#rip feanor

[silvantransthranduiltrash]

Kinslaying is a Social Construct

Basically exactly what I said on the tin, I think that “kinslaying” was a social construct taught by the valar to the noldor, teleri, vanyar etc. Not murder, that’s not a social construct, but the taboo of “kinslaying” is absolutely a social construct, like virginity, probably created sometime after the valar came.

The reason I say this because only when the feanorians killed people it’s called kinslaying, but when on other occasions we see elf on elf murder (eol killing adrehal, Turgon executing Eol, when elves fight back and kill feanorians (which is self defense, don’t get me wrong, but still technically murder)) it’s not really referred to as kinslaying (as far as I’m aware)

And if Kinslaying had actual physical consequences on elven faer beyond what you’d expect if an elf were to kill a human or dwarf or something, I would certainly think that at least Turgon would have been a lot more hesitant in executing Eol as opposed to another punishment.

Also, technically orcs are elves but twisted, so technically killing orcs is also kinslaying to some degree.

In other words, kinslaying is hyped as this ultimate taboo that elves absolutely should not ever do, yet as far as I’m aware it doesn’t actually have consequences outside of the standard “you killed someone” ones.

Like, even Thingol’s reaction to the feanorians’ first kinslaying of alqualond can be justified as “you massacred unarmed people” which is in and of itself already bad enough.

Also, I refuse to believe that, when the elves first awoke under the stars before the valar came, they magically knew that killing is wrong/an over reaction, or how to deal with negative emotions in a none destructive way. I personally think those first years were messy af.

So yeah, kinslaying is actually more of a social construct created and taught by the valar when the elves came to aman, and outside of Mandos’ judgement of “you killed people” it doesn’t actually have any specific consequences.

I also think that “kinslaying” is a lot rarer than human on human murder because elves, by virtue of being immortal, have a higher bs tolerance and are a lot less prone to over the top emotional outbursts, which leads itself to being a lot less likely to commit murder than other mortal races would. And this I turn means that when an elf does kill another elf it’s viewed as much more horrific than other types of murder which lends itself to the “kinslaying is taboo” mindset.

Side note: the Avari and the silvans, by virtue of not giving half a damn about the valar, think the way the noldor, teleri, vanyar, and even sindars stress about “kinslaying” is pretentious and just call it murder.

My silvan trans thranduil au:

Thranduil: *hears a non-silvan/avari elf talk about the taboo of kinslaying*

Thranduil: just call it murder like a normal person.

Ps: once again this is my interpretation of the text, you are free to think whatever you want.

[zeldanna-art]

back into some silm drawing with this shitty meme

[thecoolblackwaves]

I sketched some random naked Elves below cut

🌲🌿🌳🌲🌾🌳☘️🌱🌲🌾

Yes they're fucking and yes the twink tops

[silmawensgarden]

Maedhros in his garden, cutting flowers.

This one is from early February, I had tried a more semi-realistic approach to drawing him.

° Which elf should I draw next? Currently having s hard time choosing 😂

[makalauriels]

All of you who say you want to fuck Charles Edwards Celebrimbor are so valid and have the best taste in the world.

[nighttimepatrons]

God, I make one too many jokes and now Finarfin has a spanked-by-Nerdanel kink 😔

[red-winters]

i can’t believe the majority chose Glorfindel in the zombie apocalypse: choose your fighter poll (silm edition). so what if he’s cheerful and has good hair. what happens AFTER he self sacrifices and DIES to buy the post apocalyptic refugees/you time to get away??? there are still (presumably) MORE zombies out there and your protection is gone!!!

[nin-varisse]

Reading the Silmarillion for me was like: Wow the Feanorians are all horrible, horrible people, I don't get why they have so many fans?

Actually I feel very sorry for Maedhros, he's such a tortured (literally) soul and man, he deserved better! He lost his "best friend" (wink wink) and he tried to save Elurin and Elured. The rest sucks tho. Actually Maglor also didn't deserve such a horrible fate??? He tried to raise Elrond and Elros as well as he could and the Oath just absolutely ripped his soul into pieces. But the 3 Cs are still horrible. Well Caranthir did actually keep himself out of most conflicts and he did save Haleth and her people, he doesn't seem like a bad person per se... But Celegorm and Curufin suck, they are responsible for Finrod's death! If I think about it I feel a little sorry for Curufin. All he was seen as is Feanor 2.0, I mean even his mother called him "little dad". Surely it's no wonder how he turned out considering he was always in the direct shadow of "the greatest" noldor to ever exist. But Celegorm sucks extra bad, he tried to force Luthien to marry him! But in the end, all he wanted to be was a hunter, he wasn't responsible for his father's Oath. Also he was left by his only loyal companion, that probably drove him even more to madness.

But I'll never excuse Feanor's behaviour! He's responsible for the Oath upon his sons and therefore for their deeds and he started the first kinslaying over some stupid boats! He's the most terrible character ever! ... Actually satan himself whispered him into his ear for 60 years and he wasn't entirely wro-

[annoyinglandmagazine]

Maedhros is ridiculously overprotective

During their childhood if any of the siblings were getting bothered by someone and they yelled for Nelyo he would drop everything and come running immediately. One time at a family gathering Curvo had started a fight with Argon and was losing. Badly. He hadn’t even gotten to the start of the second syllable and Maedhros was pulling them off each other with a first aid kit. He had been at the other side of the house in the middle of a conversation. Curvo hadn’t even yelled that loudly.

One time he found out Kano was being picked on. He was the equivalent of 15 and Maglor was like 12. He found Maglor crying after some 16 year olds had ripped up some of his music sheets. That was the first time Maedhros ever held a sword to someone’s throat. He had to be pulled off by three guards and no one could believe it because he was meant to be the well behaved sibling. When Feanor found out he was ridiculously proud and told Nelyo as much. Nerdanel glared at him disapprovingly but secretly agreed.

I firmly believe that even the whole way through the first age any of the brothers just needs to send one vague letter saying they might be in a bit trouble. Maedhros will be diverting the majority of his army to track them down wherever they are and make sure they’re ok. If Aredhel was Maedhros’ sibling Eol would have been found in a week and would be begging to be killed by the end of the week.

Anytime any of the Sinda diplomats get too aggressive towards Tyelko and Curvo about certain things Nelyo will make it clear that, yes, what they did was wrong and he’s aware they’re adults who made their own choices. But. They are also his little baby brothers so would you be so kind as to take a step back before he does something he most certainly would not regret. Everyone thinks Maedhros is scary enough to negotiate with on political matters. But that’s nothing compared to dealing with Protective Older Brother Maedhros.

Maedhros was very angry about the Angrod incident. He yelled at Caranthir for about half an hour. Moryo had apologised as soon as he’d seen Nelyo’s face but Maedhros still felt as if he couldn’t let his brother off so easily over something like this. He looked down at Caranthir’s face while he was in the middle of it and then he just stopped. Because that’s Moryo. This isn’t some general who went against his orders, that’s his baby brother and he looks like he’s about to cry. And he just hugs him. He knows it’s not even remotely the right thing to do, he can’t just not punish his brothers after they jeopardise relations with their allies. But damn it, he just can’t cope with any of his siblings look at him like that.

Maedhros loves his siblings a lot ok? Is this sort of about Maedhros losing the older sibling poll? Maybe.

[imfromthemiddlekingdom]

When I engage with the Silmarilion fandom it’s always very educational and enlightening no matter what side they’re on regarding Finwe and his sons. But whenever I interact with the HoTD fandom it’s always “you’re condoning XYZ and therefore you’re a horrible person!!!” Or doing mental gymnastics to try to justify whichever atrocities their side committed.

Thematically both stories are quite similar. We can find parallels with Rhaenyra and Feanor but even at his worst (Pulling a sword on Fingolfin, First kinslaying, burning of the ships etc.) Feanor had never put a bounty on a toddler (Rhaenyra stating that Maelor should be bought to her dead or alive causing him to be ripped apart. Like hello??!??? How is that ever a justifiable thing to do???). I can find parallels between Feanor and Rhaenyra, sure. But if I’m honest the parallels stop with them being the only child of a kings first wife who’s father then went on to face four more kids with another women. Finwe is ten times the father Viserys was. And literally none of the kids (Feanor included) would ever take their anger out on their siblings child like we see the so called Maegor come again do.

But I digress, I was talking of the fandom. I may get heated talking about whether Feanor was right in his anger at Indis or whether Fingolfin should’ve absolutely demanded more reparations from the sons of Feanor when he crossed the ice. But I’ve never seen anyone in the Silm fandom saying that someone should die because they had an opinion.

But I’ve seen many instances of HoTD fans threatening rape and death on people who think Alicent is not the monster they portray her as, or that Rhaenyra isn’t as ‘girl boss queen slay!!!’ As people say she is. Maybe it’s because HoTD is a TV show and many of the fans haven’t read the books and therefore don’t understand nuance since the TV show focuses so much on Rhaenyra’s manifest destiny arc that team green gets painted as the ‘ultimate’ villain for our girl boss queen Rhaenyra to ascend to the throne since it’s her ‘birth right’.

Not to mention how the whole made up show canon prophecy to justify colonialism means that team black stans are really showing their true colors on what they think is right. Because guess what? The Silm also has what could be said to be as a colonizing story line with the Noldor coming to Beleriand and settling but most fans agree that the cutting up of Beleriand was very much a colonizing behavior no matter what they think of Thingol.

Point is, most HoTD fans can’t hold and intellectually simulating debate over their characters without feeling like said debater is personally attacking them since their entire personality is so deeply entwined with their fav that a critique on them would automatically equate to a critique on themselves. Therefore making it entirely impossible to have a decent conversation on the thematically very important foils that Rhaenyra and Alicent pose to each other (since they still think a good story must have a black and white view of the protagonist and the antagonist lmao).

Media illiteracy in these fandoms truly is a cancer that spreads to even the most level headed and literate individuals. Pick up a book! Understand themes and how foils are supposed to be written without internalizing criticism of your fav as a criticism of yourself! I don’t get mad when people criticize Feanor, nor do I get mad when people say I’m wrong when it comes to my own interpretation of the statue of Finwe and Miriel. It’s called having a discussion and you can only do that when you’re not on the front lines dying for a fictional character who wouldn’t spit on you if you were on fire in front of them!!!

[tanoraqui]

WIP Wednesday

except specifically it’s a section of draft I’ll probably have to delete because I’m begrudgingly coming to admit that the timeline almost certainly doesn’t work. Implicitly tagged by @thelordofgifs!

[at a narrow choke point—sky dark, corpses all around (some honor guard, more orcs). others long-since but not too long-since retreated, more orcs incoming. Fingolfin limping; both arguing who should gtfo and who should stay (risking death and/or capture) and hold the line]

“You will lead and I shall follow, that is what I swore—so go!”

“I shall lead and you will follow—so for once in your life, do as I say!”

“Fine,” Fingolfin huffed, and held out his hand. “Give me the Silmaril, I’ll see it safe.”

Feanor reached for the jewel on his throat, but only to clasp it tight, a sudden tension in his form.

“Are you kidding me,” Fingolfin said flatly.

Another orc tried to leap upon him from the side. He beheaded it mid-air with one savage stroke, barely paying it heed. Fëanor’s lips pursed suspisciously.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” Fingolfin demanded, nearly as incredulous as he was furious. He raised his sword and shield against more enemies pushing again through the gap. “After all this time? You selfish, jealous, paranoid, egomaniacal—“

“You speak to your king,” Fëanor snapped reflexively, and set their shoulders together against the black flood.

“Some king!” Fingolfin skewered an orc through the neck and planted his foot on its chest to draw his sword back out. “I speak to one I would call brother, if after nearly five hundred years he didn’t still expect my blade in his back—“

“I am being cautious!” Fëanor yelled. “Down!”

Fingolfin was already ducking, shield above his head, as Fëanor used his teeth to rip the protective layer off a pocket bomb and threw it directly into the mouth of a swooping vampire.

“‘Cautious’ would have been retreating four days ago, when I said we should,” Fingolfin said, taking an orc out at the knees before he rose. “‘Cautious’ would have meant turning along the [GEOGRAPHY] rather than the [OTHER GEOGRAPHY]. ‘Cautious’ would be getting your precious, blood-bought Silmaril to safety, even if it means my grubby Vanyarin hands have to touch it!”

Fëanor grabbed an orc by the collar, headbutted it hard, used its stunned body as a shield against the orc behind it, and skewered them both with one thrust of his long blade.

“You make my own argument,” he sneered.

“Because I— ugh!”

Fingolfin grunted with frustration as he leapt atop a corpse to slam his shield into the face of an oncoming troll, while Fëanor struck at its club-arm. For a time, both brothers spent their breath only on the battle.

(It’s also wrong because, given the way their rope works, there’s no way elvish grenades need to be in any way primed—they just go off when and only when their wielder wants them to. But it’s so funny to imagine Fëanor biting one…)

Tagging anyone who wants to, and @finxwrites because I did promise I’d poke them on Wednesday!

[light-of-the-two-trees]

A draft scene from a long, daunting AU that I hope to one day fully write, in which Miriel survives to give birth to all five of Finwe's children (meaning they are full siblings), and Feanor is also the third of five children rather than the eldest, younger than Fingolfin.

(The happier timeline of two even for this AU, in which I don't make things play out just as they do in canon regardless of the changes as I want to in the sadder timeline. The birth order for the Finweans here is Findis (not so named), Fingolfin, Feanor, Lalwen and Finarfin, if anyone's curious). Scene features Feanor and Fingolfin reconciling after Fingolfin sails to Beleriand.

It was a shock seeing him standing there, despite expecting it fully. His brother was still dressed in all his royal finery like a stray piece of Aman that had neglected to blend into the grim darkness of Endórë. He looked every inch the High King of the Ñoldor — which Fëanáro distantly realised he was now — right from his swept-back hair to his impossibly clean boots. No blood stained his clothes, and the salt and sea-spray seemed to have marred them not — in fact, it seemed he'd even fixed his hair. Upon his gleaming dark hair sat Atar's crown, the silver circlet sparkling there as if it belonged nowhere else, and right then Fëanáro wanted nothing more than to rip it off, any damage to Ñolofinwë's perfectly styled hair be damned, and toss it into the ocean because it was just another reminder that their father was gone, and never going to return.

In stark contrast of course, Fëanáro was soot-stained, shivering, bleary-eyed from having stared at too many maps and records with nothing but lamplight, and not at all fit to be meeting any person, let alone a King — just like everyone else except for His Most Royal and Exalted Highness, so it did not bother him very much.

He stared at Ñolofinwë, waiting for him to announce his business.

'Should I sit?'

Fëanáro pointed to a chair, and Ñolofinwë sat. Then, without asking, he reached out for a metal cup and jug by the chair, filled the cup with water from the jug, and took a long swig from it.

After that, he sat there and did nothing but stare the cup or into the middle distance for some time.

'Why are you here?' Fëanáro asked at last, when the silence and expectant staring grew unbearable. Ñolofinwë looked up from his long-since-emptied cup, and sighed.

'I was here to ask if you're alright.'

Was he alright? Fëanáro did not know, nor did he understand why Ñolofinwë might have been asking. But he wasn't not alright, as far as he knew, so he said, 'Yes, I'm alright.'

Ñolofinwë nodded, and turned back to the cup.

Fëanáro decided to pretend that his brother was no longer there, and went back to the map that Círdan's people had given him.

Some more time passed.

Then, at last, Ñolofinwë broke the silence. 'Why were you going to burn the ships?'

It wasn't at all a considered movement when Fëanáro turned around. snatched the cup from Ñolofinwë's unresisting hands, and threw it to the ground furiously. He even took a moment to stare at the cup and then his hand in bewilderment before crying, 'Why did you conspire to have me killed, then, brother? Answer this first!'

Ñolofinwë had gone very still again. After a moment, he breathed, stood up slowly, and picked the cup up from where it lay before placing it down gently upon Fëanáro's desk. His face looked hard and cold. 'Who told you that?' he asked evenly.

'It takes no Loremaster to figure out your designs,' Fëanáro snapped back. 'You wanted to have me sent to Lórien. Your intentions could not be any clearer.'

Ñolofinwë let out one of his long, beleaguered sighs. 'I will admit, Fëanáro, that I was asking Atar to convince you to visit Lórien. But my aim was never to kill you — I can't see how you would even imagine that from such an innocuous suggestion.'

'You do not send people to Lórien simply for a holiday.'

'But what of comfort, and counsel? Those are the reasons for which most people visit Lórien!' Ñolofinwë's voice rose a little, and he pushed it back down into his courtly, even tones. 'You were...I am not sure how to put it, Fëanáro, but you scared us during those last days. We did not wish for you to be suffering.'

Fëanáro shook his head. 'I was quite well all throughout,' he insisted, though his mind flashed back traitorously to the awful headaches, the exhaustion, the constant worry at the back of his mind as to whether the Silmarilli were safe and well. 'If you wished for me to depart for Mandos, you need not have arranged a route via Lórien. A knife to the heart would have—'

'Stop!' Ñolofinwë cut in sharply. 'Do not speak of killing, Fëanáro — I do not care to hear it, and especially not so callously. And tell me, please tell me, why do you think sending — not even sending, but suggesting you to go to Lórien, would be anything other than a suggestion for seeking advice and rest? Why would it ever be done to kill you? I don't understand!'

Another heavy, oppressive silence hung in the air.

Then Fëanáro cleared his throat and whispered, 'Ammë went to Lórien.'

Ñolofinwë's face went ashen, and he fell back into his chair. 'Oh. Oh, Fëanáro...'

'It was the only way you would know to kill.'

As suddenly as he'd sat down, Ñolofinwë stood up again and pulled Fëanáro into a tight embrace.

Fëanáro let him pull him close, unresisting — it felt like being young again, when being held by a parent or sibling was enough to drive away any fear, no matter how awful. 'I had never meant it that way, Fëanáro,' murmured Ñolofinwë. 'Lórien does not...I didn't know you thought...I wouldn't...'

'Truly?' asked Fëanáro, moving away. His mind went back to the overheard conversation, the rumours about something dark in Lórien. Where had he heard it? From his sons? Who'd heard it from...whom? Had he asked them, or simply believed it, since it had made good sense at the time?

Moringotto... of course. Curse Moringotto a thousand times over!

'Yes, truly,' said Ñolofinwë, earnestly. 'And I am sure the business with the swords was much the same, wasn't it? I'd heard whispers of your 'madness', though I do not remember where they came from...'

'I was wearing two swords that day, you know. I'd brought one for you,' Fëanáro admitted quietly. 'A gift of reconciliation.' That sword was still unbloodied, unlike his own, lying under this very desk, in fact. 'You must have heard the same sorts of things — that I hated you enough, was mad enough, as they put it, to wish you dead.' He'd never wished it, he knew, never had. Even with the flaming torch in his hands, ready to toss, he'd only hoped his brother would turn back and go home, as Arafinwë had.

He did not want to think about what might have happened had he set the ships aflame.

'Moringotto,' said Ñolofinwë, having drawn the same conclusions. 'I'm going to kill him.'

'I am,' Fëanáro retorted. It felt so wonderfully banal, nothing but a pointless, teasing argument with his elder brother only for the sake of it, that his lips stretched into a smile, after what must have been months.

'We could do it together,' Ñolofinwë suggested. The ice had already melted from his eyes and face. 'With both of us, I doubt he'd stand a chance.'

Fëanáro snorted. 'You're right, but you don't even — wait, no, you do.' He crouched down upon the floor, and felt around in the dark recesses under the travelling desk before pulling out an intricate scabbard, from which a silvery-dark hilt gleamed. He stood up, and handed the sheathed blade hilt-first to Ñolofinwë.

'Is it the one you were going to...'

'The very same,' replied Fëanáro. 'I'll make better ones once we have the proper facilities, of course. Some of the people around — I'll tell you all about them soon enough, and their highly fascinating language — mentioned all sorts of interesting metals that might be made into useful alloys. But until then, you'll at least have an actual weapon apart from your formidable anger to go against Moringotto with.'

Ñolofinwë smiled, and pulled the sword from its sheath, admiring the gleam of the pale blue-white lamplight upon its sharp blade. 'Thank you.'

'Don't...don't thank me like that.' Fëanáro took a deep breath, and gathered his thoughts. 'Should we try to put this behind us, if we can? Please?'

His brother nodded at once, and Fëanáro felt a crushing weight lift from his shoulders. His back straightened, and for the first time in so long that he could not quite pinpoint when and where it had begun, the gaping wound between Fëanáro and his brother felt like it was coming a little closer to healing over.

[esotheria-sims]

hi esotheria! could you pleade tell me where you got the bedding and the bed here: /esotheria-sims/737611340243435520/lucan-could-hardly-believe-his-fortune-there-he?source=share

and maybe also lucian's hair?

I absolutely love your newest gameplay pics btw! your game is so stunning, I can't stop looking at it!

Hi nonnie, sorry I took a bit longer to get back to you! Finding those beddings proved trickier than I thought!

[post in question]

The opulent bed and bedding from my recent BaCC post is an old set by SimAges, recolored & edited by Wawa at TheMedievalSmithy. It used to be available for download here and here, but the Box links got busted in the meantime so I gathered everything I had of the set and reuploaded it here for you.

The specific meshes I used for Feanor's bedroom are the Sleigh bed + Antique Tester Bed canopy, combined with the ornate dark blue bedding by Wawa (all included in my reupload). All credits for the meshes and recolors go to SimAges and Wawa (RIP💔)!

As for Lucian's sleek ponytail, it's @timeparadoxsims' retexture of Nightcrawler Ella FtM (V2)! The platinum blond shade that Lucian dons is a quick 'Primer' recolor I whipped together for personal use.

[amethysttribble]

AU of my own AU, inspired by this post: the Seven Sons of Feanor and their father are reborn much closer together, but not in nearly so advantageous a position. The year is 259 AC.

@blue-ink-pearls

Celegorm jerked awake, coughing and hacking. His tongue felt frozen in his mouth and there was blackness swirling in his eyes. The darkness, the cold, seeping ever closer, it clung to his sweaty skin. There were heaps of blankets on top of him and, despite the cold, he kicked them off.

Trapped, I can’t be trapped, he thought, panicky, I must fly.

But the evil thing in his dreams had ripped out his wings and he felt the wounds on his back like they were real. He felt grief for them. A sob crawled up his throat even as he heaved for breath, oh, it was was hard to breathe.

Celegorm was so cold and he had no wings. He needed fire, heat; he needed to fly! The evil thing was coming, he must-

“Cel?”

He was shaking as he looked over at little Curufin, seated next to him on the cot he, Celegorm, and Caranthir called a bed, which they shared.

“Finny,” he gasped out. He didn’t want- He couldn’t scare his baby brother. “Where- what time is it?”

Curufin had in his hands what looked like a quarter of an apple, and he was licking the juice off his fingers as he said, “Hm, morning. The bells rang for first service a while ago. But you’ve been in the fever sleep for two whole days! Mae and Maggie and even ‘Ran have been really worried, though they try to pretend they’re not.”

Two days. Celegorm should be hungry, but all he felt was a pit of nausea in his stomach. He put his head between his legs.

“Then there’s little hope old Mycah will let me keep my job.”

Maedhros had gone to a lot of trouble to get Celegorm work down at the docks; good work, too, because he was tall for his age and strong. But that job had come with strict times and rules to follow from the dock warden, Mycah, a salt old cur, who never really liked Celegorm to begin with. It was just a favor for Maedhros.

No, he wasn’t likely to be lenient.

The anger and frustration had such a clawing grip on him, Celegorm didn’t even look up when he felt a little hand touch his arm.

“It’s okay,” Curufin said, “Maggie’s been making good money, staying out all night.”

And now Maglor was walking the streets all night, singing from dusk til dawn, to make up for Celegorm’s stupid bullshit.

“Fuck,” he muttered, standing up suddenly. He threw his gross, soiled shirt and pants off and went hunting for better clothes.

With seven brothers, there was scarcely a stitch of cloth to share between them, but he managed to scrounge up some old items of Maedhros’s that were too big for Maglor; they were waiting for Celegorm to grow into them and repair them then, which was probably still a few years off, but they would do for now. Too long and wide and riddled with holes, but Celegorm really didn’t care.

Not right now.

“‘Suppose they’re both still at work,” he snapped as he tied a piece of rope around his waist like a belt.

“Aye,” Curufin’s tiny voice piped up, much meeker than before. Celegorm looked down at him as the boy- just seven- came closer.

He was looking at his feet when he said, “You’re better now. Right?”

The cold was still wrapped around his bones, but Celegorm said, “‘Course. Where ‘Ran and the little’uns?”

Curufin looked skeptical, but did perk up a little as he said, “Watchin’ the twins. I’m supposed to watch you!”

Celegorm ruffled his hair.

“You did a good job. Come on. Let’s you and I get some air. This room is foul.”

Forcefully, Celegorm grabbed one of Finny’s sticky hands. He was met with no resistance as he dragged his little brother out the bedroom all seven of them shared and into the rest of the house. As reported, Caranthir was seated at the table with Amrod and Amras, trying to play cards with them. How did you play cards with three year olds?

“You’re awake!” Caranthir squeaked when he saw them, grin massive. Amrod and Amras gave happy cries as well, but Celegorm didn’t stop to really greet them. He was too filled with shame and anger to let his brothers be kind.

“We’re going to the Sept,” he said, walking right past them, “be home soon.”

“Ah, but, Cel-“

He was gone before Caranthir could finish his protest. He didn’t feel too bad about abandoning Caranthir with the twins, not like he used to when he first started working all day. Caranthir had just turned ten then, forced to look after the two year old twins and six year old Curufin, but without Father, there really hadn’t been any other options.

Oh, Father… he would have been able to help Celegorm understand the dreams.

But Father was gone, and so was the life they used to live on the Street of Steel. They were in Flea Bottom now, the place the people who killed Father- if you can’t prove that, you best not be repeating it, Mae would always say, but Maggie would say, be smarter and more patient- said they belonged, Feanor’s gaggle of whore’s sons.

Gathered from six different mothers, all different brothels, if a woman asked him, ‘please take my son’, he did. No questions were asked about the real father. Their Father was very kind, and perhaps overly confident.

Seven sons just meant seven orphans, now. Maedhros did his best, but…

Make their lives easier, Celegorm thought, eyeing a burning pit that someone was cooking over, throw yourself on the flames.

He tightened his grip on Curufin’s hand and kept walking.

Their journey up Visenya’s hill was silent and felt tense enough to snap Celegorm in half. But his breathing eased once the Great Sept of Baelor came into view. The bells had just started ringing for noon service.

“Do we have to pray?” Curufin whined.

“Yes.”

The went inside and the smell of incense finally warmed Celegorm up somewhat. Started to melt the ice of his bones. The beautiful rainbow lights chased away the darkness. Here, he did not need to be scared that he couldn’t fly. The Seven would protect him.

Celegorm let Curufin go finally as he took a second to stand in the middle of the Sept and just breathe. His brother wandered off to the statue of the Smith, as he always did. Celegorm wasn’t nearly so partial to one aspect of the Seven but today…

Today he knelt in front of the Maiden.

He clasped his hands together and dug his nails into his skin and squeezed his eyes shut so hard that tears sprung to the corners of them.

Please, he thought, please protect my little brothers. Please tell me you’re looking. You see, right? It’s coming. I don’t know when it’s coming, they might not be children anymore, but please. Please keep this summer lush for a while longer. Please take care of us when the bad thing comes. Please cure of me whatever’s wrong with me. Please, please, please-

Eventually, he had no more words to beg with and started to recite every prayer he knew.

When he came up for air, much later, his knees ached and he was glad of it. Celegorm felt that if he hurt, the Maiden might see him more clearly. His words might be louder.

He kissed the statues robes before backing away.

Curufin was no longer praying to the Smith, but that was to be expected. He hadn’t gone far, though, no, he was talking to the septon who was equally partial to the Smith and thus always kind to eager Finny.

“An, young Celegorm,” the Brother said as he approached them, smiling, “Curufin was just telling me you have been ill and that is why we have not seen you recently. Is there anything we can do to help?”

The idea of admiting his horrid fever dreams to the blessed septon made Celegorm choke up with fear and revulsion and shame, so he shook his head.

He just held out his hand for Curufin to take, which his brother dutifully did.

“No, Septon, but thank you. I’m much better now. But, ah, if you hear anyone praying for a new worker who is strong…?”

“Ah,” the Septon said with a slight laugh, “yes, I see. Well, I’m sure the Seven will guide some soul here to receive precisely that sort of help.”

He winked, and it made Celegorm smile slightly.

He said his thanks again and made Curufin say his, then they bid their farewells. They started to walk home, and as they went, Curufin swung their joined hands.

Once they reached the bottom of the hill, Curufin said, “Happy Nameday, by the way.”

“What?”

“Your nameday, it was yesterday. You’re four and ten, now.”

“Oh,” Celegorm muttered. He didn’t feel four and teen. He felt like, whenever he dreamed, he lived decades in seconds. Thousands of years of waiting as the darkness and cold crawled closer, breathless with dread, helpless to stop it as his wings were ripped out time and time again. “Is that why you had an apple?”

Curufin grinned at him guiltily.

“Mae bought it for you, but he said ‘Ran, the babies, and I could share before it went bad.”

“Mae is smart,” Celegorm sighed.

“I thought you’d be mad,” Curufin said.

“I’m not mad.”

“I wish you were. The fever sleeps are making you too sad. You used to get mad.”

He did, didn’t he? But that was then and this was now. The night those jealous murderers burned the forge they called their home down changed a lot of things.

That was the first night he had one of his dreams.

“Yeah, well,” Celegorm muttered, “maybe I’m just more mature now, being four and ten.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Nuh-uh!”

Celegorm laughed. He squeezed Curufin’s hand and laughed through the exhaustion, thankful to the Maiden that at least he had such a silly little brother to lighten his spirits.

“Sure whatever you say,” he said, sticking his tongue out. “Do you know where Maggie is singing today? We can go bother him.”

With a wicked grin, Curufin pulled his hand from Celegorm’s and took off running. He ran after him.

Elsewhere, Summerhall burned.

[doodle-pops]

ahhhhh i’m so excited this made my day!

fëanorians reacting to their s/o loving to cross stitch/embroider and stitching little designs into hidden spots in their clothes for them to find later? 🫶🏼

It's a joyous activity they look forward to whenever they wear a new piece of clothing or one that's been torn. Rushing to the area that's been ripped, their eyes would fall upon the happy stitches you've left in the form of the sun or flowers, or even a heart. Not the type to purposefully tear their clothes and then rush to have you fix them, but the ones who attempt to reduce tears, because they understand constantly stitching, is tiring.

Maedhros, MAGLOR, CARANTHIR, CELEBRIMBOR

They are surprised by the little patterns they come across on their articles of clothing one day as they try on their usual torn-up apparel. The little glimmer of brighter colours on their monotonous garb shocks them but also makes a smile form. When they go through all their torn-up apparel and realised that you've fixed them all with patterns, they won't brace you or anything. Instead, they would constantly get their clothes torn up to have you fix them.

Feanor, CELEGORM, Curufin, AMROD, AMRAS