#Avari Languages

[yellow-faerie]

I am thinking about the Avari and how it is incredibly sad Tolkien said so little about them

[havenotwillnotreadthebooks]

Hello! So it’s super fun when Gil-Galad is revealed to be nobody's son, but gets adopted anyway, yeah?

But Consider: Gil-Galad is reembodied and is fully ready to accept that the gig is up, unfortunately, all his would-be fathers are sonless and won’t let him leave the family.

Look, Fingon loves his bestfriend/husband/cousin/person’s peredhel child like a child of his own flesh, but he wasn’t there for the raising! Elrond already has a wife and kids! The kid is already grown up!

However, Gil-Galad has no spouse or children, nor even an official lordship of his own. And if Gil-Galad was calling him dad already in Beleriand/M-E then clearly he can’t let this opportunity to Be A Dad leave just like that! Gil-Galad wants to leave quietly but Fingon is holding onto Parenthood with both hands in a death-grip. Fingon will not let Gil leave quietly. (The situation escalates when Maedhros is Haggled released from Mandos/Void Time Out)

Meanwhile, Orodreth loves his daughter, but Finduilas is a grown elf-lady with a maybe-fiancé and several Adult Royal Things Going On. Finduilas is all grown up and Orodreth is feeling that Empty Nest Syndrome that the bird books warned him about. however, Gil-Galad is parentless, and already claimed Orodreth as a maybe-dad, so clearly the boy needs some guidance, right? Plus his Wife (an Avari woman who sincerely loves her wet cat husband) could use somebody to take on hunting trips. Finduilas is too busy nowadays but clearly, Gil-Galad could use the Motherly Bonding Time. (Orodreth’s wife is a menace and she would’a gotten more kids if it weren’t for Finrod dying spontaneously damnit)

Anyway, this ends up with Gil-Galad in a weird four-way co-parenting situation where he has to spend equal time with Fingon, Maedhros, Orodreth, and Orodreth’s wife.

The other solution is for Fingon and Orodreth to fist-fight again and nobody wants that. (Not even Fingon. Turns out; Orodreth bites and has the jaw strength of a damn crocodile).

It’s a damn reverse-con. Gil-Galad claimed them as parents and now they’re claiming him back as their child.

[deadqueernoldor]

Thinking thoughts about those from Cuivienen and how they later treated the Valar, especially after Cuivienen was destroyed.

I imagine a foundation of sorrow and a layer of betrayal and pettiness. They had promised safety. And how did it turn out? Kin of Tata and Tatie their first leaders, slain in Valinor by the Dark Hunter from which the Valar promised protection in Valinor.

And then, the War of Wrath comes and with it the destruction of Cuivienen.

If any of those were re-embodied in Aman, I wonder if they make it a point to always turn their back to Valar and Maiar. I wonder if they only speak in the tongue they had first devised all those millennia ago and spoke in Cuivienen before time and different kindreds changed the tongue, not Sindarin or Quenya from the Great Journey's time or later. I wonder if they sing songs in their ancient tongue, songs about the beauty and unsullied health of Cuivienen every time any of the Ainur are near.

I wonder if the Valar feel any shame when those who they once looked upon in wonder and love gaze back at them with indifference or disgust.

[lordgrimwing]

Awake

[for Glorfindel Week, hosted by @glorfindelweek, Day 4, part of the Silm ABO series]

Glorfindel listened to the strange noises around him. Eyes shut and breath kept carefully even, he tried to get a sense of what was happening without alerting anyone to his wakefulness. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been unconscious this time, but the pain in his stomach was less distracting now. 

Last time, he woke up suddenly, yanked back to consciousness by a deep, aching pain splitting his belly open as though the mýrennedí still had her teeth in him. He had a hazy memory of someone trying to speak with him, followed by an unsuccessful attempt to escape out the mouth of the bizarre cave they were in. Whoever these people were, they were not pleased by his disappearance. 

The cave opening sat on the side of a sheer cliff dotted with many other openings of identical size and shape. The pain made climbing hard, and he had to slip inside one of the other caves to rest. Fearing he’d fall if he tried climbing the rest of the way down, he tested his luck in the rabbit warren-like caves instead, hoping they were all connected and he could reach the ground. 

He bumped into many strangely dressed elves as he went. They either stared at him in surprise or squawked like vibrantly colored, unintelligible birds. A few tried to stop him, but he avoided them easily and kept running.

The elf from the first cavern caught up to him at about the same time he realized he’d started bleeding from the healing gashes in his stomach. He wasn’t steady on his feet by that point, stumbling down the passage with more than running, and the elf easily grabbed him. Everything was very confused after that, but they must have gotten back to where he started somehow. 

That brought him back to the present: still unable to make sense of what was going on but feeling less like he was crawling toward the flaming chasm of death—so that was good.

“You are awake?” Someone asked from near his head.

Well, pretending to sleep wasn’t working. It was time to figure out where he was and what happened. He opened his eyes.

The elf from earlier was gone, replaced by one of the strangers the mýrennedí tried eating. He recognized this one from the days he spent watching their camp before the attack, assessing if they were a threat to his people or just part of a strange tribe passing through. Quenhó, he’d named this one, because his odd appearance was reminiscent of images conjured up by the angoldos’ tales of lost spirits. He had been interesting to watch: he appeared to be some kind of healer, like an angoldo, as others in the group came to him when they were hurt.

Quenhó repeated the question, words spoken with the tone of someone who was trying to speak clearly after eating many fermented mesquite bean pods. “You are awake?”

Glorfindel blinked. “Yes.” His mouth felt dry.

“You are safe,” Quenhó said in very simple words, tongue stumbling.

Was he just learning to speak? Perhaps he actually was a lost spirit.

“Do not run again. You are hurt.” Quenhó pointed at his own stomach, hidden under layers of enough stifling fabric to make a sizable traveling tent, then down at Glorfindel’s while making a pained expression with his odd face.

Glorfindel agreed with the limited explanation. “Yes,” he said. “That is usually what happens to people who are caught by a mýrennedí. I’m lucky she didn’t kill me.” 

The more he thought about it, the more certain he became that he should have died. The fight took place far away from his people (though he’d watched the strangers long enough to know that they knew where his people lived, that they were specifically watching his people). Even if he had survived the journey back to be cared for by an angoldo, he’d seen though wounds like this to know a burning fire should have grown within him by the third day and finished what the large cat started.

Quenhó looked at him, his face twisted into an indecipherable mask. “You are hurt,” he repeated. “I am helping you.”

Glorfindel tilted his head against the thick, soft mat he was laying on. “Where am I?” He asked. “I’ve never seen caves like this. Do your people make caves like hares dig tunnels?”

“You are hurt.” This time, a hint of pleading entered the words.

Quenhó, whoever and whatever he was, had no idea what Glorfindel was saying.

[grey-gazania-fic]

The Lucky One

A young Nandorin woman is saved from death by Amras and taken in by his people. As the events of the First Age unfold, she must come to terms with the consequences of swearing her loyalty to the Sons of Fëanor. Find the whole Chosen Exile series here. This installment rated T.

FA 35

Linn was hunting with her brothers on the day she died. It was early autumn, and the sun kissed tops of the trees with gold as she walked on silent feet beneath the cool canopy of leaves. Overhead, squirrels busily gathered seeds, their chittering joined by the occasional cheep of a finch.

There were pheasants in abundance in this part of the forest, and Linn had three already in the rough sack slung over her back. Smoked and seasoned, the meat would help see them through the coming winter, and tonight they would share their bounty with their neighbors.

Perhaps the handsome Orn from across the river would join them. Perhaps he would ask Linn to sing.

She smiled to herself at the thought before turning her attention back to the forest. It was best not to lose focus. Dangerous things dwelt under the trees -- bears and wolves, and wild boars like the one that had killed her mother when Linn was just a child.

Bel, Aras, and Tor were spread out in a crescent ahead of her, but it was her sharp ears that picked out the sound of something following them. She whistled a three-note bird call, and her brothers froze in their tracks, each readying his bow.

“What is it?” Aras breathed in her ear once she had joined them.

“We’re being followed,” she murmured, her spine prickling uncomfortably.

Bel jerked his head toward the nearest tree and made the sign for climb, and Linn nodded. Dropping her sack beside the mossy trunk, she grabbed hold of the lowest branch and pulled herself upwards, careful not to snag her bow or quiver as she went. When she judged herself to be high enough, she stopped and peered out from between the leaves.

Her breath froze in her lungs. There was a pack of monsters behind them, moving low and quiet through the underbrush. Linn was young; she had never seen an orc. But she had heard the stories, and she knew what she was looking at. She whistled a warning, a shrike’s shrill shriek, and dropped to the ground to join her brothers as they ran. It was their only choice. They were outnumbered, armed only with light bows, but they knew the forest better than the orcs did. Hopefully they could lose them in the trees.

Linn had heard the stories. Orcs were vicious. Orcs were wicked. Orcs reveled in bloodshed and death. If orcs found you and you could neither kill them nor escape, you should pray that they killed you, because if they carried you north to the Iron Mountains you would become an orc yourself.

The stories didn’t mention that orcs were fast. The four elves ran and ran and ran, but the orcs were gaining on them. With each foot Linn and her brothers lost, escape slipped further and further away. As Bel and Aras ran ahead, Tor grabbed Linn by the arm, pulled her around behind the thick trunk of a tree, and boosted her up into the branches.

“Hide,” he hissed.

Linn climbed, her heart pounding in her chest as she watched Tor dash after their brothers. He’d almost reached them when he stumbled and fell to the ground with a pained cry. An arrow had struck him in the calf, and blood bloomed across his breeches, dark and wet.

Bel whirled around, an arrow of his own already nocked, and fired back at the orcs, striking their leader in the eye. It fell with a cry of its own, but its death only seemed to enrage the others. Even as Aras joined Bel in his attack, the orcs swarmed forward, trading their bows for heavy blades of iron.

Wounded, already grounded and vulnerable, Tor fell first, nearly hewn in two. Linn swallowed a scream and reached for her own bow, only to find that the string had snapped during her climb. She was unarmed. Her brothers were being slaughtered before her eyes, and she was unarmed and helpless to intervene.

Aras continued to fire, but his quiver was soon empty. He tossed his bow aside and threw himself at the orcs, only to be slain by the same blade that had killed Tor, his blood mingling with his brother's on the dull iron.

As she watched Bel struggle with the creatures, Linn made a decision. She would not let her brother stand alone. She leapt from the branches, landing squarely on one of the orcs. With a desperate grab, she wrested its dagger from the sheath at its waist and plunged the knife into its back.

It stumbled and dropped its sword, but quickly regained its footing and turned on her with a growl, knocking the knife from her hand and forcing her to the ground. She screamed and clawed at its face, but it only laughed. Then it grabbed her by the wrists, pinned her arms, and sank its teeth into her throat.

She struggled, but the creature was holding her tight enough to bruise, too tightly for her to escape. Again and again and again it tore at her flesh, ripping her neck to shreds. She soon went limp beneath it, choking on her own blood as she gasped for breath.

The leaves above her wavered and blurred. She could feel the earth shake beneath her, thump thuh-thump thuh-thump, but she didn't recognize the hoofbeats for what they were until a man charged past her on a horse, firing at the orc as he went.

The monster abandoned its attack on her and plucked the arrow from its arm, but before it could finish rising to its feet, a second man appeared, russet-haired, with eyes that shone like stars. He swung his sword and removed the creature's head with one blow.

Dropping to the ground beside Linn, he pressed his hands over her bloody throat. His lips moved, but she couldn't hear what he said. She couldn't hear anything at all. The world grew dim around her, until all she could see was the stranger's shining eyes.

Soon, the darkness swallowed even that.

continue reading on AO3

[bitchkay]

Dance all night♡

~Zev Avari

CW: Modern AU, suggestive, club setting–I've never actually been to a club, alcohol consumption, sexual themes, non explicit smut language, self indulgent asf, written with myself in mind but no gender specific pronouns used or explicit descriptors, implied fem alignment but.. only cus of a more fem presentation but otherwise fuck it here *slap* sexy dress

Word count: 1706

Rating: Mature

Note: there are multiple YouTube links throughout for the songs playing in the background or when music is mentioned yk to set the vibe, anyway I'm gonna make a Zev playlist eventually

Was it a good idea to sneak off without permission? Maybe not but you needed a break. Surely everyone would understand, right?

Making it past security you're met with the scene you haven't been in quite a while. It wasn't incredibly crowded, which you were grateful for, but the amount of people sent a rush through your body. You were ready to have some fun tonight.

Partying alone, again probably wasn't a good idea, nor was drinking alone, it was probably depressing from the outside looking in and dangerous considering your alone, but this wasn't the first stupid idea you've ever had.

As you made your way to the bar another figure entered the club. Blond hair swept across his forehead, his ends tipped with red, the man walked with confidence weaving through the crowd.

You ordered a drink letting the tension in your shoulders fall. Loosening up you allowed yourself to relax, forgetting about everyone that's stressed you out up until this point.

He saw you from across the room, intrigued by you. That dress did you well he'll admit, but he couldn't help but think how it would- no, stop, he doesn't know you, let him say hello first before he thinks of undressing you.

You finished your drink feeling the alcohol loosen you up in time with the start of the next song, making your way to the floor. A pair of bright red eyes followed you into the crowd, dancing by yourself. It seems like you like this song. You swayed and moved your hips to the music having a grand ole time. Your pretty little ass moved like water.

Letting loose you felt the music in your bones, dancing to your heart's content. You danced like nobody's watching, not a thing could bring you down from this high.

Your secret admirer began his approach with little thought. Without thinking he made his way to you, weaving his way through the crowd until you're right before him.

"What's a pretty thing like you doing all by themself?"

"Oh god-! You know you shouldn't sneak up on people," you said startled, holding your hand to your chest. 

"I'm sorry, where are my manners, Zev," he said, holding out a practiced hand for you.

You hesitated before giving your name, putting your hand in his, immediately thrown in a loop as he twirled you around pulling you to his chest.

"That's a pretty name, looking for a dance partner perhaps?" Zev said with a firm grip on your waist.

"Bold approach I see? … well maybe for a little bit."

"That's all I need."

-

A dance turned into two, then into a few more drinks, and now the two of you well into the night were seen in the middle of the floor bumping and grinding as you passed flirtatious remarks back and forth.

"I like the way you move~" Zev spoke close to your ear as you leaned your back against his chest.

"You're not so bad a dancer yourself," you said, reaching your hand back around his neck.

"That's not what I'm talking about."

Zev wrapped his arms around you pulling your ass against his front. He ducked his head to the side of your face til his lips brushed the lobe of your ear.

"You been shaking your ass on me all night… making it hard to remain a gentleman ya know." Spinning you around he snaked his arms around your waist, his hands moving down grabbing fistfuls of your ass.

His breath next to your ear sent shivers up your spine despite your lightly sweat coated skin.

“Nobodys asking you to be a gentleman.. Zev,” you purred his name. “Plus I'm not sure your behavior thus far would be considered gentlemanly.” a new song filled the air as you gently moved his hands up from your butt to your waist.

“You haven't rejected me yet. How’s a man supposed to hold back anyway~?” he cooed.

Onlookers would think you're dating by the way you've been attached at the hip relentlessly flirting the whole night. Dancing on each other like your trying to fuck through your clothes you really did look like a pair of lovers.

It was frustratingly hot in here, stuck like a bead of sweat, Zev held you close, it was an intimate hold like one might hold a partner. Your breaths smelled of liquor –shots you took together– Zev looked at you intently with a certain glint in his eyes and he eyed you under dim lighting, strobe lights luminating parts of your face allowing him a little bit of a better look.

“You're so sexy you know that?”

“So I've been told.”

-

“Mmh~ fuck.”

The thump of your back hitting the door echoed through the surprisingly scarce bathroom.

One strap of your dress hung off your shoulder, the first few buttons of Zevs shirt undone. You made out sloppily, disheveled as the faint sounds of music from the club bounced off the walls. Your fingers tangled in the blond strands of hair as one leg wrapped around his waist; the kiss hot and heavy as a dribble of drool rolled down your chin.

*click*

The sound of the door locking rang through your ears.

“Zev?”

“I wanna fuck you.”

Simple and straightforward sure did the trick.

Did either of you expect the night to go this way? No but who's complaining?

With one hand up the bottom of your dress, Zev trailed your neck with his lips mumbling praises as his hand creeped up your thigh.

“You were teasing me weren't you? You wanted me to approach you, hm?” he said, nibbling on your ear.

You let out a breathy sigh as you arch into him, the hand on your thigh creeping upward still. Zevs nics and kisses moved down toward your exposed collar bone kissing your soft skin holding your body against him.

"God…" you breathed, reaching to undo the rest of his buttons.

"I think you were trying to seduce me, with your pretty face and sexy dance~" Zev closed in on your face, the grip on your thigh tightening.

"And what would you do if I was~?" You went for his belt buckle as Zev went to hike up your dress leaning into your lips.

"Well that just makes things better.." Zev kissed you as his fingers traced the hem of your underwear tickling the seams.

You had his pants unbuckled just as Zev reached for your other leg lifting you in his arms, back pressed against the door, legs around his waist.

"Tell me.. do you want me to fuck right against this door?"

Just as Zevs nimble fingers inched under the fabric of your underwear an obnoxious ringing noise sounded through the bathroom.

You both froze feeling almost as if you've been caught.

"Is that.. your phone?" You asked.

Zev ducking his head into your neck responded, "Ignore it."

"What if it's important?" you said though you were also tempted to ignore it in favor of whatever you're about to get yourself up to in this bathroom.

"It's not."

"And how do you know?"

"What can be more important than this?"

You stared at him blankly and after a beat he set you on your feet reaching into his pants, answering the phone without looking at the caller id.

"Yes?... oh it's you I- …yes,, that's exactly where I am but-... no- Guy!... I'm kinda busy right now… Guyy… this is embarrassing… alright… ok later"

You off to the side fixing your makeup in the mirror noticed Zev approach you from behind.

".. did you just say Guy a moment ago?"

It can't be the root of your stresses can it?

"Yea why?" He said, slithering his hands around your waist from behind.

"Nothing… What's your last name?" You turned around to face him leaning on the counter.

Zev blinked before answering, making a connection in his head.

"Avari."

 You studied his face, noting the sharpness of his eyes. It was much easier to see in this lightning, and what a handsome man Zev was. You disregarded the similarities you found in your head in turn for admiring his features; you never really got to do that on the dancefloor, nor in your heated passion against the door. He really was beautiful. You pecked his lips without thinking, also noting their softness.

Zev watched you curiously, you started studying his face before your expressions softened and and your hands went up to his shoulders, pressing your thumb to the base of neck and following leading lines down his still open shirt. You didn't even try to hide that you were ogling him.

He stepped closer to you, crowding you against the counter before leaning towards your face.

"You wouldn't mind if I took you home with me would you? Treat you to better than a dirty bathroom, in a nice big soft bed?" Zev wrapped his arms around your waist from behind.

"You make a very tempting offer. What is it? Your big brother's waiting for you at home?" you teased wrapping your arms around his neck.

Zev averted his eyes embarrassed to have to admit this. "Listen… I very much want to finish what we started. There's no way I'm leaving you here for some random ass incel to pick you up. Even if I never see you again, I want to feel your skin for as long as you'll allow it."

His hands caressed your sides, straightening out your dress. You look up at him through the mirror, a small smile on your lips.

"That sounded pretty romantic, Zev. What would you do if I said no? Not that that's something I'm going to say any way," you said leaning back on his chest.

"The devilish seductress to have caught my eye this night denying me of my pleasures, well that would be embarrassing. So if it's okay with you, I'm either taking care of you in the back of an uber or I'm fucking you in my bed. Just know either option gets me your number."

"Oh you're getting more than just my number, pretty boy."

Maybe it was a good idea to sneak off without permission after all… at least for now at least.

©bitchkay.tumblr.com

Me: the end corny as fuck *rewrites*

[dfwbwfbbwfbwf]

Hot Eöl Take

I'm going to preface this by saying you're probably a grown adult, so don't be rude just because I have a different opinion.

Eöl and Areðel's wedding was consensual. He thought she was beautiful and smart, even if she was a Noldo. She though he was handsome and clever. He didn't purposely get her lost in Nan Elmoth - Melian's residual magic does that to those who aren't used to it. They did truly love each other.

Areðel gave birth to Lómion. Eöl didn't understand the big deal about names (the Avari tribe where he grew up, far in the east, parents called their children Minyien (first son), Tatyien (second son), Minyida (first daughter), etc. until they were inspired to give them a name. Twelve years? Eöl was Nelyien for a thousand of these newfangled Sun years. But Areðel kept pestering him about it, so he spent a week figuring something out for his Minyien's begetting day.

(That was a strange thing as well, the concept of a begetting day. It was difficult to track such a thing before the Sun and without the Trees, so the "dark Elves" just didn't.)

Eöl taught Maeglin smithing, but he saw his son's heart was more in the mining, and frequently took the family to Nogrod. Areðel got along famously with the Khazad; she quite liked their fuzzy beards. For a long while, they were happy.

But as time passed on, Eöl grew paranoid. He refused to let his family leave Nan Elmoth without him, and eventually refused to leave at all. He tossed Maeglin into trees to learn to climb.

(He thought of Maeglin torn apart by yrch, begging for his mother, his father, anyone, all because of his fear of heights. Eöl needed to teach his son to get over it, or he would die.)

He grew possessive and distrustful, and Areðel couldn't take it anymore. She and Maeglin fled. Eöl, with a sear coated in spider venom, followed.

Remember, the writer of The Silmarillion was a Gondolindrim Noldo who would've had a bias against him.

(I have the word for "son" and "daughter" in Eöl's language as "ien" and "ida", respectively.

[nyxshadowhawk]

I Read The Silmarillion So You Don't Have To, Part Five

Previous part: https://nyxshadowhawk.tumblr.com/post/728961431368761344/i-read-the-silmarillion-so-you-dont-have-to-part

Chapter 10: Of the Sindar Meanwhile, in Middle-earth…

Remember the Sindar? They’re the people of Elwë, the only one of the original three Elven Lords who never made it back to Valinor, and Melian, a Maia who seduced him. The Sindar are basically native to Middle-earth, and save for Elwë himself, none of them have seen the Two Trees of Valinor. That makes them “Grey Elves,” neither light nor dark. They live in Beleriand, the westernmost land mass of Middle-earth, on which most of The Silmarillion takes place, and which is completely gone by the time LotR takes place.

Elu Thingol by @bohemianweasel

The Sindar know Elwë as Thingol, which is Sindarin for “Greymantle,” and acknowledge him as king. Earlier, I assumed that Thingol and Melian were the ancestors of the Sindar, but this isn’t true; they only have one child, and her name is Lúthien. She is one of the other major players in The Silmarillion, and was based directly on Tolkien’s wife Edith, so she’s kind of a big deal. She’s born in the forest of Neldoreth, and white flowers spring up to greet her.

While Melkor was being held captive in Valinor, the Dwarves finally enter the picture in Middle-earth. They call themselves Khazâd, and the Sindar call them Naugrim, which means “stunted people.” The Elves are somewhat bewildered when the Dwarves come into Beleriand from the East, because they didn’t know that any other people existed. They assumed that they were the only living things who could speak or make things. They don’t learn the Dwarven language, but the Dwarves endeavor to learn Sindarin. When the Noldor eventually show up, the Dwarves really like them, because the Noldor share their reverence for the god Aulë and their skill at metalwork and cutting gemstones.

Because Melian is a Maia, she can see the future. She warns Thingol that the peace isn’t going to last. Thingol decides to build a fortress in case worst comes to worst, and enlists the help of the dwarves to build it. The Dwarves oblige, happy to have a new project, and Thingol pays them in pearls, which they’d never seen before. The biggest pearl is called Nimphelos, which the Dwarves particularly value. (Its name sounds a lot like Omphalos, an egg-shaped sacred stone at Delphi that the Ancient Greeks thought was the navel of the world.) The Dwarves build Thingol a mansion underground, in the style of their own. I’m guessing that, like Hobbit holes, this is a reference to Celtic fairy lore that describes fairies as living in mounds. Like the fairies of British and Irish lore, Thingol has a lavish underground palace called Menegroth, the Thousand Caves. Its pillars are carved to look like trees, with carved animals on the walls and in the “branches” of the pillars. Colorful mosaics decorate the floors, banners and tapestries chronicle the deeds of the Valar, there are silver fountains and singing nightingales, and it’s all as beautiful as anything gets outside of Valinor.

Everything’s great for a bit, but Melkor’s monsters still exist, and eventually Orcs and wolves push into Beleriand. The Elves don’t know what the Orcs are. They assume that the Orcs are Avari (Elves that refused to go to Valinor) that turned evil, which is almost right in an indirect way. Thingol needs weapons to fight Melkor’s monsters, but the Sindar don’t have any weapons and don’t know how to make them, because they’ve never needed them before. The Dwarves know how to make them, having used them to fight all the dangerous things in the East, and they teach the Sindar how to make and use them. Dwarves remain the absolute best at making things of steel, and they invented chainmail.

Remember the Nandor? They were another subgroup of Elves who split off from the Teleri while they were traveling to Valinor, and stayed in Middle-earth. They become the Wood Elves, and their descendants will be the elves of Mirkwood. But at this point in history, they come to Thingol, seeking protection from Melkor’s monsters. Thingol lets them stay in an eastern land called Ossiriand.

A Sindar Elf named Daeron invents the runic writing system, which the Elves don’t care for, but the Dwarves readily adopt.

Once again, everything’s great for a while. But then, Morgoth and Ungoliant have their struggle to the north. The Sindar hear Morgoth’s shrieking and know that something is wrong. Melian’s magic keeps Ungoliant from entering their land, but barely. The Sindar are suddenly assaulted by Morgoth’s massive army of Orcs from his northern citadel of Angband. The Orcs aren’t like anything the Sindar have ever seen, and there’s thousands of them. We get a short summary of the ensuing battle (in which Tolkien drops more place names than I can possibly keep track of).

The Elves and Dwarves win, but they lose a lot of lives in the process. The King of the Nandor, an Elf named Denethor, dies in combat. Distraught by his death, many of his people renounce open war. They are called Laiquendi, “Green Elves,” because they wear leaves. The rest of the Nandor join the Sindar, and merge with them. The Sindar fence themselves into their forest with a magic wall of “shadow and bewilderment” that Melian casts to keep the Orcs out. After that, their forest becomes known as Doriath, the “Land of the Girdle,” after the magic wall. The wall protects them, but the peace and bliss are broken.

Chapter 11: Of the Sun and Moon and the Hiding of Valinor In which the Two Trees have a last hurrah.

Back in Valinor, the Valar are very sad about the Trees, but they’re even sadder about Fëanor. Fëanor is, without a doubt, the best of the Elves. He may be a narcissist, but he’s right about how great he is: he’s the strongest, the smartest, the cleverest, the most beautiful, the most skilled, and the most capable both mentally and physically. Imagine all the good he could have done in the world, and what beautiful and useful things he might have made, if Morgoth hadn’t corrupted him! Now he’s going to waste his life on a pointless endeavor, and his entire line is cursed. It didn’t have to be like this. When a messenger tells Manwë how Fëanor responded to the prophecy of doom, Manwë cries.

However, Manwë doesn’t dispute Fëanor’s boast that people will sing of his deeds until the end of the world. After all, songs are beautiful things. If you remember, Eru Ilúvatar told Melkor that all of his evil deeds will result in more beautiful things, that no one would otherwise have conceived of. Evil always begets good, in spite of itself. Fëanor’s evil deeds will result in the creation of beautiful art in the future, thus indirectly producing good things. But that doesn’t make Fëanor’s actions any better in the present.

Yavanna, goddess of plants, and Nienna, goddess of sorrow, do their absolute best to heal the Trees. The Trees are beyond saving, but the goddesses’ lamentation does do something: With their last bit of strength, Telperion bears a single silver flower, and Laurelin bears a single golden fruit. Yavanna picks them both off the trees. After that, the Two Trees die for good, with nothing but their lifeless stems remaining in Valinor as a sad monument to what once was. Manwë blesses the flower and the fruit, and Aulë makes vessels to hold and preserve them. Then Varda hangs them in the sky as the new lamps: The flower of Telperion is the Moon, and the fruit of Laurelin is the Sun. The two lights will help the Children of Ilúvatar and hinder Morgoth.

Creation of the Two Trees by Julia Pelzer

Each group of Elves has a different name for the Moon and the Sun. The Vanyar (the Elves who got to Valinor first and stayed there) call them Isil and Anar. The Noldor call them Rána the Wayward, and Vána the Heart of Fire.

The Moon and Sun also have their own Maiar to guide them through the sky. The Maia of the Sun is called Arien, and the Maia of the Moon is called Tilion. Both Maiar had loved their respective Trees while the Trees were alive, and begged for the position of tending to the Sun and Moon. Arien is a fire goddess who doesn’t fear the heat of the sun, and Tilion is a hunter god who was one of Oromë’s companions. (This mirrors Norse Mythology, in which the Sun is driven by a goddess called Sol or Sunna, and the Moon by a god called Máni.)

Narsilion by breath-art

The Moon rises first, and brings hope to the Elves. When the Moon rises, Fingolfin and the Noldor begin their long trek into Middle-earth across the frozen north. After the Moon rises and sets seven times, the Sun is hung in the sky, and the first dawn comes. When the Sun sets, it comes to rest in Valinor, briefly reminding the Valar and remaining Elves of the light of the Two Trees and the joy they once had. But the Sun and Moon still pale in comparison to the Two Trees. The only remaining things that preserve the original light, pre-Ungoliant’s destruction, are the Silmarils.

Morgoth is obviously horrified, and immediately sends dark clouds to prevent the Sun from shining upon his land of Angband. Arien, the Maia of the Sun, is the only entity that Morgoth is really afraid of, and he no longer has the strength to attack her. But he does send evil spirits after Tilion, the Maia of the Moon. (This might explain why the moon has phases, but it’s not explicitly said.)

The Valar still remember what happened the last time they put up lamps, and they’re not about to let Morgoth destroy their paradise for a third time. They decide to almost completely cut off Valinor from the rest of the world. They make the Pélori Mountains around Valinor rise impossibly high, with sheer faces like glass. The only way in or out of Valinor is through a mountain pass called the Calacirya, which the Valar leave open to allow the Elves to see the stars. But the pass is heavily guarded. And, as an extra precaution, they fill the sea with enchanted islands that are full of illusions to confuse and trap anyone who tries to sail to Aman. The Noldor are officially, permanently cut off from Valinor — there’s no turning back now.

Telperion and Laurelin by MrSvein872

Chapter 12: Of Men In which the Men finally show up.

Having sealed themselves away, the Valar basically leave Middle-earth to the mercy of Morgoth. It’s not all bad, though; the Sun keeps Morgoth at bay, and it causes many new things to grow in Beleriand. Beleriand is a pretty nice place, for what it’s worth. Not as nice as Valinor, but, y’know… it could be worse.

When the Sun rises, the Men finally awaken. The Elves have a lot of different names for them, but the important ones are Atani (“Second People”) and Hildor (“Followers”). The Men didn’t have a Vala to invite them to Valinor. Men fear the Valar, because they don’t really know what the Valar are or why they’re there, and the Valar have stopped paying attention to Middle-earth. Ulmo watches over the Men through all the water of Middle-earth, but Men don’t know how to understand the divine messages brought to them by the water. It’s rumored that the Men befriend the Avari, the Dark Elves who never went to Valinor.

At the time, Men looked more like Elves than they do now. Men were taller, stronger, and longer-lived than they are now, but Elves were still prettier, wiser, and more skilled than Men. Elves are immortal, and do not sicken or age, but they can still be killed. Men have less robust bodies and are more prone to illness and injury. Dark Elves are better than Men, but the High Elves that saw Valinor are significantly better than both Dark Elves and Men. The only Dark Elves that come close to the greatness of the High Elves are the Sindar, and that’s only because their queen is a Maia.

The other big difference between Elves and Men is what happens after they die. When Elves die, they go to the Halls of Mandos and eventually reincarnate. The Elves don’t know what happens to Men after they die. If they go to the Halls of Mandos, they don’t go to the same part of them that the Elves go to. No one but Mandos and Manwë knows what happens to the Men after that. Only one Man ever came back from the dead (we’ll get there). It’s possible that the only entity that knows anything about what happens to Men after death is Ilúvatar himself.

The relationship between Elves and Men gets steadily worse with time, mostly because of Morgoth (again, we’ll get there). By the time of the Third Age, when LotR takes place, there are very few Elves left. They have retreated away from the sunlight, into lonely woods and caves, and “become as shadows and memories.” The Men take over from the Elves, and forget that the Elves ever existed. But the The Silmarillion is about the First Age, and back then, Elves and Men were friends. Some Men achieved greatness through learning Elven wisdom, and some Men even had children with Elves.

Chapter 13: Of the Return of the Noldor In which we return to the main plot, and a LOT of shit goes down.

Where we last left the Noldor, Fingolfin was leading them on an impossible journey across a frozen wasteland to cross into Middle-earth, because he saw Fëanor burn the boats on the opposite shore. Fëanor and his sons continued further into Middle-earth, and made a camp in the north.

Morgoth also saw Fëanor burn the boats. Even Morgoth was a little afraid of Fëanor, so he decides to preemptively attack Fëanor’s camp. Despite being taken by surprise, the Elves trounce the Orcs, because they still have the strength of Valinor in them. They’re strong and swift, with sharp and effective weapons, and the Orcs don’t stand a chance. A small handful of Elves — Fëanor, his seven sons, and their loyalists — slaughter an entire army’s worth of Orcs in only ten days. Morgoth’s plans for the conquest of Beleriand are ruined, for now.

Fëanor assumes that by chasing down the Orcs, he’ll find Morgoth. Fëanor is so impassioned, so ready to finally kick Morgoth’s ass, that he pats himself on the back for having defied the Valar. It was such a good idea to tell the Valar to go fuck themselves and come to Middle-earth! Now he gets the opportunity to personally take Morgoth down!

He spoke too soon. Fëanor promptly finds himself face-to-face with the fortress of Angband and an entire army of Balrogs. Oops.

Somehow, Fëanor manages to hold his own against multiple Balrogs, until Gothmog, the Lord of the Balrogs, nearly kills him. He only survives because his sons arrive at the last minute with reinforcements to fend off the Balrogs.

Fëanor against the Lord of the Balrogs by Evolvana

Fëanor doesn’t live for much longer, though. His sons start to carry him back to their camp, but he bleeds out on the way. He curses Morgoth and tells his sons to avenge him with his dying breath. As his spirit leaves him, his body burns to ash, because his soul is just that fiery. And that’s it — Fëanor, the mightiest Elf to ever life, is dead. His curse means that his soul is forever trapped in the Halls of Mandos, and he will never reincarnate. No one like him will ever appear in Arda again.

The Death of Curufinwe Feanaro by Gwenniel

Honestly, I’m surprised that Fëanor dies this early. I thought he was the central character, but I’m still only about a third of the way through, maybe less.

Despite having taken out Fëanor (mostly due to Fëanor’s own arrogance and impulsiveness), Morgoth still lost badly. He sends an envoy to Fëanor’s sons, acknowledging defeat and requesting a ceasefire, even offering to surrender a Silmaril. Fëanor’s eldest son, Maedhros (MY-thros, ‘th’ as in “this”) takes over from Fëanor as the leader of the Noldor. Maedhros doesn’t trust Morgoth as far as he can throw him, but decides to go to the negotiation anyway, with backup. Of course it’s an ambush, and there are Balrogs. All of Maedhros’s backup are killed, and Maedhros himself is captured and taken to Angband.

Fëanor’s other sons build themselves a mighty fortress, but Morgoth keeps Maedhros hostage until the Noldor agree to end the war and leave Beleriand. The sons of Fëanor doubt that Morgoth will keep his word on that. They also literally can’t stop fighting Morgoth, because of their oath. So, Morgoth hangs Maedhros by the wrist from the face of the Thangorodrim Mountains. The only remaining option is to try to rescue him.

Maedhros Upon Thangorodrim by Jenny Dolfen

Back with Fingolfin, the rest of the Noldor painstakingly make their way across the land bridge. It’s an agonizing journey, and many Elves die, but when the first dawn finally comes, Fingolfin unfurls his banner and blows his horn in victory. The ice starts to melt, and flowers spring up under his feet. The Sun chases Morgoth to the depths of his citadel, so he doesn’t harass Fingolfin’s group as they arrive in Middle-earth.

Helcaraxe by Stefan Meisl

Fingolfin is wiser than Fëanor, and doesn’t try to attack Angband. Instead, he tries to find the other Noldor. Most of his Fingolfin’s group really hate Fëanor and his sons, because it’s their fault that they nearly froze to death. So, they make their own camp near Lake Mithrim.

Fëanor’s group hears of their arrival. They’re astounded and impressed that Fingolfin and co. managed to survive, and that they made it to Middle-earth. They would welcome Fingolfin’s group, but they’re too ashamed to offer. Too little, too late.

Fingon, Fingolfin's son, decides to try to heal the relationship between the two groups of Noldor. He recognizes that Morgoth would be thrilled if his enemies were so divided against themselves. If they want to stand a chance against Morgoth, they have to unite. Fingon has the perfect idea for how to bring the two groups together. He was very close to Maedhros. He doesn’t know that Maedhros wanted to go back for him when Fëanor burned the ships, so, he assumes that Maedhros betrayed him. Even so, he still cares enough about Maedhros to want to try to rescue him.

He climbs the mountains of Thangorodrim by himself, hidden under the cover of the darkness that Morgoth created to shut out the sun. Then, Fingon takes out a harp and starts singing. He sings a song from Valinor, from long before the unrest took hold. His voice rings throughout the mountains, in which there had never been singing before. He sings in defiance of Morgoth like the Whos singing in defiance of the Grinch on Christmas Day.

He Sang a Song of Valinor by Jenny Dolfen

Faintly, he hears an answering voice singing the same song. Maedhros is singing, despite his suffering. Fingon climbs up to where Maedhros hangs, and cries when he sees how much pain Maedhros is in. Maedhros has long since given up hope, and begs Fingon to shoot him, to put him out of his misery. Fingon prepares to shoot an arrow, but says a prayer to Manwë, asking him to have mercy.

Fingon’s prayer is answered. Manwë sends the King of the Eagles, Thorondar, who picks up Fingon and carries him up the mountain face to where Maedhros hangs. Fingon can’t find any way to open or break the shackle that holds Maedhros, and can’t detach it from the mountain face. Maedhros again begs Fingon to kill him, but Fingon figures that it’s better to lose a hand than to die. Fingon cuts off Maedhros’ hand, and Thorondar catches him, carrying both Elves back to Lake Mithrim.

Flight from Thangorodrim by @thegreencarousel

(As you can probably guess, a lot of Silm fans ship Fingon and Maedhros. I almost did, too… and then I remembered that they’re first cousins.)

After that, the rift between the two groups of Noldor is healed. Fingon is hailed as a hero by both groups of Noldor. Maedhros steadily gets better, and recovers his strength. He pulls and Inigo Montoya and learns to wield a sword just as well with his left hand. He also waives his claim to kingship over the Noldor. He begs Fingon to forgive him for having deserted him back when Fëanor burned the boats, and tells Fingon that he’s the rightful heir of the House of Finwë. That’s a nice gesture, but it’s actually part of the curse — The House of Fëanor became known as the Dispossessed, because even though they’re the older brother’s children, they permanently lost the rulership of the Noldor.

The now-united Noldor decide to explore Beleriand a little more, and they eventually meet the Sindar. The Noldor and Sindar recognize each other as kin, but have a hard time understanding each other because they speak different languages. Eventually, they figure out a way to talk to each other. The Noldor learn about King Thingol and the magic wall around his kingdom of Doriath, and about the Sindar’s battles with the Orcs. The Sindar are delighted that these stronger, smarter elves from Valinor arrived right when they were most needed, and assume that the Valar must have sent them.

Thingol is less enthused about a bunch of hotheaded foreign princes arriving in his land. The only Noldor he trusts to let past the magic wall are Finarfin’s children: Finrod, Angrod, Aegnor, and Galadriel. This is because their mother was Eärwen, one of the Teleri Elves and Thingol’s niece. So, they’re his closest relatives among the Noldor. Angrod is the first of the Noldor to enter Thingol’s palace in Doriath. He tells Thingol all about what happened to the Noldor in the North — how they crossed over, how many of them there are, how they beat back Melkor’s forces, how Finrod saved Maedhros, etc. He leaves out the part about the kinslaying and the curse.

Thingol gives the Noldor his blessing to remain in the northern part of Beleriand, but they can’t displace the Sindar from their homes. They also aren’t allowed to come past Doriath’s magic wall, unless they’re invited, or if they desperately need an audience with Thingol. Thingol is Lord of Beleriand and the Noldor are imposing upon him, so, they’re in no position to argue.

When Angrod brings this message back to the Noldor, Maedhros straight-up laughs. “What kind of king is he? These aren’t his lands. He doesn’t have the power to grant us leave to live here, as if we were his vassals. If it weren’t for us, there’d be Orcs breaking down his door.”

Maedhros by _star热爱生活呀巴扎嘿

Caranthir, another one of Fëanor’s sons who inherited his father’s fiery temper, also doesn’t like Thingol’s conditions. “Who’s idea was it to send Finarfin’s sons as our spokesmen? I don’t trust a word they say, and I don’t trust this cave-dwelling Dark Elf. Finarfin’s sons should remember that, whoever their mother was, their father was still a Noldo — they should be loyal to the Noldor.”

Angrod is furious at this, and storms out. Maedhros chides Caranthir for going too far. The rest of the Noldor are all concerned that Fëanor’s whole family appears to be a ticking time bomb. It’s only a matter of time before one of them snaps and causes violence. Maedhros reads the room, and manages to get his brothers under control. He decides that he and his brothers should leave before things get worse. Not just leave the meeting, but leave the region — it’s better that they and the other Noldor remain friends at a distance, rather than risk another confrontation that tears them apart from within.

Maedhros and his brothers head east. Their new home is more exposed, and has less natural defense against Angband, but Maedhros doesn’t mind this. He and his brothers can be a buffer for the rest of the Noldor if Morgoth attacks again. And of course, the curse is still in effect.

Caranthir and his people are the first to find the Dwarves, who had stopped coming into Beleriand ever since the battle against Morgoth. You’d think that the Dwarves and the Noldor would have a lot in common, since both love to make things from metals and gems, and they both appreciate good craftsmanship. But nope. The Dwarves are too secretive, and Caranthir is too arrogant. He doesn’t even bother to hide that he thinks the Dwarves are ugly, and all his underlings follow suit. Despite that, the Dwarves and Caranthir’s Elves have a common enemy in Morgoth, so, they form an alliance anyway. From that alliance, Caranthir ends up learning a lot of Dwarven secrets about metalworking and masonry. It’ll really pay off for him in the future.

Caranthir by Miyota

Twenty years pass since the Sun first rose, and Fingolfin decides to throw a feast to unite all the scattered Elves. This feast is such a big deal that it has a name — Mereth Aderthad, the Feast of Reuniting. It’s a last moment of joy and happiness before everything goes to hell again. A number of Sindar attend the feast as well, alongside their leader, an Elf called Círdan (you’re gonna want to remember him). Thingol does not leave his magically-fortified palace, but he sends two diplomats to the feast — Daeron, the Elf that invented runes, and another called Mablung. There are even some Green Elves from the easternmost part of Beleriand. The main language spoken at the party is Sindarin, because the Noldor have had an easier time learning it than the other Elves have had of learning Quenya. All the Elves are on good terms with each other, and everything is great for a while. The Noldor begin to think that maybe Fëanor was right about Middle-earth being a good place for them.

Another thirty years pass. Turgon (Fingon’s brother and a son of Fingolfin) meets up with Finrod (a son of Finarfin). Together, they travel southward on the River Sirion, just to get away for awhile. They sleep on the riverbank, and Ulmo (the Vala of water) sends them a dream. Neither of them remembers the dream, only that it was troubling, and neither realizes that they had the same dream. After that, they’re both burdened with a sense of unease. Troubling dreams can only mean one thing — Morgoth is going to become a problem again. Turgon and Finrod independently decide that it’s a good idea to prepare for the worst.

Finrod and Galadriel, his sister, are briefly guests of King Thingol in Doriath (being two of the few Noldor whom Thingol would allow past the magic wall). Finrod is very impressed by the majesty of Menegroth, the king’s underground palace. He wants his own underground palace just like it, and tells Thingol as much. Thingol could have said, “no, how dare you copy me,” but instead he tells Finrod about a secret place in his realm — there’s a gorge in the River Narog, the river to the west of the Sirion, where there’s a cave complex that Finrod can use to build a palace.

Enlisting the help of some Dwarves, Finrod builds his palace, Nargothrond. He gives the Dwarves treasures from Valinor to thank them. The Dwarves are so impressed with the jewels that they make Finrod a beautiful necklace called the Nauglamír, which is said to be the finest work of the Dwarves in the First Age. It’s set with many, many gemstones from Valinor, but it’s as light as spider silk. The Dwarves are also grateful to Finrod for giving them an excuse to build another cool cave palace. They give him an epithet in their own language, Felegund, which means “Hewer of Caves.” Only a really cool Elf appreciates caves so much that he asks for his own cave palace.

Finrod by _star热爱生活呀巴扎嘿

Galadriel decided to stay in Thingol’s court, instead of following her brother to Nargothrond. She happened to meet one of Thingol’s relatives, a certain Sinda named Celeborn, and fell in love with him. Staying with Celeborn gave Galadriel the opportunity to study at the feet of Melian herself. So, if you’re wondering where Galadriel gets her wisdom and power from, it’s because she learned directly from a Maia.

Meanwhile, Turgon is feeling homesick for Valinor. He remembers the city of Tirion on its hill, with its silver tree (not the Silver Tree, one of its descendants). When he returns home, Ulmo personally appears to him, and tells him to go to the Vale of Sirion. He finds a hidden valley surrounded by mountains, in the center of which is a hill. It’s the perfect place to establish a New Tirion.

Throughout all this, Morgoth has been carefully observing the Noldor’s activities, and judging their strength. As soon as the Noldor are too distracted by city-building to prepare for war, Morgoth strikes. The Orcs are still a lot weaker than the Elves. Fingolfin and Maedhros chase the new Orc army all the way back to Angband. They kill every last one, within sight of Angband’s gates. But remember, Morgoth is a Vala, and has more up his sleeve than simply Orc armies. He causes earthquakes, fires, and volcanic eruptions. The Elves realize that there’s only one thing to do: cut the threat off at its source. They lay siege to Angband, and this siege lasts a full four hundred years.

Angband by gresetdavid

The Orcs are so afraid of the Noldor that they don’t leave Angband. Fingolfin boasts that the only way Morgoth could score a point against them is if the Noldor commit treason amongst themselves, which sounds a lot like tempting fate. Despite his confidence, the siege is a failure. Four hundred years, and the Elves don’t get any closer to capturing Angband, let alone taking back the Silmarils. Morgoth can still send spies out the back way, because the Elves can’t climb the snowy Thangorodrim Mountains. He captures Elves alive, and terrifies them so much that they do his bidding without having to be forced. He also looks for opportunities to sew dissent amongst the Noldor. It worked once, so it can work again.

A hundred years into the siege, Morgoth tries to capture Fingolfin. He knows that Maedhros isn’t about to let himself get captured again, and taking out the king would be an advantageous move. So, Morgoth sends a bunch of Orcs to sneak towards the Elves’ camp using the back way, through the same frozen mountain pass that Fingolfin used to get into Middle-earth. Morgoth should know at this point that Orcs are no problem for Elves. Fingon notices the Orcs, and slaughters them. This battle doesn’t even count as one of the “great battles,” because there aren’t enough Orcs for it to be notable. After that, there’s an interlude of peace that lasts for many years.

Fingon by _star热爱生活呀巴扎嘿

Morgoth finally gets the memo that he’s not going to beat the Elves by throwing Orcs at them. So, he tries a new tactic: A fucking dragon! If you think Smaug is bad, he’s a little baby lizard in comparison to Morgoth’s dragons. This one is called Glaurung (“gold worm” in Sindarin), and it’s a fat worm-like thing with a mouth of sharp teeth and fire breath. Glaurung is a young dragon, so, he mostly just thrashes around destroying fields and so forth. But he sufficiently terrifies the Elves.

Glaurung by Vaejoun

Fingon isn’t afraid, though, and takes a band of archers to pummel Glaurung with arrows. Glaurung’s armored scales haven’t fully developed yet, so the arrows drive him crawling back into Angband. Fingon is endlessly praised by the Noldor for having defeated the dragon, and Morgoth is kicking himself for having shown his hand too soon.

After Glaurung’s defeat comes the Long Peace, which lasts two hundred years. In that time, the Elves have the opportunity to build beautiful cities and write books of lore and create other art. (This time is called the “Long Peace” because Morgoth doesn’t make any attacks, but presumably, the Siege of Angband is still going on.) The Noldor and Sindar also intermix, becoming more like one society, though the biological and cultural differences between them remain: The Noldor are still smarter and stronger, wiser, better warriors, and they like living in stone buildings. The Sindar have better singing voices, and are better musicians in general, and like living in the woods. Some Sindar are nomadic and wander around Beleriand, singing as they go.

*whew.* That’s it for this section.

Next part.

[annoyinglandmagazine]

Years Of Imitating Mastery, Have Only Made Me A Better Thief

Summary: There was a look in his eyes, a sorrowful longing that he was more familiar with than he would like to be. He didn’t look like Nimloth, not really. Or Elrond and Celeborn angst for Day 3: Extended Family @tolkienfamilyweek

Celeborn had avoided him thus far; nothing obvious or malicious, he was always perfectly civil, but over time it was hard to ignore that when they brushed past each other their eyes never met, that he always seemed to filter out of a room when the others present grew too thin to act as buffers between them, that he didn’t seem fully at ease when Elrond’s gaze rested on him on the rare occasions they did exchange pleasantries.

It didn’t bother him. It didn’t. He had dealt with far worse rejection than the polite avoidance of some distant relative he’d never known. It wasn’t as if Celeborn seemed to distrust him, he had never seemed wary when Elrond was to lead beside him in battle (which was more than he could say for certain Sindar). Occasionally disapproving to be sure but that could easily fall into the category of people who questioned the ethics of letting someone his age fight at all, which he did not mind on principle considering those people were probably right.

On one occasion he could have sworn he saw him flinch momentarily at the eight pointed star on the hilt of his sword when Elrond had been sharpening it over his knee; he had a right to that of course, they all did. It was no one’s fault, not really, it just was.

He rifled through his journal, leather dyed forest green with thick swathes of creamy paper, different shades, textures and scents betraying the way he’d been clipping things into it once the original piece had run out some 30 years previously. He’d have started using a new one, he could certainly afford to, but this had been the first thing he’d been given for no ostensible reason other than that he may like it (he’d gone with Maglor to gather some supplies and he’d assumed it was a ledger for official matters yet he’d come home to find it resting on his pillow. It had been seven silver coins, he remembered that still). He liked to have some reason to carry it around with him so he could remind himself that for reasons beyond his understanding he had been loved by those who were not meant to be capable of it.

At present he was searching for a particular section, the notes he had accumulated over a few particular Avari dialects, as if the few minutes before he needed to be the picture of composure and a fountain of diplomatic knowledge by the High King’s side would give him anymore conversational skill in some of the only languages he had never heard spoken. Still he could not take his page of verb conjugations into the banquet so best try while he could.

‘I hope I’m not interrupting?’ Elrond stifled a sigh and shut the journal on his desk, resigned to his fate of not understanding everything said in discussions for the first time since he came into Gil Galad’s service.

He turned to meet the gaze of his visitor ‘Not at all, was there something you needed Lord Celeborn?’

Rather than an answer he got another question, he should have been used to it after living with elves so long but it still grated at his edainic sensibilities. ‘Are you content in Lindon?’

Well what was he to make of that? Could it be political somehow, Celeborn and Galadriel had seemed pleased enough with Gil Galad’s position but who could begin to parse the web of complexities of their manoeuvrings? ‘Very, my lord. Gil Galad has been exceedingly welcoming and there is no one more worthy of my loyalty.’ Perhaps a little on the defensive side but not nearly as confrontational as he had the slight reputation for being at times.

He did not seem to take offence, smiling, ever so slightly unsure, and pausing before speaking again in a tone almost too gentle to be heard, ‘I’m glad to hear it. You remind me greatly of your grandmother, you know.’

There was a look in his eyes, a sorrowful longing that he was more familiar with than he would like to be. He didn’t look like Nimloth, not really. He’d seen paintings of her, talked to others who had met her, never had any similarity been apparent or commented on. Everyone always said the same thing, Luthien dominated leaving only the barest trace of anything else to be found by those who saw only what they wished to see. Elrond decided to be kind and turned to compose himself by fixing the braids bound above his head, hair black as a void, thick and wavy, as far as you could get from the smooth curtain of silver depicted on the statues of Celeborn’s long lost cousin.

He was interrupted out of his musings by Celeborn hesitantly moving forward to stand in front of him. ‘I- thought that you might like to have this. I guessed that you might not have many things from Doriath.’ In his outstretched hand was a hair clasp, beautiful in its elegance, emerald green coloured glass shaping interlocking leaves and blossoms.

He spoke, only confirming what Elrond already knew, ‘It was her’s.’ This was all he had of her and he was giving it away to someone he barely knew, someone who had never met the elleth he was clearly mourning deeply.

‘Really, lord Celeborn, I cannot accept-’

He placed it into his hand and gently closed Elrond’s fingers around it as if they were delicate, more delicate than the glass itself, liable to be snapped if handled too roughly. Celeborn had seen him rip an orc’s arm out of it’s socket once. He got the feeling that he had tried to forget that, it would complicate matters, make it harder to pretend he was that pale silver haired girl laughing among the trees and muddying her dresses by playing in the riverbanks trying to drag him along with her with childish pleading. Elrond wished once again that images and snatches did not cross from others to him so naturally. Without the confirmation he could have pretended as well.

‘Please. It is yours by right.’ They stood there for a moment, both uncertain but Celeborn hiding it a great deal better.

‘Would you like me to show you how to use it?’ Celeborn smiled at him. It was a nice smile, fond and soft, one you would give a favoured nephew of about ten, not an estranged cousin raised by your worst enemies and trained in all manner of brutal warfare. One he might have given an Elrond raised in the Havens of Sirion, a sweet and naive youth who had never come into being. Is that who Celeborn was choosing to see before him? The perfect Sindarin prince who had died many times since the siege of Sirion, who had perhaps never existed in the first place but who could know now?

Elrond nodded slowly and sank down in front of his mirror obediently; Celeborn gently pulled out the gold pins holding his hair in tight braids about his head and found the brush to slowly smooth out the kinks. Did he breathe easier when the Noldorin patterns were no longer visible or was it just Elrond’s imagination prescribing motives to kindness because that at least was familiar to him. He thought he could feel some satisfaction as the last one unwound; the mark of his ‘captors’ gone from an ellyn Celeborn wished to see as one of his own people.

He found himself wishing for one terrible moment that he could be who Celeborn so clearly wanted, that the complexities could be so easily brushed away with fond and comforting strokes. That maybe if he was Celeborn would stay for a few moments longer; he was gathering his hair in his hands and plaiting pieces of it back from his face patiently, genuinely trying to show him how so he could replicate it. He remembered hearing somewhere that Celeborn and Galadriel had a young daughter and thought fancifully if this was how he was with her. He’d had many families already and it seemed unfair to ache for another when all that he touched burned away in his palm. He wanted nonetheless.

It had been long since he’d felt someone smoothing his hair so gently and the warmth of the gesture made him ache and want to claw desperately and seize at this warmth that seemed so close to genuine affection until he looked up at Celeborn’s face and something in his eyes made the hopeful smile growing on his face falter. He had that far off gaze again, the melancholy one he’d known earlier that told him he was not truly here. He was in Doriath or in Sirion, with Nimloth, Luthien, Elwing or perhaps with a son that belonged to Elrond’s mother and no other.

As a solitary tear slipped past Celeborn’s cheek and was quickly brushed away he decided with a growing weariness that Celeborn needed this more than he did. Elrond was kind above all, a conscious decision for kindness’s sake and a selfish, childish impulse that still believed that if he was more obliging, more helpful, more sweet, more loveable they would stop leaving. One day. When Celeborn was visiting he wore his hair like he’d shown him and dressed in flowing silver, grey and white, certain brooches, necklaces, circlets and weapons left pointedly in his chambers.

He spoke Sindarin perfectly of course, when he sung in it there was no trace of who had taught him to do so. Maglor Feanorian was, rather ironically, entirely forgotten when he sang, no one questioned where he might have learned to manipulate the nature and possibly, some murmured, people around him despite how obvious it should have been that there was one particular bard infamous for using those exact techniques. After all with his ebony waves down to his knees, bright eyes and distinct otherness that could only be Maiarin why should his skill at Song be worth commenting on?

He still smiled brightly when Celeborn kissed his forehead in greeting or complimented and offered advice (generally very good when not affiliated with the Kazhad in any way) on his diplomatic endeavours. The snatches of that girl were never far from Celeborn’s mind when Elrond smiled. Was this all he was, a poor substitute for a thousand different people, a corrupted reflection from a mirror of other people’s regrets? Was it even right to resent it when as Celeborn’s hands had started running through his hair for one moment he’d closed his eyes and wished them to be those of a kinslayer? Even as the warmth he craved lingered in his chest it was replaced with a gnawing emptiness, even greater than before. But Elrond was kind so he smiled as if nothing was amiss.

[elvenmoans]

What if when orcs die, they are given the choice to stay in Mandos or be reborn as an elf in Valinor.

But almost no one does it, and if they do they died as small children and come back as what everyone assumes are Avari children with parents still in middle earth. Because what place does an orc adult have in Valinor, even wearing an elven face? Even if they want to look that way, they'd be forced to put down their culture and be hated if people knew who they were.

There's more elven souls born as orcs than there are elves born as elves. If enough of them were reborn they'd find a place for themselves where they can dance their own dances, make the foods they prefer in times of prosperity (which were so seldom in middle earth), talk their own languages, and build the way they prefer.

But no one wants to be that first orc left alone among the elves. It's much safer to stay dead floating in what good memories you have. Maybe staying besides your friends, or if you're lucky enough to know them then your family as well.

The valar say they are elves, but it's so much more complicated than that

[yellow-faerie]

Avari Headcanons

(I believe @electroniccollectiondonut @adhd-edward-teach and @someoneinthestars showed interest :))

So, this is somewhere between a meta and me being entirely self indulgent - however, I want to share with you all my Headcanons for how the six tribes of the Avari function (and also how I write them when I do)!

(Everything underneath because it did get rather long)

So firstly, I looked at good old Tolkien Gateway page for the Avari. Most of the page describes things that are in the published silm, that the Avari were the elves who refused the Valar's summons and went their own way. I don't have all the relevant HoME books that are referenced in regards to Nurwë and Morwë and a few other bits, but I shall trust that Tolkien Gateway is reputable. (I'll link any character pages, if you wanted to check out anything for yourself).

So from what I gather, Nurwë was of the Nelyar and Morwë was of the Tatyar before the Great March. And there were two particular groups of Avari - those who refused the summons and those who lived far enough away from Cuiviénen that they did not truly believe the summons to be real/not a ploy by the Enemy.

Now with the Nelyar being greater in number than the Tatyar, I'd imagine spreading out would be more likely for them and so how I imagine the initial split of the Avari to go is like this:

Morwë is vehement and stubborn (a trait of the Nelyar in particular) that they do not need the Valar and he and Finwë, being respected members of their clan (and possibly even cousins), end up splitting the Tatyar (who love much closer together than the Nelyar due to being a smaller clan) in two - those who are willing to go and those who aren't.

Finwë obviously leads the newly named Ñoldor West and, almost to be contrary and also because Morwë accepts that Cuiviénen is becoming more dangerous to live at as time goes on, Morwë's people move East, walking until they come upon a shore far beyond the control of Morgoth.

This group of people would later be known as the Hwenti. It says on the Gateway page, quoting from HoME, that the Avari were distrustful of the Eldar - which I headcanon mostly to be because of their distrust of the Valar in general - but the Tatyarin Avari (under Morwë) were said to dislike the Noldor most, which stems a lot from this argument and rather eventful severing on the banks of Cuiviénen.

Now the names of the Avari tribes is interesting (and there's a link here to an interesting short article on the linguistics of them) because they appear to be variations on the Primitive Elvish word Kwendî which means 'the Speakers' - which is the way that elves refer to themselves.

So the question I've asked myself is - do the Avari refer to their tribes using their words for the Elvish collective (which seems strange) or is this a misinterpretation by another elvish scholar - as Watsonian reasoning, of course - which lead to the Elvish tribes being referred to by these names in Valinorean records?

I think it's more likely to be the latter as elves - even back in Cuiviénen - seem to have a distinct interest in having names that describe who they are in some way.

But back to Morwë: his people are called the Hwenti by Valinorean records but they called themselves Alacínos. Better linguists than me could develop this using the rules that the word Hwenti would bring to the Tribe's language, but it is meant to vaguely mean People of Protection (which is a bit of a fuck you to the Tatyar who left for Valinor, a way of saying they are perfectly fine without the Valar's protection.

On a note about the Avari languages: due to the fact that I am not at all a linguist, I'm just vaguely interested in it's development, and due to the fact that I have No Time in my life right now, I am using some of Tolkien's much older languages that he didn't develop too much.

For Morwë's tribe, I am using the Solosimpi language as it is a bit less developed than Gnomish - which I use for Nurwë's tribe - and I write less for Morwë's Avari. It's a purely practical use and not the most ideal solution but I don't know enough about linguistics to even think about starting to conlang the Avari languages.

Now Morwë's tribe is pretty much happy where it is: they grow their settlements all along that Eastern coast until they're a fairly large tribe as they are relatively undisturbed by Morgoth (who is either captured by this point or else, too distracted by the West) and don't have many other worries.

They are by no means experts on the sea but they become very good at glass making and farming mussels and other shellfish and other beach-like things, as well as getting to know the terrain close to the coast as well.

They are very much crafters, like the rest of the Tatyar though, so a lot of their interest springs from there (hence the glass-making: later on, they will be renowned for their glassmaking skills throughout all the Quendi). Not yet worked out all the ins and outs of the coastal crafts, but they definitely happen!

The Alacínos end up living by the coast for pretty much the rest of the world. They partly integrate with Men when they come (there are a lot of peredhil on the East Coast) but for the most part, they live separately in their small settlements quite happily. Some may fade or succumb to injury but for the most part, they are content.

However, some of the younger elves - lead by an elf by the name Aiwala, and Morwë's granddaughter-in-law - are curious about the West and grew restless in their haven on the coast sometime after the sun rose. So Aiwala - a very good public speaker - took a group of the younger elves (a fairly sizeable portion of the Alacínos) and started the journey West.

Now travelling was inherently a lot more dangerous than staying on the coast. They are aiming for Cuiviénen, hoping to follow their ancient kinsmen to the land in the West but they never make it - instead, they find themselves near the southern end of a mountain range.

At the north of this mountain range is where the Stonefoots reside and to the south is where the Blacklocks, and it is the Blacklocks that end up finding the bedraggled group of elves at their front doorstep.

The elves were taken in for the winter and then they just...didn't leave. The dwarves were an entirely new people and the Avari got rather interested in them - they lived in the land around the mountains, providing food and other natural things the dwarves were uninclined to producing and they created a sort of symbiotic relationship that's unaffected by the issues the West have.

I like to think that due to this inclination towards the dwarves, which Eöl is said to have, that this is a tribe Eöl originated from somehow. Not that he is a good example of any group of people, and this also would not explain how he is a kinsman of Thingol.

Aiwala's tribe is the Penni and I imagine that their language is both influenced by the Alacínos, Khuzdul and also general linguistic drift. As for their collective name, I think it would be something along the lines of dwarf-friends - I'm tempted by a name that means Mountain Friends or Mountain People - but as their language is so far non-existent to me, I shall have to continue to refer to them as the Penni.

The Penni continue to live there well into the third and fourth ages but with how much time they had spent around mortals, and as their dwarven neighbours started to spend more and more time beneath ground, the Penni started to fade.

Some found themselves wandering West towards the call of Mandos and the heart of Elvendom (or something), others found themselves wandering back to the East from whence they came and the rest stayed put until they had all but faded from memory.

It is said by the Men who dwell in the area in the modern day that the place is haunted by laughing spirits who will guide you on the safest path through the mountains and will lead dangerous animals from your path, but only if you're respectful of the land.

Again, this is kind of playing off the idea of fading, and dying for elves in general. If fading is like what Míriel Therindë did, then it is much more like dying than what this seems like, but as the Avari are so tied to the land, I like to believe that a lot of them choose to ignore the Call of Mandos for quite a while (if not forever) to dwell as ghosts.

Anyway, that's pretty much the host of Morwë. As for Nurwë, she ends up spawning the other four clans.

Initially, after the Eldar had gone West and Morwë had gone East, Nurwë and the rest of the Avari stay on the banks of Cuiviénen. It's quite dangerous as Morgoth's still sort of out there hunting them - at least, even if Morgoth is captured, he still has lackeys doing his job on the downlow - but they make do until there is a proper all-out fight and they are forced to leave.

Nurwë leads them north with her sons Nunë and Nuin, and their sister Niwen and once they finally settle in these very northern forests, the people scatter again into small groups, only occasionally coming back to Nurwë's forest stronghold when they are in need of something.

These are the Kindi, who refer to themselves as Parnoth in their own tongue. It means People Who Speak to Trees or something similar (and I used Tolkien's old language of Gnomish to get the words). The Tree Speak is important as this is how the very spread out Parnoth communicate with each other - they are very close with the Ents of this forest who are all Evergreen Ents as the forest is something like the forests you might find in Alaska or one of the poles.

Anyway, it turns out that while this new forest hideout is good at hiding from Morgoth, it's not the ideal for hiding from the elements and so there are two definite drifts away from Nurwë in the time after they settle in the forest.

The first, before the sun rose, was one led by Nunë after Niwen was killed by a small group of orcs who had found their forest and her daughter, Idralas, was taken by them into thralldom.

(By the way, Idralas is what spawned this whole series of headcanons because I wanted a cultural background for the thralls of Angband so I could develop her relationship with Maedhros as his right hand)

Nunë takes this small group West for two reasons: one, to search for safety among their kin and perhaps even take the Valar's protection (as they do not yet know of what occurred with the Eldar); and two, to perhaps be able to rescue their stolen kin from Morgoth's hands.

This group of Avari is the Cuind, although I think their name for themselves would be West Wanderers or West Wandering People (although, again, not sure what sort of word that'd look like).

It should be noted that the Gateway page for the Tatyar says that it is Avari of Tatyarin descent who arrive in Beleriand during the First Age, not those of Nelyarin descent. However, I have elected to ignore this because it developed differently in my head - I did want to point this out though, in case someone wanted to argue with me over this.

They don't have a set place where they live and drift in and out of other Elven society in the search for a way to rescue their kin. They are only a small group and they end up - for the most part - integrating into other parts of society. For example, Nunë's daughters Crinthammos and Lindwil, end up married to Caranthir and Orodreth respectively.

However, they do have a language! It's a disgusting amalgamation of Quenya, their mother tongue of Parthin and Sindarin which they use for communications between each other (mostly in letter form) as they can no longe rely on the trees for communication as they don't all live in the same forest anymore.

Later on, a fair few of them who remained end up travelling East again to join up with the remains of the Parnoth, who had moved to join the Nandor in the Greenwood.

However, before the Parnoth moved, there was another split that occurred. The people known as the Kinn-Lai, led by Nuin, moved South-East, hoping to find Morwë and their kin out there (in a similar fashion to Nunë's decision to move). I like the idea of them being called Hisildi (Twilight Elves) as that is what Nuin and Tû's people were called in the BoLT.

There are quite a lot more of them following Nuin than followed Nunë as there is not a lot of trust in the Valar/west in most of the Avari and so they are slower going (and also remain spread out - it is apparently custom for the Nelyar to meander and split up on a regular basis).

Nuin is in some sort of relationship with the wayward Maia Tû, which is also gives him a bit more political clout over his brother.

Nuin is the one who wakes the first of the Men up (despite Tû's warning) and so, for a while, the Hisildi stay with the Men. Due to this close proximity to Men, their (initial) language is very closely linked with the early Mannish ones.

There is a definite drift away though as the Men drift off in their different directions. Most of the Hisildi go off in their own family groups, becoming the wanderers that a lot of Valinorean scholars say all Avari are, particularly as Morgoth's influence picks up and he sends his darkness out past the Blue Mountains.

A small subsect of the elves (later called the Windan), led by Tinfang (Tû and Nuin's child), goes together to hide in the small valleys from Morgoth's influence. They called themselves Banathin, which meant Half Burrow, for their houses where made partly in the ground, almost like a rabbit's burrow. They find themselves there with the remaining petty dwarves and with wayward men and over the years, they all rather disappear.

With the exception of Tinfang and a few of the older elves who had died early on due to misfortune or bad luck, no-one knows what happened to them and their language, one that developed a lot with Mannish and a few Dwarven loans added in, is known to very few.

It should be noted that around the mid to late second age, nearly an age after the Banathin went missing, the first few rare sightings of the people known as Hobbits was recorded. There language, Westron, closely resembled something that might have once been the language of the Banathin. There houses, too, had a tendency to burrow in the ground.

Anyway! That's the six clans for you! If anyone has any questions, please feel free to ask, I am always happy to answer questions about the things I love!

[semi-imaginary-place]

Tolkien's Legendarium in the Modern World

It has been over 100 years since Tolkien first began his work on Middle Earth with the first draft verses of Luthien and Beren's story and the world has changed much in that time. Tolkien never published most of Legendarium until the end of his life he continued to draft and redraft its stories, and this begets the question of what Tolkien would have wished a completed Legendarium to look like and what I would have liked the Legendarium to be.

I personally disagree with most of Professor Tolkien's political opinions. While I do not think he was ever mean spirited, to the grave he carried with him many old fashioned ideas that while not quite bigoted in themselves, underpinned a lot of bigoted talking points. For example after people wrote to him about the troubling implications of his Dwarves on the Jewish people, Tolkien in response changed his depiction and mythology about Dwarves, he genuinely tried to do better. However what he never corrected was the view was that there were inherent differences between the different kinds of people of the world. Giving minorities a positive stereotype is not necessarily a good thing (hardworking, good with money, etc.). It feeds into the model minority myth that pits minorities against each other and acts as a rallying point for white supremacists that X minority is a threat to the white race.

The more racist parts of the Legendarium however are not the Dwarves but the descriptions of the Lesser Men, the Men of Darkness. There exists this hierarchy of the types of Men with the enlightened and European-like High Men such as the Dúnedain at the top, followed by the Middle Men or Men of Twilight like the Rohirrim or most of the other European-like Men, and at the bottom are the Men of Darkness those groups of men who fell under the control of Sauron (note how the European men were wise/strong enough to fight off Evil but the other types weren't) like the Haradrim, the Hill-men and others who are described with racist language that was also used to describe Middle Eastern peoples, African peoples, and really anyone Europeans considered a savage. Yikes, let's just scrub that, it would be impossible to rid the Legendarium of the eurocentrism but I would at least remove the most racist parts. Nor would I want to remove all of the Eurocentrism, Tolkien after all was directly inspired by European literature and epics, that is the literary ancestry of the Legendarium and I would not discredit it.

It is not bad for works to include racism or other sensitive topics, I would instead turn the Eurocentrism present in the Legendarium into a commentary on the ignorance of Middle Earth on the rest of Arda and the woes of a limited perspective. This idea was present in some drafts, that the entirety of the Legendarium was a story told to a human sailor that had washed up on the shores of Tol Eressëa and thus what the audience sees is actually a story within a story, thus making all the biases of the Legendarium the biases of that in universe storyteller. Of what Tolkien ever drafted, most of it is Noldorian history or history recorded by those associated with the Noldor. We barely hear mention of the Elves that refused the Great Journey presumably because the Noldor did not care for the histories of those people, placing themselves (Eldar and Calaquendi) above the Avari. Even the words used to describe groups of Elves are primarily Noldorian (or High Elvish) or Sindarian (normal Elvish) and the Sindar were greatly influenced by Thingol who saw the light of the Trees and Melian who was a Maia. Much of the Lord of the Rings is told from the perspective of Middle Earth (Gondor, Elrond, Hobbits), instead of completely eliminating the racism I would tone it down and make it more clear that the racism present if a product of the in story authors and their perspectives. Another option though I am not as fond of it and it would be harder to do is to lean into the bigotry, confirm that it is baked into the universe and thus lean more heavily into the tragedy that all the character's live in a universe there racism and a lack of free will are inherent parts of the fabric or reality and inescapable (more on this later).

There are many social issues I could talk about here, but for me what is most blatantly chaffing is the Catholicism. Tolkien's Legendarium is a Catholic work. Professor Tolkien himself was devotedly Catholic and traditionally Catholic, and that undercurrent of Catholicism permeates every aspect of the Legendarium. The Catholicism shows up everywhere from the mythos have a one true god that is a all powerful, all knowing, and benevolent creator, to how weird the Legendarium is about divorce (like a divorce had the butterfly effect causing most of the First Age's problems), discussions of morality and free will are very much made with Catholic theology in mind, the Catholic focus on purity, marriage is a sacred act between two soulmates destined for each other, sex is what makes a marriage real, and divorce is evil. It would be impossible to remove all the Catholicism and have the Legendarium to still be recognizable. As someone who recognizes the sheer amount of cultural destruction Christianity has wrought upon this world, if I were to rewrite the Legendarium, to create its ideal form, I would tone down the Catholic-ness of it though not entirely eliminate it, the question is how.

In the Legendarium, alignment with Eru Ilúvatar's will equates good and to turn away is to be evil. Melkor, Sauron, and Saruman are all examples of this, all three started out wanted to do good, to improve the lives of the people of Arda. For example in the beginning of the universe Melkor wasn't out for destruction and suffering, no what he wanted was freedom of will and choice, individuality. It was in defying Ilúvatar that he was corrupted because Ilúvatar's will is good and to rebel against it is to do evil, good and fix are fixed universal constants in Arda. I personally am fascinated by the inherent existentialist themes present in the Legendarium's cosmology. If there is a fixed path before each person and to stray from it means to become cosmologically evil, what is the moral thing to do? The relationship between creator and created, Elves and Dwarves were designed for a purpose what does it mean to fulfill that purpose or nature? Ilúvatar's Theme as first envisioned was never realized, Arda was created marred, suffering and discomfort are inherent aspects to existence on Arda. Similar themes can be found in other existentialist series such as the NieR games. Elves in Arda are bound to it, they cannot escape their fates even in death, their very essences are tied to the fate of Arda. It is curious then that humans are the sole beings that can escape Illuvatar's will and the fate of Arda, the have what Morgoth sorely coveted, the freedom to individually choose how to live their lives, The Gift of Man. I would keep this aspect even if it does still reek of Catholicism.

This brings us to one of the pivotal events of the First Age, The Finwë Divorce Saga. Tolkien himself wrote that he did not intend the Legendarium to be a Catholic allegory mostly because he hated allegories, but the man was so deeply Catholic that it just permeated everything he created. One could view The War of the Jewels as a cautionary tale of how divorce is evil and will only cause trouble to everyone even if Tolkien did not intend that specific reading, his views on marriage and divorce still leaked through. But Feanor and his family drama is such a keystone to the events of the First Age that the entirety of that era cannot exist without him. What I would do then in a rewrite is shift the narrative blame away from Finwe and Miriel and over to the Valar. The problems that followed were primarily because of the Valar mishandling the situation, not that Miriel and Finwe wanted a divorce. Hints of this interpretation already exist in The Silmarillion and HOME so its not that I would be creating something new so much as shifting emphasis.

This would also necessitate making the Elves less Catholic as Elf culture is very Catholic. Because Elven spirits (fea) are tied to the fate of Arda they are immortal so long as the world exists, unlike humans when Elves die their spirits do not leave the world, so their loved ones and partners are not truly gone. To each elf, they have one true soulmate and thus their marriages are eternal, until the end of existence. I would just get rid of this or at least tone it down, remove some of the mysticism or marriage being a literal magic bond. For one I feel what the Elves do takes away the true joy and uniqueness of each romantic relationship, that it is something people chose, that people chose each other and they could have chosen differently. I think Tolkien wanted to highlight the unchanging eternal nature of his Elves, because to support divorce would mean acknowledging that people and feelings change (just like his marriage, yes I said it, in their later years John and Edith lived lives that little to do with each other even if they shared a house). There is something to believing that because each soul is inherently and immutably good, every single person can be saved no matter how far they fall because its impossible for that base nature to change. I do not believe that, but even if it were true (which would fit the cosmology as discussed above), that does not discount all the "surface" level changes a person can undergo. Take Maedhros one of my favorite characters for example, even if he had an unchanging immortal soul or whatever Catholics are calling it these days, his behavior changed. Maedhros had all the set up of a classical hero (eldest son of a storied and prestigious lineage, skilled at both pen and sword, a diplomat, a leader, loyal, determined), and his story is about him failing to become that hero and just becoming worse over time to where by the end he's killing innocents and people fighting against the great Evil, and he commits the ultimate sin of killing himself (also suicide being a sin is very Catholic).

Others have discussed the problems with depictions of women in the Legendarium but to cover a couple major points, the Legendarium just lacks women there are barely any female characters, and of the women present it's like they are only allowed to act within the bounds of traditional European femininity. Take for example Luthien who is probably the single most powerful non-Maia in the series (well she is half but she's counted among the elves), and yet her power in the story manifests solely through traditionally feminine domains like weaving. This on its own would not be a problem, women are allowed to like feminine things and Luthien has a lot of agency within her story, the problem is that there are so few women in the Legendarium and they are all like this, what powers they have always coming from the feminine sphere.

And of course because the Legendarium is a Catholic work the concept of purity is tied to morality and applied to women. Through reading many different drafts and letters Galadrieal can likely be suspected of being one of Tolkien's favorites. Her role in the Swearing of the Oath and First Kinslaying at Alqualondë vary drastically between drafts. In earlier drafts she sided with Feanor and the Noldor and though she did not swear the Oath of Feanor and thus doom herself, in these earlier drafts she is counted among the leaders of the Noldor revolt and like them is exiled from Aman. In other drafts she alternately does not participate in the attack on Alqualondë or even fights with her mother's brethren the Teleri against Feanor's forces, in some she crosses the Ice with Fingolfin's forces and in a particular draft she has nothing to do with the Exile of the Noldor and comes to Middle Earth by her own boat for her own means the timing just so happens to coincidentally line up. Generally in later drafts Tolkien bends over backwards to make exceptions for Galadrial so that she commits less sins and remains pure, he removes her rebellion against the divine and associations with the Exiled Noldor and thus retcons the most interesting aspect of her character in order to keep her unstained. This is one of two time where I have a strong preference for earlier drafts of the Legendarium (the other is draft epilogue where The Lord of the Rings ends with Sam looking back before closing the door as he hears the whisper of Aman on the wind). Those later drafts do a massive disservice to her character. Galadriel's whole character arc is that she starts off a headstrong, prideful, rebellious princess who want a kingdom of her own because she wants the power to rule over other people and through the devastation of the First and Second Ages she mellows out to become one of the wisest people in Middle Earth who would look power in the face and say no, who rules to serve and protect the people in her kingdom. Galadriel is so much more if Tolkien allows her to make mistakes when she was younger, to carry the guilt of what she enabled and allowed or perhaps participated in and have that weight shape her for the better. Then her actions in Middle Earth become not about how she was always good and pure, they become about redemption and taking the marred and the ugly and making something worthwhile out of it.

Éowyn the one character who noticeably steps beyond the boundaries for women, gets shoved back into traditional femininity at the end of her story, choosing to leave the battlefield to tend hearth and home. Now this likely was not intentional on Professor Tolkien's part. What he intended was a continuation of his anti-war stance seen throughout his works. World War I was brutal and massive shock to the world, recent innovations in technology made killing easier and faster, so while not the bloodiest conflict in history it was an abrupt wake up to the traditional modes of war. Soldiers went out and were slaughtered, most of Tolkien's tight-knit friend-group died in that war. On the battlefield Tolkien found no glory or honor, all he saw were the horrors of war, the human cost and the purposeless suffering inflicted. His anti-war stance can been seen most clearly outside the Legendarium in The Homecoming of Beorhtnoth Beorhthelm's Son which is a dialectic between an veteran soldier and a new soldier. Within The Lord of the Rings we see this is how Sam in the true hero of this story, in how hobbits value peace and good food over war or politics, in how the best men like Aragorn and Faramir are peaceful and would rather choose the pen over the sword. We see this most strongly in "The Scouring of the Shire" which arguably is the most thematically poignant part of The Lord of the Rings, because the a person's story does not end with the battle, sometimes war never ends for some people, and yet there are things worth fighting for in this world. War is terrible, but sometimes we have to fight to protect the simple good things in the world and it is not some destined hero that will save us but ordinary people rising to the occasion together. However it is incredibly conspicuous that the only major female character shown on the battlefield was the one forced to carry this narrative of putting down her sword to take care of a household. There are dozens of men in this story that fight in the War of the Ring and we do not see any of them retiring from fighting and choosing domesticity. It would have been so powerful if Tolkien chosen her brother the war chief Eomer to carry this message, imagine if it were him who came from a warrior culture and becomes warrior-king who chose to put down his sword and forswear fighting. So yes I would have rewritten Eowyn's ending, let malewife Faramir have his kickass girlboss wife. Let Eowyn's arc be her fielding herself out of despair and a desire to prove herself, and her character development learning that she is more powerful than she thought and that she will continue to wield the sword in service of Rohan, her people, and in service of peace.

Now I have typed some 3000 words about what I would change and why so let me end on some of the things I would keep the same for I love the Legendarium dearly and I would preserve far more than I would change. I would keep the hope and love that is written into these stories. I would keep that there is beauty in this world, there is good in friends and family. I would keep the awe and wonder for the natural world, that mountains and forests and streams can be their own characters. I would keep the sense of magic, not in the sense of spellcasting and sword and sorcery style magic, but that wonder and joy for the world that makes everything magical. I would keep that life is a journey and all you have to do is take the first step out your front door. I would keep the believably that this is just an untold forgotten history and like it there are still many mysteries in the world. I would keep the wide scale of continents and forces beyond us moving to their own stories. Tolkien crafted the Legendarium out of love, from that first poem about the woman he was in love with, to his love of philology stories and creation, Arda was made with love. In the Legendarium is deep love of the world, the natural world and the people that inhabit it, in here is hope too that no matter what evils plague the world there is still good there too in the hearts of the most ordinary person.

[searchingforserendipity25]

a cold midnight over hithlum, rain-damp and full of shivering, would have been sweeter than a dozen mild evenings under the stars of amanyar.

this was not a thing that ought to be said. still the freed thralls were very ungrateful, and sang it regardless. they did not love the land where they walked. valinor, made to house and keep the quendi, reached into them to ease their pains, and was denied.

defied. they had been defiant too long; it made no difference to them which of the powers it was that ruled their destiny, which traitors aligned with them.

only the grinding of one will to the other did they know, the constant strife, the lack of trust and the disdaining of it. anger so learned could not be easily shed, and must not.

the first time one of the returned noldor, scarred with the fetters of angband and branded in the face, looked king olwë's face as they knelt, making all the gestures morgoth had valued in abasement, and laughed and laughed at his horror and disdain - and then cringed, teeth bared, at the offer of a kindly hand -

the first time a kinslayer turned their back on the kin that remained behind. the grandchildren that refused to know their father's fathers, the mothers that closed all their doors, the daughters that disdained all the lore and sense in bride-prices and paternal laws.

estë of course did her best to ease pains and unrest, where unrest was pain, and lórien quieted many restless dream. some of the exiles did quit their bodies; but then their bodies had survived a great deal, and were too dearly bought at liberty.

there was a strange unity of purpose, where those born anew kept near to the newly returned by ship, and found a contract of strength in it. a thing less binding, nothing like fealties of old; yet true.

they went to finrod, dearly beloved, killed in the dark, though he gave the best of himself for love and estel - there were many friends of men, among those who sought him out.

and after him some went to aegnor, angrod, these children of the king made more willful than ever they had been. orodreth, most disillusioned, lost his love for following and being followed entirely; and fingon was much among the grey-elves and the miners of angband, for he knelt in repentance where they could not without falling to madness. but turgon his brother kept no ruler above himself, except for what he must for formality's sake, and even that was not lightly done.

aredhel went into the deep woods of oromë and dared him to combat.

naturally she lost; but a good defeat had been her goal, and with it she had affirmed a trade of some sort, of which none could quiet be certain. afterwards she held her own hunting band, outlaw riders, many ladies among them - amarië of the vanyar was with them, and they said a great white hound ran beside her.

they stewarded the forests in places that had not been so deep, perhaps; but then aman was made for the quendi, and must alter itself for them.

and then there was gil-galad.

gil-galad, of whom the fingers of harpers in tirion and valimar and the lands of the falmari sang, though they knew not the words, nor the king whose grief sank itself into the material of elven memory even across the sea.

early in the beginning of the third age, many exiles and returned, both grey-elves and noldor, sat themselves in a council of their own and over the course of many days invented and decreed a new language for themselves, not sindarin nor quenya, nor any of the languages of the avari, but a new thing altogether.

it was useless, of course, to suppose reconciliation would ever be a neat thing.

'at least there is no blood,' arafinwë said grimly, turning over the scroll.

for what little comfort that was! the characters of the new alphabet gleamed in fresh ink; there was no need for oaths or fealties, when language had ever been the truth at the heart of the quendi.

yet this was an healing, too. and indeed many of those that had remain found their choices vindicated. the city of the noldor, long theirs, was their entirely to their satisfaction.

the absence of princes proved most fruitful to many labours, and a great breathing clarity for those that stayed, such that many works that would not have been made, nor the source and course of their thinking valued were raised high, and always challenged.

for it was in the nature of arda, that in severance many things might flourish; though grief, too, may persist.

the stars were very bright and very near over aman. their light blinded a little, without the two trees to compete with it; and they were a little, and at times very much like eyes looking down, judging, gauging, watching with an watchfulness everlasting.

many freed thralls named themselves anew for the old places, however - that hithlum might never die, and its death never forgiven.

[bluedancingkittykat]

Quendi who’s who?

A lot of people seemed to like my Nelyar "Who's who?" post, so here's the Quendi "Who's who?" Edition! Includes details and my musings in the notes, and mostly correct proportions in the pie chart. For the sub-sections of Sindar and Nandor, I split them evenly since, to my knowledge, there is no known number. Most of my information came from “The War of the Jewels: Quendi and the Eldar.”

notes below the break:

Quendi: refers to all Elves. You might have noticed that I did not include “Eldar” in either graphic and that is because “Eldar” specifically refers to the Elves who left on the Great March. So the Eldar would be the Minyar, the Noldor, and the Teleri. Minyar: Refers to the First clan, AKA "Vanyar." All of this clan is in Valinor. Vanyar is the name given by the Noldor to the Minyar, though they continued to refer to themselves by Minyar. Amanyar Teleri (Falmari) used the term Vaniai, which was dervived from the Noldor version, while Nelyar in Middle Earth used "Miniel (pl.) Mínil (sg).” Tatyar: Refers to the second clan, AKA "Noldor." This clan was split into two groups evenly at the begining of the March. Noldor-Avari: Did not go on the March. Apparently, "Noldor" is older than the name Vanyar and was was given to them "by the others". Since it was probably given prior to the march, and given that Avari kindreds (which we will get to) continued to call themselves dervations of "Quendi," They probably wouldn't have changed their group name. Thus Noldor-Avari refers to the Tatyar who did not go on the Great March. Exiled Noldor: Two-thirds of the Noldor population in Aman left and returned to Beleriand after the return of Morgoth, the death of Finwë, and the theft of the Silmarils. I found out Ódhil is the Sindarin term specifically referring to the Exiled Noldor, which I think is neat. Maybe I’ll make a comprehensive list like my Names for Nandor, but less opinionated lol Aman Noldor: The remaining third of the noldor who either returned after the Doom or didn't go at all. Nelyar: Refers to the third clan, AKA "Lindar.” Just under two-thirds of this clan left for the March. Lindar is used by Noldorin lore masters to refer to the whole of the clan. Teleri: Refers to the Nelyar who left on the March. It means "those at the end of the line, hindmost," and arose as a nickname since they always tailed behind during the Great March. Avari-Nelyar: Refers to the Nelyar who did not go on the Great March. There's a passing mention of the six tribes in WJ, but that's all I can find about them. Penni is "cited to as coming frm 'Wood-Elven' speech of the Vale of Anduin, and these Elves were among the most friendly to the fugitives of Beleriand, and held themselves akin to the remnants of the Sindar." The remaing five are Cuind, Hwent, Kindi, Kinn-lai, and Windan; all of which are derived from Kwendi (>Quendi), "The People." Don't ask me how they’re derived, that's just what it says. Nandor: Those who did not cross the Misty Mountains during the March, AKA "Lindi." Nandor was primarily used by Noldorin historians in Aman and were refered to as "Danwaith" (which is the correct term) or "Denwaith" by Sindarin loremasters. Nandor still called themselves "Lindar" but it had become "Lindi" in their language. Green-Elves: These are the Elves that inhabited Ossiriand and Lindon, after they arrived in Beleriand under the leadership of Denethor. Guest-Elves: The Green-Elves that, after the First Battle, moved to Doriath. Silvan: Elves that remained in the Vales of Anduin or left but did not arrive in Beleriand. Sindar: The Telerin Elves who settled in Beleriand, AKA "Edhil".  "Lindar" had fallen out of use with the Elves who settled in Beleriand, since they were all of Telerin desent and had no need to defferentiate between their kindereds. "Thus they were in ordinary speech Edhil, but some belonged to one region or another," and there were names to differentiate that. Falathrim: Elves from the coast of Beleriand, led by Cirdan, AKA "Eglain (pl.)." Eglan specifically refers to the people who wanted to go to Aman, but "waited long in vain for the return of Ulmo, taking up abode on or near the coasts." Eglan (sg.) means “the forsaken.” Iathrim: Elves from Doriath, led by Thingol. It's interesting that they're called "Fenced people" but the girdle was not in place yet. I wonder why. Jolkien Rockien Rollien Tolkien at work haha Mithrim: Elves who had gone north and lived in the regions of the big lake that came to be known as Mithrim. 

Falmari: The Teleri who made it to Aman. As far as I’m aware, (and without me going pepe silvia in what is supposed to be a comprehensive post) there are no other names, except “Amanyar Teleri.”

I’m so sorry there’s no image description, I...don’t really know how to make one for these two and make it coherent.

[grey-gazania-fic]

[SWG link here]

A young Nandorin woman is saved from death by Amras and taken in by his people.

Written for the "Song of Exile" challenge at the Silmarillion Writers' Guild.

[outofangband]

language in Angband

My Angband World Building and Aftermath of Captivity Masterlist touch on this a few times and I’ve talked specifically about Maedhros and the languages of Angband (which I go into more later here too)

but I definitely want to do a full post on it and I wanted to compile my thoughts from various posts too!

Names and titles in Angband 

Note: this is obviously a purely fantasy setting however control over language and culture is absolutely a method undertaken by real life groups and governments and weaponized against marginalized communities. The languages of my culture for example have a history of being intentionally obscured, demonized, or even banned. I just wanted to say this both to acknowledge and to warn that this has the potential to hit home in this regard. Access to one's language and culture is a right.

First, an incomplete list of languages spoken:

-Avarin language and its many dialects and Primitive Quendian, in pockets of older thrall families that were never transformed or never fully transformed into orcs -Older/proto Sindarin: see above

-Earlier versions of Sauron's Black Speech including the formalized Orcish tongue which has its own alphabet, that which is used most commonly in Angband.  -A distortion of Valarin that Morgoth uses among his Maiar (primarily in giving orders to the higher ranking Maiar) -The more organic orcish blend of the distorted language of Morgoth's Maiar, Primitive Quendian and several Avari tongues. This was created by the first elven prisoners of Angband during and after their transformation into the first orcs (in larger pockets of both elven and orcish populations, usually non fighting sections of the orcs) -Later Sindarin and Noldorin Quenya  (rarer, among some groups of prisoners and more isolated throughout the fortress)

Most common in the fortress is the orcish blend that more heavily drew from Elven dialects, the formalized Orcish Sauron utilizes, early forms of Sindarin, and Morgoth's Valarin with the formalized Orcish being perhaps the most used and the language most if not all prisoners pick up on at least some. It is also the language most heavily associated with Angband and with The Enemy by the outside. It is this that elves hear from their enemies during attacks and raids and it is often this that the few escaped prisoners who make it home will sometimes be heard speaking and will be stigmatized for.The developed alphabet is what many thrall brands use, especially those given to designate specific roles (there are examples on my branding overview post).  Though Morgoth's Distorted Valarin invokes dread upon its evocation, it is far rarer for elven prisoners to hear or learn any of this.

Many prisoners especially in the mines, forges and kitchens learn the formal and informal Orcish tongues through a combination of osmosis and direct instruction by older prisoners and sometimes higher ups or orcs who have been assigned to work with them. That most are unlikely to understand the instructions and speech around them adds to the atmosphere of fear and chaos. Abandoning their own languages and picking up on that of their captors becomes incentivized for survival. Though of course it is a difficult task and there is no formal instruction.

It’s important to note that specifically the less formal blend is constantly evolving as prisoners who were not directly taught certain words guess or pick up words in context and occasionally these might be incorrect interpretations or translations that are passed down and it leads to still more branches of this already mixed language. What a word means in the forges might have evolved differently in the mines until a prisoner is transferred from one place to another. Words from original languages are added and changed and substituted when necessary. 

For example a word for blanket might be passed on as meaning clothing or warmth.

Language in Angband, as I have talked about more extensively, is an area heavily controlled. I talk about this on my post about trauma and freedom and on many of my Angband World Building posts (namely my post about supplies, rules and punishment and in individual sections of the fortress on their respective posts) but speech among the prisoners is heavily policed and often punished and this very much includes what language is used in what places at what times. 

Control of language and control of information are intrinsically linked. I mentioned that formalized orcish has one of the only alphabets used in the fortress. Very few prisoners are taught to read and write in this (though some are if their captors deem it necessary for their duties). Even the many who are branded with letters from this alphabet may not know what those letters represent. 

Prisoners are often punished for talking back, for speaking their own language, for praying or singing,  for verbally comforting others, for sharing or even having information that they should not, for simply talking when they had been ordered to work, etc.

It’s what I always inevitably return to with Maedhros; I cannot over emphasize the devastating effects of being in an environment where one cannot enact any effect on their environment by their words. The utter helplessness this inflicts on the prisoners has devastating effects that last well beyond the physical walls of the fortress. 

Advocacy, even decision making, becomes extremely difficult, even terrifying.

It would be incorrect to say that there are eyes upon each being in the fortress at all times, secret words are possible but they are dangerous and the atmosphere of mistrust organically created and intentionally reinforced means most are reluctant to even attempt them.

Temporary or permanent removal of speaking ability through hypnosis, spell, damage to vocal cords or removal of the tongue is not an infrequent event. A small number of prisoners are modified in this way prior to any infraction as a preventive measure or because their role is best served in silence (these will be elaborated on in more detail on an upcoming post)

Unless work necessitates exchange of instructions, which will be monitored by higher ups most of the time,  an elven prisoner is not necessarily placed with others of their kin of who speak their tongue and in fact, separation is not uncommon. One might go for years or decades without hearing their original language. Punishments for speaking out of turn, even and especially harmless words of comfort such as song, cultural stories, and prayer, are also not uncommon.

Knowing any elven language is not a requirement for being in charge of slaves in Angband (except in cases where prisoners are used for specific or precise enough work that instructions are clearly needed). Sometimes prisoners who have been there for a long time are given permission to speak to newer captives to inform them of rules or give them instructions. For the most part conversation in the mines is heavily policed but plenty of the slaves there have worked out systems of how to avoid detection if they choose to risk it, the overseer to elf ratio is pretty large. (as in many elves per overseer) These older prisoners are both loved and hated by their kin.

Case studies:

Maedhros learns a blend of the formal Orcish and mixed Orcish tongues. Some he picks up from context, some he’s instructed in. I’ve talked before about how him speaking these after his rescue becomes the subject of rumors and speculation. Maedhros is also among the few prisoners who learn any of Morgoth’s Valarin, albeit only a few words and phrases. I have a few other post about this but I think so much about Maedhros’s knowledge of Angband and the ways it is both vital and also highly stigmatized and his knowledge of the languages of Angband, even so incomplete, is absolutely part of this. I have one post here but I always, always want to talk more about this!

Rog becomes well versed in both formal and mixed Orcish during his time in the mines. Through contact with older prisoners he learns phrases of the Avari tongue as well as other Eldarin dialects. He loses a lot of these during his time after Angband, due to lack of practice and the stark differences in the languages he does use. 

Gwindor learns some phrases in mostly the mixed orcish. Unlike Rog he was not recognized as an authority in the mines and largely sought to be ignored

Húrin learns a few phrases in the mixed and formal languages but mostly forgets them by the time of his release. He does occasionally hear Morgoth speak his distorted Valarin but learns very little and intentionally tries to forget it (unsuccessfully)