#caranthir was probably prepared to see his father again

[asinoeiv]

Listen, listen, there are many weird and puritanical things about the way Tolkien writes about elf sexuality. But this is just absolutely hilarious and gives the opportunity for sooo much funny shit.

I really wished I knew who originally made the post, but I just had the screenshot on my phone to snicker with my sister about.

[feanorianethicsdepartment]

Do you have any personal headcanons about Celebrimbor's mother and her relationship with Curufin? I always thought that it's weird we don't have even the barest information about that considering Celebrimbor's unique position as the only next gen Feanorian. (Sorry if you already talked about this somewhere!)

thanks for the ask! i have, but i'm not going to pass up an opportunity to blather on about my ocs for several paragraphs

curufin's wife (she lacks a name because i hate giving characters names and will delay it until i absolutely have to) is noldorin, she lives in valinor in the years of the trees. i haven't thought much about her family, but i suspect they're middling nobility at the highest the did-valinor-have-social-classes debate is a whole different rabbit hole. she's a metalworker like her husband (she probably specialises in a slightly different subcategory but idk enough to say what) and is a member of the same tirion artisan guild. it's in that context that they meet and begin their Intense Crafting Rivalry

you know that trope where a pair of rivals are so obsessively devoted to one-upping each other it's blindingly obvious that what they actually want is to kiss? that's them, that's their relationship. their specialties are just similar enough they do a lot of the same stuff but just different enough their approaches tend to be radically divergent. what starts as the two of them trying to prove the superiority of their own artistic circle or whatever evolves into them trying to show up him/her specifically, s/he's wrong about x and i know i can do better, why does my family keep asking if we're dating yet????? their competition gets absolutely ridiculous in ways only a pre-scarcity society can get, like building an entire fountain out of solid silicon specifically because he said she couldn't do it (he actually said shouldn't but screw him (not literally cousin oh my valar))

but yeah. their relationship grows an undercurrent of the-only-one-allowed-to-push-around-my-archnemesis-is-me, and they find themselves fighting back to back (occasionally literally) when tirion guild politics takes a turn for the tirion guild politics. they just slowly come to trust each other, more than anyone else, and soon there comes an appropriately dramatic moment for them to suddenly kiss. they're still always trying to out-craftself each other, celebrimbor grows up in a house that's about 70% forge to the background noise of his parents insulting each other's work, but they're comfortable with each other in a way neither of them could have imagined in the early days, and when things get rough they always have each other's backs

things do, in fact, get rough. maglor won't meet his wife until beleriand, caranthir's relationship with his spouse slowly falls apart along with the political situation in tirion, but curufin's wife is loudly team fëanor. she suffers from an acute case of finwean spouse disease, she thinks going to middle-earth to build their own world is an awesome idea, she's deeply embedded in the tirion artisan scene with an entire social circle as think the same way, and when the inevitable civil war flares up she'll probably be even more eager to fight the fingolfinians than her husband. she goes with him and their-still-pretty young son to formenos, and when the trees get eaten and fëanor does the speech she prepares for the adventure of a lifetime

then, alqualondë. i stand by my conviction that nobody on the noldorin side walked in planning to steal the boats, let alone murder the teleri, but it was dark and the world was ending and everybody had sharp things. like everybody else involved in the first kinslaying, curufin and wife got caught up in the battle because somebody shouted 'they're attacking us!' in the distance. she is at first more trying to stop them from stabbing her, obsidian fishing spears glancing off ornamental steel, but then she lashes out and she hits someone in the chest and -

there was this recurring trope in her and her husband’s endless mutual critique. she’d create something beautiful, artfully devised and elegantly constructed, showing off a whole ton of design principles and doing things with the material no one had ever done. he would look at it skeptically and go ‘okay, but what use is it? what is it for?’

red liquid running down the fuller of the exquisite sword she forged herself, light guttering out of another elf’s eyes as he coughs up blood, she knows, sure as once were the light of the trees, what the piece of metal in her hands is for

the next few moments are a blur. she threw the sword into the water, she knows that. somehow she wound up running out of alqualondë, tears streaming down her face, as buildings burned and people screamed behind her. she found a concealed spot by the road, tore off her armour, peeked outside, and watched. when the fires were dying down and the boats were clearly gone, she mustered her courage and went to save her family

in the centuries to come, very few people believe celebrimbor when he tells them his mother tried to get his father to come back by, among other things, appealing to his better nature. nobody believes that it almost worked. but curufin was still only starting out on the road to hellbeastery, and his wife was his eternal partner-in-crime. right there at the beginning, staring out over a burning city, she saw where the road the noldor were walking would eventually lead them, no matter how much they tried to deny it. no dreams could be worth that, she told him. no ideals. and she was always the idealist, wasn’t she?

she was. maybe that’s why he, who had so very few ideals to mark his path, refused to abandon this one. their discussion rapidly devolved into a screaming argument half the camp could hear, much like curufin’s last argument with celebrimbor, centuries later. soon enough, though, it became clear that he wouldn’t turn back, and she refused to go on, and neither of them could change the other’s minds. the only thing left between them was celebrimbor

celebrimbor was eight (-ish in elf years), and completely freaked out, and eight, and knew almost nothing about what was going on, and eight, and had grown up listening to his grandfather’s dreams, and eight, and was surrounded by adults who very loudly thought going to middle-earth would solve all their problems, and eight, and couldn’t tell why his mother was abandoning them. panicking, on the spot, he buried his face in curufin’s smock to wipe away his tears. when he looked up, she was gone

so yeah, curufin’s wife went back with finarfin, that’s why she didn’t go to middle-earth. she initially stayed with nerdanel because almost everyone else on both sides of her extended family remained by (and later burned) the boats, i’m only just realising the horrible curufin argument probably wasn’t even the only one she went through that night, jeez. also she really needed a hug. the sun rose, alqualondë started rebuilding, and she ended up head of her and her husband’s former mutual craft guild, mostly because nobody else with the skills to do it was left. decades turn to centuries, news slowly filters back from beleriand, and her worst nightmares are proven so awfully right

probably the biggest emotion she feels towards curufin in the aftermath is betrayal. they were partners, in every sense of the word, they took on the world and they did it together, using their constant competition to drive each other to ever greater heights. they listened to each other, they trusted each other’s judgement, and she knows he understood the point she was making. him continuing on anyway, and diving face-first into the void - the elf she thought she knew would never have done that. as time passes by, the grief and the loneliness get subsumed by a deep abiding rage. if she ever sees the thing her husband let himself become again, she’ll throw a welding torch in his face

but that anger, that heartbreak, none of that applies to her son. when the hosts of valinor began gearing up for war - she’s the leader of tirion’s most prominent metalworking guild, she can’t not go. while they’re unloading supplies and siege equipment and stuff onto the isle of balar, she happens to pass by this relatively short dusky-skinned noldo hauling some smithing equipment about. as soon as he gets a proper look at her, he gasps. she looks back in confusion, and then she meets his eyes

later, she’ll hear his tales of his adventures in the hither lands, all of the hardships, yes, but also all of the brilliance. later, she’ll learn about the person he’s grown into, someone she can be unreservedly proud of in his choices and works. later, they’ll talk about the future, about his ambitions of making his grandfather’s dream come true, but with open hands and a light to be shared with all the peoples of middle-earth. for now, though, she wraps celebrimbor in a massive hug, and lets the tears flow down her face, because no matter how much they’ve lost, no matter how deep the darkness around them, right here and now, her son is alive

[alia-turin]

Finally chapter 6! This is actually the only fic I will continue updating on this blog, everything else will go to my writing blog and once that is finished, everything goes there.

I’m sorry for the slow update, yesterday and the day before were a bit buy and stressful so I didn’t have a chance to update.

Fic Title: Somewhere in Time (Chapter 6) Previous Chapters: Somewhere in Time - Caranthir/F!OC - 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 Fandom: The Witcher (Aen Elle) Pairing: Caranthir/F/OC Warning: Canon typical violence for this chapter, mention of scars, angst AO3 Link

It had been a few days since he came to the Winter tower after the reception. He spent his time reading and experimenting. He couldn’t stop thinking about her, the few moments when he had been close to her and with her, the way her eyes had looked at him...he wanted to forget, but the more he tried to do it the worse it became.

He felt as if he was becoming obsessive and probably he was. Last time he came here she had been in Tir na Lia behind a door he had enchanted so she could not leave. He had missed her, but he knew exactly where she was. Now it was different. She could be anywhere, with anybody. He still could use the tracking spell but he had also told himself that he was the one to let her go, he would not chase her unless she was in need of him.

Somewhere deep he knew that his behavior was probably wrong, putting spells and curses on her so he knew what was going on, but what choice did he have? The first woman he ever liked died because he didn’t pay enough attention, his only example of true love in his life was a story everyone probably knew, ending in a great tragedy. He neither wanted to see her death nor was going to allow his heart to be shattered, not the way Avallac’h’s had been.

He had gone as far as to dig information on her family which wasn’t that difficult, noble families record keeping was exceptional. Mother was never mentioned, even Aine’s name was not mentioned anywhere officially which made sense, half human bastards were not really a popular topic. Her father had only one legal child, a son, not surprising either, elves rarely had more. The man had a lot of resources, which explained a lot. That was when he had stopped looking, realizing how ridiculous and obsessive his actions had been. He knew a lot about her, some of it not even disclosed by her, and he had volunteered little to nothing about himself.

Caranthir suddenly stopped in the middle of the room feeling the unpleasant sensation going through his body, he had felt that once before, he was younger and he cast a spell he was not ready for, every inch of his body had cramped at the same time. Then feeling the sharp pain in his right leg as if something was ripping him apart, skin muscle and probably even bone hurt in a way he had never felt before. He had to steady himself by grabbing a chair because the pain was so bad he could barely stand on his leg. Took him a second to pull himself together, nothing was wrong with his leg, that was the curse he put on himself in order to feel what she was feeling, but the pain was so bad he felt dizzy. He had to remind himself it wasn’t his leg that was hurting it was all in his mind.  

“Aine…” he whispered as he finally managed to get his thoughts together, he had been injured many times, but that was a level he had never felt, worse if he was feeling it that bad, it meant it felt the same for her. Caranthir opened a portal and it took him just a second to find himself where she was, in the woods where he had first seen her. She was on the ground, her back pressed against a tree, her right leg bleeding and two ugly creatures coming close to her, both of them standing on their hind legs, beastly claws sticking out of their limbs, Caranthir saw a third one lying on the ground, vines pulling him deeper and the earth, she must have cast a spell, that was the first jolt he had felt, spell too powerful for her at her current level. He waved his hand and the two creatures turned into ice sculptures, he cast another spell and they broke into dust.

“Caranthir…” she looked at him in fear and shock, her leg bleeding badly and just now he noticed her arm was also injured, strange he had not felt that probably because of the shock going through her body. Her eyes were glassy, not really focused on anything. He cast a healing spell, those were never his strongest point, but it was enough for now to stop the bleeding and he was going to take care of the rest later.

“Don’t move.” his heart sank seeing how bad the wound was. Skin and flesh had been torn but he could not see the bone, which was probably positive. He wasn’t going to waste time, he took her in his arms and opened a portal.

“I don’t want to...leave me…” she tried to push herself away from him but there was no strength in her body.

He stepped through the portal and found himself in his bedroom in the Winter Tower. He left her gentle on his bed, her face wincing in pain as soon as he let go of her. He tore the pants she was wearing around the wound. Silly girl, she should have listened to him when he told her not to leave. For a second he wondered if that was his fault - did he push  her too far and she left because of him, and if he had acted in a different way, she wouldn’t have left and that wouldn’t have happened...

“No, stop.” Somehow she found strength to try to push him away, but even if she was not injured she was not as strong as he was. Caranthir placed his palm on her leg and cast his spell again, the wound slowly closing not even leaving a scar. Aine’s eyes however still lacked focus, she had lost too much blood and he couldn’t do anything about that. .

“Get off me.” she moaned in his bed. Caranthir raised an eyebrow as he had stepped away, he wasn’t anywhere near her, he needed to go to his lab for some herbs that could help her. She was delirious, he went back to the bed and touched her forehead burning with fever. The creatures that attacked her were unfamiliar to him, and he wondered if their claws were poisonous. A chilling thought crossed his mind.  That couldn’t be happening to him not again. This time he did everything right. He prepared he knew he would be there if she was in danger and he was but he had been moments too late.

He rushed out of the room, running down the stairs to his lab and frantically started going through all his herbs and potions. Healing wasn’t a matter that interested him, he had very few things that could help, but he grabbed everything he could. When he walked back to his bedroom she was attempting to get off the bed, almost sitting.

“I don’t want to be here…” the words were swirling her mouth. Caranthir ignored how he felt about her being so persistent to be as far as possible from him.

“You need to drink that.” he passed one of the potions he was carrying to her pale lips, she turned her head away. He could make her, he could force it down her throat, but somehow he felt like he had already done enough damage to his image, even if he was also sure that once she woke up, she would not remember anything of what is happening here. She pulled away again almost as if she was drunk, no grace in her moves and he used a spell to turn her head toward him and pour the liquid down her throat.

Caranthir walked to the nearest drawer and took out a clean blanket as everything on the bed was soaked in blood. He covered her with the blank and then just sat on the bed next to her. If she had listened to him, that wouldn’t have happened. No, if he had insisted. That’s what the problem was, he could have kept her safe if she had stayed with him and when she said no he should have just made her do so. What did it matter if she wanted or didn’t want as long as she was safe? He sighed, it did matter.  He ran his fingers through the feverish skin on her cheek. He wasn’t going to make the same mistake a third time.

Aine woke up, not really recognizing the place where she was. Memories slowly started coming to her, she somehow had managed to reach her house which did not exist anymore. All that time she had hoped he had been lying, that was just a manipulation, but it was not. He had been truthful. Then the creatures attacked her and then... he had come to rescue her. She looked around in panic again fearing she was in Tir na Lia. The room was very similar, stone walls, bed, dresser, but somewhat smaller. She jumped out of the bed in panic, but her leg was cut by sharp pain. She looked at it, she remembered the creatures attacking her in the forest, she summoned a spell to stop one of them but the other one dug its nails in her leg. There was no injury however just an odd feeling of dull passing pain.

She walked to the dresser, her leg feeling better with each step she made as if remembering how to walk. She opened the old wooden doors - white shirts and dark coats were hanging from the line. Some of the coats had different embroideries on them but the black, white and grey was predominant. She grabbed one of the shirts, it was large enough to fit her as a very short dress and it was cleaner than everything else she was wearing now. Once she changed she looked through the window - that was definitely not Tir na Lia. There were mountains as far as her eyes could see covered in snow and ice. The sun was shining but none of that seemed warm in any way. Where was she?

Aine walked to the door, half expecting not to be able to open it. She had been through that once. She pressed on the handle and...the door opened. She stood for a moment wondering if that was a dream - was she imagining things? She stepped through the door in a small hallway that was empty beside a stairway leading down. She stepped further but beside the coldness of the stone under her feet, nothing else happened. She followed the stairs down, they were twisting until she ended in another room, no hallway this time just a room filled with bookshelves, cupboards and two tables. That was when she screamed.

Caranthir heard the scream upstairs and ran as fast as he could only to see Aine in his lab staring at the creature chained to one of the tables.

“It is dead.” Caranthir placed a hand on her shoulder and she looked at him terrified, but didn’t pull away. Apparently seeing the creature that attacked her all opened up was more shocking than he was which he guessed was some sort of progress.

“What…” she looked back at the creature, chained to the table, gut wide open, blood spilled all over the place.

“Ignore it.” just now he noticed she was wearing one of his shirts, so long on her that it was almost reaching her knees. Caranthir stared, not sure what was making him more aroused right now the fact that this was his short or realizing she had nothing under it.

“What happened to it?” her words brought him back to the creature and that was not what he wanted to think about now. “Why is it chained?”

It was chained because he dragged it here after he finally managed to calm her down. That was the one creature she stopped with magic and he went to look for it. He brought it here, chained it to the table, still alive, and opened it. It did die eventually, but he was angry and he needed to make that ugly thing suffer as much as she had suffered even worse.

“Their organs are good for magic but they are very tough to cut through so I had to make sure it doesn’t fall from the table.” The lie came easy to him, he was not going to admit that he didn’t have an idea where that thing came from, nor was going to tell her he made it painful for the ugly creature on purpose, because that was how he kew to solve his problems, the only way Eredin had taught him, make them suffer and everything will be alright. He did learn something however, whatever these creatures were, certainly did not come from this world which was curious. She was still looking at it, her eyes shifting to the massive head filled with sharp fangs. Caranthir could feel himself getting angry again, the same anger he had felt once he made sure she was safe and wanted to find every single one of these things and just destroy their kind. He had to satisfy himself with one. “Come I need to look at your leg.” he pointed at the empty table on the other end of the room.

“I’m fine.” Aine could feel herself blushing realizing that most likely he had healed her, she barely remembered things after she found the creatures, she remembered casting a spell, in fact she wasn’t even sure if it worked as that was when the other two attacked her before she could even realize what had happened.

Caranthir did not answer her but nodded at the table again and she had no choice to but comply. It was easier to do as he said. She jumped on the table and he stood in front of her, his warm hand almost gently moving the shirt away. She realized she was blushing, she had nothing under the shirt and even if his touch right now was almost medical her stomach curled in a ball thinking of the situation they were in. She pinned her eyes on his hand not wanting to look at him, his tattooed fingers gently brushing where the wound was supposed to be on her thigh but now was gone.

He stepped back realizing how dangerous it was what he was doing. He knew her wound would be healed, he healed it, he was terrible with medicinal magic and he was still better than everyone he knew, of course her leg would be fine.

“My office is downstairs, I bought some clothes for you from Tir na Lia.” there he was again feeling completely inept and unsure what to do or how. He wanted to scream from the top of his lungs that he liked her, that he felt her presence filled a gap in him he wasn’t even sure existed until two weeks ago. The way she reminded him of himself, but also the way she was different from him. He clutched his fists in frustration at his inability to just be normal, it had never bothered him as much as it did around her.

“Caranthir…” she was standing by the staircase, one foot already on the lower step as she turned toward him. “Thank you. For saving me.”

She walked down and he stared, mouth slightly opened, fingers no longer bundled in fists. When was the last time someone said ‘Thank you’ to him? Not Avallac’h, maybe a nod from him when he was younger or pat on the shoulder, never the actual words. Not Eredin either, everything Caranthir did for his king was his duty, they  both knew it and understood it, the navigator did not need to be thanked for what was his job, not Eredin was ever going to thank him for it. He didn’t need anyone’s gratitude and yet...it felt nice. Coming from her, knowing she actually found something nice to say to him.

Aine found the clothes easily, the room downstairs was a study, a large desk in the center and bookshelves circling the wall. She had figured out that wherever they were was a tower and every floor was some sort of a room. She changed as quickly as she could, the clothes that were nicely folded on the desk were the same his servants had brought to her when she was in Tir na Lia, cleaned...she assumed that was hers now or at least until someone decided so. Defgently the riding pants and boots were more suitable for the coldness compared to the oversized shirt.

Once she was done changing she walked to the only window in the room, it had started snowing again, she had never seen so much snow in her life. Her father’s lands were further south and any snow that fell melted almost immediately. She heard Caranthir’s boots tapping on the cold stone as he walked downstairs.

“Where are we?” she asked as she turned to face him.

“The Winter Tower.” he answered, his blue eyes fixed on her. “It used to be a signalling tower for Tir na Lia, many years ago. It’s difficult to access so our ancestors would have made four - five guardsmen living here for a full year. The snows make it almost impossible to reach. Nobody has used it for that purpose in years, I have made it my...laboratory in a sense.”

She looked out again, she could see the lower lands somewhere in the distance, but the snow was reducing the visibility.

“Am I your prisoner again?” she asked not even sure she wanted to hear the answer. If he was to say no and that she can leave...where was she to go? Her home was destroyed and who knew how many of these creatures were there now. She had nowhere to go.

“No.” took him a moment to answer and she might be imagining that but she could see the conflict in his eyes. Did he want to say ‘yes’? What would be the purpose of that? “But I want you to stay as my student. You can leave whenever.”

Caranthir spoke the last words with pain as he knew what had happened last time he allowed her to leave. Despite that, Avallac’h was right, as always. Caging her was not going to bring anything good eventually would kill her.

“How did you find me?” she suddenly asked, that was not what he expected. “In the forest, how did you know I was in danger?”

He forced a smile on his lips that was mostly teeth rather than a grin. Another good intention that he had which was going to backfire on him.

“Put a curse on myself, if you were to feel pain, I would feel it the same way you do.” that and a tracking spell, but he kept that information to himself. It sounded bad as it was, but again he had no idea what else to do. He had never had such a strong desire to protect someone in his life.

Silence followed and he could feel the seconds dragging forever. He would give anything to know what was in her head. It would be so easy wouldn’t it? Everything he had done so far was because he was attracted, but he had to admit he had no idea how to express it or show it. Avallac’h taught him magic, Eredin taught him to kill. That was all he knew, neither skill useful in his predicament.

“If...I stay…” her words made him raise an eyebrow. “I still can leave whenever I decide. Even if I wake up tomorrow and change my mind?”

“Yes.” he nodded. He hoped that won’t happen, he was going to show her the fun part of magic tomorrow, not just moving objects around the room, but the real excitement and power magic could give someone and hopefully after that she would be sufficiently hooked to stay with him a bit longer. All he needed. Just a bit longer.

[arlenianchronicles]

Hi!! :D I really liked the last post about Fëanorians because I had trouble imagining their personality and this helped a lot. ^^ I would love to see your Nolofinwëan headcanons ❤❤

Hello again! I’m so happy you liked my Fëanorian headcanon post and found it helpful! :D I understand it can be tough to imagine character personalities when there’s not much of them; I still have trouble imagining some of the Fëanorians haha ^^;;

I have a clearer image of the Nolofinwëans, so I’m excited to go into them XDD I’ll admit I did some projecting onto Fingon especially, but it’s mostly me projecting one of my OC’s personality/backstory onto him too. Tbh, this is more of a sketch of how I imagine Fingon’s childhood played out, so be warned that this post is a long one. I should also warn y’all that my headcanons for these guys aren’t very happy ^^;; I’ll put in a content warning for mentions of bullying and emotional abuse (mostly caused by the Fëanorians).

If you don’t like these headcanons and they don’t help, that’s totally okay! Lots of people have their own interpretations of these characters, so I’m sure there’s some that are much happier than mine ^^;; I’ll put everything under the “keep reading” tab so you don’t have to read mine if you change your mind. And I’ll also bold the main names like in my previous post; I hope it helps for search purposes, just in case.

Let’s start with Fingolfin. As a child in Finwë’s house, living with Fëanor and Findis, I imagine that Fëanor bullied him a lot. Why? Because Fëanor saw him as a threat, given that Fingolfin is the first-born son of Indis. I think that Findis, and later Írimë, wasn’t viewed with much suspicion by Fëanor because they’re girls (and I even headcanon that Fëanor might’ve had a soft spot for them). And once Finarfin comes along, Fëanor sees him as a wimp, someone who can’t do much to stop him. So Fingolfin is the main target.

Now, to be clear, I sympathize very much with child Fëanor when he’s just lost his mother and his father marries a stranger. This Fëanor is likely more grown-up, though I’m not sure how much; I feel deep down that his actions would be akin to emotional abuse, but that’s a heavy term and I’m not sure if this is a good point in the tale to use it ^^;; So for now, we’ll stick with bullying. Once Fëanor’s a full-fledged adult, then I think it’d classify as abuse. Please feel free to give me advice or clarity, if you want!

So back to Fingolfin. Because of all this happening, I imagine he grows up with self-esteem issues and stress, and some anxiety on the side. He'd believe Fëanor and think that he's not good enough to be Finwë's son, etc. Finwë thinks that Fëanor can't be wrong in anything, so Fëanor must be right about Fingolfin. At the same time, he still loves Fëanor as his brother and wishes for a return of that love. It might stem from a desire to please Finwë (y’know, showing that they can be a real family and that Fingolfin’s making an effort), but also, I imagine he admires Fëanor's confidence in public situations – and especially now that Fingolfin lacks confidence and trust in himself.

Also, if you’re wondering about Finwë, he only scolds Fëanor when he thinks his son is being a bit too harsh, but doesn't do anything for the root of the problem (nor does he know about what goes on away from his sight). Given that Fëanor is his favourite son, I doubt he’d really see his son’s actions, and if he does, he’d be in denial about them.

Despite all this, I've always imagined that Fingolfin grew up with a desire to help others. He's good at diplomatic talk and politics, but he's not good at defending himself from Fëanor, even after he becomes an adult. Fortunately, he moves out once he's older, and being away from Fëanor allows for improvement.

And then he meets Anairë. I envision her as very loving and kind, and nurturing. She supports Fingolfin as he gains more self-confidence. I also headcanon that she wears a gold circlet in her hair at times, while Fingolfin wears a gold crown, and these both inspire Fingon to wear gold in his hair.

On that note, let's talk about Fingon. Essentially, his childhood is somewhat similar to Fingolfin's. However, there's now the added stress of being caught between Fëanor and Fingolfin's houses. He wants to make his father proud and uphold their family name, but that’s a lot for his young shoulders to handle (nor did Fingolfin and Anairë ever pressure him). I also imagine that Fingon, when he was very young, witnessed how badly Fëanor treats Fingolfin – perhaps at a family gathering when the others have gone somewhere else, and Fingon's waiting for his father, hiding behind a pillar or wall etc. It'd be frightening for young Fingon to witness that, seeing someone whom he loves and upholds as a figure of strength be hurt so much, and it would increase his fear of Fëanor too.

But, lo and behold, he becomes friends with Maedros. I'm still not sure how they met, but in any case, Fingon is glad for Maedros' kindness and admires his ability to shoulder leadership responsibilities near easily, not to mention his ease in a public crowd. Fingon ends up visiting Maedros at Fëanor's house, where Fëanor and his other sons are. You can probably imagine how that'd turn out.

Fëanor sees Fingolfin as a threat, so Fingon is also a threat by extension. I don't think Fëanor would treat Fingon with quite the same intensity, but it'd still be some form of emotional abuse. Fingon would be deeply affected by it; his own confidence would go down, and he’d think that he’s not worthy to be Fingolfin’s son or a prince of the Noldor. And let’s not get started on Fëanor’s sons (but yes, let’s).

As I mentioned in my Fëanorian headcanons post, his sons bully Fingon both out of jealousy (because Fingon is Maedros’ favourite) and anger and to get Fëanor’s approval. I imagine mainly Celegorm, Curufin, and Caranthir doing this; Amrod and Amras might take part at times (following their father and brothers’ example), but are also uncertain of whether it’s a good idea or not. Maglor probably turns a blind eye since he’s too busy perfecting his music.

Maedros would, of course, scold them for being harsh, but that doesn't solve the root of the problem. Nor does he know of how far back the hurt goes. And I think Fingon would be afraid to tell him of what’s really going on because Maedros loves his family a lot. Fingon fears that, if he told him, Maedros would get upset and possibly resent Fingon, and he might not want to be friends anymore. And Fingon doesn't want that. All in all, it’s all very emotionally exhausting, and I think that Fingon would have some crying sessions to himself, since those can be quite cathartic.

Fingolfin doesn't know what’s going on at first either; I think he’d expect that Fingon would be safe with Maedros. But then he ends up recognizing Fingon’s behaviour and how similar it is to what he had, and he asks Fingon about it one day, and Fingon breaks down and tells him everything. Fingolfin comforts him, of course, and tells him not to listen to what the Fëanorians say, and even shares his own experiences so that Fingon knows he isn’t alone. And Fingon doesn't feel alone anymore. Fingolfin becomes his greatest supporter hereafter.

But boy oh boy, now Fingolfin is furious. This is when I imagine his ferocity comes up; he goes to Fëanor and confronts him about it, and Fëanor is startled by Fingolfin’s fierce side since he’s never seen it before. You can think of it as something similar to my painting of angry Fingon, if you like XDD And this is where Fingolfin shows that he is capable of defending others, if not himself. He is fully prepared to protect Fingon however he needs to. And after this, I think Maedros would have to come over to Fingolfin’s house, since Fingon isn’t about to go over to Fëanor’s house and be bullied more (nor would Fingolfin allow it).

(As a side note, Fingolfin showing his fierce side doesn't really help with regard to Fëanor’s suspicions. In fact, it may even increase them a bit, if not a lot.)

Like Fingolfin, I headcanon that Fingon grows up to be good at diplomacy and stuff, but he is also kind and compassionate, quiet and solemn. And also aroace, since I go with the version of canon where he doesn't marry and has no children. I’m sure he’d be a good partner, but all this in consideration, he’d worry about not being good enough as a father, and he wouldn’t want to put his child through the same pain that he and Fingolfin went through. His family’s well-being is his priority, and he loves them dearly. And on that note (if y’all are still reading this ^^;;), let’s bring in Turgon and Aredhel :D

So Fingon has some siblings now! He loves them so much he thinks his heart will burst. It’s only until there’s a family gathering, and Turgon encounters Fëanor’s sons, that Fingon realizes his duty to protect his little brother from suffering the same hurts as Fingon did. In fact, he gets angry when one of the Fëanorians – Celegorm still seems the likeliest one to me, or Curufin loll – insult Turgon, or something like that. And just like Fingolfin, one of Fingon’s strengths is to defend others (even if he’s still not confident enough to defend himself). Because of Fingon’s protection and the combined family nurturing, Turgon grows up stern and confident and with a firm dislike of the Fëanorians. As canon says, he becomes good friends with Finrod (gosh I haven’t even started thinking of headcanons for the Arafinweans aaahhh). I also think of him as a very good architect with excellent visualization. And, of course, he loves his elder brother like no other :’’’)

Aredhel, on the other hand, befriends Celegorm and Curufin (as said in the Silmarillion). How did that happen, you ask? I’m not so sure myself lmao The best idea I have so far is that the two brothers thought her fierceness and spunk impressive for a Nolofinwëan, and they found that she was more risk-taking and no-nonsense than they gave her credit for. As for her, she wants to explore and hunt and be a badass, and it seems that she can learn to do some, if not all, of those things by being with them. And yet I also headcanon that Aredhel adores Fingon as her older brother, so how does this dynamic play out?

An example I have is a little scenario that I thought up; in her youth, Aredhel overhears Celegorm talking crap about Fingon, and gets angry with him. She says she’ll never speak to him again unless he apologizes, but he’s not about to. So she goes to Fingon and tells him. Essentially, he says that he’ll be alright and she doesn't have to worry (he’s not brave enough to defend himself, but he’ll defend her if Celegorm spoke ill of her). Eventually, Celegorm does apologize to Aredhel about it, but it’s not genuine (something like those “I’m sorry I made you feel that way” apologies). She accepts the apology anyway, even though he technically didn’t do her any wrong. This is because she genuinely wants to be his friend, and if she did notice that it wasn’t genuine, she denies it because she wants to believe it was.

I think she becomes more aware of what’s going on between Fëanor and Fingolfin’s houses, but she still wants to keep the connection between Fëanor’s sons and herself. I haven’t really developed that far into her relation with them yet, just her and her family ^^;;

Finally we have Argon. He’s the youngest of the siblings, and at this point there’d be an age gap between him and Fingon. Since Fingon’s settling in his duty as a prince and doing princely things (alongside spending time with his friends and all), I’d imagine he’s not able to keep as good an eye on Argon as he did with Turgon and Aredhel. Nevertheless, he forms the closest bond with Argon due to the shared emotional exhaustion they experience; I headcanon that Argon is deeply affected by the tensions and stress between Fëanor and Fingolfin’s house, and it takes a toll on him as a young child. So he gets some social anxiety and is afraid of large crowds, but when big brother Fingon is with him, he feels a little braver.

And there we are! My headcanons for the Nolofinwëans, as requested :) I might’ve forgotten something, but for now, this is all I have. Thank you for reading this far, if you did!! It was super long, and I’m sorry to have bored anyone ^^;; I actually thought about writing a fic of Fingon’s childhood, but I doubt that’ll happen anytime soon hahaa Thanks again for messaging me anon, and I hope you have a good day/night! <333

[lendmyboyfriendahand]

Celebrian’s champion part ii

King Finarfin of Tirion frowned across the desk at his nephew. They were in Alqualonde, so this wasn’t even his office; it belonged to a senior scribe and had been commandeered to get Maglor out out the public eye. Finarfin had been in Alqualonde to meet his granddaughter, and was as surprised as anyone at Maglor’s arrival. But as high king of the Noldor, any ruckus caused by a Noldo was ultimately his responsibility.

So here they were.

“In my defense,” Maglor said eventually, “I didn’t actually know before today that I was the one who killed Galadhon. I would have tried harder to convince Celebrian to choose a different Champion if I had.”

“How could you not know?”

Maglor shrugged. “It was dark, and it’s not like anyone was wearing name tags. I still don’t know who killed Caranthir either.”

“Galadhon recognized you easily enough.”

“Well yes. I was probably the last thing he saw when he died, that’s more memorable.”

“You see why I’m concerned about you being here.”

“A bit, but I’m perfectly happy to go on to Tirion.”

“I’m not actually pleased to have you in my kingdom either.”

“I don’t actually recall committing any crimes that are your jurisdiction?”

“You led an army that massacred innocents three different times, and then attacked the Noldorin army!”

“I’m not disputing that, but those were in Alqualonde - so the punishment is Olwe’s to decide - in Doriath - Thingol or Galadhon or some other Sinda - and in Sirion - Elwing or Earendil.“

“And attacking the army after we’d defeated Morgoth?”

“Already pardoned by Eonwe!’

“None of those excuses will make people like you.”

“But they’ll tolerate me if you forbid murdering me in the street.”

“I don’t trust you, not after all you’ve done.”

“Why not? I’m an exceptionally trustworthy person, and have never broken my word.”

“And which promise will you hold to now? Feanor’s ridiculous bloodthirsty Oath, or some obscure Sinda law?”

“Celebrian is my daughter-in-law, and I protect my family above all. If you can delay my trial until she is healed, I promise to attend - unarmed even - and not start fights until then.”

“She is my granddaughter. I want her to be safe as well.”

“So let me help her.”

“Alright.” After a pause, Finarfin prompted, “Your sword and harp?”

“Are staying with me.”

“You said you’d be willing to go unarmed.”

“To the trial, and even there I should want a harp! I can’t properly express my repentance without a good dirge.”

“A harp in you hands is a weapon, I'm not an idiot.”

“I never said you were! Caranthir did, but I didn’t. And as Champion, I need to be prepared against attack as well as supportive in her healing.”

“Attack from who? We’re not in Middle Earth, or Beleriand; there won’t be roving bands of orcs.”

“I know that, and so does Celebrian logically speaking. But she doesn’t feel it yet, and until she feels safe I will guard her. Besides, there are plenty of others around who could attack.”

“Like who? She’s neither a Feanorian nor hated by you, so she ought to be safely out of any kinslaying.”

“There are other reasons to attack someone. The Teleri might view her choice of Champion as mockery. There were those in Gil-Galad’s court who disliked Elrond and will hold it against her. The Valar may declare her a criminal. The Vanyar may consider themselves snubbed, as she’s as Vanyarin as Noldorin but no one is consulting them. A local Maia of a stream may dislike familiarity that she enjoyed with the Bruinen. Whatever the case, she will should not face it alone.”

“You see danger everywhere.”

“ have practice, surviving thousands of years without being found by any elves or killed.”

“What could you even do against the Valar?”

“Sing; it worked for Luthien.”

Finarfin pinched his nose. “Why do you think she’s in danger from the Valar? Has she committed a crime, or helped you cover up yet another kinslaying?”

"She has harmed no one, and broken none of the laws of the Valar known to me from when I last dwelt on Valinor."

"You think she did something that the Valar outlawed since?"

"Who can understand the minds of the Valar? Perhaps they banned me from Imladris, where she has welcomed me time and again."

"The Valar would not do that if Elrond welcomed you."

"He did, but it's not without precedent. they have exiled an elf from a city over a matter entirely between elves against the wishes of the king before."

"That was very different! Your father threatened my brother's life, and it was in Tirion in Valinor, not Middle Earth."

"But Manwe is lord of all Aman. if he has the authority to order a king he may order a prince, whichever shore."

“We’re getting off track on theology. Did you harm or threaten anyone in Imladris, whether or not Celebrian covered it up?”

“Of course not! It would have upset Elrond tremendously, in addition to being pointless. I haven’t killed any elves since the end of the First Age.”

[sweetteaanddragons]

Children of the Lost

Warning: This one’s a bit darker than my usual fare. If you have any concerns at all, please check the tags, though they are full of spoilers.

Also, please note that Maglor’s wife in this is not the same wife I used in “Can You Hear the People Sing?” and “Scion of Somebody, Probably” for reasons which will become obvious.

. . .

He had known it was a bad idea from the beginning. They all had, even if his brothers were all kind enough not to say so now.

There was no hope left in their war. Not even any confidence in the rightness of their cause. Just their Oath and desperation and the endless sea of blood.

There was no justification at all for his marriage. It broke all their customs and laws regarding marriage and war, and though he was hardly the first to break it, and it was hardly the worst taboo he had broken, it was taboo for a reason, and the reasons only applied all the more to him.

Those reasons seemed a lot clearer to him now, waiting hopelessly in the gathering dark outside the healers’ tent, then they had back then, when she’d looked at him like he was a hero, the first person to do so since - since he didn’t know when.

. . .

They were supposed to have turned back to Amon Ereb a day ago, but Maglor had pushed the patrol onward after he’d spotted signs of orcs in the area. It would be unsafe to allow them to roam freely, which was the official reason they were doing it; the unofficial reason was that after Doriath, Maglor suspected that they all longed for a straightforward fight against their true foe.

No amount of orcish blood could wash away the rest of it, but maybe it could mask it for awhile.

The orcs themselves came into view as they rode over a low hill.

Orcs, and the Men they were fighting.

Men were not straightforward. Ulfang’s treachery and the blood of his sons, weighed against the line of Bór, testified to that.

But this band had women and children - more women and children than men at this point - and whatever the allegiances of the Men, killing orcs would never be wrong.

They charged.

Taken by surprise by the elvish calvary, pitiful remnant of what he’d had at the Gap though it was, the orcs were dispatched quickly, and the Men did not seem at all inclined to attack.

When Maglor asked who was in charge, intending to offer their skills in healing the injured, a tall woman with unevenly cut black hair stepped forward, and he was reminded of what Caranthir had told him once of Haleth. He expected a proud, polite, rebuff.

But Hirwen’s eyes shone with wonder as she thanked him for his help.

. . .

He hadn’t been prepared, that was the problem. He hadn’t been trying to have a child. With an elvish woman that would have been enough.

But with a mortal woman it wasn’t. She had become pregnant, and she wasn’t built to sustain a child’s fëa, not the way an elvish woman was. It had cost her and cost her greatly, and Maglor had worn himself thin from desperate singing as he tried to bolster her spirit with his own.

There’d been Peredhel before, he kept trying to assure himself. Half-elven children were possible.

Or at least they were when there was also the blood of a Maia involved and when the elf half of the equation wasn’t the male.

. . . 

They were not a soft people. They couldn’t afford to be. But nor could they afford to be proud, as their plentiful scars and too prominent bones attested.

His name meant as little to her as hers did to him. They were a people bent on surviving, with no elders left to teach them their history. There had been a village, once; it had burned in Hirwen’s youth. That was all of her people’s history that she knew, and she had very little time to worry about finding out more.

She knew of the Doom because he told her: bluntly, grimly, trying to quash the hopeful light in her eyes before he got too used to it. More importantly, though, she had to know, because she had asked if her people might travel with his, and she had a right to know what she was asking.

“So this Doom says you will die and die ill,” she summarized.

“Yes.” And they had. Oh, how so many had.

Hirwen considered this. “Tell me then, elf prince. How is that different from what will happen to me and my people if we do not follow you?”

He looked around at her people. Still fierce. Still determined.

But so close to starving. So close to having fought their last stand today.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “It probably isn’t. If you really want to follow us, we can always use the extra swords.”

. . .

A terrible moan came from behind the closed flap of the tent. Maedhros’s hand tightened its grip on Maglor’s shoulder. It was the first time Maglor had been jolted enough out of himself to notice his brothers for hours.

“It’ll be alright,” Maedhros said tightly, and Maedhros remembered their mother giving birth enough times that he ought to know. 

But Miriel had not been able to bear their father safely, and Curufin’s wife had nearly been lost after Celebrimbor. Only Nerdanel had been the exception in what seemed to be their line’s rule.

For the first time in a long time, Maglor prayed.

. . .

She didn’t consider herself doomed for following him, and she didn’t consider him doomed either, or at least no more doomed than everyone else in Beleriand. It was refreshing to be near her, to steal little moments of hope.

He became addicted to those small tastes of happiness, and it seemed he was still a romantic at heart.

Bit by bit, he fell in love.

It would end ill. He knew there was no other way it could go.

But it happened anyway.

. . .

The tent flap was flung back and a healer appeared in front of them. Maglor was far too lost in fear to worry about which one it was.

“Prince Maglor,” the healer said frantically, “Prince Maglor, come at once. We need your voice. It’s the only way she might pull through.”

After nine long months of struggling to sustain too many lives, Maglor had little left to give, but he pushed quickly to his feet regardless and ignored the way he wobbled.

Maedhros didn’t let go of him. “I’ll lend you strength,” he promised. “We all will.”

They’d been doing that for months too. 

Ever since they’d learned it was twins.

. . . 

“Twins,” Hirwen said, looking from the grave healer to her own growing belly. “It’ll be a difficult birth, then. More difficult, I mean.”

Maglor’s hand tightened around hers.

“My largest concern will be the effort needed to sustain and nourish their fëar,” the healer said. “That task is difficult enough for twins when both partners are elves.”

“Dior and Nimloth managed it,” Maglor said tightly, though Elured and Elurin’s fate was not quite what he wanted to imagine now.

“And Dior’s grandmother was one of the Maia,” the healer pointed out. “I have to believe that helped.” Her tone softened. “Your line is strong, my prince. I do not say there is no hope. I only want you to be prepared for the danger.”

“Any child may be lost,” Hirwen said, eyes growing dark with some memory. “At any time. There is always danger.”

“There is also danger to you,” the healer pointed out. “And the strength of Finwe’s line will only further endanger you in that regard.”

Hirwen looked to Maglor, one eyebrow raised.

He had never told her this story before. It all seemed so distant now.

“Some called my father the greatest of the Noldor,” he told her. “He was certainly one of the most powerful.” He looked down. Down to where her hands cradled her belly much as he imagined his grandmother must have once. “He was too strong for my grandmother. Bearing him killed her.”

“Bearing an ordinary child killed Beril,” Hirwin said. “And the grief of losing a child killed my cousin, and there’s a great many other tales I could tell besides. You elves are very concerned with reminding me that I could die. Of course I might die. If I don’t die doing this, it’ll be doing something else.” She shrugged. “There are worse ways to go.”

. . .

He poured every ounce of strength he had or could borrow into his song.  At last, at long last, the twins were pushed into the world.

But even for the strain she’d been under, Hirwen’s face was far too pale. 

“Don’t stop,” one of the healer’s warned as she started up her own song.

Hirwen’s hand had been wrapped around since she entered. Her grip tightened now. “I’m fine,” she whispered, though it was all too clearly a lie. Her voice was barely a breath. “The babies, where are my babies?”

Maglor looked up, desperate to see them. A healer was holding them, singing to them with frantic speed, but Maedhros was standing behind the woman and could see clearly.

His eyes were filled with every last drop of their ancient grief when he shook his head.

For just a moment, Maglor’s song faltered. 

And in that moment, Hirwen slipped away.

. . .

“What do you want to name them?” he asked her.

She considered this. 

“Is there a name that means ‘not doomed’ in the language of your people?”

. . .

Hirwen was buried in the manner of her own people. His children were buried by no one but himself. His remaining brothers hung back as he performed the burials because he had asked them to, but Maedhros refused to hang back long.

“Did you name them?” his brother asked quietly.

“Alambar,” Maglor said. Not-doomed. The name’s irony was bitter on his tongue. “Alambar and Estel.” He stared blankly at the fresh turned earth. “Where do you think they are now? With her? Or waiting somewhere in the Halls?”

“I don’t know,” Maedhros said quietly. “I’m sure wherever they are, they’ll be looked after.”

Maglor hoped they were with Hirwen. It would be - better.

He’d never see them again wherever they went unless they finally fulfilled this mad Oath. It was the Darkness for him, and the small lights that he had tried so hard to save had no place there.

“Do you think,” he asked, still staring at the grave, “do you think if I had helped you look for Elured and Elurin that Mandos might have let them live?”

Maedhros’s hand dug painfully deep into his shoulder. Maglor didn’t much care.

“This wasn’t your fault,” Maedhros said firmly. Desperately, almost, though Maglor wasn’t sure why. “You can’t think like that.”

“Why not?” Maglor’s mouth twisted bitterly. “You blame yourself for everything. Why not me? And it has a sort of twisted justice to it, don’t you think? Symmetry.”

“This isn’t justice,” Maedhros said. “Just - ‘Laure, please. Please just look at me.”

Surprised by the old nickname, Maglor did. It was only when he looked into Maedhros’s burning eyes that he understood.

“I won’t fade,” he said. Dying of grief was entirely out of the question. His bitter smile grew more twisted. “Can’t you feel it in your own heart? The Oath won’t let us.” Burning, branding, entirely too present, entirely too consuming.

It was the only heat left in a barren world.

He looked back up the hill. “Why are the Ambarussa hanging back?”

“They weren’t sure you’d want to see them,” Maedhros said warily.

“Of course I want to see them,” Maglor said. “I need to take the opportunity while I can. The Valar seem to have it out for twins.”

 . . .

“I know you’re worried about all this,” she said, waving a hand over her growing belly. “But - “ Her hesitation was so uncharacteristic that Maglor looked up with a little bit of alarm. “Are you happy too? At least a little? Would you want children, if things were different?”

He could feel them. Two tiny lives, balancing on a knife’s edge of survival. Small, precious, and already fiercely loved.

“I want them,” he assured her. “I just wish there was some way I could make the world different for them.”

. . . 

He agreed to attack Sirion a few years later. Argued for it, even.

It was the only way to get the Silmaril. That had become clear. 

And he had to get the Silmaril if he was to have a single prayer of seeing his children again.

They failed, of course, and two more brothers were lost in the sea of blood.

He found two children in the rubble. Peredhel. Twins. Approximately the age his sons would have been, he thought.

Maedhros’s eyes went instantly wary when he saw Maglor carrying them out of the burning town. “Maglor.” That was all, but it managed to convey a whole world of warning and doubt. You do know they’re not your’s, don’t you?

“Their names are Elrond and Elros,” Maglor said by way of proof of his sanity. 

They were not Alambar and Estel, he knew that, no matter what tricks his mind tried to play. They could not replace his dead sons.

But that didn’t mean that they couldn’t be his, and if there was one thing his father had left him besides this impossible Oath, it was the firm knowledge that when it came to children, there was always room for more.

[tinwe-the-local-assassin]

This is the most amazing thing I've seen all day. 😂

Listen, listen, there are many weird and puritanical things about the way Tolkien writes about elf sexuality. But this is just absolutely hilarious and gives the opportunity for sooo much funny shit.

I really wished I knew who originally made the post, but I just had the screenshot on my phone to snicker with my sister about.

[overlord-of-fantasy]

Oh no XD

This is amazing XD

Listen, listen, there are many weird and puritanical things about the way Tolkien writes about elf sexuality. But this is just absolutely hilarious and gives the opportunity for sooo much funny shit.

I really wished I knew who originally made the post, but I just had the screenshot on my phone to snicker with my sister about.