#and one-upping Feanor every chance they get

[aspiringnexu]

I’ve played Shadows of Mordor and Shadows of War so I’m very used to Edgy, Sourpuss Wraith Celebrimbor who was game-canonically so fucking pissed at Sauron that he refused to leave Middle-Earth until he happened to find Talion and so began their decades long Old Married Couple dynamic. Until Celebrimbor fucks it up. Several times.

Now that Celebrimbor is very different to this new interpretation of Celebrimbor in TROP and honestly... I dig it. This Celebrimbor has eccentric uncle vibes. He has no thoughts other than for his forge and for Making Things in it. Every time we see him outside of the forge he seems nervous and he only gets fired up (forgive the pun) when Gil-Galad refuses to let him Make Stuff. He’s adorable. And I can totally see why he would fall into Sauron’s trap. The man has not an ounce of guile in his body if he isn’t following orders to keep a secret, why would he expect duplicity from his new smithing buddy?

And I know some in the fandom give him shit for not thinking of creating a mithril alloy but honestly I’ve done the same thing. Not with smithing of course but even if you’re an expert, sometimes the simplest answer can be staring you in the face and you won’t see it until someone pulls you out of your own head. And Celebrimbor is Feanor’s grandson, The master smith of Eregion. No one is going to contradict him. Until Sauron comes along and Celebrimbor latches onto this new partner like a touch-starved limpet.

Such a shame that when shit goes even more sideways Sauron’s gonna use his dead body as a war banner. They had such good chemistry.

[doodle-pops]

House of Feanor | Returning Home After War/Travelling

Request: hi mina i'm so happy you're back! i would love a group headcanon with the house of feanor when they return to their love after being apart for a long time, fighting away from home. angst and fluff are so welcome!! thank youuu :) - Anon

A/N: You asked for both fluff and angst anon, so I gave both :) Maglor’s part was the only one that differed from everyone else’s. Other than that, enjoy!

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖ Feanor

Feanor’s return after his long yearly trip to Aulë forges would be facilitated by the overwhelming relief and joy of you throwing your arms around him for a tight hug. The rush to the door after the servants announced his return would lead to your feet rapidly pattering across the floorboards and launching yourself into his arms.

“I’ve missed you so much, my love,” you would whisper, tears of happiness glistening in your eyes. “Every day felt like an eternity without you.”

The sensation of his arms tightening around your waist as he draws you for a bone-crushing embrace, lifting you off the ground and burying his face in the crook of your neck to deeply inhale your scent would take him back to comfort and home.

“There’s not a day gone by where I didn’t miss your scent and presence,” he murmured into your skin. “I felt so though I would have gone insane without you.”

“Well now that you’ve returned, promise me that you would never leave for such a long period.”

“I promise, but why don’t we retreat indoors. I wish to spend every second granted within your presence from this day forth, melda.”

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖ Maedhros

You’re impatient, nervous and fearful of his return. What if he came back in shambles, broken, unrecognisable, or worse, dead? He couldn’t do such a horrid thing to you; not when he swore to be at your side forever. All the promises to protect, love and cherish each would have gone out the window—

“My Lady/Lord Y/N, Lord Maedhros has returned.” The servants were barely able to get all their words out before he flew out of your chair and down the staircases to be greeted by the sight of him dismounting his trusty steed. You didn’t grant him a chance to acknowledge your figure with a smile before barrelling into his body.

The coldness and sturdiness of his armour embraced you first before you felt his entire body wrapping around your frame. You didn’t know who was shedding tears from all the sniffling and sobbing, but you were glad to have him home after months of being away.

“Don’t ever leave me again! I don’t care about the wars you have to fight—let’s go somewhere far away from here and spend eternity,” you wept into his chest plate.

In return, Maedhros tenderly smiled into your hair. “Whatever you desire, my love. So long as I can be with you forever.”

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖ Maglor

You would be sitting by the window, listening for the familiar sound of the return of Elrond’s footsteps, when you heard the sound of multiple approaching. This time, among Elrond’s, there was a dragging sound against the earth along with weary muttering. Pulling the curtain to catch a proper view of the guest Elrond brought, your eyes captured the unmistakable sight of a familiar mop of inky hair.

Contemplating whether to jump out the window, you rushed out of the house and greeted Elrond, stopping them in their path to stare at the stranger. The eye contact that brought realisation, joy, uncertainty and timidness was a moment you’d never wish to forget.

“Welcome home, my sweet minstrel,” you whispered, your heart swelling with joy at his return with tears in your eyes as he rushed to his other side to hold him up and assist Elrond with guiding him into the house. “I’ve missed you more than any song.”

He would resist the urge to react to your warm welcome, yet the feeling of being loved and appreciated after all those years of being missing, invoked the tears to cascade. His sobs would confiscate his apologetic mumblings of missing and leaving you; regretting the moment he disappeared.

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖ Celegorm

You would be waiting by the hearth, as you had been doing for the past few weeks, awaiting his return from his year-long hunt with Oromë and his trusty companion, Huan. Picking at your nails and neatening them since there wasn’t anything else in the house to tidy, you slumped into the blankets and found yourself drifting off to wonderland with the sound of rain in the background.

Having fallen asleep for some time, the aroma of fresh herbs and meat waffled through your nose and aroused you out of your slumber. There, squatting by the hearth and turning the pot of stew was your beloved. His hair slick back into an intricate braid and a few beads at the ends and dressed in a clean suit of clothes. The earthy scent radiating off him mixed with the herbs left you yearning to bury your nose in him, and deeply inhale.

“I see you have finally awoken, sleepy beauty,” he grinned while turning his head to meet your affectionate ones. “I took the liberty of making you one of your favourites to celebrate my return. Would you like a bowl?”

Shaking your head, you instead, opened your blankets to invite him into your personal space, which he did not hesitate to accept. With a quick drop of the spoon, he walked over and found himself curled up at your side, enjoying the touch and warmth he missed during his hunt. “I think I’ll have to start shortening my hunts from now on. I miss your warmth far too much.”

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖ Caranthir

You would be waiting for Caranthir’s return, impatiently, after he departed with his brothers to raid Doriath for what was rightful their family’s own. Day and night you sat before the window facing the entrance of the castle, asking the guards for any news of the situation. No response would be given to ease your worry, causing you to continue your day and night watch from the window.

Though it wouldn’t be until one night when you fell asleep in your chair you saw him return. He came riding in his full armour and flanked by his first officers holding torches as they entered the castle grounds. Everyone cheered their return and praised their efforts on their quest, yet you found yourself unable to move from your seat out of the fear of the bloodshed they committed. You saw the blood covering his armour while he moved through the crowd to ascend and greet you.

“I have returned home, arimelda,” he greeted with sorrow on his face and stood a foot away from you.

Finding the strength to rise out your chair, you approached him with cautious yet with the underlying emotion of joy. “Moryo, is that you? Have you truly returned to me? I have missed you!”

However, the moment you stepped forward to embrace him, you awoke to the gentle nudging of Moryo hovering over you. The sight of him cladded in clean robes and a bloodstain free appearance left you appalled from the dream you had, nonetheless, you launched yourself into his arms, crying.

“You’re back! Please, please, please, please don’t ever leave me again! I thought you weren’t coming back to me! Don’t leave me again!”

Stunned at the suddenness of your gesture, he softly smiled and nuzzled your hair, whispering words of reassurance. “I promise to never leave you, my love. I’ll stay for as long as you desire.”

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖ Curufin

Curufin’s return was one of peace as he entered through the doorway during the crack of dawn. Sauntering through the quiet household, he placed down all his gadgets and trunks of gifts he returned home with for you and your little one, and marched into the kitchen, wanting to surprise you both with a treat. Quietly that morning, the atmosphere was filled with the aroma of herbs, sausages, eggs and baked goodies as he busied himself with a look of concentration.

Caught up in the rapture of making you all a hearty breakfast, he jolted with a curt yelp the moment your arms encircled his waist, and you leaned in to hug his back. “I didn’t know you were an excellent cook, Curvo? Who taught you how to make all these delicious treats?”

Snickering at your comment, he turned around in your arms and made a quick observation over your shoulder before leaning in for a savoury kiss. Your body melted the moment upon contact, as did he, from the sweetness that dripped from his gesture. It was true that absence made the heart grow fonder, and you were pleased to witness it with Curufin.

“There are many things that you still do not know about me,” he hummed as he broke the kiss to plop a piece of strawberry in your mouth. “That is why I chose to surprise you like this. Do you like it?”

“I do,” you grinned and leaned in for another kiss. “But I prefer the real meal in my arms this morning. We missed you every day; you were gone for too long.”

Frowning slightly, he pondered on the right words to reply, to satisfy your needs. Then with great thought, he responded, “Well, you will have me home for an even longer period. Father is working on other things, so he gave me time off to spend with my family. So, tell me, what would you have me do?”

“Hold me a little longer…before the little gremlin steals all your time.”

“Very well then.”

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖ Amrod

As the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting a golden glow across the rolling hills, you stood at the edge of their homestead, eyes scanning the distant path for any sign of your beloved. You had spent countless days waiting, each one blending into the next, filled with a mixture of hope and worry. But tonight, something felt different.

When a familiar silhouette appeared on the horizon, your heart leapt in your chest. It was Amrod, his red hair catching the last rays of the setting sun, making him look almost ethereal. Tears sprang to your eyes as you broke into a run, your feet carrying you as fast as they could across the fields.

“Amrod!” you called out, your voice catching in your throat as you drew closer.

Amrod turned at the sound of your voice, a weary but radiant smile spreading across his face. He opened his arms wide, and you collided with him, burying your face in his chest. The scent of him—earthy and familiar—was a balm to your frayed nerves.

“You’re home,” you whispered, your voice muffled against his tunic. “You’re really home.”

He held you tightly, his own eyes shining with unshed tears. “I promised I would return to you,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “And here I am.”

They stood there for a long time, wrapped in each other’s arms, the world around them fading away. You could feel the tension in his muscles, the weight of his experiences still clinging to him.

“Come inside,” you said finally, pulling back just enough to look up into his eyes. “You must be exhausted. Let me take care of you.”

Amrod nodded, a grateful smile on his lips. “As you wish, my love.”

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖ Amras

The first light of dawn broke over the horizon as you stood on the front steps of your cottage, your heart heavy with anticipation. Amras had been gone for what felt like an eternity, and each day without him had been a struggle. You had tried to keep herself busy, tending to their home and the land, but the ache of his absence was always there, a constant reminder of how much you missed him.

When you finally saw a lone rider approaching in the distance, you held your breath, your eyes straining to make out the familiar figure. As he drew closer, the sight of his copper hair and the way he sat in the saddle told her everything she needed to know. It was Amras, your Amras, returning at last.

“Amras!” you called out, your voice breaking with emotion as you ran towards him.

Amras dismounted swiftly, his own expression a mixture of relief and longing. He caught you in his arms, lifting you off your feet as he held you close. The feel of his strong arms around you, the warmth of his body, was like coming home after a long and arduous journey.

“I missed you so much,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “Every single day.”

He buried his face in your hair, inhaling deeply. “And I missed you,” he replied, his voice thick with emotion. “I thought of you every moment we were apart.”

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look into his eyes, hands cupping his face. “Are you alright?” you asked, her gaze searching his for any signs of injury or pain.

Amras nodded, his eyes softening as he looked at you. “I am now that I’m with you,” he said. “The journey was long and hard but knowing I had you to come back to kept me going.”

With tears streaming down your cheeks, you kissed him gently, lips brushing against his in a tender, reassuring gesture. “Come inside,” you said softly. “You need to rest, and I have so much to tell you.”

He smiled a genuine, unguarded smile that lit up his entire face. “Lead the way, my love.”

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖ Celebrimbor

Upon Celebrimbor’s return home after war or a long journey, you would be overcome with a whirlwind of emotions, ranging from relief and joy to a subtle undercurrent of apprehension. As you stood at the threshold of your home, waiting with bated breath for his arrival, every passing moment felt like an eternity, each heartbeat echoing the rhythm of your longing.

Finally, the sound of footsteps heralds Celebrimbor’s return, and you rush forward to greet him, your heart pounding with anticipation. When you catch sight of him, standing tall and proud, weariness etched into the lines of his face, your heart breaks and swells with love all at once.

Without a word, you would envelop him in a tight embrace, your arms wrapping around him with an almost desperate fervour. You would bury your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of him, a blend of sweat and metal and something uniquely his own, a scent that fills them with a sense of homecoming.

“I missed you,” you would whisper against his ear, your voice trembling with emotion. “I missed you so much.”

Celebrimbor would return the embrace, holding you close as if afraid to let go, his touch a comforting anchor in the storm of emotions raging within him. “And I missed you, my love,” he would murmur in response, his voice rough with exhaustion and unspoken emotion. “More than words can express.”

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[amethysttribble]

If You Hold a Silmaril-

Things might get a little weird.

On the night which Thingol first held the Silmaril, he dreamed of Finwe.

He saw his friend standing beneath Laurelin and Telperion, laughing in wonder. 'Elwe!' he called, 'Elwe, isn't it beautiful?'

Thingol didn't get the chance to reply, because the seasons of Valinor which he had never seen passed them by swiftly, and the light of the Trees which had so touched him changed and Finwe changed, too. His features softened, his stature lessened, the gleam in his eyes grew brighter.

In a soft voice, he asked, "Isn't it beautiful?" Laurelin and Telperion winter-dead behind him and a Silmaril cupped in his palms, presenting.

"Yes," Thingol agreed with a smile.

---

Beren never held the Silmaril for long; at least, not outside the wolf's stomach. He took the stone in hand once, twice, thrice, always just trying to convey it to its next location, it's new owner. He was fine with this.

He would never forget how his own hand had look in Carcharoth's stomach- first perfectly preserved, and then naught but dust once disturbed. Felagund had once recounted the Sons of Feanor's oath to him, and the line about 'mortal hands' had stuck out.

Beren did not trust the thing. He did not trust the lullaby that had teased his ears since he first pried the burning thing from the crown of darkness. Never could he hear the words clearly, but when he tried to provide reason to that sweet, haunting melody, he ascribed that Oath of Feanor. He was pretty sure he was wrong, though.

He was especially sure he was wrong about the lullaby when he draped the Nauglamir over his fingers and pondered what to do with it.

___

Earendil sang with the Silmaril. Old songs and new songs, Quenya songs and Sindarin songs; Elvish songs, Mannish songs, and songs from before either of their times. There was little else to do while sailing on the rim of the world.

They'd become friends, the two of them.

___

Melkor held three Silmarils, for a time. Even at his poorest, he possessed two. That voice and light was hewn into his very being. So much so that his eyes and ears- which were constructions, falsehoods, empty veneers- tricked him.

He grew used to the shadows haunting every corner of his eyes. The whispers which came from every direction.

For him, there was no singing, no memories.

There were taunts, jeers, and laughter, because he and dear Feanaro were cut from the same cloth, and there was nothing spirits like them hated more than being mocked. Melkor knew this well, had used this well, and so he did not react. Did not provide the satisfaction to Feanaro.

Because he had been the one to bring Feanaro low, he was the one who won.

So even when his feet were cut from under him, and that little fey thing that only he could see looked down at him, smirk split over his unreal face, triumph in those eyes, Melkor didn't care.

He didn't care, he didn't care, he didn't CARE-

Feanor laughed and all of Morgoth's screams couldn't drown it out.

---

The first time Luthien held the Silmaril was when her husband, brow knit in worry, handed her the Nauglamir.

"Interesting," she said.

"I think there is some fairy within it," Beren said, quoting the legends of his youth. "When your father and the Dwarves of Nogrod were moved to madness, I thought it a demon, but after holding it myself for a time... Perhaps not. Perhaps it has ensorcelled me as well."

"So not evil?" she asked, though already well-sure of her assumptions. No, not evil, just-

"Not good either," Beren grumbled, crossing his arms. "But, no. That's why I now think it to be a fairy."

"I agree," Luthien said, bringing the pretty thing up meet her eyes. She had never understood the allure while hearing tales or while retrieving this creation, but holding him, feeling him, she felt she might understand.

He was very warm, and very bright, and the scope of him was so very wide and colorful and varied. And this was just one Silmaril? Luthien was starting to understand how love for such a father could turn a son to such evil. This could also inspire greatness.

"Not evil, not good, just very strong in who he is. Quite the fairy, indeed. I think, if minded correctly, a great blessing."

___

Silmaril in hand, Maedhros heard only one thing: a call of recognition, wreathed in infinite sorrow and regret.

My son!

He wanted to hear no more.

___

Carcharoth burned. He cried. He wanted this to end.

There was something within that hated him. Furious and heated. It tasted like the sky at first, like the slight sting of stars except worse, and then it grew worse still.

At once, the fire within was both hot and cold, tasting of his master's Ainur fury and the slaps of the Orcs which fed him as a pup. Both his spirit and his flesh burned. It hurt so badly.

He wanted it to stop, why wouldn't it stop, wouldn't master return and make it stop?

What was this crystallized flame he'd swallowed, where had it come from, why would anyone make such a thing? Carcharoth could not understand, would never understand, especially when it cried, Foul imitation.

His bane rejoiced when the puny wolfhound appeared again, and Carcharoth's last joy was killing that holy lapdog. Then the pain flared even brighter, all heat and fury and hatred, and he faltered. He, the Red Maw. He howled in pain around the Man in his mouth, and his Elven prey struck.

He was almost grateful to the Elves.

___

Varda, completely taken with her own designs and creations, happily humming to herself, actually didn't notice anything of note.

___

Dior grew up on stories of the Silmaril.

Hearing of wicked Feanorions and the massive wolf and the Great Enemy's palace. The eagles and horseback duels and the hand. On rare occasions, his grandfather had showed the treasure to him, but it wasn't often and never for very long.

So, suffice to say, when he and his father recovered the Nauglamir bound Silmaril, he was awe-struck.

For the last year of her life, his mother wore that necklace, and he often told her that she was beautiful, and looked healthier in that light, and she seemed to keep laughing at private jokes. She'd wink at him. Luthien was very lively in that last year, especially for an old Woman, but it did not stop her from lying in bed with Beren as he died, and slipping away in the same heartbeat.

The Silmaril lay forgotten in a drawer when they went.

Dior retrieved it as he packed up their house, their life, and prepared to make for Doriath. This was the first time he'd ever held it, because his father was wary of the thing, his grandfather possessive of the thing, and his mother a funny kind of person. As he trailed his fingers over the warm, glowing gem, he did not think it deserved all the fuss.

His mother once said there was a fairy within that gave advice that was not strictly good or bad, just mad, mad, mad. And grand. As Dior entered beautiful, wild, Elvish Doriath, he felt he could use a little madness and grandness both.

He put it on.

And there was the lullaby his father spoke of, and there was the tricksy warmth his mother traded japes with, and there was the strength of will that always kept his revered grandfather's countenance so tall and straight. Dior smiled, and asked Nimloth how he looked, breathing a little bit easier. Feeling a little more confident.

Dior felt like a real Elf-king when he wore the Silmaril.

___

Mablung held the Silmaril for the briefest of moments, and still felt the world shift.

Or maybe the world did not shift. Maybe he shifted. Moved slightly to the left on the plane of Arda. Drawn slightly closer to his spirit, the world's; spirit of an Ainu.

Because after that brief moment of possession, the colors of the world were brighter. The sounds sharper. The smells richer. The tastes deeper. Was this how it was in Valinor, he wondered.

Or was this something unique. Was it the appeal of the Silmarils? Why they were so coveted?

He still did not understand why they were worth the death and blood and suffering of so many. So the world was greater and vaster and there was now a taste in his mouth that urged him to seek that world and understand it and bend it.

No, he would not do that. He was loyal to his king and home. And he would fight for the Silmaril if heeded, but it was with great reluctance. The Silmaril had touched him and he did not like it.

Mablung supposed some would feel blessed, but he just felt tainted. Violated. Who would want such a thing?

___

Hanar was a craftsman of Nogrod, a disciple of Gamil Zirak. Not as renowned as Telchar was he, but still respected, still well-known, still good enough to receive the invitation to King Thingol's court. He was given a special job.

Though his heart pounded with envy at seeing all his people had wrought occupied and hoarded by Elves, especially the Nauglamir- which bore that foul name for his people though they made that beautiful thing- he was a reasonable person. An honorable dwarflord. He accepted the terms of the deal and got to work. He accepted the Silmaril.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

This was delicate work, his hammer remained stored away, but his pounding heart filled the void. He evaluated the shape of the Silmaril, turned it over in his hands and contemplated how to hold such beautifully wrought facets without defacing it.

Hanar felt that the gem in his hands understood his task. His care in fulfilling it. As he unwound the Nauglamir and nestled the Silmaril within, it offered advice, as if from one craftsman to another.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Into the silver and steel, the twinkling gems and the burning Silmaril, he poured himself. He slaved over this project for many weeks, scarcely sleeping, eating. The Silmaril rejoiced with him, crying, So long its been since I helped make something! So much I have missed it! Thank you, thank you!

Together, they worked.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

When complete, Hanar held their new creation and wept. Such a masterpiece he created in the merging of two previous masterpieces. It surpassed the work of Telchar. Why, it might even have surpassed his master.

And his masterpiece, it had helped him bring itself to fruition. It thanked him for giving it life. They were friends now.

How could anyone ask Hanar to give this up to unappreciative hands? How?

No smith of any artistry could.

___

When Finwe first beheld the Silmarils, cupping each reverently in his hands one-by-one, he knew what he had been gifted immediately.

He kissed his beloved son and smiled sadly as he said, "Are you still so scared of your mother's fate?"

Feanaro denied it, but Finwe knew the truth.

___

If Mairon could grind the Silmarils down into dust, he would.

His beloved master returned home with them in hand, burning in hand, burning down to the soul so that the wound could not be wiped away. They were beautiful and powerful. At the time, the prospect excited Mairon. His master tasked him with forging a crown for his prizes, and he'd grinned in excitement.

What creations, what strange creations, smithed by an Elf? Mairon could not wait to break them down and build them back better and recieve praise for his genius.

Except... Except.

Except, that proved... difficult. Difficult, at first, it was just +difficult. Why couldn't he cut into them? Alter them with temperature? Remove that pesky burning? Why could Mairon not peer inside and break down the molecular structure and understand?

He didn't understand. What was he working with? He couldn't understand!

His master issued a warning when he took too long to make the crown, and Mairon was forced to retreat.

It wasn't a defeat. It wasn't impossible for him to alter, to better the Silmarils, it wasn't. He would recreate them.

Then master would see that he was the better smith than this Elf. Maybe the first try didn't work. Maybe the second didn't either. And the third, fourth, fifth-

Mairon screamed and raged and razed his smithy to the ground, taking a dozen servants with it.

He tried again. Not light, but darkness. Something more fitting for his master's reign! And then he'd give up on the Silmarils. He only had two now, why did he even still care?

He would keep trying and trying and trying and trying-

Mairon would dissect Curufinwe Tyelperinquar as many times as it took, physically, mentally, alive or dead, as many times as it took to understand.

___

Elwing really knew nothing of the Silmaril but what she learned herself.

There was no one to tell her what the Silmaril had whispered to them, shown them. Many hands it had gone through, and not one was around to impart any wisdom. She wasn't frightened of this gift, though.

On her twentieth birthday, her people draped the Nauglamir, Silmaril front and center- around her neck and named her queen. Elwing took on the Silmaril and was struck with familiarity.

It sung her a song that she recognized. It was the one that soothed her as she was spirited away from Menegroth, silver and diamond necklace weighing down her little body, family dead. A song that told her not to cry, to not be scared. Oh, how the Silmaril hated the sound of crying children.

She started to wear the Nauglamir often, more the sign of her queenship than any crown. It gave her people hope. It made her feel stronger. More... connected to something.

That night and many thereafter, she dreamed of shores she'd never been to, and started to recognize traits of Idril's as belonging to people she'd never met, and learned which songs Finwe would use to sing his children to sleep. Strange treasure, curious relic. It had life and memories of its own, and it communicated feelings.

The Silmaril was fond of her. Sometimes, in snatches, it told her of what it'd seen of her own family. That made Elwing happy. Their connection made her own soul brighter.

She told Earendil of all this and only him. At least, only her husband until-

Elwing sneered in the face of Maedhros, and said, "Why do you even want it? He would hate you as you are."

___

"You are not my father," Maglor said, holding the Silmaril before his face, collapsed upon the shore, defeated. His hand was still burning, though his flesh was long since ruined. At once, he wanted nothing more than to hold on and let go.

"You are a shadow. A remnant. An echo. But a piece of him, capable of communicating memories and the basest of feelings and impulses, but no higher thought. My father, distilled. But not him.

"Which is a shame, I- I never believed Curufin's theory about my father's spirit only being recoverable with the Silmarils, but I'm disappointed now that it is not him speaking to me. I have so much to say, but I find myself mourning only one lost opportunity thing: it would have been nice to debate poetry movements with him again.

"You're not my father. You're a will-o-wisp, a taunt. A false light, guiding us to our doom. Our fault. Our stupidity. Our end."

He ambled to his feet.

"Yet, I feel your love for me, and I'm glad. I feel your horror, and I'm ashamed. To sadness, I respond with anger, and to regret- Do you feel regret? Are you capable, strange little reflection? Am I seeing what I want to see or disregarding what I cannot stand? I don't know. I don't know. I wish I didn't know. To have died in pursuit and not know would be preferable."

Fury gripped Maglor's heart and hot tears came to his eyes. He pulled his arm back.

"You are not worth what has been done in your name!"

He screamed, and the Silmaril was gone. All was silent. Then, Maglor started to weep. He had not realized until this moment how much he had forgotten about who his father was, beyond the last words he said.

How much the world had forgotten about Feanor, beyond the scope of a Silmaril.

___

If you hold a Silmaril, you're going to get to know Feanor. When you get to know him, you're soul will brush up against his. When you possess his soul and he stains yours, you might just start to understand him.

[symphonyofsilence]

The level of sheer incompetence the Valar show every time a dire situation occurs is infuriating!

Like...do I even need to say anything about how they handled the Míriel/Finwë/Indis situation?! By putting pressure on the DEAD PERSON who had lost both her will to live and her physical strength, to just get up and go back to producing more children for her whiny, entitled husband already?! And interrupting her recovery process every next second? And then! Instead of inventing divorce or "death doing the couple apart" or anything made Míriel stay dead forever (& never get to see her son again as far as they knew) so Finwë could remarry. And their hot offer for Míriel was "last chance. come back or your husband will marry this lady he already has in mind."

And then! They let Melkor free unsupervised and let the shit he spread among the Noldor reach the point that Fëanor drew a sword on Fingolfin, and then! When Melkor had filled Fëanor's head with how the Valar wanted his silmarils, not only did they without considering any other option at the first sign of crisis very untactfully asked for all three of his silmarils (to break them), but Tulkas straight up told him that he can't deny them cause the silmarils are actually Yavanna's and not Fëanor's.

And then! They not only did absolutely nothing to de-escalate the situation when the Noldor rebelled, and after that when they got into a fight with the Teleri, but they made the situation worse by making threats and banishing the house of Fëanor & cursing them all & whoever who followed them. So of course when there was no way back for the Fëanorians they'd try even harder to gather everyone behind them so they wouldn't have to fight Satan alone & of course, they'd oppose the Valar even worse now, and of course, they'd say "welp... we're doomed anyway. No matter what we do from this point on. Might as well do our worst."

The Valar are like 10-year-old children in charge of 5-year-old children. The moment the 5-year-olds throw a tantrum, the 10-year-olds throw an even worse tantrum.

Fëanor had already told the Noldor that the Valar were jealous tyrants, and they just confirmed it with every step they took after the rebellion.

And then they just left the Noldor and the poor race of men & dwarves who had done nothing wrong alone with Melkor in Middle-earth. The poor sailors who tried to get to Valinor to beg for help all drowned! Except for Earendil who had a Silmaril with him...but no, the Valar didn't want the Silmarils HOW DARE FEANOR PRESUME!

And they wouldn't even let the children of the Noldor who were not even born at the time of the rebellion set foot in Valinor. Even Earendil had to pay a price for stepping into Valinor. So Valar believed in collective accountability. So going by that logic, Melkor was a Vala. MELKOR WAS MANWE'S BROTHER! And everything that happened in Middle-earth, and even before that, Everything that happened to Fëanor & the house of Finwë that kickstarted the rebellion was Melkor's fault. Then why were the Valar not taking responsibility for the family member THEY antagonized & THEY couldn't control & THEY left unsupervised?

(and then they offered pardon to Sauron and Melkor, but Feanor got sentenced to staying in the halls of Mandos forever.)

Maedhros didn't burn the ships but still, he was the one who took responsibility for his family's actions and apologized and paid the ransom, and abdicated for it. Fingolfin had lost a son & a daughter-in-law & lots of followers for Fëanor's stunt with the ships but he still forgave the Fëanorians. Here we have a bunch of hot-headed, traumatized, grieving +3000-year-olds acting more mature & responsible & competent & gracious than gods who have been around forever.

And then! The fucking Numenor thing! They caged those poor people on an island, put boundaries on how far they could travel so they wouldn't get tempted when they saw the immortal lands and when the Numenorians rioted they had the guts to send representatives to convince them that actually, being mortal is very good. It's a gift. All the while still not letting them in the immortal lands. And when their mismanagement resulted in the Numenorians finally rioting, Manwe asked Eru for help & Eru... you know... did a genocide & changed the whole world's structure. (He was so quick to answer Manwe's prayer and demolish anyone who criticized him that makes one wonder where was he when Melkor was eating everyone?)

They just HAND situations to Melkor & Sauron. Honestly, Sauron & Melkor would have been idiots not to use these perfect situations handed to them on a silver platter.

I don't think the Valar's hearts are in a wrong place but they're so fucking incompetent! They look like some dysfunctional rich brats with no experience who have to manage their negligent father's company after he's fucked off.

[tar-maitime]

like my mirror years ago pt. 3

Rating: T Characters: Maedhros | Maitimo, Fingon | Findekano, Finwe, Feanor Additional: Years of the Trees, time travel, AU, fix-it WC: 1k

Read the previous installment here Apologies for the delayed update; life hit like a semitruck there for a bit.

“Maitimë? Who is this?”

Maedhros freezes in her tracks, causing Findekano to nearly stumble into her back. The plan had been for Maitimë to get them into her father’s house in Tirion, so they could explain the situation to Fëanaro and discuss their ideas for exposing Melkor. Good ideas, all of them - Maedhros would believe in them if her memories didn’t firmly contradict any of them coming true.

The plan had not involved running across...

“Haru Finwë!” Maitimë says, a little too brightly. “This is...a friend I have recently become acquainted with, and I had something here that I wished to show her. I did not know you were visiting today.”

Maedhros has a sneaking suspicion that she should bow, or do something similar. It’s been so long since she was at the court in Tirion, and even then, the rules for her and her siblings and cousins were of course different from those for strangers. She can’t remember any of the formalities properly now. All she can think of is the awful silence before the messengers finally said what she’d already begun to guess, that her grandfather was dead - the awful blankness in her father before rage had taken over - the way that her aunt Findis had put herself between Indis and anyone from Fëanaro’s family, all through the hastily arranged funeral - the broken grief-sounds that Indis had tried and failed to suppress...

Her grandfather’s death had shaped every moment of her life thereafter, and yet Maedhros had never really gotten the chance to mourn him, every moment being consumed with something that needed to be done, people who needed to be held together or managed.

And now he’s alive, right in front of her, and doesn’t know her. 

Her cloak and hood, she’s fairly sure, are covering the armor and her shorn hair, but the manifold scars on her face are still plainly visible, and she can feel Finwë’s concern as his gaze tracks over her, trying to figure out what happened to her, what’s wrong with her. 

She wants to wrap herself up in one of his hugs and cry, but that would be startling and abnormal even if he recognized her, let alone with her being presented as a stranger. 

“My king,” she murmurs, with a dip of her head, acutely aware of the roughness of her ruined voice.

Anyone who had lived in Beleriand for any length of time would have noted the things about her that don’t belong, would have disregarded politeness in favor of a healthy suspicion and investigated. Perhaps once, before the Great Journey, Finwë would have done the same. But the Finwë who is king in Valinor sees only his beloved granddaughter’s odd but harmless friend - everything here is harmless - so he merely nods and smiles benevolently and goes his way. “I shan’t keep you.”

She will keep him, though, if she can, Maedhros thinks with a sudden ache. She will keep him and her father and her cousins and brothers and Findekano, everyone she loves - keep them alive, keep them from becoming what she has had to become. She no longer cares if it is impossible. They have to try anyway.

“Come on,” she says, once Finwë has gone. “We need to find Atar.”

* * *

“Nelyafinwë! What has happened to you?”

That’s all it takes for Maedhros to feel her knees go out from under her, because. Fëanaro was looking at her when he said it. He looked at her and called her Nelyafinwë; he knows who she is.

“Atar,” she says, and that’s all she manages before she has to sit down on a mercifully uncluttered stool and Fëanaro abandons what he was tinkering with and crosses to her in three quick strides.

The actual Maitimë is beside her in another moment. “Atar, how did you know?” she asks quietly. “Even I couldn’t guess; I had to be told.”

Fëanaro looks downright offended. “She is my child. Obviously I would know who she is. Now,” he turns back to Maedhros, “Nelyafinwë - other-Nelyafinwë, I suppose - can you tell me what happened that did all this to you?”

He reaches to hold her hands, seeming disturbed when he only encounters one, but she grips his hand tightly in the one she has. Another person she’s lost, here in front of her again, alive and real.

“You’re not going to ask how I got here?” she says.

Fëanaro half-shrugs. “That is less urgent, probably, and I already have a theory or two. Travel back in time or from an alternate Singing seem the most likely. Right now I want to know what I need to do about whatever hurt you.”

She’d almost forgotten about when he was like this, when he genuinely cared for them and wasn’t lost to the grip of mania and paranoia. He’s so close already, at this point in the timeline, to falling into that, but perhaps that will change, too, if they can stop Morgoth.

“It was Melkor, Atar,” she says quietly. “A lot of things, but mostly Melkor. We have an idea of how to keep it from happening, and that’s why we came to see you. We’re going to need your help...and you’re probably not going to like the kind of help we need.”

[annoyinglandmagazine]

Feanor’s Funeral in an Organised Crime AU (1920s England)

He would have hated this, the droning voice of the priest speaking the blessings he’d scoff at, the stifling stench of incense hanging in the air of the even more stifling chapel they’d found, with some difficulty he gathered, it seems few places wished a tombstone carrying such a name on their sacred ground, to lie one such as his brother beside the devout, as if his cold flesh could taint the damp earth about him. As if there was any difference between them now, as if that quiet, motionless thing in that box was still Feanor Curufinwë.

In the end Nerdanel had intervened and arranged the sermon with an old friend of her father’s as a favour, in a remote parish far from London where his name held more weight. She would not be here today, she’d told Anairë so when she was giving them the directions. There were precious few there today, though if desired they could have filled a cathedral with those paying respects to their former boss and condolences to their new one, here he and his siblings with their children slipped into a pew at the back with the only other attendants being his sons and grandson with one or two personal friends of the deceased.

In what could have been years as easily as moments they were beneath a line of yew trees, the sunlight streaking through the branches to cast shadows along the neat rows of stone, the gravediggers had left leaving only the family alone at the grave. The grave of his dead brother. Feanor. It should have been impossible, it had been for how could such a thing happen to one who’s every whim changed the course of so many lives, who seemed the sun with all other’s merely stuck in his orbit.

And somehow he was now just gone. He would never know if one day he could have made him care for him, if Feanor would always have hated him regardless of what he did or if he’d missed his chance to finally get what he’d craved from his childhood.

‘You have some nerve showing up here,’ Curufin glowered while striding towards him, almost as if rearing for a fight, handing his child off to Maglor with little ceremony. Maglor thrusted Celebrimbor at Caranthir before hurrying after him. A good de escalation tactic certainly, if Curufin was rearing for a fight chances are Caranthir was also, best to preemptively restrict his involvement.

‘Did you expect me to not turn up for my brother’s funeral?’ he spoke neutrally, not wishing to provoke his nephew.

‘He’s dead because of you. If you hadn’t decided you knew better than him and led that split we would have had many times the manpower we had that day, it’s your fucking fault, you have no right, no right!’ Curufin stalked right up to his face, voice raised and Maglor had to move to grip his wrist back. No matter where this went none wanted to come to blows over Feanor’s grave.

‘Do I not have a right to grieve my own family? My brother just died and you’re acting like I’m making a move on your territory.’ He began to feel that cold firm anger but restrained it in a way none of his family could evidently, keeping his tone measured but not particularly well masked.

Caranthir cut in while still rocking his nephew soothingly to his chest ‘Half brother. You have another and two sisters still who care far more for your company. A mother willing to comfort you through your mourning. We will never have another father.’

Curufin looked ready to speak again but Maedhros stilled him with a hand settled on his shoulder and his slow and weary voice. ‘Fingolfin, I think it would be best if you left.’

He opened his mouth to speak again, to reprimand his nephew for taking the side of one so obviously filled with spite when Fingon appeared at his side and whispered in his ear.

‘It’s not worth it father. You should let them mourn, come back tomorrow.’ Fingon’s resigned gaze never left Maedhros as he spoke.

Finarfin however took his other arm before he could think of a response and gently but firmly guided him away. ‘Give them their privacy. They’re still young and they just lost their father after all,’ his brother had a sometimes infuriating tendency to always sound reasonable even when proposing that they were somehow intruding by being at the grave of the man who, despite recent events, had been their family as much as anyone’s.

He’d just opened his mouth to reprimand his siblings for just giving up on seeing off their own flesh and blood and suggest that he was in the wrong when Findis spoke sharply, the tone eerily like their mother’s (who perhaps unsurprisingly had not accompanied them) making it clear that this was one of the rare occasions in which she wished to remind them that the position of most senior member of this family did not in fact rest with Fingolfin as it did in matters of business.

‘Oh for goodness sake Nolofinwë, how can you ignore so plainly what is in front of you? This is not some play for power, I’m sure few of them genuinely blame you for his passing, it’s not about you and everyone else knows it! They mean to weep. Why do you think they did not make an event out of this, invite the entire gang of them, they want to be able to sob over the grave of their father without it being attached to business. And you, though once you were family, are now simply business to them. And they do not want you to see them cry. So just- leave the children be.’

The children. At the end of the day that was what they would always be wasn’t it? No matter how much blood was on their hands, how many trembled and cursed as the entered a room. He remembered his son’s face, splattered with blood that was neither his own nor that of the lowest of the low that on occasion stained Fingolfin’s own hands. The blood of mostly innocents, who dared to stand in the way of his brother in his rampage of grief. Yet he’d kissed that same forehead the next day, as Fingon mourned the loss of himself and those he’d slaughtered hopefully more than that of his….. friendship with Feanor’s son but it was hard to be sure what made him shake so.

He could have been filled with disgust, would have been at any other most likely, yet he’d wiped that repulsive blood off his son’s skin with a damp cloth ever so gently while he was in too much shock to do so himself. So Anaire didn’t see him like that because he knew that she would never be able to see him another way again if she had (she’d been told of course but she hadn’t seen).

While this was certainly not true for his nephews it also wasn’t something to be dismissed that when he saw Maedhros he couldn’t help but be reminded of the child that had practically glowed at being able to chat away at someone for hours about his favourite novels (always ridiculously precocious choices of course, he was still Maedhros). He’d ruffled up their hair, slipped them sweets, some of them had helped Anaire in the kitchen at dinners or with the little ones.

He remembered thinking that Maedhros was the most trustworthy person to hand a crying baby to, a man who had merely weeks later gained a reputation of brutality that spread throughout the city, leaving graveyards in his wake. Yet he still felt pity when he saw him helplessly put his arm around his not yet grown brothers in a desperate attempt to shield them from their grief when it should have been a parent doing so.

When he himself should have been comforted through such a bereavement at the young age of twenty four, who in regular circumstances would simply be starting out his career not already holding most of the wealth and power of the city in the palm of his solitary hand. He would not be in any role other than that of the protector, always in control, even after he retired for the night, no doubt to the house his father had purchased only months earlier for them to build a home in and attempt to fill the void Finwe and Nerdanel had left.

He snapped out of his shock when he saw Curufin slump against Celegorm with the unmistakable shaking shoulders; he turned sharply away in shame and the gate creaked as he left his brother once again.

[silvantransthranduiltrash]

Finwe, Ingwe, Olwe, and Elwe (The -We’s) are all emotionally stunted and have untreated PTSD.

Seriously though, most of their subjects don’t realize it because they were born in valinor/the girdle, while the -we’s were born before the valar discovered the elves.

Let me tell you what indicates that the -we’s are emotionally stunted.

In the girdle/valinor, the elves were safe for the first time in existence. And this safety allowed them to focus on fostering positive and emotionally healthy relationships with one another because they no longer needed to fear death around every corner. For once, whole families could grow together with no chance of a member being killed due to the darkness. The elves even had time to foster skills and explore at their leisure, instead of being solely focused on “survive, survive, survive”.

All in all, this means that those who were born/grew up in valinor/the girdle were the first elves with the chance to grow up emotionally healthy, with proper communication and relationship skills. Because they actually have the time and energy needed to learn these skills.

The -we’s (finwe, ingwe, olwe, and elwe) however, were born and grew up during a time where they were in constant survive mode, fight or flight. Their priority was living to see another day, and they likely were surrounded by constant death/disappearances of their family members/people they cared about. AND while the elves may have spawned in cuvinan fully grown, they still have absolutely no life experience then, nor did they magically know how society and their fellow elves worked.

They essentially had the cognative function of an adult, yet were as dumb as babies, because they didn’t just immediatly know everything. They had to figure everything out. Like cave men, kinda. So yeah, these first elves are absolutely useless when it comes to being emotionally healthy and well developed. It wasn’t until they were safe (in the girdle/valinor) that they really started to develop society as a whole, with kings and queens and governments, etc. Before that, they had a loose-ish leadership going on. Heck, the -we’s only really became the leader bc they were the first to follow the valar.

Now, you’re probably wondering “well what about the other elves that went on the great journey? Are they emotionally stunted to?” Probably to some extent, but the -we’s are by far the worst. And the reason is because they are the kings (I guess Miriel probably also falls in this category).

No one’s going to go up to the leader of a nation and say “hey, you need therapy”. That and the pressure of being perfect leaders means that they never got the chance to really become emotionally healthy and be able to form healthy relationships with their family, because they couldn’t admit that they weren’t perfectly mentally healthy in the first place.

Now, why is it important that finwe, ingwe, olwe, and elwe are emotionally stunted? What affect does it have on the story/silmarillion? Well-

*points at Miriel breaking down and fading*

*points at finwe’s crap handling of his family*

*points at elwe’s crap handling of his family/people* *in all honesty, his refusal to make peace with the noldor might be a result of his pre-valar’s arrival all-or-nothing survival drive* (don’t get me wrong, I still think he was dumb for some acts, but somethings I understand)

*idk a lot about olwe or ingwe, but olwe’s fear of returning to the pre-great journey days would explain his refusal to allow feanor the boats*

So I guess what I’m saying is that finwe, ingwe, olwe, and elwe (and Miriel) are emotionally stunted and have untreated ptsd from the days before the valar arrived, and no one’s forcing them to go to therapy bc 1. They’re kings and 2. Most elves (especially those born in valinor/the girdle) probably don’t even realize they have it, and it resulted in a lot of problems.

Side note: this either means that the silvans/avari/cirdan’s people are either the most emotionally healthy as a whole OR the most emotionally stunted. For the sake of my feral silvan au, I’m going with stunted, yet acutely aware of other elves’ emotional needs.

[imakemywings]

Bingo time!

Daeron obviously, and Thingol

Hehe sending me the unpopular favs...

Alright, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, allow me to put on my defense attorney hat.

Daeron:

Okay #1: THIS FANDOM IS SO MEAN TO HIM.

Look. Listen. Daeron fucked up. He was selfish. He was jealous. He ratted Luthien out because he was pissy. And he almost immediately regrets it. He clearly underestimated what Thingol's response would be and in fact he feels so bad about it he ends up helping Luthien escape. And she forgives him. Even Luthien did not hold his actions against him, but this fandom is determined to paint him as a gross creep which is all the more flooring when Maeglin gets all his far more problematic actions towards Idril handwaved (and in some instances, Idril is criticized for not "giving him a chance"!)

That aside, I love Daeron as a character. He is the greatest musician ever produced by Elvenkind and he dies (presumably) alone and in obscurity. He was chief loremaster of a realm whose record-keeping was almost entirely oral--how much of Doriath's culture and history disappeared with Daeron? He invented an alphabet from scratch and was known to be talented in woodworking and other crafts as well. I would venture to say he is one of few, if not the only, Elves who comes close to Feanor's levels of accomplishment.

He's impulsive, which comes off both in the curse he lays on Doriath (unintentionally?) in the Lay and also in his reveal to Thingol. And yet he also clearly regrets getting Luthien in trouble, almost right away, and he goes with the team that goes looking for her, and self-exiles from Doriath when he fails to find her. Tolkien repeatedly emphasizes in the Lay how "delicate" Daeron is which makes me think he was never much of a fighter, but he went anyway because Luthien was important to him and he wanted to make up for what he had done, even though she had already forgiven him.

Also, personally, I enjoy the notion of him as a bit of a spoiled little shit who will go stirring up a fight and then run behind Thingol the second he might actually be in trouble. Thingol spoils him so much and it's really gone to his head 😔 I also like the notion of Daeron as someone who makes his own instruments and whose style is overall very simple and not flashy.

I think he and Luthien were very close for a long time, even though she was never in love with him and I like to think their reunion after the remaking of the world will be very happy <3

Finally: He has a luxurious mane of microbraids and no one will change my view on this now that I've finally settled on one

P I'm also linking direct to your Daeron defense post for readers who may have missed that.

Thingol:

As with Daeron: The fandom so often seems determined to take Thingol's actions in the least charitable way possible, which I am convinced comes down to 1) He distrusts the fandom faves, the Feanorians (who I think it stands to remember were openly threatening Doriath well before the Second Kinslaying); and 2) He stands between Beren and Luthien and no one likes a guy who gets in the way of a love story.

Also, some of Thingol's best moments come in Children of Hurin, which not every Silm fan has read. I think Thingol also gets hit with a bit of "tell not show" because Tolkien tells us that Thingol was a wise and beloved king, but most of the close-ups we get of him in Silm are of his mistakes.

That said, I have seen some truly batshit takes on Thingol in my brief couple years in this fandom. As with all characters in this story, he made mistakes--some of which had far more serious consequences than he could had foreseen. But I don't think he was a bad person and I think he did try his best, and clearly even he rethought his response to the Beren debacle, because he comes around on Beren.

"Then Thingol's mood was softened; and Beren sat before his throne upon the left, and Luthien upon the right..." (Of Beren and Luthien)

The symbolism of seating Beren at the left hand of the king cannot be overstated and that he does this in full view of his court is a huge gesture of acceptance both of Beren and of his relationship with Luthien (and through her, his relationship to Thingol).

Then, they all go out hunting Carcharoth, and Huan springs on him:

"...but in the howls of Carcharoth was the hate of Morgoth and malice crueller than teeth of steel; and the rocks were rent by their clamour and fell from on high and choked the falls of Esgalduin. There they fought to the death; but Thingol gave no heed, for he knelt by Beren, seeing that he was sorely hurt."

Huan and Carcharoth are having a death battle here but Thingol's only concern is for Beren's safety.

Which I think illustrates one of the most overlooked characteristics of Thingol's: He learns from his mistakes. He recognizes when he's fucked up and he demonstrably works to do better. He's very dismissive of Beren and Men in general at the start of Beren and Luthien's chapter, but later, he takes Turin in to foster, the only time an Elf lord ever fosters a human, and he treats Turin as his own son. He tries very hard not to repeat his mistakes, and in line with Silm's tragic nature, it spares him nothing.

I'm also deeply attached to monsterfucker Thingol. You will not find an Elf in Middle-earth who is more down to dtf in the most bizarre of situations and ways than Thingol. He will let Melian try almost anything at least once and she loves to experiment. They are the sappiest couple in Middle-earth who will address each other with the most sugary saccharine pet names known to man that make everyone else cringe and they will do it in court. Luthien gets that stan gene from both sides.

I'm also just going to link some other Thingol metas here:

Thingol didn't want the Silmaril

Thingol's sense of humor

General Thingol defense

Thingol in "Beren and Luthien"

The Quenya Ban

Thingol allowing Noldor refugees into Doriath

Doriath is not as isolationist as you think

On Thingol's mistrust of Celegorm and Curufin

I think I spent forty minutes on this. I'm normal about Elves, I promise.

[maeofthenoldor]

Finarfin The Snake

Finarfin  is the worst father out of Finwe’s sons, and here is why;

I theorize that he was a neglectful father, without really truly realizing it. He was not around often, to busy wrapped up in his brothers politics. I have a feeling he was actively pitting them against each other in hopes that he would be able to usurp the throne. The Valar and most of the Noldor see him as the most reasonable compared to his brother(s), the one with the best morals. In reality, he was cold and calculating, waiting to seize his any oppurtunity that went his way.

Since he was not around, Finrod had to act like the father with his siblings, mostly with Galadriel. He would braid her hair, make sure she was fed, played with her so she wouldn't get bored. It is why he is so “dear to her heart.” It is because he was the one who took care of them all, the one who always keep them safe. Not her real father.

To further my point,  Finarfin does not go into exile with his own children. Every single one of them goes across the Hexeracke to follow their cousins, but he stays behind, even though there is a chance they will not see them again. Why does he do this? Well he sees an opportunity. All of his brothers are gone, the title of king would immediately pass to him. Ultimately he cares more about the throne then his children. I wonder if he may even see them as a threat to his crown, someone who could oppose him.

Then why do his children leave? I truly believe they do care for their father, children cant help but love their parents. Galadriel most of all, idolizes him.

Most time a child that is born from generational trauma, inherit “negative” traits that the parent had. With Feanor, many of his sons inherited bloodlust and a fiery spirit, that pitched against others and caused many wrongdoing in Beleriand. For Fingolfin it was his stubbornness, recklessness and control that were inherited. We see this in mostly Fingon and Turgon. However with  Finarfin and his children, it is there greed for power. Most of this is displayed in Galadriel in the FOTR where she strives to replace the dark lord and take is place in dominion of middle earth. Of course this is the ring manipulating her, but there is that core desire in herself that believes this. Finrod is harder to place, but there is a reason the fandom refers to him as a “snake”. He does strive for power. he is often a mirror image of his father, without even realizing it.

They all leave Valinor in hopes to be greater then they already are. What happens to neglected children, they often try to receive validation from their parents, over and over again even though they always get the same result which is being ignored. They hope to prove to their father that they can be like him, have their own realms and kingdoms. They know how to subtly manipulate others, and they do it without really recognizing it is as manipulation. 

He is seen as the best of the sons of Finwe, like how his children are often seen the kindest and wisest of the noldor, but in fact they are not. They are snakes, and carry on the generational trauma that their father had left them.

In the end, I think  Finarfin realizes his mistakes as a parent. When Finrod is reembodied after his death, they finally have a chance to reconcile.

“But Finrod walks with Finarfin his father beneath the trees in Eldamar."-Lay Of Lethian

[doodle-pops]

House of Feanor | Taking Care of A Chronic Ill Reader (Cystic Fibrosis)

Request: Hello! I have to say... I absolutely LOVE your blog, one of the love your blog! best on the silmarillion! HUGE FAN! Your amazing! Okay so can I please request a headcannon on the Feanorians taking care of a Chronic ill reader. Like maybe she has Cystic Fibrosis (which need lots of medication and surgery) and just like super fluffy and sweet. Thank you so much for taking the time to read my request! Have a beautiful day/night!

Feanor

The moment Feanor learns about your illness, he’s in your face after dragging you off to a secluded area for questions.

Feanor would be devastated when he learns that there’s only treatment and not a cure, however, it doesn’t prevent him from being pushed into a protective mood.

Have you taken your respective medicine? Have you exerted yourself today? Did you rest enough?

Being the Crown Prince, he’s able to get the finest healers in Valinor and if things escalate, he’s able to take you on a trip to visit Estё for healing.

He understands that your illness reduces your breathing abilities which is why he’ll attempt to watch his anger around you, so he doesn’t send you into a panic.

During the time you and Feanor spend together, you’ll get to see him in his softest state.

After being around humans for a long time, Maedhros is familiar with the many illnesses that they succumb to and is aware that elvish medicine was powerful enough to heal, but you were different.

Maedhros

Your illness sent Maedhros into a frenzy because he understands that there’s no cure for it and if it ever got worse, he could lose you for good.

He places you in the hands of the healers and probably threatens them to treat you with the greatest care. He doesn’t want to hear that you’re getting worse, only better.

Maedhros would commission a garden built for you with some of the plants brought from Valinor that produces the cleanest air for you to breathe.

Like Feanor, he also watches his temper around you and ensures that his siblings are kept away. He doesn’t need you being frightened and struggling to breathe.

Maglor

Maedhros is always extra soft and tender with you. Holding you with gentle hands as he rubs your chest and back, and when he’s finished, he’ll plant a kiss on the area.

Maglor will hold you with tears in his eyes and look at you with pain and grief because he understands that you’re in pain and he can’t do much besides singing and giving you medicine.

He hates that you can’t be cured and can’t live life the want you’ve always dreamed of because of your illness.

Maglor would cook for you, ensuring that all the necessary supplements that your body requires are absorbed to help boost your system. He doesn’t want you falling sick since your illness is already life-threatening.

Maglor is a mother-hen, so anything you’re doing that can jeopardize your health, he’s scolding you for it. He doesn’t even take the chances of letting you walk in the rain because that would just worsen your breathing.

Using his voice, Maglor would sing in hopes of reducing any breathing problems or pain that you’re experiencing, wanting to bring only comfort.

Celegorm

Of all his brothers, he’s the only one you don’t have to worry about with his temper.

First of all, he’s reassuring you that he knows tons of plants and healing herbs in the forest, thus your illness can be cured. He doesn’t like when you tell him that it can’t but only be treated.

Every day, Celegorm is returning to you with healing herbs from deep within the forest with a smile on his face, enthusiastically informing you that it would work.

His herbs do help with your breathing and mucus builds up in your lungs. He takes it as a sign of one step closer to curing you.

Celegorm knows places in the forest that has literally the cleanest air to breathe because Middle Earth isn’t polluted like in our world, so the air is fresh and breathable.

It’s a bit impossible to get him to reduce his excitement in wanting to drag you off to some new location every day because you require rest. But this is Celegorm, he wants to show you the world even when you’re sick. He’ll carry you if you must.

Caranthir

Having Huan around makes life with him easier. Huan would act as the service dog who informs you when it’s time for medicine or when Celegorm is doing too much.

Because he trades with not only the elves but dwarves and humans, Caranthir is sure to learn about your illness from one of the humans and if there’s anything to make it better.

He spares no expenses when it comes to your comfort as long as you live – he wants your life to be filled with comfort, thus, whatever you want, he’ll provide.

The best healer for you and he’s extremely strict with you and your medicine, even if it isn’t pleasant to you, he wants to prolong your life.

Very delicate with his anger and doesn’t need you to have a breathing complication. Soft with his speeches and actions. This is a side to Caranthir that even you have never seen before.

When the moment calls for it and he’s able to, he’ll take time of to carry you on short walks through the garden or to the lake.

Curufin

Caranthir never lets you do anything that causes you to exert yourself, no stress no strain.

He might be the least responsive to your mentioned illness, but underneath the stoic and unconcerned expression, his brain is running around attempting to figure out how to heal you.

One morning, healers would just show up at your door with medicine and a treatment process to help you get better.

Curufin would consult with his brother for the best herbal medicine the forest has to offer since his brother is always in the forest.

Curufin has this calculative aura about him which makes it damn near impossible for someone to understand what he’s thinking. He’s the master of surprises and he sure does surprise you with his behaviour towards your illness.

He doesn’t say much, but through his actions, you’ll be able to understand his care for you. Randomly carrying you on small walks, massaging your back and chest or bringing you hot herbal teas. Gets topical pain relievers and apply them to your chest and back, and rub your throat if it’s in any pain.

Amrod and Amras

He may be an elf of few words and expressions, but he makes the most of the opportunity to show you how much he cares.

Taking after their big older brother Celegorm, the twins would use the same methods to help you through your illness.

Making multiple hunting trips into the forest to get medicine to bring back, they’d be cooking up a storm and brewing your medicine to help with the build-up of mucus and open up your airway.

They don’t like the idea of seeing you sad or in pain, so you can expect lots of jokes to be made. Every day whenever you’re with them will be filled with joyous laughter – from crazy moments during their childhood to the most recent.

Being hunters they would know all the great spots to take you, so you would be safe and have some enjoyment in your life. It pains them to know that they can’t cure you and because of this, they would hold you at times crying.

Knowing that your body lacks great nutrition, they’d hunt and bring all the right food that’s required to keep your up and running. They’re okay cooks so you don’t have to worry about the food.

Celebrimbor

The twins would work hard to ensure that the time you’re with them is stress-free by bringing smiles to your face.

Poor baby, the one person who entered his life to bring joy and happiness is also making him worry the most about your condition. He hates that your illness can’t be cured and all that you’re riding on is the hope of proper treatment.

This pushed him to go the distance with finding medicine. He’d even go to the dwarves to hear what ideas they have about medicine that could assist.

As a mortal, your life is already short in his eyes, your illness was making it shorter and causing him to worry. He frets whenever he hears your having complications with breathing and your airway becomes blocked.

Being a master craftsman, Celebrimbor can surely whip some equipment up to help with your treatment. Not the most overly functional machine, but it can assist with pain reduction.

He’s going to make extra time for you, taking you on casual walks, having more dinners, and sleeping in extra. You can expect to receive more gifts.

Celebrimbor is an absolute darling when it comes to your health and safety. He wants to ensure that you’re well taken care of and you’re not in constant pain.

Masterlist

Taglist: @spidergirla5 @eunoiaastralwings @someoneinthestars @aconstructofamind @lilmelily @ranhanabi777 @mysticmoomin @noldorinpainter @hoshinokurasa @starborne0661

[welcomingdisaster]

Angry violent headcanon for Fingon or Turgon

-@outofangband

ooo @outofangband thank you for the ask! this is very fun!!

Fingon:

Jack of all trades with weapons! Of course there's his trademark bow and arrows, but I think he's relatively skilled with basically every weapon commonly used by first age elves. Solid 8/10 with swords, daggers, lances, etc.

To add on to the previous point: mostly self-taught through experience, rather than formal training (of the kind Feanor would have made sure his sons got, for instance). Applies hunting skills to combat.

MESSY fighter. Fights dirty, takes absolutely every advantage he might. If you fight Fingon and he can hit you in the balls, he's hitting you in the balls.

I think he's got a very expressive face in general and it's extra expressive in combat. He shoots an arrow and you can read the brief moment of "you better not miss, motherfucker" on his face very clearly.

The kind of person to taunt his enemies a lot in combat. I actually think he's pretty bad at coming up with insults off the cuff and spends some time workshopping them battle ("Turno what if I call the orcs yellow-bellied worms--" "Can you please be normal for two minutes instead")

Kept the dagger he used to cut off Maedhros's hand. After that whole incident it was a very dull dagger (blunted both by him trying to use it to sever the chain and by hitting bone). Had some vague notion that he would one day turn this dagger against the the dark lord and make him pay for that sorrow. Knew deep down he would never get the chance.

Generally tends to externalize his anger. Goes out and tries to find orcs/creatures of the dark lord to fight at every opportunity (part of the reason he's continually known as 'the Valiant' and well-liked). If you insult his dad in front of him he's punching you in the face. Generally not one of the classic Nolofinwean iciness. You can TELL when he's pissed.

Anger is red-hot but doesn't last very long. Once he's cleared the air he usually considers grudges long past. Quick to anger but equally quick to forgive.

Turgon:

Giant two handed sword boy! The kind of sword that, were it found by archeologists a few thousand years in the future, would be considered impractical for anyone to actually have wielded. This man was like 7'10 and his reach was enormous. In battle he mowed down orcs before they come close enough to try anything. Even in his final moments none could get near him; he died only when his tower fell.

Stone cold. You cannot read his mood at all. House motto repress, compartmentalize, ignore. When he's angry his voice does not tend to get louder; instead he gets very cold and quiet.

Holds grudges forever.

The one family member that is not very fond of hunting. He finds the sport kind of mean; elves easily track and kill most prey animals, and he pities them. This does not stop him from eating meat, but he takes little satisfaction besting an opponent so far below him, and prefers to leave hunting to other people. Left to his own devices (which he does not tend to be, being a prince and having most of his meals made for him) he is largely vegetarian.

[animatorweirdo]

Beneath the blinding lights

You are trying to tolerate the sun's heat. You also have a discussion about your curse with Maglor.

Warnings: death of orcs, some Noldor being brutal, mentions of assaults, reader getting a heatstroke, looking pale and a bit sick, mentions of cases involving people dying.

Chapter 6

-----------------------------------

You watched as the elves rode after the orcs, yelling commands in elvish and shooting arrows in the warg rider’s heads and allowing those on foot to drag the bodies into piles and burn them. Shivers nearly ran through your spine. Maglor and his kin were ruthless when it came to killing orcs. The rabid ghoul-looking creatures had no chance against them— they were running away like rats getting chased by cats. 

The sight kind of reminded you of your time in Maglor’s former fortress. How violent the orcs were and how they nearly beat you to death and did it again and nearly assaulted Melui. You had no sympathy for them, so seeing them die did not bother you. Not to mention, the taste of their flesh and blood was disgusting. 

You don’t usually like the taste of blood and flesh in your mouth when you return to normal, but the taste of orc was so bad you could taste it through the beast’s control and sense its disgust. It was a groundbreaking surprise because wendigos are not supposed to be picky eaters. They ate anything, and now there was something they did not like. Oh, how the news would have caused a shock in your world. 

“Hey, (Name)! Could you help me pick some items from the wagons?” Faye suddenly called out for you. “Uhh… yeah, sure!” you follow her through the campsite. 

You walk together while listening to the ongoing purging of orcs, “It’s getting pretty wild, eh?” you motioned toward the hunt. “Yes. It seems after every dead orc. There’s always a new batch somewhere,” Faye replied as she watched with you. “It’s troublesome. In Valinor, we never had to worry about such a thing,” she mentions. “What was it like in Valinor?” you asked curiously. 

“It was… peaceful. The streets were filled with music and laughing children, followed by their parents scolding and street vendors trying to compete for the highest profit,” Faye described with a fond look. “I remember my mother bringing me to an herbal shop, and my nose was filled with many exotic scents of herbs and plants. I believe that’s where I got my passion for herbs and healing,” she smiles as you listen. “And I remember taking a handful of citrus leaves and putting them in my mouth since I was a little elfling at the time, “ she says, making you giggle at the thought since it was the most childlike thing to do. 

“Did they taste good?” you asked. “Oh, I believe my mouth was crying for a whole week for how sour and bitter those leaves were,” Faye chuckled as you laughed. 

She sighs. “Those were peaceful times. There were no trifles, no orcs, and the two trees stood proudly, banishing the darkness with their light,” her expression soured. “Then Morgoth was freed, and he destroyed them, our only source of light,” she started. “He stole Feanor’s greatest creations, the silmarils, that could have restored the trees and killed our high king, Finwe, Prince Maglor’s grandfather,” she mentions. You looked at her empathically. 

“It all happened so fast. I wasn’t even certain what was happening,” Faye said. “I was attending a feast with my family, then the lights went out, the darkness came, our king was dead, and then we were rebelling against the valar,” she said. “It was such chaos,”

“I’ll bet. I can’t imagine what it would be like if the sun suddenly went out,” you stated. 

“How did you end up leaving too?” you asked. 

“Me and my family desired to go along. We were part of Fingolfin’s host and crossed the ever-cold Helcaraxe. It was a devastating journey, and unfortunately, I was the only one in my family to make it through,” Faye explained with a silent sorrowful tone. 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” you said. 

“Don’t be… the choice was ours. I accepted my family’s death a long time ago and if the valars will grant them mercy. I might see them again at someday in Valinor,” she said. 

“Well, I hope you do. You never know what fate might bring, and you might see them sooner than you thought,” you tried to assure her. 

“That is very sweet of you (Name), but I’m afraid it's a lot more complicated than that,” she said as you reached the wagons. “Grab some of those towels while I take the medicine. Some of the warriors got injured and need a cleanup.” Faye instructed. “Got it, boss,” you replied and grabbed many of the towels you could carry. 

You two then started returning to the healer’s tents, carrying the needed stuff. 

The air suddenly became hotter, and everything became blindingly bright. Your head began to spin, so you stopped and escaped beneath a shade provided by a nearby tent. 

Faye did not notice your sudden stop, so she continued walking while you tried to tolerate the effects of a near heatstroke. 

Your head stung painfully.  You were breathing heavily. You dropped the towels and took a long drink from one of the water flasks attached to your hip. 

The cool liquid flowed down your throat, easing the headache, and the dizziness stopped. You drank half of the flask, then took a breather, trying to adjust to the heat that still found you beneath the shade. 

You smacked your moistened lips and mentally whined at your state. 

Winter was terrible enough, but thanks to the beast. You can’t enjoy spring or summer either. It was like if you were having a good time, you were going to have bad time.  You whined and cursed it out. 

“Fuck you beast and everything you stand for,”

“What did it do this time?” Maglor’s voice suddenly asked. 

“Ah!” you shrieked as he stood next to you. Your sudden shriek even frightened him as he stared back at you with widened eyes. You stared at each other for a moment before you released a sigh. 

“Goddammit! Maglor! Careful, I could have hit you with one of these,” you motioned the towels in your hand. “With towels?” he questioned with a curious brow. “Yeah. They can hurt pretty bad if you use them right,” you said with a teasing grin. A chuckle escaped him. “I see… I’ll make sure to watch out next time so I won’t accidentally end up getting killed by towels,” he remarked with an amused smile. 

“Anyway. Do you need something?” you questioned. “Nothing that requires healing. I just wanted to check on you because you— look rather pale and sick. Are you feeling unwell?” Maglor asked with concern in his eyes. “Oh? Uuuhh…Everything is fine. I’m just dealing with a heat stroke here and then,” you answered. 

“A heat stroke? Is it really that hot for you?” Maglor asked, surprised.

“Yeah— the curse makes me more vulnerable to the sun’s heat, so I can get a heat stroke easily. Even if it's not really that hot. It’s a real nuisance, but I have dealt with them before, so… I’ll manage,” you explained. “Well… if you’re that vulnerable to heat then maybe you should return to Himring, where it’s much cooler. I can arrange someone to escort you back,” he said, pointing over his shoulder. You mildly panic. “No need! If I just keep myself hydrated enough. I will be fine. Trust me. It is not that serious,” you motioned your water flasks while trying to sound as assuring as possible. 

“Ah…” Maglor nodded his head. “Is that why you’re carrying so many flasks?” he pointed at the rest of the flasks attached to your hip. “I… have to drink a lot to stay hydrated,” you said, feeling somewhat embarrassed. 

“Do you need help carrying some of those back? You still look like you’re about to pass out,” Maglor pointed at the towels. 

“Well… I do still feel kinda dizzy, so If that’s not too much trouble,” you said, nearly hesitating. Maglor softly smiled at you. “Of course not. Now, come on. Let me help you,” he picked half of the towels in his arms and began walking you back. 

“So… how does this curse affect you now that you haven’t had your proper medicine for a while?” Maglor asked while you walked. “Well… since I have a temporary one which I need to take every day. There isn’t much to worry about even though it’s not nearly as effective as my last one,” you started. 

“So is the wen–”

“Ah! Don’t say it!” you stopped him before he said it. “It’s bad karma if you say it’s name! I’m free to do it since I am one, but if you say it– bad things will happen,” you quickly explained. 

“You see… in my world: If you say the name of the beast. You will gain its attention,” you started. “That might sound superstitious, but it does happen. A wendigo is a beast that does not give up on its prey. Even when you might be safe and far away, it will find a way to get to you,” you added. 

“I heard some stories and read cases about people who had unfortunately gained the beast’s attention. They managed to escape into cities where it would not follow them, but they suffered nightmares so bad that they went insane, and in some cases, the beast had compelled them to return to the forest, where it would wait for them and then devour them,” you explained. 

“Only a ritual could draw off its attention from you, and I do not remember how the ritual goes, so don’t risk it and call the beast simply a beast or some other name,” you shook your head. 

“I didn’t know that… thank you for the warning,” Maglor said. “Oh, not even the most powerful vampires of my world dare to fuck around with them,” you uttered, then released a sigh when the headache returned. 

“Are you alright?” Maglor asked worriedly. 

“Yeah… it’s just the headache. Looks like I need to take another drink,” you said as you took a drink from your flask. 

“Are you certain you will be alright?” Maglor continued asking. 

“I will be fine. Camilla is very sharp about my health,” you tried to sound reassuring as possible. 

“I guess I can trust in her abilities to keep you in the best state possible,” Maglor said, making you smile. “However, I am curious. Have I done something to offend her?” he asked. “I… don’t think so. Why?” you asked curiously. 

“She seems rather cold toward me, more than usual, like I’ve done something to cause severe mistrust,” he explained. 

“Oh… that. I think it's only the stress of finding me the new medicine and managing work life,” you replied. “And she’s always been skeptical about people, especially those who know of my curse. She’s probably still unsure if you can be trusted keeping my secret and not turn on me and use it for blackmail or something,” you said, not missing a beat. 

Maglor looked surprised. “I… will give you my word that I will not do such a thing,” he said with his hand against his chest. “Your killing spree in my former fortress lessened the threat of being overrun by Morgoth’s armies, which allowed us to survive through the Sudden Flames, so I technically owe it to you,”

“I’ll trust you,” you smiled. “It’s just Camilla who needs more convincing. It’s not her fault, though. Our lives in our world were not exactly easy either,” you said as you arrived at the healer’s tents. 

“I think I can handle myself from here. Don’t want to keep you away from your lordly duties,” you grabbed the towels from his hands with a teasing grin. He chuckled at your last remark. “Honestly… I do prefer this than constantly worrying about killing orcs and everything,” he said then looked serious.

“If something happens or you feel much more sick. Come to me. I will sort things out for you,” 

You hesitated about what to say. “Okay… thanks,” you said with a smile. Maglor smiled back and then walked away. 

You stared for a moment, feeling rather lonely. You thought about what he said. He was so incredibly sweet to you. Your heart could nearly burst through your chest. Shaking your head, you turned away and went back to work before Camilla could snap at you for being late.

[that-angry-noldo]

[step one]

All of these traits matter, so choose wisely! (The character will posess all of them to a different extent, which will be determined by an outcome in percentage)

Diplomat

This trait matters if you think mending conflicts will be of great importance to you and your goal. Cold temper, ability to pick up on smallest details, knowledge of words and tempers - it's all about you.

The character has higher chance of succesfully negotiating conflicts

Can persuade other characters easier using Facts and Logic™

Can notice helpful details in other character's speeches

Bard

You walk this world with optimism of a butterfly, confidence of a cat and wisdom of a snake. You know many stories and aren't afraid to tell them; you rail the crowd as easy as you pick a flower.

The character has a potential to learn Songs of Power

Knowledge of basic instruments (piano & guitar in our case), posession of good voice; easier learning of other instruments

Knowledge of many Earth's myths and legends, different books and stories, ability to retell them in interesting way

The character can persuade others easier with their charisma

Athlete

You are fit and posess great stamina. You come through any obstacle with ease. You enjoy long walks and a good nutritious meal.

Character has an advantage in any sport

Character learns swordsmanship/archery with ease

Character has a great knowledge of human physiology

If, say, our character by any chance ends up in a particalurly snowy mountain, they will be extra protected from slipping or from falling off a cliff

Scholar

You are a bookworm. You enjoy libraries and small groups of friends you can discuss your latest discoveries with. You have a quick wit, and your brain is one of a renaissance man.

Character has a boost at learning and teaching languages.

Character gets information from books faster.

Character can explain multiple humanitarian disciplines (philosophy, psychology, literature, languages etc.) in informative manner

Craftsman

You know your way with wood, metals and whatnot. Your hands are your mightiest ally - with enough learning and practice, you can bring to life practically anything.

The character can craft multiple devices or create art easier

The character has easier way of picking up new skills

Scientist

You know the ways of the world. You know why blood is red and why the sky is blue. You know why the apple falls down and why you shouldn't drink HCl. You are basically an open treasure for anyone who's looking for information.

The character can explain nuclear physics to Feanor. (Please don't make the character explain nuclear physics to Feanor.)

The character posesses knowledge of the way the things are, which may help other characters to make some unexpectant discoveries.

The character posesses medical knowledge, which may be useful when assisting wounds or other traumas.

Just A Guy

Exactly what it says. You're just a guy. You habe a cat to feed and a cacti to water. What the hell are you even doing here, saving the world and all that?

The character posesses a trait to blend in with surroundings easily

The character is well liked for their simple nature (which may be proven useful)

[kalinara]

I'm starting to get a little obsessed with Rings of Power, I have to admit. I'm not entirely sure why - perhaps I just really have a need to rejoin a fandom that is full of hyper-pedantic purists who nit-pick endlessly over contradicting canon material, racist "historians" who apparently never heard of the Moorish invasion, Mongol invasion, the Silk Road, or any of a thousand other reasons why actual historical people of color might have ended up in medieval Europe, and the usual victim-blaming villain apologists. (I won't lie, I also think the Feanorians are pretty compelling. I draw the line at blaming the invaded people for not wanting to hand the magic rock over to repeated mass murderers though.)

Eh, maybe I'll stick to my own corner. There's some good fic out there though.

These are my initial observations from the first episode:

1. There's more indirect Silmarillion references than I expected. From fan reaction, I thought they were scrapping the entire thing. But it seems like most of Elrond's fucked up backstory is intact. Or at least not contradicted. (I think there's even a Feanor namedrop in a later episode?)

2. Galadriel is so pretty, OMG. And her armor doesn't have boobs!

3. Elrond is adorable. Of all the fannish complaints, I have the most sympathy for the one about Elrond having Steve Harrington hair. I feel like it might be a character beat though. They seem to be leaning a bit into the idea of the Peredhel being not quite accepted in general elf society, so maybe that's meant to be a tiny little rebellion?

3b. The idea of the Peredhel not being particularly accepted does seem like a deviation from the Silmarillion, but then that was pretty broad strokes. We know EVENTUALLY Gil-galad and Elrond will be homoerotically joined at the hip, but it might take a while to get there.

3c. I would like him to grow it out eventually though. The current look doesn't suit his face. I think something longer and pinned back a bit might work better with those angles.

3d. The idea of Elrond not being an "elf lord" seems particularly offensive given the poor guy is arguably the heir of every elf kingdom under the sun. Then again, none of those elf kingdoms actually exist anymore. Except the one Gil-galad's running. But I actually really like the poor put-upon clerk with quiet ambitions aspect of his character. It's pretty rare to see open ambition treated as, if not a positive trait, then a neutral one.

I feel like there's this thing, in popular western media, where we adore the wise and powerful figures - the wise king, if you will, but we don't like the idea of someone actually wanting and trying to achieve that role. The only good powerful person, we say, is the one that doesn't want it. They get it by chance, by birthright, by being in the right place at the right time. Even if they "earn" it, it's generally by doing something heroic, completely unrelated to governing people or dealing with politics. THOSE sorts are almost invariably the Wrong Choice.

But what if you want to enact real, positive change? What if you want to protect people or take care of people? How do you do that, if you're not in a position of power? How do you get power, when you're not really allowed to want it?

(I might be projecting too many good motives onto my historically favorite character, but I have future canon knowledge that he does a pretty decent job when he actually IS in charge of shit, so there you go.)

4. I love that Galadriel and Elrond look like they're the same height. Google tells me he's 6', and she's 5'4". I'd never have guessed. Nice camera work. Or phenomenal job at hiding the stilts.

5. I love that elf aging seems to be completely arbitrary. Elrond and Galadriel look like babies. Gil-galad looks middle-aged*, while Celebrimbor...well, I guess being only non-murderous Feanorian is really stressful?

5b. It hurts me to say that as Gil-galad's actor is maybe a year older than I am. But alas, that's life.

5c. Celebrimbor also has short hair. Maybe it's a Feanorian thing? That'd be kind of interesting. Did Tolkien ever specifically SAY they had long hair?

6. I have no idea who Arondir is. It's probably worth noting that I haven't read the Silmarillion since college, which might explain why I'm not really nitpicking anything. Whether he's one of the umpteen tragic elves from that book, or a canon newcomer, I don't care. I want to keep him.

6b. I'd like to see that elf who said that there were only two elven-human marriages and they ended in death and despair to say that to Elrond's face. Wait, no. I think he might cry. Say that to Idril Celebrindal. I fucking dare you. (Tuor would absolutely hold her flowers.)

7. I wasn't expecting the hobbits. No one mentioned the hobbits.

8. Also, no idea what the Southlands are, but it's an interesting story beat. From an average human perspective, what makes one powerful overlord better than another? Especially given some of the shit the good-guy elves got up to over the years.

9. Everything looks really pretty and nothing's really happening yet, but this is Tolkien. I sat through the extended editions of the movies (...might have fallen asleep at one point, but that's between me and the Professor), I can wait a few episodes before things start to happen.

Anyway, I'm looking forward to seeing the next one.

[sorrowssinger]

The battle of Azanulbizar was dark and gruesome, it brought to mind every horror story that Frerin had ever heard about war and battle from everyone that dared speak of such. Still he fought, trying to protect his father in the press of bodies while still looking for his brother. There was a cry of horror that distracted him and he was knocked aside before he knew it and swept away with the harsh grasping hands pulling him down into the darkness of what should have been their home.

For a while he fought them, fighting to keep the spirits of those around him, those who had also been dragged down into the darkness, up and to give them hope. Gradually it faded and Frerin had to accept that those with him had given up hope. Still he looked for a way out of the darkness. He finally found it by chance when an elf of all things ended up down there with them. Giving the elf his best grin Frerin bowed to him.

"Frerin, son of Thrain, at yer service."

"Maglor, son of Feanor at yours... though I will say no one should be at my service."

"Say... that sword of yers, think it'd be of help getting out of here?"

"That depends, master dwarrow, are you going to be escaping?"

"I'd like to. My brother and sister both probably think I'm dead but with yer help I might get to see them again."

"Hmm, with such a cause I see no reason not to help. You may need to help me walk for part of our journey. I am afraid that our hosts were less than kind bringing me down here."

"Aye, I can do that. Now let's go before ye change yer mind."

The elf laughed and stood, most of his weight on one leg while he adjusted his sword. Frerin ducked under his arm and pointed in the right direction.

"We want to go that way, there are a few hidden doors that way and some of them even lead outside."

"I shall follow your directions, just warn me if we will need to fight."

Frerin was delighted because this elf seemed willing to acknowledge that he did not know or do something Frerin himself did. It was a wondrous change from what many other elves he had seen and heard did. Pleased by this change he took care to pick a relatively easy path that lead them around several groups of orcs and goblins while they traveled towards the surface and the doors that lead there.

It was too easy though and Frerin knew that. He could tell his companion knew that as well based on how the elf looked around warily. Just before they reached a room the elf stopped him and tried to walk to a half buried alcove. Frerin frowned at him but followed, Maglor had trusted him so far and he figured he ought to return the favor.

It was quite lucky he did because not more than a minute after he hid and settled voices and footsteps came around the corner. High shrieking voices of a goblin trying in vain to convince someone that he had been searching and Frerin was trying to focus on the words when something was draped over him. He shot the elf an annoyed look at seeing that some sort of fabric was draped over him but the elf just grinned and gestured later in Iglishmek. Frerin gave him a sharp look but calmed himself and waited for the goblin and whoever was with him to pass out of sight and hearing.

"Alright elf, what was that?"

"An elven cloak can grant, for a time, the ability to remain unnoticed among natural elements."

"Tha was not what I meant and ye know it. Now-"

"I learned it in the First Age. My brothers and I were, for a time, counted as friends by those of Belegost."

Frerin saw the sorrow in Maglor's eyes and let it go. He could hardly imagine losing one brother and from the sorrow he suspected that Maglor had lost many. Rolling to his feet he reached down to help Maglor up from the alcove then he resumed walking. They were nearly to the doors when Maglor stopped and turned, his sword leaving the sheath as he moved. Frerin cursed under his breath and looked around for something he could use to fight with. Spotting an axe he grinned and grabbed it.

"Baruk Khazâd! Khazâd ai-mênu!" Frerin cried as he leapt towards the first of the enemies that came upon them.

Maglor was silent as he slew those who came upon him and after a while of fighting there was a lull. Taking advantage of it Frerin hurried over to the elf and ducked under his arm once more.

"Come on, let's get out of here while we may."

"Agreed. Let us also pray that it is day not night for they will not follow us then."

Frerin grunted as he continued, half carrying Maglor as he went. Maglor reached forward and pressed his hand against the wall, after a moment he said something in elvish which caused the door to swing open. Seeing Frerin's look he chuckled.

"My nephew helped to create these doors. Now let us go, it is nearly day so we can leave and shut these behind us. Then I will try to see you to your brother."

"No. Yer hurt and ye helped me. Let me see you to somewhere safe first then we can go from there."

"You-"

"I said no."

Maglor sighed then laughed a bit.

"Very well. Imladris is not far from here. I go by Rainor there, but it is a safe haven for all who seek one."

"Then that's were we will go. Now will ye at least tell me what it's called in Westron?"

"Rivendell."

Frerin couldn't help but laugh. Thorin would be so upset when he heard that Frerin got out alive and then went straight to an elvish settlement. Seeing the grin on the elf's face he decided that he was going to make himself a nuisance enough that the elf would at least visit occasionally. It would be grand to see Thorin's face when he realized he would need to welcome an elf and show gratitude for saving him.

[transsexualhamlet]

🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️

omg hi :)

silmarillion ask game

🗡️ Defend your favorite war criminal (or make them worse - I'm not your mom).

See you know. I'm not good at defending my faves because usually the reason i like them is that they Suck Major Ass. Like I cannot defend my boy feanor i love him because he is SUCH a cunt and i would NEVER want to talk to him and like. my favorite character is FUCKING SAURON like my entire defense of him is yes he did all those horrible things but your honor. he was pretty and gay while doing it so its FINE

I feel like the only one of my faves that sort of deserves a defense attorney is Turin? Like you know you wanna think by about the sixth or seventh count of cursed sword related murder it's just kinda his fault at this point like how many second chances can this dude get but to be FAIR morgoth HATES HIS GUTS PERSONALLY my guy is so bored he is up there EVERY DAY going hey i've got a free afternoon. mairon what else can i do to turin ive already made everyone he loves die in glue traps and personally ruined every remaining relationship with the living ones. mairon if there were two guys on the moon and one of them killed the other with a rock would that be fucked up or what. and mairon is like idfk the cursed sword is doing ur job pretty well for you? oh fuck i forgot to feed hurin again mortals can eat raw meat fine right?

It's like. Turin is functionally a shakespeare tragedy protag so you cant blame him for any of that like I am a hamlet url ofc i like Turin but cmonnnnnn