#Queen Melian

[ilaneya]

today is my birthday so i’m reposting one of my favourite works of the past year ✨

[ladysternchen]

I Will Hold Your Hand Forever

She stretches out her hands, and he, transfixed, takes them.

Eternity swirls.

Music, too vast and glorious for elvish ears to hear, beauty too great for their eyes to bear.

He falters, but she holds his hands steadily, and takes courage, and sees, and marvels.

When the world stops swirling, he loosens his grip.

She falters, suddenly unsteady on feet that feel new and different, and he instantly tightens his hold on her hands once again.

“I will hold your hand forever.” is the first promise they give to each other, before the promise of eternal love (why promise the obvious, anyway?), before their marriage bond.

It is hard to say who trembles more. They hold onto each other for dear life, or so it feels to them, the new crowns heavy on their heads. Then they turn to their people, King and Queen of the Eglath.

“Just don’t let go of my hand.” Elu mumbles to her under his breath, his voice hitching with panicked elation, as though he is about to break into a fit of hysterical laughter.

“Never.” she answers, in equally shaky tones.

Their fingers entwined as their bodies, Melian gazes into Elu’s starry eyes and sees his helpless desire in them- the most beautiful thing she has ever seen, yet so, so fragile. 

“I have got you.” she reassures him, and he gives himself to her wholly, with trust so profound that it almost moves her to tears.

She clings to him, beside herself with pain. Why, when the Eldar labour easily, is it her lot to suffer so? But Elu holds here steady, unflinchingly allowing her to crush his fingers with every pain, only letting her hand go when he needs both of his to place them around their baby’s head.

One contraction later, Lúthien is born into his hands.

An hour later, her minuscule fist is wrapped tightly around her father’s finger, and Melian’s heart aches with love and fear of loss.

They hold hands in court, always. Their people smile about it. Melian finds she could not care less.

The glare at each other, the same hurt and bitter disappointment she feels reflected in his eyes. There is no agreeing tonight, no forgiveness.

This night, their bed feels cold. She twists and turns around under her blanket, unable to find rest, her mind still seething.

And then she feels his slender fingers, tentatively searching hers.

“I will always hold your hand.” he mutters grudgingly, not looking at her.

It is not an apology.

Nor an accusation.

But it chases the coldness away.

Grief is a physical pain, Melian finds, more terrible even than the pains of birth. There is nothing more terrible. Nothing, apart probably from watching your soulmates suffer.

There are many nights when Melian is uncertain whether both of them will see the new dawn, or whether the terror of loss will not swipe their very spirits away, him, herself, both of them.

There are days when there is laughter, and mirth, and hope. Empty hopes.

There is nothing left to hold onto, with the world crumbling beneath their feet, with his strength and even the foundations of their kingdom failing. All becomes meaningless in the bright light of impending doom that renders them both speechless.

They hold each other’s hands nonetheless, and it is the only comfort possible.

Because in the end, what else matters but love?

His fists are still clenched when she falls to her knees beside him, but there is no resistance when she slinks her fingers into his hand. For a moment, a deranged moment of denial, she is annoyed that he does not press her hand when she so desperately needs comfort. Then she realises that he cannot, and she reaches out with her other hand, pressing his fingers shut over her own, because she needs him to still hold her.

“I will hold your hand forever” she sobs, even when she knows that she cannot. Worse, that she has not, when he needed her comfort the most. 

She stands by Mandos’ unyielding walls, her hands pressed against the stone. She knows there is no way in, but she cannot leave this place. Bodiless though she is now, her being remembers the warmth of touch on her palms.

On the other side of the wall, Elu stands in equal longing, his insubstantial hands pressed against the tapestries, crying ghostly tears. 

There are days where she wishes they had never left Nan Elmoth, had never been crowned king and queen. There are days, also, where she is uncertain whether his returning from the Halls was not a mistake, too great a burden, whether she should have let their bond go so that Elu could at last find rest there.

But even had she wanted to, she could not have. They are a pair by Eru’s design. And oh, she loves him, loves him still, loves him more each day.

He shivers even under warm blankets in the bright sun, his newly remade body bearing the marks of his guilt and grief.

“There is no healing a truly broken heart.” Námo has said gravely. “Neither this way or another”

But he is with her. And that is all that matters now.

Tenderly, she strokes his forearm, willing him to know how grateful she is that he would bear all the pain in a body, only so that he could return to her.

His fingers close over hers.

She looks up, only to find him watching her, the love in his gaze as present as the sorrow.

“I will hold your hand forever.” he whispers tonelessly.

And so he does. 

[aureentuluva70]

Every single one of the Dwarven fathers was created with a female counterpart. All except Durin.

We know that Durin must have had children as his line exists even by the time of the Hobbit and Lotr. So who was his spouse then?

Here's my theory/headcanon: Durin married a Maia. Or maybe an elf. But I personally prefer a maia. Extra points if she's a Maia of Yavanna. So all of their children and descendants are half-dwarf half-maiar.

[lespritdelaforetverte]

The Light of Valinor by EKukanova

[tenth-sentence]

Then Beleg departed with these gifts from Menegroth and went back to the north marches, where he had his lodges and many friends.

"The Silmarillion" - J.R.R. Tolkien

[velvet4510]

I just want to say to my fellow female Tolkien fans that we should not feel ashamed for loving these books that are admittedly male-centric.

It’s tempting to call Tolkien a sexist for including so few female characters in his legendarium - and I admit that yes he was not entirely free of sexism - but we must remember that the women he did include are the epitome of girl power and some of the best role models we could ask for: strong and willful and noble and brave, without sacrificing their femininity to prove themselves.

It’s glorious to me how you can flip through the books and see page after page of men doing everything … and then suddenly:

There’s Varda creating the Stars, Sun, and Moon!!

There’s Yavanna saving her trees by inspiring the creation of the Ents!!

There’s Melian making an Elf king forget his own people and then shielding an entire kingdom!!

There’s Lúthien defeating Sauron himself AND Morgoth himself!!!

There’s Idril preventing the complete annihilation of her people by creating the secret path out of Gondolin!!

There’s Galadriel resisting the One Ring!!

There’s Éowyn killing the lord of the Nazgûl!!

There’s Ioreth saving the victims of the Black Breath through her knowledge that the king will be the healer!!

There’s Arwen bridging the gap between Elves and Men as Queen of Gondor!!

There’s 100-year-old Lobelia beating Ruffians with her umbrella and leaving money in her will to help homeless hobbits!!

There’s Rosie raising 13 kids while simultaneously serving the whole Shire as Mistress of Bag End!!

There’s Elanor guarding and preserving the Red Book so that we can read it now!!!

That’s why I just can’t hold too big of a grudge about this. Yes, Tolkien didn’t write female characters too often, and it would’ve been fantastic if there were more. But when he did write them, they were amazing.

And on top of that, his male characters display literally our dream level of healthy masculinity in a man. Frodo, Sam, Aragorn, Faramir, etc. are our wish fulfillment. We have every right to enjoy that.

[thesummerestsolstice]

One of my most deranged Silm headcanons is that Elrond and Thranduil were meant to have an arranged marriage. Look, Oropher was well aware that the reemergence of Elu Thingol's heirs might not be a great thing for his claims to the throne. The obvious solution? Marry one of them into his family! They were about the same age as his son, after all. And it had to be Elrond, partially because Elros had picked mortality and partially because Elrond had already been identified as the "nice one" of the twins.

It really didn't help that Thranduil looked a fair bit like Thingol (especially for an unrelated elf), Elrond looked a lot like Melian, and many of the old Iathrim were still really not over losing their first king and queen. So Thranduil and Elrond got engaged to great joy (from almost all of the Sindar) and great awkwardness (from Elrond and Thranduil).

Now, Oropher thought this was a marvelous idea! He could secure his claim to the throne, please many of his nobles, and secure some ainur blood for his family all in one fell swoop.

(The running rumor was that Melian had created Luthien via a magical ritual with her and Thingol's blood, so he wasn't too worried about the fact that Elrond and Thranduil were both men. They could just brew up some grandchildren for him with Elrond Maia powers, no problem.)

Eventually, Thranduil was able to talk his father own and convince him that the arranged marriage was, in fact, a bad idea; and that Elrond, in fact, had no interest in challenging Oropher's kingship.

So Elrond and Thranduil never got married. They did become great friends, though, and legally, the engagement was never dissolved. They still decide to be obnoxious about it sometimes.

[remusjohnslupin]

MAKE ME CHOOSE ↳ @miriel-therindes asked: galadriel or melian

“And now at last it comes. You will give me the Ring freely! In place of the Dark Lord you will set up a Queen. And I shall not be dark, but beautiful and terrible as the Morning and the Night! Fair as the Sea and the Sun and the Snow upon the Mountain! Dreadful as the Storm and the Lightning! Stronger than the foundations of the earth. All shall love me and despair!”

[annoyinglandmagazine]

I love everything about Elrond’s complicated heritage and his relationship with it. Because that duality in not only being part human and part elf (plus a little Maia) but also being both very firmly of the Finweans and raised partially by Feanorians yet also being directly of the line of Thingol and predominantly ethnically Sindar. Potentially he has a direct claim to both the thrones of Sindar and the Noldor and that’s pretty incredible considering their shared history.

What made me think about this is the foundation of Imladris, because that’s some Melian shit right there. Seriously he’s drawing from his Doriathrim heritage, never mind Luthien come again that’s Thingol’s Maia queen behaviour. And yet he doesn’t use it like his ancestors did. They tried to protect their people sure, but he didn’t draw the line at his people. Rivendell is a direct contrast to Doriath and I feel like that tells you something important about Elrond.

Because Elrond knows his family history but he also has a unique ability to sympathise with yet assess critically all the actions of his ancestors as a consequence of his mixed heritage. He can empathise with the Feanorians because he’s witnessed how much they suffered and their capacity for kindness but he’s also experienced a kinslaying from a vulnerable child’s perspective and so understands the Sindar’s anger. But as a mixed race person who speaks multiple languages including Quenya and lost a lot of homes he can also acknowledge that Thingol went too far sometimes because he knows what it’s like to be different, to be living somewhere where your cultural identity is treated as something you can change or fix.

So we see that he learnt from their mistakes to try and do the best he could to be welcoming to other people regardless of anything else, by outright doing the opposite to Thingol. He also seems to have learnt similar lessons from his experiences with the Feanorians in his wisdom regarding the ring’s corruption and ‘I bind you to no oath.’

[demonscantgothere]

Beasts of the Hill and Serpents of the Den. Galadriel/Sauron | Halbrand. Explicit. 211.1k | 4.6k chapter [42/150] Ch. 42: The Edge of Catastrophe

During the First Age, the War of Wrath changes course. On the island of Tol-in-Gaurhoth, the Isle of Werewolves and one of Sauron’s former strongholds, is the seat of the Necromancer’s power. Instead of sending his wolves out to kill Finrod after capturing Felagund in his dungeons, Sauron demands an exchange for his life. Galadriel offers herself.

“Do it,” Galadriel commanded of him, never straying an inch. “If there is one person I fear more than Lúthien, it is him. Hide it—before we lose it.”

His expression softened as he gazed down at her, and then his feet moved him closer to Galadriel once more. His hand lifted to her cheek again, though this time he only grazed it with the pad of his thumb in a gentle sweep over the arch of her cheekbone. “Lúthien is just a girl,” Halbrand reminded her in a whisper.

“Lúthien is powerful,” Galadriel reminded him in return, especially since it was something he clearly chose to ignore when it came to the offspring of King Thingol and Queen Melian. He underestimated her at every turn. “Like her mother,” she added. “It would do you well to remember that, and never to underestimate your enemies—girl, woman, boy, or man. Treat them all the same, and they will never catch you off guard.”

Halbrand’s eyes seemed to soften further as he gazed down at her face, a gentle pass of his thumb along her cheekbone becoming a comforting brush of light touch. “My enemies,” he inquired with curiosity, “or ours?”

Keep Reading

[alexandra-scribbles]

Thoughts on Galadriel.

To be honest, I do not think the Noldor who lived in Beleriand and ME after the war liked Galadriel much. (I love Galadriel and loved what Cate Blanchett as her in the movies) But like thinking about the Noldor of Beleriand, excluding those who lived in Gondolin and Nargothrond before both kingdoms fell, Galadriel basically abandoned the Noldor the moment she set foot in Beleriand. She went to Menegroth and stayed there under the protection of Melian for the most part of the first age, all while the rest of the Noldor, her brothers included, were out in the frontlines of war.

Even during the long peace, most of the Noldor in Beleriand had to see orcs attacks and such, their homes were not 100% safe, they didn't have the luxury of being protected by a Maia. The Valar had more or less abandoned the people of Beleriand (not just the Noldor) to their fates. So while the people who lived in Barad Eithel, Dorthonion, Ladros, Himlad, who were basically the ones holding the siege, all those people who died during the fire. Who had to move further south. Those elves could see Fingon, Fingolfin, Angrod, Aegnor, and the Feanorians willing to protect their people and die for them. (and I bet Aredhel would have been there too if she hadn't been kidnapped by Eol but that's another thing). But like Galadriel once she stepped in Doriath she never left until she felt considerably threatened and when she did, she and Celeborn moved east beyond the blue mountains. She wasn't even there when the war of wrath really broke out. Like right now I don't really remember if she managed to see the host of valinor and when the war was done and she did come back to the coast... she was denied passage.

Galadriel couldn't go back to Valinor by the end of the first age because I remember reading that she was denied passage, because she was not humble. The Galadriel we see in LOtR is an older and wiser Galadriel that had perhaps realized that most of her actions in the first age were born of hypocrisy (Hipocrisy was a big theme in the first age but that's also another story).

So what I want to get at is, Galadriel was not named queen of the Noldor and was not included in Noldori Politics at all during the second age (looking at you Amazon), because I don't think the Noldor considered one of them anymore. I think that the moment she decided to marry a sinda and remain in menegroth with the rest of Thingol's people she was 'set aside' by the Noldor as a whole. So yeah, those are my thoughts regarding Galadriel, if anyone else wants to add anything else, I'll be more than happy to read your thoughts <3

[tanoraqui]

Eldamar!Buzzfeed’s Top 5 Maglor Fëanorion Songs

9/26/422 Fo.A

[read on AO3]

The votes are in and the people have spoken! Thanks to our poll last week, Elf!Buzzfeed is excited to present our and your Top 5 Maglor Fëanorion compositions, with commentary from experts—including the infamous Singer himself!

5. First Age Northern Beleriandrin Songs of Warding and Warning

After the sheer number and variety of write-ins, we decided to credit Maglor with the whole genre of Songs of Warding and Warning of Siege-Era Northern Beleriand. Top write-ins included “Campfire Warding Song”, “Wind in the Grass” and “Song of the Gap.”

Expert Opinions:

Eglatarwen Lindambar, a Court Minstrel of Üdoriath: This is an insult to Queen Melian. The Noldor did naught but modify and build upon pre-existing Songs, and all or nearly all the popular Songs of Warding in Beleriand were taught or inspired by Melian, even before she created the Great Girdle. I will concede their effectiveness—against most things pettier than dragons, at least—but to credit him with the genre? So much for journalistic neutrality.

Timpenindë Cuilemë, preeminent bard among the Noldor: Oh, I don’t know if I’m qualified for this one—I was only in Beleriand for a few decades for the War. But I did recognize Maglor’s work when I found it, and we found it in quite a few places. I think he deserves more credit for the endurance of Himring, actually—I saw that immediately. It may be Maedhros’s will sunk deep into those stones, so deep that neither Morgoth not Ulmo could wear them down. But it’s Maglor’s classic Songs, all love and faith and bloody-minded stubbornness, that served as the final mortar.

Maglor: I’m flattered, but I really don’t think I should be taking credit for this. I did compose my first warding-Song entirely organically, to keep annoying younger brothers out of my bedroom. But everything— almost everything in the First Age was collaborative. “Campfire Warding Song” is ancient—I learned it in my youth from my father, who learned it from his, who Sang it in Cuivienen and during the Great Journey. All I did was modify it to be more attuned to the enemies we faced later, as orcs and such were new and rare for our forefathers. “Song of the Gap” is a call-and-response with constant improvisation—I did compose the basic melody and rhythm, but it varies every time it’s Sung! Likewise “Wind in the Grass”, “Lullaby for Foes”, “Tread Thee Not (or Suffer our Wrath Resplendent)”…I’m not saying we didn’t compose some good Music, but it was all very collaborative!

4. Noldolantë (Full)

The complete story of the Fall of the Noldor: the prologue of Finwë’s first visit to Aman, then the tragedy of Miriel, the division of the Noldor and the slaughter of Finwë, the Oath, the First Kinslaying, the Burning of the Ships, the Siege, the Breaking of the Siege, the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, the Falls of Gondolin and Nargothrond, the Second Kinslaying, the Third Kinslaying, the War of Wrath and final theft of the Silmarils, the suicide of Maedhros and the lone Singer himself wandering remorseful forevermore; with a postscript for the forging of the One Ring, the deaths of Celebrimbor and Gil-Galad, and the Fall of Númenor. It isn’t pure grief—there are bright spots in the Rescue of Maedhros, the Tale of Beren and Lúthien (borrowing melodically and lyrically from the Lay of Leithien), the rise of Gil-Estel. However, its wide range of tragedies is famously able to reduce even the stoniest heart to tears at least once.

Composed in pieces mostly over the course of the First Age, and refined into a single piece over the course of the Second and Third Ages, as the singer wandered alone and repentant on the shores of mortal Arda. Takes six and a half days to sing all the way through, unstopping.

Expert Opinions:

Timpenindë: This is not Maglor’s best work. I don’t even think it’s his fourth-best work, honestly. It is impressive that he maintains the intensity of emotion throughout—deftly waxing and waning, but mostly waxing—and maybe only Maglor could do that for six and a half straight days! But even if it's strong throughout, the whole 'throughout' is just...too much. Even a powerful Singer has to half-kill themselves to perform this, and it's not much more gentle on the audience. Admittedly, I'm not sure what he could possibly cut, but... It is what it is, but it's just not his best work. Also, the lyrics could use work—more poetry in a couple places, less in others, and I know the faltering meter and rhyme represents his descent into madness but... Well, it suffers from the fact that he was genuinely descending into madness.

Finrod Felagund, High Prince of the Noldor, etc etc: I think this might be ranking so high based on name recognition, honestly. I usually start crying within the first hour, and don't stop... But laced through all my grief for...everything...is the question: if Maglor could produce this sustained tidal wave of craft and raw emotion while wandering lost for 6,000 years, what could he have done if he'd been found instead? It makes me dream wistfully of what greater, kinder marvels he could have wrought... Which only ties into the themes of the song, of course—what could the Noldor have been, if we hadn't gone down the roads we did? What could Arda have been? So, all the more credit to the composer for so thoroughly manifesting this masterpiece!

Maglor: I believe this piece speaks for itself, and for myself.

3. Noldolantë (Original/Standard)

Written in the style of a traditional Noldorin history-song, the original Noldolantë is an accounting of the events of the Darkening through the death of Fëanor, with references at the end to early First Age events including the Rescue of Maedhros and the Dagor Aglareb. Focus is primarily on the Kinslaying at Alqualondë, and secondarily on the Burning of the Ships. Though Maglor originally composed it in Quenya during his brief reign as King of the Noldor and added events throughout the First Age (see: "4. Noldolantë (Full)", this translation into Sindarin, first performed publicly in 68 FA, is the version that was widespread and popular throughout First Age Beleriand and thereafter, and remains most identifiable as "Noldolantë."

Major themes include loss of life and loss of innocence; grief, regret and repentance over the same; and determination to take all this hurt, and all the hurt in Arda, and throw it back at the Enemy tenfold, with sword, Song and fire. Takes about four hours to sing in full, though individual sections were often excerpted as marching chants or battle hymns.

Expert Opinions:

Eglatarwen: The Noldolantë is an undeniably impressive work of technical song-craft, engaging and well-paced narrative, heart-wrenching passion...and propaganda. To not treat it as propaganda would be to do it a disservice, because it's also a very impressive work of propaganda! It takes betrayal and atrocity and turns it into...not 'necessity', to be fair, and nor does it shirk the fault of the Noldor—though it certainly blames Morgoth as well. But it takes the irredeemable and almost inexorably turns it redeemable. Horrors and darkness which can and will be moved on from. Terrible mistakes which can and will be learned from. If only that had been true.

Eärwen Olwiel, Princess of the Teleri, High Queen-Consort of the Noldor: Surprisingly factual and earnestly apologetic, I think, for all its spin.

Finrod: I still hum it sometimes. I still hum parts about Alqualondë sometimes. I hate how good at this he is.

Maglor: Of course it's propaganda. It was propaganda just for me, first, when I needed to make some reassuring sense of everything or I would shatter like a wedding glass. Then I sang it to buck up my people, not least my younger brothers, and keep us going through some of the worst years of my life. Then word came of Thingol's Ban and we needed a response of equal—though not directly contradictory, you'll note!—social impact—and, appropriately, I had this piece that only really needed to be translated into Sindarin in order to serve. Though of course I did need to rewrite every single word and note in subtle, crafty ways to accommodate the new language, and sometimes in very obvious ways. I still miss the original recursive arpeggios... Shoutout to Glauriel of the Plains for thrice saving my life: once from an orc arrow, once from dragonfire, and once for not killing me herself when I recruited her to help me with the translations, said I only needed a quick Sindarin-native judgement on a few scattered verses, and then made her help me rewrite the first bridge alone six times in six days.

2. “The Song That Never Ends”

Infamously annoying short tune which loops both lyrically and melodically, sung most often by children. Composed pre-Darkening. No true potency save, it is rumored, as a means of tormenting enemy prisoners.

Expert Opinions:

Eglatarwen: This song is a malicious attack.

Timpenindë: This is in second place? Stars, I can't believe I was ever engaged to that elf.

Finrod: [staring into the unseen distance as one haunted by memories of torment] The Edain learned this, somehow. The thing about the children of Men, you know, is that they're only children for a very short amount of time relative to us... But there are always more of them...

Maglor: I genuinely regret this one. I’m not sure I even remember why I wrote it. I think to annoy my parents, or maybe Nelyo—hey, Nelyo! [to his brother, passing by] Do you remember when or why I came up with that annoying looping song?

Maedhros Fëanorion: [upon further explanation of the question and context] This is in second place? [to Maglor] I should've killed you when I had the chance. When I still did things like that. [upon being told Finrod's comment on the song] 'Mannish children'? Ha! You can give those back to their parents, not like siblings—of which he only had four, I’ll note, and none of them composed this monstrosity. And speaking of Man-ish children, whom you can’t give back to their parents, he should try righteously vengeful, maliciously compliant teenage—

[He cut off as our host, Elrond Peredhel, walked in, whistling a few idle, familiar notes before offering everyone another round of tea. Maglor and Maedhros both winced, though they said nothing save to accept tea.]

1. Ardamirë

Unofficial subtitle: (Father) It's Not Only Ours Anymore

An ode to Gil-Estel—the jewel, the Light, the ship and captain, the Star. Elements composed and gathered over nearly 6,500 years of wandering on mortal shores, including elements of the Noldolantë; arranged into a complete song in the decades after Maglor’s return to Valinor at the start of the Fourth Age. Takes about three hours to sing in full, reducing most listeners to mostly-joyful tears.

Expert Opinions:

Maglor: Good choice, people—this one is the best.

Fëanor Curufinwë, Crafter of the Silmarils: I won't pretend to be as expert in musical composition as my son, in Songs of Power or simply in casual music-craft. However, I'm certain this isn't his best work, technically speaking. Did truly so few people vote for "The Great Journey” or “On the Slopes of Túna"? [shaking his head] The wisdom of the Eldar truly has been diluted... And surely the recency of this composition biases voters in its favor. Are you certain you've balanced your data properly? …But the song is persuasive. And sticks in one's head very effectively. I've been thinking about it.

[that-angry-noldo]

When King Felagund arrives to Doriath, his face is grey with grief.

His figure is thin. Worn. Shuddered by occasional tremors, either from the wind and snow that do not cease, or from many scars his body wears. His rich, golden hair is now bland, thin, cut short and uneven; his face is tired and hollow as he steps, slowly, towards the enterance to the palace of Menegroth.

The guards dare not stop him. He spares them no glance.

Menegroth is quiet. Menegroth is a grave, with king Thingol sitting on his throne, hunched in grief, and queen Melian as cold as a marble statue. King Felagund does not stop once while making his way towards the hall where they grieve.

King Felagund has little sympathy for grieving people left. His own grief ate his heart out and settled in his gut. He makes his way to the throne room. His face gains purpose; he is a dead man dragging himself to his last mission.

There is a crowd behind him when he enters the cave. He stops before the throne. His chest rises and falls slowly, and his eyes burn with fell flame.

Thingol jerks, rises his head. His eyes focus on Felagund. He gasps.

"Finrod," he chokes, and almost rises from his throne.

Felagund does not move. His eyes are fixed on Thingol.

"Tell me, was it worth it?" he finally asks.

His voice is quiet. Dark. Menacing. Thingol wavers, his face changing into a fleeting confusion.

Felagund's hand is under his cloak. He takes it out.

Slowly.

It is clutched in a fist.

The crowd holds its breath. Felagund does not take his eyes off Thingol.

"Tell me," he repeats, louder, and his voice trembles. "Was it worth it?!"

His eyes are stained with tears. He trembles.

He cries.

"When I sent you my messages," he whispers, shaking, the sound echoing from the walls, "tell me: did you ever, in your stubborness, in your pride, in your selfishness - did you ever try to see the voice of reason within them? When you looked at your daughter, tell me: did you ever think of yourself, young and reckless, standing enchanted beneath the trees? When you looked at Beren, tell me: did you not see the hand that guarded you, a soul so worn and scarred and lonely?"

Thingol is shaking. Felagund lifts his head. His face is stained with tears. He rises his voice.

"Tell me!" his words echo from the walls, drum with grief, loss, power. "Tell me! When you named your price, have you ever - ever - regretted it? Have you ever wished to utter words of blessing instead, even if they were stained with sorrow? Have you ever," he screams in earnest now, and his hand trembles as he lifts it high, "looked back and thought the price was too high? Have you ever thought that you failed to pay it?"

Thingol sits pale. The halls shake with Felagund's cries.

"I had to watch them," he sobs, "I had to watch them die in darkness. I had to listen to my friend, the man I swore to protect, the last descendant of a man long gone - I had to listen as he was devoured, I had to trash and cry - and I did not even get a body!" he screams, tears springing from his eyes. "I had to look at your daughter, as she shook and wept, and I could not comfort her, because he was gone! Because he was gone, and she loved him, but he was gone! Tell me, when you dismissed my letters so angrily - tell me, have I not warned you against this exactly?! Your daughter, your Lúthien, your starlight - gone, gone as a withering ash under the touch of wind! In your desire to save her, have you ever thought you were signing her death sentence?! Tell me, Elu Thingol: was the price really worth it?!"

No, Thingol screams, no - but Felagund's hand is shaking, and the light coming from within it is all but blinding, and Finrod yells as he throws the Silmaril on the ground, and the walls shake with his grief.

"Here is thy prize, Elwë Singollo!" he screams, glowing and shaking and terrifying, speaking the tongue Elu long thought forgotten. "Here is thy prize, here is thy reward! Here is Tinúviel, weeping on her knees, for her lover is torn to shreds, his remains breathless in her hands! Here is Beren, young and weary, whose voice knew nothing but tenderness when he talked about his Nightingale! Here are my Faithful, dead for thy foolish whim, torn apart for the greed of a madman who thought himself a God! Here," he trembles, "am I, for I am dead, dead, dead, and dead I should have been, and dead will I become! Here is your prize, Elu Thingol! Die by it!"

And with those words, he flees, nothing but the light of now double-accursed stone remaining.

When someone picks it up and hands it to Thingol, the palace is pierced by a wail of horror and agony. The gem burns the Greycloak's hands.

[mask131]

You know what? I will actually make my post about this problem (and even talk about some misogynistic implications! yeepee!)

It all started with the recent depiction of Hestia in the show "Blood of Zeus". Now... I did not watch the second season of Blood of Zeus, because the first season already gave me enough reasons to dislike the show and rank it among the bad depictions of Greek mythology. But I couldn't escape the massive success and presence of season 2 on Youtube, so I did watch some of the scenes of "Hestia doing battled" and throwing fire-balls and fire-tornadoes at people.

I do not take offense to that. Why? Because this fits the show's aesthetic and goal. As much as I dislike this, the show is about doing huge battles and being an action-piece filled with gore, taking cues from things like God of War, and depicting the gods as violent and destructive and warriors always fighting and killing people. So having Hestia weaponize her fire was expected from this show - I would have been surprised she didn't do it.

HOWEVER! What I take offense to is how people reacted to this. I saw the flood of comments which were basically "Yas girl, show them queen, burn them to a crisp, show you're the oldest and most powerful!". Some even said "This is the best depiction of Hestia alongside Riordan's". And to THAT I take offense. Now I know there is a symbolic plotline about Hestia protecting the omphalos, and honestly this sounds cool and good, but I am not speaking about it. I am speaking about Hestia you know, fighting monsters and demons by unleashing winds and waves of fire on them.

This isn't what the Greek goddess Hestia is about. She is not a fighter, she is not a warrior, she is not a power of destruction or war, she literaly is the most passive and peaceful entity you can find in Greek mythology. And in this light, Riordan's depiction of Hestia in his novel "The Last Olympian" is far superior because Riordan gets what makes Hestia who she is, and he prepares the story to show her in the role she fulfills: a woman sitting by a fire, welcoming people, feeding them, talking to them, guarding and staying awake and behind, and just... keeping the last fort, so to speak. And by doing so proving herself immensely cool and powerful and important. (That's another tip for writers out there: if you are confronted with a conflict of character versus plot... you know you are supposed to sometimes tailor the plot specifically to allow the character to shine as they were intended to be, and you are not forced to modify a character to fit your plot? Don't want to depict Hestia as a warrior deity because she was not that? Simple: don't show her being directly in battle or in need of defending herself. Write about something else instead).

I will admit that my teenage-self would have loved to see Hestia throwing fireballs - because that's the edgy stuff teenagers love (and I guess this is why "Blood of Zeus" works so much, it was literaly designed for your edgy teens). But I am an adult now and I know better. And I have also enough experience to see that people wishing and craving for a fireball-throwing Hestia is symptomatic of something much wider.

This wider thing being: modern audiences have a very hard time understanding that you can have immensely powerful characters who are mighty without being violent, agressive and hostile. I will be biased because events in my life and the real world are revealing we are living in an hyper-violent time, but this indeed led me to think about this topic.

Hestia is a manifestation of this idea that "might and importance does not mean violence". But there are many, many others, and to take a similar example I will dig up a Tolkien example I adore. Melian, from the Silmarillion. People got into a whole drama when "The Rings of Power" was released because of Galadriel's depiction, and I am NOT getting into that. But Melian and Morgoth's fight is linked, because it was Tolkien's precursor to Galadriel's battle against Sauron. So, what about Melian? She is a demigoddess among mortals, a divine spirit more powerful than the magic users we are knowing in the Tolkien universe (more powerful than Gandalf or Saruman), and one of the main ennemies of Morgoth himself, the OG Dark Lord and the baddest of the big bads. She is one of the mightiest entities to have walked Middle-Earth outside of the Valar themselves, and how does it manifests itself?

By the Girdle of Melian. A magical protection of her land. But does this magic wall manifests as spikes of fire? Are trespassers killing by a thunderbolt? Not at all. You can't even see the Girdle. Melian's magic simply... protects her land, and shields it from the eyes of evil. It makes intruders confused and lost and it leads them astray, without actually harming them. And Melian repels all the evil spells and dark curses and malevolent forces. And that's it. Simple, invisible, passive - and yet one of the most powerful enchantments and impressive feats of magic of Middle-Earth, able to keep Morgoth himself at bay.

This later would earn Tolkien's writing some criticism, as Tolkien was very fond of this idea of "passive power" for women (outside of his two famous "active" women, Eowyn and Luthien), and it fed into the unfortunate fantasy stereotype of "women are passive, men are active" (itself a manifestation of the underlyng misogyny among 20th century fantasy literature as a whole). But this is a good manifestation of how Tolkien imitated and took inspiration from old mythologies and legends - where this idea of "passive power" was VERY prevalent and important.

Hestia and Melian are just two examples I took out of my hat, but there are many many more, and they all rely in one principle: you have great and mighty powers that make some characters (or places, or items) dreaded by villains and beloved by the good people ; you have these forces that repel all evil and that are to be considered sacred and to be protected ; you have these ancient and immensely powerful entities that outrank everybody... and yet who never lift a hand against someone else, and who don't unleash floods or storms onto people, and who never even threatened to harm anybody. Because their very power relies on other principles, because they are a form of sacred power in what it has of... essential I'll say. This specific motif is VERY prevalent among Christian legends (at least European Catholic flavors) because it was heavily used when depicting saints and angels. One of the recurring motif of hagiography (the life of the saints and the legends surrounding them) is how the saint does not threaten those that wish to put them to death, never lift a finger against those that try to harm them - but by the very power of their sacredness, love/wisdom/goodness, weapons break against them or cannot reach them, and those that wish to destroy them are rendered powerless. In a wider scope it is also reflected in other Christian-derived myths like the vampire myth: before people decided to "visualize" the vampire's weakness to sacredness by having crosses or churches burn the vampire alive, it was just... the vampire literaly couldn't enter the church, and just fled away, like some mental compulsion, before the cross.

It is a concept and idea of the "sacred" and of the "sacred power" (so to speak) that existed since the Ancient Greeks to modern Catholics, and that heavily fueled and fed our fiction from old fairytales to modern fantasy novels. And it is something that is being completely lost as today power means: fighting, hitting, beating up, unleashing storms and chaos, and threatening to break every single finger of the people who are angry at you. It is even more annoying because we are not speaking about real life here. We are talking about MAGIC and about FANTASY and so EVERYTHING IS POSSIBLE.

And I promised you more misogyny well here it is... I noticed something recently and that might be just me extrapoling things, but while this whole "passive power" idea has been heavily criticized for female characters (in a very right way, as one cannot deny passive women in fantasy was indeed a big problem) and is now fully rejected, I can't help but notice that when it comes to male characters suddenly it is praised and glorified, especially as how it depicts men "not being violents for once". And... I can't help but think, cynical little mind that I am, that maybe by trying to flee one form of misogyny we enter another one, because the implicit of "passive power" being good for men but laughable for women, is that... women need to be active and violent and brutalizing to prove themselves, while men do not have to. The sort of inherent sacredness and respect people once gave to women has now passed onto men - because men do not need to "prove" they're strong anymore, everybody is supposed to know this - while women, if they try to just be a power in themselves and by themselves, get ridiculed because "If someone comes with a mace, they won't be able to defend themselves". Almost as if people can't take seriously anymore the idea that you just have women so powerful they don't even need to fight to defeat you.

I don't know, here I am truly rambling around, and this is a Charybdis and Scylla scenario because you literaly have problems whether you depict women as active or passive, since both sides are hated by different people and both bear their inherent biases and stereotypes.

But conclusion: I wish when it comes to power and magic and gods we had more depictions of passive and non-violent forces. I am tired enough of the violence in the real-world I don't need even more added onto my screen in an unecessary way. If I want to see a goddess burn everything to the ground, I go look for Pele, or Sekhmet. I don't look for Hestia.

[gwaedhannen]

[Excerpt from Sorrow Beyond Words: Collected Testimony of the War of Wrath, 4th Edition; ed. Elrond Peredhel. Archive of Cîw Annúminas, inaugural collection]

“Simply reaching Menegroth was a struggle. Doriath had become a twisting nightmare of overgrowth and rot and mists, as Morgoth’s power warred with the remains of the Girdle and our old songs. Ai, our home, our haven! I know the name of every holly in Region, before the exile. We found deadfalls surrounded by dozens of animals who’d lain down beside the trees and rotted before they died. Blind moose more antler than flesh staggered towards us even after a dozen arrows. Vines covered in dripping thorns reached for our eyes. The cherry trees were overladen with fruits that smelled like gangrene. Deildhod stumbled into a nest of maddened vipers, and only escaped because their tails were all tangled together into a festering mass and could hardly move. We never saw or heard a single bird. I’m amazed we lost no one in that whole push through Region. No, I speak a lie. I know how we passed through with nothing worse than scrapes. Elrond was with us, and the ghost of Melian’s love still recognized her kin.

“Esgalduin had nearly been dammed by one of Hírilorn’s fallen boles, but the bridge still held. We crossed and reached the ruined gates, wrought twice and broken twice. Within there was only darkness to be seen; we knew not what manner of horrors Morgoth had sent to infest the city, but Ingwion was unwilling to leave them at the rear of his forces as he moved north, if it could be helped. Celeborn stood at Elrond’s right and myself at his left. Far less an honor guard than the heir of Elu Thingol and Melian Besain deserved. Yet in those dark days it was all the honor we could muster. King Dior Eluchíl had known thirty-six summers when he was unrighteously slain. Queen Elwing Nimaew thirty-five when despair took her to the sea. Lord Elrond Peredhel beheld the city of Elu for the first and only time in his twenty-ninth summer.

“Elrond stood before his inheritance and Sang. He sang a lament, for the lost endless years of joy and peace, for deep halls lit by birdsong and echoing with wisdom, for the Forsaken People who awoke the forest and earth with many voices, for the works of beauty never to be seen again on this side of the sea. He sang a promise, that the glory of Menegroth will be remembered in the songs of Middle-Earth for as long as its children endure. He sang thanks, for the protection the halls granted us until it could shelter us no more. As his song at last ceased, I thought I heard nightingales answering him.

“Stars shone on his brow, and his hair glistened as the vault of night, and the memories of our once-eternal bliss in the woods of Thingol’s realm under Elbereth’s gifts arose in my mind. Let Oropher dream of a deep hall for his own; let Celeborn reign where he will at his wife’s side! I knew in my heart, as the echo of nightingale songs faded, that there was no lord or king I would ever stand beside save Elrond Elwingion.

“The living stone in which our kingdom once thrived knew his voice, and at long last laid down its burden and passed. The darkness over Menegroth was lifted, and we went forth into its corpse, and no beast or orc could stand before us. I do not sing of what we found and left behind when we cast down the bridge and gave leave for the river to flood the caves. It is not worth remembering.”