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My SILMARILLION people!

What are yalls favourite fics surrounding mahaedros and maglor? And elrond and elros? AND Elwing and Earandil aaaaaaand Glorfindel and Gilgalad

Aaaaaand the Akallabeth! What's yalls favourite Numenorean fics???

I just finished the SILMARILLION and need to let my brain go craazzzy

[leucisticpuffin]

Ch. 65: in which the kids take on an orienteering challenge - but with Fëaranya in charge, things get messy.

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hoping this does better here than on twitter 😭

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PROMPT TIME can I have some m&m and “enduring grief and anger in silence” please!!

hehe yes beloved <3

TW for discussion of death and funeral practices

Nelyo had not cried once after Atar’s death.

He had wept, bitterly and without comfort, after Atyarussa had died. There had been a kind of grim satisfaction in Tyelko’s face; Curvo and Moryo had been silent, Curvo tall and straight at his father’s shoulder; Minyarussa had simply stood, swaying, eyes so bright he looked like a sick animal. Makalaurë’s own eyes had been dry; he had been full of fear so hot he felt as though he were burning along with his youngest brother, and in his mind only one thought had circled, round and round like the wheels of an organ-grinder: at least one of us is now safe.

But Nelyo had cried and cried, doubled over on the ground like he was playing again on Atyarussa’s little drum-set, and Minyarussa had stared at his shaking eldest brother with a dull sort of relief on his face. Atar had half-heartedly said, “Get up,” then shook his head and strode away as Nelyo behind him gasped, “the baby, our littlest one - the baby -”

He had raged at Makalaurë, after. “Why did you not weep? Little Atyarussa! My brother the musician, composer of dirges, can still weep for a pet rabbit lost these hundred years, but not his smallest brother, who we were as fathers to -”

“You were, perhaps,” said Makalaurë, not caring that he was being cruel, not wanting to think about it, “but I had other matters to attend to. In any case, brother, at least he is not here.”

Nelyo’s face had frozen in open shock; but all he had said was a quiet, “It should have been me.”

Only - only now Atar was gone, and it seemed to Makalaurë that some rotted abscess within him had torn open and was draining, for he could not stop crying. There was grief for the father who had lifted him upon his broad shoulders when he was tiny, and swallowed his dislike of the Vanyar long enough to send Makalaurë to Valimar for tutelage - for a little - and taught him his letters. And there was grief for the days of his youth, the bright happy house and his mother’s unshadowed eyes; and finally, finally - where had it been before? - there was grief for his littlest brother, for whom he had fashioned a little violincello and whose piping voice had lifted with him in duets.

It was his turn, now, to lift his voice in mourning; but Nelyo was silent, and refused to help spread what they could gather of Atar’s ashes in the fields that were taking shape by the lake, laying him to rest as close to Cuiviénen as they could manage. He and Minyarussa stood on and watched, twin shadows of Ammë.

Does she grieve for us, he wondered. Will she know he is dead, and did not know whether he meant Atyarussa, or Atar, or himself.

But after, Makalaurë could bear it no more. “Why will you not weep for him? Our father is dead!” he demanded in a whisper in their tent. And then, pouring out of him, “you wept more for Findekáno, who is alive! Atar will not see the hills of Tirion on Túna again, nor Finwe his father; he is Doomed, and all of us with him! Will you not weep! For us, if not for him!”

“He murdered my brother,” said Nelyo, quite casually, “why should I weep? As for the rest, we have been Doomed a long time since, and I shall not grieve twice what I was commanded not to grieve once. I will fulfill our Oath; is that not enough?”

Makalaurë blinked back tears, again, and said, “Not for me; where is my brother?”

“He died on the ships,” said Nelyo; and they did not speak again until the messenger from Moringotto came.

[leucisticpuffin]

For the spring flowers ask game: bleeding heart and/or spiderwort! 💚

Prompt: In a spring mood!! Put a flower in the comments or ask box and I’ll write about where it grows in Beleriand, and its symbology and usage!

Thank you all for your patience as I go through these! Previous entries in my spring flower game tag!

I did bleeding hearts 💕 here but I started a separate post for spiderwort!

There are eight species of flowers in the family that are collectively called bleeding hearts. Seven are native to the Americas and one species is found in Japan, surrounding islands and northern Siberia. Most of them are found in temperate forests with the exception of komakusa and the Sierra bleeding heart both of which tend to grow in gravely mountainous areas. As always I like to imagine even greater biodiversity throughout Arda than in this world so potentially extinct species might also grow.

The climate of Beleriand would likely support all eight species. Komakusa for example could likely be found in Ard Galen and in alpine meadows in the Ered Wethrin. Fringed bleeding heart could be found in temperate forests like the woods of Núath, Nivrim and Brethil.

Both Sindarin and Quenya (canonically) have distinct words for both the physical heart and the emotional or metaphorical heart. These words come from Primitive Elvish so likely, Silvan and Avarin languages might make this distinction as well. I bring this up because I imagine the word for physical heart is used for the name for these flowers in several languages.

Elven scholars in Doriath have preserved petals and seeds of several species of bleeding heart (I talked about flower preservation on my main world building post for Doriath!). These were mostly found in Nivrim and Brethil

Bleeding hearts are poisonous. The Haladin have folk stories about poison made from bleeding heart flowers.

[leucisticpuffin]

Hi! If you're still doing the prompts, may I request a Finrod (in beleriand) + green things even among the pits and broken rocks?

Hello! Dear one! Most excellent silm artist! I apologize for being gone so long, feels like I have had several years of bad brain days in a row😭 but thank you so much for prompting me anyway - and what a prompt! I was instantly taken by an image and had to write it down. I hope you enjoy this one<3

TW for descriptions of blood, gore, bones, and general dead bodies.

They brought the bones up first.

Beren’s frame was sharp as daggers, driven into Lúthien’s arms; but he had not listened to her pleas that he eat.

"I will not rest until they can," he said, and for a long moment Lúthien had not understood: who? Rest where?

Then she understood: he meant the dead.

Lúthien was weary beyond belief, cursing the softness of her form and the six-days lost in Nargothrond, and even Huan beside her was sagging in exhaustion. But in truth, she did not want to leave anyone down there in the dark and the filth either.

So they gathered the bones. There were so many! Lúthien knew, of course, that the Eldar had skeletons; but the breadth of them, scattered about the floor, was such that she could not really connect any of it to living breathing creatures. Many of the bones had been split open and the marrow sucked out; others were splintered so badly they had wedged into the stone floor and had to be left. Despite this there were scraps of flesh, still, scattered here and there. It was like no death in the wilderness she had ever seen. These were not merely starving creatures; they had been purposefully cruel.

More than once Lúthien had to stop, and take her too-light load up under the stars, climbing the crumbling steps and breathing very steadily lest she lose all composure. Beren worked like a man possessed, but he was wasted to almost nothing, and so their grim task took long enough that the velvet blackness of the sky had begun to turn grey.

But at last it was done; they had neat rows of bones, away from the chains and the stones, laid out upon the dirt under the sky. At last there was only - only Finrod left, to carry out.

Huan descended with them, this time, head hanging low, and Lúthien clutched his ruff for support as they approached her cousin’s body. The stones crackled beneath her feet.

What was left of Finrod had been barely visible as they labored, between the gloom of the prison and the darkness of the night; but now light was creeping down the stairs, and she could see the gold of his hair and the pale grey of his skin. He was splattered in old black stains, across his mouth and chest and side and legs, and new brown stains. As Lúthien approached she could see the white of bone in his chest and flashing in one arm, and had to close her eyes. Beren beside her let out a low moan.

After a moment, she opened her eyes again, feeling the first rays of the sun warming her back. Then she froze.

Finrod’s hair had been mostly shorn, and what was left was covered in the damp blackness of the pit; but somehow, through a crack in the wall, a patch of aur-hennin had grown. It crowned him in yellow and green, leaves tucked behind his ears, one flower falling forward onto his forehead, as if he had simply fallen asleep after a night’s heavy revelry.

"Beren, look!" said Lúthien, very softly, "the king has got a crown again."

For a moment she felt - outside herself. She was not Lúthien, princess of Doriath; she was the Nandor Elves who had tended to Denethor’s slain body upon the hill of Amon Ereb and, it was said, crowned him in flowers; she was the Eagle who had snatched King Fingolfin’s body from the hand of the Morgoth; she was, for a moment, someone very small, standing in an unfamiliar forest under an unfamiliar sun.

Then the moment passed, as Beren staggered in grief upon her shoulder; but his tears were, she thought, a little lighter, seeing the golden king crowned, seeing her cousin cradled in softness.

Slowly they carried him up to the light.

[leucisticpuffin]

Quick drawing. Maeglin for @swordsmithofgondolin

Thank you so much for your kind words and your Glorestor fanart! I've read your message many times, and it gave me more motivation to continue drawing. I'm glad my art could bring you happiness. And it's good to hear that you read Akayona and like Kye-sook (he means a lot to me)

[leucisticpuffin]

@little-leaf-linden

i'm . having fish emotions again

[leucisticpuffin]

Lúthien Tinúviel; Princess of Doriath, with Huan the Hound of Valinor

I know I know I keep changing her design, with some key elements staying, but I think I have it this time! I´m sure!! till next time where I might change it again But then again she is half Maia so she could probably shapeshift

I wanted her to look as uncanny/Eldritch as possible so I tried to give her too-big pupils, an almost mammal nose, a too long neck, and her deer ears - I wanted to include feathers somehow because I hc Dior has a feathered back as if he were supposed to grow wings but only got the feathers, so my excuse is that she can "shapeshift" a bit to look like a blend between elf, deer, and bird - but I DID give her claws!

[leucisticpuffin]

Perspective

AO3

 “Why don’t you go ahead and cut it, Nelyafinwë?” Grandfather gestured to the little almond cake he had set on the kitchen island. He had brought it back from Valmar, which made it a relative treat; it was unlike the many other sweets they often had at beck and call. Father rarely had cause to be up in Valmar unless he was lecturing, and he did not usually bring the children along when he did, nor was he one for showering them with gifts unnecessarily.

Maedhros took the knife, with Maglor watching intently (as much as he could when he could barely see the surface of the counter from his height), and cut the cake less 50/50 and more 75/25. He set the knife down and looked satisfied.

“Why have you chosen to cut it this way?” Finwë asked patiently.

Anticipating this question, Maedhros clasped his hands behind his back and answered smartly, “I am bigger than Kanafinwë. I should have a bigger piece. I have made them proportional.” The small smile on his face was nothing if not smug.

“Interesting logic,” said Finwë, nodding. He looked to Maglor, who was scowling, screwing his round little face up in preparation to start bawling, something sure to ruin the morning of everyone within earshot—which was to say the entire house. “Kanafinwë, why don’t you choose your half first?”

Maglor, ecstatic at this unexpected change of fortune, promptly swiped the much larger piece of cake and danced out of Maedhros’ reach, stuffing a massive bite of it into his mouth at once. He grinned around his full cheeks at Maedhros, who had a moment of shock, which was quickly overcome with chagrin. Ruefully, he picked up his much smaller piece of cake.

“You didn’t say you were going to do it that way, Grandfather,” he said, his voice bordering on sullen.

“Would you have cut it differently if I had?” Finwë asked. “Closer to even, perhaps?” Maedhros’ expression descended into sulking as he realized he had played exactly into Finwë’s game. “Perhaps next time you will consider things from another perspective,” Finwë suggested. Then his expression grew more serious. “As your father’s heir, and a chief representative of this house and of the Noldor, you must act always with fairness and equanimity,” he said. “Even where you desire to obtain for yourself preferential treatment. Kanafinwë is your brother, and inclined, I imagine, to forgive you the occasional bout of selfishness. But others will be less so inclined.”

Maedhros frowned and nibbled at his piece of cake. Maglor, checking first to make sure Grandfather was watching him, broke off a miniscule piece of his own and held it up with crumby fingers.

“Do you want some of mine, Nelyo?” he asked, sweet as sugar, the darling model of a generous Noldorin prince. Maedhros sighed and shook his head.

“No,” he said in a long-suffering voice, “it’s yours.”

Maglor did not offer twice, but skipped out, trailing crumbs across the hallway floor and trying to hum with his mouth full, which did not much improve the situation. Grandfather squeezed Maedhros’ shoulder on their way out of the kitchen and Maedhros sighed again.

“It seems there are a great many lessons for a prince to learn,” he remarked to Grandfather, who smiled.

“Indeed there are,” he said. “But for one thing you should be grateful, Nelyafinwë.”

“What is that, Grandfather?”

“This lesson came with cake!” And Maedhros could not argue much with that.

[leucisticpuffin]

reblog for sample size !!

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Day 1- Elros and his family

I know it’s last minute but I just found out about @numenorweek!

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Loré Pemberton on Instagram

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artists on tumblr stop fukcing lying to yourselves you never draw those sticks and circles when you sketch stuff out you just die and you know it

[leucisticpuffin]

Rabbit dance 💃🏻💃🏻💃🏻

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Paper Art Spinners - Heraldic Devices of Fëanor & Fingolfin

Available on my Etsy!