#Noldorin Halls

[valacirya]

Indis appreciation post!

Disclaimer: All the canon info is taken from Morgoth's Ring and Peoples of Middle Earth. Also, this isn't a character analysis/meta. It's just a list of stuff I love (plus some headcanons) about one of my favorite characters in the legendarium.

1. She's athletic and outdoorsy. We're told that Indis is "exceedingly swift of foot" and that "she walked often alone in the fields and friths of the Valar, turning her thought to things that grow untended." When Finwe sees her, she's chilling on a mountainside. I love that she's associated with nature, specifically the wilderness. She parallels Feanor in her exploration of Aman and interest in the imperfect. Also, this is purely self-indulgent but ever since reading HoME for the first time, I've pictured Indis as tall and broad, and muscular beneath a layer of fat.

2. She doesn't let her unrequited love affect her life. "There was ever light and mirth about her." She's not the pining, languishing princess stereotype. She goes on. She doesn't let it make her bitter or depressed, and she is so restrained that only Mandos and possibly Ingwe are aware of her feelings.

3. Part of her attraction to Finwe is intellectual. In HoME we're told that his "mastery of words delighted her." Considering that Indis is also a poet/composer ("wove words into song") and that the Vanyar enjoy linguistics, it makes sense. It's also just really cute.

4. She's politically minded. Her reasoning for pronouncing 's' instead of 'th' is: "I have joined the Noldor, and I will speak as they do." This is the right thing to do to gain the respect of the Noldor and their acceptance of her authority. I also think she makes a statement with Fingolfin and Finarfin's mother-names. Arakano ("high chieftain") and Ingoldo ("the Noldo, eminent among the kindred") are not only powerful, prophetic names, they're also strikingly similar to Ingwe ("chief of chieftains") who is the High King not just of the Vanyar, but all Eldar. What a power move.

5. She's able to balance her own culture with the culture she marries into. Indis integrates into Noldorin society easily while remaining Vanyarin at her core, as is evidenced by Finwe saying that "above all her heart now yearns for the halls of Ingwe and the peace of the Vanyar." Her sons also respect and are proud of their mixed heritage; Finarfin "loved the Vanyar, his mother's people" and is said to be like them (as are Finrod and Galadriel), and Fingolfin's daughter-in-law is Vanyarin (plus the Nolofinweans have a special connection to Manwe).

6. She gets an awesome prophecy about her line. "But I say unto you that the children of Indis shall also be great, and the Tale of Arda more glorious because of their coming. And from them shall spring things so fair that no tears shall dim their beauty; in whose being the Valar, and the Kindreds both of Elves and of Men that are to come shall all have part, and in whose deeds they shall rejoice. So that, long hence when all that here is, and seemeth yet fair and impregnable, shall nonetheless have faded and passed away, the Light of Aman shall not wholly cease among the free peoples of Arda until the end." Fuck yeah.

7. Her name means "valiant woman." This is the only definition given in Morgoth's Ring, I believe. I highly prefer it over the "bride" meaning because it's a badass name and is similar to Artanis ("noble woman") and Astaldo ("the valiant"). A headcanon that I'm particularly attached to is that Indis's mother-name is Indome, meaning "will of Eru."

8. She's popular with most of the Noldor. We're told that "Finwe, King of the Noldor, wedded Indis, sister of Ingwe; and the Vanyar and Noldor for the most part rejoiced." The majority of the Noldor also follow Fingolfin and Finarfin instead of Feanor.

9. She's friends with Nerdanel. HoME states that Nerdanel went to "abide with Indis, whom she had ever esteemed."

10. She gets pissed off at Finwe when he sides with Feanor. So much so that he thinks she won't want to see him if he's re-embodied. I know this is from his perspective but I'm inclined to agree. [However, this is still very presumptive of him, and his comment that "Indis parted from me without death" is super shitty. Eugh.]

11. She's close to her kids. Finarfin takes after her, Fingolfin passes on the name she gave him, Findis lives with her, Lalwen goes by the name she gave her. Finwe also says that "she hath dear children to comfort her."

So there we have it! What little info we get about Indis is pretty awesome. And this is just a list; I could write a whole essay on her fortitude and unconventionality and my numerous headcanons about her.

[giganticmarshmallow]

So. Quick concept! Finrod. Wearing all bling to a big event, in The Great Hall of Nargothrond. For unnecessary details- see below

Here I’ve combined elements from several backgrounds. A “typical elvish” flower crown (great for sindar and noldor alike) has a dwarvish central disk, noldorin fibulae are paired with dwarvish bracelets, vanyarin cloak is worn over a noldorin high collar tunic etc. The sash is especially important - because I have this weird idea about sashes being a traditional gift during calanquendian coming-of-age ceremonies. They are embroidered by a family member and the blank space is left to be later filled with one’s heraldic symbol or anything else the owner would like to display. Here, an old vanyarin design clashes a little bit with the emblem Finrod created later in Beleriand. Plus! His capelet with a floral trim is also vanyarin and brought from Valinor! The under-sash with suns, on the other hand, is a gift from the noldorin side of the family. And long flowing trains made from light fabrics, like the one he’s holding, are from the telerin fashion!

[ramoth13]

Interesting Trends and Voices in the Silmarillion Fandom

~

Although I have been a lover of Tolkien since the earliest days of my youth and have been a Tolkien Scholar for over a decade, I have not made too many forays into the Silm fandom other than when I was younger and more recently a few years ago. Thus, I was rather surprised by the trends that seem to be mainstays of the Fandom and which ones I've seen big shifts in. I'll mention them briefly, but please note, although I may share differences of opinion regarding these characters or themes, we all share a deep love of the source material and that makes us fellow Enthusiasts. Whatever our differences, we have more in common with what we love than that which we do not.

With that said,

A "newer" trend I've noticed is the number of Fëanorian apologists, which is rather surprising, especially given their vocality. Some of the more common trends in this vein:

~A general indifference towards Fingolfin apart from a "if he had been through what Fëanor had, he would have been that way too" kind of approach, etc.

~All of Fëanor's sons (but especially Maedhros) are often given the best possible excuse for every action and bad decision. Others like Thingol or Elwing, less so.

~Finarfin and his children are generally regarded as boring, except for Galadriel who is either, loved as being awesome, wild, and wise or slightly disliked for having ill-opinions of Fëanor or some combination of the two.

~Fingolfin's line is seen as either goody-two-shoes or full of themselves, with the exception of Fingon who is close friends with Maedhros.

~The Valar are often illustrated to be antagonists, especially when in opposition to the Fëanorians.

~In the same light, I've seen a few posts that portray Luthien as being somehow problematic, seemingly to balance out the negative Fëanorian interactions she endures.

~One of the more sad effects of this apologist line of thinking is the Denegration of Elrond and Elros' parents. In order for Maedhros and Maglor to be considered "good" their actual parents are seen as "bad" despite little evidence of that being the case.

~ It seems Fëanor and sons have become the golden child of the Silm fandom, a spot once reserved for Sauron and Morgoth, if memory serves.

NOTES:

These are all fairly intriguing lines of discourse and I understand that they are tied up in and often heavily influenced by the fan-fictions and fannons. Still, it does make me wonder, with how vocal the Fëanorians are (especially on tumblr), how many Nolofinweans are in the Fandom? How many fans of Finarfin's cohort (or as one Tumblr user once called them), the blondes?

Some older trends that continue:

~Thingol still sucks (at least by common thought). It is interesting that despite all of the love of the Noldorin lines given their proclivity towards violence and bad decisions, the fandom still has not been able to lend some compassion towards the reigning Sindarin Monarch.

~Celeborn somehow ending up with Galadriel is still a big mystery (I do love this one).

~Sauron is still seen as Morgoth's boyfriend/lover/etc.

~The Valar are antagonists (before this was due to the Sauron/Morgoth apologists, and now it seems to stem more from a Fëanorian view)

~Turin and Beleg are still a ship (I am pleased).

~Halls of Mandos Reunions (always a classic).

~Gimli/Legolas ship.

Some older trends I don't see as much:

~Fingolfin/Fëanor ship (I'm not upset that this one is scarce. Even in Fantasy, incest isn't my thing).

~Fingon/Maedhros ship (see above note)

~Celebrimbor is the greatest elf of all time.

~Melkor/Manwe/Varda and/or Sauron love triangles.

I'm curious to see what others think of these trends. I'll be the first to admit, I have always had a fondness for the Nolofinweans, but it is interesting to see the growth of the Fëanorian fans and how quickly their voice has grown into one of the primary topics of fandom discourse (which is good, I love the discussions!).

~ Ramoth13

[fistfuloflightning]

”You said the Vala in black is a mourner?” Maeglin looked up from reading through a handful of Salgant’s harp scores. A conversation from when the Lord of the Harp had first befriended a grieving , freshly orphaned young elf. When Maeglin had first learned more of the Valar than the brief words Aredhel could spare in Eol’s absence.

“Nienna is the Weeper, yes. She comforts those who have died. It is why she was invoked at the funeral.” There were lots of things Maeglin did not know about Noldorin customs, much of which Aredhel had simply neglected to teach him. But Salgant did not ridicule him for his ignorance, instead treating his never ending questions with patience. Even now he stopped his hands to give Maeglin’s question his full attention. “Though she is not the one to call the fëa once it has left the hroa. It is the Doomsman of the Valar who does that. Though there are those who simply refuse the call.” Salgant dropped his attention to the lathe before him, the mask he was shaping. The scent of cut cedar warmed the air. “Those who might not heed the call to Mandos, those who wish to remain Houseless—to say nothing of those who wish not to leave this land for one they’ve never seen.”

A surge of fear had Maeglin’s fingers almost tearing apart the parchment in his hands. He watched the older elf with wide eyes. Might not heed… “Will…will I be able to see Emel after she is reborn?”

But Salgant merely nodded as if there were no question as to Aredhel’s decisions. “I am sure of it. Should you die here—and I pray upon the grace of the Valar that you do not—you would also be called to the Halls of Mandos, where all the dead receive comfort and healing.”

Something tightened in Maeglin’s chest and he once more felt the prickle of tears in his eyes. He whipped his head away, ostensibly to examine the nearby masks Salgant had nearly finished for an upcoming festival, all tassels and gold and richly layered paints. “Is it…peaceful? In the Halls?”

Salgant gently set down the wooden mask he’d been shaping. He looked out the window at the plaza below, but Maeglin felt as if he was looking with those kind eyes at him. “I would imagine it is so. A place where you can lay your burden down. Where all pain and hurt is soothed away. At least, I would hope so.”

Maeglin remembered belatedly that Salgant’s brother died upon the Ice. Perhaps Salgant missed him just as much as Maeglin missed his mother. He dropped his watering gaze to the music scores in his lap.

A hand rested on the top of his head, patting softly. For a heartbreaking moment he could pretend it was Aredhel’s hand stroking his hair, as was her wont. But she was gone. And he wouldn’t see her unless the Ban was lifted and they could sail across to a world he’d never even dreamed of. She was so far away and Maeglin felt every inch of that distance.

So when Salgant pulled him into a hug, he went gratefully.

Snippet from an unpublished fic where Salgant adopts Maeglin

[silvantransthranduiltrash]

Post Miriel’s release:

Rando elf, impressed with Miriel’s argument in a court session: i’m surprised you did so well, considering you spent thousands if years in the halls.

Miriel: *pauses* Finwe and i raised the Noldorin kingdom from the ground up and you though i can’t argue in court?

Miriel: Bitch, i made the court!

[whovianofmidgard]

Day 1 – Maedhros – Coping

For @feanorianweek You can also read it on AO3

Maedhros used to think he didn’t have a traditional Noldorin craft. That his craft was the same as his grandfather Finwë’s, excelling in diplomacy, politics, being a skilled orator and an attentive listener, a natural leader among brothers, cousins and his people. That his talents ended there and no further.

He knew his father was proud that he had found in him a worthy heir in court. Yet Maedhros always knew that Fëanor secretly wished he had skill and passion in creation, in the works of his hands.

So, Maedhros applied himself, and took lessons in any and every craft he could find. He weaved and stitched and embroidered. He carved and apprenticed with carpenters. He did masonry, wove baskets, and painted landscapes and portraits alike. He played with clay and chiselled stone together with his mother. He hammered hot metals and cut precious gems under the tutelage of his father. He hunted in the company of little brothers and cousins, and sang songs and played instruments privately, only sharing with steadfast Maglor or beloved Fingon.

In every craft he tried his hand at he did good, solid work, but never exceptionally, and never passionately.

Now, Maedhros lay bundled in soft furs and linens, steadily healing from wounds, starvation, and exposure to the elements, grateful for dear Fingon’s kind and valiant heart, grateful to be alive. Yet he was left short of one hand, and with no craft to keep the nightmares at bay.

Relearning to merely write with his off hand was a slow and arduous process, what chance did he have for anything more involved than that? He could not hold an embroidery hoop properly in place, and his fingers shook and cramped up from pinching a needle for more than five minutes. He was more a hazard and a liability in the forge, he had too few hands to play any instruments other than a drum or tambourine, and his voice was shot to gravelly rumblings from screaming it raw in pain. He would eventually learn to hunt once more, but never with bow and arrow again, and more out of necessity.

Then one afternoon a bundle of charcoal sticks lay waiting on his office desk with a pile of blank parchment. Maedhros stared and contemplated it for a while, and shoved it aside to ignore in favour of hours of paperwork. Eventually, though, his mind grew weary, and as the Sun dipped low on the sky into twilight, he reached for a fresh unmarked parchment. Maedhros mindlessly sketched shapes and lines, the soft scratch of coal on paper and the repetitive motions of the hand soothing to his mind. By the time a servant came in with the dinner tray, he had scribbled the interior of his office down.

He thanked the servant as she left and regarded the work of his hand. The lines were uneven, and the perspective was off, yet the image was recognisable. With practice it could be improved upon.

Maedhros doodled and sketched every night, his office over and over again, until it looked perfect. Then the view outside his window, the crow on the ledge, a still life of his dinner, and many, many portraits of his staff, warriors, his people.

One day he found his charcoal sticks replaced with a brush and watercolour paints. Then months later it was gouache, then egg tempera, and finally oil paint. The walls of Himring were soon lined with landscapes of fierce mountains and sleepy meadows, of riders on planes and warm torchlit halls full of revelry. In Maedhros’ private rooms he kept only two paintings. One was a tableau of himself with his brothers arranged around him, proudly displayed above the mantelpiece. The other a simple portrait of his dearest cousin, kind smile and gold braids falling to his shoulders, guarding his dreams beside his bed.

When next Maedhros found a lump of clay on his desk and a pottery wheel by the window, he knew he was up for the challenge.

He quickly saw that forming the clay with only his one hand made the process more difficult, the cups and vases under his touch turning wonky and lopsided without the counter pressure. Maedhros thought of being stubborn about it, trying again and again until endless practice yielded results. But it only takes one mistake that almost had the lump of wet clay spin right off of the wheel, and he instinctively reached for it with his right, and his wrist ended up pushing it back onto the wheel.

Maedhros experimented after that. His single hand pinched and manipulated as dishes and mugs spun into form, while he could push and smooth the soft clay with his stump, and easily reaching inside his creations with it to widen the mouth of a vase.

Sitting down to do pottery at the end of a long day calmed his mind and nerves perhaps better than painting. The motion of his leg working the treadle was a steady rhythm he matched his breaths to. The slow yet decisive movements of his hand and stump required just the minimum of focus to empty his head of all worries and nightmares. The coolness of the clay sticking to his fingers and scarred skin grounded him in the present on dark nights when his memory wished to steer him towards pain.

Washing away the residue from his stump at the end of it all almost felt like healing.

[annoyinglandmagazine]

The tension in the room was palpable. Thingol had invited the Noldorin royals to a feast, notably outside his borders, which was expected to be crucial to diplomacy. Though the high king could not be spared all the others did, which boiled down to their only representatives being the grandchildren of Finwe. As expected it was not going well. Several were trying to mingle but being met with apprehension at every turn. The tension in the room was palpable. Everyone was standing and talking uncomfortably and sometimes openly hostilely.

Maglor had been having the most success but only because of his choice to converse solely with Daeron, the two minstrels caring more for verse techniques then any blood feud between their people. Maglor then asked to borrow his companions fiddle. Daeron seemed curious as Maglor started up a tune on it.

The other musicians fell silent as the Feanorion begun, respecting him from a purely creative point of view. The other Noldor made eye contact, disbelieving at Maglor’s nerve to command attention even in such a situation. They recognised the tune shortly afterwards smiling to themselves and humming under their breath. The musicians took up the tune and it filled the hall.

Fingon was the first to move, grabbing his brother’s arm. ‘Let’s dance.’ ‘What!’ Turgon exclaimed as if his eldest brother had lost it. ‘Come on! Let’s have some fun!’ He pulled his brother and sister with him, passing the Feanorians on the way. He stopped next to Maedhros, always risky at these things, and beckoned.

‘What are we doing?’ the red head asked dubiously. ‘Dancing!’ Maedhros tried to look at him disapprovingly but was cut short at the bright, laughing smile in front of him and found himself taking Fingon’s outstretched hand and allowing himself be pulled after him with a smile.

All the brothers looked at each other in disbelief at Nelyo of all people doing something so spontaneous. Then they see his face. He was running with his hand in Fingon’s laughing with him, his hair flying behind him just liked it used to in Valinor. Almost as one they joined him and he looked at them with that pure affection they remembered from their childhood. Moryo reached out and grabbed his stump carefully smiling up at him as they all linked hands and began spinning around the room.

The Sinda move aside speechless, staring as the children of two of the most notorious rivals and last leaders of their bloodthirsty people begin dancing around the room uncaring of all the eyes on them, spinning each other around and keeping the beat with claps and stomps.

Finrod laughs out loud rushing into the centre spinning around as his robes twirled around him. Galadriel rolls her eyes and then grabbed her remaining brothers and drags them in with her as Celeborn stares after her in confusion. The cousins dance together like they were innocent children again out by a bonfire. Maedhros and Fingon were twirling each other around like it was just the two of them in the whole world.

Galadriel span in circles with Aredhel, Curufin and Celegorm at increasing speeds. Caranthir was laughing with the twins as he twirled them around. Finrod finally decided to drag Maglor down and he joined them. The cousins laugh together grievances between them momentarily forgotten with no parents to scold them for fraternisation with the enemy and only a strange unity in being alone among those who would never understand them.

[cilil]

Eönwë Week - Day 3: Celeg Aithorn

AN: I'll be doing meta/headcanon posts for some of these days, hope you find them entertaining as well💙

Today's topic: Celeg Aithorn, or: We know the name of Eönwë's sword?

𓅛 To answer this question, we first have to gather some tidbits found in several sources. I'll present those first - that will be the canon part - and then move on to talk about my headcanons based on them. Let's begin!

𓅛 Celeg Aithorn was mentioned in Beleg's whetting spell in The Lay of the Children of Húrin. Here is the passage in question:

There wondrous wove he words of sharpness, and the names of knives and Gnomish blades he uttered o'er it: even Ogbar's spear and the glaive of Gaurin whose gleaming stroke did rive the rocks of Rodrim's hall; the sword of Saithnar, and the silver blades of the enchanted children of chains forged in their deep dungeon; the dirk of Nargil, the knife of the North in Nogrod smithied; the sweeping sickle of the slashing tempest, the lambent lightning's leaping falchion even Celeg Aithorn that shall cleave the world. (The Lay of the Children of Húrin, "II. Beleg", p. 45)

For now, let's just take note and put a pin in the "cleave the world" part.

𓅛 The name Celeg Aithorn is Early Noldorin, with different sources providing slightly different meanings. According to elfdict.com, it may mean Lambent Lightning.

𓅛 In The Annals of Aman (Morgoth's Ring), we then learn of a sword that Manwë carried during the War of the Powers:

Thence, seeing that all was lost (for that time), [Melkor] sent forth on a sudden a host of Balrogs, the last of his servants that remained, and they assailed the standard of Manwë, as it were a tide of flame. But they were withered in the wind of his wrath and slain with the lightning of his sword; and Melkor stood at last alone. (MR, p. 75)

This is relevant because, according to The War of the Jewels, Manwë later gave this sword to Eönwë.

𓅛 As for the final puzzle piece, there is the old version of the Dagor Dagorath prophecy provided in Lost Tales, part of which states:

So shall it be that Fionwë Úrion, son of Manwë, of love for Urwendi shall in the end be Melko's bane, and shall destroy the world to destroy his foe, and so shall all things then be rolled away. (LT Part One, p. 219)

As many of you already know, Fionwë Úrion is the same character who later became Eönwë, changed to Manwë's herald and Maiarin servant instead of his son because the concept of the Valar having children was abandoned.

𓅛 So we have a sword named Celeg Aithorn "that shall cleave the world", an old prophecy stating that Eönwë is going to destroy the world and Manwë giving him his sword. It has therefore been suggested that these two swords are in fact that same, and I would say that a sword originally owned by Manwë and seen with lightning would fit the proposed etymology of Celeg Aithorn as well.

𓅛 Now, as you've noticed none of the sources cited above are from the Silmarillion and canonicity is a fickle thing in this fandom as is. Whether Tolkien, if you asked him today, would say that yes, this sword of Manwë canonically exists and Eönwë wielded it in the War of Wrath and is also the same as Celeg Aithorn, I can't say for sure. Best I can say is that it all fits together.

𓅛 This is why I've adopted this concept into my personal headcanon (note: I will from now on refer to it as just one sword, based on the theory that it is the same, and just call it Celeg Aithorn).

𓅛 I like to think that Aulë forged Celeg Aithorn for Manwë, either as a gift similar to the scepter the Noldor would later make for him or as a weapon to use in battle against Melkor. Manwë accepted it and also carried it, though I'm admittedly not sure if the part where he fights the Balrogs is something I'm keeping in my default verse; in verses where he is, for one reason or another, more "combative" for sure, but my take on current canon!Manwë is that he's not really a fighter (much like Melkor, funnily enough) and doesn't enjoy any sort of fighting, only defending himself or others if he absolutely has to resort to that.

𓅛 Seeing the destruction caused by the War of the Powers, knowing that going to war time and time again wasn't what Eru intended for him and also driven by his personal aversion, Manwë then gave Celeg Aithorn to Eönwë instead. Eönwë had already made a name for himself as one of the best warriors among the Maiar and Manwë sensed that there would difficult battles in his future, telling him that the sword would be of better use to him ("It's dangerous to go alone! Take this", if you will).

𓅛 This was also a symbolic act foreshadowing how Eönwë would be the one to lead the Host of Valinor in the War of Wrath, not Manwë himself, as well as both of them accepting their fates: Manwë accepting that the role of the Elder King was to stay behind and Eönwë accepting his role of fighting Melkor alongside the Children.

𓅛 Eönwë has used Celeg Aithorn ever since and it has served him faithfully. It's possible that it would betray him if he ever ceased being loyal to Manwë, but this remains in the realm of pure theory so far, given how loyal to his lord Eönwë has been.

𓅛 Being a sword crafted by a Vala and for a Vala, Celeg Aithorn is very powerful. It also shares the moral alignment of its current and previous owner and is therefore one of, if not the best weapon to fight evil creatures with (similar to the Master Sword in The Legend of Zelda, to draw a popular comparison). It was likely blessed by Manwë and hallowed by Varda, like she did with the Silmarils.

𓅛 Eönwë may have kept his old sword - the one he used before receiving Celeg Aithorn - for sentimental reasons, since he used to have it sharpened and maintained by Mairon. This may, unbeknownst to him, have saved him if Mairon, during his time as a spy, tampered with it to give Melkor an advantage.

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@stormchaser819 @urwendii @wandererindreams @eonweweek

[that-angry-noldo]

Finrod does not like Eönwë.

It - it isn't something against the Maia. No, not at all. (Though maybe - maybe his presence is just otherworldy enough to bring Finrod in that paralyzed state, where the kind dark eyes of the Herald are replaced with malicious gold of Gorthaur.) It isn't something against his manners, either; something against his slow careful movements and the polite tilt of his head. It isn't even something against the - what does he even have going on with his parents? His father did not introduce the Maia as his lover, and yet they share touches and glances and bed, even; his mother, however, does not seem opposed to it, and, if anything, gladly takes her deal of Eönwë's head kisses and wing embraces.

It is confusing. Very confusing.

Finrod drops his head to his shoulder, knees drawn to his chest. Rodent - his golden, precious Rodent, how did he miss her! - licks his hand. Finrod smiles and pats her head, delighted by the immediate wiggle of her tail.

"At least you stay true to me," he mumbles, and Rodent woofs, scooting closer. Finrod tenses at the sound, but he makes himself relax: breath in, breath out; he smiles and bends down to Roden't snout, and she licks his nose happily. Finrod chuckles, picks her up and lies down on the couch, placing her on his chest.

She stares at him with big adoring eyes as he brings his hand to her back, fingers threading through her golden fur. "See, Rodent, that's the problem. I disappear for what - six hundred years? - and they already find themselves a third wheel, and not just any third wheel, but a Maia third wheel. And I am supposed to agree to it! Sure, sir, you can have my parents. You are taking a great care of them. I am sure your intentions are good and noble and in every way, shape and form."

Rodent woofs. Finrod sighs.

"I don't even know what he's doing here," he rants. "He just shows up, in the middle of the night, like. Hi, Finrod. I am making myself a midnight snack, Finrod. I will be out as soon as I'm done, Finrod. Alright, bye, Finrod. And I am supposed to just take it!" he sits up fast, and looks at his dog. "Why doesn't he make a midnight snack in his own house, Rodent? Rodent, he puts pickles on peanut butter. My parents are dating a monster."

Finrod stares at the ceiling for some time. Then, he scowls.

"He never even offers to share," he grudges. "That failure of a man makes himself a midnight snack and does not even leave some for me. If he's having an affair with my parents, he can at least try to get me, their only living son, on his side. Oooh, Rodent, I will get to him. I will make his every moment in this house unnecessary hard. I shall not be overlooked!"

He's startled by the sound of steps in the hall, and Rodent rises and perks her ears at the intruder. A few moments later, Eönwë appears at the door; he has to duck down not to hit his head at the doorframe, and Finrod surpresses a glee. Eönwë's eyes focus on him, and Finrod schools his face into his most gloomy expression; even Rodent manages to produce something like an irritated growl, though her tail wiggles at the sight of Hueleni, who runs circles around Eönwë's feet. Finrod glares.

"Did you want something?" he finally asks, and Eönwë cocks his head. His wings shift, and Finrod catches himself staring; he scoffs and focuses on the Maia.

Eönwë consideres him for a minute. Then, he shrugs. "I was making a dinner," he informs. "Your parents will be back soon. I thought I should ask if you wished to join me."

"In making a dinner?" Finrod asks, sceptical. Eönwë does not blink. Finrod lets out an irritated sigh. "Fine. I don't trust you with dinners anyways."

"How come?"

"A man who puts pickles on peanut butter cannot be trusted with dinners, Herald of Manwë."

"I do not get it. It is a good combination."

"See? Exactly what I'm talking about. Father should dump you, honestly. You are an embarassment to the whole Noldorin kin."

"I am not- we are not- there are so many factually incorrect things with the sentence you just utterred, son of Arafinwë."

"This comes from a man who puts pickles on peanut butter."

"Manwë, have mercy."

"Hey now, man. You brought this upon yourself. Anyways, about the dinner..."

[warrioreowynofrohan]

Favourite Female Tolkien Character Poll - Round 1, Match 1

Character information behind the cut! Add your own advocacy for your fave in reblogs!

Míriel Therindë

The greatest fabric artist and innovator among the Noldor, and the mother of Fëanor. Her death from overwhelming weariness shortly after Fëanor’s birth leaves her husband Finwë distraught. When she chooses to never return from the Halls, Finwë remarries - much to Fëanor’s discontent, as it means Míriel’s decision not to return will be irrevocable. After Finwë’s death and her reunion with him in the Halls of Mandos, she wishes to return to life, and Finwë chooses to remain dead to allow her to do so. She is grieved by what has passed since her death, and rather than return among the Noldor, she enters the house of Vairë the Weaver, and weaves tapestries of all the history of the Noldor.

She was a Noldorin Elda of slender and graceful form, and of gentle disposition, though as was later discovered in matters far more grave, she could show an ultimate obstinacy that counsel or command would only make more obdurate. She had a beautiful voice and a delicate and clear enunciation, though she spoke swiftly and took pride in this skill. Her chief talent, however, was a marvellous dexterity of hand. This she employed in embroidery, which though achieved in what even the Eldar thought a speed of haste was finer and more intricate than any that had before been seen. She was therefore called ‘Therindë’ (Needlewoman).

[After her return from the Halls of Mandos.] Míriel was accepted by Vairë and became her chief handmaid; and all tidings of the Noldor down the years from their beginning were brought to her, and she wove them in webs historical, so fair and skilled that they seemed to live, imperishable, shining with a light of many hues fairer than are known in Middle-earth.

Nerdanel

A great sculptor, and the wife of Fëanor and mother of seven sons. She is known as Nerdanel the Wise, and is the only person whose counsel Fëanor ever took, but later in his life during the Unrest of the Noldor his deeds grieve her and they become estranged; she does not go with him when he is exiled from Tirion, nor when he leaves Valinor, and instead lives with Indis, whom she is friends with. During the Flight of the Noldor she pleads with him to leave at least some of their sons in Valinor, but he rebuffs her.

While still in early youth Fëanor wedded Nerdanel, a maiden of the Noldor; at which many wondered, for she was not among the fairest of her people. But she was strong, and free of mind, and filled with the desire of knowledge. In her youth she loved to wander far from the dwellings of the Noldor, either beside the long shores of the Sea or in the hills; and this she and Fëanor had met and were companions in many journeys.

Her father, Mahtan, was a great smith, and among those of the Noldor most dear to the heart of Aulë. Of Mahtan Nerdanel learned much of crafts that women of the Noldor seldom used: the making of things of metal and stone. She made images, some of the Valar in their forms visible, and others of men and women of the Eldar, and these were so like that their friends, if they knew not her art, would speak to them; but many things she wrought also of her own thought in shapes strong and strange but beautiful.

[curiouselleth]

Veil of Starlight (ao3)

Chapter 1; Beginnings

Nightingales had always been a part of their heritage. Their great-grandmother created them after all.

It had been so bitterly cold, they all should’ve migrated south months ago. But they were there, and they guided them out of the cold, chilling them to their bones down south where the sun still shone strong, and melted the frost on their clothes and dark hair. But not their hearts. 

Everyone they knew was gone. Slain in the halls their father had brought life back to. Dead in the snow. Their mother slain trying to find their little sister and get them out. Friends all gone. Their father slain before his throne as he tried to defend his home and people. They didn’t know what happened to their little sister, but she likely lay in the halls or snow like all the others. 

Everyone was gone and their home was gone and they were gone to the south away, away away away and they wanted to leave it behind. 

The nightingales stayed with them for a time. Teaching them where to find food in this new place. Showing them a small cave to shelter in. But it was still hungry, still cold. They clutched each other every night, small bodies shivering. They didn’t know how many cold nights they spent in that cave before some avari found them. But by then they were thin, wild and fey. One of the avari still bears the scars from their teeth, from these strange little children. Not wholly elf, nor man, nor maiar. An unheard of ancestry, only a few of a kind. But the avari did not know, barely whispers of their grandmother Luthien and her victory against the enemy had reached that part of the world. 

But nonetheless, the green elves took in these wild fey children whose moods stirred the wind to fury and whose laughter brought flowers into bloom in the dead of winter. In their small village in the trees they grew, faster than the eldar, even faster than the edain. So strange, it was. Such a light burned within them, and only ever increased as they grew. 

In those years, time moved faster around them, and somehow, they had nearly reached full stature and maturity and had learned nearly all they could from the green elves. The only thing they had not learned was to control their strange powers. And how to fit in. 

So the twins left. 

They packed, said goodbyes, and moved on. 

Journeying in Ossiriand, avoiding any and all other elves and edain. They had a lot of excuses for avoiding others. They didn’t want to be dragged back into the violence in the north. Didn’t want a crown or responsibilities to be forced upon them. Didn’t want to remember. 

It was so subconscious at first, they didn’t even realize. But they had slowly woven enchantment over themselves, over each other to hide who they were. To hide the features they shared with Luthien. To hide the edain features. The otherworldliness in their eyes that they inherited from Melian. The proud bearing that called Beren and Thingol to mind. To make others see what they wanted to see, or expected when others looked upon them. 

They would always come back to the forest of Taur-im-Duinath. To a little shared talan perhaps a days travel from the avari village where they grew up. Or at least a day's travel across the ground. Closer to a few hours when the twins raced through the branches in leaves with the skill of elves many millennia old. Not long after, as they seemingly could never have quiet for long; a young Noldorin woman arrived. 

Tired and beaten, drifting on a distributary from the Gates Sirion on a half sinking raft. The younger twin found her and pulled her from the river, and brought her to the twin’s small talan. 

She had woken up screaming that night. The twins understood.

As the week passed, the peace of the forest brought her comfort. She wasn’t ready to speak of what happened yet. The twins understood this too, more than they could put into words. 

From this understanding something wholly new began to grow between her and Elurin. When she was despairing, he made her laugh. And she balanced his overly carefree, inattentive personality with maturity… and an unforgiving streak of sarcasm and knowledge of pranks.

Eventually, she told them a little. How she had lived in the hidden city Gondolin. That it was attacked and destroyed, and she escaped. Drifted downriver because it would be faster than running. And how she had overheard some of the men attacking her city saying how they couldn’t let any of the people of Gondolin escape to the Havens of Sirion like the Doriath survivors had.

The twins froze and paled at this last statement. They excused themselves, and the moment they were out of her sight they fled into the branches, and they ran and ran and ran and ran and ran until they reached a large clearing and ran out of branches to leap through. 

They returned the next morning, salt streaks down their cheeks and staining their clothes. 

“Elured, you don’t have to do this, not alone!”

He reaches out and rubs Elurin’s shoulders, “yes, I do. I’m older, and you have Gwingloth here.”

Elurin blushes and tries to interrupt, but Elured continues “oh you know you cannot lie to me brother. I have seen how you two look at each other when you think I don’t see, the love, how you practically melt in her gaze. We all have been through so much. You two deserve happiness, with each other, if that is what you two wish for. Stay with her, I will go to the Havens, even Balar if I must. I will learn what has become of the last of our people. I will be like the wind, in and out and returning to you with the winter rains. At the latest in the spring. I will find our people.”

Elurin blinks away tears, “I shall hold you to that. And if you return a day after spring ends you shall never hear the end of it,” he pauses, “take one of the swords. We are safe here, you will need one more than us.” 

“Are you certain? I can take one of the avari swords or bows instead…”

“No, take one.” Elurin turns and kneels down, pulls out a dagger and pries up one of the floorboards. He sets it aside and stares at the cavity for a moment, before pulling out the silver twin swords. “They are the last of our heritage and family that we have, take it with you and remember me. I knew ever since the avari found them, they were not destined to stay together forever. Just hide the inscriptions…” he runs his fingers over the cirth runes; For my beloved great-grandchildren, may you wield these swords in a better world than the one you were born into. And the maker's mark, a tall thin “T” with a small crown above it. 

Elured slowly takes one, and he too runs his fingers along the runes. But as he does, they shimmer, and fade away, making the sword appear blank and uninscribed. “I’ll be back before you know it. I promise.” He looks up to Elurin and smiles mischievously, “and perhaps by the time I return you can tell me about the proposal.”

“Huh? Whatever are you talking abou- NO Elured, it is far too early, no, and in case your ears were clogged the first time, no no no you daft creature!” 

“Who is a daft creature?” A female voice icily asks from behind him.

“Oh just my foolish broth-” his voice explodes into an undignified shriek as Elured grabs him from behind and starts mercilessly tickling him. 

“Do not worry Gwin, I shall only be gone for a few months at most, just to see if any survived Doriath, and I shall leave as soon as I teach this child a lesson!” he laughs and continues poking and tickling Elurin. 

“You know I do not like it when you call me that, ‘red” she laughs.

“Fair point, I shall endeavor to use your full name when I return, so long as you do not call me that.”

“Gwin! Rescue me please!” Elurin begs between laughs.

“Ah you are the more foolish brother, not Elured. Did you not hear my wish not to be called such? Alas, I am afraid I must leave you to this torture unless you apologize!”

Elurin was laughing too hard to even try. 

Before dawn, they saw Elured off. He wasn’t bringing any bags, just whatever could fit on his belt and in his pockets without impeding his movement. He didn’t want to be weighed down by too much.

“There and right back, brother. Please, find out if any of our people survived but come home.”

“I will, I promise I will return to this very spot.” He pulls Elurin into an embrace and whispers “I promise.” Eventually they pull apart. “Gwingloth, make sure he doesn’t get into too much trouble, just the right amount!”

“Of course.”

Elurin lightly pushes Elured toward the edge of the talan, “Go! For the sooner you leave the sooner you’ll be back! May the sun shine on your path, and may the nightingales help you find it!”

“Farewell!” Elured calls as he leaps into the branches and quickly disappears before the coming dawn.

Sirion was flooded, and raging like he had never seen. The ford was washed away. Swimming across would likely be a death sentence. Elured thinks about the map he and Elurin made last summer. If this ford was washed away, they all likely were. So there were only two options; trying to find a path through the mouths of Sirion would be the most direct, but likely a fool’s errand. Sailing obviously was not an option, he had sailed rivers on the small craft the avari made but the ocean was too risky. Which left the North. He could pass over the Gates of Sirion to the North, and hope that the Nargod wasn’t affected by the same weather that flooded Sirion. It would be a much longer journey, but the least difficult. 

He tucked a stray braid behind his ear, then sighed, irritated, as the wind immediately tossed it back out of place. 

“Well, I suppose there’s no good thinking on an empty stomach.” He mumbled.

A few handfuls of berries and a bit of bread later, he sighed, this time content. 

Gwingloth would likely scold me for such a meal he thought as he looked out over the river over his perch in a lone tree. Even at its narrowest it was still a massive river, and in some places leagues wide. There would be no crossing, of that he was now sure of. North would be the only option. 

He resolved to set out in the morning, laid down on one of the larger branches of the tree, and fell into dreams with Elurin.

“How fares your journey, brother?”

“Sirion has swelled with floods, there is no crossing. I travel North at dawn, to pass over the Gates of Sirion,” he replied.

He could feel Elurin’s concern twist around him restlessly, “are you sure? That is a long way, you do not have to do this, not alone. If you stay there for a few days perhaps I can catch up and we can go together?”

“I can do it. Please, stay in the forest with Gwingloth. She is not fully recovered no matter how much she may deny it, and you have more skill in healing than myself or any of the avari. She needs you. And I’m your older brother, I can do this.” He wanted to, had to. Had to see if their sister lived yet. 

“Just because you are mere minutes older, does not mean you have to bear this alone,” Elurin’s concern remained, but was now vibrantly colored by love as his fëa swirled around.

“I know, brother, I know. I just feel as though… this is something I have to do, I am fated for. I do not know what awaits me at the Havens, but something does, and I have to find it.”

“That may be,” Elurin deflated a little, “but after you find it, come back. You promised.” Elurin’s fëa gently brushes him, and fades back into the waking world, out of their small world of dreams. 

Elured lingered a little longer yet. They had never been so far apart, and he feared that if they were much farther they would not be able to walk in their dreams and visions together. To be disconnected from each other in such a way, Elured feared that he would become lost as a boat tossed in a raging storm. 

But slowly the sun began to peer over the blue mountains, and it was time. He drifted back to waking.

He ran with the wind in his hair and the sun on his face, his feet quickly and silently impacting the grass as he raced northward - he had been traveling for a few days and the Gates of Sirion were in sight. 

He could see where the river gushed forth from the twisting caves under the hill, and traced over the hills above with his eyes. He wanted to cross over as close as possible, the river being flooded had already brought him many leagues in the wrong direction. As the hours passed the hills grew larger, then slowly, slowly smaller as he turned back south. 

Eventually he grew near the forest of Nan-tathren, and just in time as his food began to run low. He hated foraging in the hills. Not nearly enough berries for his taste. 

Something was wrong. He had frozen before the thought fully reached his mind. There were people in the forest. He slowly resumed approaching the forest, using every trick he knew to stay silent. It was harder to remain unseen in the grass. He had to get into the trees. 

He moved barely breathing, tense as a bowstring, he slipped under the trees. He was back in his element, whoever was here would never see him, he thought as he leapt into the branches. Perhaps he could figure out who was here… to better avoid them , he rationalized. After all, he needed to forage and could find areas they had not been in if he knew their numbers. 

He flew through the branches, much faster than he had traveled across the ground, though leaping down here and there to gather berries, roots, and a particularly good bunch of mushrooms. 

But once more he slowed, the trees whispering growing louder. He was getting close to them. They were getting close. Perhaps a half dozen of them, a hunting party perhaps… or a band of warriors and scouts. He sunk further into the shadows of the tree and listened as voices approached.

He grew more tense as he recognized their accent. Faint as it was, it was the very same that Gwinloth had. Noldor. He loosened his sword in its sheath, fearful that they were the same who destroyed his home. Who killed his family. Who left him and his brother to die. 

He remained still as they got closer and closer. As he listened, it seemed like more of a hunting party. Likely tracking game. 

He resolved to wait until they passed. They obviously had little experience in the forest. Either they had not been here long, or there weren’t many where they were from. Either way, they were not native here, and spoke of building up stores for the remainder of their journey South. 

South. It rang through his head, to the Havens of Sirion. They are likely refugees from Gondolin then. He briefly smiled, Gwinloth will be overjoyed to hear some of her people survived.  

He continued waiting for them to pass, they nearly were agonizingly slow as they discussed what kind of game the prints seemed to belong to, or how many, and seemingly to him at least, could not tell a rabbit track from a deer. Eventually, what Elurin would call his “older brother exasperation” kicked in, and he slowly moved from the tree and onto the game trail behind them.

“About a fifth of a league further down the path, there is a small herb of deer. A little farther and you will likely find some rabbits if you are capable of being quiet. And for Orome’s sake be careful! There are two fauns in the herd of deer who are not ready to leave their mothers.”

The hunters spun around, drawing their bows, and he remained just long enough to smirk, but before they could even blink, he had disappeared into the trees again. 

His mirth at this little trick stirred a wind in the trees as he raced away, further South. He had enough food, it was time to continue to the Havens.

[searchingforserendipity25]

Self Fic Rec

Thank you so much to @sallysavestheday, @swanmaids, @thelordofgifs, @melestasflight for tagging me, and for sharing their lists - lots of excelling fics to read and reread <33

I am taking this opportunity to share some recent fics I've written for exchanges and events on ao3 and haven't posted on tumblr yet!

If All Kings Be As Kin, for the wonderful @thalion71, with @melestasflight wonderful betaing

It might have all been more tolerable, the newness of the flesh and the estrangement of the spirit, if Gil-Galad were in love with the world around him; but Gil-Galad was not in love with Valinor.

Fin-Galad comes back to life, dances a great deal, and faces one of his predecessors. Fingon, for his part, has questions of his own.

After Ruin, a Hurt/Comfort Exchange treat for @jaz-the-bard.

Mandos was kin to Morgoth: well knew Maeglin that no escape would avail him. But it was not escape that he sought.

Maeglin attempts self-destruction in the Halls of Mandos; Turgon seeks a confrontation. The ghost of fallen Gondolin is there, too.

Formal Noldorin Poetic Formats And Unusual Adaptations

Correspondence on collaboration for an unpublished draft of an instrumental song cycle, developed between two princes of the House of Finwë.

Maglor and Finrod exchanging letters, teasing and avant-garde musical theory in the Years of the Trees. For Tolkien Ekphrasis Week.

Glasshouses

It had been - an understanding, an understood thing, in Gondolin.

A study on Turgon/Glorfindel not-quite unrequited love over the centuries. I am quite proud of the writing on this one. For the Spring Into Arda event.

Battlefields

It was not meet for a king to be weak, even before his healers and lieutenants. But it had been a long time since Gil-Galad had had a cousin bold and true enough to cut a swathe through the enemy and come, kneeling, back unguarded, to press his hands against his injury.  

Gil-Galad is wounded in battle. Elrond and Elros have opinions on the care and keeping of kings. A small fic about trust, also for @thalion71.

I'm not sure who's received this tag before, so tagging all mentioned and @mayfriend, @welcomingdisaster, @jouissants, @thescrapwitch, @eilinelsghost, @slightnettles, @actual-bill-potts, @emyn-arnens, @theworldisquietheretooquiet, @vidumavi, @that-angry-noldo, @meadowlarkx, @polutrope and @ettelene.

[sotwk]

The Story of Thranduil's Great Losses

My overarching theory about Elvenking’s broken heart is that he actually lost multiple family members over the course of the Third Age, in events borne about by the spawning of evils from Dol Guldur and the resurgence of the orcs in lands close to Mirkwood. 

However, the biggest loss that hit him hardest was that of his beloved wife. Prior to being softened by marriage and fatherhood, Thranduil must have been a bit difficult to get along with. Based on his portrayal in the The Hobbit trilogy, we can picture him as arrogant, cocky, snobbish, stubborn, impatient, hot-tempered, and carrying the emotional and mental damages of war. Remember that he witnessed the Sacking of Doriath, one or potentially two Kinslayings, the War of Wrath, and likely one or two of the great Elven wars in the mid Second Age. (I’m not listing the War of the Last Alliance here because I think he was already married at that point.) Essentially, he was a grumpy, battle-hardened soldier who just wanted to live the rest of his life on Middle-earth in peace and free of care.  

Eventually, he met an elleth who not only saw the goodness and kindness behind these flaws, but helped him temper his demons. She understood and respected his desires but also inspired him to fulfill his potential as a great ruler. With their union, they helped each other grow and under their rule the Woodland Realm flourished and thrived for about a thousand years into the Third Age. 

And then, sometime around TA 1000, the Necromancer (aka Sauron) came to Amon Lanc and set up shop, turning it into the cesspool that is Dol Guldur. Thranduil’s blissful existence began to crumble from then on, slowly but surely.

Almost two thousand years later, he was still working hard to serve his people and sustain his kingdom which was being plagued by the Necromancer’s evils, even after he'd lost the beautiful home he and his wife built together and raised their children in. In his fight against the Enemy, he lost dear friends and even his own children (who, or how many, I will not say, because I have yet to write those stories!). The fact that an estranged Legolas was the one left remaining to him by the events of The Hobbit speaks to the extent of his personal losses. 

After TWO THOUSAND years of enduring this decline, injury, and strife, can you imagine what a blow it was to him when, due to one weak, unguarded moment, Thranduil failed to protect his Queen and she died?

How did it happen? 

Honestly, I am still working out the specifics in order to write a story about it, but in the meantime, I have some notes to share. 

If we choose to subscribe to The Hobbit movie’s claim that the Elvenqueen died in Gundabad, (which I do, loosely, in my own headcanon history for the SOTWK series I am building), a logical time when this might have occurred was in TA 2793 during the War of the Dwarves and Orcs and the Second Sacking of Gundabad. 

My belief is that the Elvenqueen was not a fighter, because her husband was already a renowned warrior who commanded a formidable army, and a more practical and fitting role for her would be that of a healer, ready to tend to her King and sons should they suffer injury. Elves who are healers generally avoid combat, because as Tolkien’s “Laws and Customs of the Eldar” states: “the dealing of death, even when lawful or under necessity, diminished the power of healing” (from “The History of Middle Earth").

Details of about how the Elvenqueen’s death occurred include my following assumptions: (Bear with me, because a few are leaps and stretches of imagination, although still logical in my mind.)

The Elvenqueen was Noldorin and a dwarf-friend, similar to Celebrimbor or Elrond (in Rings of Power). Since dwarves helped build the underground halls as seen in The Hobbit, a congenial relationship must have existed between Thranduil’s house and the dwarves of Durin’s Folk. I believe the Queen was the source of this, being a friend to Thrain I (ancestor of Thorin Oakenshield).

In TA 2770, when Smaug besieged Erebor and turned the Dwarves into nomads, Thranduil refused to give them aid (for reasons I can discuss at a later time--but I have a theory for this too!). At the time, the Elvenqueen was residing elsewhere and was unable to prevent this. 

Twenty years later: Wanting to make up for past mistakes, the Elvenqueen persuaded her reluctant King to send a portion of their army to fight on the Dwarves’ side, arguing that the orcs are also their people’s sworn enemy. (Does the argument sound familiar? Maybe that’s why Thranduil found Tauriel so aggravating!)

The Elvenqueen accompanied Thranduil to the first assembly of the forces, to facilitate the interactions between her hot-headed husband and a still-angry Thrain II (Thorin’s dad). 

After a few battles had been fought and won, Thranduil convinced his wife to return home. She was to be escorted by Elven warriors and taken by a safe route provided by the Dwarves, but due to either betrayal or faulty intelligence, the Elvenqueen was instead ambushed and captured by orcs and taken to Gundabad. 

Learning of this, Thranduil rode to her rescue and engaged the forces of Gundabad in battle. But his efforts were in vain because the Queen had already been slain; the orcs had no intention of returning her and had merely tried to set a trap. All Thranduil found was her lifeless body, and he never had a chance to say goodbye. 

It was Thranduil’s rage that cleansed Gundabad of orcs during that war. (Take his fight scenes in the movies and multiply by the fury of a thousand suns.) However, once this was done, he took his army home, refusing to continue fighting the rest of the six-year war. He blamed the Dwarves’ negligence for his wife’s death, which led to the open hostility between his and Thrain/Thorin’s houses. 

Thranduil’s anger was so well known (and feared), that Dain Ironfoot (who wasn’t even there!) later made the movie claim “he wishes nothing but ill upon my people” and called Thranduil a “faithless woodland sprite”, in reference to him not completing his participation in the war.

At the time of the Elvenqueen’s death, Legolas was already over 2,000 years old, so when Legolas tells Tauriel “there is no memory”, he means a grieving Thranduil likely discouraged any mention of his dead wife in his presence, songs of her are not widely sung, and images/memorials of her are scarce. “There is no grave” could mean that she was perhaps buried somewhere secret, not easily accessible, or not a typical resting place for elves. Thranduil's grief was just too deep to bear this.

[marietheran]

LotR reread - book 2, chapter 1 - Many Meetings

That awakening scene and Gandalf's grumbling are iconic.

"You have talked long in your sleep, Frodo, and it has not been hard for me to read your mind and memory" - more potential mind-reading. Yes, Frodo was talking, but the phrasing implies more than that.

Honestly Frodo is rather unperturbed for someone who keeps getting told "oh, and by the way, I read your mind"

Frodo's disbelief that Gandalf could ever be held captive :))

Frodo having thought all the "Big People" stupid before meeting Aragorn. He doesn't seem to have considered Gandalf as one of them, though.

"Fortune or fate have helped you" - something for the Mysterious Allusions Counter?? Let's leave it at 3.5.

That the Shire could withstand Sauron until all else might be conquered, almost as much as Rivendell, according to Gandalf!

"To what he will come in the end not even Elrond can foretell." - Proof that Elrond has foresight? Or just referring to his knowledge of healing?

"He may become like a glass filled with a clear light for eyes to see that can" - beautiful phrasing; what does it mean?

Some of the elves are "as merry as children"! -> me @ Peter Jackson

"We are sitting in a fortress. Outside it is getting dark." "Gandalf has been saying many cheerful things like that."

"On his brow sat wisdom, and in his hand was strength"

Elrond is "ageless, neither old nor young"... "venerable he seemed as a king crowned with many winters [Elros! 🥲💔], and yet hale as a tried warrior in the fullness of his strength." Hmm, half-elven heritage seems to show.

His hair "dark as the shadows of twilight" - compare: Lúthien ("dark as shadow was her hair"); Arwen being both a carbon copy of her illustrious foremother and like her father in female form.

"Mighty among both Elves and Men"

Arwen also has this "young and not" quality. Both she and her father are said to have the light of stars in their eyes.

Hmmm... Grey rainment with no ornament save a silver girdle + headdress. Not Noldorin fashion, I believe.

Bilbo definitely knows about Arwen and seems to tease Aragorn. Not sure if it counts as an allusion, being semi-overt... counter at 1.5

When I was 13 I decided to learn the Eärendil poem by heart and got halfway through - later I learned the rest of it through music settings.

Hmm... I doubt Bilbo should be taken as an expert on Eärendil's journey, but it does seem the Mariner almost crashed himself on the Helcaraxë (From gnashing of the Narrow Ice) where shadow lies on frozen hills.../He turned in haste, and roving still, etc.). And then there's the mysterious "Night of Naught"; I'm not sure if it was mentioned in the Silm.

O'er leagues unlit and foundered shores/ that drowned before the Days began *:･ﾟ✧*

He came into the timeless halls/ where shining fall the countless years ✧*:･ ...Brings to mind elements of Galadriel's song later on...

The Silmaril as lantern light/ and banner bright with living flame/ to gleam thereon by Elbereth/ herself was set, who thither came (!!)

And over Middle-earth he passed/ and heard at last the weeping sore/ of women and of elven-maids/ in Elder Days, in years of yore... haunting...

But, yes, Bilbo dies have cheek in reciting that in the house of Elrond

Aragorn very overtly talking to Arwen, cleaned-up and all. The scene is specifically drawn attention to; I hesitate to add this to my AragornxArwen allusion counter because it's not even an allusion! Mmm... 1.75

"I'll take a walk, I think, and look at the stars of Elbereth in the garden" -- oh, Bilbo, you're getting very Elvish

[silvantransthranduiltrash]

Do ya have any more headcannons about the whole Thingol and Melian you sometimes write about over here? I really like the concept of Thingol being Melian's thrall basically

Yes yes yes! It’s pretty much canon in my mind

So Thingol isn’t being mind controlled by Melian 24/7, it’s mostly during important events /decisions.

When it’s just an average day, Melian loosens her control over him (bc she’s a sadist) so that she can say she doesn’t control him all the time. Unfortunatly for him, when he isn’t being mind controlled, Melian is verbally and occasionally physically abusing him, so it’s a toss up on which he prefers: mind control, where he doesn’t have to think to much and isn’t constantly being hurt, or no mind controll, but he is constantly being hurt and gaslit.

By the time the noldo came to the eastern shores, Thingol has pretty much given up, which is why his personality switches between mind control and no mind control aren’t noticeable.

Furthermore, Melian likes to make herself out as the good guy, so she has Thingol act and decide things that actually she wants, but she herself will play as the disapproving, compassionate wife. This means that most elves, espescially the noldo who haven’t been around to witness the breaking down of thingol’s will, believe that Melian is the one to talk to in order to get Thingol to work with them, and it gives the impression that, if anything, Thingol is the abusive one in the relationship, essentially trapping Thingol, and preventing him from escaping due to social pressure.

Luthien knows exactly what’s going on, but other elves either 1. Don’t believe her (like her Noldorin cousins) or are not in a position to help her and Thingol completely. They might be able to keep melian down momentarily, but they can’t put a permanent stop to it unless they are willing to risk the eradication of all the sindar.

As mentioned in previous posts, this really leads to a “hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil” mentality in the sindar, and even all the way to the third age the concept is pushed that Melian was merciful and Thingol was not.

Luthien, whenever she needs to get away from Melian’s abuse (with her it’s more verbal/gaslighting and watching her father get hurt), runs to Oropher, the head of house Edireth, bc he’s one of the only elves who has enough power to stop Melian in her tracks unless she’s willing to risk it all. She has a permanent room in his household, where she keeps all her diaries listing the abuse Melian has put her and Thingol through, bc she knows that if she keeps those diaries where Melian can access them, they’ll end up destroyed. This is her way of documenting proof of melian’s abuse bc she knows no one will believe her if she accusses he mother without proof.

Luthien is also pen palls with Lasgen, her cousin, god mother (Thingol was able to gain controll for enough time to make Lasgen Luthien’s god mother, bc he didn’t trust melian for one bit) and Oropher’s grand daughter, who lives (at this time) in the Arctic Empire (an Avari nation), and Lasgen has hundreds of letters where Luthien is venting about exactly what is happening in her home.

Also as mentioned in previous posts, Luthien didn’t only choose to marry, live and die with Beren bc she loved him, she also did it to escape her mother’s grasp.

However, Luthien’s departure from his life ultimately broke Thingol, and she’ll forever regret that.

Now, the ainur aren’t really good in this au, especially the valar, so when Thingol comes out of the halls, Melian gets control of him once again and the valar do nothing about it, and no one really helps him, bc everyone has been so gaslit into believing that Thingol is the bad guy and melian is the good guy, that no one even knows smth is going on.

Except Olwe, Ingwe, and Finwe that is.

And as much as they want to tear him away from Melian, they have to play the long game and little by little break Elwe away from that bitch.

It isn’t untill into the 5th age that they, with the help of other Avari and cuivienen elves (bc they are some of the only ones not blinded by the ainur’s powers), manage to fully destroy the marraige and chase Melian away from Elwe. Of course, this causes further chaos amongst the elves as a whole bc if Melian could succesfully make most of the elven population believe that she is the good guy, even though she’s just as bad as Sauron, what else are the ainur doing? Especially considering they didn’t intervene now that they were in valinor.

[outofangband]

The Cavalry of Maglor’s Gap and Lothlann and other world building for the region (Part One)

World Building Masterlist

Like my other Fëanorian World Building posts I focus mainly on layout/hierarchy, population, resources and trade, and homes and construction.

Please always feel free to ask more! For this location or any others! And feel free to suggest locations for world building posts

Maglor’s Gap is an area of Northeastern Beleriand. It lies at the Southern end of the plains of Lothlann with the March of Maedhros on the West and Mount Rerir and Thargelion at the East.

We sadly know very little about the horsemen of Maglor other than that they were burned alive in Lothlann during the Dagor Bragollach. But as Tolkien World Building is my favorite thing, here’s some speculation

The cavalry is made up of over 300 Noldorin riders though duty is cycled so there is usually a group of twenty to fifty inactive or in less intensive tasks They are primarily a defensive measure, protecting Eastern Beleriand from invasion from the North.

Most carry a sword though there are a significant number of archers as well. The cavalry is highly disciplined and trained in both solo and smaller missions as well as coordinated combat operations involving large numbers

The Cavalry live in a number of low, wooden halls located in the foothills. Smaller, cabin like stations dot the route North towards Ard Galen where some stay during longer missions

The horses are bred in Lothlann and graze largely in the wild plains and meadow steppes. About forty elves are involved full time in their care during the watchful peace. The number drops during more dangerous times

The organization and governance of the gap is somewhere between that of the highly organized and fortified Himring and the loosely governed Himlad with no central citadel. Few records are kept and non military positions outside healers are largely temporary and shared ones, the exception being a few who deal primarily with trade and the acquisition of resources

On that note, resources primarily come from Eastern Beleriand with some imports from East of the Ered Luin and elsewhere in Beleriand. Fiber crops are not grown in the Gap and materials for clothing are accessed through trade with Thargelion*. The material is generally already processed and cleaned and requires only fashioning into clothes. Linen, wool, and silk are the most used with other furs going into linings. Leather is also imported from Himlad and Thargelion.

Some clothing is made by individuals who acquire the materials through hunting

*who also get many materials from elves, men and dwarves East of the Ered Luin

Maglor’s Gap does have a small fortress in the more mountainous Northeast near the border to Thargelion. This served temporarily as Maglor’s own home too. It was built from stone and earth to blend into the surrounding landscape (though most was above ground unlike Nargothrond

Fish from the two nearby rivers and various streams are caught often for food and are eaten more than other meat. Seeds and bread made from various flours are also eaten along with often bitter wild vegetables such as wild spinach, purslane, lamb’s quarters, red and green dandelions, etc. Salt is another traded resource. Butter and any other dairy products are somewhat rare. Goat milk products are available somewhat more than cow as goat and sheep are more common in Eastern Beleriand

The majority of the Cavalry perished during Dagor Bragollach. The rest fled towards Himring with a small number traveling further South