Ok, so Noldolantë, "The Fall of the Noldor" is a lament composed by Maglor about what happened before, during and after First Kinslaying at Alqualondë. It's such a good song that it's played regularly in Aman and Valar listen to it often (I swear, I swear it was in the Silmarillion I just can't find it now).
It's also a more or less common fanon that Maglor continues writing Noldolante through the whole First Age. Makes sense - it's about fall of the Noldor, and Noldor did a lot of falling back then.
Headcannon time: So my first thought was that Noldolante must a long, long, long epic of a song. So it probably has many parts, right? Iliad has 24 books/parts, somehow I think Noldolante would be at least just as long, and there are longer epics. And again, just like Iliad, unless you're a scholar, in the daily life you don't really listen to/read the whole thing, just reread and repeat the most dramatic fragments. What I'm trying to impress upon you all is that the story would have different segments, or chapters, if you will.
And if Maglor continues to write the story during the FA, there would absolutely be a moment in the lament where the OG Noldolante becomes Noldolante 2, and even Noldolante 3. There may be the same musical motif or something, I decided that Maglor IS that good of a bard to keep it all consistent enough so you know it's all the same story, but the style changes a lot - it's been 400 years in the making, let The Music Elf have fun!
So, Point 1: Many, Many Parts, basically Maglor's FA WIP
My second thought was that, while Feanor invented his alphabet, elves learned their history mostly through oral tradition aka songs and spoken stories. Noldolante is definitely a historical record, where a historical event was archived for future generations.
(It was a also a way to deal with grief, guilt and blame Maglor and all Noldor have faced regarding First Kinslaying - free therapy! But that's not what this post is about)
Archived.
My 2.5 thought was that Noldolante isn't just recallings of how pretty and horrified the beach looked during the murdering or how mad and sorrowful the sea was at everyone during the voyage or even how awesome and charismatic Feanor looked during his speeches that every single Noldo was ready to fight Morgoth barehanded in his name - no, this is a record of who killed who, who got killed by whom, and how.
Noldor and Teleri knew each other (were friends, even!) before the First Kinslaying, so I'm confident that after a lot of interviews, detective work, and cross-referencing, Maglor could and would create a very good... name list. Practically every Noldo and Teler present during First Kinslaying would get a stanza in a song, more if he killed someone, most if he killed many people. Killers and killed would show up twice, first in a fragment listing the killers and their victims, then in a part listing the victims and their murderers. Basically it's the same thing twice, but from different POVs. With when, where and how included.
(It was seen to be in bad taste to compare kills during Maglor's Regency, when most of his interview-part work happened. People did it anyway. There were a Saddest Kill, Funniest Kill, and Weirdest Kill discusions. There was a Tier List. These were weird times to be a Feanorian Noldo.)
(It WAS in Bad Taste, but at least people talked about it. I cannot stress enough how much free therapy this lament provided)
(Little did they know, when Teleri started getting reembodied in Aman, they had very similar discussions, but more in a "I can't believe he killed me like THAT" way. Long, long, long after the First Age. Noldolante is a gift that keeps giving)
So, Maglor had all the historical grith and no common shame to create a "We Killed All These People And We Feel Bad About It" banger of a song, and every Noldo had a very personal reason to at least remember the fragments they are in. It's a hit on a scale never seen before.
(I'm not sure how to tackle the issue of Nolofinweans and Arafinweans learning about Noldolante after crossing the Ice. But there were discussions. There was anger, there was "????", there was controversy. Basically, the song got bigger and bigger rep no matter what your opinion on it was. By the time of Mereth Aderthad it was an important cultural and political piece and at least Fingon's forces were included in the main song. It had parodies.)
Point 2: Archive Function/Kill count storage. Cultural phenomen, every Noldo included
This is where my personal nonsense begins: Main Noldolante was done, there was nothing more to say about First Kinslaying, all killings and deaths were well documented.
But the Siege started. And the Noldor kept dying.
It was less dramatic than it sounded - between the big battles the siege was maintained, but orc raids also happened and sometimes one to few Noldor died in skirmishes. The legal procedure was to document the death of a fellow elf and send a word to king Fingolfin. The cultural procedure, technically started by Feranorians but adapted by many more, was to send the name, common characteristics and cause of death to Maglor's Gap. After few months, King Fingolfin would send reinforcements, short condolences and financial compensation if they had family. After few months, family of an elf would also receive a personal lament for them and a place for them in a Noldolante.
Yes, every lament Maglor created in that time was technically part of the Noldolante. Noldolante 1.5, if you will. Laments make in that time were very customized, and simpler than Noldolante Main, but were still considered a part of the same song. Of course, nobody was expected to know and remember laments for every single Noldo, younger Noldor born in Beleriand could even only know fragments about their family members. Only Maglor would ever know Noldolante in full, but it was understood that everyone had their place in The Song.
The results of Great Battles were harder to document, but Maglor did that. Of course, Dagor Bragollach was hard on him personally, but he worked his way through.
(High King Fingon forbade creating laments for his father. There were no songs for Fingolfin. Apart from in Noldolante, of course. Of course. Maglor did not share the lament with anyone, but he sat long hours and many nights with a blank paper before him, looking at the candle flame and thinking of the past and the future. The song unsung, but there)
Nirnaeth was... Maglor was never more hated and more approached at the same time than then. Still, Noldolante grew and grew, as if people knew the end was near.
It was Second Kinslaying that destroyed the myth of Maglor's song. Feanorians didn't know the Sindar they killed, but surely, they couldn't just left their names unmentioned like they did with orcs? So, Noldor talked, but the battle happened in caves - it wasn't uncommon to find dead bodies in empty rooms, with no witnesses to what happened. Surviving Sindar didn't want to share any names, even when Maglor strong-armed some into talking with him, and good for them. Maglor made a big lament anyway. Maglor, wild, with no shame and dead brothers, with legacy crumbling around him. Noldolante, with holes.
After Third Kinslaying, Noldor didn't want to talk. Lament for Sirion didn't have any names. Clearly, songs weren't a way to go anymore, it was always about live witnesses. And so Maglor raised the twins.
Lament for Maedhros was sung repeatedly. There was no one to hear it.
Point 3: Only Maglor knows Noldolante in full. But that doesn't matter, because everyone knows the important part: the Noldolante is finished. The Star of Hope rises in the West and the story goes on. The Fall has ended.
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i kind of sat down and thought about steve and robin cooking together, and then i entered a fugue state and came out of it with a little over 1.7k words written about them being domestic besties (domesties?). so um. enjoy :)
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Robin has destroyed one of her mom’s pans again, so she’s been banished to Steve’s house.
Well, okay, let’s back up.
Robin, waking up and feeling especially productive, had taken it upon herself to make some scrambled eggs. Nice and simple, right? So she had grabbed the first spatula and pan she could find, and… scrambled those eggs! She even remembered the salt and pepper! Unfortunately, as Robin had remembered after she oh-so-lovingly scraped off the nonstick coating, metal utensils and nonstick pans didn’t really get along. Oops. Panicking, she had scraped her mess into the trash and called Steve to pick her up. So, really, she had banished herself, preemptively.
“How the hell did you even do this much damage?” Steve asks, holding up the pan. The look of befuddlement on his face is picture perfect; you could teach children how to identify emotions with that face. Robin would pinch his cheek if she wasn’t so embarrassed.
“I don’t know! I just tried to make some eggs!”
“Rob, there’s like, a solid cube of—”
“A cube is a 3D object, dingus.”
“This is a 3D object!”
“Not in that way! It’s not a cube! You mean a square!”
Steve throws up his hands, one of them brandishing the pan and waving it around. “Fine! There’s a solid square…” Steve gives Robin a look. She nods her head at him in acquiescence. “... Of coating rubbed off of this thing. Why were you punishing your eggs like that?”
Robin leans back on the counter she’s been sitting on, legs swinging. Her heel hits the cabinet once, and Steve’s eye twitches, but he says nothing. Because he loves her. But she tries to avoid doing it again, for his sake. “I had to get that yolk distributed! I was working fast, Evie, the burner was on and I wanted it evenly mixed—!”
“So why didn’t you mix it in a bowl before that?!” Steve looks so stressed. It's kind of funny, given how unimportant the subject matter is. Robin suppresses a grin.
“I forgot! I was groggy!”
Steve groans, setting the ruined pan down and rubbing a hand over his face. “... When we move in together,” he says, pointing an accusatory finger at Robin, “I am keeping my metal utensils in a locked safe.”
The warm, fuzzy feeling that always appears when Robin is reminded of their future together, their permanence in each other’s lives, it fizzes and pops in her chest like a sparkler. It’s still such a comforting feeling, even after all these months.
It doesn’t stop her from antagonizing him a little. “Like I don’t know what combination you’ll set it to,” she scoffs. “I could just break in. To spite you.”
Steve sits with that for a moment. “You’re breaking my heart, Robbie, you know that? You break my heart.” Not a real comeback. She’s won their battle of the bits, this time around.
“Well, anyway,” Steve continues, “I am really hoping you didn’t eat those eggs after seasoning them with metal filings.”
“It wasn’t— I don’t think the coating is metal. I don’t know what it is, actually, but I don’t think it falls under metal filings.”
Steve hmms. “Well, it’s not, like, plastic, right? Or silicone? That would just melt.”
“Yeah, you’re right. Well, it can’t be metal, because it loses a fight with metal spatulas.”
Steve thinks for a second. “Is… God, I mean, I guess there are other, other uh… what’s the word? For, like, not from plants?”
Robin scrunches her brow in thought. “Synthetic? Inorganic?”
Steve snaps his fingers. “Yeah, both of those work. There’s probably things that aren’t plastic or metal that can be used to cook with, but it feels weird. That there’s another category out there.”
Robin nods in agreement, and they sit in companionable silence for a moment, contemplating on the nature of cookware.
“Anyway, no, I still haven’t eaten.”
Steve curses, gets up from leaning on his kitchen island, and steps over to the cabinets where he keeps his pots and pans. “Yes, God, okay, let me feed you. Still want eggs?”
“You know it!” Robin says, and Steve gets to cooking, bustling around the kitchen with practiced motions. It’s nice to watch him cook. He gets very focused, in a way that doesn’t usually come naturally to him. Steve doesn’t usually like talking while he’s cooking, but he hums bits of songs, bobs his head to the beat.
In no time at all he has a plate of scrambled eggs and toast in front of Robin, and she hops off the counter to sit at a stool at the kitchen island. She grabs the plate from Steve and smacks a wet kiss on his cheek, making him roll his eyes with a smile and subtly wipe her spit off.
Steve takes a seat across from her, and she notices that he doesn’t have anything. Did he already eat? “Did you already eat?” Robin asks.
Steve blinks. “Oh. No, I forgot.” He has a tendency to do that; when he cooks for someone, he can get so caught up in it that he forgets to make some for himself, and is left to scramble afterwards. “I’ll make myself some eggs after you’re done.”
An idea comes to mind. An attempt at redemption, maybe. “Let me?” Robin asks.
“And let you ruin my pans? No thanks.”
A flash of genuine hurt passes through Robin, and she lets it show on her face in the form of a pout. The comment isn’t unfounded, but… “No, please! I know what I did wrong, I’ll do better this time. I’m not sleepy anymore, either.” She just wants to take care of Steve like he takes care of her. She wants to feed him eggs, goddamnit! When was the last time anyone fed him eggs? Actually, if she thinks about that one, she’ll get sad, so she stops thinking about it.
Steve can obviously see her earnestness, and he softens. And rolls his eyes. But that’s just him being Steve, so Robin loves it. “Whatever you want, Birdie. Just don’t burn them. Oh, and use garlic powder.”
So Robin practically inhales the rest of her eggs and toast (very tasty, as always) and gets to work. Steve sits at his stool at the island, trying and failing not to watch Robin like a hawk as she bumbles around his kitchen (“That’s not enough garlic powder, Rob, put some more in there, it won’t bite!” and “Use the small pan on the top shelf— no, the other small pan. No, the other—”), but she does eventually get a plate of eggs and toast in front of him. Not as good looking as the one Steve presented her, but it smelled good, and didn’t have weird inorganic pan flecks in them. Steve gives her a sloppy kiss on her cheek this time, over-exaggerating and putting way too much saliva in it, seriously, was he a dog or something? Robin BLECH’d and rubbed at her cheek, but he looked happy at his plate of food, so. Overall success, even if sacrifices had to be made.
Robin leaned on the island on her elbows, face a foot away from Steve’s as he picked up a forkful of egg. He side-eyed her.
“Do you… want some…?”
Robin waved a hand at him. “No, dingus. Eat it! Do you like it?”
“Okay, okay!” Steve rolled his eyes and ate his forkful. Robin stared at him as he chewed, looking out for emotions such as delight and wonder, but also disgust and revulsion.
She found nothing. Steve looked normal. He ate another forkful, eyeing her.
“So?” Robin prods.
“They’re eggs?” Steve says, mouth still half full.
“Swallow!” Steve rolls his eyes and does as she asks. “Nothing else? They’re just eggs?”
Steve nods, shrugging a little. Robin feels a little let-down. The first time Steve had made her eggs, it was life-changing. He put heavy cream in them. Robin doesn’t think her parents had ever bought heavy cream in their lives.
Robin guesses that it makes sense, though. This is just how he makes eggs, duh. Still, it makes her feel kind of bad, that she couldn’t give Steve the same feeling he gave her.
Steve seems to sense her inner turmoil. “They’re— it’s good, though! You did a good job. I do like it.” He seems kind of… embarrassed, but grateful. “You didn’t have to make them for me. Thanks.”
Robin bumps his shoulder with her own, and then retreats to her seat, allowing him a bit more personal space. But not too much! She kicks at his shins, and he kicks back, a smile on his face.
Cleanup is easy as Steve washes the dishes and Robin dries. It’s the small, domestic things, like this, that make her so excited to eventually live together. It’s so easy and companionable, full of chatter about band practice and Dustin’s latest science experiment. She can’t wait to graduate.
After the dishes, though, they’re both at the kitchen island again, silently staring at the pan Robin had ruined at her house earlier.
“... It seems like a waste to throw away,” Robin complains.
“I know, right? But it’s, like, useless now.”
Robin hums. “I mean, no, it’s still like… metal. I feel like we should be melting it down.”
Steve stares at her. “In what world would it be more useful melted down?”
Robin squawks, indignant at her idea being challenged. “You know what I mean!”
“No I don’t! Do you just want a, a… what’s the word? A bar of metal.”
“Ingot.”
“Do you just want an ingot hanging out on our mantelpiece?!”
“Well, I didn’t before, but now I do!”
They look at each other for only a moment before dissolving into simultaneous giggles, shared joy crackling and leaping between them.
Steve settles down first. Still grinning, he turns to put the pan at the very top of a relatively bare cupboard. “Fine, we’ll just… keep this to be melted down later.”
Robin can’t do anything to stop the twin grin on her face, not that she would ever want to. “I love you, Evie.” The words come easy, and the delight and surprise on Steve’s face is as wonderful as always. He pulls her into a hug.
“I love you too, Rob.”
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Eating Jausn with König
A Brettljausn is just about the best thing out there. I wrote this back in November when my classmates decided to talk about Easter and Osterjausn, so the formatting is different. However, I thought it would work well with the Easter post, so I decided to post it now.
“Honey, what is that?” You looked at the wrinkly, dark colored thing in front of you. It might have been a sausage, on closer inspection. The plate was well filled with all kinds of meat and cheese. On the side were horseradish, eggs and pepper of all colors. On a small plate in front of you were small, sliced cherry tomatoes, the basket next to it held bread.
“It’s a Brettljause, it’s what we eat on special occasions, such as easter. But you don’t always need one to eat it. Just enjoy the meat, dear. It’s all from regional farmers as well.” König seemed rather content while looking at the food. You knew that Austrians loved their meats and sausages, he had told you about that before and you made fun of him for it, but you didn’t think he’d take it upon himself to prepare something like that. It seemed like that must have taken a lot of work. Must have been fairly costly as well. There was bacon there, it looked fairly good.
You took a piece of bread and picked up some meat with a fork. “And what’s this?”
“That’s Geselchtes. I call it Gsöchts, though. It’s meat that you put in salt water before smoking for a few hours. Before eating, you normally cook it. Don’t worry, this one doesn’t have too much fat on it, you can just cut those pieces off.” He put some gray-ish meat on a slice of bread, adding some egg slices and topping it off with some of the grated horseradish. Its scent wafted through the air, stinging your nose a bit. You watch him take a bite out of the bread, he locks his eyes with yours once he notices. “Is something the matter?”
“No, no, everything’s alright.” You looked at the pink meat on your fork, a bit hesitant to give it a try. König seemed to like this sort of food, he likely wouldn’t have prepared it otherwise. Besides, it was classic Austrian cuisine, apparently, it was only polite of you to try it, at the very least. Taking a bite out of the meat, you ran your tongue across it to give it a taste. You could definitely taste the salt, but it wasn’t too bad. It simply added to the flavor. The meat wasn’t very chewy, but you wouldn’t exactly call it the most tender meat either. It was actually surprisingly good. Instead of putting it on your bread, you simply ate the piece whole before picking up the same thing König had. “And what’s this?”
“Schweinsbratn.” He didn’t even hesitate to gobble up his bread, already on his second one. This time he put some bacon on it with cheese. Eggs and horseradish weren’t missing this time either. One of the tomato slices was lifted off the plate and put on his instead.
You followed his example and put two slices of the meat on your bread, topping it off the same way as him. That meat wasn’t too bad actually either, it was obvious that it was made of pork. With the horseradish being very fresh it was only natural for it to be spicy still. It didn’t disappoint, the taste somewhat reminding you of wasabi, even if your eyes started watering a bit. Your bread was gone soon enough and you opted for another one. There was no telling if König’s next one was his third or fourth one already.
“So, Schatzi.” He prepared another one. “Is it good? Do you like it?”
“Oh, it actually is. It’s pretty good.” Taking some of the red pepper, you put it on your bread with Geselchtem, gulping down a few of the tomatoes. You were sort of surprised this stuff didn’t come with a salad as well.
By the time you were on your third bread, the plate was already pretty empty, with König having eaten quite a lot. He’s always had a rather big appetite, and for that you were grateful, there was no way you could have eaten all of that on your own. You hadn’t tried the dark, cut up sausage yet. Of course, you had no idea what that was either. “What’s this? Sausage?”
König quickly chewed the food in his mouth before swallowing it down. “Yes, that’s Hoatwiastl. Hartwürstel, I suppose. As the name suggests, it’s a hard sausage. It’s very good, though, you have to try it.”
It was rather hard indeed, you were glad it was cut up into smaller slices. Biting into it whole would be another other ordeal. It was too small to put on bread, so you ate it along with it. Once done, you were completely full, incapable of eating another bite. There were still pieces of meat and cheese left on the plate, it was unbelievable. König didn’t seem affected at all, he simply got up and started putting everything away before returning with a bottle. If you had to take an educated guess then there’s a chance “Wein” might have been the German word for “wine”. “Would you like a Spritzer? It’s essentially wine mixed with soda.”
“Is that really necessary? Do we really need to drink too?”
He chuckled a bit. “It’s a big part of our culture. Alternatively, I can offer you some Gösser or Puntigamer.” With an amused expression, he watched you weigh your options. You didn’t know what either of those things were, probably some sort of beer, thus making you better off with the wine, probably. König even got the two of you some wine glasses. They were fancy looking, but you weren’t sure if you could actually take a sip of that.
He really just put mineral water into some wine, drinking it slowly. With a watchful eye, he almost expected you to take after him, which you did eventually. It tasted exactly the way you’d imagine, sparkly wine with a bit less flavor. Not the worst you’ve ever had. The things you did to make your man happy.
You continued to eat for another few minutes, this time in silence, for the most part. The plate was certainly full at the beginning, you couldn’t believe your eyes when most of it was gone. Still, despite the culture being rather meat heavy, you had to admit, it was pretty good. However, it was very filling. You couldn’t eat another slice of bread, opting for the meat and sausage instead, eating some slices of cheese along with them. Maybe some mayonnaise would have been good with it as well, but you didn’t want to make the suggestion in case König didn’t like it.
After wiping his mouth with a paper towel, he sat back, letting out a content sigh while holding his tummy. Even he seemed to be rather full after the copious amounts of meat he had eaten. Not like you weren’t, however. He took another sip of his Spritzer before putting the plates away, with you helping him out a bit, naturally.
“Thank you for trying some of my food, I do appreciate it. Did you like it?” Cleaning the plates with a sponge, his focus was on getting the last few crumbs off it so he could put it in the dishwasher. You popped one last cherry tomato in your mouth before handing him another plate, giving him a hum of approval.
“Yeah, it was pretty good, but could we maybe eat something less meaty next time? This was quite a lot.”
“Don’t worry, Schatzi, next time we can eat Kasnudeln. They’re also very delicious!”
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