#Mahanaxar

[enanoakd]

Brand identity. Graphic system. Graphic production

Mahanaxar is a fictitious event aimed at worldbuilding.

Worldbuilding is the name given to the process of building an imaginary world, commonly associated with a fictional universe. Creating an imaginary world that has coherent qualities such as its own history, geography, or ecology is a crucial mission for many science fiction or fantasy writers. The worldbuilding process also usually includes the creation of other elements such as maps or drawings of its geography, elements of its history and people or beings that populate the created world.

These worlds can enrich the background of works of fiction, and it is not uncommon for authors to review and modify their creations while writing the book they are associated with. Imaginary worlds can be created for personal enjoyment and mental exercise, or for a specific creative activity, such as the creation of novels, video games, or role-playing games.

The development of the event includes activities such as: character creation workshop, 3D impressions of miniatures, live role-playing games, cycles of talks, background music, testing of video games and role-playing game systems, sale of finished products (novels, paintings, drawings and games), and competitions.

The general idea is that each creator can make contacts, take inspiration, associate with people for a common idea and be able to sell their product.

[ceescedasticity]

Meet the Rivers of Beleriand!

After some recuperation time following their ordeals, they've put on fána and come to Aman to meet old friends and seek new homes in the Blessed Realm! They're waiting on some decisions of the Valar at Mahanaxar, but after someone accidentally washed out a road after a slap-fight with Eönwë on the Sauron subject in the meantime they are staying at the Palace of Ingwë in Valmar! Why Ingwë agreed with the Valar that the flooding would be less of an issue there is a fascinating question Queen Ilwen would love an answer to.

Meet the Rivers! (Interviewer: Ingwion Ingsuilo Ingwion, Fourth Prince of the Vanyar)

[Part One: Adurant, Esgalduin, Nenning]

Adurant

Of the Seven Rivers of Ossiriand and Dor Firn-i-Guinar

Tributary of great Gelion

Likes: Trees, pereldar, music

Dislikes: Orcs, getting pulled into the Sea when the subcontinent collapses even though your spring in the mountains is actually still there

Who are you most hoping to meet in Aman? "Dior! And Denethor — of the Nandor — I'd like to see him again, but Dior was my baby. —The other Ingwion said he'd sent for him. I hope he gets here soon."

What are you looking for in your new location? "I'm not sure! Somewhere with Dior or my Laegrim would be nice, but! I think I am uniquely qualified to be somewhere around Mandos!"

Would you like to say anything about the fána you chose? "It's reminiscent of a few of my favorite people, but I'm not making a statement. But I do think I'm doing better than average at not dripping on your nice carpets!"

What else would you like people to know about you? "Um, I'm not sure how much else there is to say about me! I was pretty lucky, all told — well, all of us in Ossiriand were lucky, and I was luckiest. My people got a lot of raids later on but it didn't touch me. I really could have stayed in Middle-earth, but… obviously things didn't turn out that way."

Esgalduin

Of Doriath, born of the Shadowy Spring

Tributary of great Sirion

Likes: Beeches, Holly, Grey-elves, Melian

Dislikes: Naugrim, Kinslayers, Men Invaders, dragons, spiders

Who are you most hoping to meet in Aman? "Melian most of all. We were close friends, I've missed her a lot. Also Elu, young Dior and Nimloth — Elmo and Galadhon — I have many, many people here. But I meant to go see Melian in Lórien immediately, except there were reportedly concerns about the roads."

What are you looking for in your new location? "I would like to dwell with my Grey-Elves — ideally with Elu and Melian as their King and Queen. If Melian needs me more than the Grey-Elves and means to stay in Lórien that is also an option, but I would hope she can anticipate Elu's return."

Would you like to say anything about the fána you chose? "It's modeled on Melian's fána, yes, except for the hair."

What else would you like people to know about you? "I have a tributary you won't hear much about — they fall from the mountains directly into Nan Dungortheb, and it… went badly for them, from quite early on. Their proper name is Nenbrass, though I'm afraid my people often said Esgalfuin. They have… some resentments. I'm hoping people will be understanding."

Nenning

Of Eglarest in the Falas

Likes: the Sea, Falathrim, ships, Noldor

Dislikes: Orcs, erosion, poison

Who are you most hoping to meet in Aman? "Many of my people are here, of course. And Brithon and I are both very curious about these Western Lindar. Though if I meet any individuals who objected to sending aid we will have words."

What are you looking for in your new location? "East of the Pelóri and directly into the Sea, definitely, though that may end up with less length than I'd prefer. I understand my people here have a settlement of their own, and either Brithon or I will pass by there. The other of us might go by this Swanhaven."

Would you like to say anything about the fána you chose? "I don't think there's much to say."

What else would you like people to know about you? "We were overrun and used as roads to attack our people. It was… distressing. But after we had nothing left to protect, when things continued to worsen — both of us, eventually, consigned ourselves to the Sea, and after that it was over. That wasn't a route available to to tributaries, and Sirion… wouldn't. —Also I apologize for the water. It should be less brackish now."

[pearlescentpearl]

I'd love to hear more about doomed if you do!!

-@outofangband

Okay! So, you know how the silms are hallowed against the touch of mortals, but Beren could hold one anyway because he was so strongly driven by fate? And because of fate/Doom the silm 'suffers' his touch? (literally, the word choice is 'suffered') But he couldn't take the other two because it wasn't their Doom so the knife Angrist snapped.

So I thought, if such improbability can happen around the silms for the purpose of seeking their Dooms/fate, what if we turned that up to 11 from their start and dragged the Fëanorians along in their wake?

So now you have one jewel that keeps trying to drag Maedhros into the nearest fire, one jewel Maglor is being driven mad by trying to find the right bit of coastline to chuck it, and one jewel the other five feel compelled to herd to Mahanaxar but frustratingly can't find the right person to hold the dang thing.

And this is all happening shortly after Fëanor made the silmarils so he's not yet obsessing over them.

Here, have a snippet!

Fëanáro leaps the table, one more body between his son and another nasty burn, and cups Nelyafinwë’s face. His gaze is clouded and far away. “Talk to me, yonya, why are you doing this?”

No response. Not even recognition.

Fëanáro tries to pry the jewel from his son’s fist and only succeeds in eliciting a furious snarl. He reels back, almost more confused by the rude display of temper than he is apprehensive of it being turned on him. So proud is his eldest of his cool, self-control; he wouldn’t dare be so unseemly to his own father. But he falters only a heartbeat, surging forward again to grab Nelyafinwë, seeking for his mind, so familiar and beloved, with his own.

The sound of crackling flame slams against his mind, overwhelming and beckoning and singing to him and surely this is some curse of Irmo’s to desire to be enveloped in its searing warmth down to his bones. No, deeper than his bones. A fëa deep yearning that drowned out such pitiful things as hröa-bound self-preservation—

But this is not Fëanáro’s yearning. He will not be ruled by it.

Why do you seek the flame?

And Nelyafinwë, mindlessly, replies with tumbled series of emotions and disjointed images that best translate as, that’s where I’m supposed to be. Where ‘I’ is indistinguishable from the Silmaril.

In response, Fëanáro flares his own fiery spirit, stokes it hot, flooding the parent bond between them. I am the brightest, hottest fire in this room, he tells him. Come to me.

And his son does. Stepping into his arms, Silmaril pressed insistently to his chest, his son finally stops fighting with a desperate shudder. 

Nelyo, yonya, Fëanáro probes gently, as steady as he can make himself in a mind awhirl with fire. Do you feel that I am here? I am real. The fire is not. Can you hear me? Reach for me, yonya. I know you can.

It takes many more minutes of coaxing, of gently plucking at the foreign desire flooding Nelyafinwë’s mind for his son to find his foothold, to separate self from not-self.

The Silmaril falls to the floor.

[dalliansss]

Findekano surveys his reflection on the mirror. A very familiar face looks back at him – not thoroughly recognizable because of the fracturing scar that traverses the said face diagonally, akin to a river with silver water, crossing the landscape of his face, beginning from the right temple, cutting across his right eye, then across his nose, his left cheek, then all the way toward his left jaw. The exact place where this scar cuts his eyebrow is a barren piece of skin; no hair has regrown there, and nothing will, ever. The eye itself, which had been gray-blue, is milky-white, not completely blind, but not restored with perfect vision either. It can still see, but for shadows – and when he had first come out of the Halls of the Awaiting, Anaire his Amil had been rightly distressed, and even petitioned to the Valar sitting at Mahanaxar to ‘put him back to rights, as someone healed should not look damaged’. But Namo never took Findekano back into the halls for a ‘repair’, considering he is no tool, nor broken ornament. 

And anyway, Findek– Fingon would not have chosen an undamaged hroa other than this one. Why his Amil would like him back untouched and smooth he does not understand. 

He finishes dressing. These days he does not braid his hair into its age-old familiar plaits twined with gold; instead he lets loose all the gorgeous and thick curls of his black hair, to hang until his bottom, unbound. It lets him disappear into a crowd easier, this new way of presenting himself to the public. If his scarred face does not otherwise deter the rudely curious, then by looking like a generic Noldo or Sinda, he can make a quick escape to avoid unwanted questions and prying. 

Fingon sets out from his house (his house, his old one, he had returned to as soon as his hroa stabilized; as soon as he could feed and bathe himself and not rely on his mother and the scores of attendants she hired for him), smoothing down his tunic. These days he has forsaken the blue and silver he had been known for before the Exile, at Beleriand. Colors of his father’s house. These days he wears soft browns, dark grays, whites. Something different. 

He turns now to the path toward the royal palace in Tirion, and for a moment he pauses on the street to admire the beacon of Mindon Eldalieva. He wonders if the builders are anywhere near finishing the house he has commissioned for himself, away from Tirion – because like countless others Re-embodied like him, Fingon felt it wrong to be returning to Tirion, and be expected to pick up the threads of an old life. He cannot do that. Who can do that, in the first place? Not him. 

Ingoldo, who had Re-embodied first among all the exiled Noldor, could not do it. Fingon resumes walking and he pauses again just before the palace, where the ruins of a statue are left, and nothing remains of it except the legs. It is the only eyesore in Tirion – the only destroyed sculpture there. It had been Ingoldo’s statue, standing proud and unmarred, extending his hand in victory, his blank face looking ahead. Fingon had only heard the stories, but what he knew was this: Ingoldo had hated that statue, and took a sledgehammer to it, bashing it down, destroying it, and the citizens of Tirion could only look on in horror and pity, thinking their crown prince had gone mad.

After that, Ingoldo left Tirion, and nobody knew where he went.

Fingon walks onward, thinking vaguely: but who can blame Ingoldo?

==

Council is not the same. The people who sit by the king’s table these days are lords and ladies of the Noldor who are Arafinwe’s people; many of them never left Aman. Fingon is unsure why he is invited to sit in these sessions; he was only king in Beleriand, and upon Re-embodiment, his title was forfeit. Yet he still comes, because Arafinwe looks to him to help in matters of accommodation: how to welcome the returning Noldor, Re-embodied or Returned or, in the very rare cases, Reborn. Fingon could only offer so much help; and even then mostly pertaining to his host, which remained with him to the end. He cannot answer for the Nargothrondrim, or the Gondolindrim – and Eru forbid, the Feanorian people. 

He sits at the far end of the table, Fingon. He is silent during these sessions, only taking down personal notes, content to listen. The lords and ladies have adjusted to his presence, though many still shoot him looks – looks which they think he cannot sense, nor perceive. There is always a varying degree of pity in their glances; if not pity, then shock, then horror. 

He knows what they think of him: not healed enough; a terrible death; not healed enough, why was he let out? Are we going to expect more like him?

They had their answer a few years prior, where more Eldar were released from Mandos: many were allowed to Re-embody with scars and injuries intact. But there were the very few who were returned flawless, as was in Maedhros’s case – he stumbled out of Mandos unscarred, with both hands, and his skin was smooth and untouched. Aikanar, Aegnor– Egg – had returned in pretty much the same way. No scars. Smooth. Unmarred and perfect. Angrod has returned like that as well. On the contrary, Curufin, Celegorm and Caranthir – they all retained their scars. Curufin had a dark necklace of scar tissue around his neck: a decapitation. Celegorm had many starburst scars of arrows, and two gruesome explosions of scar tissue on his back and across his gut. Caranthir had a big, diagonal scar down his back, and a bald, scarred patch near his nape, which could be concealed by his long hair, but it was there, and on that patch of scar tissue, no hair will ever regrow again.

No questions were posed onto Fingon today. Council ends, and the lords and ladies pile out, and he remains seated, completing his notes. He supposes Ingoldo– Finrod, was supposed to be the one to do this, to answer for the needs of the returning exiles, but Finrod had long absconded, escaped Tirion. Fingon knew for a fact that Arafinwe tried and tried, but whatever royal summon Tirion sent never reached its intended recipient, or else Finrod threw them straight into the fire, never bothering to read the contents.

==

Entulesse is the unofficial name that town by the foot of the Pelori has been given, both by its inhabitants and the elves that never left Aman. At first a hamlet that sprung up like a mushroom in the wild, it blossomed into a village, then a hamlet, then a town as more were Re-embodied and sailed back. The inhabitants were mostly Noldor, as the greater population of the Sindar chose to reside in Eressea, though a handful dared to sail into Valinor completely and then eventually found their way to Entulesse. 

Fingon finds Finrod by the market, his pretty nose crumpled as he inspects some bushels of apples. He stands beside his cousin and picks up an apple with a gloved hand, making Finrod exclaim a surprised Ai! Which was followed by a laugh, and a hug. Fingon returns that hug, squeezing the golden-radiant elf. His extremities are not scarred, Finrod. But Fingon knew he was lucky; his scars could be hidden by clothing.

After Finrod’s business in town is tended to, they return to his homestead together. Maedhros is already there, feeding some ducks and chickens. He straightens up, and under the daylight, his red hair glints like a thousand rubies. 

“Look what I found at Entelusse!” Finrod beams as they get down from his wagon. “A lost Finno!”

“Where is the usual companion? Where is Egg?” Maedhros asks with a smile as he sets aside his emptied bucket of feed.

“Egg went to Eressea,” Fingon replies as he approaches his cousin and hugs him briefly. “He will not be back until next season I think.”

“And he let you leave him? Impossible.”

“Contrary to common belief, we do things in separate ways now and then.”

==

Supper was lovely. Mulled wine was served, and the fire at Finrod’s hearth was warm and welcoming. At some point, peering into it, Fingon confirms that the royal summons from Tirion are tossed straight into it– there were still there the remnants of the tie used by the King – the same small, thin rope Finwe used, long ago – smoldering by the log. He says nothing of it. 

After supper, and amid cups of wine, they play a card game learned in Beleriand. Finrod floors him and Maedhros each time, such that there comes a point where Fingon exclaims, “What are you, a Balrog?!” to which Finrod only laughs and laughs.

==

The three of them eventually join a few of the ornery goats at Finrod’s rooftop. They are all tipsy, and Fingon feels warm in the cheeks as they pass the bottle of wine between themselves, taking a sip each. The great billy goat is resting by the biggest chimney and Maedhros is using it as a pillow. For once, the menace of an animal is cooperative and tolerating Maedhros. 

As the hours pass and as they watch, sunrise slowly unfurls from the east, bathing the world first in purple, then lavender, then pink, then rose – then everywhere, gold, gold, gold.

Fingon closes his eyes against the gentle light, and he both wants to smile and weep at the same time. 

“I think we should sail,” comes Finrod’s voice. “Who’s with me?”

“Sail where?” Fingon asks, opening his eyes.

“Sail back east, of course,” Finrod says, and he sits there, all golden-radiant, hugging his knees, and his gaze shifts from Maedhros to Fingon. “Oh come now, do not tell me you will both remain here until Dagor Dagorath? Let us sail -- and be the first Eldar to return to Cuivienen, or make it all the way to the Gates of Morning!”

“And how do you suppose we will find the Straight Road back to the east?” Maedhros laughs, but he is sitting back up now, unaware the billy goat is sniffing at the ends of his red hair. 

“Come now, Nelyo. It’s us three. Nothing is impossible,” Finrod grins.

“I should tell Egg,” says Fingon. “He’ll go with us.”

“Put him to use,” says Maedhros. “Tell him to look for a nice coastal place where we can build and provision a boat undisturbed and undiscovered.”

The three of them exchange mischievous looks. Fingon feels his blood slowly start to warm, then run hot, and excitement courses through him again, spurred on by the promise of a proper return.

[sweetearthandnorthernsky]

morinel's ridiculous time travel au – the fic

Part Three; in which arrangements are made part 1 | part 2 | part 3 |

Tirion is very far from Mahanaxar, and Maeglin points out – rightly – that they have no idea how to ask the Valar, not really, and definitely not without causing panic.

Finduilas concedes, but insists they need to ask eventually.

“Either way,” Morinel says. “I think we shall need food, sooner or later.”

The others readily agree, though Finduilas frowns at the blood on her tunic. 

There is a problem with the current plan. 

Said problem is – none of them have the following: Money. Clothes. No weapons, but that is to be expected (though Morinel is rather put out she doesn’t have her runes but she makes her peace with it reluctantly.)

They each have one (1) pocket trinket

Maeglin has a little wooden sparrow, Finduilas has a tiny silver bell, and Morinel has her mithril thread.

Still, no clothes.

But–

Maeglin is wearing a cloak, and they all supposed that’s better than nothing although the hem is torn in several places. It covers the stain on Finduilas’ dress well enough at least.

They dust the grass from their clothes and wander down into Tirion.

As they follow the winding path, their priorities are discussed: occupation/lodging, gear/clothes, food, and if they can get it, transportation.

None of the three of them have particularly high hopes, but those are quickly buried beneath Tirion's life force, which is bustling with Noldor, smithying and glassblowing and building and laughing and singing — everywhere are songs!  — bright and shining and loud. 

They get... several strange looks as they pass people, and that must be because none of them have Treelight in their eyes yet -- or at all, she's not sure if that will happen or if it does, when.

(That will be an interesting explanation if/when she returns to the third age.)

She’s not sure what the lady they speak with regarding procuring lodging thinks of them at first because she squints at them, and studies them in silence for a while.

The lady speaks Quenya slowly, as if trying to make sure that she is heard clearly, and after a few moments, Morinel guesses that she thinks they're Sindarin Returned.

If Idhrin was here, she would think this is incredibly funny.

But Idhrin is not here, and neither are the rest of her friends, so Morinel bears it.

She asks where she may find the Weavers' Guild, and Finduilas asks about the Sculptors' Guild and to no one's surprise, Maeglin asks about the Smiths' Guild.

The lady eyes them with dubious intent, but answers them anyway. Thankfully, all three are roughly close to each other, near the center of the city. Less thankfully, they're all very close to the Palace, which gives them a much higher chance of running into family members much sooner than any of them would prefer.

The lady adds that the guilds are looking for apprentices -- and all three of them wince.

Starting as apprentices is ... less than ideal.

a) the wage -- and this is the main point, they need to afford lodging and quickly, b) Morinel knows that her own skill is much higher, and assumes it is the same for the other two and c) the time it will take to work up to journeymen level is... daunting and d) they don't know how much time they have.

They leave the wayhouse behind.

"You sculpt?" Morinel asks Finduilas and she shrugs.

"It is something I find joy in, yes."

Morinel would be lying if she said she was nervous about the prospects of visiting the Smiths' guild, but she shakes her head.

“Let’s go,” says Maeglin, “The sooner we get this over with, the better.”

And Morinel agrees heartily.

[tanoraqui]

Thank you @tolkien-feels for reminding me about Six Sentence Sunday. I just finished my longfic (!!!!), so here’s a (7-sentence) snippet in celebration!

Scholars, rulers, and common forest elves who hadn’t set foot in a building in six thousand years all came, and spoke. Every member of the House of Finwë came, and elves who’d just Sailed from the Sunrise Lands and hadn’t heard of Fëanor until they arrived in Avallonë. Those slain at Alqualondë, Doriath, Sirion, and the last, quick fight in the Valinorian warcamp came, and the long-bereaved, and they all spoke.

Celechwes and Fingon debated between themselves. They fought. They wept in each other’s arms. 

Then they borrowed Turgon’s third-best light projector (the first two being occupied with architectural projects) and presented the Mahanaxar with the most practical, reassuring, and eminently well-reasoned argument anyone had ever seen.

[crownlessliestheking]

Maedhros and Húrin for the ask game

-@outofangband

@outofangband Thanks for the ask! And some v excellent picks, too.

For Maedhros-

Sexuality headcanon: He's not straight, I can say that definitively. I'm really into grey-romantic & grey-ace Maedhros, but also bi Maedhros but also gay Maedhros -- basically just queer Mae in any iterations will have me in its grips.

Gender headcanon: Oh, man. I think of the few Maedhros-centric fics I've written, I have written him as cis, but trans Maedhros is SO good.

A ship I have: I feel like Russingon is obvious but I tend to be a little picky about it? Maedhros/Fingolfin is sort of a guilty pleasure of mine. I think their canonical dynamic is so interesting, it makes me really want to put them in Other Situations.

A BROTP: Ok I am discounting Maedhros' literal brothers here, so...Also Maedhros & Fingolfin, to be honest. I like the dynamic! Plus they both have the entire 'I'm the reasonable one' aura except it's a thin veneer over the most feral motherfucker you've ever seen. Maedhro/Azaghal is a close second, though.

A NOTP: I actually don't think I have one? Certain iterations of Russingon aren't really my thing but that's not really...the ship as a whole.

A random headcanon: I think I've spoken about this a little on twitter, but Maedhros as THE hottest chaperone for Tirion Model Mahanaxar is near and dear to my heart. He's like...the village two wheeled device when it comes to first crushes in Valinor, and he bears it fairly gracefully (once he's old enough that it stops going to his head.) Especially when it's his brothers' friends.

General opinion: Positive! I like him, I think he's very interesting and tragic, and that there's a lot of crunch to sink your teeth into for him.

Hurin:

Sexuality headcanon: Oh, demisexual 100%.

Gender headcanon: I have not thought too much about it but I think like...GNC male or genderfluid Hurin is something I would definitely love to see (and will be looking for in the future.)

A ship: Hurin/Morwen, because I love Morwen, but there's some juice to Hurin/Morgoth.

BROTP: Turgon & Hurin, given Turgon's whole thing in the Fall of Gondolin I think it's very interesting how he welcomes Hurin and his brother. I mean, yeah, they swear oaths of secrecy before they leave, but still.

NOTP: Don't really like Hurin/Sauron. Can't say why as I've never consumed it.

A random headcanon: This man is like an octopus when it comes to sleep. Morwen wakes up and she has to fight a battle every single morning to get out of bed (and sometimes she just sleeps in). It's like he sprouts 4 extra limbs just to hold her. He also hogs the blankets.

General opinion: I don't know too much about him, really, but Hurin's entire story hurts my heart.

[atanes-universe]

Sav´s Universe

First page/ <last/ next>

[annaquenta]

[Image description: Pencil drawing of 12 platforms arranged in a circle, each with a base specific to their corresponding Vala. End image description.]

October 11, 2020

@silmarilasta Day 11: Ring! I cleverly decided to draw the Ring of Doom....then realized that I had no idea how to draw that. So I attempted to come up with symbols for each Vala...I don’t know if I succeeded.

In clockwise order from the top center, the Valar represented are Manwe, Varda, Aule, Yavanna, Irmo, Este, Nienna, Namo, Vaire, Nessa, Tulkas, Vana, Orome, and Ulmo.

[galadhremmin]

If Elves sail West they end up on the Straight Road, right? Anyhow I don't think that should only apply to ships. Or rather, not just to regular ships.

Maglor manages to avoid Valinor for ten entire Ages until his multicolored hot air balloon is caught in a sudden gale and he's swept straight out of his preferred dimension, landing in a tree on Taniquetil still wearing the clown outfit he reluctantly donned for a children's party.

[bluedancingkittykat]

Morgoth has been summoned to the House of Vibe and he is Not a Vibe. pt 1/?

Inspiration: https://twitter.com/dankassdanielbb/status/1242976218607022080?s=20

In order of appearance:

-Morgoth

-Manwe

-Tulkas

-Varda

-Yavanna

[an-eldritch-peredhel]

The Feanturi's Forms

I've always assumed that the Valar had several forms that they can change between, so for instance they've got their "divine" form (eldritch abomination), their "not-a-form" form where they're just energy, their safe for incarnates form, and their "stuff" forms, which are things like trees for Yavanna, saltwater springs for Ulmo, etc.

But I had a thought, recently (with the help of a post I lost, the gist was elves were definitely dying before Orome found them, so why doesn't Namo show up to Mahanaxar like "Yup, elves woke up, they're dying, someone should go get em"? Answer: he absolutely tried to but got cut off and was salty enough that he didn't bring it up again)

Assuming that, then Namo knew what elves looked like before everyone else. And being Lord of the dead he probably has a lot more experience with incarnates than the other Valar. Not everyone went to Valinor! And once humans wake up that's death on a daily basis.

Presumably Vaire also knew, given that she's weaving history and the elves awakening is y'know, a historical event. Even if she didn't, Namo would've told his wife. And his siblings as well, who also have "interact with incarnates" as their job description in some form or another (and Este, who Irmo would've told if Namo didn't)

Where am I going with this? tl;dr: the goth doctors' club members (feanturi+spouses) are the most "normal" looking valar. They've had a) the most time to get used to it, b) the most reason to really try, and c) the most references on how to not sit firmly in the uncanny valley.

So yes, sometimes they look like impossible, twisted, holy things. Sometimes Irmo is a kaleidoscope of colors with no ears filtered through the lovechild of impressionism and cubism, and Este is the shivery silver of a scar with needle-thin fingers that smell like alcohol, and Nienna is a hundred-thousand sobbing eyes with no mouth but wailing anyway, and Vaire is all spidery limbs spinning and measuring and cutting to weave history together, and Namo is what could generously be called a skeleton with no eyes in its grinning gaping sockets, but mostly they are not.

Mostly, Irmo is soft and smiling, with his sleeves rolled up for gardening and his hair more flyaways than braid, and you can ignore that he can't always hear or understand you, that you have to speak clearly to catch his attention from wherever it wanders. (nowhere that you've seen- or at least nowhere you remember)

Mostly, Este is kind but stern and infinitely practical, her hands a little dry and cold from washing them so often, and you can ignore when her handwriting slips from bad but normal to incomprehensible symbols that catch the light wrong, that her hands go a little too steady as she stitches a wound.

Mostly, Nienna is tired but never hopeless, her eyes are always red and puffy and her clothes are always soft and warm and her arms are always ready to catch you in the best hug you've ever had, and you can ignore that she can't always find words to say besides "I'm so sorry", that you have to strain to hear her multitude of whispered reassurances. (though you never understand them after the moment has passed)

Mostly, Vaire is passionate and focused, her hair in tiny woven braids that fall in her face if they aren't tied back, and you can ignore how her hands never stop moving as if she's embroidering the air, that she knows things from your past she hasn't been told.

Mostly, Namo is grim and patient, he is never seen in anything less than pristine clothes and though he never seems to smile his eyebrows jump on the rare occasion that he is amused, and you can ignore that he can never quite look at your face, that you have to exaggerate your movements for him to pick up on anything besides the presence of your soul. (you can feel it when he senses you, and when he passes you by- he's Death, after all)

Death, History, Empathy, Healing, and Dreams. Past, Present, and Future. Of course they look like the Children of Illuvatar, of course they look like they belong in this world. Where would we be without them? Where would they be without us?

[welcometolotr]

absolution (the first oath)

[Fifteen elves swear to bear children for the Valar in exchange for the protection of their race, and thus the Maiar come into being. This story follows the ramifications of that choice from the Years of the Trees through the Fifth Age of Middle-Earth.]

Chapter 65: absolution

The Valar have agreed to a renegotiation, facilitated by Merillëtari’s tireless work, and the oath-takers are called to Mahanaxar.

Featured characters: All fourteen of these hunks!! Oh, and all the Valar. You’re shocked, I know.

Indis, standing tall and proud, touched her hand to her lips and then opened it towards Míriel solemnly; an undeniable gesture of love and respect. The crowd’s noise swelled; Rúmil thought there had perhaps never been such enormous political statement embodied in such a simple public gesture. He looked back, just in time to see his sister bring her hands to her mouth and do ten times better. 

“Indis!” Míriel called as loud as she could, going nearly to her tip-toes with the effort. “I love you so much!” she cried. “And I’d marry you again if I could!” 

It echoed around the Ring. Rúmil gave up and looked over his shoulder again; sure enough, Indis was standing with her hands braced on the railing, crying like he’d never seen and laughing through the tears. He rolled his eyes and turned back to his sister, who looked like the cat who’d gotten the cream. Finwë to her left looked completely content. Rúmil was quite sure that a brain or two had imploded in the distance.

Read full chapter on Ao3 here.

Masterpost of chapters here.

[atane-is-here]

How Ulmo got into Mahanaxar on that last page of Sav's Universe

[dalliansss]

cuiviénen ot3 hcs

For @skaelds primarily (add ur own!) with special mention for @elentarial

Main what ifs: Fëanor had two dads; or, Elwë escapes Nan Elmoth and reaches Valinor again.

Before Oromë found the Eldar, the elves already had quite the society and culture by Cuiviénen. They grouped themselves according to their 'tribe' or kindred, and headed by the very first of the Unbegotten. Their central government was a council consisting of the Unbegotten, which decided things on a majority vote.

Imin liked to think himself the leader of everybody else, but then he got lost in the dark when he went foraging for some mushrooms and was replaced in the council with his son and daughter-in-law. (There were some stories that said Imin's companions specifically left him to be taken; he had become such an unpopular leader at some point in time).

Elves could take a maximum of two spouses during their very early days; they mated early and begot as many children as they could, to stabilize their numbers against the disappearances and fell creatures that hunted them outside of their settlements.

Many elves though, still chose to have one spouse only, and had as many children as they could from said spouse.

No elf forced themselves on another elf who was already wed.

The courtship was primitive; en elf brought gifts of use to his/her intended spouse (food or hunting implements, cloth for clothing, implements for building homes), and if the intended partner was interested enough, then they sought out a private place and moment and laid together. If the Bond held, then they were wed; if not, they were not meant to be together.

Children was the primary objective of wedding others.

An elven couple could have up to six children per pair; a full family with two spouses could have a maximum of twelve children.

Finwë was the third child of his parents. He had two other older siblings who got lost in the dark.

Elwë was the eldest of his three siblings. He was from the second spouse of his mother. All the children of his mother's first spouse (and the first spouse) stayed in Cuiviénen and became Avari.

Miriel was the fourth daughter in a brood of six, born with a frail hröa, but with great talent in the making of fine things, be they delicate, primitive jewelry or embroidering cloths.

Finwë was a very popular elf and had droves of suitors. One of the strongest candidates for his coveted choice (being a direct descendant of the Noldor's ancestors, Tatä and Tatië) was an elleth who gave him a year's worth of harvest (with honeycombs) and an ellon who gave him two goats.

However Finwë chose to pursue Elwë instead. Elwë rejected him at first (since reproduction was the primary aim of the elves at that time).

Finwë, who had also been eyeing Miriel for some time (she was his childhood friend alongside Elwe and the three of them grew up together), weds her first.

It is Miriel who convinced Elwe to accept Finwe and her suit for his hand.

Their homestead was Elwe's place by the lakeside. He provided for them through fishing and hunting, while Finwe provided by raising crops, foraging and hunting. Miriel tended the homestead and wove cloths and offered her delicate handiwork to repair things.

Because of Miriel's unusually frail hröa, the three of them refrained from begetting children at that time.

Oromë finds the Eldar.

Unsure what to do with their 'strange' society in addition to legitimate concerns about the elves, Oromë consults the Valar sitting at Mahanaxar, and it is decided to bring them into Aman.

Ingwe, Finwe and Elwe were chosen as ambassadors. Miriel was entrusted to Elwe's brothers Olwe and Elmo to be watched over by them while they were away.

Finwe wanted the promise of Valinor not so much for himself and Elwe, but for Miriel. Both had hoped that in the Undying Lands, Miriel could find renewed strength and purpose.

The Great Journey begins.

Many elves, especially the First Ones, refuse the summons, instead choosing the dangerous way of life in the Hither Lands than the too-good-to-be-true promise of Valinor.

Elwe is a very vocal leader against Orome's frequent departures, and insisted the Vala leave behind some measure of security for the Eldar. This is why the five Maiar guardians (including Melian, Olorin and Curumo) are sent to accompany the Eldar during the great journey.

Manwe was greatly disturbed by what Orome told him about the primitive Eldarin culture. It was determined by the Valar to formulate certain societal rules in order to pre-empt potential chaos in Valinor with regard to some of the elves' way of life.

Because the Teleri were the greater number of people and prone to distraction and dawdling, Finwe, Elwe and Miriel had to decide to split up. The Noldor and Vanyar go ahead first while Elwe and his brothers wrangle their people.

Melian attempts to enchant Elwe in Nan Elmoth. Elwe, already having doubts because of Orome's frequent departures, manages to evade her sorcery and escapes the forest. He is still delayed by a hundred years, however.

The Teleri finally cross the Great Sea. This time, Osse attempts to delay Elwe. Elwe is more insistent about his refusal and wants nothing else but to rejoin Finwe and Miriel.

Osse, wrathful at being rejected, sinks Elwe's boat.

Elwe is the only elf to have swam all the way across the Great Sea and reached Tol Eressea as a half-elf, half-kelp creature.

The Teleri stay mainly at Eressea, with Avallone as their capital. Alqualonde is nothing more than an important port town to trade with the Noldor and Vanyar.

Elwe abdicates to Olwe and Olwe becomes the sole ruler of the Teleri.

Elwe rejoins Finwe and Miriel in Tirion.

Feanor is born, but Miriel still gets tired of living.

Friction between Elwe and Finwe, because Finwe desires greatly to remarry for more children. Elwe tries his hardest to support along Feanor and Finwe both.

Finwe eventually remarries to Indis, but with Elwe's caveat that she take their unusual family as they are found.

[rockets-capris]

Silmarillion liveblog #3

“Taniquetel” names again

“Mahanaxar” brilliant.

“The Ring Of Doom” Wait what