and is intrigued, with the Valar having abandoned Middle Earth to Morgoth, there's only one Maia Maeglin could be descended off and he hadn't known that Melian had any grandchildren. Sauron's wanted to test how durable a half Maia is for a long time, and he's just as willing to see how much a quarter Maia can endure, and so he decides to let Maeglin live.

And so Maeglin remains alive in Tol-in-Gaurhoth, living a life somewhere between a prisoner and a pet. Sauron tortures him, not for any information but just for fun and to see how much he can endure. He also places a collar around his neck and drapes him with decoration, allowing him to slink around the place like an ill treated cat.

Many times Maeglin tries to escape and each time he is caught and punished severely, but he still remains defiant and keeps trying. He's still there when Finrod, Beren and the other elves are captured and though he doesn't know who they are or what their purpose is, he appreciates anyone who ticks Sauron off and tries to help them.

He sneaks them food and weapons, allowing them to actually have a chance against the werewolves. It only works twice, the first time he steals back their own weapons to give to them and so Sauron assumes the orcs didn't do a good enough job searching them and searches them for weapons himself. The second time Sauron realizes that something is up and so the the third time Maeglin does it he gets caught and punished severely, after that he's no longer able to help them.

He's managed to do enough that it buys time though, that more of the elves are still alive by the time Luthien arrives, including Finrod. And when Luthien destroys Tol-in-Gaurhoth, he is freed along with the other captives.

Luthien is far too busy taking care of her injuried boyfriend and distant cousin, as well as planning how to steal stolen goods, to notice Maeglin and realize he's her kin. And Finrod and Beren are not in good enough shape to put much thought into the elf who helped them, and so Maeglin leaves on his own.

He wanders for a while, unsure where to go and ends up running into the son's of Feanor, who know the look of an elf whose been tortured when they see one and also can clearly tell he's Aredhel's son. They take him in, and Maeglin gets to meet his other uncle.

The Battle of Unnumbered tears still happens and but Finrod being alive brings about some changes, Nargothrond perhaps comes to help and Finrod gets to encounter Maeglin again. Fingon still dies though, and Maeglin is suddenly thrust into the role of High King, because Turgon was disinherited for running off and hiding for so many years.

#maeglin #finrod felagund #rory's ideas

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last-capy-hupping · 1 year

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I thought that I’d make a post with random trivia details for my modern Silmarillion AU, Anywhere With You, which focuses on Russingon. Feel free to ask for more, and I’ll answer it as long as it doesn’t contain spoilers.

Warnings: some vague discussions of Maedhros’ relationship with Melkor, which was abusive, and some non-graphic discussion of various characters’ sex lives.

1) Fingon claims to be 5’10”, but he’s more like 5’8.5”. Maedhros is six and a half feet tall and can’t tell the difference.

2) Fingon, Turgon, Aredhel, and Argon are all major sporty kids. Fingon plays soccer, though now only as part of a club, and enjoys running and rock climbing. Turgon played football up until he got into the masters section of his accelerated bachelors/masters program in architecture. This allowed Fingon to finally become buffer than his brother. Fingon is not at all smug about this. Aredhel plays softball and volleyball and loves going rock climbing with Fingon. Argon plays high school basketball and has already made the varsity team, even though he’s only a sophomore. He’s already close to Turgon’s height, and he will be taller. All of the Fingolfinions can ride horses and shoot (guns and bows).

3) Quenya is basically this verse’s version of Irish. Fingon is the Americanized name for the semi-legendary St. Findekáno Astaldo, this world’s version of St. Patrick. Fingon’s birthday is March 17, 1999. Even though the lines of Míriel and Indis are completely desperate in this verse, Fëanor, Fingolfin, Finarfin, and Nerdanel are all basically Irish. Anairë is Ghanaian, and Ëarwen is Greek/Cyrpiot.

4) All of Fëanor’s sons have their Quenya names as their middle names, while Nerdanel gave them Sindarized first names. She deliberately combined “Maitimo” and “Russandol” for her first son’s name because he was the prettiest baby she’d ever, and she totally wasn’t biased.

5) Maedhros (b. May 1, 1995) was an extremely well behaved toddler who was very good at self-soothing. He loved being read to, memorized a few children’s books before he was able to read, and used to build elaborate block towers. He loved being a big brother from the start and only tried to return Maglor to the baby delivery place once, after Maglor lost his copy of Goodnight Moon (his favorite book) and destroyed his block formation, a replica of the semi-legendary city of Tirion. Maedhros immediately regretted this and climbed into Maglor’s crib to apologize to him. There is video of this. For a solid three years, Maedhros believed that baby Celegorm was his punishment for not appreciating Maglor enough. Maedhros had an awkward, gangly teenage phase that swimming helped him overcome. His high school team encouraged him and other swimmers to push their bodies to the limits of endurance (getting out of the pool to puke was not an uncommon occurrence during practice), which explains his running habits. His best stroke was the butterfly, which he can no longer do properly due to his rotator cuff injury. He’s had two surgeries to correct some of the damage done by Melkor and to keep it from dislocating easily.

6) Maglor (b. 1997) was very handsome from the time he was a teen and never had acne problems, but he was also a short, skinny band geek. This is why he didn’t believe that Malthenes, his tall, beautiful blonde classmate with a teen modeling contact, was into him. Maedhros had to convince him that Malthenes was serious and drive him to the date. Maglor was a child piano and violin prodigy, and Fëanor encouraged this until it became clear that Maglor wanted to be a professional musician instead of a lawyer. (Fëanor would have also allowed him to become a doctor, but Maglor was always a squeamish boy.) Fëanor blames Malthenes for this because he knows that he raised Maglor to be more reasonable and responsible. Maglor is shorter than his girlfriend/fiancée and thinks that that’s super hot. Malthenes is 5’9” and suspiciously slightly taller than Fingon.

7) Celegorm (b. 1999) was an extremely rowdy, energetic child who broke everything in sight, especially Maglor’s things. He used to smash Nerdanel’s work when he got his hands on it. At the age of two, he gave six-year-old brother Maedhros a permanent hairline scar when he smashed a clay pot over his head. Maedhros made the mistake of trying to take it away from him. The injury required eight stitches, and Celegorm was extremely proud and kept bragging to the hospital staff. (No babysitters were available, so Fëanor and Nerdanel had to drag all four of their kids to the ER.) Celegorm grew up into a rowdy teen who only avoided expulsion by ensuring his high school football team’s continued success. (Maedhros still had to attend some meetings on his parents’ behalf while he was in college and Celegorm was a high school junior/senior.) Celegorm switched to rugby in college because it had more booze and more queerness. He is proudly bisexual and aromantic. He also got his wolfhound Huan from his grizzled elderly mentor (aka Oromë) at the local shooting range in Formenos, Maine. Fëanor is shocked/pleased that Celegorm got a real job, but he’s embarrassed that his son lives in “government housing,” i.e. a park ranger’s house in the national forest outside Alqualondë where he works.

8) Caranthir (b. 2001) is a mathematical prodigy who graduated high school two years early, the same year as Celegorm. He also completed college in two and a half years. He recently got his CPA. He enjoys investing, and frequently tries to influence Maedhros’ investment decisions regarding his own trust fund from their grandfather Finwë. Caranthir is also Angrod’s ex boyfriend. According to Angrod, Caranthir has the best ass that he’s ever seen (“you could serve coffee off of that thing”), and that’s totally the only reason that he’s upset that Caranthir abruptly dumped him over text messages, Finrod. Caranthir is currently dating Haleth. He fell in love with her at first sight at the gym and decided that he had to break up with Angrod immediately and pursue this gorgeous female body builder, who (to Angrod’s despair) has better biceps than anyone Caranthir has ever dated. Caranthir is absolutely devoted to his girlfriend and she to him. He is also her 24/7 sub, which is why he proudly wears the leather collar that she gave him along with his fancy suits. Caranthir is the only son whom Fëanor will not randomly visit because the last time that he dropped by unannounced, Caranthir answered the door wearing the collar and nothing else. He’s very anxious and finicky and carries around a fidget cube. He also helped Curufin uncover Melkor’s tax crimes and blackmail him into leaving the country so that Maedhros would it have to testify against an ex at an abuse/sa trial.

9) Curufin (b. 2004) is also a genius and started taking community college courses early. He is currently looking into the most prestigious college programs available. Fëanor was so impressed with his son’s affinity for computers and coding that he pulled him out of school to homeschool him personally, based on a special curriculum that he designed. He has never dated because he’s too busy, but he’ll probably got out with his father’s business partner’s daughter at some point because Fëanor thinks that they’d be a good match and Fëanor knows him best. He is a very skilled hacker and got into Melkor’s device to steal back all digital copies of sensitive media that Melkor was using to blackmail Maedhros into staying.

10) Amras and Amrod (February 2009) are twins. Amrod is shy and Amras is outgoing, but they support each other in everything. They are particularly devoted to Maedhros, who served as a sort of third parent to them while Fëanor and Nerdanel went through a divorce when they were toddlers. Amrod was scared of storms and loud noises and used to sleep in Maedhros’ bed for “safety” as a child. Amras and Amrod have a twin language, and Maedhros is the only one who knows some of it. Both twins are major fish, amphibian, and reptile enthusiasts, and Fëanor has allowed them to have their own massive aquarium as well as a reptile room. They’ve been promised an iguana as their Winter Solstice present from their father.

11) Fëanor is a brilliant, charismatic local real estate developer and builder from Formenos, Maine who followed in his wealthy father Finwë’s footsteps and became mayor of the small city. He is the only child of Finwë and Míriel, both of whom are still alive and married in this universe. He is so beloved that the citizens voted to abolish term limits so that he could keep running for mayor. Fëanor also owns a local lake resort, as well as a ski resort in the northernmost parts of the Pélori Mountains (my version of the Appalachian Mountains). He also makes jewelry as a side hobby. He and Melkor, a estate developer and a successful political from the neighboring town of Avathar, got into an intense rivalry when Melkor attempted to bankrupt him and buy out his businesses and lands.

12) Nerdanel is a world-renowned sculptress and the only child of the independently wealthy Mahtan. She and Fëanor bonded over their shared ambition and passion for crafts. They married straight out of college and had Maedhros a year later. Nerdanel loves her sons dearly but grew tired of putting up with her husband’s neuroses. She divorced him and moved to Tirion, New York (named after the semi-legendary ancient city) when the citizens of Formenos almost universally sided with their beloved mayor.

13) Fingolfin is the older son of Indis and Ingwion, who are not cousins in this verse. He inherited his parents’ love of fine wines and the Northern California countryside. He and his wife Anairë bonded over their shared love of art and wine and managed to secure investors to buy and start a vineyard in Valmar. They’re currently very wealthy and successful, and they have enough money to give all of their children generous allowances. They’re extremely indulgent and supportive parents who are so happy to have such happy, good-looking, athletic, and academically successful children. They didn’t openly push traditional gender roles on their kids, but they always rewarded and praised their sons for being tough, resilient, and generally traditionally masculine. Also, they never made their kids so much in the way of chores.

14) Fingon was the happiest, friendliest baby ever, and well-meaning but clueless adults often made jokes about him flirting and being budding ladies’ man. He was also an extremely friendly, easygoing; and popular kid from elementary school until basically the start of the fic. He was really smart and never had to work too hard for good grades and academic success. He did well in college and generally got away with partying and procrastinating because he works well under the pressure of impending deadlines. He is also a bit of a fuckboy.

15) Finrod is bisexual, though he’s more likely to be attracted to men than women, and homoromantic. He’s in a very happy QPR with Amarië, who is in the same boat. He’s a very happy writer and budding journalist, who also makes good ad revenue off of his anonymous online blog, where he discuses and opines upon the relationship dramas of his friends and family. His most popular series deals with Andreth and Aegnor, though his cousin Fingon’s stories are forming the basis of a series that’s garnering loads of interest already.

16) Angrod is totally over Caranthir, Finrod!

17) Aegnor is in a high drama, constantly on-again/off-again relationship with Andreth. He’s scared of going out of the honeymoon stage and stupidly keeps breaking up with Andreth, even though he loves her. Andreth keeps taking him back because she loves him and he’s gorgeous and goes down like a champ.

Anyway, if you’ve got other questions, feel free to ask and I’ll answer.

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tanoraqui · 2 years

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Just want you to know that your Pseudo-Democratic Valinor post gave me the mental image of Master Samwise Gardner, formerly Gamgee, High King Of The Noldor.

I'm not even mad, that's hilarious to me.

I mean, by the early Fourth Age, the politics of Eldamar are definitely shaped by:

comfortable peace for longer than many people remember

old family feuds that are maintained partly out of real grievance, partly as a hobby

absolutely everybody knows absolutely everybody else, including all newborns

care for simple growing things (as well as, admittedly, elaborately constructed palaces made entirely of gemstones or something)

So...yeah, being High King in early Fourth Age Tirion is probably very much like being Mayor of Hobbiton! Sam would do fine. He came here to retire, though, so he wouldn't want to do it for long... Fortunately, when they semi-accidentally elected Frodo immediately upon his arrival in Valinor (and Frodo really just wanted to retire), they hastily passed a new law stating that, while the usual term for High Kingship is 100 years, in the case of more change- and weariness-prone mortals, it would be one year only.

(How was Frodo "semi-accidentally" elected High King of the Noldor? Well...

Over the years, the High Kingship has become a primarily ceremonial role, though the High King is the only one allowed to declare war and/or blasphemous rebellion on behalf of the Noldor, and might be called upon to decide judicial or moral arguments that lesser kings dispute. Most centuries, the position is held by Arafinwë, on account of historically famous common sense, unassuming but raw badassery, and the tendency of the general Noldorin populace to hew stubbornly to the line of Finwë in leadership positions. ["General Noldorin populace" being at this point roughly defined as, "all those who register to vote for and respect the authority of the High King of the Noldor", with established legal complications involving where people live, what guild they are or are not part of, and also most parts of the political system are experimentally changed every 500 years on average...but the High Kingship remains, because, essentially, everyone is more comfortable with a proven-responsible referee.]

It's usually Arafinwë, but because it's increasingly ceremonial, sometimes someone else is elected as sort of a popular award of great recognition. A painter named Helyanwillë was elected after unveiling her mountainside-sized mural of the Ainulindalë, to gaze upon which brings an echo of the Great Music to mind. The three-elf team who cracked the secrets of generating and taming lightning to run through wires and power things like dishwashers were jointly elected in TA 1200. There was a brief run of electing the old kings of Beleriand circa the 5000th anniversary of Dagor Bragollach: Fingon had a good term, Finrod threw some amazing parties, and then Turgon, after acting exasperated but tolerant in the whole run-up to his election, turned around and exerted the High King's right to not be ceremonial, and redesigned and remodeled the entirety of Tirion, and much of the surrounding infrastructure.

The people elected Arafinwë again after that.

[To be clear, Fingolfin is also around, and probably elected High King once or twice...as a vacation from his usual job, which is whatever title is given, by appointment or election, to the person who is actually doing politics and managing the function of the government. Every couple millennia when they invert the political structure to see what happens and Fingolfin has to win his way to the top again, it's like a pumpkin full of red meat thrown into his enclosure. His chief competition in this is Satarissë, second-youngest daughter of Finrod and Amarië, who ruthlessly leverages her unprecedented levels of Everyone's Favorite Baby Princess power for political advantage.

Every formal governmental structure includes unwritten assumptions about norms, and the Noldor's generally center around an assumption that Fingolfin will be in the upper echelon of management while Arafinwë is the safety net of common sense (eg, "Doom means Doom", "killing is always bad", "only try to 1v1 a Vala when you have immediate backup.") When Fëanor is one day returned from Mandos, people are going to SCRAMBLE to codify those unwritten rules before he breaks them all (again).]

...So, everyone knows the Ringbearers are coming soon, that Galadriel is coming home at last and Elrond is coming home for the first time and also little mortals called hobbits are coming, hobbits who defeated Sauron, which everyone is ??!!?!!! over. And either the timing works out to have an election or they decide to throw out the usual schedule, and the debate is: who do we honor first, Galadriel or Elrond?! Galadriel, our long-lost princess, ever-bold and much favored among the Sindar and Silvan with whom she made her home; we must welcome her! Elrond, heir to so much, host to so many, eagerly awaited by so many he has lost or never got the chance to meet; we must welcome him! Ooh, or what about the hobbits, I mean, they [one of them??] actually defeated Sauron, surely that's worthy of a crown...

The eager, excited debates start the second Barad-Dur hits the ground and the wise and foresightful see a change in the world, confirmed when Círdan sends word ahead [someone sailing earlier? A message in a bottle carried by Ossë?]

Then Findis, daughter of Finwë and Indis, publishes her most recent philosophical dialogue with the Powers of the World. Like many before, it is an account of a recent conversation [eg, yesterday] with Mandos on matters of Fate, Justice, the roles of Elves, Ainur, and stranger things in the Great Music...punishment and pity, forgiveness and forbearance... It concludes, though Mandos entreats her to stop, with her declaration that she is done waiting for a resolution that will never come, she is done tolerating a sentence that is already twice as long as Manwë gave his brother, without opportunity for repentance and reformation; a new Age of peace is dawning and she is willing to risk a little danger in it - so if Mandos doesn't release her half-brother and nephews in the next 100 years, she will find a way to cast her own fëa into utter dissolution in the Void; let not just Mandos but Manwë and Varda hear her words, and Eru hold her to them!

...And before anyone has fully processed that, Elrond, Galadriel, and the hobbits arrive, and on the boat with them, they've brought Maglor. Some people, knowing Elrond either in his youth in the War of Wrath or in his wisdom in later days, aren't surprised that Elrond did this, but Galadriel?!

In the ensuing confusion, the Younger Mr. Baggins election campaign slips through to victory, to the surprise of all and to Frodo's tired and frankly embarrassed dismay. Someone reassures him that it's just ceremonial, except for the authority to declare war, and he just needs to officially "re-appoint" Fingolfin to do the actual governing. This reassures Frodo very little.)

(A few hundred years later, some people are like, "hey, you know, Celebrimbor has been managing his terrible older relatives really well, and obviously his Rings came in CLUTCH for the whole Third Age. We should totally elect him--" To which Celebrimbor says, "oh Lord to Whom All Birds are Sacred, please NO, do NOT do that." To which his supporters says, "alright, let's get Huan elected as an honorable stand-in" and they almost, almost pull it off, but lose out in the end because their candidate a) isn't very good at giving speeches, and b) already has a full-time job being hunting partner/parole officer for Celegorm specifically, but probably he keeps an eye on all the whole Oath-bound family.)

#aman ever after #the silmarillion #samwise gamgee #lotr #feanor and feanor's kin #ficlet

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imakemywings · 2 years

Text

Let us taunt old care with a merry air / And sing in the face of ill

Fandom: Tolkien

Pairing: Earendil/Elwing

AN: De-anon from the kink meme for Earendil and Elwing’s developing relationship. Title is from the poem “In Summer" by Paul Laurence Dunbar.

AO3 | Pillowfort | SWG

__________________________________________________________

In the fall, Elwing is five, and she builds sandcastles in front of a strange ocean with a boy from a city she never saw, that doesn’t exist any longer, which makes them two of a kind. He grows the same way she does, in odd fits and starts, with no one sure where their milestones are supposed to be, or what their futures will look like. They skip through the wet sand and in the daylight forget the memories of burning trees and clashing blades and running, running, running in the joy of warm sunlight on their cheeks and cups of hot cider pressed into their hands by the adults. If his parents hover slightly, she doesn’t notice, any more than she notices the fretful, haunted eyes always watching her.

In the winter, Elwing is fourteen, and she understands what she has lost. The howl of the inconsolable waves on the shore echoes the raging in her breast for everything that has been stolen from her; the memory of her brothers haunts the corners of her vision and she introduces herself as Dioriel. Eärendil does not begrudge her her wrath or her grief and sits beside her while she trembles as a storm-tossed sail, while she demands answers of ghosts and apparitions who cannot speak. The Silmaril is in a box in her room and there is bitter pleasure in opening it up to stare at the jewel that cost her family everything, and to know the monsters who did this to her will never have it. Eärendil asks her what she remembers of Doriath, and the resentment is so heavy on her tongue she can barely speak when she replies: Nothing.

In the spring, Elwing is twenty-six, and she is tired of being angry. She takes long walks on the beach with Eärendil and his parents, and she does not begrudge him their company. Idril Celebrindal presses egg tarts into her hands and Tuor Ulmondil regales her with stories of his journey to Gondolin, and when Eärendil lays his head on her shoulder, she puts her arm around him and asks him what he remembers about Gondolin. Eärendil tells her of the splendid fountains, and of his grandfather Turgon, who would lift him up on his balcony to let him see the entirety of the city spread out at his feet, and of the sweet mountain air. While he speaks, she feels his joy, and not her own loss, and that is how she knows she loves him.

In the summer, Elwing is thirty, and Eärendil wears a hair clasp emblazoned with the symbol of her house, and she can feel the stirring of life below her ribs. The Silmaril is heavy around her neck, but it shines like a star when it catches the light, and in the mornings when Eärendil is home, he gathers her thick dark hair away from her neck to clasp it on for her. Sometimes when he is away, she sleeps with it on, as if feeling the weight of it against her breast somehow keeps him close. They sit on the edge of the pier in front of a peach sky and discuss what they shall call the baby, and Elwing threatens to push Eärendil into the water when he suggests the name of his father’s favorite goat (who now lives in their own yard). The glorious radiance of the time they have together so outshines the pain of their separation that Elwing forgets what it feels like to say goodbye once Eärendil has come back to port.

In the summer, Elwing is thirty, and she no longer thinks about “going home,” because she has created a new home for herself, and in this, she hopes the phantoms of her past will finally find peace.

#elwing #earendil #earendil x elwing #the silmarillion #tolkien tag #fanfiction #tolkien fanfiction #rocky writes #the silmarillion kink meme #case and point about g-rated requests on the kink meme #starwing

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eunoiaastralwings · 1 year

Text

Elen Lantanwanya

Part 1, Part 2 (reading), Part 3

featuring turgon x reader

fandom tolkien — the silmarillion

a/n yea - am sorry there's going to be a part 3

warnings blood, injury, medics, needles - i know nothing about medicine or the process of cleaning wounds - I apologize for my lack of knowledge

You were certainly overstaying your welcome in this hidden grand city.

But you couldn’t deny – it was rather nice to live in a magical looking city hidden from the outside world.

You thanked your luck stars day and night – you were brought to a place like this rather than somewhere else, where you would have to get by and survive with your bare hands.

Your bruises and scratches were slowly starting to heal – but the aching on your sides still take longer.

Anyone could tell from the large purple bruise that ran along your side.

`The healers were pleased – they didn’t have to worry about you too much.

You knew your way around herbs and medicines – to make yourself some and take care of yourself.

The torn and baggy clothed you had been replaced with shimmering robes.

Each on personally picked out by Idril – the princess and daughter of the elf you were still somewhat unsure around.

You were shocked to learn he was king – a father too, but you kept needing to remind yourself how elves – the mystical creations they are – did not age.

Elf or not – you had to admit Turgon was very handsome.

Multiple times – you accidentally lock eyes with him while at the dinner table – every time there was heavy blush on your face and you immediately turned away from him.

It was princess Idril that kept inviting you – and you thought it would be rude to decline, especially since she was being so kind to you.

You wondered about her mother – Turgon’s queen.

You weren’t being rude – but you did notice Turgon’s side was rather lonely. The place of someone important as the queen was being.

You were completely sure Idril was in no way adopted – not with the way they shared the same strikingly blue eyes.

Her mannerisms were similar to his too – she never forced you out of the healers room – but stayed with you for a few minutes and talked.

It was only the third of her visiting did you finally come out of healing quarters and change into something else – attend their dinners too.

Saying Turgon was shocked to you – would be an understatement.

In all the times – he tried to talk to you, he never gotten a more than a sentence out of you.

When Idril suggested she would try – Turgon was rather hesitant but in seeing you had swallowed your fears and helped his soldiers – he allowed it.

However – the first day or 2, he was eavesdropping from the corner.

He couldn’t help – it was daughter and as much as he as taken a rather odd liking to you – but it came to his daughter he rather be safe than sorry.

He couldn’t afford to lose someone else in his life.

You sat beside his daughter at every dinner – afraid to look up and converse with anyone among the table.

Glorfindel had tried once or twice to get something out of you – in the end he only received a warning nudge from Turgon to leave you alone.

You only either played with your food or looked around the room.

If you conversed with anyone – it was probably his daughter, no one else.

“Atar – you need to stop staring at her!”

Idril suddenly whispered to him – harshly.

She make sure you couldn’t hear – or distracted.

Turgon turned to his daughter and blinked.

“Am I?”

He asked – suddenly clear his throat.

“You look at her like she’s some sort of puzzle you can’t solve – you’re making her highly uncomfortable!”

Turgon smiled fondly at his daughter – the way she scrunched her nose when angry reminded him of Elenwe.

“Am sorry, nitya elen – I’ll make sure not to.” (little star).

He tried to stay true to his promise – but it was hard not notice you.

The way you moved your eyes across room, or the way you quietly tugged your hair behind your ear, or lazily pick up the cutlery again – Turgon would always earn a kick under the table or a glare from Idril whenever he did.

It was safe to say – when you left the king did get an earful from his daughter.

But Idril was right – you were like a puzzle he couldn’t solve.

There was something about you he couldn’t understand – why were you still so afraid of everyone?

Barely conversing outside your little circle of the healers and Idril – Turgon had visited you every day after you were found by his soldiers – but still he never really got a straight sentence out of him.

Not to mention – you always refused to hold eye contact with him for more than 3 seconds.

Has he frightened you? – Has his people mistreated you?

There were many questions running through his mind – he knew he couldn’t bombard you with them, that wouldn’t fair on you – especially since you were still very nervous around him.

Many times – Turgon thought amount the times he first interacted with you.

Was there anything you could uncomfortable about him?

Turgon tried to put himself in your shoes – he supposed being surrounded by people outside your kin can be difficult – maybe even scary.

You were cleaning around the healing quarters, you were staying here for a few weeks now, you might as well help out.

These were quiet lonesome moments — you would think about how you had overstayed your welcome here.

Sure — they were kind enough to let you stay and regain your health. But you definitely did not belong here — a place filled with creatures wiser and fairer than you.

It wouldn't make sense to stay here any longer.

Then suddenly — what had started as a calm turned for the worse — When an alarmed and panicked Idril came rushing – crying her eyes out in front of you.

Your eyes widened as the girl’s sobbed in front of you.

Whatever she was mumbling – didn’t make sense to you.

“Idril – here, sit down.”

You quietly prompted her to sit on one of the best – one your hands rubbered her back gently trying to get her to slowly calm down.

“Idril. . . easy, little one. Deep breaths.”

Though – you knew she was years older than you. She was really still just a child.

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

You said.

You tenderly held one of her hands and draw soft circles on them – you tried your very best calm her down.

“Atar. . .”

She sobbed.

You knew that meant father – she always referred to as such.

“What about him?”

“Orcs.”

You were confused when she said that – putting your aside your own frees you sat closer to her.

“What are you trying to say, little one? – Your atar? Orcs?”

“Atarnya – he when out to fight the orcs! Am scared Y/N!”

She suddenly hugged you – startling you – and cried on your shoulder.

“He left the hidden city?”

You gasped.

Idril nodded in reply.

Turgon really left to fight? — Should he be doing that?

How many orcs were out there for the king to get out and fight?

An uneasy feeling spread inside more so when Idril began the death of her mother.

“I can't lose him too”

She mumbled to you.

So there was a queen — someone who should have been queen but unfortunately got killed by the icy depths of the Helcaraxë as Idril explained.

That was the king's wife — the mother of the princess currently crying in your arms.

She had already lost one parent — losing another would pain her soul to death.

“Your father is strong, Idril — you know this. It'll be alright, please have faith in him.”

You rubbed her arm up and down — surprised she was allowing you to.

Elves didn't associate in this form outside of kin — so it bewildered you how Idril easily let you comfort her.

For the next few hours — you tried your best to console Idril.

On the inside you were panicked — terrified would a better word.

If something happened to Turgon. . .

You didn't want to think of what consequences it would bring — you prayed he would survive, at least for his daughter.

So when the doors to the healing quarters with injured soldiers once again — Idril and yourself desperately seeked out Turgon.

There were many soldiers and lords — but still no sign of Turgon.

The longer you waited — the longer the dreaded thoughts were approaching you — and fast.

You held your breath — worried if you moved or breathed something terrible might happen.

Idril began squeezing your harder and harder in worry.

You wanted march and check yourself — but you kept yourself grounded and tried to wait patiently.

When all the soldiers finally came —there was still no sign of the king.

You turned around — spotting the lord of the house of the golden flower to ask about Turgon's whereabouts — when suddenly Idril cried out.

“Atar!”

You watched as Idril left your side and flung her arms around her father.

He winced slightly — but nevertheless returned the hug of his only child.

Your eyes checked over him — you noted how his left arm was heavily bleeding.

“My king — your bleeding!”

The head healer was beside you in seconds.

“Don't worry about me! — Get my soldiers treated first!”

“But atar-“

“It's right, pitya elen — we only a few healers. I can wait.”

Turgon had gently told his daughter.

Idril frowned — then suddenly her eyes snapped at you.

“Atar— y/n is available! Y/n can treat you!”

Your eyes widened.

“Me?”

You suddenly pointed to yourself.

“Y/n. . .”

Turgon said — finally knowing your name.

“Y/n has great skills, my king.”

You were shocked when the head healer backed you up.

“What do you say, y/n?”

Turgon looked at you expectantly.

With Idril pleading eyes — it was definitely impossible to reject.

So you quickly asked the king to sit the table of whatever supplies you required.

“Please, sit here. I just need to get something else.”

You mumbled awkwardly and went to grab whatever else you needed.

In the meantime, Turgon insisted his daughter can go and he could take care of things here.

While, Idril was reluctant to leave — she knew she can trust her father in your hands.

Turgon sighed and sat down on the small chair next to the range of herbs, mixes, box of needles and cleaning clothes.

You came back as quickly as you left.

A pot of grinded herbs in your hands.

Giving him a cloth to apply pressure on the wound – you quickly cleaned up the mess.

Your nervous hands reached for the cloth again – wow, in all your years as a healer you never thought you would be treating a king – and an elvish king?

Carefully, you pushed away his heavy sleeves and took a good look on the wound.

Shakingly – you tried not to meet eyes with him – however you could feel his eyes on you.

He was watching you carefully – it was a little distracting, but you paid close attention to cleaning and disinfecting the large wound on his arm.

It looked like a sword’s slash – thankfully it wasn’t deeply, you just needed to stitch it up.

Gently – you grabbed the mixed herbs you had grinded up earlier and carefully applied it across the area.

You took as long as possible – you didn’t really want to be the one who had to stitch up the wound of the king of the hidden city.

You gulped and reached for a needle – he was sitting very still for you.

You desperately hoped one of his healers would be available to do the rest – you quietly looked around the room and rolled the needle and stitching in between your fingers.

“It’s alright.”

Turgon chose to speak up when saw you being reluctant and uneasy with this whole ordeal.

You bit your lip and sighed inwardly – before you reached down again.

He made no movement of uneasiness when you began to work – concentrating hard and try not to mess up.

You let your breath the entire time.

You didn’t want to think of the consequences of what would happen if you did this wrong – your life may be on the line.

Why did you ever agree to do this?

Once you finished – you shakingly cleaned around the stitched area.

“You are good at this.”

You peaked at him from underneath your eyelashes, but quickly turned away when you noticed he was still looking at you.

“T - Thank you?”

You mentally rolled your eyes at the sound of your voice.

You sounded like his hands were around your neck – like he was forcing you to do this.

You couldn’t help – this is the first time you came across important elves such as the one in front of you.

You grabbed the long bandages from the table.

“If I may ask – why did you become a healer?”

That question confused – no one has really asked you that before.

The bandages in your hands were really soft – you don’t think you ever came across soft and firm bandage. The closest to this what humans had were small pieces of clothing – elves truly had everything, didn’t they? – You were a little envious of these mystical creations of Eru.

With a nervous gulp – you wrapped the bandage around his arm as you thought about the question.

You shyly met his gaze - wondering what was happening behind those blue eyes. You always found yourself - out of breath because of them.

Turgon watched you with interest - there was a small smile as your shaky hands was trying to work as swiftly as possible.

“I don't know - I guess I always liked helping people. . .”

You timidly answered him.

“Why are you still nervous around me, elen lantanwanya?”

There was it again. . .

“Am not. . .”

“Really? - You purposefully treated my healthy arm? Instead of the wounded arm?”

He cocked an eyebrow at you.

Your eyes widened as you looked down – you had stitched the right arm yes, but completely bandaged the wrong arm.

Your jaw fell in shock – how the fuck did you manage to do that?

Turgon chuckled at our reaction – and you rolled your eyes.

Quickly getting to work again – you unwrapped the bandage and grabbed a long line of a new bandage.

The smirk on Turgon’s lips made you want to glare at him – but chose silently to curse at him.

This time making sure to wrap it around the right arm – you carefully tied it not to cause too much pain.

But you doubted he would even be bothered by it – elves healed exponentially faster than humans – there you go, another thing to be jealous about.

A little annoyed you reached over to grab another small line of cloth to wrap around it.

But accidently you had hit against the box of needles – causing the box of needles to knock off the table.

You gasped and cursed under breath.

Turgon only shook his head and chuckled – immediately reaching for the fallen needles on the ground.

Your eyes widened realizing the king was going on his hands and knees to pick it and suddenly without thinking you acted.

Two pairs of small delicate hands were placed top of his hands – gently stopping him.

Turgon froze – he held his breath and turned to face you.

His eyes widened looking into your eyes – you were so close to him; he could breathe in your scent of lavender and a herb he couldn’t put his finger on yet.

When you had realized your closeness – you quickly withdrew your hands and held them close to you.

“Am sorry – let me.”

You said and reached out for the fallen needles.

Turgon needed to blink for a moment before he reacted.

“No, it’s alight – I can help.”

In the process of both of you reach – it caused your heads to hit against each other.

You hissed out painfully and so did Turgon – and rubbed a spot on your head.

“Am terribly sorry – are you alright?”

When both of you had turned to each other – you stared at each other for a second then chuckling at your misfortune.

“Am happy to see you’re no longer nervous around – but laughing.”

Turgon smiled at you – with his strikingly blue eyes and black hair that was so dark and soft it reflected the light into soft silver white lines, it always reminded of moonlight.

He was truly an ethereal being.

You let out a laugh and returned the smile.

Unknown to you – another pair of the same strikingly blue eyes were looking at you and smiling fondly.

silm taglist: @doodle-pops

tara's taglist: @aeonianarchives @spidergirla5 @mslizziesblog @wandererindreams

form for taglist

#turgon x reader #turgon #the silmarillion #the silm x reader #the silmarillion x reader #gondolin #noldor #turukano #turgon the wise #answered #eunoiawrites #silmarillion #tolkien elves

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avantegarda · 2 years

Text

a long-expected shitpost about the gondolin government

aka: i have a lot of weird headcanons and now you are going to sit through them.

First of all, I think it's important to note that there really isn't any poverty in Gondolin.

There are definitely different social classes--your aristocrats and government mucky-mucks live very fancy lives, your merchants and artisans are a bit less fancy but still live well, and your domestic workers and farmers live more modestly--but as everyone relies on the same farmland and same natural resources to live, there's no major gap between rich and poor.

Because food production is very much a government-organized thing, what people sell in the markets is mainly handicrafts, clothing, and some specialty items like candy and tea.

On a different note, I see city council meetings in Gondolin as being surprisingly casual, despite Turgon's tendency to be a very proper organized fellow.

Largely because these people have all known each other for centuries, and often they and their families have been Turgon's pals for even longer, so they generally feel comfortable cracking jokes and having a good time.

As long as they still get their work done, of course. Turgon can forgive a meeting that turns into a game of The Floor is Lava, as long as they actually do things while sitting on the table.

This is related to the canonical fact of Turgon considering himself everyone's dad.

The main reason Gondolin lasts as long as it does without self-destructing is that the city is very, very good about putting on festivals and war games and other things necessary for Enrichment.

There is only 1 brain cell in the entire government and Idril has it 90% of the time

#tolkien #silmarillion #gondolin #there i finished it #for now

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ceescedasticity · 2 years

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Unforsaken, 4b

(All sections on tumblr)

(AO3, lagging behind but more polished)

[Author's note: There might have been something longer ready to share but CERTAIN INDIVIDUALS have not stopped BARKING all evening.]

When we left off: They'd just suddenly realized they were in the position of maybe having to explain the Gimli Lockbearer situation to two sons of Fëanor:

(Actually… maybe they can put this off.)

Elladan: Legolas is Thranduil's son, Gimli is a great elf-friend and hero of the War of the Ring, but the other three will take some explaining.

Celeborn steps up to explain: There was an orc called the Fair Orc who preyed on the people of Dunland off and on for the second half of the Third Age, and if it was the same Fair Orc as in Mirkwood a while earlier, then it used to be Eöl.

Glorfindel: Wait, the Fair Orc was Eöl?

If it was the same Fair Orc then yes.

Turgon: Ulk — who used to be Eöl — was in the Misty Mountains then, yeah.

Celegorm: When he wasn't busy being dead.

They didn't know he had any interest in Dunland, though. Was he doing something unusual?

…He abducted people, mostly young women, and begot several hundred half-human children.

All the orcs: What.

All the orcs: Why.

Glorfindel, in growing horror because he did hear about what the Fair Orc did, and what does that imply: Eöl?

It's not like they had a chance to question him.

Celeborn's best guess is that it's Eöl's… hobby? Chosen craft? Weird compulsion?To hold people prisoner and twist their minds up and, apparently, beget children on them.

…

Turgon, Celegorm, and Glorfindel are all horrified by the implications for Aredhel.

…Maglor is also quite horrified.

Really everyone is horrified.

Whiterot gets up and walks out.

Elladan: Anyway regardless of who the Fair Orc used to be, about a hundred of his children are still alive.

Sharlinnu: …They're half-elves, aren't they.

Celegorm: How many were there to start with?

Turgon: What… happened to the rest of them?

One, basically yes. It took way too long for anyone to realize it. Some of the darkness of their begetting and birth clung to them, we think, so no one ever looked at them and thought 'half-elf' — it was always 'goblin-men'.

Two, no one knows for sure, probably about five hundred?

Three… a lot of things, really, Dunland isn't an easy place to live even in peacetime and the Men of Dunland disliked them. But there were about three hundred alive when Saruman came recruiting, and told them he was the only one who would ever accept them, and most of them believed him…

Sharlinnu, interrupting: Wait, is that where those so-called 'Uruk-hai' came from?

#orc bank unforsaken #orc bank #a tolkien tag #it's going to come up eventually

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doodle-pops · 10 months

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Having A S/O With Curly Hair

Headcanons: Maedhros, Celegorm, Fingon, Turgon, Finarfin, Thingol, Beleg, Elrond

A/N: A little something for all my curly-haired readers :) Enjoy!

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ Maedhros

I headcanon his hair being luscious curls, so Mae definitely knows how to style your hair. Don’t worry about detangling, he has that down perfectly and will even listen as you explain the hair products and oils you use to keep your hair soft and silky. He’ll even suggest some of his own home remedies that he uses to keep his hair tangle-free.

Mae would have tons of hairpins and clips, ribbons and hair-holders just for you whenever he had to style your hair. The issue is that your hair takes way longer than his to handle. A few times, he had got his hand stuck in the locks in your curls. One minute you’ll hear him chatting lively, and the next, he’s silent. That’s when you know he ran into some problems. It’s funny if you asked him about it because he’ll reply with, “No, no, it’s alright, I’m fine. I know what I’m doing.” It takes him a long time before he gets his hand out and asks for your assistance to hold parts of your hair.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ Celegorm

Now don’t get me started, he might not appear as someone who knows much about fancy hairdos, but the minute he sees how springy your hair is, he is suddenly the best hairstylist ever. Whenever you have to style your hair, you would see Tyelko popping into the room so he can attempt some braid he learned from other hunters.

The look of determination on his face just to part your hair in sections is pure bliss. He takes styling your hair as seriously as hunting; do not disturb him. Either he bites your hand or smacks it with the comb (like most of our mothers). The problem is, as much as he styles your hair in a fancy braid, your hair is still tangled underneath. Even when your hair is loose, his hands are always running through it and then getting stuck. You feel tugs against your scalp, and as you look up, there is Tyelko fighting a battle with your curls wrapped around his fingers. “Your hair is always trying to eat me; it's hungry like you.”

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ Fingon

He got curly hair just like you, so you’re partners in crime. Fingon allows you to use all his hair products and home remedies for detangling and achieving soft and silky curls. Most of the time, it’s him who’s doing all the hair styling, whether it’s simple or extravagant, he does your hair. You don’t have to worry about him tugging and pulling it if he gets stuck while styling. Also, this means that you get the best hair accessories since he knows all the good ones for curly hair.

He understands the struggles of curly hair, especially when it’s brushed out and becomes one giant puff of floof. One day when you need to wash your hair, he’s there with all the shampoos and oils and purposefully takes you out to see your hair puffy after being airdried. Don’t worry, he pities you and would lend you his ribbons and hairpins to keep the wildness tamed. However, when he isn’t styling your hair and his fingers are running through the curls, they do get caught and he’ll just look at your hair before commenting, “Your hair doesn’t want us to part. It’s keeping me trapped!”

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ Turgon

Poor baby has watched his elder brother with all his voluminous hair and wonders how he keeps it tamed; now has to do the same with you. Turgon is making trips to his brother constantly to beg for assistance so he could braid your hair without causing discomfort—he bought many pretty hairpins and clips for you to use. He learned the hard way that using a brush on curly hair isn’t the best option.

Turgon treats your hair delicately and only touches it when you request his help, other than that, he’s watching in awe as you handle your hair with ease. He’ll sit for hours and throw tons of questions so he can understand how to deal with the volume ad curls. From there, he’ll grow braver and attempt to apply simple small braids to your hair and put some flowers in between. He’s so eager to attempt fancier braids in your hair, thus, he puts a lot of effort into spending time learning and practising how to care for your curls. The bravest act he’ll manage to do without worrying would be patting your hair. “It’s so delicate and pillowy, so many curls…”

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ Finarfin

He’s amazed and in awe by the volume of curls you’re bringing to the table dearie. Even when your style your hair, you always leave sections open for the natural curls to be on show, he’s gawking. You’ll see his fingers twitching to reach out and touch a few strands because he’s never seen someone with so many curls. Finarfin considers your hair to be clouds at this point because it appears fluffy.

Finarfin would sit for hours and just adore the way you comb your hair with ease and then become flustered when you request his assistance. He’ll become stunned and point at himself to clarify that you want him to style your hair or comb it out. You’ll teach him how to section your hair to make it easier for styling and detangling, and in return, he’ll gift you a ton of hair accessories. One day, you’ll receive a box full of beautiful hair clips and ribbons to wear in your hair. “I hope these can make up for how beautiful your hair is.”

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ Thingol

He acts like your hair isn’t anything fancy or amazing, but deep down, he’s asking everyone who has curly hair for advice and then threatening to stay silent. This way, when he approaches you to style your hair with ease, he’s a professional at it. But it doesn’t stop his fingers from becoming ensnared by your untamed curls whenever he becomes a little too proud of his accomplishments.

Sometimes, he’ll sit quietly with a glass of wine and observe as you make parts in your hair and add twists and braids, or he would hover. Handing you clips and ribbons, combs and pins while fluttering about like some bee, ensuring that it fits, and you look beautiful. That way, he’ll know to order more hair accessories as gifts. Thingol’s favourite moment is when your hair is loose and free-flowing in the wind; whether it cascades down your back or stops at your shoulder, he marvels at all the richness of the curls. Using your hair on him is a good way to avoid arguments, just come with your hair open and he’ll lose focus midway because your hair is distracting. “It’s like you have a natural crown on your head all the time.”

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ Beleg

Another hunter who wants to eagerly experiment on your hair with new hairstyles he learned from all the other guards during his time away. He’ll even politely ask the princess if she could teach him some braids for curly hair so that he can reciprocate on yours. When he returns, he comes bearing gifts and eager fingers to get tangled in your curls.

In the middle of him talking himself through the process he learned, you’ll hear his voice growing silent as he messes up a braid or got his finger ensnared. His soft voice followed by a nervous chuckle will be heard as he calls you for help. “Ah…help please?” His favourite times are washing day. He’ll sit and help you shampoo and oil the roots of your scalp, carefully sectioning your hair and listening to your advice. When you’re finished, he’ll offer to detangle and give you some simple braids to keep your hair neat.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ Elrond

He knows how to handle your hair professionally and with delicate care; you’ll feel as though he’s putting you to sleep as he brushes and combs through all the tangles. No head jerking or crying out in pain as he detangles and braids, it’s smooth sailing. Just know that Elrond had read lots of books on how to handle curly hair before attempting to battle with yours.

On leisure days, as you both are sitting or cuddling, his fingers would comb through your curls despite knowing they would become trapped. His fascination with your curls and their springiness of them is never-ending; he’ll give tiny tugs to them as he becomes playful. “Beautiful hair for a beautiful lover. Unique just like you,” he’ll whisper before planting a kiss on your floof of curls. You can always count on Elrond to style your hair in the most extravagant braids and styles, accompanied by beautiful accessories he commissioned for you.

Masterlist

Taglist: @eunoiaastralwings @noldorinpainter @ranhanabi777 @lilmelily @someoneinthestars @mysticmoomin @aconstructofamind @hoshinokurasa @the-phantom-of-arda @rain-on-my-umbrella @singleteapot @wandererindreams @asianbutnotjapanese @justellie17 @justjane @silverose365 @bunson-burner

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jee-eun · 1 year

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The Cost of Victory: 09

A cheer rose up among his people as the dragon fell and the orcs faltered but they had not won yet.

The orcs rallied quickly enough, coming back with a vengeance.

Then the battle song began.

Three voices rose in harmony, powerful and chilling to the bone. The earth began to shake underneath their feet, the orcs falling to their knees at the sound of the song. Some of the orcs turned and fled at the sound of the song and the balrogs cried out in rage and challenge.

The song rose in power and volume, its range extending even further. It continued to rise in power until even the balrogs could not withstand its power.

“Now!” he commanded as his own troops rallied, taking advantage of the temporary state their enemies found themselves in.

Arrows launched, findinging their marks within the skulls of orcs. Spears and lances pierced balrogs until there were no more.

More orcs flooded the battlefield, taking the places of their fallen comrades. They were an endless wave, advancing towards them with the goal of their death.

His troops were beginning to tire but they had taken out the largest threats. The balrogs were no more on the field and they had slain the dragon. If they could just hold for a while longer.

The song began to die down and the cavalry broke through. Celegorm led them with a wild look of elation on his face, his lance streaked with the blood of his enemies. He looked fey and dangerous upon his horse as he attacked with a special kind of viciousness.

They were holding. They would hold, they had too.

‘The majority have been evacuated,’ Galadriel’s voice rang inside his mind alongside the minds of the other commanders on the field.

‘Good,’ he thought to himself. Even if they were holding now, they wouldn’t be able to hold it much longer if they still hoped to escape.

That was when the second dragon arrived.

Larger than the first with scales dark as night, this dragon must have been the destroyer of Gondolin. Ancalagon Idril had called it, Ancalagon the Black. The dragon was monstrous, spikes adorning his tail and spine, his teeth as sharp as their sharpest spears. Ancalagon made the first dragon look like a mouse compared to a horse.

Ancalagon landed among the orcs and breathed out an arc of fire into the sky, daring anyone to challenge him.

“Retreat!” he called out to his troops.

He could distantly hear Turgon, Thingol, and Celegorm echoing the cry as their troops turned and fled the field.

He continued to fight, even as he was pushed back until he fell in at the rear of the retreat alongside Turgon and Thingol.

“We can’t take that thing on,” Turgon breathed out, gasping for breath, “It’s too big.”

“No, we can’t,” Thingol agreed, “It’s time to bring this fight home.”

They nodded in agreement, joining the retreat.

Turgon used his spear for medium range while Thingol used his bow for longer range targets. Any orcs that came too close tasted the metal of his sword.

They continued to retreat, fighting the orcs as they went, attempting to slow the orcs until they were backed into the entrance of Menegroth and fighting to keep the orcs at bay.

“We need to buy a couple more minutes,” Turgon said, “Give the majority the chance to live.”

Thingol nodded in agreement, exchanging his bow for his sword. They fell upon the orcs in a fury, taking out as many as possible before they entered Menegroth, barring the doors behind them.

The doors wouldn’t hold long, but they would hold long enough.

They turned and ran, disappearing into one of the many halls of Menegroth.

Not all of the warriors were familiar with Menegroth’s immense cave system but they were more familiar with it than the orcs seeing it for the first time. And not everyone took the same path to their destination.

They followed Thingol through the immense cave system. The sound of the doors falling echoed from behind them. As they ran, they could hear the sounds of orcs in pursuit.

‘Now,’ he thought to Galadriel.

Immediately several of the traps they had rigged began to detonate in the entrance hall.

He could hear the sounds of orcs in pain as the traps sprung, even as they made their way through the cave system.

Maedhros smirked to himself mentally.

They quickly made their way to the rendezvous point where their people were quickly boarding boats and setting sail.

“The majority have made it,” Melian informed them, “We did it.”

They allowed themself one small moment to bask in their success as their people quickly evacuated.

Within minutes only himself, Turgon, Thingol, Melian, and Galadriel remained.

“Quickly, get into the boat,” Melian said, “I can hold them off for but a moment to allow you to escape.”

“Lúthien?” Thingol asked.

“Already gone,” Melian answered, “Now go.”

“Not without you.”

Melian turned and nodded to Galadriel who brought Turgon and himself into one of the remaining boats and expertly undocked them.

“I’ll see you in Valinor,” she said to Melian. A promise.

Melian nodded as orcs finally reached them, bursting through the doors and rushing into the grotto.

“Go!” Melian commanded. A small wave of power pushing them out of Menegroth and allowing them to join the boats floating along the Esgalduin.

Once they were safely away, the city began to collapse.

He could hear the cries of the thousands of orcs trapped inside as the entire structure caved in on them.

One final wave of power rushed over them, pushing them further downstream.

He knew then what happened.

Elu Thingol was dead.

He died a hero, allowing thousands to escape to safety. He died an honorable death in battle.

And Melian was leaving these shores. She was going to Valinor, where she might even plead for aid on their behalf to the Valar.

Elu Thingol was dead.

Melian had fled to Valinor.

Doriath had fallen to Morgoth.

#silm #silm fic #silmarillion #silm au #fix-it #nirnaeth arnoediad #fix-it of sorts #ao3 #maedhros #maglor #turgon #elu thingol #angst #silm angst

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arlenianchronicles · 3 years

Photo

“Did you think I would leave you?”

Fingon and Turgon reunite during the Fifth Battle. Boy oh boy, all the feels. Hosting the dtiys event got me in the mood to look at the Nolofinwëans again, so here we are with more brotherly bonds!

Reference photo for the first panel (I couldn’t find the picture’s original source, so if you know it, please let me know so I can add credits!)

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warrioreowynofrohan · 3 years

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Aredhel, Reborn

This is a fragment that I started putting together a long time ago, and it stops in the middle, but my writing isn’t cooperating right now so I’m posting it as-is for @tolkiengenweek . It’s a sequel to my two previous Aredhel pieces (but not my Aredhel and Eöl one, which isn’t in continuity with it). Hopefully I’ll manage to follow up on it.

********************

Aredhel leaves the Halls, permitted to return to life for no reason that she can comprehend. She has not sought mercy for herself, though she has asked it a thousand times for her son and been met with a deafening silence. She chooses to return because Fingon is doing so, and he might not be able to bring himself to go if he left behind both of his siblings as well as his dearest friend. Turgon should have returned - would have been permitted to return, yeni ago, not tainted by kinslaying as his siblings are - but he is being stubborn, out of some mix of reluctance to face the survivors of Gondolin and reluctance to face the Lord of the Waters.

They reenter life to be almost immediately caught in their father’s embrace. Through all that follows - returning to Tirion, reunion with their mother and cousins, an apology to the Lady Eärwen that clearly terrifies Fingon more than any battle he’s ever fought in - the world seems faded and distant to Aredhel, as though some part of her fëa had never left the Halls. She cannot stay in Tirion, she cannot seem to hold the thread of a conversation with anyone, even her parents and brother. She knows, distantly, that she loves them, but it all seems so far away.

Her aimless feet take her to Valmar, and she find herself at the one place in the Blessed Realm that is shunned by Eldar and Ainur alike, climbing from the foot of Ezellohar to the two broken skeletons that were once the purest light in the universe, and as she collapses to the grass she feels, for the first time, a connection with the world. How did you do it? she whispers. How do you continue when what you hold dearest has been turned to darkness and ruin and ash? And something connects within her mind, something that never did through all the years in the Halls, never did during her return to Tirion, though all the reunions and necessary, distant apologies. Her feet carry her south and east, to the seashore and the white city, the city of pearls.

She does not go to the throne room of the king and queen, but to the docks, cloaked and hooded and unnoticed, seeking for faces she remembers. She finds one, working, holding a small curved knife in her hand that she uses to shell oysters.

Aredhel raises her hood, sees the Telerin woman start at the sight of her, and falls to her knees. The knife stops its work, poised in midair.

“What are you doing here?”

“I…I wished to apologize. To say that I was wrong.”

“So? What does that mean? What will that mend?” The woman lays down the shelling-knife, goes to a ship, and picks up another meant for carving wood. She lays the blade to a piece of wood lying nearby and the hands, their movements so smooth and deft when shelling oysters, begin to shake, leaving jagged, uneven cuts, leaving it useless. “I built the ships your people so wantonly destroyed, shaped them as you Noldor shape steel, and now I live again, but that which gave me life has left me. We did not hoard them and hide them in vaults, we sailed them and lived aboard them until they were more our home than the shore, and all you left to us were blood and ash and tainted memories.” The tremors through her body come in waves now, and her voice is choked. “My life was the least of what you stole from me. And now you seek what? Absolution? Resolution? This does not end for me. Why should it end for you?”

Aredhel hunches in on herself. “I surrender. What would you have of me?”

“Why come here, and not to the king?”

Olwë wouldn’t do anything to me - for Uncle Finarfin’s sake, if not for my own. He wasn’t who I attacked. He wasn’t who I killed.

“I thought you had more right. I…I know what it is to be betrayed by one whom you trusted. I know what it it is to see what you love dearest cast into ruin. And if I had - him - apologizing to me, truly and sincerely, as I am to you” - her voice breaks - “I would bury a knife in his guts.” She is shaking. “I came here because I didn’t know what else to do. Only that I needed to do something. I surrender. Say what you want from me, and you will have it.”

The Telerin woman just looks tired. “I don’t want your blood. What use would that be? I don’t want you locked up. What good would that do anyone? You cannot give back what you have taken. You cannot restore what is destroyed.

“Leave us in peace. Go.”

Aredhel goes.

....

She flees to the wild lands she once loved, which no longer feel so narrow as they did in the years of her youth, before Gondolin and Nan Elmoth and the Halls, before she knew that duty was a chain and love was a chain. Fear, too, is a chain, as she find when she wanders into the woods of Oromë where she once hunted with her cousins and stops, trembling, as the treetops cut off the sky, frozen, her thought a thousand miles away in drowned lands where the forest went from wonder to horror to prison. She works her way stumbling back to the light, her arms clutching at branches and tree-trunks to pull her onwards, until she emerges again into the free air.

She goes, instead, to the open plains, where she can run and ride and hunt, and take joy in feeling alive again, with a heart that beats and mouth that tastes and limbs that ache. In time she returns to the forest, first to edges and sun-dappled clearings, later to the denser woods in autumn when the leaves turn yellow and brown and fall to create openings where light and warmth enters, and nuts and fruits and berries surround her at every turn. Regaining the woods in summertime takes longer, where leaves create deep pools of shadow, and it is longer still before she wishes to be in the woods after nightfall, looking up at the stars.

(She no longer wears white. She dresses in greys and browns and tans, and in plain or woodland she might be mistaken for part of the landscape.)

She cannot say, for certain, how much of her escape is driven by avoiding walls, and how much by avoiding people, avoiding the need to hear or speak of (or hear people deliberately and delicately not speak of) a son she cannot defend and will not condemn. Did she shun the woods because they felt a cage, or because it felt that at any moment a pale-skinned, black-haired boy might step out of them with a present for his mother of hazlenuts or newly-caught game or skillfully-carved wood? A boy who is gone, who is become something she cannot and will not name.

Fingon finds her, from time to time, with uncanny ability, though he was never her equal as a woodsman. They share meals, wanderings, conversations light or serious. He does not tell her to return, though he speaks often of their parents and at times ventures to say how much they miss her. She does not know how to explain. Fingon can feel that their positions, failing and pardoned and returned and grieving for the lost, are the same, but it does not feel so to her. He fell in battle, and with a host of heroic deeds to his name. Her father fell in combat, the greatest one in the history of Arda. She died because she trusted the wrong person, loved the wrong person, ran off, was irresponsible and impetuous as always, led an enemy back to the one safe home she still had; her place in the First Age’s history is the dislodged rock or careless shout that starts an avalanche. Turgon has never blamed her for Gondolin’s fall, but that is because she never spoke to him while they were in the Halls, never knowing what to say. I am sorry that my son existed? She isn’t. She isn’t. She isn’t. She is only sorry that his father orphaned him, left him alone among strangers in a strange city with no parent to guide him.

One morning she awakes at her campsite to find her father there, tending the embers of her fire. She does not know how he has found her; he is gifted in scholarship, in diplomacy, in governance, in craftwork, in all the arts of war, but not in woodcraft or tracking or the arts of the wildnerness (save, by necessity, of keeping thousands of people alive in bone-chilling, soul-numbing temperatures).

They speak a little of other things, of her life in the woods and his in Tirion, but he cannot long restrain the question he has come to ask. “Aredhel, can you not come home?”

She offers the easier explanation first, the other being too painful to place in words. “I don’t want to go back to be pitied as a failure.”

“We all failed, dearest. Every one of us.”

“You did not. Not like me. You died fighting Morgoth and every Elda and I expect every Vala respects you for that. Fingon died fighting a balrog. My younger cousins died in battle. Even the philosopher did better than me! I was one of the most eager to go, I killed people in order to go, atta, and I have nothing to show for it, no achievements, nothing to boast of, and I will not go back to be petted and pitied and patronized, I won’t -” and she knows she still sounds like a spoiled child even now, when the others have grown wise and thoughtful and penitent.

Her father simply looks at her, long and quiet, as if trying to perceive all the words she has left unspoken, and they finally struggle to her lips.

“I don’t want to know what they all think of him. I do know what they think of him. I don’t want to be consoled for what my son did or became by people who didn’t know him and can’t understand him, and to know they are thinking of it every time they look at me, I’ll hate them for it and it will break out and I’ll cause trouble for everyone again - ” she’s stopped looking at her father, not wanting to see in his eyes his opinion of such a grandson, not wanting to feel the wrath against him that would come from it. “Why does everything I love fall to evil? My son, Tyelko, Curvo, my - ” she cannot bring herself to say husband, “- him? Do I have no judgement, no discernment? Am I being punished? I loved him when he killed me, I love my son and my cousins yet, and I don’t want to explain or to justify or to live among people that hate them -”

She is weeping now, and her father pulls her into an embrace. “You did not deserve this, Aredhel. Not what happened to you, or what happened to your son.”

“I don’t know.” Her voice is quiet now. “I think, sometimes, it is all of a piece. If you do evil to gain something, whether it be ill in itself or not, it will burn you when you find it. As with my cousins and the gemstones. I killed to gain freedom from limitations or constraint, and when I took it it burned me.”

#tolkien #the silmarillion #aredhel #fingolfin #fanfic #tolkiengenweek #cw trauma

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volvaofowls · 3 years

Text

How would they react to different technology from modern world?

- Fingolfin – hoover

The second son of Finwe will be completely mesmerised when you give him a handheld vacuum. In the beginning he thinks it is some kind of weapon and you start to feel bad when you explain that it is just a household device, meant to help pick up debris from a floor. That is when he opens his mouth, and stars start to shine out of his eyes. He asks you to tell him for to use it, he impatiently listens to all your instructions, eyes never leaving the hoover itself. After that he tries it out, cautiously at first, hoovering a little section and then looking at it. Impressed he took it up more confidently, hoovering the rest of the room and without a stop continuing into the corridor. You were sitting in the same room, given up on waiting for Fingolfin some time ago when he finally comes back. The elf proudly stood in front of you, he pops the lid on the small hoover, Fingolfin looks into your eyes meaningfully, as in to demonstrate to you ‘look how much dirt there is on the floor’.

- Fingon – bicycle

Fingon was very curious about the metal monstrosity that you called a bicycle. But after you demonstrated to him how to ride it, he was still a bit criticizing of it, saying that one cannot move as much load on this than on the horse, the only advantage of it that came to his mind was that it was tireless, it would not need a food and rest like a horse. You didn’t even have to teach Findekano, he got himself on the bike, and within an hour he knew how to cycle. He really liked it, consider it his now, it is doubtful that he will ever give it back. But he will always invite you to cycle with him. He will sit you in front, for you to be between his arms and to have a full view of where you are going. And other times, if he wants to cycle more extremely, Fingon will sit you at the back, so that you can hold only him, as he speeds down the hills.

- Turgon – colourful sensor lights

Your room has looked very boring to you for a while now, the furniture, the bedsheets, the walls and decorum. Turgon agrees with you and when you propose to change things up all by yourself, he agrees, wanting to see what your mind will conjure.

What he didn’t expect, is when he came into your room for there to be weird bumpy strings attached to your walls near the ceiling. Some of them coming down the sides of the windows. When he raised his hand to inspect it, the strips flickered and lit up in a pale-yellow light. Turgon was so surprised by it, he took a step back and nearly tripped over your dressing table. After he gathered himself he raised the hand again, which made the light colour change to a emerald green, Turgon tried again, this time the colour changed to blue. Not what Turgon expected, but he really liked that you did. A week later you will find Turgon waiting for you in dimly lit living room. As soon as you come in he would lift his hand in a very regal motion and reach for the wall, making the corners of the room light up, asking you what colour of a room would you like tonight. He is very proud of it, if his siblings come and they have the same first reactions as he did, Turgon would play indifference - “Oh this? Oh its nothing, just something Y/N came up with... no you cannot have the same.”

- Aredhel – projector and movies

Aredhel was a little confused when you started to disassemble the sofas in your living room, putting then together, with pillows all around and bedsheets on top, but you ushered her out of the living room until everything was ready, so she couldn’t see you setting up a small projector. When she was finally allowed in, you two sat in the improvised nest, with the remote in your hand, exited to share this with the female elf.

Aredhel was in a mild state of shock when she saw images light up on the wall with a music coming out of the tiny box. She was so hypnotised by it she didn’t really pay attention to the first half of the movie, only later into the night, she will bashfully ask you to watch more movies. She is very happy, it is a great part of elvish culture to share stories, but this is so much more special, as for her the stories you just watched came to life right in front of her on the wall. She is very grateful, saying that she will treasure this moment as her most precious memory. Her favourite movies will be about romance and adventures.

- Argon – massage chair

When you offered Argon the big sofa chair that will help him relax, he wasn’t so sure about it. Argon set in the chair, looking at you questioningly as if to say – where is the promised relaxation. But when you pulled a little lever, sliding the chair into a half laying position, Argon immediately stiffened, he thought it broke under him . He might even try to get up, but it’s your encouragement that will make him stay. A minute later the chair starts to vibrate, the pillows squeezing his arms and legs, while machines rolls under the armchair fabric, massaging every part of his body connected to the chair’s surface. Even though he will try not to show it, you can see his eyes start to close a little bit the longer he is being massaged. When you ask him how he is feeling he will give you a long, moan-like “good”. After it is finished he will just stay in the chair for an extra minute, feeling very relaxed and rested, looking at you will a smile of a cat.

Bonus:

- Celegorm – instant camera

When he found your instant camera, Celegorm immediately came up to you, interrupting what you were doing to ask you about it. Celegorm will take many pictures, close ups, at a distance, the under-face, posing with you, posing without you; collecting and inspecting all of the films as the colours on them emerge. After you shoo him away, Turca will go to find Caranthir, with an idea already formed in his mind. He will silently stalk his younger brother, camera in hand; at the most serene moment Celegorm will jump from the corner with a wild scream and camera flash blinding poor Caranthir. This finished picture will be occasionally waved around at family gatherings to everyone, whenever Celegorm wants to be a little shit to Caranthir. At the end of the day, when two of you will inspect the snaps Celegorm will pronounce pictures of you as the best ones made even if you disagree, no matter how silly they might look to you, now he was something he can carry with him when he is away and to look at you as he misses you.

- Finrod – electric scooter

The oldest son of Finarfin was very interested in everything electronic, but the one thing he was excited for the most was an electronic scooter. The hidden city of Nargothrond is vast and even roads allow for easy use of the scooter. He will totally use it to get from one end of the city to another, fully adorned in his ceremonial robes with a crown on his head, he will speed through the streets, beeping at other elves to make way, with complete poker face. No one can tell him anything, everyone who seems him leaves their jaws on the floor. After a dozen of such rides the city of Nargothrond is used to him, also you will have to tell him to stop speeding, which he reluctantly agrees to do.

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Tag-list:

@allinwonderlands

#Silmarillion imagine #Silmarillion x reader #Finrod imagine #Finrod x reader #Celegorm x reader #celegorm imagine #fingon x reader #fingon imagine #Fingolfin x reader #fingolfin imagine #argon x reader #argon imagine #aredhel imagine #aredhel x reader #Turgon x reader #turgon imaigne

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