#cuiviénen

[outofangband]

To Cuiviénen there is no returning...

x x x x x x x x x

I've been thinking a lot about the first elves and their strange time under the stars in a world both filled with wonder and life and also lurking, luring shadows and a hatred reaching out for them from the pits of Utumno...

I will write a longer post later but here are some visual thoughts...

[mossy-thing]

Originally posted on my side blog @evil-crayon , 02.10.23

I am participating in Tolkientober (no I am not too late, what are you talking about)!

There are obviously a lot of beginnings in Tolkien's universe, but I like this one, so here you go.

[ladysternchen]

What Is Right And What Is Easy

Finwë

“(Melkor becomes suspicious, and guesses war is purposed against him, because of the Quendi. During Oromë’s absence his emissaries are busy, and many lies circulate. The `heresy’ awakes in new form: the Valar clearly do exist; but they have abandoned Endor; rightly as the appointed realm of the Quendi. Now they are becoming jealous, and wish to control the Quendi as vassals, and so re-possess themselves of Endor. Finwë, a gallant and adventurous young quende, direct descendant of Tata […], is much taken by these ideas; less so his friend, Elwë, descendant of Enel)”- J.R.R.Tolkien (editor Carl F. Hofstetter): the Nature of Middle-Earth, Chapter XIII ‘Key Dates’

“Finwë! Lord Oromë has returned!”

Finwë wrinkled his nose, looking sceptically at his friend.

“So?” he asked finally, wincing inwardly at how cool he knew his voice sounded. Unsurprisingly, Elwë frowned at his friend’s less than enthusiastic attitude.

“What do you mean, ‘so’? He is going to tell us more of Valinor, and besides, when he is here, no Shadow will dare come close.”

“The Shadow is conquered, they say.”

“I hear that. But there are still enough foul things on the loose in these woods!”

“Yes…” Finwë said. “…or so the Vala says.”

Elwë just stared at his friend, until Finwë bit his tongue in dreadful realisation. 

“Elwë, I… forgive me, I did not mean to…”

“It’s fine! But will you come now and hear for yourself what Oromë has to say?”

“What if he is only trying to lure us to Valinor, though? What if the Valar are really truly the evil ones? I mean, we are happy here, are we not?”

Elwë considered that for a while, his eyes on the star-strewn heavens. At last he sighed deeply, looking as if he were carrying a much older elf’s burdens. 

“I don’t believe it. I know many do, I know it sounds so very… plausible. But there is no evil in Oromë. Anger, perhaps, wrath even, but no evil. Have you seen the light that shines within his eyes? Something so pure cannot in itself be evil, I am sure about it! So will you come with me back to the others?”

Finwë still was reluctant, though he had to admit that Elwë had a good point.

“But you were the one to take ages to start trusting Oromë…”

Elwë shook his head.

“No, your memory deceives you there, my friend. I trusted Oromë from the start. But I needed time to think over what he told us.”

An almost pained look crossed Finwë’s face.

“Yes. I know you did. You always think everything over. But it seems that that is no bad thing this time. Alright. Let’s go!”

Ingwë

He balled his fists in frustration beneath his cloak, doing his best to keep his face even. Lord Imin was smiling understandingly and somehow, that made him even angrier, and he was by the Valar not prone to anger quickly.

“The tales you tell of Valinor are blissful, Ingwë and I understand your youthful desire to seek new shores…”

“Lord, with all due respect, you speak as if with the wisdom of age, that truly only the Powers, who are ageless and timeless, possess. It is said by them that this is the Age of the youth of all Quendi, so it might be all our youthful duty to find a home that is more suitable for our kind.”

Still, Imin was smiling, and Ingwë could have hit him for it. Behind Imin, Iminyë, Tata and Tatië, Enel and Enelyë stood with grimmer expressions, though all very much signalling consent to the eldest’ words. Ingwë chanced a glance at Finwë and Elwë, who stood beside him, Finwë glaring furiously at the elders, Elwë with his gaze lowered to the ground, looking about as comfortable in his position as a speared fish. It was all Ingwë could do not to roll his eyes at the pair of them, for none of them was in the least helpful, though for very contrasting reasons. Wryly, he thought that if one could somehow mix his friends together, make one out of two, they might actually become useful.

“You are bold, Ingwë. But consider this- here is where we awoke, where we are meant to be. The shores of the sacred waters of Cuiviénen are our home. The Quendi belong here, as the Valar belong in their realm of eternal bliss. We shall be ever glad of their friendship and help, but the offer to live among them we must refuse!”

“But…”

“The people of the stars we are, young lord!” said Enel, speaking up for the first time. “Have you not told us of eternal light there in Aman? How could the Eldar prosper in such a land? It seems to me that they would live in bliss for only a short time, burning with a flame too bright for their being, and then soon perish!”

Ingwë resigned himself to saying what he had tried to avoid saying until now for Elwë’s sake, but now felt he must voice.

“But it seems likely that we shall perish here even sooner. Was it not, Lord Enel, Lady Enelyë, a prince of your house that was only lately slaughtered, his wife taken by the Shadows, only to leave their infant son behind? Is that what you would choose for your people truly?”

Predictably, a shudder went through the crowd and Ingwë sensed more than saw Finwë’s piercing glare while he laid a comforting arm around Elwë’s shoulders.

“That is quite enough, Ingwë!” Ilion spoke up, and though his tone was gentle, Ingwë could discern the warning in his father’s words.

“The Quendi that awoke on these shores will stay by these shores, whether you youngsters like it or not!” Tata stated, and had those not been words of doom, Ingwë would have laughed. It was easy to trace the passion with which words were spoken from Tata to his youngest lord without any trouble. 

“Then the Quendi will have to decide whom they will follow.” said Ingwë, raising his voice, so that everyone could hear him. “I ask therefore the tribe of the Minyar, my people, to choose whom they will follow!” 

Elwë

Stars. Light. Diamonds in the sky. Or pearls on endless shores, shimmering in the light of the Trees. What was right? What wrong?

His head swam as if he had received a heavy blow, making him incapable of even a single straight thought, confused, and lost. Entirely lost.

Trees? Or stars? Lady Yavanna? Or Queen Varda?

It does not work like that, young lord.

Varda’s laughter, so clear, so warm, so pure.

You need not decide. My stars remain where they are, regardless whether your people do so as well.

He stumbled, branches piercing the palms of his hands as he fell on them.

Yavanna and Varda had exchanged mirthful glances at his words. He had not understood, but then, there had been so much he had not understood.

It would have been so easy, to give into the will of many of his people, to stay on starlit shores, the journey so difficult, Aman so bright, the sea so wide.

Do I choose what is easy? Or do I choose what is right? 

He had never doubted Oromë, nor the Valar in general. And Finwë…

Finwë. Thoughts of his dearest friend stirred his mind out of its exhausted stupor. He had gone to visit Finwë, but then…

Mist seemed to fog his mind again. He would surly die here, and soon. His throat was dry, and his limbs shook with the effort of scrambling to his feet again. Tired. He was so tired.

And yet he blinked, and after a little while his vision cleared enough for him to see what was in front of him- bushes, too thick and thorny to penetrate. To his left the trees stood closely together, to his right, the terrain fell a little, the ground rocky and treacherous, and yet… it sloped downhill, and going downhill would be so much less exhausting, at least for a little while. And did not all this land fall towards the sea? The sea… he had a feeling that he needed to be there. Nowë’s little toy ships on the mirror-clear surface of Cuiviénen. Home. The easy way.

Do I choose what is easy, or what my heart tells me is right?

The song pulled him towards the trees, so beautiful, and there was something familiar about it, something that made him think of Oromë. Had the Vala come again? Would he save him?

But was this all real? Was anything real? Who was he? Where was he? What was he doing there?

Song. Light. The way to go.

His last thought, before he forced himself to walk on, his mind then so set on putting one foot in front of the other that there was no room for anything else, was of the song, and of how, when his strength would finally be spent, the music would be the last thing he heard, and that was a very comforting thought.

Olwë

The sea rushed back and forth, back, and forth. Olwë lost himself in that rhythm, as he had done frequently ever since they had reached the coast. Back, and forth. Yet today, that sound brought him no comfort.

Back…

Was he supposed to do that? Turn back now, after they had come so far? Refuse Ossë and his island and stay? 

… and forth…

It was almost time now, the Maia had said, and Olwë knew it well enough within his own heart. They had long lingered here, and now was the time to go on.

Though could he go on? 

‘How can you do this?’ Elmo had asked him last night, despair and barely concealed fury in his voice. 

‘I can do this because our people are my responsibility now, and I have to lead them on. That is what Elwë wanted, what he laboured for for all these long years!’ he had answered, trying to convince himself as much as his little brother. 

There would be no reaching Aman after that. If he left now, he left Elwë behind, his dreams and hopes, and everyone who refused to leave without him.

No. No no no! 

He needed to be firm on this, could not allow the voices in his head to re-awaken. There was no older brother anymore to leave behind. 

Elwë is gone, he is dead, there is no other explanation! 

Elmo and Nowë were being stupid, and Beleg and Mablung and everyone else who wanted him to delay their journey further. He knew, he was utterly certain, that Elwë had not just walked away from his people, had not left them by his own free will. And that left only two possibilities- either he was dead, killed in some freak accident or by some fell thing, or… no, but that, too, was something he could not allow himself to think. And yet he could do nothing against his imagination showing him what would likely be Elwë’s fate were he indeed unlucky enough to live still. Captivity. Torture. Torture beyond what an elf could endure, until nothing was left of him but a maimed body and mind, bound to the will of the Shadow. Olwë had never believed it was truly gone. The one called Melkor might be, but not Evil itself. He wanted nothing more than to be gone from these shores, to be where the Powers dwelled, where it was safe.

‘Is that truly how you repay him for everything he has done for us? You just give up on him?’

Olwë had caught Elmo by the wrists then, forcing him to calm down and listen.

‘I am NOT abandoning him. But we searched, Elmo. Everywhere. Many, many times. Elwë is gone. And I know this is what he would have wanted me to do- complete his work, lead his people on. Get us, you and me, to safety!’

‘Aye, I agree. That would be exactly what he would say, being noble, acting the hero. Because he has learned to always put us first because he loved to think of our safety as his responsibility, and oh, did he enjoy himself in that role. But we have a responsibility for him, too. We are brothers. And what are brothers for if not to look after one another?’

Elmo’s words stung still. A lot. But what really hurt was what Elmo had said next.

“I am not leaving here without him. He promised me not to leave me again and I do not think he did. And I am most certainly not leaving him!”

So there he was now. If he chose to leave Middle-Earth, he was losing both his brothers, and Nowë, too, if his cousin did not return to the them soon. He was losing all his family. There would be nobody there to pat him on the back, to say they were proud of him when they would finally reach Aman. He thought of his wife and their future children. Her parents had stayed at Cuiviénen, her sisters left them on the journey. Their children would just miss so much. No cousins to build boats with. No uncles and aunts to fish them out of the waves if they ever got over-excited. He would call himself king, and ever in his heart feel that this crown did not belong to him.

 And if he were to meet Elwë again? They had learned that the Fëar of those that had died could be rehoused after a fashion, return among the living. So what would happen if he did come face to face with his older brother once more and had to explain to him that he  had left Elmo behind? Elwë would never, ever, forgive him.

Back…

Maybe they could really be happy here. The sea was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. The stars overhead gave them light. Ossë and Uinen and Ulmo were ever there, so would it really be so bad to stay? And after all, that meant they could one day reconnect with those they had left behind. This, after all, was home.

… and forth.

But really, his mind was set, and had been from the start. He would do what he and Elwë had set out to do what now felt like an eternity ago. 

When he sought out Elmo, he knew at first glance that his face showed his decision, for his brother smiled sadly at him.

“I stand by what I said. I will not leave Middle-Earth without Elwë.”

“Thus we, too, must part then. But Elmo? Promise me you will stay safe. Promise me you will find love and happiness, whether you ever find Elwë or not. And if by some chance you do find him alive, tell him I love him. And that his excuse had better be good!”

Elmo nodded, and Olwë embraced his brother, then turned to board the island at last, to turn his back to the lands of his birth, never to look back.

[maironsbigboobs]

Because I am insane, I wanted to know the exact route the elves took from Cuiviénen to Beleriand. And then I had to make it on a map so I could understand. Source for everything is Tolkien Gateway

Explanation and thoughts under the cut

The Blue line represents the majority of the elves. From Cuiviénen, the elves journey south and pass under the smoke of Utumno. They continue south until they reach the edge of Mirkwood.

Most of the Elves pass through Mirkwood and cross to the eastern bank of the Anduin river.

The Teleri, represented by the Yellow line, chose to go south and circumvent Mirkwood, but they rejoin the others on the Anduin bank.

I couldn't find a reason for this. Perhaps because they were the largest group and travelling through the woods was too hard?

At this point, the elves were loving Middle-Earth. They did not want to move on and made a second home on the bank of the Anduin, protected by Oromë's power and some maiar.

Oromë eventually got them to move.

Except for the Nandor. Represented by the Green line, they split from the Teleri and travelled down the Anduin to... somewhere, I don't know. I hope they had fun.

As the Blue line shows, everyone is back together again. The Elves cross the Misty Mountains via the High Pass, passing through where Rivendell would later be built.

Then they pass through the southern part of Arnor/north Eriador - along what would later become the Great West Raod / The Greenway.

Side note: Most of Eriador was covered by forest at this point, so it would probably be a lot more time-consuming to travel.

Finally they cross Ered Luin / The Blue Mountains and go into Beleriand.

Now, my thoughts:

The journey is long and the elves aren't moving with much urgency. I expect many elves are born and grow to adulthood entirely on Journey. This would be the first generation of elves to have not seen Cuiviénen. I wonder how they (and their relatives) felt about that.

I wonder if there was a lot of mixing between the three groups at first, and then when groups started to split after leaving the home they'd built on the Anduin, they start to become more distinct and separate than ever before.

I think this might have started with the Teleri going around Mirkwood, because this means in all that time (months? years?) they aren't in contact with the others. Perhaps this is why most of those who chose to stay/turn back come from the Teleri - was there something about their culture that they developed in this time that made them more attached to Middle Earth?

It would be interesting I think if there was a divide between those who wanted to stick to Cuiviénen traditions and those who were more attached to the new ones that had developed - whether they had known the old ones or not. Did this effect which individuals split off and which stayed? Did this effect who was chosen for cultural leadership roles? Did Finwë/Ingwë/Elwë have the final say in what traditions were followed on a group scale, or was it mostly down to individual desire?

[riding-with-the-wild-hunt]

everybody is entitled to their own opinion but when i say lake cuiviénen was just chock full of bioluminescent organisms know that i am speaking from the point of truth..stars in the deep reflecting stars in the sky. elves born in the everlight of valinor only finding out they glow after the darkening vs. their relatives who don’t glow themselves but have always known light as one side of beauty. or something

[helyannis]

Enelyë dancing under the stars by herself

[dfwbwfbbwfbwf]

I know the Hobbit says he has golden hair, but that was before Tolkien had really fleshed out most of the world. Schrodinger's Legendarium, if you will. Only the Vanyar have golden hair, and they all left Middle Earth. (Galadriel is part Vanyar, and Glorfindel is an exception.) And most of the Sindar have dark hair as well, with Þingollo and Círdan as notable exceptions - Míriel, too. I didn't even bother to put red because that's literally just Mahtan.

[kokushibe]

[squirrelwrangler]

Of the grave conference between Oromë and the first three elves: Imin, Tata, and Enel, little is known and details unspoken. Only Oromë’s words were recorded, his offer of the Valar’s own homeland to the elves, that the Children of Eru should relocate across the vast sea and be enriched by their protection and gifts, greatest of all the light of the Two Trees. The reluctance of the three chieftains is known and their reasoning easy to guess at. The shores of Cuiviénen, the Great Mother Lake, was all of the world that they knew, and Oromë’s words alone would not cleave them from the site of their birth. The war against Melkor to lay Utumno to its foundations fostered dread in all Powers that were not the familiar Hunter and his shining horse. Oromë anticipated their reluctance. “Let me choose three to bring with me to Valinor, one from each of your tribe, to see the truth of my words and return to you with their validity, as I myself tarried among you to learn your ways before I returned to my king and kin.”

It is said that Imin nodded first, and that Tata tapped his lips and agreed, and that Enel turned away to look at the waters behind them before he turned back to Oromë and said, “We know the three that you wish to take with you, the three boys that found you.”

“It is fitting,” said Tata, and Imin looked, it is said, to the stars above them as if seeing solace or sign.

“Those three I wish as the ambassadors,” Oromë said. “They were the first to speak to me and speak on behalf of all Speakers, to inform me of your woes brought upon you by Melkor, of your lives and joys and sorrows, your needs and dreams.”

“Who else but them?” murmured the first leaders of the elves.

[gwaedhannen]

Ways to poetically say "forever" if you're an elf

"Until the stars go out": classic from Cuiviénen, never lost its charm.

"When Laurelin frosts": rapid decrease in popularity for obvious reasons.

"While Telperion has leaves": rapid decrease in popularity for obvious reasons.

"Unto world's end": used once and very rarely thereafter.

"When the sun freezes": nothing quite like a reprise. Rapid decrease in popularity for obvious reasons.

"Until day comes again": popular in Angband, with varying sincerity.

"While Gil-Estel shines": If a fuckhuge winged dragon couldn't stop it from shining, what could?

"Until the last ship sets sail into the West": 95%+ of uses were by the guy building the dang ship.

"When Fëanor apologizes": What exactly he is apologizing for is sometimes included, but largely deemed unnecessary.

"When the world is mended": steadily increasing in popularity and decreasing in sincerity.

[iminye]

Sometimes i remember that Círdan is just really fucking ancient and am like actually kinda shocked... like this man has seen almost all of Middle Earth's history, from the shores of Cuiviénen to the second War of the Ring and survived. The only other named elves I can think of right now, who have lived for just as long are Ingwë, Indis and Olwë, but they never returned from Aman. Círdan meanwhile? He just stuck around never having gone to paradise and lived. What a badass. I love him.

[drawulan]

Orome first going to Cuiviénen about to meet the elves.

In my headcanon he’s somewhat closer to elves than other valar, since he met them first and spent quite some time with them

[musingsinmiddleearth]

The Darkening of Valinor is, I think, maybe the scariest single thing to do with light and darkness in the entire Quenta Silmarillion.

Here are the Eldar, still in their youth and naivety, in the paradise of Aman. Spirits are high, the weather is fair, and they are brought before the Valar for the celebration of harvest. Fingolfin and Fëanor have made amends (as much as Fëanor is able to). Telperion and Laurelin, the Silver and the Gold, are mingling in their twilight over the land; all is perhaps at its most beautiful and auspicious.

And then: darkness. Not a simple decay as light fades away, but the spear of Melkor driven deep into the heart of illumination. Blackness, swift and unyielding. Like a light switch, the garden of the immortal is made void. And it was not as simple as an absence of light, Tolkien emphasises to us, but Ungoliant's unlight that actively hides all brightness and snuffs the spirit.

Remember that the Eldar had arisen in Cuiviénen under the stars of Varda Elbereth. None of the Eldar, not the Noldor nor the Teleri nor the golden Vanyar, none of them had ever seen pitch-darkness. The stars have forever been the guiding light of the Eldar since the very beginning of their existence, now stolen wholly from sight.

The fear must have been incomprehensible. These people had rarely felt fear, never seen pitch darkness, and never had cause to distrust the sanctity of Aman. I think every heart that witnessed it must have felt unto death. The stuff of darkness that Melkor and Ungoliant together weaved must have choked at their throats and crushed their chest until it passed, and at last the stars could be seen again.

I think it's no wonder that the Eldar forever after spoke highly of the stars, revered and hallowed them, and invoked the name of Varda Elbereth in their hour of need. What a token of comfort it must have been that the light of a Silmaril, undiminishable, was set into the sky later.

It's no wonder, either, that Morgoth was after named the Black Foe of the World. There is no greater enemy of the Eldar than he who would stifle the stars, first among the sights and named things of the Quendi.

[ladysternchen]

Yet Were Its Making Good, For This-Awed

Mablung paused in the act of collecting pinecones for playing and raised his head, listening. Had that been his mother calling him? He hastily climbed down the tree he had been sitting in, trying his best to wipe the sticky resin off his hands, and made his way back to the shores of the great lake. As he drew closer, he could tell that a vast number of people was already gathered there, and more were approaching, like he was, out of the woods or from further down the shoreline. Amidst the crowd stood Oromë, towering over the Quendi, yet looking as excited as a young boy. Despite the serene expression on the Vala’s face, Mablung felt rather cowed by him, and when he spotted his mother at last amid the crowd and hurried to her side, he pressed his face into the rough fabric of her gown. She stroked his head reassuringly and took him by the hand, leading him closer to where Oromë stood. Clutching her fingers tightly, he allowed his gaze to wander over the assembled crowd, and marvelled- never before had he seen so many Quendi in one place, or at least he could not recall it. They all looked towards the lake, where Lord Oromë stood central by the water’s edge. By the Vala’s side was a golden haired elf that Mablung had seen only a few times, and of whom he knew nothing apart from his name being Ingwë, and that he was a prince of the Minyar. Ingwë smiled a little, a smile that showed both his excitement and his confidence, even as he comforted the young child in his wife’s arms. 

Mablung did not understand much of what was being discussed, only enough to grasp that Oromë wished them all to leave (which was no news, of course), and that, given that the Quendi were hesitant, he intended to take three ambassadors with him to the Blessed Realm, so that they could see with their own eyes that Oromë’s tales were true. Ingwë , it appeared, had at once volunteered, despite having a small family of his own to look after, and as Mablung now watched, Finwë rose from where he had sat on a boulder with his betrothed, to stand beside Ingwë, thus volunteering himself for that journey. Mablung rolled his eyes a little. He dearly loved Finwë for all the adventures they shared, and for his kind heart, but he was as indecisive as a leaf caught in the wind. Not so long ago, Finwë had been convinced that the Vala told naught but lies, and now he was prepared to follow him into the unknown. Oromë nodded appreciatively.

“It fits well.” he said. “The last in direct line of the house of Imin- or at least the last that can make such a journey, the last in direct line of the house of Tata…”

Mablung, with a feeling that bordered on foreboding, glanced quickly to where Elwë sat with his brothers. Surly Oromë would not think of taking Elwë with him, who had so recently lost his parents and now was responsible for raising his youngest brother? 

It appeared, however, that the Vala was thinking along precisely those terms, for he looked at Elwë too, saying gently: “Rightly, as the last in line of the house of Enel, it falls upon you to take the place as the third ambassador, Elwë. Are you willing to accompany me to Aman, representing your house and the tribe of the Nelyar?”

All around Mablung, a murmur went through the crowd, and they all watched silently as the young prince stood, proud, but also very obviously trembling with fear.

“I am!”

A kind smile lit the Vala’s face, but even as Elwë bowed, little Elmo jumped to his feet as well, wrapping his arms around his brother’s legs, nails digging into his tunic.

“Don’t go!”

Elwë gently stroked his little brother’s silvery head, looking down at him with a sad smile on his face.

“I’ll be back! And then I’ll tell you all the stories of…”

“Don’t go!” Elmo repeated, sobbing now. “I don’t want to hear any stories, I just want you to be here with us.”

Mablung’s heart clenched with pity, for it needed little imagination to guess how Elmo must feel. Mablung himself was years older than Elmo, but the mere thought of losing his mother and father and then being left also by the sibling that now acted the role of a parent still brought tears to his eyes. Trying his best to chase them away, he pressed himself harder against his mother, feeling her reassuring warmth, comforted by the gentle touch of her hand on his shoulder.

Elwë had meanwhile detached himself from Elmo’s clutches and knelt down so that he could look the crying child in the eyes.

“I promise I will return.” he said quietly, with as much reassurance as he managed to put into those words while his own voice shook with suppressed emotion. 

“Take me with you Elwë, don’t leave me, please!” Elmo pleaded desperately.

“I am not leaving you, Elmo. I will return, Lord Oromë will see that we will come to no harm, and everyone here is going to protect you. But I need you to be very brave now, to be brave for me. And to keep an eye on Olwë, or he’ll think he can do whatever he wants while I’m gone!”

This small jest did nothing to cheer Elmo up, and as Elwë rose, Olwë lifted their little brother up from behind, cradling him softly. For a long moment, Elwë and Olwë just looked at each other, saying a wordless farewell, then Olwë lowered his gaze, pressing Elmo yet more tightly to his chest, whose sobs rang in Mablung’s ears.

“What will happen to Elmo now, Ambe?” Mablung asked his mother timidly, snuggling still closer to her.

“He’ll be cared for by his wider family. The Quendi care for their orphans, you know that! It has always been so, and shall ever be!”

Mablung watched as Elwë turned away from his brothers, and as he did so, his face was briefly illuminated by the light of the campfire, and Mablung saw the tears glistening on his cheeks. Still Elwë walked over to Finwë and Ingwë and Oromë, and Mablung felt strangely moved. He thought about all the times he had come running to Elwë like the other children, to ask him to play with them, or to help whenever someone had got themselves hurt under, well, circumstances the adults wouldn’t approve of, as they liked to call it. He also thought of the countless adventures all the children of the Nelyar and the Tatyar undertook together under the guidance of Finwë and Elwë, and about the feeling of love and admiration he always felt for them, he along with so many others. But there was another feeling now that stirred in his chest as he saw Elwë’s tears- the urge to run out to him and comfort him, as no one else seemed ready to do so. Mablung could not understand why all the others would just stand by and watch. After all, Elwë was little more than a child himself, and someone, anyone, should have taken notice of his distress. But nobody moved, nobody spoke, they all just watched as Elwë straightened his shoulders, now standing proudly beside Finwë. Mablung felt awed by the sight of the three, and he knew, without knowing how he could know, that they were their lords now, and that they would rise above all their sires. Glad though Mablung was to be still a child untouched by those matters, he nonetheless felt a fierce pride flame in his heart at the thought of one day calling Elwë his lord, and to follow him wherever it was he might lead him.

[thelien-art]

Fëanáro; King of the Noldor and Lord of the Lights

‘Why, O my people, why should we longer serve these jealous gods, who cannot keep us, nor their own realm even, secure from their Enemy? And though he be now their foe, are not they and he of one kin? Vengeance calls me hence, but even were it otherwise, I would not dwell longer in the same land with the kin of my father’s slayer and the thief of my treasure. Yet I am not the only valiant in this valiant people. And have ye not all lost your king? And what else have ye not lost, cooped here in a narrow land between the jealous mountains and the harvestless Sea? Here once was light, that the Valar begrudged to Middle-earth, but now dark levels all. Shall we mourn here deedless for ever, a shadow-folk, mist-haunting, dropping vain tears in the salt thankless Sea? Or shall we go home? In Cuiviénen sweet ran the waters under unclouded stars, and wide lands lay about where a free folk might walk. There they lie still and await us who in our folly forsook them. Come away! Let the cowards keep this city. But by the blood of Finwë! unless I dote, if the cowards only remain, then grass will grow in the streets. Nay, rot, mildew, and toadstool.’

Morgoth´s Ring by J.R.R Tolkien - Of the Speech of Fëanor upon Túna

This took way too long - want a burning version too? or the end of his speech??↓

‘Fair shall the end be, though long and hard shall be the road! Say farewell to bondage! But say farewell also to ease! Say farewell to the weak! Say farewell to your treasures — more still shall we make! Journey light. But bring with you your swords! For we will go further than Tauros, endure longer than Tulkas: we will never turn back from pursuit. After Morgoth to the ends of the Earth! War shall he have and hatred undying. But when we have conquered and have regained the Silmarils that he stole, then behold! We, we alone, shall be the lords of the unsullied Light, and masters of the bliss and the beauty of Arda! No other race shall oust us!’

[aracaranelentari]

Here's another Nature of Middle-Earth quote that I keep thinking about:

"[Years of the Trees:] 2223. The "Ambassadors" return. Great Debate of the Quendi. A few refuse even to attend. Imin, Tata, and Enel are ill-pleased, and regard the affair as a revolt on the part of the youngest Quendi, to escape their authority. None of the First Elves (144) accept the invitation. Hence the Avari called and still call themselves "the Seniors"." (NoME 96)

I think that's super interesting! Tolkien gives multiple potential versions of this whole sequence, when the Three Ambassadors return to Cuiviénen, so this is only one of them, but it's kind of my favorite. I like the idea that the Three Ambassadors sort of usurped the leadership of the Three Fathers, and that Imin, Tata, and Enel are potentially still out there, and may have a grudge against those three descendants of theirs.

Imin especially is a pretentious asshole, as he claims to be the "Father of all Quendi", and seems to want control over all the Elves. I want to write a fic where Morgoth or Sauron ally with Imin, maybe they tell him they can help him regain his authority over the Elves? It would certainly be an interesting premise if the Three Fathers showed up at Valinor or Beleriand one day, with the intent of taking back their kingship.

It's also always been bizarre to me that Fëanor was so worried about Fingolfin usurping the throne when Finwë was king in a place where kings do not die, and do not really need heirs (theoretically). But if Finwë was a usurper before Fingolfin was, then Fëanor's fears have a bit more ground, I think, especially if Fingolfin had the greater love from their people. It's happened before, Fëanor would think, therefore it could happen again. Elves seem to follow who they prefer as a king rather than who technically has the most claim, which is shown both in the Three Ambassadors vs the Three Fathers, and also with Fëanor vs Fingolfin during the Flight.