#Maglor

[albuum]

- Подержи

Неосторожный жест Маглора

- Hold it

Maglor's careless gesture

[eloquentsisyphianturmoil]

You can’t tell me the idea of Curvo going ‘shit I have feelings for this woman that must mean I’m in love, gotta get married then’ isn’t 100% accurate.

[thesummerestsolstice]

Unwritten Fics game

I was tagged by @runawaymun to talk about all my as-of-yet unwritten fic ideas! I have many, many of them. Here are a few. Feel free to send me asks about any of them, or to tell me which ones you'd most like to read in the tags!

Earendil-drinks-the-Silmail-AU: see Tumblr post here. Elwing gives Earendil the Silmaril's light to try and heal him from an illness, and both he (and later E&E) now have the light of the Silmaril within them. This causes problems for the Oath of Feanor. Can't decide whether to make it serious and heartbreaking or extremely silly.

Immortal Elros AU: definitely need to post about this one. In which Elros sees the mortals who will become the people of Numenor, loves them, and decides the best way to help them is to be immortal, to protect their descendants and maintain their legacy long after they're gone. He becomes Numenor's beloved guardian, caring for it's people for centuries. This all goes pretty well until Tar-Mairon shows up on the island.

Faustian Bargain AU: when both Gil-Galad and Celebrimbor are captured during Eregion's fall, Elrond makes a dangerous deal with Sauron to get them back. In exchange for their release, Elrond offers to become Sauron's captive, and to help him in his efforts to reach the Void and free Morgoth. Elrond, of course, has other plans. So do the now-free (and incredibly worried) Gil Galad and Celebrimbor.

Unexpected Problems: see Tumblr posts here and here. All about the issues Elrond runs into in Valinor– from people debating about whether or not he counts as an Ainur to Noldor being scandalized that he only wears a couple pounds of jewelry. Also his repeated attempts to stop Galadriel and Bilbo from completely destroying Valinorian society.

The Love of a Parent: Elrond's parents continue to look out for him, whether from beyond the circles of the world or from the stars above. Probably largely outsider POV. A chance for more eldritchry.

On Estel: In which Earendil goes into the void, searching for Maeglin's lost spirit. Slight AU in the sense that it's very Maeglin sympathetic, and has him having a good familial relationship with Turgon, Idril, and Earendil.

Ten Little Soldier Boys: my take on who Finrod's faithful ten were, why they were so loyal, and the moments they each decided they would give anything to keep Finrod safe. OC heavy but very dear to my heart.

Misfits, Outcasts, and other Characters of Ill-Repute: a series of oneshots about the various people who end up in Rivendell and how they got there. Includes canon characters (Glorfindel, Erestor, Lindir, etc.) and some OCs (including an old Feanorian diehard and one of Thingol's bodyguards, and, of course, Garthaglir the Library Orc)

No pressure, but I'm going to second Runawaymun's tagging of @jaz-the-bard (I don't think they've done the game yet but I might've missed it on their blog)

[imakemywings]

Perspective

AO3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What is that, Grandfather?”

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

[seaside-wanderer]

do you ever think about how fucked up some (most) family trees are in the silm (and lotr especially since it's a remnant) like.

finarfin is celeborn's father in law, and elladan, elrohir, and arwen's great-grandfather. the twins who do nothing all day but hunt orcs endangering the royal family (you go kids! die young and/or lose a hand and/or get tortured by orcs and/or by your own kin and/or), can claim that fëanor is their great-great-uncle or something? and wouldn't he be PROUD, and wouldn't he remember that their grandfather is eärendil, and how he's also, somehow, in addition to great-great-uncle, their adopted great-grandfather through his sons?

like. I don't think someone else but elladan, elrohir, and arwen could claim that family tree. fëanor, fingolfin, and finarfin, by either adoption or blood, or both.

and it only gets worse with aragorn and arwen's children, I mean, but I refuse to fry my brain further

[lamemaster]

Loving the Maelstrom

Pairing: Maedhros x Reader

Genre: Fluff

Summary: Perks of marrying a writer. Nelyafinwe pov.

AN: Istg I get the most random ideas while working out.

Curvo bounced the fussing Tyelpe in his arms, his brow furrowed in concern. "What's wrong with her?" he asked, his voice laced with worry.

Maitimo sighed for the what felt like the hundredth time that evening. He glanced across the room at you, your face lit by the flickering firelight. A vicious smirk was etched upon your lips, your eyes gleaming with an unsettling intensity as you stared into some unseen distance. "She's writing a villainess," he muttered under his breath, more to himself than anyone else.

The murmur seemed to quench everyone's curiosity, at least momentarily. Except for Tyelkormo, who perked up at the revelation. "A villainess?" he echoed, his eyes wide with fascination. "Is that why Kano's been playing such… ominous tunes lately?" he asked, directing his question towards a very tired-looking Nelyafinwe.

Before Nelyafinwe could muster a reply, Moryo, ever the impatient one, interjected. "Makalaure, for the love of Illuvatar, can we please have a normal tune?" he pleaded, his voice laced with exasperation

Both you and Kano paused for a fleeting second. Your minds snapped into the present world before grinning widely and Kano launched into another melancholy somber tune. This time, accompanied by your booming evil laughter. 

Such perhaps was the fate of loving a writer. He had known it well as Kano’s brother. A songwriter and musician's angst was familiar to Maitimo. And yours was similar yet, so achingly different.

Where Kano’s music seldom bled into his life, your words lingered in a pervasive presence. The angst of separated lovers, fervor of a brewing war, or the grit of a dwindling hero, you were lost in your worlds even before Maitimo met you. 

And when he did meet you, he also met your worlds. Gay, morose, bleak, grand, your worlds were his now. Your character settled into his thoughts. And sometimes, they carried a part of him or his family. Small fragments of your life that bled into your worlds. 

He liked your never-ending ramblings about a crooked character or exceptionally hard-to-write down plot. And he witnessed your fall into the world who possessed your mind and heart. 

Despite the differences in art, you and Kano were inseparable in the creation of art. His tunes often rang out from your and Maitimo’s home as you scribbled away another tale. While Kano’s music was given a direction of melodies from the stories you wove into the tunes he tinkered around with. 

And this was the rare occasion where both you and his brother were taken by a story so bewitching that from the strums of Kano’s harp to the rouge of your lips- all was tainted with a lingering shade of sinister. 

It had been a week since your robes had been swapped for uncanny dark silken gowns, very much not your usual choice of color, your nails were painted a hue darker almost bloodlike. Even the decor of your study had shifted ambiance similar to that of the Maiar of Namo.

On several occasions, Maitimo had seen you stir your dinner with a smile so venomous that he sniffed his food twice before eating it. 

You donned a gait so seductive that he, almost was tempted to discard the weekly family dinner with his parents. Yet, despite the unease that gnawed at him, Maitimo couldn't deny the jolt of excitement that shot through him when your newly painted nails, tipped with a crimson that seemed to mock innocence, brushed against his arm.

“I just hope sister-in-law and Kano are not going down the Mairon route of life.” Curufin’s words brought Maitimo back to the present. 

The dinner had ended surprisingly well. Kano’s company had perhaps allowed you to shed the world that captivated you these days for a few moments. You were back to your normal self smiling by his side. Helping his mother and brothers set up the dinner table as twins climbed all over Maitimo.

It was only later in the night when his breath shuddered. He gasped as your lips ghosted over his ears. Filthy words spoken without a care of the oddly lonely alley on the way back to your home. Words so daringly sacrilegious that they would have sent a Vanya to the halls of Irmo. 

Maitimo however, was nothing if not immune to the intricacies of your play and definitely not a faint-hearted Vanya. Pulling you closer in his arms, he indulged your little world. Tracing the shape of your lips with his fingers, he kissed you with a wicked smile. 

Nelyafinwe loved every part of you. Even the fucking crazy ones. 

(This one definitely more than the angsty lovers)

[adrianright]

A little headcanon that Elrond identified more as a Feanorian and a son/ward of Maglor. In the current events of The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings, Elrond wears the feanorian star as a pendant, but under his clothes. He also has an old circlet dating back to the Years of the tree that was given to him by Maedhros, the center piece was a feanorian star with a red gem in the center.

[sallysavestheday]

Throwback Thursday!

I've been in a Maglor mood this week, so here's a little one-two tragedy-comedy punch of him from September 2022.

From 4'33":

His great works are lost to him, after the fall, after his long, dreamlike submersion. For what felt an endless time, he floated like waterweed at Ossë’s whim, his body just one more strange calcified structure in Uinen’s halls. But the sea spat him out, eventually, the cool depths fundamentally unwelcoming to one who has touched fire.

And the B side (Avant Garde):

“I’m here, if here is anywhere, really.” Makalaurë is puddled on the floor in a shadowy alcove off the main walkway, blinking miserably up at Findaráto from within a welter of scarlet robes. His jeweled circlet is askew, and his braids have begun to unravel. The smoky eyes he affects for triumphant premieres have made their way damply down to his chin, and he reeks of 100-proof despair.

Something for everyone! Enjoy :)

@a-tehta @thescrapwitch @starspray @melestasflight @tilion-writes feel like sharing something from your dustier old parchment piles? Show a little love for those fics that are old.

[ylieke]

[anattmar]

[Welcome to the soldier side,

Where there's no one here but me]

[sa-d-b-eep]

hide and seek

[tari-cua]

Maedhros and Maglor.

"pride, jealousy and harp" 😂😂😂

[thesummerestsolstice]

I love it when Elrond is portrayed as someone who is a little bit incomprehensible to most of the elves at first. Not even just because he's a half-elf, but because he reminds them all of so many other people, and that layering can be kind of jarring.

He sings beautifully, with a voice that sounds like no elf or man, and it reminds many of the Sindar of Luthien. It reminds some of the Noldor of someone else, another singer with raven-dark hair and starry gray eyes.

The braids he does his hair in– and he always keeps it braided at first, because letting it run loose is another thing that makes people whisper of Luthien– are in the traditional Noldor style. The survivors of Gondolin love that; Turgon always wore his hair in classical styles too. The other part of the House of Finwe that clung to traditional braids goes unmentioned. But everyone knows.

And he was clearly taught about court manners; taught to be gracious and charming, and a very good listener. The elf who could have taught Elrond those things is usually skipped over entirely, in favor of those reminiscing about Idril's graceful poise or Melian's endless patience.

He looks very much like Luthien, but there is a particular Finwean sharpness in his facial structure; something that makes him look a lot like Fingolfin, as well. Fingolfin looked very much like his father. And his older brother.

His smile is just like Earendil's (whose smile is just like Tuor's), and his strange, birdlike laugh is from Elwing. He fights and writes with his left hand– but then, so did Earendil, because while all elves are right-handed, not all humans or half-elves are. He eats no meat– just like Beren, they say, but the way Elrond tells it the choice had nothing to do with that history. There is ainuric power in him and something very human in the set of his shoulders. The flowers grow around any place he stays long enough. He gets sick in a way no elf, and certainly no maia, ever would. His accent is odd, and archaic, and changes noticeably when he's too tired to obscure it. His mannerisms are a mixture of about twelve people, almost all of whom are dead, and several of whom are not spoken of by the time he shows up in Gil-Galad's camp.

And the reflections of Elrond unsettle a lot of people; because one moment they see a fallen hero or loved one, and the next they see the person that took them. Or perhaps someone else, that they never knew at all. There is reverence and fear and uncertainty. It's messy.

Elrond himself is coming to peace with this by the War of Wrath. There is love in carrying the parts of your ancestors with you, even when they aren't around any more. And he knows better than anyone that he is always himself, first and foremost. Still, it takes everyone else a while to stop seeing a ghost and start seeing Elrond.

[mandhos]

[aamuusva]

Kinslayer

[chechula]

I spend a day drawing&drinking tea with @yonetee and then six hours on the train. I had a lot of time doodling weird over-rendered textures. So this image... happens to be.

For me, the most heartbreaking scene of Silmarillion: Maedhros and Maglor in the camp of Valar x_x