#lothlann

[outofangband]

Maglor’s Gap and the plains of Lothlann

I recently completed my world building post for the birds of the Gap and Lothlann so I wanted to make a board

x x x x x x x x

[tenth-sentence]

But they overwhelmed the riders of the people of Fëanor upon Lothlann, for Glaurung came thither, and passed through Maglor's Gap, and destroyed all the land between the arms of Gelion.

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

[whats-in-a-sentence]

Map of Beleriand

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

[sallysavestheday]

Maedhros & Maglor Week Drabbles (#3)

For @maedhrosmaglorweek day 3 (Himring and the Gap). It's impossible to feel bleak when there are horses (says Maglor).

Maedhros dislikes exposure, after Thangorodrim. He prefers walls – the higher and thicker the better – not to hide behind, but to muster strength within. Himring’s cold stone suits him: each block is one more obstacle to the Enemy’s encroachment, one more impediment to those monstrous plans. The one place he will willingly forego containment is with Maglor, horsed and running in the wide fields of Lothlann, the wind in their teeth and the hawks above them as though they were young again, hurtling across the plains of Aman. Fair light, sweet air, beloved company: almost his heart can be glad.

For more M & M, try the ficlet I've posted for today: From Clamor, Consonance. Brotherly love and music, in Aman and Beleriand.

[thelordofgifs]

the fairest stars: post iv

Beren and Lúthien steal two Silmarils, more sons of Fëanor than anyone ever needed or wanted get involved, things go extremely sideways: you know the drill. You can find the first 18 parts of this bullet point fic on AO3 here, and parts 16-20 on tumblr here.

We're starting out part 21 with a timeskip!

One year after the fall of Himring, north Beleriand remains bitterly contested.

The East is overrun. In Barad Eithel's great war-room the map of Estolad is covered in black arrows stretching from Lothlann down to the Andram Wall.

Caranthir and Amras maintain a last stronghold on Amon Ereb, with the people of Himring who fled there after its fall; but Ossiriand, they fear, will only remain undefiled so long as Morgoth's attention does not turn towards it.

Their Eastern allies, too, are unimpressed. Bór and his young sons were all slain not long after Himring burned; the few of their people who escaped the orc-raids have joined themselves to Ulfang in Thargelion, but they are none too friendly to the Fëanorians these days.

"And Nelyo says I'm bad at making allies," Caranthir remarks.

[yeah he's in this now. damn it why will they not stay in their place.]

"I wouldn't say this is Nelyo's fault," Amras says quietly.

It is a debate held, in one form or the other, in every free kingdom in Beleriand.

But anyway, the East does not seem to be Morgoth's main concern for now.

It is Hithlum, Fingon is sure, where the next assault will come.

Hithlum, the realm of the High King of the Noldor; Hithlum, where he reigns who once humilated Morgoth so thoroughly; Hithlum, where Maedhros holds a Silmaril yet.

If the last true stronghold of the Noldor falls—

And he is facing plenty of internal pressure, too.

His lords – many of them survivors of the Grinding Ice, and arch-loyal followers of the House of Fingolfin – are less than impressed by the rumours that have reached them of the fall of Himring, and Maedhros' actions there.

Fingon has tried to quell the whispers as best as he can. But it is impossible to deny the fact that the attack took Himring by surprise because its patrols were cancelled on Maedhros' orders, or that Maedhros left the field as their position worsened.

The healers who treated Maglor's stab wound have not been quiet, either, about the fact that it was an elvish blade that caused the injury.

And some of those who were at Himring have heard that Maglor was found in a pool of his own blood with Maedhros, subdued too late, unconscious beside him—

If only they knew, Fingon thinks furiously, they would not cast sly aspersions on his judgement and his taste in friends. They would not stop talking of anything consequential when Maedhros drew near, as if he is not to be trusted with the secrets of the war.

Of course when he dares to suggest to Maedhros that this might bother him, Maedhros laughs and says, "Finno, do you think this the worst humiliation I have ever endured?"

So. There's not much Fingon can say to that.

His father was a diplomat, a politician, a builder of alliances. Fingon is not doing a very good job of living up to that legacy.

Thingol returned no response to the letter Fingon sent him, informing him of Curufin's disappearance.

In fact, Thingol is kind of just Done.

So the Noldor turned out to be faithless. What else is new?

Also he didn't really want Curufin's head anyway. Where would he even put it?

Fingon cannot give him what he truly wishes for: his daughter.

In Lúthien's absence old age has fallen upon him, who has lived unwithered for long Ages of the Stars since his birth at distant Cuiviénen.

Melian sings no longer. The people of Doriath, who have known little but peace and splendour since the Girdle was first raised, begin to wonder if their blessings have been withdrawn.

So it is a Menegroth much changed into which Beren and Lúthien walk, hand in hand, one afternoon.

Their return is met with both joy and some consternation. Youth comes back to Thingol at the touch of his daughter's hand; but Melian knows that she will never smile again.

Lúthien bears it all, the feasts of celebration at which none can look her in the eye, her father's overwhelming gladness and her mother's sorrow, the halls that ring yet with the memory of her grief, for exactly two weeks; then she announces that she and Beren are leaving.

"Daughter," Thingol protests, "you have only just returned to us – and soon—"

(Thingol does not know how he will ever handle the parting that is to come.)

"Will you not stay?" he asks. "This is your home."

Lúthien is not sure she knows what home means any more.

"I am sorry," she says, regretful but firm.

The next day finds her and Beren walking through Brethil, debating their next course of action – just as they did not so very long ago, when Celegorm and Curufin attacked them in the woods.

It is of that little skirmish that Beren is thinking now.

"They say Curufin is still out there somewhere," he argues. "It mightn't be safe—"

"I sang Morgoth himself to sleep," Lúthien cries, "and you think I can't take Curufin Fëanorion?"

"Tinúviel," Beren says, with a laugh, "I do not think there is anyone you can't take."

Lúthien allows herself to be placated.

"I am not suggesting we dwell alone in the wilderness," she says; "you made your earlier thoughts on that very clear. But I – I cannot go back to being Doriath's Princess, Beren, as if every part of me is not changed irretrievably since first you called my name, as if – as if you didn't die there, and—"

"Sweetheart," says Beren, kissing her forehead. "It wasn't permanent." And when she chokes out a little laugh through her tears, he goes on, "I know you do not wish to stay in Doriath. But we must choose somewhere – and somewhere safe. It seems as though the Enemy's reach has lengthened in the time we were, um, gone."

"I thought to go to Ossiriand," Lúthien says. "My kin the Green-elves still guard those lands."

"But only those lands," says Beren. "Estolad and Thargelion are overrun. The sons of Fëanor keep no watch upon the Eastmarch. If Morgoth were to learn that you dwelled there—"

"I'm not afraid," Lúthien says. "And even if I were – am I never to venture beyond the Girdle again, for fear of him? Is all my father's kingdom to be naught to me but a prison, as Hírilorn was? I cannot stand it – I will not."

Beren takes both her hands in his one and looks at her. "Tinúviel," he says, very seriously, "I will never cage you."

Oh, he knows her. What a wondrous, terrifying thing, to be understood so completely.

Perhaps Lúthien is still a little delirious with the rush of living once more, for she dips her head to capture Beren's mouth in a delighted kiss, and for a time they both forget all other matters.

Plucking strands of grass from her hair some time later, Beren says, "I have another idea."

"What! I thought I argued my case quite passionately," Lúthien teases.

"You said you thought of dwelling among your kin," says Beren. "What of going to mine, instead?" And, when Lúthien shoots him a puzzled look, "The House of Bëor is mostly ruined, but there are still remnants of my people who escaped Dorthonion ere its fall. Some of them dwell nearby, with the Haladin. And others went north to Dor-lómin – my little cousin Morwen is the lady of that land now."

"I do not wish to stay in Brethil," says Lúthien; "it is rather too close to Menegroth for my tastes. But the Land of Echoes, on the other hand..."

Her eyes are alight with that same fanciful gleam they used to get when Beren told her stories of the world outside the Girdle, of holy Tarn Aeluin and the dread Ered Gorgoroth alike.

You would think, Beren muses, that she would have had enough of adventure by now.

"I have," says Lúthien, catching his thought. "We are to live a very peaceful and retiring life. I insist on it! That is what I told Mandos we deserved. None shall dare assail us, in Dor-lómin." She rolls the name on her tongue as if trying to taste it.

"They call it so because of the terrible cry of Morgoth when Ungoliant assailed him," Beren tells her, "not for any sweeter music."

Lúthien laughs and flings her arms around him. Oh, his living body warm and solid against hers! It is a gift she does not intend to waste.

"Luckily," she says, "I am good at changing the melody."

Another conversation between lovers:

"Do you think it could be done?"

“I have already told you what I think.”

"But you haven't explained," Fingon persists, "you have only looked at me dolefully and proclaimed that it is not possible."

"Well, it is not," says Maedhros. He is lying curled in Fingon's arms, their ankles hooked together, and he is loath to disturb their contentment with arguing. Keeping his voice measured, he says, "If our strength were doubled I do not think it would be enough, Finno."

"The attack will come either way," Fingon says, also without much vigour. They have had this debate so many times now that it is become well-worn. "Why not meet it head on?"

"Because you have a defensible position here," Maedhros says patiently, "and a greater chance of holding than you do of storming the gates of Angband."

"My father did it," Fingon mutters.

"Your father died," Maedhros says, voice suddenly sharp.

Fingon looks at him. "Don't look so worried, beloved! I am quite turned off the idea of wasteful heroics these days."

"Then look to strengthening your defences," Maedhros says, "and drop this fool notion."

"But if we did try," says Fingon, "if we united all the Free Peoples under one banner, and marched on Angband together – think what we could achieve!"

His eyes are bright with hope. Maedhros hates to crush it, but crush it he must.

"Finno," he says, "the East is lost. My brothers do not have so strong a position in Amon Ereb that they can afford to march north to join in a war that could prove ruinous. Bór and his people are dead almost to a man. Belegost will no doubt have heard the rumours—"

Fingon glances at him sharply, but he speaks without bitterness. Which is concerning in itself, but Fingon decides to let it slide for now.

"—and there is little help to be expected from other corners," Maedhros continues. "Doriath has strength to spare, but Thingol hates you."

Fingon shifts uncomfortably. He never actually told Maedhros why Thingol hates him now.

"Nargothrond," he says, to change the subject. "Orodreth will answer to his High King."

"Orodreth!" says Maedhros, dismissively. “A king too ruled by the whims of his people. If he had any spine he would have turned my brothers out of Nargothrond immediately, and Finrod might have lived.”

If Fingon were crueller he might say, You didn't manage to control your brothers that well yourself. Instead he says, "But the people of Nargothrond are many and valiant. We should not discount them."

"If Nargothrond wishes to stay out of the wars of the north," says Maedhros, "I think it would be prudent to allow them to do so." There is a thoughtful, uneasy look in his grey eyes.

Fingon gauges it correctly and says, "Are you worried for your nephew?"

Maedhros looks at him unhappily. "Everyone in Beleriand knows what a mess – Curvo – made of – everything," he says.

(A year might have passed, but Maedhros still does not much like to speak of Curufin.)

"Tyelpë is safe in Nargothrond, where his father's deeds cannot taint him," Maedhros says. "I would keep him so." Then he shrugs. "But my opinion carries no weight now, beloved. Do as you will, and I will support you, for all that is worth."

"It carries weight with me," Fingon says fiercely. "And I am not ashamed to say so. But you have not yet heard the key element in my plan."

Maedhros smiles despite himself, propping himself up on his elbows so that he can keep his eyes focused on Fingon's face. The mass of his silken hair is pooled on Fingon's bare chest. "Go on, then," he says, indulgent.

"Gondolin," Fingon says triumphantly. "My brother took a third of our host with him when he disappeared, and yet more of the Sindar went with him. They have lived in peace for more than three hundred years; their numbers must be great."

Maedhros does not seem as delighted with this idea as Fingon is. "Finno, you don't know where Gondolin is."

"The Eagles bring them tidings, clearly," Fingon points out; "else they would have opened the leaguer and come to our aid when they saw the fires of the Dagor Bragollach on the horizon."

Maedhros frowns, attempting to parse this extremely backwards logic. Eventually, he says, "If Hithlum falls, Gondolin will be the last stronghold of the Noldor in the north. I do not know if its position should be risked."

"All war is risk, beloved," says Fingon, "and if I were to call upon my brother, Hithlum will not fall."

Maedhros says, as if he has been saving this blow for last, "Finno, if you call upon Turgon, will he even answer?"

It has been more than three hundred years, since Fingon last saw his brother.

“Do you think he won’t?” he asks, more sharply than he means to.

(Turgon didn’t tell him he was going. He didn’t tell anyone. He just – vanished.)

Sometimes Maedhros thinks things were easier during Maglor’s long convalescence, when his only concern was his brother, when every sleepless night was because Maglor needed someone to sit up with him and every meal was whatever invalid's food Maglor could be persuaded to choke down – when Fingon was his strength and steadiness, and Maedhros could yet wrap his blue cloak around him like armour.

Selfish – selfish. Maglor is better now, and Maedhros is so, so glad; and Fingon cannot always be his strength. Sometimes Maedhros must be his.

"I am sure he will," he says, contrite. He presses a kiss to Fingon's tense jawline. "I just don't think it wise to ask him."

Fingon sighs and puts his arms around Maedhros. "Fine," he concedes. "Perhaps you are right."

But later, when they have extricated themselves from their warm tangle of limbs and risen for the day, he sits down to write a letter.

A few days later the High King's messenger, having ridden swiftly along the Ered Wethrin and into Dor-lómin, nearly collides with a small child playing near the road.

"Be careful!" cries Lúthien, dropping Beren's hand and rushing forward to snatch the child up.

The messenger gapes at her, for it seems to him as though she has materialised out of the shadows themselves. Then, when he gets better look at her beauty, he gapes even more.

Lúthien is not paying attention. All her focus is on the little golden-haired creature in her arms. "That was nearly very dangerous for you, wasn't it, sweetheart?" she coos. "But you don't seem frightened at all. What's your name, dear one?"

The little girl giggles and hides her face in Lúthien's sleeve without answering.

Beren feels a little dizzy, looking at the picture that they make, and at the bright tender look on his wife's face. Someday, he tells himself, someday.

He looks around. The messenger has dismounted; it seems the great house up ahead is his destination. A house of lords, clearly, surrounded by gardens as lovely as any in the chilly northlands, and with a bubbling stream running just past its walls.

Well, here they are.

He is pondering what the etiquette is here – should they knock? wait here until someone spots them? – when he catches sight of a second child, a little older, dark-haired, watching them intently from around a tree-trunk.

"Good day, lad," Beren says gravely. "Might I ask your name, and those of your parents?"

The boy regards him with suspicion for a while, before he finally says, "I am Túrin son of Húrin, and that is my sister Lalaith."

(One little-appreciated consequence of the fall of Himring: for the last year, Morgoth's attention has been on the final desecration of the March of Maedhros. He did not have time to send the Evil Breath to Dor-lómin.)

"Lalaith!" Lúthien says, delighted. "What a fitting name."

"Then, son of Húrin," says Beren, "we have reached our destination indeed. Might you do me the honour of introducing us to your parents?"

Túrin looks unimpressed. "Who are you?" he asks.

"My name is Beren son of Barahir," says Beren, "and we are kinsmen, son of Morwen."

Túrin frowns even more. "How do you know my mother's name?" he demands. "And Beren is dead."

Kind of hard to argue with that.

Before Beren can come up with a suitable response there is a small noise from the direction of the house: the children's mother has come out to call them in for the evening meal. She stands so still she might be made of stone, were it not for the wind whipping up her dark hair behind her.

Beren finds his own mouth is very dry.

He buried Baragund his cousin, and avenged him; and he has not thought of his slaughtered companions for a long time.

(There's only so much survivor's guilt one person can have, and it is usually the screams of Finrod and his Ten that haunt Beren's nightmares.)

Morwen is not now the thirteen-year-old he remembers, her face sterner and more sorrowful, but somehow she is the image of her dead father.

"Hello, little cousin," he croaks out.

Morwen stares at him.

Lúthien comes to the rescue. "You must be the lady Morwen," she says warmly, setting Lalaith down so that she can drop into a graceful curtsey. Her Taliska is hesitant, but beautiful. (Everything about Lúthien is beautiful.) "Beren has told me so much of you. And your children are charming."

"Beren's dead," Morwen says at last, shakily. "And – you—"

"I was dead," says Beren, "but now I'm not. I don't know how to explain it, cousin, but—" He holds his hand out to her, letting the Ring of Barahir gleam green upon his finger in the setting sun. "It really is me."

Morwen makes another small sound, swaying where she stands. Her hand rests on her son's dark head as though he is the only thing keeping her upright.

"Mother?" Túrin says nervously.

Before things can get any more awkward the lord of the house comes out to seek his family, perhaps wondering what is taking them so long. "Morwen," he says quietly, seeing her stiff posture.

But Morwen takes a breath. "We have guests, Húrin," she says, composed again. "This is my kinsman Beren Erchamion, and his – and his wife, the Princess of Doriath."

Lúthien turns her dazzling smile on Húrin. "A pleasure to meet you," she says gaily. "But call me rather the Lady of Dorthonion."

(to be continued)

[ego-sum-imperator]

SILMARILLION HEADCANON

So, I had this headcanon in mind since a while.

We know that after the War of Wrath and the drowning of Beleriand in 587 F.A., there nothing left of Beleriand excepted Tol-Fuin (what is left of the mounys in the south-west of Dorthonion), now know as Tol-Fuin, and Himring, now known as Tol-Himring (south Lothlann in the march of Maedhros). The two becoming islands next to each other o, the Belegaer Ocean.

What if Maedhros were still alive and still living in Himring?

At the end of the War of Wrath when Eonwë had retrieved the Silmarils, Maedhros, forced by the oath, try to take them back. However, with all the massacres and other horrors he took part in, he has become, like Melkor, unworthy of the jewels that burn deeply his remaining hand the moment he takes them. But instead of throwing himself with one of the Silmarils in the depths of the earth, he just throw the jewel in. For his part, Maglor, who was with him all along did likewise but in the Ocean, burning his hand in the process, like his brother.

After that, Maedhros exiled himself away from the elven kind and his family, unable to returning in Aman (the oath isn’t sulfilled so he can’t go back home, and he can’t confront thse whose lives he has ruined with his family). Unwiling to live among the elves in Middle Earth and other intelligent creatures, he went in exile in Himring, his fortress, renamed Tol-Himring. Far from others.

I like the idea of Maedhros living completely alone on his island with some animals as the only company he accept, slowly fading away but refusing to die (he doesn’t deserve this luxury in his mind).

[melestasflight]

Writing Year Wrapped (2023)

thanks for the tag @sallysavestheday

3 Favorite Fics You've Written This Year

Red - a return to my favorite relationship of all times, Fingon/Maedhros after a semi-hiatus. I let myself feel more than think while writing this, and let the words turn into a painting. Thanks to @helyannis for making that painting come true (see above).

What Lies Beyond the End - the giving up of the Silmaril by Maglor has been and still is one of the most impactful moments for me in the Silm. The writing of this ficlet was a gloriously cathartic music-high.

To Find a Home in the Twilight - Aredhel! All about Aredhel and her contagious sense of freedom. I went wild with the worldbuilding here and dug into characters that are blank slates in canon. Thanks to @toastedbuckwheat for supplying art inspiration.

3 Fics That Stretched You the Most

Against His Wisdom - this was a personal challenge to convince my brain to accept a topic I found extremely challenging for a long time. I also really got my hands dirty with elven psychology and dug into Fingon and Fingolfin's complicated characters. Thanks to @polutrope and @ettelene for the encouragment.

The Seven Trials of Fingon the Valiant - this was a sweet challenge in learning how to co-write with someone else. I am a chaotic writer, I feel as I go, I let stories write themselves. I learned a thing or two about planning ahead and writing in order with @polutrope.

Character Biography: Húrin Thalion and Part 2 - these are not fics but reference works, but putting them here because it was a long labor. A deep dive into canon to look at the evolution of Húrin's character and a critical analysis of the themes and symbology surrounding his character. (also: 11.5k words for this stingy writer!). Thanks to @dawnfelagund for the support.

3 Favorite Lines You've Written (loosely interpreting "lines")

I'm taking quotes from landscape writing because it was very enjoyable this year.

From Voices That Were Once Ours

The hills of Himring stay to the west, and the plains unfold. Lothlann makes an uncomfortable flatness, naked and exposed. The Iron Mountains rise in the far distance and interrupt the seemingly endless sky. In the light of day, they seem almost fair, and for a brief moment, Finrod believes they are not the work of violence.

From What Lies Beyond the End 

The jewel illuminates the liquid space around it, calling all life to itself. Sea creatures, enormous and minute, come to offer their welcome, spiraling in a meditative dance around its brilliant streaks. Even the seagrasses reach their slim fingers with such longing they all but detach themselves from the corral that nurtures them to grasp but a strand of light. It is a silent spectacle of marvel and dread, like the sight of an erupting mountain seen from a great distance. A convergence that perhaps should never be allowed to happen upon Arda, of Sea and Sky, of profound darkness and starlight. In that fleeting instant, Maglor comes to believe that for this alone, it was all worth it.

From Red 

On the rare occasions when Fingon allows himself to think of Beleriand, one image takes shape in his mind’s eye above all others. The last moments of sunset spilling down the prairies of Ard-galen.  If one was to wait for the exact hour and find just the right angle, its hue matched to perfection the color of Maedhros’ tresses under bright daylight. The dark reds coming alive with the gentle swaying of tall grasses in the breeze, Fingon would wade between them with his palms spread open and believe that a beloved braid was untangling between his fingers.

3 Characters You Enjoyed Writing (that surprised you)

Caranthir in The Seven Trials of Fingon the Valiant 

Galadriel in crowned with the Sun

Zimrahin Meldis in To Find a Home in the Twilight 

3 Unexpected Inspirations

The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula Le Guin. This book left me reeling. Thanks to @searchingforserendipity25 for convincing me to finally read it. The Helcaraxë will never be the same after this.

Age of Empires, yes, the game. Fantastic outlet to let me plan and imagine all my battle-writing, military formations, units, etc.

Paul M. Barford' The Early Slavs: Culture and Society in Early Medieval Eastern Europe. It helped me think deeply about the relationship between the Edain and the Elven lords in Beleriand.

3 WIPs You're Excited About in the Upcoming Year

Fingon's Kingship long fic - Fingon-centric exploration of the period between Galdor's death and the Union of Maedhros. Focused on Fingon's relationship with Círdan, Húrin, Maedhros, and Maglor.

One Thousand Days - a ficlet for Maedhros & Maglor week exploring their relationship with the Esterlings.

Scion of Kings - looking forward to finishing this Fin-galad story inspired by art pieces by @ruiniel @welcomingdisaster and @searchingforserendipity25

3 People Tagged to Share Theirs

no pressure tag to share if you'd like @searchingforserendipity25 @imakemywings @theghostinthemargins

[nyxshadowhawk]

I Read The Silmarillion So You Don't Have To, Part Six

Previous part.

Chapter 14: Of Beleriand and its Realms In which we get a geography lesson.

Had enough political geography yet? I’m not going to summarize this whole chapter, because it’s exactly what it says on the tin: it describes the realms of Beleriand. It is impossible to make sense of this chapter without looking at the map. And most of it is information that we already know. For the sake of being complete, and of helping myself keep track of all this information, here’s what’s important:

The northern land where the Noldor live is called Hísilomé (in Quenya) or Hithlum (in Sindarin), both of which mean “Land of Mist.” It’s called that because of all the smoke that comes from Angband blows over it. It’s co-ruled by Fingolfin and his son Fingon.

In the westernmost part of Beleriand, on the coast, is a land called Nevrast. Turgon, Fingolfin’s other son, rules there. It’s completely surrounded by mountains in a kind of triangular shape, which is not how mountains work. Its population consists of an even mix of Noldor and Sindar.

Remember how I said there were two Minas Tiriths? The one we know is the second one, in Gondor, many thousands of years later. The first one is a watchtower built in a small mountain pass on the River Sirion, here in Beleriand. Finrod built it, but he leaves it in the care of his brother Orodreth. (“Minas Tirith” just means “guard tower” in Sindarin, so that’s why there’s two fortresses with that name.)

The River Sirion flows south. West of it is the realm of Nargothrond, ruled by Finrod, and east of it is Doriath, the forest ruled by King Thingol of the Sindar.

The eagles live on a chain of mountains called the Crissaegrim. (Yes, the name of the best sword in Castlevania: Symphony of the Night is a reference to this! )

In the eastern part of Beleriand is the River Gelion, running parallel to the Sirion. It has six rivers that flow into it. That land is called Ossiriand, and the Green Elves live there. Directly north is Thargelion, where Caranthir (another one of Fëanor’s sons) has his castle.

In the northeast is Lothlann, which is the plain that’s most exposed to Morgoth. Maedhros has his castle there.

I feel like this chapter should have come before the last one. It describes a bunch of places which have already been referenced in relation to each other. So, why are they being described now, after they’ve already become relevant to the story? Like, for example, the Thangorodrim. In this chapter, we’re told that the Thangorodrim are mountains made out of the refuse from Morgoth’s excavations while he was building his fortress. That would have been nice to know before Mædhros was nailed to the face of them. Back in the last chapter, the text just sort of assumed that we already know what the Thangorodrim are. I gathered from the context that they’re mountains and that they’re connected to Morgoth. I guess that’s all one really needs to know, right? No story actually needs this detailed a description of the geography… but this book is 300 pages of straight infodumping. So, we get all the geography, and out-of-order.

Okay, now that that’s over, let’s move on to something interesting!

Chapter 15: Of the Noldor in Beleriand In which a legendary city is built, and Thingol hears all the dirt on the Noldor.

Remember Turgon? He’s Fingolfin’s son and Fingon’s brother, and he received a prophetic dream from Ulmo, the Vala of Water. The dream led him to finding a hidden valley in the north of Beleriand. Feeling homesick for Valinor, Turgon decided to build a city on the hill in the center of the valley, which would be like a New Tirion — the original city of the Noldor, replicated in Middle Earth!

Turgon brought many of the most skilled Noldor to the valley to build the city, and then ditched them to live comfortably in Nevrast while they did the work for him. After fifty-two years, the city was complete. Turgon named it Ondolindë, which means “The Rock of the Music of Water” in Quenya. But it’s better known by its Sindarin name, Gondolin.

The Hidden City of Gondolin by Aesthetica

Gondonlin is the Elven City (which is why it’s kind of surprising to learn that it’s a copy of an even greater one). It’s gorgeous and bright white, with beautiful fountains and gardens. The giant tower in the middle is Turgon’s palace, and in it he creates images of the Two Trees of Valinor, wrought out of literal silver and gold; the gold one is called Glingal, and the silver one is called Belthil.

The most wondrous treasure of Gondolin is, of course, Turgon’s beautiful daughter Idril Celebrindal. Like Galadriel, she almost has the light of the Gold Tree, Laurelin, in her hair. So, that makes her one of the prettiest Elves alive.

Ulmo promises to protect Gondolin, and ensure that no one will ever be able to find it against his will. But he straight-up tells Turgon not to get too attached to Gondolin. (Actually, he says “the work of thy hands” — lol, Turgon did nothing to help build it.) Ulmo also tells Turgon that his little safe-haven isn’t going to protect him from the Curse, so, he can expect treachery within Gondolin’s walls at some point. The only hope is going to be someone who comes from the west.

What Could Possibly Go Wrong?

A third of the Noldor and even more of the Sindar pass secretly into Gondolin, apparently disappearing overnight. (Nevrast is completely abandoned) Then the gates are shut.

Meanwhile, Galadriel is enjoying her life in the court of Thingol. Remember, she’s one of the only Noldor Elves who’s allowed to be there, past the magic wall. She has long talks with Queen Melian, the Maia, about Valinor. But Galadriel refuses to say anything about how and why the Two Trees died. Melian can tell that something’s wrong, and asks Galadriel what happened. Galadriel says that she wants to put the past behind her, and try to have some hope for the future.

Melian presses her — she knows better than to think, as everyone else does, that the Noldor were sent by the Valar to swoop in and save her people from being assaulted by Orcs. She notes that the Noldor don’t speak of the Valar at all; they just sort of pretend that the Valar don’t exist. From that, she concludes that the Noldor aren’t messengers, they’re exiles. Something went badly wrong.

Galadriel caves, and tells Melian about the Silmarils, about how Morgoth stole them, about the death of Finwë, and about how the Noldor left Valinor willingly despite the Valar not wanting them to leave. She neglects to mention any of the worse stuff, like the Oath that Fëanor’s sons took, or the kinslaying, or the Curse, or the burning of the ships. Melian senses that she’s still holding back information. She doesn’t press Galadriel any more, but she does tell her husband Thingol about the Silmarils.

Only Melian is really able to put two and two together, and realize just what a big-ass deal the Silmarils really are. They contain the last remaining Light of Valinor, and if Morgoth has them, then any attempt at recovering them is almost inherently pointless. It’s going to take far more power than Elves have to take the fight to him. Fëanor tried that, and now he’s dead, even though he was one of the greatest Elves. If anyone else tries to take on Morgoth, they could risk destroying the world in the process. For better or worse, the fate of Arda is tied up with that of the Silmarils.

Thingol is distraught to hear that Finwë is dead, and figures he was right not to trust the Noldor. The only silver lining is that at least the Noldor will make good allies against Morgoth, because peace with him doesn’t seem to be an option. Melian tells him to be wary of Fëanor’s sons. She could read between the lines and figure out what Galadriel wasn’t telling her. Fëanor’s sons are all guilty of crimes against the Valar, their own families, and even themselves. There’s a lot of unresolved tension between them that’s only dormant for the time being, and it can only get worse from here. Thingol dismisses her concerns. All he cares about is that Fëanor’s sons will give him his best shot at taking down Morgoth. Whatever drama is between them is their business.

By Wavesheep

Melian and Thingol decide not to speak of this again, but rumor spreads amongst the Sindar about what the Noldor did to get kicked out of Valinor. Many of these rumors are spread by Morgoth. Spreading rumors was how he set the Noldor on their dark path in the first place, and the Sindar were too naïve to know not to believe rumors. Círdan, however, catches wise. He perceives that the rumors are being spread maliciously, but doesn’t think to blame Morgoth. He assumes that the Noldorin princes are spreading rumors to slander each other. He sends messengers to Thingol to tell him about the rumors.

By pure bad luck, Finrod and his brothers happen to be there in Thingol’s court, visiting their sister Galadriel. So, Thingol hears all the rumors while they’re there. He explodes at Finrod for having lied by omission. Finrod protests that he’s never done anything to Thingol, nor have any of the other Noldor. Thingol cooly responds that all the Noldor have blood on their hands for kinslaying, but they don’t try to defend themselves or seek pardon. Finrod has nothing to say to that.

But Angrod, his brother, speaks up. Angrod blames Fëanor for the whole thing. The other Noldor are really the victims in this situation, he claims, because they were intoxicated by Fëanor’s words, and then Fëanor abandoned them to freeze to death. The reason why Thingol hasn’t heard any of this before is because it’s an act of treason against the Noldor to talk about it. Surely, Thingol can understand that?

Melian is less than impressed. She points out that, according to Angrod’s own account, Mandos doomed all the Noldor. That means that he and his siblings are just as damned as the rest of them. They're all affected by the Curse.

Thingol is silent for a moment. Then he tells Angrod and co. to get out of his house. He’s not going to shut them out forever, because they’re family. He’s also going to maintain his friendship with Fingolfin’s people, because he needs them to take down Morgoth. But, he refuses to hear their language be spoken in his presence, and he commands that none of the Sindar use it, either. Anyone who speaks Quenya will be branded a kinslayer.

So, now you know why Sindarin is the dominant Elven language in Middle-earth.

That sort of puts a damper on Quenya; it seems like such a magical and elevated language, but now it’s associated with the Noldor’s crimes. I suppose that makes sense, if the Noldor are the ones who primarily speak it. But it also seems a bit draconian for Thingol to consider someone guilty of a serious crime just for speaking Quenya.

Quenya therefore ceases to be a spoken language, and becomes mainly used for writing lore or singing old songs. It’s the Elvish version of Latin.

After that, things become a little awkward for Galadriel in Thingol’s court, so she leaves it and comes to live with her brother Finrod in Nargothrond. She asks him why he hasn’t taken a wife yet. Finrod gets a flash of premonition, and tells her that nothing of his realm will remain to be inherited by a son. But the real truth is that he left his true love, Amarië, in Valinor.

Finrod by _star热爱生活呀巴扎嘿

Chapter 16: Of Maeglin In which we meet an edgy bad-boy Elf.

Did you remember that Fingolfin had a daughter? It’s okay, I didn’t either. Her name is Aredhel Ar-Feiniel, and she’s known as the White Lady. She lives with Turgon, her brother, in Nevrast. She follows him to Gondolin, but she doesn’t really like it there. She prefers to wander freely in forests or ride horses in the fields, and she can’t do that if she’s effectively imprisoned by mountains and high walls on all sides.

Two hundred years pass (which I’m guessing is like twenty in elf years), and she finally asks Turgon if she can leave. Turgon doesn’t want her to leave. If anyone leaves Gondolin, then that risks revealing its existence to everyone else in the world, and that would be bad. Eventually he gives in, but tells her that she’s only allowed to meet with Fingon, their brother. Aredhel takes offense at this. She’s Turgon’s sister, not his lackey, and he has no right to tell her where to go or what to do. She leaves, and Turgon tells three of his lords to go with her to protect her, with the condition that they come straight back.

Aredhel immediately decides not to go see Fingon. She wants to find the sons of Fëanor (Maedhros, Caranthir, and co.), because they’re her friends. She tries to cut through the forest of Doriath, but the Sindar turn her away, because Thingol hates the Noldor now. She has to go around the long way. That way is dangerous, and polluted with poisonous water and evil creatures left behind by Morgoth and Ungoliant. Aredhel gets lost, and her escorts barely escape with their lives. They make it back to Gondolin, but have to give the terrible news to Turgon that they lost their charge along the way.

Turgon is grief-stricken and very, very frustrated. Aredhel survives, though, and ends up in Himlad, the land of Fëanor’s sons Celegorm and Curufin. They’re away, traveling further east with their brother Caranthir, but Aredhel is welcomed by Celegorm’s people.

Aredhel enjoys herself for a while, wandering in the forests like she used to, but a year passes and Celegorm still hasn’t come back. She starts wandering further and further, until she ends up in a small forest on the eastern edge of Doriath.

Aredhel lost in the dark forest by @gemennair

This forest is the darkest of all the forests in Beleriand, and it’s inhabited by an elf called Eöl, known as the Dark Elf. Eöl isn’t actually a Dark Elf (Moriquendi); he’s one of the Sindar, but he left Doriath when the magic wall went up. Now he’s basically nocturnal. He blames the Noldor for the return of Morgoth. He mostly doesn’t interact with other Elves, but he does like Dwarves, and gives them information about the Elves when they ask. The Dwarves taught him metalwork in exchange, and he designed a special kind of armor that’s thin and light and yet repels all weapons. It’s jet black, and he wears it all the time.

Skulking in the shadows, Eöl sees Aredhel enter his forest, and he lusts after her. He enchants the forest so that she can’t find her way out, and the forest always turns her towards the center. (Kind of like the Old Forest does to the Hobbits while they’re trying to pass through it in Fellowship.) When she finally arrives at Eöl’s house, tired from wandering, he welcomes her in. And that was the last her family heard of her for a long time.

Aredhel and Eöl by Elena Kukanova

It’s unknown exactly how Aredhel responded to Eöl’s intent to marry her. Maybe she fell in love with this edgy bad-boy elf in his spooky forest. But she landed in kind of the same situation that she was in back in Gondolin. Eöl lets her wander, at least, but only at night. He also forbids her from seeking out the other Noldor, and the sons of Fëanor in particular, which is what she wanted to do in the first place. Honestly, their relationship reminds me superficially of Hades and Persephone.

Eöl and Aredhel have a son. Secretly, Aredhel gives him a name in her forbidden native tongue of Quenya — Lómion, which means “Child of the Twilight.” Eöl doesn’t give him a name until he turns twelve, and that name is Maeglin, which means “sharp glance.” Maeglin grows up to resemble the Noldor, but he is more like his father in temperament.

Maeglin by @elfinfen

His father takes him to meet the Dwarves, who teach him mining, smithing, and metalwork. But Maeglin has a special relationship with his mother, and enjoys hearing her tales of Valinor and the House of Fingolfin. He especially likes hearing about Turgon and Gondolin.

In telling all these stories, Aredhel realizes just how much she misses Gondonlin. She wonders how she could have left in the first place. After such a long time in the dark shadows of the forest, the bright walls and fountains of Gondonlin seem lovely. But she refuses to tell Maeglin where Gondolin is, because that is such an important secret.

Eöl is also mad that Maeglin wants to meet his Noldor relatives. He’s an old enough Sinda to still identify himself as a member of the Teleri, and therefore, he thinks of his distant relatives in Valinor as his own people. He forbids Maeglin from seeking out the Noldor for the same reason that King Thingol banned Quenya — he takes the Noldor’s crime of kinslaying personally. (He probably should have thought of that before deciding to marry Aredhel, but whatever.) Maeglin, like any edgy teenager, does not take this well. He stops going to visit the Dwarves with his father, and Eöl starts to distrust his own son.

One summer, when Eöl is gone on one of his visits to the Dwarves, Maeglin suggests to his mother that they go to Gondolin. What’s the point of sticking around? She wants to see her people again, and Maeglin has learned all he can from Eöl. There’s no sense in remaining trapped in a dark forest with nothing else to do. So, they up and leave.

When Eöl gets back, he is furious to find them gone. Despite his hatred of the sun, he chases after them, but he’s waylaid by Curufin, one of Fëanor’s sons. Curufin asks what he’s doing there. Eöl lies, saying that his wife and son were on a casual visit to their relatives, and that it only makes sense that he should be with them. Curufin sees right through him, and tells him that they’re already gone. He gives Eöl permission to pass through, but tells him that the sooner he leaves, the better.

Eöl by @bohemianweasel

Eöl snipes that this isn’t the proper way to treat a kinsman. Curufin replies that it’s pretty rich for Eöl to ride upon his wife’s title when he’s been keeping her imprisoned in a forest for decades. If he wants the honor due to a kinsman, he should have acted like one. Curufin also gives Eöl a warning: He should return to his forest now. If he pursues his family, he’ll never come back.

If Eöl hated the Noldor before, now he really hates the Noldor.

As you probably guessed, he decides to chase after his family, and he eventually catches up with them just as they’re about to enter Gondolin. Gondolin, the secret city that no one is supposed to know the entrance to.

You can imagine how Turgon must have reacted when he sees his sister come back with a son in tow. She went out for a simple family visit, and returned with an adult child that she had with some creepy dude in a dark forest. But he’s happier to have her back and see her safe. Turgon also takes a liking to Maeglin, and thinks that he’s worthy to be one of the Princes of the Noldor. Maeglin swears fealty to Turgon.

Gondolin surpasses Maeglin’s wildest dreams. After having spent nearly his whole life in a dark forest, Gondolin is a whirl of light and color and interesting people. But more than anything else, he’s attracted to the king’s daughter, Idril… his first cousin.

Meanwhile, Eöl finds his way in. You know, the one thing Turgon didn’t want to have happen. Because he claims to be Aredhel’s husband, the guards restrain him (with difficulty) and bring him to Turgon. Aredhel is aghast that her abusive husband followed her all the way to her secret safe haven, but she tells the guards not to kill him. After all, he is telling the truth, and he’s still Maeglin’s father.

Eöl stands “proud and sullen” before Turgon, but despite his bad attitude, Turgon treats him honorably. Unlike Curufin, he accepts Eöl as a kinsman, and tells him that he’s welcome to stay in the city so long as he doesn’t leave it. Eöl goes on a rant about how this is the Tereri’s land, and (paraphrased) “you colonizing kinslayers don’t have any right to tell me where I can and can’t go, and how dare you keep my son from me!” He commands Maeglin to come with him, but Maeglin huffs and says nothing.

Turgon retorts that the only reason why Eöl’s woods are safe is because the Noldor protect the land from Orcs, so, he owes them. If it weren’t for the Noldor, he’d be Morgoth’s slave in Angband. And besides, you can’t argue with a king in his own castle. Either Eöl will live in Gondolin, or he’ll die there, and Maeglin will get the same choice.

Turgon by _star热爱生活呀巴扎嘿

Eöl just stands silently for several minutes. You could cut the tension with a knife. Then, in a sudden motion, he takes a javelin that he had concealed in his cloak and throws it straight at Maeglin. If he’s gonna die there, he’s taking Maeglin with him. Aredhel jumps in front of her son, and the javelin hits her in the shoulder.

Eöl is instantly beset by guards, who bind him and lead him away. Maeglin is just silent through all this, not knowing how to react. Aredhel and Idril both try to convince Turgon to be merciful during Eöl’s trial, but that night, Aredhel dies. The tip of the javelin was poisoned. Therefore, Turgon shows Eöl no mercy. He sentences him to die by being thrown from the top of the tower. As he falls, he curses Maeglin to have all his efforts fail and to suffer the same fate.

Caragdur - the same fate by SaMo-art

Most of the people of Gondolin believe justice has been served, but Idril is troubled. From that day onward, she distrusts Maeglin.

For the time being, Maeglin’s life is good. He rises through the ranks of Turgon’s court, and Turgon favors him. He finds many valuable metals in the mountains around Gondolin, and forges powerful steel weapons for the people of Gondolin. Maeglin is also wise, tough, and valiant in battle, making him a true asset to Gondolin. All is well… for now.

The only problem is that he’s still in love with Idril, who’s his first cousin. The Noldor don’t marry their cousins, and until now, none of them have wanted to. Idril also doesn’t love him; she can’t help but associate him with his insane father, and she thinks there’s a darkness in him. Somehow, he’s affected by the Curse. Slowly, Maeglin’s love for Idril festers into resentment. I’m sure that won’t cause any problems down the line.

Chapter 17: Of the Coming of Men into the West In which the Men finally arrive in Beleriand.

It’s been three hundred years since the Noldor first arrived in Beleriand. One day, Finrod Felagund is out exploring the countryside, and he sees cheery campfires and hears the sound of singing. That’s weird, he thinks, the Green Elves who live here don’t light campfires or sing at night. He worries that they might be Orcs, and sneaks closer, but he doesn’t recognize their language. They’re humans, the first Men to enter Beleriand. These Men are the people of Bëor the Old, and they’re singing because they believe that they’ve finally found a paradisal land without fear of Morgoth. Finrod finds them endearing.

When they go to sleep, Finrod sneaks further into their camp, picks up a crudely-carven harp, and begins to play. The Men wake up and are spellbound by the beauty of the faerie king’s music. Finrod sings about the creation of the world, and about Valinor. Although the Men don’t understand his language, images of what he’s singing appear in their minds, and so they learn about how the world was created.

By _star热爱生活呀巴扎嘿

By Elena Kukanova

By pan_brooke

By @pansen1802

(I couldn’t pick just one image for this scene. There are so many good ones!)

After all the Elf Drama that we’ve had to sit through, it’s easy to forget what the Elves really are. They’re the Fair Folk. This scene really speaks to their folkloric roots.

At first, the Men think that Finrod is a Vala, which they’ve heard of. Finrod decides to stay with the Men for some time, in order to teach them things. They call him Nómin, which in their language means “the Wise.” Finrod can understand the Men’s speech realtively easily, because he can read their minds, and because they learned how to speak from the Dark Elves (the Avari) in the east. (This is important because it means that all of the Children of Ilúvatar’s languages descend from the original language of the Elves. It’s the Proto-Indo-European of Middle-earth.)

Finrod asks Bëor why the Men are there. Bëor doesn’t really know, because Men have short lives, and it’s taken many generations for them to get this far. Whatever it was they were fleeing in the first place, it was bad, and they’ve heard enough about Valinor to know that there’s Light in the west. Morgoth did something to corrupt them, as he always does. In fact, as soon as Men arrived in Middle-earth, Morgoth considered this such a big deal that he abandoned the war in Beleriand, putting Sauron in charge of it. Morgoth immediately went to go mess with the Men. Therefore, there’s some human equivalent of the Noldor’s Original Sin of kinslaying. But what it is, no one knows. Bëor tells Finrod that there are more Men heading westwards.

Some of the Green Elves send messengers to Finrod to ask about the Men. They’re not happy that these refugees of an unknown race are moving onto their land. They consider Men their enemies, because the Men cut down trees and kill animals. They tell Finrod to tell the Men to either go back the way they came, or move forward.

Finrod advises the Men to keep moving. They head further West, so that they’re just east of Doriath and just south of Eöl’s dark forest. This is the land that Amrod and Amras, the twin sons of Fëanor, rule over. This land is now called Estolad, “Encampment.” By that point, a year has passed since Finrod first found the Men, and he decides to return home to his own palace, Nargothrond. Bëor begs to come with him and serve him, so he does, leaving his son in charge of the Men.

Soon after, more groups of Men make their way into Beleriand. They settle in whatever little niches they can find amongst the lands that the Elves had divided up amongst themselves. The Elves are extremely interested in the Men, whom they call Edain, “the Second People.” Both Noldor and Sindar alike go to see them. They send messengers to welcome the Men, and some of the Men go to serve in the courts of the Elven kings. Overtime, more and more of them go to serve the Elves.

Thingol, however, is unhappy about the coming of Men. He already was not pleased about the arrival of the Noldor in his lands, even before he found out that they were kinslayers and banned their language. Now, a whole separate group of refugees is invading his kingdom from the other direction, dividing it into even smaller portions. What’s worse, he keeps having troubling dreams about them. The only person he’s willing to talk to about this is Finrod. Thingol decrees that the Men are only allowed to live in the north of Beleriand, and that the Elf lords that they serve are responsible for them. None of the Men are allowed to come into Doriath.

Melian knows that the arrival of Men means that big changes are coming. She whispers to Galadriel that one of the Men will eventually break through her magic wall, because the power of that Man’s destiny will overcome her own. People will sing about that event until the distant future, when Middle-earth is unrecognizable.

Many of the Men are still interested in getting to Valinor, so they can live with the Gods. They’re frustrated and disappointed to know that Valinor is even further west, across the sea. The only God that’s there with them is Morgoth, the Lord of the Dark. (This echoes the Christian idea that God is removed from the world, while Satan is here on earth with us and troubles us while we’re alive.) The Men basically have two options: to try to get across the sea to Valinor, or to try to help the Elves defeat Morgoth.

One Man, Amlach, makes the bold suggestion that there is no Valinor, and that the Elves have been lying to them. The Men have no proof that the Gods exist, and they don’t even have any proof that Morgoth exists beyond the vague evil that their great-grandfathers fled. Maybe it’s the Elves and not Morgoth who want to take over the world! Sound familiar? These are basically all the same conspiracy theories that drove the Noldor out of Valinor.

It’s darkly telling that the source of evil in The Silmarillion is conspiracy theories, lies, misunderstandings, and miscommunications. Morgoth didn’t force the Noldor to kill their relatives — they did that on their own. Now, he’s trying the same tactic all over again with the Men. All he needs to do is sew distrust amongst the people, so that they’ll attack each other instead of him, and destroy everything in the process. This speaks to Tolkien’s general theme about the power of language, but it also seems particularly poignant right now.

Morgoth’s not done yet, though. Despite his best efforts to sew distrust, the friendship between Elves and Men still holds. He decides to try a more direct approach, and sends Orcs to attack a group of Men. The Men are a lot weaker against the Orcs than the Elves are, and they barely survive the siege. Caranthir arrives with the cavalry at the last minute to drive back the Orcs. Caranthir offers the Men protection in his lands in the north. Their leader, Haleth, refuses; she doesn’t want to live under someone else’s rule. She tells Caranthir that she’d rather go further west. She gathers what’s left of her people, and brings them to Estolad.

Haleth leads her people further and further west. They travel through the land north of Doriath, the same poisonous land where Aredhel originally got lost. Many of her people die, and the survivors regret making the journey, but it’s too late to go back now. She tries to restore their way of life best she can.

Haleth by @yidanyuan

Now, Haleth and her people are living in a forest called Brethil, northwest of Doriath. This is too close for Thingol’s comfort. Finrod vouches for Haleth and her people, and tells Thingol about the hell that they went through. Thingol reluctantly permits them to live in the forest, so long as they remain outside the magic wall and help defend the forest from Orcs. He worries that the Men and Orcs could become allies and try to attack Doriath. Haleth is disturbed that Thingol would let that thought cross his mind; why would she ally herself with Orcs, after Orcs laid siege to her village and killed her father and brother? If Thingol wants her to kill Orcs, he doesn’t need to tell her twice. She remains in Brethil until she dies, at which point her people build a great barrow for her.

Overtime, the Men learn Sindarin. They remain enthralled by the Elves, and want to learn as much of their lore as possible. But the Elves recognize that Men need to have kingdoms and leaders of their own. The different ethnic groups of Men are therefore given their own lands by the Elven Kings. In addition to Haleth and her people, there are two other important kings of Men:

One of the kings of Men is Hador Lórindol (“Goldenhead”), a member of Fingolfin’s court, whom Fingolfin is fond of. Hador’s people speak both Sindarin and their own language, which eventually evolves into the language of Númenor (which in turn evolves into Westron, the in-universe language that The Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit are written in, rendered as Modern English by our good Professor Tolkien). One of Hador’s sons is named Galdor. Galdor has two sons, Hurin and Huor. They each have a son — Húrin’s son is Túrin, and Huor’s son is Tuor. Tuor has a son, Earendil, whose name should ring a bell. Húrin, Huor, Túrin, and Tuor are all going to be important characters going forward in The Silmarillion. Earendil is the father of Elrond and his brother Elros, and much further down the line, Aragorn will be born from his lineage.

The other important king of Men is Boromir — no, not that one, this one is the son of Bëor the Old. One of his great-great-grandchildren is Morwen, the mother of Túrin, and another one of his great-great-grandchildren is Rían, the mother of Tuor. A third great-great-grandchild is Beren, who’s also a significant character going forward, and his daughter becomes the wife of Earendil, therefore the many-times-great-grandmother of Aragorn.

TL;DR: These two important kings’ grandchildren will marry each other, and their descendants will be the Kings of Numenor, whose line will eventually end with Aragorn. This is where it starts. Also, most of these great-grandchildren are about to become relevant here in the Silm.

Bëor is the first of the Men to die of old age, rather than being killed in battle. The Men are struck by their own mortality. They’re not just vulnerable to being killed — unlike the Elves, they actually have an expiration date. The scope of Men’s lives is barely a hundred years. In the First Age, the Men are practically mayflies. They also have no idea where they go when they die.

Still, the Men that settled in Beleriand are vastly superior to the Men that remained in the East, because they had the opportunity to learn skills, lore, and craftsmanship from the Elves. Also, the men are elevated somewhat just from having seen the Elves’ beautiful faces, because the Elves saw Valinor. Even secondhand, the light of Valinor is just that powerful.

[tanoraqui]

I was trying to rewrite this encounter from Fëanor’s pov for the longer fic I’m working on, and it’s not really working so I might give up, but please enjoy this bit of Fëanor going about his days blithely not realizing that Maedhros has usurped most of his kingship:

There wasn’t less work to do when Maedhros was away from the fort. Objectively there was more, for there was no one Fëanor trusted so much to review paperwork before passing it to him for signature, or to handle meetings on his behalf, or a hundred other duties which only a crown prince—only a crown prince as excellently competent as Fëanor’s firstborn son!—could be deputized to manage.

But there was undeniably an additional measure of flexibility when Maedhros was absent. A crown prince might badger his father out of the laboratory; petty courtiers either wouldn’t dare or didn’t have the strength of will to keep trying after the third time Fëanor told them to go away; couldn’t they see he was busy? A crown prince might screen would-be petitioners so that only the important or interesting ended up before Fëanor’s seat; with Maedhros away hunting with his youngest brothers, Fëanor took meetings on the military budget (important but dull), saw new proposals for banner designs (none superior to the current banner), and spent exactly one afternoon formally hearing convoluted arguments about a disputed piece of land in southern Ladros before ruling that the cows themselves would own the land for the next fifty years, throwing all parties out of his throne room, and declaring that no more judgements would be passed, unless they be matters of life or death, until the prince returned.

Not that he begrudged Maedhros his respite! Quite the opposite—his son worked tirelessly at his craft of state, which now included war as well. It seemed like every time Fëanor came into his office, there was more correspondence on the desk, whether Maedhros was there or not.

With Maedhros away, Fëanor looked through it himself, of course, save those few that seemed private. Many were from Indis’s… from Maedhros’s cousins, and Fingolfin and Lalwen, because one of the greatest favors Maedhros had done his father was to take point on managing them. Fëanor skimmed several letters to be sure none of them were taking advantage of the generous heart behind his son’s sharp judgement…

Turgon was complaining about ‘unjust’ taxes on pearls, an ongoing argument. Finrod offered thanks for a royal edict Maedhros had managed entirely on his own regarding new discoveries about optimal farming strategies. Fingon suggested another joint military exercise next year between Lothlann’s cavalry and soldiers of Dorthonion. Of course he did! But all were adequately deferential, if familiar—as was best, of course. Neither treason nor fear of treason had any place here! The House of Finwë was united in might and purpose!

Fëanor returned to his laboratory for a few hours, then sent a courier off with new formulae to the larger experimental compound in Tumladen, where the test explosions might go unnoticed by all but the Eagles. He would get through the enemy’s mountains one day.

[pearlescentpearl]

For the ask game: 5 headcanons for an AU where Fëanor survives the Dagor-nuin-Giliath?

Okay! This ended up being more, uh, general worldbuilding like, but I did my best

Headcanon 1: Supposing Fëanor isn't so badly injured he dies, but still badly injured enough to need being carried away from the balrogs posthaste, Maedhros still takes over as leader while his dad's down and out. I think Morgoth still offers to parley, and that Maedhros still goes. He only needs to convince Fëanor of the merits of the plan to spring the trap, rather than his brothers, and while Fëanor is two parts ha! suck it Eönwë! you said we couldn't contend with him! about it he is one third Hmm Bad Feeling. The Bad Feeling doesn't win.

Headcanon 2: So like, in canon Maglor is the only Fëanorian King Thingol would have ever had diplomatic overtures with (I say this because he explicitly says he's only ever heard of Fëanor, implying he and the Fëanorians didn't try talking to each other until after the Dagor-nuin-Giliath, and since Maedhros got captured directly after his dad's death...) Anyway, the degree to which Thingol does not like Maglor as a king is far outstripped by how much he does not like Fëanor as a king.

Thingol: you can't just come here and set up domains and call yourselves the lords of light!! that's my gig!!

Fëanor: that's nice. unlike you, I don't require help from an Ainu to do all that

Thingol: ...you have none of the parts of Finwë I actually liked

Headcanon 3: Here's an interesting bit I learned from Tolkien Gateway; Hithlum, Ard-Galen/Anfauglith, and Lothlann are not actually considered part of Beleriand proper, they are north of Beleriand, which makes sense because mountain borders. Places like Nevrast, Dorthonion, and Thargelion are ambiguous as to whether they are or not part of Beleriand too. The name Beleriand apparently comes from the southern Balar areas (where the Journey elves congregated before leaving) that was eventually expanded to cover more territory. This both explains why Thingol neglects the Mithrim Sindar (not his people/subjects), and why Maedhros laughs about Thingol granting them lands he doesn't actually govern. This is all to say, so long as the Mithrim Sindar are cool with them moving in -- and the Noldor did save their butts here -- Fëanor finds it laughable that Thingol would ever think Fëanor needs his permission to settle on lands Thingol doesn't actually reign over. This causes yet more diplomatic incidents when later trying to set up the Leaguer.

Headcanon 4: I think with Fëanor still alive there's a chance Fingolfin and co. don't run into orcs when they enter Lammoth. I mean, think about it, after the Dagor-nuin-Giliath shoved the orcs and other Angband forces out of Beleriand, why would there be orcs in Lammoth behind Hithlum? I think they were trying to sneak up the Firth of Drengist to attack the Mithrim camp. It's not like they expected Fingolfin and co. to be there. With Fëanor alive there's a lot less scrambling to shore up the power vacuum, and also I just think Fëanor is a good deal more proactively paranoid than Maglor. If Fëanor can leads his forces through Drengist into Hithlum than why can't his enemy? This means Argon gets to live.

Headcanon 5: Okay, so like... because I read HoME and shit, there's a number of non-published silm details near and dear to my heart through which I form headcanons and worldbuilding. One of these details is the fact Fingolfin and co. were in Mithrim for five years before Fingon threw his hands up and went to rescue Maedhros. That's five years of political shitshow between Fëanor and Fingolfin. Now, under Maglor a number of the Fëanorians repented the shipburning and wanted to apologize, which makes sense to me because it's not like every one of them was involved in the ship burning. Ship stealing? Yes. Ship burning? No. Maedhros is the only of the royal family who refuses to participate but I don't think he's the only of the Fëanorian Faction to disagree. But Fëanor? He is not sorry. He does not want his historically slightly treasonous power-jockeying brother around to stab him in the back, and he won't accept blame for the Helcaraxë when that was Fingolfin's idea to put his people through. The reason the five years bit is important to me is because it shifts Fingon rescuing Maedhros out of the lens of being solely driven by compassion (although it is indeed driven by a great deal of compassion) into an incredibly bonkers yet undeniably savvy political move. With Maglor, it was about getting the only guy left alive with the authority to tell Maglor what to do. (Talk about tattling on Maglor to his older brother, such a cousin move amiright?) With Fëanor, it's about pulling him over a barrel by rescuing not only his son, but returning the Crown Prince who stands up to him for Fingolfin and co.'s sake now supercharged with enough personal gratitude to guarantee he does so. And if Fëanor doesn't agree with this gratitude, well. Sends rather the wrong message doesn't it?

Anyway, these aren't exactly groundbreaking headcanons to have, but then, I've never formulated my own Fëanor Lives AU either, so. It was fun to think about!

[outofangband]

Mammals of Maglor’s Gap and Lothlann

Now that I’ve finished world building posts on birds for each Fëanorian realm pre Amon Ereb, I’m going through mammals next! Mammals of the March of Maedhros can be found here and my environmental world building Masterlist is here!

Maglor’s Gap was the widest break in the mountains and cliffs dividing Beleriand and the lands to the north. It lay between the blue mountains to the east and the March of Maedhros to the west. Lothlann was a wide expanse of plains to the north of the Gap. The rivers greater and little Gelion ran around the western and eastern borders.

Forest steppes: wild goat, wood bison, southern white breasted hedgehog, gray marmot, ground squirrel, dormouse, woolly hares, long eared hedgehog, gray shrews, northern hog badger, sable (rare), steppe mouse, lesser noctule (bat), wildcat, red fox, red deer

Bordering mountain fences: Caucasian Tur, mouflon, chamois, alpine pika, pond bat, marbled polecat, saiga antelope, steppe polecat, mountain weasel, ibex (rare), argali

Plains: goitered gazelle, steppe wolf, wild horse, northern water vole (by the rivers), snow vole, grey dwarf hamster, common hare, common rabbit, striped field mouse, ural field mouse, harvest mouse, mountain hare, field vole (also primarily by rivers), wild horse

World building notes:

The horse based cavalry of Maglor is one of the few details we have about this region. I headcanon that the horses in question are a mixture of the descendants of the Valinor born horses brought by the Fëanorian host as well as wild horses from Estolad, Himlad, Lothlann and the other plains regions of Eastern Beleriand.

Sheep and goats provide the majority of milk and cheese products in the Gap. Some of these species are imported from other regions like sheep from Thargelion.

Domesticated bovine are rare in Eastern Beleriand outside Thargelion and parts of Estolad. There are however wild and semi domesticated bison such as the wood bison, especially on the borders of forested and forest steppe regions. Fur, skin and bones from bison are used by both Noldorin and Avarin elves for clothing and other materials.

Wild hamsters, rabbits, hares and voles were used by a select few of Maglor’s cavalry as companions and even spies.

A regiment of foot based scouts had the sigil of a hare in the form of a light silhouette upon a black background.

[dalliansss]

You look just like your dad for the prompts please ! 🙏🏾

- @elaiahsstuff

the largesse of the sea maiden.

When Narwë received word that her son Artanáro would be joining her in Himring for the summer, she had to read the missice from Nargothrond about ten times before the point sank into her mind. Her son, her only child with Ingoldo -- the son which she carried for a year, birthed -- and then sent to Nargothrond -- would be coming here. Coming to Himring. A tumult of mixed emotions arose in the Lady of Himring's chest. When she and Ingoldo wished for a child, she had thought herself well and capable of raising one of her own. After all, did she not raise six brothers, and helped with her cousins beside?

But imaginings and daydreams were oft incomparable to the real thing, and after a difficult birth and when the midwife handed to her the swaddled infant, Narwë, instead of feeling overwhelming love, could only feel fear and great hesitation. It wasn't that she didn't love her child; no -- it was a complicated web of feelings that even she could not make sense of. Certainly, she and Ingoldo tried to raise their son together, but as the months crawled by after the birth, Narwë was getting more distressed, such that the only option they could truly have was for Ingoldo to finally return to Nargothrond with their infant. Narwë had not wept as hard then, not even when Fëanor burst into flames before her and her brothers' eyes.

And how the years have rolled by! Artanáro, her son, was now writing correspondences for his father, signing missives in perfect Tengwar that would have made Fëanor proud:

Artanáro Ereinion Prince of Nargothrond

How Narwë trailed her gold-and-mithril fingers over the letters, and in the privacy of her suites in Himring, how many times has she pressed the parchments to her nose and lips, kissing the name of the child she let go, imagining she could smell his perfume, or find the lingering warmth of his fingers...

Summer could not come to Himring fast enough. But as the last few tendrils of Spring gave way for the summer colors of the flowers of the Lothlann tundra, Narwë, Red Lady of Himring, looked south of her towers and battlements.

And one morning, the banners of Nargothrond were seen fluttering in the high breeze on the south road, and she rushes to the courtyard, if only to be the first person to welcome her son -- her grown son -- to Himring. The drawbridge was allowed to come down. She stood there, wrapped in her dark furs, her red hair drawn into a ponytail, and she watches as a beautiful dun stallion comes galloping into the courtyard of Himring.

She peers up at the young elf on the saddle. Strawberry blond hair drawn into a practical bun-hairstyle, riding clothes in the color of the earth, and a deep chocolate colored fur coat. But the eyes --- Artanáro's eyes were Ingoldo's, summer blue, and Narwë found that she would not have willed her only child to look this and that.

She stepped forward. Artanáro looked at her in silence, for a heartbeat, but then he dipped his head and extended to her the elven greeting, which she returns. "Amil," he greets.

"My son," Narwë hears herself say. "You look just like your Atar. I hope your roads gave you little trouble. Welcome to Himring."

Artanáro dismounts his horse, and he allows a stablehand to lead away the magnificent creature. He stands before her, and Narwë eagerly studies his features. I have missed most of the important milestones in his life, she thinks. I did not hear his first word, nor shared Ingoldo's joy when he took his first steps. I was not there when he had his first substantial meal, nor saw when he first held his practice sword, nor nursed him through small scratches and little injuries that woudl have been gone come the morrow. There is a painful pinch in her heart. But her decision to send him to Nargothrond was the best she could make for him under their circumstances.

Narwë does not offer a hug. She does not yet know if she has that right. And Artanáro does not embrace her either. He makes a small show of pulling off his fur-lined riding gloves, and Narwë thinks that even his perfect fingers he got from his Atar.

"Let's go inside," she says instead, gesturing toward the Main Keep with her gold-and-mithril hand. "Your Uncles Maglor and Caranthir are no doubt eager to see you."

Artanáro nods, and he absently pats at his strawberry blond hair. "Lead the way, Amil." He says quietly. "I will follow."

Narwë wants, more than anything, to hug him, kiss him, and hold his hands to her cheeks. But she refrains, and instead she turns heel, and Artanáro follows close behind.

@elaiahsstuff

[starspray]

1, 13, 20 for Maglor?

1. Their most visually striking feature

His hair. It's black and very thick and wavy, and he wears it long. So either it's gorgeous or a horrendous rats nest, depending on which side of the First Age you find him and his current level of caring, but either way it's the first thing you notice.

13. Their ideal climate and weather

He thrives in the temperate climate of Beleriand, and best loves the warm and dry days of summer, when there's a breeze to cut the heat, and it's perfect for racing horses through the grasslands of Lothlann and the Gap.

(He likes much less the cold and damp of the coasts, after everything; he sticks around there only until he grows thoroughly sick of punishing himself and languishing in pain and regret etc. Admittedly, this takes a very long time. He does like the southern coasts, down in Gondor, much better though. But not as much as he likes the rolling grasslands of Rohan, or the wide steppes of Rhun farther east.)

20. Something that makes their skin tingle

Hearing a new kind of music or instrument for the first time. Or, after a while, hearing a very old kind of music that he has not heard in many many centuries.

[sallysavestheday]

10 First Lines

Rules: Share the first lines of your ten most recent fics and then tag ten people. If you have written fewer than ten, don’t be shy—share anyway! Tagged by @tathrin, thank you!

After everything falls apart, most choose not to remember the long years Fingon spent among the sons of Fëanor, close as another brother, in and out of house and hold and forge, learning what they learned from his brilliant uncle’s hands. (In These Altered States, Rejoice. T: 1,400 words)

Maedhros’ visits to Lothlann leave little room for pleasure. (Grass Like a River, Wind Like the Sea. G: 600 words)

If the last Lords of Imladris wonder that their grandfather lingers, they do not speak of it. (Not Yet a Song of Remembrance. G: 700 words)

Argon wishes that he could use his paints. (The Music of Sight. G: 500 words)

The Ambarussa begin it, scrabbling among the pebbles in the yard at Formenos one summer, when their elder brothers have found other occupations and Nerdanel is entertaining them alone. (Heart Stones. G: 600 words)

Anairë floats back to wakefulness, subtly aware of another presence in the room. (Shine. G: 400 words)

Legolas’ mother is healing, but the space where her bow arm was still itches and burns. (These Soft Threads That Bind Us. G: 700 words).

The first time Maglor meets the sea, there is a stiff onshore wind. (Ever Upon the Shores. G: 900 words)

Fëanor will not stop weeping. (Half-Foundered. G: 700 words)

It is Fingon -- again -- who leaps the gap that yawns between them, when Maedhros is certain that they have passed all possibilities, have shaped instead some new form of friendship out of Ice and fire and betrayal, found a tentative peace in rescue and reward. (Between the Shadow and the Soul. M: 600 words)

Let's see yours! @cuarthol, @melestasflight, @polutrope, @thelordofgifs, @actual-bill-potts, @swanmaids, @searchingforserendipity25, @grey-gazania, @hhimring, @swanhild

[gingerfrednutmeg]

Feanorian Heraldry Ideas 1/?

Had this random thought yesterday, that lead me to contemplate what kinds of heraldry the feanorians would use in battle.

so i decided to design some of my own banner ideas for the feanorians :D

House of Feanor

this one is for Feanor and mostly represents the entire house of Feanor. the colour is scarlet (#ff2400) (i picked exact hex code colours for all of them :p)

Maedhros

Maedhros is just his father's with a darker red, because he's the new head of feanor's house so i felt he would keep the same design but with his personal colour (Carmine #960018)

Maglor

Maglor's is a harp, for pretty obvious reasons. his colour is poppy red (#dc343b). not a lot for this one. i picked this colour because word association made me this of that ww1 poem flanders fields, which lead to hey maglor's gap and the plains of lothlann are field like

this is all i have so far

[ego-sum-imperator]

What if Caranthir didn’t fled south with Amrod and Amras during Dagor Bragollach and earned his name of « Caranthir », « red face » at that moment?

To begin with, I’ll come back to the etymology of the name of Caranthir is the sindarized version of the name « Carnistir » which mean « red face »and which is the mother-name of the character. (Elves have three names: the mother-name, the father-name and the chosen name (the name they chose when they turn 20 and by which they’re known)).

We can note that this is a rare case of reuse of the mother-name, as it usually the father-name that is kept and considered the most important.

Caranthir (‘s father-name is Morifinwë which mean « Dark Finwë and later he’s known as Caranthir the Dark.

We don’t know exactly why Nerdanel named him « red face »

He was red when he’s born because he cried a lot?

Got a lot of freckles (later in life because we’re not born with)?

Presence of an angioma on his face?

I’m currently drawing the last two hypotheses, but I’ll put them aside for a new one I had for this « What if? ».

During the Dagor Bragollach in F.A. 455 (« Battle of Sudden Flame »), the siege of Angbang is broken and the armies of Morgoth were able to invade and ruin the Northland (Dorthonion, Lothlann, Thargelion, etc.).

In Thargelion, Glaurung come and burned the lands at the foot of Ered Luin while the cohorts of Orcs move more far in the North and took Caranthir’s fortress in Mount Rerir. And when it happen, Caranthir fled South with his brothers.

BUT!!!

What if Caranthir earned his name at that moment?

Before being known as «Caranthir», he was known as Morifinwë or by another name he choose and Carnistir isn’t his mother-name.

In y mind, Glaurung lea the orcs to lake Helevorn where the abode of //Caranthir// is. As a Lord, he’s insured that his people unable to fight were able to flee before leaving with the soldiers in oder to fight the dragon and the orcs. Without sucess…

This bring me to the essential point of this « What if? »

During the battle between Morgoth’s forces and those of //Caranthir’s//, the latter found himself in direct confrontation with Glaurung. A fight in which the elf was badly burned in the face, leaving him with a severer burn later on, hence it’s name « Caranthir », « red face ».

Wounded, //Caranthir// was taken prisoner with some of his soldiers by Glaurung and the orcs, and then imprisoned in Angbang.

No one would have known what had happened to //Caranthir// since neither he nor his soldiers returned from Mount Rerir.

No one would have known that he was alive (albeit in a bad way) in Angbang's prisons and would have been considered dead.