#Beleriand Risen

[warrioreowynofrohan]

Okay, this is really nitpicky, but I have to say it. When the Fëanoreans landed in Middle-earth, Celegorm did not lead an army south and relieve the siege of the Falathrim. I’m seen that referenced or mentions in a lot of meta and fics, but it never happened. And there is no indication that Celegorm even met Círdan or any of his people, or was even aware of them prior to Fingolfin’s forces arriving.

What happened was that Morgoth reacted to the Fëanorean forces’ arrival by pulling his army besieging the Falathrim away and sending it north towards Ard-galen. And then, when it was in the north, far from the Falas, attacking the Fëanoreans, Celegorm defeated that army.

Yes, this is minor, and yes, it’s beneficial to the Falathrim that the arrival of the Fëanoreans made Morgoth decide he needed that army more elsewhere, but there is no direct “showing up and rescuing them” moment, and none of the Fëanoreans are anywhere near the Falas during the Battle-under-Stars, and Celegorm has no more to do with the benefit to the Falathrim than anyone else does (though he gets the Fëanorean forces out of a tight spot) and this just seems to be a weirdly common fanon misconception?

Under the cold stars before the rising of the Moon the host of Fëanor went up the long Firth of Drengist that pierced the Echoing Hills of Ered Lómin, and passed thus from the shores into the great land of Hithlum; and they came at length to the long lake of Mithrim, and upon its northern shore made their encampment in the region that bore the same name. But the host of Morgoth, aroused by the tumult of Lammoth and the light of the burning at Losgar, came through the passes of the Ered Wethrin, the Mountains of Shadow, and assailed Fëanor on a sudden, before his camp was full-wrought or put into defence; and there on the grey fields of Mithrim was fought the Second Battle of the Wars of Beleriand. Dagor-nuin-Giliath it is named, the Battle-under-Stars, for the Moon had not yet risen; and it is renowned in song.

The Noldor, outnumbered and taken at unawares, were yet swiftly victorious; for the light of Aman was not yet dimmed in their eyes, and they were strong and swift, and deadly in anger, and their swords were long and terrible. The Orcs fled before them, and they were driven forth from Mithrim with great slaughter, and hunted over the Mountains of Shadow into the great plain of Ard-galen, that lay northward of Dorthonion. There [in Ard-galen] the armies of Morgoth that had passed south into the Vale of Sirion and beleagured Sirion in the Falas came up to their aid, and were caught in their ruin. For Celegorm, Fëanor’s son, having news of them, waylaid them with a part of the Elven-host, and coming down out of the hills near Eithel Sirion drove them into the Fen of Serech.

If you will indulge my very bad edit of the Beleriand map:

The orcs coming from across Ard-galen from Angband cross the mountains and attack the Fëanoreans up at Mithrim, in the top. The Fëanoreans drive them back over the mountains into Ard-galen. The orcs that were besieging the Falas, brought up as reinforcements for the other orcs, come up all the way into Ard-galen. Celegorm, attacking from Eithel Sirion (which is north of the Fen of Serech), drives them south into the Fen.

At no point are the Fëanoreans - Celegorm or other - anywhere near the Falas. Celegorm's actions have no more impact on the Falas specifically than anyone else's.

[liveinfarbe]

Adar and Galadriel reminiscing about their Beleriand days…

These are clips from episode 4 and 7 of season 1. Notice the knife/dagger-parallel.

I've been researching the Silmarillion a little bit, because I think it gives hints about time and place in Adar's flashback account. This got lengthy. I write about the questionable Moriondor assumption by Galadriel and the esteem for flowers, blossoms, willows, glades in the lives of Galadriel and Celeborn, in Beleriand and beyond, and a possible path for hope, forgiveness and growth after trauma, that would lie in a dark Celeborn meets dark Galadriel story: Adar informs Arondir that he's been young in Beleriand once and used to walk down the banks of the Sirion river for miles and miles. He noticed sage blossoms, apparently liked the view, because it left a lasting impression. What I get from this (given the cosmology of that world is actual history and not just mythical) is that it must've happened after the sun and the moon appeared and pulled Middle-Earth out of its darkness, or else there wouldn’t be miles of sage blossoming. It thrives in full sunlight. This puts the account at the end of the First Age, after the Years of the Trees. Interestingly, this is after the "creation" of the Orcs by Morgoth.

Whatever bond and similarity Adar has with the Uruks, he’s apparently not one of those Moriondor that Galadriel talked about to him. I assume the Moriondor concept reflects Tolkien’s idea (he had several) that elves were captured by Morgoth after their awakening in Cuiviénen under the starlight and before Oromë found them and then got corrupted and twisted and thus became the first Uruks. While Adar shares certain physical traits with them, he can’t be one of those first Uruks, because 1.) he lived far in the West, in Beleriand, 2.) the sun had risen, 3.) he’s lived among elves that spoke Sindarin and Quenya, since he speaks it too and not some Avari language, though he could've learned all that in Angband during idle hours, I don't know, he learned black speech too. Anyway, the first mentions of Orcs roaming Beleriand is in Y.T. (Years of the Trees) 1330, but Melkor (at this point in time he's not yet given the name Morgoth by Fëanor) is incarcerated in Valinor. Sauron is in Beleriand though, hiding out in Angband, waiting for Melkor's return, "breeding" Orcs apparently, because their numbers grow and they "roam" Beleriand. This is 200 Valian years before the sun. I'm no loremaster, but I know this is a long time. At this point and later, Adar is still, as he describes himself, young. So Orcs were breathing living creatures before that elf-man became Adar. "Young" I see as meaning before he got captured and tortured and then brainwashed by Sauron as part of the “13 of us” (ep. 2x2).

So something doesn't add up, and Adar implies that in his interaction with Arondir in ep. 1x4. Are the tales of Moriondor a widely spread myth created by Elves, since all accounts about Orcs mostly stem from Elvish chroniclers? Maybe this is what Adar hints at. He says to Arondir

“You have been told many lies. Some run so deep even the rocks and roots believe them. To untangle it all would all but require the creation of a new world.”

He thinks only gods can do that, and he ain’t one…yet. Unlike Morgoth who raised mountains, or other Valar whose wrath sank a whole landmass like Beleriand, and later Númenor. He's just doing what he must, realizing Morgoth's terraforming plan and resettling the Uruks so they can live freely.

The "many lies" that he mentions are reflected in the things that Galadriel - who’s famous as "the scourge of the Orcs", even in Númenor - says to him when she interrogates him in episode 1x6. She’s full of hate and delivers a truly genocidal speech to him that shocks herself in the aftermath. (She acknowledges that somewhat self-critically to Theo in ep. 1x7, and it might be one of the reasons she rejects Sauron's offer later)

The truth about Adar's origin story isn't yet revealed. I think it will be, because the writers put some effort in it, dropped cues and hints in excellent dialogue and made him a multilayered character. Finally, let’s come back to the flowers and blossom mentions in the clips above because they could very nicely tie back to Galadriel and Celeborn in Beleriand and beyond. Adar says he “went down that river once”. Let’s see, if he, for example, came from Doriath and went down the Sirion towards its mouth and saw a lush amount of flowers blossom, he could have come through a region called Nan-Tathren or Tarsarinan that is literally called Valley of the willows. Possibly the home to Galadriel’s “glades of flowers” she danced in.

Why would she dance there and not in Doriath? I don't know, but there's a clear hint that she was in that region and even made meaningful personal connections there. With Ents. And Celeborn, too. Tarsarinan, Valley of the willows, means something to the couple and Treebard, as mentioned in a passage in The Lord of the Rings. The memories of Celeborn, Galadriel and Treebard of that place are intimately entangled.

Then Treebeard said farewell to each of them in turn, and he bowed three times slowly and with great reverence to Celeborn and Galadriel. ‘It is long, long since we met by stock or by stone, A vanimar, vanimálion nostari!’ he said. 'It is sad that we should meet only thus at the ending. For the world is changing: I feel it in the water, I feel it in the earth, and I smell it in the air. I do not think we shall meet again.' And Celeborn said: 'I do not know, Eldest.' But Galadriel said: 'Not in Middle-earth, nor until the lands that lie under the wave are lifted up again. Then in the willow-meads of Tasarinan we may meet in the Spring. Farewell!

“Many Partings” - The Return Of The King - LOTR - J.R.R. Tolkien

Okay… 1.) Treebard's “It is long, long since we met by stock or by stone” sounds a lot like Adar’s words to Arondir "even the rocks and the roots believe them", 2.) A vanimar, vanimálion nostari! is translated as "Oh, beautiful ones, parents of beautiful children"

That last point reminds of Adar's relationship to the Uruks and the rhetoric surrounding it: Adar whose name translates as "father" calls the Uruks "my children", "my sons and daughters", main difference is that they’re not that beautiful, neither is he — but that lies in the eye of the beholder. Does Adar imply the propaganda about Uruks is so pervading that even the eldest Ents believe them? Possibly his old friend Treebard… ?

I mean he's certainly wreaked havoc in the woods, forced the felling of trees, displaying not much respect for the Ents. On the other hand, Adar is shown planting Alfirin seeds, that grow into flowers. He's still very Elvish, full of respect and longing for "new life, in defiance of death".

Finally… Lothlórien, Galadriel and Celeborn's later safe space, is literally meaning "Lórien of the Blossom". Treebard calls it "Dreamflower".

With all that cherishing of flowers - I think even his chain mail shirt displays flowery ornaments - could Adar be Celeborn in a rather depressing and long-lasting dark phase of his life in ROP? Explaining where he’s been all that time since she last mocked him as a “silver clam”? And if he is not, wouldn’t that be a really good story if he was? Adar doing the work could be an arc about hope and the possibility of healing and changing — it’s what Galadriel needs, too, in the long run.

At this point she’s confused and hurting after the betrayal by Sauron, because she liked him more than anyone in ages, but also because she had to witness herself being unreliable and, frankly, unwise. Yes, she’s vindicated for having always been right about Sauron, but the way she went about it fills her with shame, it’s gnawing at her, not primarily because of wounded pride, I believe, but out of compassion for the victims of her actions. Not unlike Míriel after her return to Númenor. It begs the question to them both if it was all needless, if there really is a greater good in what's unfolding now? At this point in the narrative, the Númenorian intervention that Galadriel pressed for must feel like a Pyrrhic victory with grave consequences and implications for the future of Middle-Earth as well as Númenor. It has caused immense trouble and pain already to many other people that Galadriel gave Sauron a clap on the back and an army. She still has to fully confront herself about that, she's still vulnerable to the darkness inside her, because she's hurting. She has Elrond to help and guard her, but other than that, who's there for her? I mean, in the end she has to accept that it's not her who can slay Sauron, she needs to come to that understanding. It's a battle within herself she hasn't yet had the courage to take up because she still can't face her lingering grief at this point in any other way than turning it into anger.

[waitingforsecretsouls]

The amount of times I've seen the Dagor-nuin-Giliath misconstrued as a defeat, or "first sign" of the inevitable failure for the Fëanorians is just baffling if you consider the actual events.

But the host of Morgoth, aroused by the tumult of Lammoth and the light of the burning at Losgar, came through the passes of Ered Wethrin, the Mountains of Shadow, and assailed Fëanor on a sudden, before his camp was full-wrought or put in defence; and there on the grey fields of Mithrim was fought the Second Battle in the Wars of Beleriand. Dagor-nuin-Giliath it is named, the Battle-under-Stars, for the Moon had not yet risen; and it is renowned in song. The Noldor, outnumbered and taken at unawares, were yet swiftly victorious; for the light of Aman was not yet dimmed in their eyes, and they were strong and swift, and deadly in anger, and their swords were long and terrible. The Orcs fled before them, and they were driven forth from Mithrim with great slaughter, and hunted over the Mountains of Shadow into the great plain of Ard-galen, that lay northward of Dorthonion. There the armies of Morgoth that had passed south into the Vale of Sirion and beleaguered Círdan in the Havens of the Falas came up to their aid, and were caught in their ruin. For Celegorm, Fëanor’s son, having news of them, waylaid them with a part of the Elven-host, and coming down upon them out of the hills near Eithel Sirion drove them into the Fen of Serech. Evil indeed were the tidings that came at last to Angband, and Morgoth was dismayed. Ten days that battle lasted, and from it returned of all the hosts that he had prepared for the conquest of Beleriand no more than a handful of leaves.

-The Silmarillion, Chapter 13: OF THE RETURN OF THE NOLDOR

The Battle was a victory, not only barely eeked out but an utter eradication of Morgoth's armies. Not only the forces specifically marshalled against the arriving Noldor (what seems to be a reconstructed eastern host, with the last one mostly destroyed in the First Battle) but also Morgoth's initial western host occupied besieging Círdan and people, that had to be diverted for attempted reinforcement. Which the Fëanorians quickly shatter without issue, despite having to divide their forces. Something important for me to bring up because you'll often see the argument that the Fëanorians doomed themselves by cutting of the Nolo-and Arafinwëan manpower, which both ignores how Nolofinwë at the time was actively disputing Fëanor's leadership and therefore would not necessarily have led to an effective united front (with the implied 'solution' mostly boiling down to "Fëanor should have let Nolofinwë usurp his kingship because he would have made a better king anyway" and never "maybe Nolofinwë should have stopped agitating against the guy who was rightful king by all procedures of inheritance we ever see (and Fingolfin himself would adopt) to get himself crowned as his first priority"), as well as how even just the Fëanorians alone completely curbstomped the forces of Morgoth that had previously scattered the Laiquendi, confined Thingol to Doriath and besieged Cirdan. Sure, eventually they would have likely been overwhelmed by the unending stream of new armies, but that's exactly the same thing that eventually happens in canon anyway, even with the rest of the exiles present. Trying to argue that the Dagor-nuin-Giliath in particular already demonstrates the certainty of the Noldor's defeat is nonsensical.

It was "renown in song"! And given that this is mentioned in context of the victory it was, it feels safe to say the renown in question was of celebratory nature (as opposed to the often celebrated Fingolfin duel, which in-universe is explicitly described as thus: "The Orcs made no boast of that duel at the gate; neither do the Elves sing of it, for their sorrow is too deep."). Given how sparse the details and hints we get towards the Fëanorians and east Beleriand side of things can be, the vast majority of it in implications or one-liners (such as most of their alliances and friendships) and after-the fact admissions ("bereft of their power and glory of old" being the most prominent one that comes to mind), this just makes me very happy. Also disappointed-but-not-surprised how often it goes ignored or straight-up inverted. No doubt in large part due to the following:

Thus it was that he [Fëanor] drew far ahead of the van of his host; and seeing this the servants of Morgoth turned to bay, and there issued from Angband Balrogs to aid them. There upon the confines of Dor Daedeloth, the land of Morgoth, Fëanor was surrounded, with few friends about him. Long he fought on, and undismayed, though he was wrapped in fire and wounded with many wounds; but at the last he was smitten to the ground by Gothmog, Lord of Balrogs, whom Ecthelion after slew in Gondolin. There he would have perished, had not his sons in that moment come up with force to his aid; and the Balrogs left him, and departed to Angband.

First up, any and all attempts to try and paint this as a pathetic end are straight-up ludicrous (especially for people who are impressed by Fingolfin's duel with Morgoth later on). Fëanor in this is not only taking on a variety of Balrogs but also what seems like the remnants of the eastern host that his forces had hunted into Ard-Galen in the previous section (once they notice his separation from his army they turn from flight back towards him; the Balrogs are even specifically noted to "aid" them!). And he's doing it. By. Himself. Not only that, putting up a long and fierce resistance against multiple Balrogs (compare this to Fingon in the Nirnaeth, who gets quickly tripped up by two of them).

The Balrogs are always depicted as Morgoths elite troops, their last appearance in the story having been to drive off the empowered Ungoliant:

But Ungoliant had grown great, and he less by the power that had gone out of him; and she rose against him, and her cloud closed about him, and she enmeshed him in a web of clinging thongs to strangle him. Then Morgoth sent forth a terrible cry, that echoed in the mountains. [...] The cry of Morgoth in that hour was the greatest and most dreadful that was ever heard in the northern world; the mountains shook, and the earth trembled, and rocks were riven asunder. Deep in forgotten places that cry was heard. Far beneath the ruined halls of Angband, in vaults to which the Valar in the haste of their assault had not descended, Balrogs lurked still, awaiting ever the return of their Lord; and now swiftly they arose, and passing over Hithlum they came to Lammoth as a tempest of fire. With their whips of flame they smote asunder the webs of Ungoliant, and she quailed, and turned to flight, belching black vapours to cover her[...]. -The Silmarillion, Chapter 9: OF THE FLIGHT OF THE NOLDOR

(Though I'll grant that there might have been less Balrogs present in the battle against Fëanor)

I'll also point out that the Balrogs retreat the moment the rest of the Fëanorian host and sons arrive as reinforcement, indicating they were not confident in their chances to take them on (otherwise why not take this chance to destroy your enemies once and for all, before they can properly encamp and establish themselves?), which seems reasonably, given the extended struggle even Fëanor alone put up against them (to the point that despite drawing "far ahead" of his van, said van caught up in time to prevent the last of it).

So, obviously the death of their father and king still would have been a heavy blow, far be it from me to deny this (despite the stories refusal to give us any details on the emotional impact of it...), but I reject the notion that it turned the battle into a net "loss", especially if you keep in mind the unusual circumstances of it that are already kind of separated from the battle proper. Which leads into my last point, no longer about the battle itself but still relevant:

Then his sons raised up their father and bore him back towards Mithrim. But as they drew near to Eithel Sirion and were upon the upward path to the pass over the mountains, Fëanor bade them halt; for his wounds were mortal, and he knew that his hour was come. And looking out from the slopes of Ered Wethrin with his last sight he beheld far off the peaks of Thangorodrim, mightiest of the towers of Middle-earth, and knew with the foreknowledge of death that no power of the Noldor would ever overthrow them; but he cursed the name of Morgoth thrice, and laid it upon his sons to hold to their oath, and to avenge their father. -The Silmarillion, Chapter 13: OF THE RETURN OF THE NOLDOR

Even if you are a fervent believer in the fact that Fëanor truly had a clear revelation about the future somehow (at the very least in part because you prefer the omniscient narrator to the in-universe chroniclers, I presume), even if you believe he, dying, would have known this epiphany for what it was: in-universe this would have been ludicrous to assume and incongruent with the very recent lived experience of him and his people. The Fëanorians, it bears repeating, just won a crushing victory against Morgoths forces, which they near obliterated, and even his most elite soldiers fled before them, the only notable casualty occuring due to singular circumstances (which fandom is not slow to point out when it comes to more humoristic purposes). There is literally NO rational reason for the Fëanorians, and indeed, Fëanor himself, to see their cause as doomed based on their experiences with Morgoth and his forces! So even if Fëanor truly gained this "foreknowledge", why should he have heeded it? The guy laughted in the face and threats of his worlds angels! These characters do not know they are in a story about fate and doom without recurse from either, and are determined to fight against such forces whenever they are presented or threatened with them. So the argument I see that uses this as another ammunition why "Fëanor sucked and was a bad dad!" (his sons are literally men grown...) because he urged his sons to remain committed to a cause he "knew was doomed" just ignores everything about recent events and the Fëanorian mindset and determination.

Since it's one of my greatest gripes, I also have to once again ask: where, in this, do people see this infamous "second oath" (which...wouldn't that make Celegorm's recital of it in Nargothrond a "Third Oath"? Yet I've never seen that argument, funny that) ?

(I also disagree with the occasional choice to present Maedhros' capture as somehow still part of it, which it very much is not, however close to the battle's conclusion it might have happened, since the concession of defeat by Morgoth's embassy necessitates for that battle to be regarded as concluded by both parties imo. I'd also argue that the Fëanorians took some time to recover from the ten day battle and fresh grief of loosing their father, as well as time to debate the offer for a few days at the least, something which Maedhros needing to convince his brothers of his idea kind of implies, nevermind the other practicalities of it, such as agreeing upon the place for negotiations and numbers of troops allowed (which both sides break, but would still have been negotiated) with Morgoth's embassy, which would have taken additional time. Which is not even mentioning Maedhros potential coronation. But that's neither here nor there...)

[eilinelsghost]

loved your arafinwë and dinrod amd pie hc and wanted to send an ask but can’t decide what numbers. so. what about. *all* the sensory asks for finrod? 👉👈

Ok, anon, it's 4 months late but I promised I would do it and I have done it: the complete list from this sensory headcanons ask game filled out for my favoritest guy of ever.

I think for the sake of the "collection," I'll paste the ones I've already answered into this too so you have the complete set all in one place.

Alright. Here we go. My Finrod sensory asks magnum opus:

1. Their most visually striking feature

Many people would say it's his hair, but those who are closest to him will tell you it's his eyes. They are grey with just the barest hint of blue, the clouds of a light rainstorm with the sun beginning to break through.

2. The colours they wear / look best in

Dark green or a rich, deep blue are his go-tos. He looks great in dark red also, but only wears that rarely.

3. Their favourite kind of view

Beside a grove of trees, looking out over a body of water. The breeze merging the sound of leaves and the sound of the waves, the sky opening out in a huge expanse over the water and filling his lungs with ease. ("View" for him is all the senses together - his "felt sight" and visual sight are inseparable.) Originally answered here.

4. Do they prefer bright lighting, dim lighting, or darkness?

The hours between one and the other, or lighting that reflects that. The perpetual twilight of Alqualondë is what he remembers from his happiest years as a child. Consequently he feels the most at peace when that sensory trigger is present. So the moments between night and dawn, the end of evening, the soft twilight of Nargothrond lit by Elven lamps.

5. Do they prefer wide open spaces or enclosed spaces?

Open spaces. One of the reasons the caves along the Narog appealed to him so much was because of how vast many of the caverns are. There was no feeling of claustrophobia when he was guided through them. Originally answered here.

6. Some of their favourite flavours or foods

Much like Aegnor, he too loves the Telerin seaweed candy and Círdan will often send it with the merchants and messengers to Nargothrond. Honey, clover petals, freshly baked Atani bread, a tart and peppery leafy green that the Sindar often use, raspberries, red wine (he prefers his more dry than Aegnor does), and while he lived among Bëor's people he discovered he likes the flavor of pickled foods. Originally answered here.

7. What they smell like

Heather blossoms and wild meadowsweet

8. Their favourite scents

Sea salt in the wind, snowdrop flowers, damp soil (especially just after the rain), freshly risen bread dough, cedar oil.

9. A scent that makes them nostalgic

Rose water. Eärwen would use it after she washed each evening when he was a child in Alqualondë. Now it reminds him of nestling against her as she sang him to sleep with the sea breeze drifting in through the windows. Originally answered here.

10. A texture they hate

Touching silk or similar fabrics when his hands are rough from working with stone. It catches and sticks against the skin and it makes his spine crawl.

11. A texture they love

Freshly risen bread dough. He would watch his mother make bread when he was young and she always let him punch down the dough after it had risen. He would linger then and run his fingers over it, soft and warm and almost dry to the touch before it was kneaded. Occasionally he will make a loaf in Beleriand, going solely by the memory of his mother's work, and sit with the scent of the working yeast, with the touch of the risen dough, the lingering memory.

12. Their feelings on physical touch

Big fan of this. He is very affectionate in both word and demeanor, though he can also hide behind this when it comes to articulating or pressing into his genuine feelings.

13. Their ideal climate and weather

This is one I struggled to answer. He is so fascinated by the variations that I think he finds it hard to know for himself what his favorite is. He quickly grows attached to new places and environments and holds each in its own unique place of love and favoritism. However he is probably most relaxed in a climate that includes clearly demarcated seasons.

14. Their favourite type of music

The songs Eärwen would sing, held over from the Great March and the from the time the Falmari lingered on the shores of Middle-earth before setting out for Valinor. Later, it shifts to Atani dance music and the haunting melodies of the song-lore that Balan would sing.

15. A sound they can't stand

Notes that are off-pitch, especially from stringed instruments, will send a sharp pain through one of his back molars.

16. A sound that makes them sad

Water lapping against the shore. It opens up the feeling of gaping emptiness in his gut and a deep, insatiable longing for home.

17. What their voice sounds like

This one is surprisingly difficult! There is so much about him that is clear as day to me, but for some reason his voice has always been a bit elusive. I think...mid-tenor for speaking, a fairly wide range for singing, though I don't think he goes lower than baritone. Often you can tell there's a laugh just under the surface.

He imitates others' voices quite well, which I think comes from being very attuned to ósanwë. He can step into the familiarity of the other person's mind, in a sense, and the voice comes easily from that. It's a great party trick.

He once did this as a youth in Valinor when he and Turgon were nearly caught stealing a pie from the palace kitchen in Tirion. His imitation of Finarfin's voice from behind the closed door was so convincing that the attendant returned with compliments to the cook and consequently brought about a rather awkward conversation between said cook and the real Finarfin later that evening. FInarfin didn't have the heart to correct the situation and "un-compliment" the chef or to deny that he had missed the pies from his childhood so much that he snagged one immediately upon his arrival from Alqualondë, so he resigned himself to receiving a pie delivered to his chambers as a gift whenever he visited Tirion. On the first time a gift-pie was delivered, Finrod found a large slice waiting in his own chambers with a note in his father's handwriting: "for the young lord Arafinwë whose appetite is as keen as his scheming." Originally answered here.

18. The sounds they make when experiencing intense emotion

It's when he is feeling emotion and doesn't make any sound that you know it's of the intense variety. If he is angry and snips at you, you're fine. If he is angry and goes into icy silence. Well. That is not good.

19. Something that viscerally disgusts them

Rotten fruit. There is something about it that he can't quite articulate, but it gives him a gnawing sense of disgust and dread.

20. Something that makes their skin tingle

Watching someone else draw or paint. His father did not do much in the way of typical Noldorin craftsmanship (forgework, stonework, etc) but was a skilled artist. As a child, Finrod would watch him draw for hours and was always soothed by watching the details come together and each little element of stroke and shading merge into the whole. He has a very clear memory of watching Finarfin draw the design for the twined serpents that would become the badge of his house, from which Fingolfin drew up a mold and cast the ring.

21. How aware are they of their surroundings?

Very. He internalized a good bit of his father's role as attempted peace-keeper in the family and consequently was always on the alert for what could go wrong in any given situation, what tiny cues were being given, how the landscape (physically and emotionally) was laid. This stays with him as he grows into adulthood and can often exacerbate his anxiety. However it's very handy when attempting to quickly learn the customs/manners/habits of, say, a new species you just ran across in the woods.

22. Are they good at sensing the thoughts and emotions of others? How do they experience them?

Very good. Ósanwë is very strong for him and he feels others' emotions as a constant presence around him. Almost like background music to every situation or conversation: quiet and not the main focus, but insistently present and setting the melody of each interaction.

23. Do they have foresight? How do they experience it?

Yep! I think he experiences it primarily through a kind of gut knowledge that he can't always explain. The three examples we have of him explicitly noting an instance of foresight all seem to have that flavor: the exchange with Galadriel re his future oath, the Athrabeth where he references Aegnor's fate, and a snippet in The War of the Jewels (actually I am going to paste that in below because it is !!!)

In each of these cases, he seems to know an outcome or general direction things will go, but not necessarily the specifics of how or why. In the Galadriel one, for instance, I think a lot of that was a rising sense of dread opening out in front of him with a gut certainty at the bottom of it that he would also be caught in an oath and all that he built would fall away. But I don't think he had any clarity on how that would happen, so the way it all unfolded was both a surprise and accompanied by a sinking feeling of recognition.

24. Do they have any sense-related fears or phobias?

Slipping. Mostly this is ice-based (a carryover from the Helcaraxë) but it shows up across the board - slipping on mud, things slipping from his grasp (literally or figuratively), his own mastery of self slipping from him so that he loses himself to anger/grief/etc.

25. Surprise NSFW sensory headcanon

ARGH I get so shy about answering nsfw questions but I said I would answer the whole list so uh he really likes the feel of Balan's beard against his inner thighs.

Thanks so much for this ask! It was truly an undertaking, but SO much fun to work on and to have somewhere to get a lot of these out of my head and into an articulated form.

[sallysavestheday]

Friday Favorites (12 April 2024)

This week's delights:

far to the west and worlds away by @myliobatis. A beautiful take on What We Did When You Abandoned Us (by the Finwean wives), and then What Happens When You Return. Magical and moving.

revenant by @welcomingdisaster. Maedhros' return to Nerdanel isn't really satisfying for either of them, love notwithstanding. What a mood!

Shore beyond the Shadowy Sea by Quente. A build-out of @cycas' Beleriand Risen verse in which Elfwine time travels and ends up entangled with the Feanorians. WIP off to a great start.

heretic pride by asterisq. Feanor and Finwe and heresy. A fascinating look at Finwe's take on the Valar.

Aunt Adili and the Blue Wizard -- A Tale of Sam Gamgee by Anna_Wing. As always, marvelous worldbuilding, emotional depth, characters that snap, and mystery. A tale of a friendship, of sorts.

Enjoy!

[cycas]

I'm very intrigued by the murder mystery in Moria!

(And, though this might be cheating, by the Nerdanel and Feanor Scarborough Fair one. I assume from the title that Nerdanel says she won't take Feanor back until he completes some impossible challenge . . . and Feanor being Feanor he decides to take this 100% literally and complete it?)

OK, when I received this ask, I was *quite sure* I would have the Murder in Moria story with Celebrimbor & Elrond (which I am writing for @youngman-willow) done by the end of 2023, so I parked the ask.

But instead I got distracted and began writing about Dain, and so Murder in Moria is still endingless (as is the Dain story actually).

But the intention is for Celebrimbor and Elrond to be in a fairly cosy murder mystery, set at the time when Eregion and Khazad-dum were working together and before Annatar showed up.

As to Feanor & Nerdanel Scarborough Fair, pretty much! here's a bit of Feanor's part, though I think I need to work on the meter a bit.

Do you remember Tirion the Fair? Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme Remember me to one who lives there For once she was a true love of mine

Tell her to make me a promise so true Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme, That even the Valar shall not overthrow Then she'll be a true love of mine.

Tell her to find me an acre of land Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme Over the salt sea in Beleriand If she would be a true love of mine.

Haven't quite decided yet if the end should be dark or light. Maybe it's one that Bilbo will write a revised ending to, in Beleriand Risen.

[urwendii]

Serie: Mai Mae and Ossë Roadtrip To Middle Earth part 6 / ?

Tag list: @cilil @helenvader @mamanmae @endeavoringdaydreamer @light-of-the-two-trees

It was a first, perhaps, in the history of Lothlórien, that two Maiar and a Noldo of the House of Fëanor sat at the same table than the Lady of the Woods.

Galadriel was staring ahead, her face completely devoid of emotion while Maedhros felt decidedly uncomfortable to be in the presence of his youngest cousin and actual sole Noldor survivor in Middle Earth. Mairon on his part seemed well too pleased in observing his surroundings — after trying and failing to invade the Realm for thousand of years— and finally be able to take in appreciation the fine craftsmanship of the Silvan Elves. Ossë, being his regular self, was crouched on the chair, half balanced on its rear feet and looking as if he was 10 seconds away from bursting either in songs or laughter.

"So." Said Maedhros after the stretch of silence had turned far too uncomfortable and lengthy.

"So." Galadriel replied tersely, eyes narrowing at the trio.

"We should be grateful if you were to allow us-"

"No."

Maedhros fumbled with his next word, the vowel ending up a drawn-out hum.

"I will allow you and Lord Ossë, but no Dark Lord shall reside under my protection."

Mairon pursed his lips amusingly.

"I am already within your borders."

Galadriel had an expression of someone who had tasted a particular bitter food, and immediately glared back at him.

"An unfortunate circumstance I would have prevented were it not for the disappointing lapse of judgment of some of my guards. You aren't welcomed there Sauron."

It was Mairon's turn to look sour at the ancient moniker. Ossë waved a scaly hand then, his demeanour seemingly focusing back in the present situation.

"My Lady we understand that it might be difficult after all to forgive Mairon here present but we have good intentions."

Everyone heard the loud snort and Maedhros gave Mairon a deadpan look. Trust the Maia to add fire on oil.

Galadriel suddenly stood up, her composure frosty as she stared them down, pristine white gown giving her the look of a mighty icicle in the grey afternoon.

"This is my Realm, that I have defended from you for two Ages without the help of the Valar."

"Indeed, you only had one of my rings to do so." Mairon interrupted good-natured, the cheer of his tone belied by the ominous dark in his eyes. Maedhros and Ossë exchanged an uneasy look. Now was not the place for the former Dark Lord to lose control of his temper. But — Maedhros thought drily — Artanis, as he knew her then, had never been one to back down a fight. Except that that had been some seven thousands years ago and as it was the current Noldo Princess, turned Queen of her own Realm, was more composed than in his memories.

Instead of jumping over the tables to provoke Mairon in a fistfight, what she might have done when freshly arrived in Beleriand, she simply squared her shoulders and lowered her voice to a glacial tone.

"Rings made by Celebrimbor, unspoiled by your corruption!" she hissed.

"Knowledge he only had because I taught him, you Elves are so quick to take for granted what you are offered."

"Offered? whose idea was it in the first place Annatar?"

Mairon has risen too, face flushed from anger.

"I came to you with a pragmatic plan and was only met with scorn and disdain."

Ossë looked like he was witnessing the showdown of the millennium, and was definitely gleeful to witness the argument. Maedhros was reminded of too many family arguments and too many unpleasantness.

"Enough!" he boomed in his most Eldest Sibling voice and then glared at them.

"I'd rather not revisit the memories of what you did to my nephew Mairon. For everyone's sake, let's move on from this conversation. What was done is done and there is no way to change the past. Trials and sentences have been made accordingly. We are here to ask shelter for a few days before making our way to Amon Lanc."

Galadriel remained haughty and poised, eyes never leaving Mairon. "And you will trust him in that place?"

The former Úmaia rolled his eyes.

"I have ways to keep him in check." Ossë spoke at last, eyes glittering in mischief.

"If not..." her lips curled in a frightening smile, "Do remind him of our last confrontation upon Dol Guldur."

"Have i gone formless again or is anyone going to have discussions about me as if I weren't in the room?"

In a fashion that reminded Maedhros that Artanis was indeed from the house of Finwë, she replied with a choice word in Mairon's own black speech and even Maedhros — not one faint of heart in the slightest — felt himself blush.

"You shall remain on the borders of my Lands, accommodations will be provided and you will be kept under strict supervision."

"Thank you!" Ossë exclaimed happily, wrapping one arm around Mairon's shoulder, who for his part had still been locked in a glaring context with Galadriel.

Maedhros had an suspicion the tension was just starting and it would somehow escalate to higher levels the longer they remain there.

And he longed for a nap. It sounded delightful even. The golden leaves of the Mallorn trees sang of home and he just wanted to drift in dreams made of better things.

"By the way my lady! Would you perchance know where I could find a body of water? I am parched and these two have forced me to remain inland for far longer than I am comfortable with. What a cruel device for my noble person! What a hardship that my existence must be so! What a—"

Maedhros tuned off Ossë's dramatics.

He was so tired.

[ospreyeamon]

the shape of arda

I've always had trouble deciding whether I prefer the cosmology as explained in The Silmarillion or one closer to the version in 'Myths Transformed' Tolkien began working on where Arda is always round and the sun and moon pre-date the Trees. On one hand I do like the idea of a world of eternal night and the first humans waking in the light of the first sunrise to hold it in adoration afterwards. But on the other hand there are things that annoy me about it, like how changing the shape of the world didn't destroy massive swaths of it in tectonic disasters, where the extra sea and land needed to cover the gaps came from, and that the sun first rises from the west.

O how I hate the idea of the sun rising in the west. The insistence that Aman is the ultimate source of all light and civilisation, flowing through the Eldar and Númenorians who have been uplifted by the Valar making them superior to all who refused it or never had it offered to them at all, is incredibly obnoxious.

While 'Myths Transformed' can be taken as proof of in-universe knowledge of planetary roundness, that does leave the question of how the mythic flat world came to be recorded by people you would expect to know better; the Ñoldor received teaching from the Valar who surely must have been aware of the shape of the world if they created it. However, I do have an idea about how it could have happened…

🎇🎆

Valar: Well done team – one circular world and it is absolutely perfect.

Melkor: What a stupid shape for a planet. I think *smash* that this *crash* will be a much better one!

Valar: ...let's try again somewhere else and pretend this never happened. If we refuse to accept the Marring of Arda and keep hope things will get better maybe the problem will magically fix itself through the power of positive thinking.

🌳🌴

Manwë: *to the elves* ...and all the layers of the Airs stretch as far as the Encircling Sea. They touch the Walls of the World, beyond which lies the Void where my beloved Varda’s stars shine.

Ulmo: Don't you think you should mention that this is only true for Aman and that Arda is round? And just because the sun and moon didn't turn out quite the way we hoped that doesn't mean we should encourage the elves to forget about them entirely.

Manwë: I think that the fact Arda should be flat is more important. The sun and the moon are old news; the Trees are much better. Just look at the way the light drips – Yavanna really out did herself with them.

1️⃣

Fingolfin's Host: It was amazing how the sun appeared just as we arrived in Middle-earth. Definitely an omen of the coming of good things.

Fëanor's Host: Actually, it was already day over here. You just didn't see the sunlight before you passed the end of the dimensional verge at the edge of the Hel... carax...

Fingolfin's Host: *glaring intensifies*

1️⃣

Ñoldor: Your ancestors must have decided to journey to Beleriand because at their awakening they saw the sun rising from the west and loved it as we love the stars.

Humans: Actually, according to our people’s lore the sun has always risen in the east and set in the west. The first elves we met – we have mentioned them before; they live beyond the mountains and don't have glowing eyes which is why we didn't realise you were related to them at first – told us that their kin had gone into the west to dwell in a land without famine or sickness where the dead can return to life. We thought that sounded like a really nice place to live.

Ñoldor: Let us explain to you why your traditions are silly and wrong.

2️⃣

Faithful: How could anyone doubt that the cosmology taught to us by the elves is correct? They were gifted the knowledge by the Valar themselves.

King's Men: A bunch of people circumnavigated the world by sailing across the Eastern Sea until they emerged from the Sundering Sea. They brought some weird birds they violently appropriated from a distant continent back with them.

Faithful: Clearly this is a conspiracy to trick us into breaking the Ban of the Valar so doom will fall upon us.

3️⃣

Third Age Scholar: It's strange how all these ancient texts describe the world as a disc even though we know it to be spherical. Perhaps the nature of Arda was changed during one of those continent-destroying cataclysms.

[ao3feed-tolkien]

Hide and Seek

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/hatA4xD

by lferion

Fingon finds himself in the middle of a game of hide and seek

Words: 654, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 12 of King Fingon's Menagerie

Fandoms: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: Gen

Characters: Fingon | Findekáno, Original Elf Character(s), Original Animal Character(s)

Additional Tags: Back to Middle-Earth Month, Prompt Fill, Bingo, Hide and Seek, Beleriand Risen, Ficlet

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/hatA4xD

[middle-earth-mythopoeia]

The discovery of Earendel got me thinking about stars in Tolkien’s writing, and there’s just something about the way he writes about stars that I find very poignant, so at the risk of giving myself the most intense chills of all time, I’m going to gather in one place some of my favorite passages mentioning stars in Tolkien’s works, starting with The Silmarillion and HoMe, and then moving on to LOTR.

The creation of Eä: 

And thus was the habitation of the Children of Ilúvatar established at the last in the Deeps of Time and amidst the innumerable stars.  

The awakening of the Elves: 

It is told that even as Varda ended her labours, and they were long, when first Menelmacar strode up the sky and the blue fire of Helluin flickered in the mists above the borders of the world, in that hour the Children of the Earth awoke, the Firstborn of Ilúvatar. By the starlit mere of Cuiviénen, Water of Awakening, they rose from the sleep of Ilúvatar; and while they dwelt yet silent by Cuiviénen their eyes beheld first of all things the stars of heaven. Therefore they have ever loved the starlight, and have revered Varda Elentári above all the Valar.

Oromë discovers the Elves:

And Oromë wondered and sat silent, and it seemed to him that in the quiet of the land under the stars he heard afar off many voices singing. ...And Oromë loved the Quendi, and named them in their own tongue Eldar, the people of the stars...

The meeting of Thingol and Melian:

She spoke no word; but being filled with love Elwë came to her and took her hand, and straightway a spell was laid on him, so that they stood thus while long years were measured by the wheeling stars above them...

The love of the Elves of Aman for the stars:

There the Teleri abode as they wished under the stars of heaven, and yet within sight of Aman and the deathless shore; and by that long sojourn apart in the Lonely Isle was caused the sundering of their speech from that of the Vanyar and the Noldor. To these the Valar had given a land and a dwelling-place. Even among the radiant flowers of the Tree-lit gardens of Valinor they longed still at times to see the stars...

The birth of Lúthien:

Though Middle-earth lay for the most part in the Sleep of Yavanna, in Beleriand under the power of Melian there was life and joy, and the bright stars shone as silver fires; and there in the forest of Neldoreth Lúthien was born, and the white flowers of niphredil came forth to greet her as stars from the earth.

The Dagor-nuin-Giliath:

Under the cold stars before the rising of the Moon the host of Fëanor went up the long Firth of Drengist that pierced the Echoing Hills of Ered Lómin... But the host of Morgoth, aroused by the tumult of Lammoth and the light of the burning at Losgar, came through the passes of Ered Wethrin, the Mountains of Shadow, and assailed Fëanor on a sudden...and there on the grey fields of Mithrim was fought the Second Battle in the Wars of Beleriand. Dagor-nuin-Giliath it is named, the Battle-under-Stars, for the Moon had not yet risen; and it is renowned in song. 

The coming of Fingolfin’s host:

But as the host of Fingolfin marched into Mithrim the Sun rose flaming in the West; and Fingolfin unfurled his blue and silver banners, and blew his horns, and flowers sprang beneath his marching feet, and the ages of the stars were ended.

The fall of Fingolfin:

Therefore Morgoth came, climbing slowly from his subterranean throne, and the rumour of his feet was like thunder underground. And he issued forth clad in black armour; and he stood before the King like a tower, iron-crowned, and his vast shield, sable unblazoned, cast a shadow over him like a stormcloud. But Fingolfin gleamed beneath it as a star; for his mail was overlaid with silver, and his blue shield was set with crystals; and he drew his sword Ringil, that glittered like ice.

Tarn Aeluin:

But the waters of Tarn Aeluin were held in reverence, for they were clear and blue by day and by night were a mirror for the stars...

Finrod’s words to Andreth:

‘Now he will ever remember thee in the sun of morning, and that last evening by the water of Aeluin in which he saw thy face mirrored with a star caught in thy hair—ever, until the North-wind brings the night of his flame. Yea, and after that, sitting in the House of Mandos in the Halls of Awaiting until the end of Arda.’

Lúthien:

Blue was her raiment as the unclouded heaven, but her eyes were grey as the starlit evening; her mantle was sewn with golden flowers, but her hair was dark as the shadows of twilight. As the light upon the leaves of trees, as the voice of clear waters, as the stars above the mists of the world, such was her glory and her loveliness; and in her face was a shining light. 

Lúthien finds Beren:

In that hour Lúthien came, and standing upon the bridge that led to Sauron’s isle she sang a song that no walls of stone could hinder. Beren heard, and he thought that he dreamed; for the stars shone above him, and in the trees nightingales were singing. And in answer he sang a song of challenge that he had made in praise of the Seven Stars, the Sickle of the Valar that Varda hung above the North as a sign for the fall of Morgoth.

Beren’s song in Tol-in-Gaurhoth:

Then in his dream it seemed he sang, and loud and fierce his chanting rang, old songs of battle in the North, of breathless deeds, of marching forth to dare uncounted odds and break great powers, and towers, and strong walls shake; and over all the silver fire that once Men named the Burning Briar, the Seven Stars that Varda set about the North, were burning yet, a light in darkness, hope in woe, the emblem vast of Morgoth’s foe.

Lúthien’s song before Mandos:

The song of Lúthien before Mandos was the song most fair that ever in words was woven, and the song most sorrowful that ever the world shall ever hear. Unchanged, imperishable, it is sung still in Valinor beyond the hearing of the world, and listening the Valar are grieved. For Lúthien wove two themes of words, of the sorrow of the Eldar and the grief of Men, of the Two Kindreds that were made by Ilúvatar to dwell in Arda, the Kingdom of Earth amid the innumerable stars.

The Nirnaeth Arnoediad:

But Turgon answered: ‘Not long now can Gondolin be hidden; and being discovered it must fall.’  Then Huor spoke and said: ‘Yet if it stands but a little while, then out of your house shall come the hope of Elves and Men. This I say to you, lord, with the eyes of death: though we part here for ever, and I shall not look on your white walls again, from you and from me a new star shall arise. Farewell!’

Anglachel:

‘I ask then for a sword of worth,’ said Beleg; ‘for the Orcs come now too thick and close for a bow only, and such blade as I have is no match for their armour.’ ‘Choose from all that I have,’ said Thingol, ‘save only Aranrúth, my own.’  Then Beleg chose Anglachel; and that was a sword of great worth, and it was so named because it was made of iron that fell from heaven as a blazing star; it would cleave all earth-delved iron.

The birth of Elwing:

And a daughter also was born to them, and she was named Elwing, which is Star-spray, for she was born on a night of stars, whose light glittered in the spray of the waterfall of Lanthir Lamath beside her father's house.

Elwing flies to Eärendil:

For Ulmo bore up Elwing out of the waves, and he gave her the likeness of a great white bird, and upon her breast there shone as a star the Silmaril, as she flew over the water to seek Eärendil her beloved. On a time of night Eärendil at the helm of his ship saw her come towards him, as a white cloud exceeding swift beneath the moon, as a star over the sea moving in strange course, a pale flame on wings of storm. And it is sung that she fell from the air upon the timbers of Vingilot, in a swoon, nigh unto death for the urgency of her speed, and Eärendil took her to his bosom; but in the morning with marvelling eyes he beheld his wife in her own form beside him with her hair upon his face, and she slept.

Eönwë’s greeting to Eärendil in Tirion:

'Hail Eärendil, of mariners most renowned, the looked for that cometh at unawares, the longed for that cometh beyond hope! Hail Eärendil, bearer of light before the Sun and Moon! Splendour of the Children of Earth, star in the darkness, jewel in the sunset, radiant in the morning!'

The rising of Gil-Estel:

Now when first Vingilot was set to sail in the seas of heaven, it rose unlocked for, glittering and bright; and the people of Middle-earth beheld it from afar and wondered, and they took it for a sign, and called it Gil-Estel, the Star of High Hope. And when this new star was seen at evening, Maedhros spoke to Maglor his brother, and he said: ‘Surely that is a Silmaril that shines now in the West?’ And Maglor answered: ‘If it be truly the Silmaril which we saw cast into the sea that rises again by the power of the Valar, then let us be glad; for its glory is seen now by many, and is yet secure from all evil.’ 

The founding of Númenor:

And the Star of Eärendil shone bright in the West as a token that all was made ready, and as a guide over the sea; and Men marvelled to see that silver flame in the paths of the Sun. Then the Edain set sail upon the deep waters, following the Star; and the Valar laid a peace upon the sea for many days, and sent sunlight and a sailing wind, so that the waters glittered before the eyes of the Edain like rippling glass, and the foam flew like snow before the stems of their ships. But so bright was Rothinzil that even at morning Men could see it glimmering in the West, and in the cloudless night it shone alone, for no other star could stand beside it. ...And they called that land Elenna, which is Starwards... ...and the light of their eyes was like the bright stars.

Frodo’s song after leaving home:

Home is behind, the world ahead, And there are many paths to tread Through shadows to the edge of night, Until the stars are all alight.

The Elves’ hymn to Elbereth: 

Snow-white! Snow-white! O Lady clear! O Queen beyond the Western Seas! O light to us that wander here Amid the world of woven trees! Gilthoniel! O Elbereth! Clear are thy eyes and bright thy breath! Snow-white! Snow-white! We sing to thee In a far land beyond the sea. O stars that in the Sunless Year With shining hand by her were sown, In windy fields now bright and clear We see your silver blossom blown! O Elbereth! Gilthoniel! We still remember, we who dwell In this far land beneath the trees, Thy starlight on the Western Seas.

Sam recites the song of Gil-galad:

Gil-galad was an Elven-king. Of him the harpers sadly sing: the last whose realm was fair and free between the Mountains and the Sea. His sword was long, his lance was keen, his shining helm afar was seen; the countless stars of heaven's field were mirrored in his silver shield. But long ago he rode away, and where he dwelleth none can say; for into darkness fell his star in Mordor where the shadows are.

Strider tells the tale of Tinúviel:

The leaves were long, the grass was green, The hemlock-umbels tall and fair, And in the glade a light was seen Of stars in shadow shimmering. Tinúviel was dancing there To music of a pipe unseen, And light of stars was in her hair, And in her raiment glimmering.

The song of Eärendil:

But on him mighty doom was laid, till Moon should fade, an orbéd star to pass, and tarry never more on Hither Shores where mortals are...

The Doors of Durin:

...the outline could be seen of an anvil and a hammer surmounted by a crown with seven stars. Beneath these again were two trees, each bearing crescent moons. More clearly than all else there shone forth in the middle of the door a single star with many rays. ‘There are the emblems of Durin!’ cried Gimli. ‘And there is the Tree of the High Elves!’ said Legolas. ‘And the Star of the House of Fëanor,’ said Gandalf. ‘They are wrought of ithildin that mirrors only starlight and moonlight, and sleeps until it is touched by one who speaks words now long forgotten in Middle-earth.’

Gimli’s song in Moria:

The world is grey, the mountains old, The forge's fire is ashen-cold No harp is wrung, no hammer falls: The darkness dwells in Durin's halls The shadow lies upon his tomb In Moria, in Khazad-dûm. But still the sunken stars appear In dark and windless Mirrormere; There lies his crown in water deep, Till Durin wakes again from sleep.

Legolas sings the Lay of Nimrodel:

An Elven-maid there was of old, A shining star by day: Her mantle white was hemmed with gold, Her shoes of silver-grey. A star was bound upon her brows, A light was on her hair As sun upon the golden boughs In Lórien the fair.

Cerin Amroth:

At the feet of the trees, and all about the green hillsides the grass was studded with small golden flowers shaped like stars. Among them, nodding on slender stalks, were other flowers, white and palest green: they glimmered as a mist amid the rich hue of the grass. 

Galadriel and Celeborn:

They were clad wholly in white; and the hair of the Lady was of deep gold, and the hair of the Lord Celeborn was of silver long and bright; but no sign of age was upon them, unless it were in the depths of their eyes; for these were keen as lances in the starlight, and yet profound, the wells of deep memory.

Gimli’s words to Galadriel:

‘There is nothing, Lady Galadriel,’ said Gimli, bowing low and stammering. ‘Nothing, unless it might be—unless it is permitted to ask, nay, to name a single strand of your hair, which surpasses the gold of the earth as the stars surpass the gems of the mine.'

The barrows of the Rohirrim:

At the foot of the walled hill the way ran under the shadow of many mounds, high and green. Upon their western sides the grass was white as with a drifted snow: small flowers sprang there like countless stars amid the turf.

Gandalf’s song on the way to Minas Tirith:

Tall ships and tall kings Three times three, What brought they from the foundered land Over the flowing sea? Seven stars and seven stones And one white tree.

Frodo sees the statue of the king:

‘Look, Sam!’ he cried, startled into speech. ‘Look! The king has got a crown again!’ The eyes were hollow and the carven beard was broken, but about the high stern forehead there was a coronal of silver and gold. A trailing plant with flowers like small white stars had bound itself across the brows as if in reverence for the fallen king, and in the crevices of his stony hair yellow stonecrop gleamed.

The light of Eärendil:

Slowly his hand went to his bosom, and slowly he held aloft the Phial of Galadriel. For a moment it glimmered, faint as a rising star struggling in heavy earthward mists, and then as its power waxed, and hope grew in Frodo's mind, it began to burn, and kindled to a silver flame, a minute heart of dazzling light, as though Eärendil had himself come down from the high sunset paths with the last Silmaril upon his brow. The darkness receded from it until it seemed to shine in the centre of a globe of airy crystal, and the hand that held it sparkled with white fire.

Aragorn comes to Minas Tirith:

...and behold! upon the foremost ship a great standard broke, and the wind displayed it as she turned towards the Harlond. There flowered a White Tree, and that was for Gondor; but Seven Stars were about it, and a high crown above it, the signs of Elendil that no lord had borne for years beyond count. And the stars flamed in the sunlight, for they were wrought of gems by Arwen daughter of Elrond; and the crown was bright in the morning, for it was wrought of mithril and gold. Thus came Aragorn son of Arathorn, Elessar, Isildur’s heir, out of the Paths of the Dead, borne upon a wind from the Sea to the kingdom of Gondor... There came Legolas, and Gimli wielding his axe, and Halbarad with the standard, and Elladan and Elrohir with stars on their brow... But before all went Aragorn with the Flame of the West, Andúril like a new fire kindled, Narsil re-forged as deadly as of old: and upon his brow was the Star of Elendil.

Sam’s song in Cirith Ungol:

In western lands beneath the Sun the flowers may rise in Spring, the trees may bud, the waters run, the merry finches sing. Or there maybe ‘tis cloudless night and swaying beeches bear the Elven-stars as jewels white amid their branching hair. Though here at journey's end I lie in darkness buried deep, beyond all towers strong and high, beyond all mountains steep, above all shadows rides the Sun and Stars for ever dwell: I will not say the Day is done, nor bid the Stars farewell.

The first night in Mordor:

Far above the Ephel Dúath in the West the night-sky was still dim and pale. There, peeping among the cloud-wrack above a dark tor high up in the mountains, Sam saw a white star twinkle for a while. The beauty of it smote his heart, as he looked up out of the forsaken land, and hope returned to him. For like a shaft, clear and cold, the thought pierced him that in the end the Shadow was only a small and passing thing: there was light and high beauty for ever beyond its reach.

Arwen’s gift to Frodo:

'But wear this now in memory of Elfstone and Evenstar with whom your life has been woven!’ And she took a white gem like a star that lay upon her breast hanging upon a silver chain, and she set the chain about Frodo’s neck. ‘When the memory of the fear and the darkness troubles you,’ she said, ‘this will bring you aid.’

Frodo names Elanor:

‘Well, Sam,’ said Frodo, ‘what’s wrong with the old customs? Choose a flower name like Rose. Half the maidchildren in the Shire are called by such names, and what could be better?’ ‘I suppose you’re right, Mr. Frodo,’ said Sam. ‘I’ve heard some beautiful names on my travels, but I suppose they’re a bit too grand for daily wear and tear, as you might say. The Gaffer, he says: “Make it short, and then you won’t have to cut it short before you can use it.” But if it’s to be a flower-name, then I don’t trouble about the length: it must be a beautiful flower, because, you see, I think she is very beautiful, and is going to be beautifuller still.’ Frodo thought for a moment. ‘Well, Sam, what about elanor, the sun-star, you remember the little golden flower in the grass of Lothlórien?’ ‘You’re right again, Mr. Frodo!’ said Sam delighted. ‘That’s what I wanted.’

[dialux]

Finwëans: The First Generation

1/7

The five children of Finwë were responsible for many of the greatest and fellest deeds of Arda.

Fëanáro, the eldest, was the only one born of Finwë’s first wife, Miriel. Raised by his father and resentful of his father’s second wife, Fëanáro had little love for the Valar that dissolved his father’s marriage. He was a renowned smith and an influential leader in Aman. When Morgoth attacked Fëanáro’s stronghold, killed Finwë, and stole Fëanáro’s finest inventions—three jewels called Silmarils—Fëanáro swore vengeance alongside his seven sons. He perpetrated the first Kinslaying at Alqualondë when the Teleri refused to lend him their swan-ships and burned the boats upon arriving in Beleriand. Though he broke the siege upon Balar that Morgoth’s armies had lain, Fëanáro underestimated the strength of his forces and was surrounded by balrogs. He died surrounded by his sons from his wounds.

Findis, Finwë’s second child and first daughter, was also his first child with Indis. Renowned for her song, Findis was said to have driven three Masters to Lorien with her Mastery Song. When Finwë died she sang a song so mournful and heartbreaking it rang through all of Valinor, striking grief in the hearts of even the Valar. She ruled the Noldor for a brief period of time after her siblings all left but abandoned the throne when Arafinwë returned in favor of following her mother to Valmar. Findis disappeared into the wild western forests of Valinor when she heard of her half-brother’s death and stayed there for many long Ages, isolated from everyone, for fear that her fury and grief could do what not even Morgoth achieved and shatter the power of the Valar.

The strongest of Finwë’s children, Nolofinwë was also the First High King of the Noldor in Beleriand. Estranged from his half-brother, Fëanáro, Nolofinwë took up the kingship after Fëanáro was banished from Tirion for breaking the peace. They reconciled when Morgoth killed their father, but Fëanáro abandoned Nolofinwë after the First Kinslaying and burned the boats upon reaching Beleriand. Furious and refusing to abandon vengeance, Nolofinwë led his people across the Helcaraxë. They suffered great losses along the way but eventually reached Beleriand, only to hear of Fëanáro’s death and Fëanáro’s eldest son’s—Maedhros’—imprisonment. Nolofinwë’s son, Findekáno, rescued Maedhros, and in gratitude, Maedhros surrendered the crown to Nolofinwë. Over the next four centuries, Nolofinwë led the efforts of the Noldor against Morgoth. But the immense casualties of the Dagor Bragollach led Nolofinwë to great despair. He abandoned Hithlum and rode north to Angband, shining and wrathful as Oromë himself, and mocked Morgoth’s bravery and strength until Morgoth answered his challenge for single combat. He dealt Morgoth seven wounds, the last of which caused Morgoth to limp for the rest of his life, before dying himself.

Lalwen, Finwë’s second and youngest daughter, was the longest-lived of all his children that came to Beleriand. She was a cheerful, uncomplicated child, best known in Tirion for the number of betrothals she’d called off over the years. She never chose a Mastery despite the exhortations of her parents, instead preferring to dabble in a little bit of every skill. This served her well in Beleriand, for Lalwen had the flexibility to attack Morgoth’s armies with every weapon under the newly-risen Sun and many that no other would have considered a weapon. The only one of her siblings to never wear a crown, Lalwen preferred to do her activities from the shadows—she became her brother Nolofinwë’s most trusted advisor and spymaster in Beleriand. She won the name Black-Toothed Bitch from the orcs because of the blood staining her teeth. Her laughter—forever loud and lingering—was said to strike fear in even dragons’ hearts. Eventually, Lalwen wedded a Sindarin general during the Long Peace; it was more a marriage of convenience than one of love, and they separated during the Dagor Bragollach, never to reunite. After Nolofinwë died, Lalwen went south and founded the Havens of Sirion. She spent the last years of the First Age guiding the remnants of the Haladin to what would eventually become Dale. Upon her return to Beleriand, Eonwë asked her to return to Aman, but Lalwen refused and instead went north: to where the last dragons and balrogs still lived. She spent nearly six thousand years slaughtering them before finally falling to the last dragon’s claws, a small, gold-obsessed fire drake named Smaug.

The youngest of them all, Arafinwë was also the longest-ruling child of Finwë. He inherited the throne of the Noldor in Aman from his brother, Fëanáro, when he sailed to Beleriand, and spent long years working to reconcile the Noldor with the Teleri after the First Kinslaying. When his kinsmen Eärendil and Elwing sailed to Tirion, Arafinwë accompanied them to Ilmarin and joined his pleas to theirs to save Beleriand. He led the Noldor in the War of Wrath. While Tulkas was the one to strive with his strength against Morgoth and Eonwë eventually stripped him of the Silmarils, it was Arafinwë that held a spear to Morgoth’s throat, and finally—after the death of nearly all his family—claimed the War of the Elves and Morgoth finished. He then returned to Aman with the remnants of the Noldorin forces, and ruled them until the beginning of the Dagor Dagorath, at which point his brothers returned to life.

[feanorianethicsdepartment]

‘today’s silm vocaloid song: clear sky engine (クリヤスカイ機関) by nyanyannya and hara ft. rin kagamine and zunko tohoku

this one’s about elrond, maglor, and the sudden non-ending of the world. you know that thing where you build an elaborate fandom video in your head for a completely unrelated song, but you don’t have the most basic art skills you’d need to make it a reality? yeah, i square that circle by writing them out. here, have an extremely long songfic/filk/commentary/thing

It was just another day, beneath a black sky

The bustle of camp churned on around me

I wasn’t paying attention to what my hands were doing

Dreaming of a shining star-lit sky

we open on elrond, living in a world about to die. the fëanorians were forced to abandon amon ereb years ago, and now the last of the host ekes out a precarious nomadic existence, raiding deserted villages for food and losing more people they can’t replace with each battle. they’re still doing better than everyone else on the mainland, though. their blades, at least, remain sharp

(the smoke from the fires of angband has risen to cover the whole continent in dark clouds. some of the sun’s warmth still gets through, and on good nights the star of high hope is still faintly visible, but the light-filled skies of old are little more than memory. all the survivors know that the end is near. it’s only a matter of time)

He’d broken a promise he’d made to us

So I was a little more annoyed at him than usual

He chatted with me while I worked to make up for it

And I made all my usual complaints

elrond and elros are at this point... i’d say very early teens? not that they had much of a childhood; the fëanorians are so short-staffed the twins have been doing odd jobs around camp pretty much since it became clear they weren’t going to run away. today elrond is taking stock of the medical supplies, less because he has any interest in the healing arts than because it’s a job that needs doing and everyone else is busy

maglor is hovering within talking distance, doing elrond-doesn’t-care-what. the twins’ relationship with maglor is extremely complicated to say the least, their mercurial hellbeast protector who scares the shit out of everyone else they’ve ever met and who has stood between them and the darkness for as long as they can remember. recently, he promised to stay with the twins while they did something difficult, but he failed to do so for a whole host of reasons, including getting into a two-hour shrieking match with maedhros at the last possible moment. elros shrugged it off, like elros shrugs everything off, but elrond is a simmering cauldron of adolescent rage at the best of times

which is why maglor’s checking on him, giving him an outlet for his anger before it can turn into despair. because what would be the point, in the end? they’re all going to die anyway. one of the reasons maglor’s resisted sending the kids to balar so hard is that no matter where they are, eventually morgoth will sweep down and destroy them all. there’s nowhere safe left, nothing they can do to protect them. none of this is even new, it’s a shadow that’s hung over them all since the twins grew old enough to understand this

so maglor and elrond chat, or rather elrond grumbles incessantly and maglor snarks as upliftingly as he can remember to. it’s a day like any other, nothing about it to distinguish it from the hundreds that came before or however many will come after. that is, until one of the lesser minions comes over, yelling, ‘boss! boss! you have to see this!’

elrond turns around. for the first time ever, he sees true hope on her face

“Have you finally grown tired of us?” I hissed

But in that moment excitement ran round the campsite

And someone cried out with joy

“The hour we thought would never be, the return of the light, has finally come to pass!”

far, far away, the hosts of the valar are landing on the shores of beleriand. disembarking from their luminous ships, clad in radiant armour and carrying blessed weapons, their brilliance pierces the dark fog that has settled over beleriand for so long. shining like the stars come to earth, the hallowed army of valinor begins its long march towards the gates of angband. far above, ships riding jets of light slice open the smog

this news - this unexpected, unbelievable, impossible miracle bestowed unto doomed beleriand, this chance that their enemy might actually fall - is the greatest thing anyone in camp’s heard all century. maybe in more prosperous times the host would have groused about the valar finally seeing fit to get off their asses, but in this world turned to ash any chance at victory is to be celebrated. the minions throw a massive impromptu party, of the kind they haven’t since before sirion. elros is right there with them, singing off-key and laughing as loud as anyone else. even maedhros cracks a tiny relieved smile

maglor watches the festivities from the outside, more genuinely optimistic than he thought he was still capable of. elrond joins him, brow furrowed as he tries to comprehend it all. they talk

“It feels like a dream I’ll never wake up from”

“What are you blabbering about now?”

elrond is voiced by zunko, maglor by rin. the song’s more of a dialogue than a duet, so i’ll be bolding maglor’s lines

The sheet of paper I held in my hands read

“The hosts of the West have come! Our world is saved!”

the letter’s from gil-galad, or at least his administrative apparatus. it’s not even that hostile; apparently the armies of the gods showing up out of nowhere to save them all from certain doom has him in a magnanimous mood. there’s some drivel about surrendering and eärendil and all wrongs being forgiven, but neither maglor nor elrond is paying attention to it

“Hey, do you remember?”

“Remember what?”

“Love and justice and valour and hope”

“I remember the sea of blood you drowned everything in for them”

elrond didn’t really have any formal schooling - nobody had the time - but he has managed to pick up a lot of stuff from the stories the people around them tell. that the fëanorians came to middle-earth for high noble ideals, and that it was trying to fulfil those ideals that led them into darkness, is something maglor told him once, when he was in a darkly honest mood

“Haha, that’s just details, everybody makes that kind of mistake when they’re young”

“Why are you like this?”

a mood maglor’s obviously not in at the moment, if he’s laughing off the kinslayings like this; elrond knows this isn’t how he actually feels about them. normally elrond would just roll his eyes and move on with his life, but things are different today

The camp was full of laughter, as if everyone had lost their minds

elrond’s not used to happiness. not full, unironic happiness, untainted by the shadow of their inevitable death, not from the fëanorians. the sheer jubliation suffusing camp is fundamentally alien to him, a child of a world about to end. he doesn’t know what to do with the knowledge that maybe they won’t all get eaten by dragons. he doesn’t know what to do with the hope in everyone’s eyes

so instead, when maglor wanders away from the party, elrond catches him with a song

“What if for one more year, ten more years, a hundred more years, the shadow still reigns?”

“Then ten thousand years, a hundred thousand years, a million years later, we’ll see it fall! For certain”

“What if I lay out all one billion eight hundred million three thousand and sixty-eight of the fears I carry?”

“Then there’s one billion eight hundred million three thousand and sixty-nine songs I can give to you”

maglor’s been teaching elrond how to do this, how to snatch someone into a world of music and throw your voice at them until one of you can’t take it any more. maglor wins this one, as usual; even if his song is incapable of anything but violence he’s got centuries of experience on elrond, enough to turn the sharp edges of his voice into blades in elrond’s hands. and that is what he’s doing, clumsy and harsh as he is; he’s trying to give elrond a reason to hope

elrond is the one who breaks the spell, dropping the melody, letting the music dissolve into the air. maglor flashes him a grin and walks off, humming merrily. elrond just stands there, still unable to understand

I’ve heard it before, it’s all anyone can talk about, even if I try to avoid it it stabs into my ears

cut past a decade or so, to well into the war of wrath. elrond and elros are in their mid-teens now. they’re still with the fëanorians, but these days the fëanorian warband is effectively an auxiliary unit to the amanyar army, skirting around the edges of that much larger force. for the first time in a long while, elrond and elros have regular-ish contact with people outside the fëanorian sphere of influence, mostly peripheral edain and the sindar who run messages between the camps. it’s different, talking to new people

(the sky is still covered with smog, but it’s gloomy grey, not oppressive black. the sun is faintly visible through it, most of the time. the rain is much less poisonous than it used to be, and on good nights you can almost see the moon. the closer they get to angband, the darker the clouds grow)

“It is as the gods have decreed, soon the darkness will be swept away and the Enemy will be cast down

And after the war in the purified world, we will all live happily together

Building new homes in a land unmarred by evil”

the people outside the host are much more optimistic about the future, for one. the fëanorian minions are happy morgoth is getting trounced but they don’t really talk about what comes after that, like they can’t imagine a world without war. the sindar, and especially the edain, on the other hand, have all these plans about the cities they’ll build, the arts they’ll perfect, the children they’ll raise in a world without danger. elros is super into this; he barely spends time with the fëanorians any more, he’s so busy going between different edain camps, making friends, planning for the future. elrond, though...

Even my twin knows what future to reach out for...

elrond doesn’t know what to do with any of this. the very concept that someday the war will end and the sky will clear and he’ll have a bright future is still something he doesn’t fully understand. even more, he’s defined himself for so long as not-a-fëanorian, now he’s regularly interacting with people who doubtlessly aren’t he’s having trouble figuring out what else he is. he’s stuck between people who are lowkey hoping they’ll die gloriously in battle and people who have been dreaming about what they’d do in a world without darkness all their lives, and he doesn’t know what he even wants, not really, not yet

so he keeps on living, just like he always has. he’s been promoted to sick tent dogsbody and is learning how to heal with song from the last minion who can kind of still do it. he acts as a proxy between the fëanorians and the more timid outsiders they keep running into. when he goes (or elros drags him) exploring in other camps, he keeps track of every new detail he comes across, in case it’s somehow useful later

and he keeps talking to maglor, with anger and spite and sarcasm and whatever other emotion he’s covering his uncertainties with today. maglor always listens, usually offers to help, and sometimes elrond even lets him. the fëanorian camp settles into a rhythm of buildup-fight-recovery-buildup-fight-recovery, so regular it lulls elrond into complacency. he takes the future he still doesn’t quite believe in one day at a time, until suddenly the ground crumbles beneath his feet

You say it’s to ‘fulfill our ideals’ but what you mean by that is ‘to sate our bloodlust’, I know

With their blades and teeth sharpened for battle, the kinslayers broke away from the light and disappeared into the shadows

there’s a whole mountain of reasons why, as they draw near to angband, the dregs of the fëanorian host abruptly peel off from the valinorean army and vanish into the night. they know they're more effective as a stealthy shock ambush unit, they’re somewhat concerned the amanyar will turn on them the second morgoth is no longer a problem, they're making one last desperate rush for the silmarils, all that and more. it’s not the first time they’ve suddenly packed up and left before their enemies can react, probably not even the first time they’ve done it to the hosts of valinor. there’s just one little difference

Leaving us behind? Leaving you behind

they’re not taking the twins. said twins only find out about this, like, the day before they decamp. maedhros’ justification is something about them not being able to support noncombatants on the march, but the twins believe that about as much as they believe that the fëanorians are doing this for any kind of hope. elros, of course, was half-planning on leaving anyway, going off to chase his own ambitions with his new edain posse. he copes with it pretty well, relatively

but elrond’s mind goes blank. once he thought the day they let them go would be the best day of his life, but now it’s come it feels so wrong, and this horrible coldness is seeping into him. in a flash of what feels like foresight, he suddenly knows the people who raised him will never come back. how dare - why - he can’t -

with a sharp desperate burst of sound that’s a surprise to even himself, elrond lashes out a song to catch maglor

“For ten more minutes, one more week, half a year, please, let me stay with you!”

“In a year’s time, ten years’ time, a hundred years’ time, we’ll see the starlit sky together”

“What if one billion eight hundred million three thousand and sixty-eight times I begged you not to go?”

“Then there’s one billion eight hundred million three thousand and sixty-nine of your other wishes I’ll hear”

and elrond just stops. he lets the song trail off, staring at maglor. he’s in an incredibly weird mood, with something that could almost be compassion in his eyes

there’s only one way he can find out what’s happening, elrond realises

“In that case - !”

maglor was never really demonstratively affectionate with the twins. it would never have come off as real on his part, and they wouldn’t have believed it in any case. still, he supported them. he let them trail behind them, all but cling to the backs of his legs, in those first horrible weeks when they were terrified of absolutely everything. he taught them to ride and he taught them to read, how to reinforce a blade with nothing but song and close a wound with needle and thread. on the darkest nights, when all the world was filled by the howling beasts of morgoth and the wailing of the unhallowed dead, he held them tight and flared his own fires high, a warm smoky bonfire between them and the void. he answered their questions, and told them stories

and sometimes, he tried to be kind

“Sing me a lullaby like the flat of a blade”

“Which one would you like?”

“I want to see a flower that will still bloom”

“I know just the one”

“I don’t care what kind of monster you are! Just please stay with me, for even one more tomorrow...”

“...I’m sorry”

“What do you mean?”

“You were given your name because your parents wanted you to see the stars someday”

it was easy for maglor to justify keeping the twins when they didn’t have a future. the shadow of death blotted out the sky, so why not hold them close for whatever little time they had left? no matter where they were, the void would soon claim them all

except it didn’t. in the end they were not forsaken. the sacred light came out of the west to burn away the darkness and finish the war he once thought they could never win. the hosts of the valar have gotten farther in decades than the noldor did in centuries, and soon enough they’ll cast the enemy down and release the world from his terrible maw. and then the future the free peoples dreamed of will stretch out before them, full of possibilities beyond measure

and that’s why maglor has to let them go. the magnificent people that elrond and elros are already becoming will only wither among hopeless kinslayers who have nothing left but the sword. to flourish into their full glorious selves, they need to be with people who dream, who can travel towards the future alongside the twins with light hearts and songs on their lips. maglor refuses to let his own darkness drown the last people in the world he does not hate. elrond deserves so, so much better than maglor is capable of giving him. he deserves to see the stars

hearing all that, there’s only one thing elrond can say

“You can’t even keep one miserable promise! Don’t pretend like you’re my father, kinslayer!”

and that’s the last elrond sees of maglor. the fëanorians vanish in the middle of the night, leaving elrond and elros (and about half a dozen minions who are taking their last possible chance to get out) behind. elros takes up with his edain buddies and starts making contacts and forging alliances. elrond winds up in gil-galad’s orbit, surrounded by people who are very understanding about how awful his childhood was, which just pisses him off more. he doesn’t throw tantrums or refuse to work, those aren’t luxuries he was raised with, but he spends a fair bit of time spurning every bit of sympathy and aid he’s offered and trying not to cry himself to sleep

with time, though, he finds a place. it starts with círdan, the first person who believes elrond about what his time with the fëanorians was like. then he befriends erestor, and then gil-galad starts actually respecting the way elrond feels, and then he gets officially taken on as an apprentice healer. he starts learning about his own ancestors and their peoples, and reaching out for stories he never knew could be his. as the final battle of the iron hells begins, elrond is doing... better

and soon, the hope that no one in beleriand once dreamed would be fulfilled becomes a reality

And then, as if it had never held power, the darkness was cast down...

they win the war. the armies of angband are crushed. the peaks of thangorodrim are torn down. the prisoners of the deepest pits of the iron hells are freed. the forces of evil are scattered to the four winds. morgoth, the fallen vala himself, is defeated and captured and bound with great chains, unable to ever hurt anyone again. the precious remnants of the light of the trees, the remaining two silmarils, are recovered. the dark clouds evaporate, and for the first time elrond can remember, the sky is perfectly clear. the war of the jewels is finally over

elrond has grown so much since the day he first heard that the hosts of the west had come. he still can’t quite believe it

They held a great celebration beneath a star-speckled sky I’d never seen before

“The world is saved and we are freed! Evil has been vanquished forevermore”

The triumphant voices of the generals poured out over the victory feast while the stars shone true above the happy ending

the soldiers of valinor and the people of beleriand (what’s left of them) throw a truly massive party. it’s still tinged with their grief over everything they’ve lost, but the atmosphere is primarily one of ecstatic relief. they’re alive, and they’ve come out the other side. dwarvish tailors dance with high maiar, humans who don’t remember the moon get drunk with elves who remember cuiviénen. even after the official festivities die down and people start hashing out what they want to do next, the general mood remains buoyant and cheerful. at long last, they live in a world without danger

none of it feels real to elrond. gil-galad’s talking about building a kingdom on the other side of the blue mountains, elros and his grand edain alliance are trying to bully the maiar into letting them set up on tol eressëa, and elrond feels so disconnected from it all, like he’s watching someone else’s life. he’s happy the enemy has been overcome, of course he is, but he’s not feeling the overwhelming joy everyone else is. he can’t let his guard down yet, something is still wrong -

Except he hasn’t come back, they haven’t come back, where did they go, what have they done?

The word raced around as fast as the wind, giving me an answer I never wanted to hear -

where is maglor? the fëanorians broke off to fight the war their own way, but the war is over now, where are they? they were so happy to hear that the amanyar had arrived, he can’t imagine them not thrilled to see the enemy they hated more than anything else fall. in the warm afterglow of victory, it feels like even their sins might be forgiven, and they could finally go home. they have nothing else left; why wouldn’t they take that outstretched hand?

but nobody’s so much as glimpsed their flag since some time before the final battle. elrond quietly assumes, perhaps even hopes, that they all died fighting, and yet he can’t shake the cold dread crawling up his spine

elrond has mixed feelings about the silmarils, and doesn’t particularly care to be near them. by the time the news of their theft reaches him, maedhros and maglor have already fled into the night

Still driven on by their oath, they turned their blades on their kin one last time

“And stole away the hallowed light”

Yes, that light which sank all of our lands beneath a deep dark layer of corpses and ash

all elrond sees is the aftermath, the blood sinking into the ground. it’s far from the first time he’s seen people killed, but somehow now it’s all hitting him, all at once. he sees the bodies and it knocks the breath out of him. all he can see is the dead, from finwë on down, the rotting carcasses of every last person who was slaughtered for these gems, a whole continent bleached with death. they call the silmarils the most beautiful things in the world, jewels shining with the very light of creation, but elrond can’t see it for the blood they’re dripping with

that’s the immediate thing that has his hands shaking and his breath running cold. by morning it’s had a chance to sink in a little, and -

He lied he lied he lied he lied

maglor regretted the kinslayings! elrond knows he did! it was never even something he actually said, it was obvious from the way he talked about them. every single one was a complete disaster, nothing the fëanorians ever got out of them was worth what they lost in the process, and afterwards things always got worse in ways they never expected. and maglor hated the person the kinslayings had turned him into, elrond spent enough time around him to pick up on that much! surely he’d do anything to not have to commit another one?

apparently not! apparently all that regret, all that loss, the arguments and the nightmares and the coldly determined efforts to stop them following his path, it all meant nothing! he still gave in to despair or maedhros or whatever, killed yet more people, stole from the army whose return he said was like a dream come to life, spat in the face of his last chance to go home, and vanished! gil-galad’s people were right! he really is nothing more than a monster!

the shock of it all makes something snap in elrond, whatever fragile optimism he absorbed from the people around him draining away until he feels completely hollow. hundreds of years of suffering and death, and for what?

Smeared with the blood of untold hundreds, untold thousands, untold millions of people

Did they buy us peace for even half a year, even a week, even ten minutes?

Noooooooo!

Even the very land we lived on crumbled and drowned

What was the point?! What was the point?! What was the point?!

I feel like I’m going insaaaaaaane

morgoth may have fallen, but beleriand is dead! nothing remains, not the lush green lands of the stories, or even the dessicated forests of his childhood, just desolate earth and the devouring sea. almost everywhere he’s ever known, almost everyone who lived and fought and dreamed there, are lost forever. nothing was saved, everything was destroyed, what good is a clear blue sky when there’s nothing beneath it?! how can they call this a happy ending?!

elrond can’t see any light here, all the great battles and heroic deeds seem absolutely pointless in the face of everyone and everything immolated in the endless grasping for these gems. the hosts of valinor leave the continent they shattered, the remnants of gil-galad’s people escape the raging forces of nature, and the survivors bicker and fight over resources just like the fëanorian minions elrond grew up around. the world is never going to get better, he realises. the dream of a paradise will never come true

and then one night, running a message down the craggy still-turbulent coastline, he hears a snatch of a distant, familiar voice

I can hear a voice whittled away to a weapon singing what could almost be a lullaby -

elrond leaps off the ridge and onto the rocky beach, scrambling over the uneven ground. he’s heard the rumours about where maedhros and/or maglor went - all of them, there’s dozens of them, he didn’t pay any particular heed to the ones where maglor wandered the coast, but if they were right, if he’s here -

his own voice has grown strong over the years, solid and forceful and mature. elrond screams his song into the emptiness, hoping against hope it will be heard

“What if for one more year, ten more years, a hundred more years, the shadow still reigns?”

“Then ten thousand years, a hundred thousand years, a million years later, we’ll see it fall! Isn’t that so?!”

“What if I lay out all one billion eight hundred million three thousand and sixty-eight of the griefs I carry?”

“Then there’s one billion eight hundred million three thousand and sixty-nine days for you to live!”

“That must be it...”

the impression of a hand touching his cheek, the ghost of a smile. for a moment someone else’s voice slips into the ebb and flow of his song, a shadow reaches out to wipe the tears off his face. live, it whispers. you who i held dearest last, live

elrond’s breath catches in his throat, and the song, and the shadow, vanish. it’s just him on a forsaken beach, the only sounds the waves crashing and the gulls calling. the sky is completely overcast, the clouds dull and grey. he watches them drift along for a while, as his pulse slows down and his airways clear up. live, the word echoes in his mind

he waits until his breathing is back to normal and the churning emotions inside him have settled into a form he can handle. then he wipes his face and clambers back onto the ridge

(life. it’s not much, but it’s enough. it has to be. his home is destroyed, but he is alive; his family is broken, but he is alive. he is alive, and they want him to live, as much as he can while he still has a chance. the world he lives in will never be perfect, but he knows how to work with that)

(and besides - elros, círdan, gil-galad, erestor, the other healers, the small knot of elves of all stripes who seem determined to follow his banner. he hasn’t lost everything, not yet, and he won’t let the world take away what he has left. he’ll never abandon those he loves)

the clouds are lightening. soon the stars will be out. elrond takes a deep breath, and starts running towards his future and the person he’s going to be -

thousands of years later, a memory resurfaces

“Two million, two hundred and forty-one thousand, five hundred and thirty-nine days... Ah, yes. I know I forgot to say it earlier, but you did a very good job”

a smattering of notes are lifted by the ocean breeze. they travel inland, across the worn-down mountains, around the weathered hills, above the tangled forests, up the untamed rivers, and finally into the hidden valley

in the gardens of imladris, lord elrond hears a voice he hasn’t for millennia. a watering can slips out of his hands, and suddenly he can’t breathe

It was just another day, beneath a dark sky

The ocean and the wind roared on all around me

I wasn’t paying attention to how my tears were falling

Trying to remember a clear star-lit sky

that youthful dream of a world free from evil never came true. the shadow came back, and it kept coming back, taking his people, his friends, his family, his wife. everything they built after the defeat of morgoth has been reduced to dust by the weight of time, and every year more of it slips through his fingers. elrond doesn’t know how much more of it he can endure. he doesn’t know how much more he can lose

he chases that scrap of music all the way to the seashore

I ran down the path between the rocks and the spray following that voice I never knew why I loved

But in the end I could only stand weeping

elrond searches up and down the coast, scouring the shoreline for clues, asking the locals, listening. sometimes he hears whispers of song, long wailing lamentations that make his heart ache all the more now that he understands how that despair feels. occasionally it’s loud or consistent enough he can track it, trying to pinpoint the singer’s location in the intense storms of bitterness and grief

but he never finds anything

“You fool, he’s already gone. Like he was never there at all...”

all that’s left is a voice on the wind

[onthesandsofdreams]

Moon’s Magic

Fandom: The Silmarillion Pairing: Elu Thingol x Melian Rating: G Summary: Elu stood a little ways alone, staring to the heavens. All around him, his people stood gaping in awe at the new light. Ithil, Melian had called it, a flower of the Telperion. It was a beautiful sight. Words: 500 Notes: For @flashfictionfridayofficial​ | Ithil = Moon in Sindarin

Read @ AO3

Elu stood a little ways alone, staring to the heavens.

All around him, his people stood gaping in awe at the new light. Ithil, Melian had called it, a flower of the Telperion. It was a beautiful sight. It was also a comfort knowing that now they would not be in complete darkness.

“It is beautiful, is it not, beloved?”

His wife’s voice made him look to his right side. There stood his wife, a gentle smile on her face. He returned it. “I have seen fairer sights, you for once.”

“Flatterer,” His wife said, her voice like music. Still smiling, she looked up. “What do you think, husband?”

He returned his eyes to the heavens, Ithil was round and shinning. Around it, the stars seemed dull, but no less beautiful. It made his heart lighter, now there was something that would give them light, not only in Aman, but here in Beleriand. “It is almost magical,” he said at last.

His wife placed a gentle hand on his arm, “In some hours, there will be another. A brighter one, a light that will come from Laurelin.”

He arched a brow, but did not argue with his wife. He knew that if anyone could know, it would be her. “Looking forward seeing that.” He meant it, even now, on this silver light, the woods seemed calmer and brighter. He had not lied when he spoke about it being magical, he liked the way the light reflected on the pools of Doriath. And if there was to be a golden light, he was very much looking forward discovering his woods under it. “This light, it reminded me of when we met.”

“How so?”

“I had seen Aman,” he started without hesitating. “But when I saw you, and I saw its light shinning in your face, it felt like I had found my home. You gave the woods light, almost like this one now that we find ourselves under.”

His wife did not answered for a moment, but she did smiled at him. “Well, that I can understand.” She looked to the heavens again, then, she turned again, her smile had grown wider. “Then, what do you say if we explore our lands beneath this light, husband?”

“Is it wise?”

“We are safe,” his wife replied without hesitating. “The Girdle stands, our guards will still do their duties, so why not?”

It was his turn to smile, “My wife is wise,” he bowed his head once. “I would like to rediscover these lands under this light with you by my side.”

“Then, let us go.” His wife took his hand and took a small step forward. “Let us explore.”

“Indeed. Let the magic of this night show us something knew.” He was looking forward to see what they discovered, there was something about the night, like the newly risen Ithil was giving some magic.

He squeezed her hand, smiled and he took a step forward and let his wife lead the way.

[amethysttribble]

Hi! Congrats on the 300 followers! :D That's awesome! If you're still doing requests, would you mind 41 with Celegorm and Curufin?

Celegorm and Curufin: “I’m not pissed, I’m hurt.”

I guess here’s your answer that I was still doing requests! I can’t do anymore after this because I’m going to be really busy for the next week, but this one is here! I really quite like it. Celegorm and Curufin have a dumb fight and dumber reactions to it; but they love each other. Celebrimbor is here too.

I hope you enjoy it!

Thanks for the congratulations and the prompt!

There was little more to do in Himlad than get on each other’s nerves. Celegorm and Curufin had been fighting more in Beleriand than they ever did in Valinor- their temperaments too complementary to chafe- mostly from lack of space and boredom. And stress. There was also stress and fear and resentment and regret, but Celegorm preferred not to think of those emotions. Anger was easier to understand.

Fighting was easier to approach.

Their most recent spate, though, had ended with Curufin storming off.

At first, Celegorm had been more than happy to watch him go, shooting rude gestures at Curufin’s back and spitting on his dust trail. If Curvo wanted to escape Himald and Celegorm to go for a late ride, that was his business. The defenses on the north-western walls were Celegorm business, and Curufin could fuck right off. ‘Little Father’ might think himself very important, but he wasn’t actually Celegorm’s father nor his commander nor even his lord. 

Celegorm could watch him go and not care, then go back to actually fulfilling his duties instead of making pedantic arguments. 

Which is what he did.

For one hour, then two, the sun had truly set and Tilion had risen- which Celegorm watched with something approaching wistfulness. Not of course, that he would ever admit such a thing to Curufin. And then remembering the mockery Curufin would likely level at Celegorm for his twisting and complex emotions about the moon, Celegorm cast aside the worry that was starting to creep up about Curufin having not returned. 

Curufin wasn’t the brat Celegorm had helped teach to ride and read maps anymore, he was well and truly grown, with a son who was nearly grown himself. 

He was fine.

Which was why Celegorm ate a quiet meal with his nephew, reassured Celebrimbor that his father might be an insufferable know-it-all but he was more than capable of taking care of himself, and then retired to his rooms. Then Celegorm waited. He cleaned his sword, re-feathered some of his arrows, and laid on the carpet with Huan for a long time. As he scratched Huan’s ears, Celegorm kept waiting to hear the tell-tale sound of a knock on the door or yelling, maybe. Something to tell him that Curufin had returned.

But he didn’t.

It was around midnight that Celegorm sat bolt up right from his position on the rug- displacing Huan’s head on his stomach. 

“Should I go look for him?” Celegorm asked the hound, who shook his great head.

“You’re right. It’s been quiet recently. He’s fine. He just… needs space.”

So we went to lay in his bed, Huan across his feet, and stared at the ceiling until the sun began to rise.

Still no word from Curufin.

“Fuck,” Celegorm muttered, throwing his clothes on and lacing his boots. He strapped his sword to his belt, readied his quiver, and whistled for Huan, who looked decidedly unimpressed. But Celegorm wasn’t taking chances with this shit, quiet recently or not, Curufin capable or not. 

There was no way Celegorm was explaining the worst case scenario to Maedhros.

Or Celebrimbor.

Which is why he went to go find his nephew before heading out in a mad dash.

Celebrimbor was in the dining hall, eating his breakfast as if nothing was wrong. Celegorm wished he had that confidence in others’s abilities to survive this strange land they’d found themselves in. He supposed Celebrimbor still labored under the delusion that his father was invincible. It was understandable at his age, and Celegorm had been much older when his own belief in such things went up in literal smoke.

“Where are you going?” Celebrimbor asked through his oatmeal, looking up at Celegorm with wide eyes.

“I’m going to track down your worthless father is what I’m doing,” Celegorm told him, which just made Celebrimbor tilt his head in confusion.

“What are you talking about? He came home last night. I bet he’s in his rooms.”

“What?” Celegorm hissed. “Why didn’t I know that?”

He didn’t wait for Celebrimbor to answer, though, storming away and towards Curufin’s rooms on the other side of the keep- arranged so that there might be a readily available commander on either flank in case of attack. He came to Curufin’s door full flush, and slammed the door open so hard it cracked against the wall. And there he was. Curufin. Just standing in his room, trying to put his boots on while hopping on one foot.

“What the hell!” Celegorm yelled. “When did you get back!”

“Excuse you?”

“When! Did you get back? And why was I not informed that you’d returned!”

Curufin stood up straight, tilting his head back to glare down his nose.

“I wasn’t aware you cared,” he sneered, which hit Celegorm in the chest like an arrow bolt.

“Excuse you?” Celegorm said back, absolutely beside himself and near hitting something.

“I didn’t think it important to tell you. Should I have?”

“Yes!” Celegorm bellowed. “What is wrong with you, yes I wanted to know!”

“Alright! Stop yelling. I understand you’re angry.”

And Celegorm was angry, he was, he was so angry he could barely see and he was breathing hard. Instead of that being what he said, though, something else came. Something he hadn’t realized was true.

“I’m not pissed, I’m hurt!” Celegorm screamed.

“Then why are you yelling,” Curufin hissed back. 

“That’s what I do!”

That’s what he did! He yelled and got angry and picked fights. But he was hurt, he was still hurt because, dammit, he did care. That Curufin didn’t think he cared? It hurt enough that Celegorm quieted.

That was when Curufin’s contemptuous mask dropped and he seemed to realize something was wrong. 

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I was… just trying to piss you off. I didn’t mean anything by it, I know that you- Not telling you I’d returned was childish. I’m sorry.”

Celegorm deflated instantly.

A weird relief came upon him, and he really hadn’t been angry if his emotions faded this fast. He’d just been upset and yelling. And Curufin had done something stupid and hurtful.

“Iluvatar,” Celegorm muttered. “We’re so stupid. We’re fighting like little kids. You have a kid. He lives with us. We’re terrible examples.”

“Not,” Curufin countered, a small, relieved smile coming to his face, “if we’re bad examples out of where he can hear and see us.”

“I heard it!” Celebrimbor yelled from down the hall.

Celegorm snorted in laughter, all forgotten.

[skyeventide]

the Dagor Dagorath is near. we set the scene a few centuries before the final battle and follow the story of some elves you do not know... and some you very well might.

gon post this on AO3 when it’s finished but have the first part here in the meantime.

*note about “laiqendi”: I’m not missing a U, the word is in qenya

-------------- 1

Cemenien was daughter to parents who had worked the earth in a far hamlet of the south of Aman, dwelling in the plains of Yavanna, on the edge of the thick woods of the Lord of Forests and just west of the circling Pelóri.

She was born during the Noontide of Valinor, a time half mythical, half forgotten to those who had come after. She had been named daughter-of-the-earth by her mother, and Valinë by her father, who wished for her happiness. In later years, both names bore great irony to her, who had risen tall and proud to the chance of leaving for a new home.

Hilyatúrë Nildur was born in Tirion in the same age. His mother named him a loving servant and his father, for he had strong opinions about the Princes and their Houses, named him mighty-follower. Nildur followed indeed, and he wielded the sword with the same strength with which he used to wield the pen.

But why he should be a servant of the loving, he never quite understood.

Cemenien and Nildur never met during the wars of Beleriand; she died during the Dagor Bragollach and he during the Nírnaeth Arnoediad.

When Nildur at last returned to his likeness in Aman, he lay himself to his parents’ feet, on the steps of their house, and asked that he be freed of all his duties, of all the pain that it had brought him. Thus, he kissed them and his brother goodbye and left Tirion through the southern gate, setting forth towards the arduous task of forgetting.

Cemenien yearned for a body longer and more bitterly, and it was not until she had sweated and cried out that bitterness as mortals would a fever that she was allowed to return. She did not go to Tirion, she did not breathe the sea; instead, she headed home, for there were things that she regretted, and she had deliberated that the highest form of healing for herself and those she had most hurt was not expecting that they grant her forgiveness.

Both Cemenien and Nildur had loved, once, but had never married. Though some say that love is like the mountains, weathering storms and time unchanged, an immortal soul may find itself too altered by the passing of the eras. As they both had grown into another maturity, born of grief and betrayal, they found that seeking solace in each other was perhaps a deserved sort of peace.

When she birthed their firstborn son, as she lay exhausted by labour on their nuptial bed, Nildur wrapped the child in their richest piece of cloth, dyed with the crunched shells of the coasts and threaded in gold, and placed him in her arms.

Inspired as often are those that are come newly into motherhood, she named him Culdaner.

A name in Quenya was perhaps uncommon in the southern pastures, where elves who were not Eldar or had not crossed the mountains in nights long past were now in great numbers. They had come to Aman either through death or through the journey on the Straight Road, and had brought with them ancient dialects, mingling them with Sindarin; children of woods and moors and yet drier lands, they had picked the forests and the fields as their dwelling.

Indeed, it was in the north that Quenya was still spoken, that had never ceased being spoken, for the Vanyar still sat gladly at the feet of Taniquetil.

But Cemenien’s hamlet too had those who had never left and Quenya, in greetings and in names, was oft still in use.

Nildur and Cemenien’s neighbour had recently had her second child, a daughter much wanted. Lothril thus came to their house with a cordial of sweet mead and a knowing smile.

She said to Cemenien: « Drink it and recover from that pallor. »

With weary arms, Cemenien took the cordial and sipped miruvor, its new recipe brought back from Middle Earth, spreading vital strength in her tired limbs.

« I would happily tell you that the second time is easier », Lothril said also, « but I’d be lying. To me, it truly was not. »

Cemenien laughed. « There will not be a second time, believe you me. »

For she felt that she had given this one her everything.

As she nursed the new-born, Nildur worked their land and picked up the quill again, and during their nights he sat by the babe’s cradle, his attempts at bringing him sleep varying between caresses, songs, repeated pleas, and a curious form of market bartering.

He oft returned to his wife with a great sigh. « Blessed Irmo when he brings slumber. »

« You know what they say about sleep, that it is only for the weak and the reasonable. »

« …Who says that? »

« …Just me, dear. Just me. »

So they toiled, but joyfully, and they thought their new life satisfying and their serenity sufficient.

When Culdaner was but a child who could only walk by holding the hand of his mother, an elf came to the house approaching down the dusty path that twisted and turned between the crops gardens, and he had dark hair and blue eyes that shone of lost light, and a short beard grew on his face, for he was in the third age of his life.

« My name », he said, « is Ondomacil. I came to see Cemenien, as I understand she is returned and has a child now. »

Though Nildur did not call her, for he wondered at the stone-hard set of the stranger’s brows, she soon was on the threshold of her house, her hand against the door she had herself carved anew. Bare-footed, a shadow over her eyes, she descended to the gate.

« Nildur, this is my grandfather. » Thus Cemenien opened the gate and welcomed her kin with restrained gestures and slow steps. Long did they speak inside the house and long did Nildur wonder at what was said, as his hands parted the soil to plant seeds.

In the shadow of the kitchen, Ondomacil sat without drink or food, for his granddaughter had never been one who favoured politeness above all else, and the most delicious apple cider could not sweeten whatever words they had to share.

At length, he begun: « Has your mother, or your father, returned? »

« Neither has », Cemenien answered, « and if they did return, should they be permitted to and should they want to, I did not see them. »

« It has been many ages, many years. Enough that I no longer count them. »

In the darkness of Mandos, Cemenien had watched the tapestries of history unfurl; little else there was for her to look at but her own sorrows. « They died in Doriath », she said, and added nothing.

« Did you find what you sought across the sea? »

Cemenien could forgive the question but did not forgive that he was he who asked it. All words she may have spoken reached Ondomacil as bile rises to one’s stomach after an ill-considered feast, so he bowed his head, his movement stiff but his apology true.

« I did not come for your anger », he said.

« Then do not ask me of what we sought or what might have been. I sought everything and found nothing, and was left with the shell of me. But you spoke rightly, it has been many ages. »

Her grandfather lifted his head and gazed upon her, a softness now mellowing in his voice. « I do not know for how long you have been here. I left this place a long time ago and now dwell in the forest with the Laiqendi and some of the Ingwi. But words fly as the birds – I hear you have a son. »

« Yea, he is but a toddler still. »

Ondomacil smiled; Cemenien recalled how her grandfather’s smiles sat upon his face as something chiselled with great and gentle care from harsh rock: the years had not changed them.

« May I see him? », he asked.

Culdaner sat on the bedroom floor running his small hands on the crotchet of the sheets’ rim; she picked him up and brought him to see his great-grandfather, who held him on his knees like a precious gift.

Ondomacil only left when the Sun had begun descending with her chariot and the Star of Eärendil shone radiant in the red forge of the sky.

Nildur found his wife with Culdaner on her legs. They sat in front of one another as she relayed her conversation with Ondomacil.

« He was not in Beleriand, I take it », he said softly.

Cemenien shook her head. « Nay, but he has seen it. He has no father nor mother, for he was of the Tatyar, and once he had left Endor he chose not to return. »

« I did wonder at the scars on his arms. »

Ondomacil had taken his name as an epessë during the Great Journey, when the darkness encroached upon the host of the Eldar. Stone-sword, first after the weapons that the elves had devised out of sharpened rocks, and in later times after the blades that Oromë gifted them, so that they may protect themselves against the nameless dangers of the long unwinding road.

More at home among the Avari that had come to Aman, he invited the family that he had left among the woods upon his departure. Later, Nildur and Cemenien sat with their son in their garden, to gaze upon the bright stars.

It was in this age that Mandos came to Manwë atop Taniquetil and made it known that his Halls were at last emptied of all souls. Thus Manwë turned to Eru’s plan and saw that the time of Arda Marred was coming to a close and the cycles of the world were near their end.

[cycas]

Quente has written this wonderful timetravel story set in the world of Beleriand Risen that I wrote! It's about Elfwine, Eomer's son, who is about to have a very unexpected adventure...