#then they go cause trouble in nargothrond

[bidmoth]

I’ve been debating what the funniest, most fan-fury-inducing thing any hypothetical Silmarillion movie/show could do would be, and I think the answer is to condense the sons of Feanor. There are so many of them! And they aren’t particularly individualized! You could just… cut a few. Who needs seven whole kinslayers? You get get it down to three or four, easy.

[dalliansss]

Ahhhh

Curufinrod and you still want me ? After all the grief and trouble I’ve caused you ?

→ 𝑫𝑨𝑵𝑮𝑬𝑹𝑶𝑼𝑺𝑳𝒀 𝒀𝑶𝑼𝑹𝑺. 

Many years ago, in. Nargothrond, when things had gone down badly between Finrod and Telperinquar -- Telperinquar had confronted him, Finrod, about the how and the why of his illicit relationship with Curufinwë. It had been a subtle, quiet confrontation. Telperinquar had inherited the softer art of subtlety from Helwë his mother. It had been one of the softest confrontations Finrod had ever faced. Tyelpe had asked to see him one rainy evening, and he'd welcomed him to his private audience chambers, but this time, Tyelpe had not sat down. Tyelpe stood there, hands clenched into fists, a most heartbroken and betrayed expression on his young face. And he'd asked... why? Why would you destroy my family? Why did you this? My Atar will go back to my Amil. This separation is temporary. This is not forever. Their fëar are bonded forever. For as long as Arda exists. Why did you do this, Finrod? Are you so greedy that everyone must love you, and despair?

Finrod remembered very well how he could only offer Telperinquar silence for a few minutes. Then, like the typical villain in these kinds of stories, he'd given also a very typical answer: because I love Curufinwë, and I will not be denied mine heart desire.

You're betrothed! Telperinquar had cried out. You're betrothed in Aman, you have Lady Amarië -- why would you--

And Telperinquar called him cruel. All in hushed words, the look of betrayal never leaving his eyes, and Finrod knew that he too, had a hand as to why Tyelpe disowned his father, and his family.

~

The log in the fireplace crackles. Here in Aman, Finrod is the High King's heir. No longer is he the son of the third son, renowned only for his unusual bloodline, because of the words of Manwë pronounced during his birth. Here, he stands to be on the bloody throne where his grandfather sat, where his uncles sat, where his cousins sat. And they all died over it, in Beleriand.

But, some heir of the High King he is. Here he is, residing far from Tirion, having absconded in the middle of the night, unable to stand the pretense and the expectation to have him pick up his life where he left off. As if thousands of years had not passed. As if Beleriand had not unraveled him completely, turning him into someone else. As if the taste of freedom on the Hither Lands had not changed his heart irrevocably. As if his deeds would ever be acceptable for the throne in Aman -- this land he cannot now leave, and where he shall choke in the hypocrisy and misunderstanding of everybody who never left.

Curufinwë sits before him. He has an emptied pint of ale in his rough smith's hands, and his lovely silver eyes are watching the log crackling in the fire. Finrod, in turn, is leaning back on his seat, his own elegant fingers steepled and resting on his middle. His own eyes watches Curufinwë.

"And you still want me?" Finrod asks. "After all the grief and trouble I caused you?"

Ah yes. In Beleriand he had been both magnanimous, kind, noble and brave. Yet beneath it, carefully concealed by his blinding radiance, Finrod had been exceedingly cruel, and vicious and covetous and unstoppable. Flouting bonds and burning bridges left and right. Those that remained in Aman cannot reach him. Amarië and Helwë could not reach them, no matter how hard they tried. He and Curufin had freedom.

"I should be asking you that question, Ingoldo," says Curufinwë, now turning to him. "But there are few acts in Beleriand which give me pride but I refuse to be ashamed of finding you.”

The log in the fire crackles sharply as they regard each other in quiet.

"How did you die?" Finrod asks next, his voice hushed.

Curufin smirks. Then he reaches, takes Finrod's feet, and rests them on his lap. "With particular viciousness. You would have been very happy if you had seen it. I took a spear in the eye, and Turko tried to get me out of there....but he got riddled by arrows, and so died. The Sindar caught up with us, and the ellon who got me...twisted the spear into my head."

"Nothing less than you deserved," Finrod says.

"Indeed," Curufinwë agrees. He starts massaging Finrod's feet. "And to answer your question. I am here, am I not? Still following you. Still massaging your feet, for Eru's sake. What else of a confirmation do you want of me?"

Finrod lifts his right foot, and rests it against Curufin's chest. They look at each other for the longest time, in quiet.

A smile spreads on Finrod's lips.

@skaelds

[annoyinglandmagazine]

Celegorm took a deep breath and began to prepare himself for his first public event since Nargothrond. He still wasn’t so sure that he was welcome here, after all he’d caused as much trouble for the people of Himring by his actions as for the rest of the Noldor. He didn’t know that he’d ever be welcome anywhere again after the monster he’d just shown himself to be. But he was still a Fëanorion and the sons of Feanor would not succumb in the face of adversity. No matter what lines they may cross the one they never could was to bow their heads. If they lost their pride what was left? Only seven broken monsters with no position in any inheritance, no allies, no parents and no way of achieving the one thing that they had thrown it all away for.

So Celegorm straightened his shoulders and walked towards the little jars on the desk that had been left there for his use. He yanked his hair out of it’s tie with some difficulty, having left it in for most of the journey. He had been unable to face the sensation of the hair falling and barely brushing his shoulders, at least this way he could pretend it was simply tied up in some intricate braiding like Curvo used to try and get him to experiment with.

He opened the larger jar and lifted it to see if it would work for his purposes. Then he inhaled sharply in surprise. This was certainly not the standard goodwill gifts Maedhros had left in diplomats chambers. Firstly it wasn’t nearly extravagant enough, being made largely of oats, and probably would have been considered a slight of received by some normal delegation. But more crucially he’d recognised it immediately, the subtle scent of rosemary being much more vividly imprinted on his mind than he’d expected.

He rinsed his hair out and then began to work the ointment through his silver strands of hair. He allowed himself to close his eyes as he felt the familiar sensation of the wide toothed comb running over his scalp. Maedhros must have placed it there deliberately for him. He felt a little warmth at knowing that bridge at least may not be entirely burnt. Then he allowed the memories to wash over him.

His parents had been meant to teach him how to care for his hair but the methods they had given him weren’t working. He’d been trying to yank the comb through his hair, knocking something or other over in the process when Nelyo had heard him. He’d been writing some kind of a speech and they’d all been told not to disturb him so Tyelko had expected to be in trouble when he came down to see what was going on.

Instead Maedhros had taken him back to his chambers and sat him on the foot of his bed. He’d reappeared later, holding a several jars and sat beside him on the bed. ‘You have such lovely hair Tyelko, it just takes a bit more work for you than it might for others because it’s so thick. I get it, my hair took years to figure out, it was impossible to keep it tied back for any amount of time, I really thought about just chopping it off for a while. But it’s fine you just have to figure out what works for you.’

Maedhros had sat there with him for hours, trying out different ointments and oils and working the comb through his hair so carefully it didn’t hurt at all. By the end of it his hair was shining and silky. Maedhros had offered to get him some of the ointment that worked best to keep himself and he’d learnt how to take care of it, but despite this he kept coming to Nelyo to do it at least every week for many years. Maedhros never protested, always making time, and over the time it took they’d talk about whatever was going on in Tyelko’s life. Nelyo had always listened when he talked, dropped everything to deal with his problems no matter how inconsequential they were.

He knew then that the look of betrayal on his brother’s face was possibly the one thing that would completely break him. That Nelyo agreed with the others and saw him as a lost cause. That the one person who had always seen him as a better person than he truly was had finally reached the line where he could no longer find anything worth redemption.

[thelordofgifs]

very excited for the next tfs arc, hopefully maglor has time to recover from his many wounds in time to get more pincushion-ed. I love how maglor has the most and least plot armour simultaneously. Any pointed objects in a metre radius spontaneously attack him but he will. not. die. He persists.

Also, very funny that curufin is lost. You don't know where he is, he might not know where he is! He could be anywhere. He could be in your house! He could be in my house! If i see him i will let you know!

where did most of the feanorian soldiers go? If any of them are still loyal i imagine they could be useful later.

Anyway I'm looking forward to the return of everyone's favourite feral woodland princess!

Is thingol's fate going to change in this fic? The feanorions have even less political clout than they did in the silm so he's probably not going to be negotiated with without a really good argument. Without Celegorm and with Curufin missing/not going to do any more arguing and the lack of forces for them to use I don't know how a second kinslaying could happen but I am excited to find out!!

lol I think I’m going to give Maglor a little break from the pincushioning – he has Been Through It lately and now deserves a nice long rest in which to recover and get many hugs from Maedhros and prepare for his next character arc!

WHERE IS CURUFIN. WE DO NOT KNOW. tbh if he’s in anyone’s house it would be yours – he knows how much you love him!! Although I am now dying to see a giant wanted poster for Curufin. Or not even wanted in the criminal sense but more like a lost dog poster. Maedhros and Maglor can stick them up all over Hithlum like hi have you seen our lil brother he’s the absolute worst but we’d like to know where he is

Ok so I actually went down a rabbit hole here thinking about numbers. According to random websites whose sources I have not thoroughly checked, the average fatality rate in a medieval battle would have been about 10-15%, going up to maybe 25% for really bad ones. (Sadly the small sibling is away at university now so my usual source of military facts has disappeared.) Since the Nirnaeth was probably THE worst military defeat in the legendarium, and it involved Balrogs and dragons, we could put an upper limit of like 30% on fatality rates on the battles of Beleriand? Although Barahir somehow managed to get his entire fighting army presumably numbering at least a thousand down to thirteen guys so maybe that’s an underestimate! Also most fatalities taken by the losing side are apparently during the retreat, not the battle itself; and since Maglor managed to draw off the orc armies during the fall of Himring, let’s say that Maedhros lost… 15% of his people in the fight. So definitely a pretty bad defeat, but not awful. Then of the remaining 85%, let’s say 75% went south to Amon Ereb and the last 10% have decided to join up with Fingon instead. But Maedhros has explicitly renounced his command of them, so that lot aren’t really Fëanorian soldiers any more. Meanwhile Caranthir and Amras just received a LOT of reinforcements, not to mention some extremely confusing news about what’s been going on.

Anyway yessss I am SO excited to have our feral woodland princess back and causing trouble!! More than one person in the notes was wondering if she’d show up and stop either the execution or the fall of Himring as a whole and I felt really sad about not being able to do that, but the timelines just don’t work out. But she’s going to have Stuff to do (some of which I know about and some of it I only have very vague ideas about).

Ok so Thingol… I really need to do some thinking about him. What I can tell you is that the fall of Nargothrond, Húrin bringing the Nauglamír to Doriath, and the subsequent death via entirely preventable racism thing is not going to go down the same way in tfs as it does in canon (which isn’t to say none of those things will happen – but if they do happen, they’ll happen differently). So his fate is going to be different, but that doesn’t mean he’s going make it out okay necessarily! My instinct is to just make a bunch of people have conversations and see what conclusions they come to. The AU is going to get into some very uncharted territory soon, and I will absolutely be making everything up as I go.

Thank you for the ask ❤️❤️❤️

[that-angry-noldo]

I am of the mind that Maeglin was like the elven equivalent of 16-18 and thinking of all the people I have ever known at that age, I can confidently say he had no chance. Mind screwery was definitely involved.

Fingon recognizing signs that the isolated Gondolindrim miss tracks. I wonder if he would even make it a personal research thing of his, after Maedhros, and after Finrod. Neither were controlled, not like Maeglin, but there might be similar traces?

Enthralled!Maeglin would try SO hard to get out of going with Fingon. I wonder if, once forced, he would attempt to kill Fingon on the way to wherever they're going and claim they were attacked? But Fingon would be ready for that I am sure. (Maeglin: *snarling as viciously as any of Sauron's wolves as Fingon restrains him* Fingon: *weary beyond words as he tightly ties his nephews arms behind his back* It's all right. We're going somewhere where they can help, I promise.)

Celegorm and Curufin * taps chin* Seems a shame to just kill them right away or off screen. In the interests of causing trouble (mostly for c&c bc they deserve some) maybe they could end up in Eriador with Galadriel and Celeborn? :D They could be useful there. Galadriel could surely use the practice in dealing with barely contrite assholes she can't stand. Also I wonder if Celeborn and Celegorm could be a bit indistinguishable at a distance? If so, that could be useful. False supply trains could be used to draw attention. And Curufin would probably make GREAT farm equipment. Bet he would get thoroughly fed up with the current tech level and revolutionize plows and reapers a year in. (In the 18th century there were some big jumps in horse drawn machinery that you could draw from)

It would solve your issue of too many Feanorions in one place and create some fun avenues for you to play with?

hmm, i'm not sure i'm gonna trust c&c with going to eriador, unless they had a major change of heart

besides, it would immediately draw morgoth's attention towards it, which misses the point by a mile

c&c basically banished themselves from all the major elven settlements. Nargothrond? Oh you mean the place we threw an unsuccesfull coup in. Doriath? Whose queen we planned to rape and whose king we tried to kill? Nah, try again. Gondolin? Whose ruler can't stand our guts?

To be fair, I think their pride was at fault. Finrod could prioritise war and strategy over his own grudge with c&c and take them into Nargothrond, though with certain sanctions and restrictions. But I doubt they would agree to that, so (if they live) they're doomed to the "sons of feanor wandered as leaves on the wind" bit post-nirnaeth

also your fingon & maeglin point inspired me. i might write something about it later

[somelotrnerd]

Morgoth: The First Dark Lord: Part 3

Map of Beleriand

Beleriand sinks at the end of the First Age

In the aftermath of the Nírnaeth Arnoediad, a massive victory for the Dark Lord, the northern lands of the Elves and Men are now under Morgoth’s control. Turgon, now High King of the Ñoldor, and his hidden city of Gondolin, stand as the sole reason for Morgoth to doubt his odds for total conquest.

In the aftermath of the Nírnaeth, Morgoth takes Húrin to a seat in the high places of Thangorodrim and pronounces a curse upon him and his family.

“‘I am the Elder King: Melkor, first and mightiest of the Valar, who was before the world, and made it. The shadow of my purpose lies upon Arda, and all that is in it bends slowly and surely to my will. But upon all whom you love, my thought shall weigh as a cloud of Doom, and it shall bring them down into darkness and despair. Wherever they go, evil shall rise. Whenever they speak, their words shall bring ill counsel. Whatsoever they do shall turn against them. They shall die without hope, cursing both life and death.’

‘This last I say to you, thrall Morgoth,’ said Húrin, ‘and it comes not from the lore of the Eldar, but is put into my heart this hour. You are not the Lord of Men, and shall not be, though all Arda and Menel fall in your dominion. Beyond the Circles of the World you shall not pursue those who refuse you.’

‘Beyond the Circles of the World I will not pursue them,’ said Morgoth. ‘For beyond the Circles of the World there is Nothing. But within them they shall not escape me, until they enter into Nothing.’

‘You lie,’ said Húrin.

‘You shall see and you shall confess that I do not lie,’ said Morgoth. And taking Húrin back to Angband, he sets him in a chair of stone upon a high place of Thangorodrim, from which he could see afar the land of Hithlum in the west and the lands of Beleriand to the south. There he was bound by the power of Morgoth; and Morgoth standing beside him cursed him again and set his powers upon him, so that he could not move from that place, or die, until Morgoth should release him. 

‘Sit now there,’ said Morgoth, ‘and look out upon the lands where evil and despair shall come upon those whom you have delivered to me. For you have dared to mock me, and have questioned the power of Melkor, Master of the fates of Arda. Therefore with my eyes you shall see, and with my ears you shall hear, and nothing shall be hidden from you.’” - The Children of Húrin, "The Words of Húrin and Morgoth"

As mentioned earlier, Morgoth now has complete dominion over the north of Beleriand. He gives, to the Easterlings that serve him, the lands of Hithlum, denying them the more fertile lands to the south which he had promised them. Many of the Elves and Men that remain in Hithlum are sent as thralls to work the mines of Angband.

In 473 FA, a year after the Nírnaeth Arnoediad, Morgoth’s forces attack and destroy the Havens of Falas. Círdan and his people flee to the Mouth of Sirion. In the coming years, Morgoth’s forces would continue to overthrow the realms of Men and Elves, though Túrin, son of Húrin, and Beleg Strongbow would cause much trouble to the Dark Lord’s Orcs. 

In 489 FA, Morgoth’s Orcs defeat Túrin and Beleg when they sack their hideout at Amon Rûdh. Through a tragic accident, Túrin kills Beleg, mistaking him for an Orc. Túrin then comes to Nargothrond, where he becomes an advisor to King Orodreth. At Túrin‘s behest, Orodreth ignores the advice of the Vala Ulmo, saying to destroy the bridge and fortify the city. Instead, Túrin opts for open war with the armies of Angband.

Morgoth sends out Glaurung the Dragon once again with a force of Orcs. They defeat the army of Nargothrond and sack the city. Ten years later, in 499 FA, Túrin - after a life of deeds gone awry by the curse of Morgoth - kills himself upon his own sword. This victory would come at a great cost to the Dark Lord, however, as Túrin had first killed the Dragon Glaurung at Cabed-en-Aras, not far from the crossing of Teiglin.

After the death of Túrin and his sister Niënor, Morgoth releases Húrin, but the curse would yet follow him. Húrin travels about Beleriand, searching for his kin, eventually discovering his wife at the graves of his children. His wife dies, and after burying her, Húrin comes to Nargothrond, where he discovers the Nauglamír - a great necklace made by the Dwarves. He takes it to Doriath where, in his anger that Thingol had not better cared for his son, he throws it down in front of the king. 

This would be yet another example of the evil and shadow of Morgoth having a far reach, as his curse would result in yet another realm’s downfall. Thingol takes the Nauglamír and tasks a group of Dwarves with setting the Silmaril of Beren and Lúthien within the necklace. The Dwarves come to covet their creation and kill Thingol, leading to the sacking of Menegroth in 503 FA.

Just three years later, in 507 FA, the Oath of Fëanor would rear its ugly head again as the Sons of Fëanor, driven by their oath, take part in the Second Kinslaying in an effort to reclaim the Silmaril from their fellow Elves. This would result in the kingdom of Doriath being completely destroyed, and yet another of Morgoth’s enemies is removed. The Silmaril, however, would evade both the Sons of Fëanor and Morgoth. Elwing, the daughter of King Dior, is among those who escape to the Havens of Sirion when she is just four years old.

Meanwhile, in the north of Beleriand, stood the one last bastion of hope for the free peoples - Gondolin. Outside of the hidden city, Maeglin - one of the Elves of Gondolin - is captured by Orcs and brought to Angband. Morgoth promises Maeglin the kingship of Gondolin and the hands of Idril, the woman he loves. All he must do is reveal the secret location of the city. In the greatest betrayal of the First Age, Maeglin agrees and Morgoth finally has the information he has long sought. 

In 510 FA, as the Gondolindrim are celebrating the festival of the Gates of Summer, they gather to watch the sunrise over the mountains. However, rather than seeing light arise in the east, they see light in the north. The armies of Morgoth - Orcs, Wolves, Dragons, Balrogs and other creatures - descend upon the city. While Gothmog would fall in this battle, it is an overwhelming victory for the Dark Lord. King Turgon, the Lord Ecthelion, Glorfindel and the vast majority of the population are killed in the battle. Gondolin, the last hope of the Elves, is no more.

One of the very few survivors of Gondolin is the seven-year old Elf Eärendil who, along with the others, would make his way south to the Havens of Sirion. There, he would meet Elwing, the bearer of the Silmaril. Decades later, in 532 FA, they would be married and have twin sons - Elrond and Elros.

Six years later, the sons of Fëanor would once again be led by their oath to slay their own kin. In the Third Kinslaying, Elwing escapes with the Silmaril and is taken on her husband’s ship and they sail to the West; in a stroke that would change the fortunes of the world. They come to Valinor and Eärendil pleads with the Valar.

“And Eärendil went into Valinor and to the halls of Valimar, and never again set foot upon the lands of Men. Then the Valar took counsel together, and they summoned Ulmo from the deeps of the sea; and Eärendil stood before their faces, and delivered the errand of the Two Kindreds. Pardon he asked for the Ñoldor and pity for their great sorrows, and mercy upon Men and Elves and succour in their need. And his prayer was granted.” - The Silmarillion, "Of the Voyage of Eärendil"

The Valar send forth the great Host of Valinor, which lands in Beleriand in 545 FA. Included in the host are the Vanyar led by Ingwion, the Ñoldor of Valinor under Finarfin, Eönwë - the chief of the Maiar - and possibly other Ainur (Maiar and even some Valar). 

It is said that the “whole power of the Throne of Morgoth” is assembled. The armies of Morgoth are uncountable. The mountains ring underneath the boots of the Valar. The entire north of Beleriand is aflame with war for 42 years. 

In the final years of battle, Morgoth is facing defeat. In his final act of desperation, he summons the Winged Dragons, never before seen in Middle-earth. The Dragons are led by Ancalagon the Black, the largest and most powerful Dragon to ever live. The tide turned, the Host of Valinor is driven back and their outlook is bleak; as so many of the battles that had come before against the Dark Lord.

It is at this moment, when Eärendil, wearing the Silmaril upon his brow, arrives in his ship. The ship, having been blessed by the Valar, sails not the seas, but the skies. With Eärendil is Thorondor and flocks of the Great Eagles. Together, they battle the Dragons for an entire day. In the end, Eärendil kills Ancalagon, who breaks the towers of Thangorodrim in his ruin. 

As the Host of Valinor retakes the battlefield and defeats his army force by force, Morgoth flees to the deepest dungeons of Angband. There he is caught, but being weak from the war, he demands peace and parley rather than fight. But his feet are hewn from under him. Morgoth falls upon the floor, where he is bound once again in the chain of Aulë. The two Silmarils are taken from him and he is thrust through the Door of Night and into the Timeless Void.

While Morgoth is removed from Beleriand, his effects are far from gone. As a result of the battle, most of Beleriand is destroyed. The wreckage of the war is so great that, soon after, all of the land west of the Ered Luin, along with a central portion of the Blue Mountains, sinks into the sea.

Many of the Elves make the journey back to Aman, while some - such as Galadriel, Gil-galad, Círdan, and Elrond - travel east. There, in the ages to come, they would face a new Dark Lord - Sauron, the lieutenant of Morgoth - who had fled to the east. As for the original Dark Lord, he would not be heard from again in recorded history. 

However, it is prophesied that Morgoth will one day break the Door of Night and there shall be one final battle, the Dagor Dagorath - the “Battle of All Battles” - a final confrontation between good and evil on the very plains of Valinor. Tolkien wrote many versions regarding the Dagor Dagorath, leaving some details up for debate and speculation; including the idea that it would be Túrin who would deal the final blow, killing Morgoth himself and avenging the Children of Húrin. In the end, the lands of Beleriand will be lifted up from the sea and the world rebuilt, with the Dwarves helping their creator Aulë in doing so. The Dwarves will then be counted among the Children of Ilúvatar and a new world will be ushered in with the Second Song of the Ainur, this time with the Children of Ilúvatar joining in the music. 

[fangirl-erdariel]

Ok so I'm sure that this has been said before, and more eloquently than I can put it. But I've been thinking about tragedies recently.

And it's really fascinating to me, in a way, how much a good tragedy is about balancing the inevitability and the many ways it could have been averted.

Because I feel like, while some tragedies feel more inevitable, whether it be because of a curse or a prophecy, or just circumstance (and honestly there's a pretty wide scale of these, from missing information none of the characters could have known or even guessed, to just the one time the enemy is putting all the time and resources and effort they can into hunting down the heroes, rather than just half-assedly chasing them as a secondary goal but really having their focus on some other thing, and suddenly the heroes can't outsmart the baddies anymore, are outnumbered, can't run forever, can't hide, and there's only one way for it to end), and others feel more like there were more options the characters might have easily taken... All tragedies are, on their very basic level, inevitable. It had to happen like that. There was no choice, no other way for it to end. And at the same time, similarly on a very basic level, all tragedies could have been averted. If only they had done y instead of x. If only they had made up their mind quicker, or stopped to find more information, or given up and ran when the enemies proved to be too strong. Ifnonlu these outside forces hadn't been in play in the first place. If only, and what if.

That's what a lot of it boils down to, I guess. That there might have been a choice. But at that moment, in that place, with the amiunt of information they had, that particular character is always going to make the choice that leads to tragedy.

A father, faced with the choice between saving his son (and also his community) and protecting the heroes, betrays the heroes for his family. That was the only possible way he could have chosen, and maybe that was known even before it came down to that fateful decision with no good options. Of course Romeo acts impulsively and kills himself when he thinks Juliet is dead, while it's just a fact of Hamlet's very nature to spend the whole play agonizing, causing (sometimes directly, sometimes indirectly) incredible amounts of collateral. Spock will sacrifice himself for everyone else because The Needs Of The One Outweigh The Needs Of The Many And It's Logical (and because everyone else is still a little too shocked and off-balance to do anything, and because there's no way to save anyone without someone sacrificing themselves, and because, at the end of the day, Spock is a sentimental old fool who will rather die himself than watch anyone, much less anyone he cares about or considers himself responsible for, do so).

Sometimes it happens again and again and again. Of course Túrin runs when he kinda accidentally causes a guy's death and thinks he'll get in trouble for it, and of course he doesn't return even when he finds out that he could. Of course, upon waking up to being cut with something sharp after being captive and getting tortured, he thinks the figure standing above him with a sword in its hand is an evil orc and not his best friend. And he's not really that secretive of a guy by nature, so of course when he's allowed to voice his opinion on things, he doesn't want Nargothrond to exist in secrecy and thinks strength of arms openly displayed will work as protection. Of course, and this I guess is the most inevitable part of his tale, he cannot know and has no reason to think that the random woman with no memories even could be the sister he's never met; as far as either of them know, there's no reason why theh shouldn't act on their love, get married, do the things that married couples do. Those particular characters, in those particular circumstances, will make choices that lead to tragedy.

And it's just such a fascinating thing to me. How do you balance that? How do you find that place where there's both a thousand other ways for it to go and no other way at all, simultaneously? In these specific cricumstances, what is the character like that will inevitably open the door that leads to tragedy? Or what are the circumstances you need to put this particular character in to make them pick the tragic road?

Of course I know there's a lot of other things too you need to make up good tragedy, or any good story. But I feel like that's what it boils down to. I've seen things that failed pretty much specifically because the writers decided that, instead of putting the characters in a situation where the only in-character choices they could make in the circumstances they were in would inevitably lead to tragedy, they should make every character hold the idiot ball and make choices that were not only stupid considering the information they did have, but also a flavor of stupid that was in many cases entirely out-of-character for that character *cough* Musketeers s3e9 *cough*

[imakemywings]

Celegorm and Celebrimbor for the character asks?

Celegorm is...I did not like him at ALL at first, easily my least favorite Feanorian BUT I will admit that lately I have given more thought to his character and while he is still awful, his decline has become more interesting to me. Because I can easily see him as someone who, while rough around the edges, was still well-liked in Aman, and to go from that to what goes down with Luthien + the kinslayings is kind of fascinating. I think (and @meadowlarkx and I have discussed this) Celegorm (and Curufin) despaired a lot earlier than the other Feanorians and fell into a "well we're just horrible people now and we can't be anything better so we might as well do whatever" mindset.

Also I'm kind of fascinated with the idea of him as someone who's really good at coming off jovial and lighthearted even while he's threatening you but Eru forbid you see him visibly pissed; shit's about to go down.

TYELPE (っ °Д °;)っ

This kid. GOD I have feelings about this kid. I kinda went off on this on the tags of another post earlier this week but UGH. I see Celebrimbor as someone who tried SO HARD to do better than his family. He looked at the mistakes his father and his uncles and his grandfather had made and he was like "Okay, I'm not going to be like that; I'm going to do better." He saw how paranoia and mistrust and self-interest had poisoned his family (and I think it's super significant that it was Curufin's betrayal of Finrod in Nargothrond that was where Celebrimbor drew the line and said "You're my father but I can't stand with you anymore") and he wanted to learn from their mistakes, to break the cycle of his family's problems. But it was that very same effort that doomed not only him, but everyone who died in the War of the Last Alliance and its associated conflicts AND everyone who died in the War of the Ring and its associated conflicts. Celebrimbor's hand guided Middle-earth into two massively devastating wars that threaten to destroy the entire continent and I cannot imagine how that felt. Beyond his own suffering, the suffering caused to everyone who was affected by Sauron and the power Celebrimbor put in his hands.

He tried so hard to be good, when perhaps if he had been a bit more like Curufin for once, it would have spared everyone a lot of trouble.

OH and the fact that even under torture by Sauron he never gave up the locations of the Three Elven Rings like...it was the only thing left he could do to try to make up for having made all the Rings in the first place and he took it to his death.

I've been reading Unfinished Tales lately and this quote about him... </3

"Celebrimbor, desperate, himself withstood Sauron on the steps of the great door of the Mirdain; but he was grappled and taken captive, and the House was ransacked."

Celebrimbor breaks my heart every time </3

[arofili]

three houses of the edain ➴ house of haleth ➴ headcanon disclaimer

          Dorlas was a woodman of Brethil. He was among the Haladin warriors who waylaid an orc-host leading captive elves from Nargothrond to Angband, but their attempts at a rescue failed and Princess Finduilas was pinned to a tree with a spear. They buried her in a mound known later as the Haudh-en-Elleth, and the following spring they discovered a strange man in a swoon upon the mound.           This man was carried to Chieftain Brandir for healing, and when he woke he declared his name was Turambar. He remained in Brethil for some years, until his deeds of valour drew the attention of Glaurung. At first Turambar refused to fight the dragon as he had promised his wife Níniel he would not go to battle unless their homes were assailed, but Dorlas was eager for war and shamed him into heading into the field, revealing their location.            When Turambar asked for volunteers to accompany him on a quest to slay the dragon, only Dorlas stepped forth. Seeing the others hold back, Dorlas scorned them and demanded to know if none would take the place of Brandir the Lame so that the House of Haleth would not be put to shame. Then Brandir’s kinsman Hunthor took up the task and upbraided Dorlas for his cruelty, but in the end both men set out with Turambar to face Glaurung.           Yet despite his boldness and harsh words, Dorlas quailed when they came to the ravines of the River Teiglin. Overwhelmed with fear of the rocks and rushing water, he fled even before encountering the dragon. He abandoned his companions and hid in the forest, but soon he was discovered by Brandir, who shamed him for his cowardice. In anger, Dorlas struck at him, but Brandir was possessed by rage and grief at the death of Níniel, for which he held Dorlas partially guilty, and slew him before Dorlas could land a blow.           Dorlas’ wife Daneth was furious when she heard of her husband’s death, and was one of the most outspoken critics of Hunthor’s brother Manthor when he attempted to claim the Chieftainship of the Haladin, arguing that somehow it was Hunthor’s fault that Dorlas had perished. Her son Avranc was fiercely loyal to Manthor’s opponent Hardang, and became one of his chief supporters.           Between the death of his father and the arrival of Húrin Thalion to Brethil, Avranc wed the huntress Nachiel, who like him was an excellent archer. Avranc was among the party led by Manthor who discovered Húrin, and he suggested immediately killing the old man since trouble followed him from Angband. Manthor rebuked him, and against his command Avranc sped to Hardang bearing the news. Hardang was ill-pleased to see Húrin, and did not rise to greet him nor to offer him a chair, forcing the old man to sit on the ground. Only after Manthor upbraided him did Hardang grudgingly offer Húrin food and rest, and his weak courtesy so offended Húrin that he threw a stool at Hardang, cutting his head. Avranc promptly arrested and imprisoned him and again advocated for his execution.           At this Manthor protested, and quit Hardang’s service to summon the People of Haleth to a Folkmoot. Avranc spread rumors among the woodmen about Húrin’s dark intentions, and was appointed by Hardang to defend his cause at Húrin’s trial. But with Manthor’s support and counsel, the Haladin were won over to Húrin’s side.           Yet instead of justice being served, a riot broke out between the followers of Hardang and the followers of Manthor, culminating in the burning of the Hall of Chieftains, in which Hardang perished. Amid the chaos, Avranc shot twice at Manthor and missed both times. Manthor and Húrin escaped the ruins of Obel Halad, but before they could flee entirely Avranc fired an arrow a third time, killing Manthor.            The remnant of the Haladin erupted into yet more rioting, and in the end, Avranc claimed the Chieftainship of the Haladin, as the descendants of Haldad were no more. But only a few men heeded Avranc’s orders, and most of the Haladin forsook Brethil and began to make their way south to the Havens of Sirion. While Daneth remained loyal to her son, Avranc’s wife Nachiel held him responsible for the ruin of her people and abandoned him for the love of Himmeth, the widow of Hunthor whom Avranc so despised.

[warrioreowynofrohan]

The Leithian Reread - Canto X (The Attack by Celegorm and Curufin)

This canto splits into two stories: Lúthien and Beren having a rather circular argument about what to do next, and Celegorm and Curufin facing the fallout from their actions in Nargothrond.

Beren and Lúthien bury Finrod before departing from the isle of Tol Sirion. [Very slightly edited by me to update names.]

The isle in Sirion they left behind

but there on hill-top one might find

a green grave, and a stone set,

and there there lie the white bones yet

of Felagund, Finarfin’s son -

unless that land is changed and gone,

or foundered in unfathomed seas,

while Felagund laughs beneath the trees

in Valinor, and comes no more

to this grey world of tears and war.

Many of Sauron’s captives from Tol-in-Gaurhoth return to Nargothrond, as does Huan (Huan most likely with them and looking after them, as post-Bragollach Beleriand is a dangerous place and I can’t imagine they’re in very good shape).

The reaction in Nargothrond stands out because nothing has fundamentally changed about Celegorm and Curufin’s actions. It was obvious before (Canto VIII) that Celegorm and Curufin were deliberately abandoning Finrod to die, and it’s still obvious now. Finrod’s death is an entirely foreseeable action of the Nargothrondrim’s choices. The main point that’s new is the realization that defeating Sauron was possible - possible for one elf-maid and a dog, no less. They really are, as the narrative itself calls them, fickle. It’s even more striking in the Silmarillion, where no one will go with Celegorm and Curufin, not even their own people (for all perceived that the curse lay heavily upon the brothers, and that evil followed them) in contrast with the Leithian ([they] took their horses and such folk as still them followed). The Silmarillion version works better in terms of narrative consistency, as no one else is with the brothers when they attack Beren and Lúthien.

I’m very interested in what’s going on in the heads of Celegorm and Curufin’s followers - the ones who stay in Nargothrond - at this point. They’ve backed the brothers all through their coup, all through the brothers threatening the Nargothrondim with a second Kinslaying, all through the imprisonment and attempted rape of Lúthien, and done nothing to impede these profoundly un-Elvish actions. And now, suddenly, they all turn away and decide that they’d rather stay with a group of Nargothrondim who are probably more than a little angry and hostile to them. Is it repentance? A belated attack of conscience? Pure self-interest - Nargothrond’s one of the most secure places in Beleriand at the moment, and in that respect preferable to the northeastern front of the war?

Orodreth, in pretty much the only documented moment where he takes a stand and sticks to it, forbids the killing of Celegorm and Curufin, and exiles them instead. I think he’s a fundamentally good person, just one without any strong leadership qualities who’s been placed in a position for which he is fundamentally unsuited.

They’ve accomplished nothing with all their treachery except alienating the two largest elf-kingdoms in Beleriand. They are entirely unrepentant, and are instead furious (went away in anger dire) despite, or pethaps because of, being treated more mercifully than they deserve. This is the state of mind they will remain in through the rest of their lives, from the attack on Beren and Lúthien through to the Second Kinslaying: a determined and ever-worsening hatred towards, and need for vengeance against, anyone they have wronged. Mercy is the worst offense to pride, as in Saruman’s words to Frodo at the end of the Scouring of the Shire (You have robbed my revenge of sweetness, and now I must go hence in bitterness, in debt to you mercy. I hate it and you!) It is, in fact, hard not to draw parallels between the scenes: Saruman attempts and fails to kill Frodo in reaction to being offered mercy, even as Celegorm (in the Leithian) or Curufin (in the Silm) attempts to kill Lúthien for the same reason.

Perhaps, on some entirely unacknowledged level, they realize what they’ve become - but rather then recognizing it as a vonsequence of their own actions, they blame the people they have harmed for being the cause of their fall.

Beren and Lúthien, in the meantime, are arguing on the borders of Doriath: Beren wants to go alone on a hopeless quest to Angband, while Lúthien is all for either ignoring the Quest altogether and eloping (perfectly legit, albeit rude, by elven standards) or going with Beren if he insists on going to Angband, whether he likes it or not: And if she may not by thee go, against thy will they desperate feet she will pursue, until they meet, Beren and Lúthien, love once more, on earth or on the shadowy shore.

At this moment Celegorm and Curufin attack. It’s entirely unprovoked, and driven by nothing but hate and - given the attempt to kidnap Lúthien - lust. One of the clear patterns of the Leithian is that Lúthien, formidable against supernatural threats, is less successful against mundane ones; in tbis sequence it is Beren who rescues her, twice. I’m sure there is deliberate symbolism in this, but I’m having trouble putting my finger on it. It’s as though the purpose of her powers is to stand agai st the forces of darkness, not to fight other elves, even ones who are behaving evilly. And having lived all her life in Doriath, she has no experience with elves acting in that way; she is fundamentally a good and compassionate person (see her sparing of Curufin, and later how she deals with Carcharoth), and this sort of evil is alien to her.

It’s worth pointing out how impressive Beren’s accomplishment here is. Unarmed and on foot, he defeats a mounted Calaquendi who is armed with one of the most dangerous knives ever to exist. He jumps full onto Curufin’s horse, tackles him off it, and then strangles him before Curufin can get to any weapon. This is also another instance of evil deeds resulting in good by accident: without Angrist, Beren and Lúthien would never have bern able to retrieve the Silmaril,from the Iron Crown, so the attack by Celegorm and Curufin becomes essential to the Quest’s success.

As the brothers ride away, they shot twice at Lúthien, not at Beren, in what is thus quite clearly deliberate revenge for her showing mercy. Huan brings an herb that is likely athelas, and Lúthien heals Beren, building a fire and caring for him through the night. Beren, very frustratingly, immediately upon waking returns to his original theme of telling Lúthien to wait in Doriath while he goes to Angband, as if mortal peril was just an inconvenient distraction. She is still having none of it: Why turn we not from fear and woe, beneath the trees to walk and roam, roofless, with all the world as home, over mountains, beside the seas, in the sunlight, in the breeze? It’s interesting to entertain the idea of what would have happened if they had simply set aside the Quest. They ultimately go to live in Ossiriand after returning from death, and there’s nothing stopping them from doing so now. In the long run, Beleriand would have been worse off for it - there would be no Voyage of Eärendil and no War of Wrath - making their quest no less important to the First Age than Frodo’s was to the Third.

Beren remains obdurate, and after they reach the borders of Doriath and have been there some days, he leaves her sleeping and sets off for Angband.

[kendrixtermina]

Assorted Curufin thoughts

So out of the brothers, he’s one of ones that gets quite a bit of pagetime, especially in more ‘unfolded’/less ‘summarizing’ parts of the narrative, so even if he (and Celegorm) appear mostly as annoying recurring villains there we get quite a bit of detail & description for him, enough to get a good read on the way he talks (somewhat contemptuous, really) or to know - and I love this detail - that he has this characteristic defiant smile/smirk that he’s explicitly noted to do quite often. 

Alone the contrast between his & Celegorm’s reaction & approach to stirring up trouble gives you a whole bunch to extrapolate from.

He’s strongly defined by great resemblance & loyalty to another person, someone who specifically doesn’t use the one name that’s entirely his, & even that is referential... but even so we know enough of him to get a sense of his individuality. Beginning with the smirk, Feanor himself seems to go straight from spiteful hissing to muahahaha with little in between. Curufin is subtler, more planned. 

A lot of the attributes he’s given clearly serve to further the plot - He’s an accomplished equestrian to Beren gets a chance to look more badass, and he’s a weapon’s collector so he’d be carrying some cool knives that might come in handy later - but those bits still form something of a picture. Horses & weapons collecting seem like more conventionally aristocratic hobbies (whereas Feanor always seemed to have been more concerned with being a scholar or an inventor than Prince stuff) - indeed among the brothers Curufin seems to be one of the more salty ones regarding the loss of their old status, though of course loyalty to Feanor would also go into this. Though it should be noted that they only considered to take over Nargothrond when the silmaril situation arose, and Orodreth truly wasn’t that good a leader. They still stone cold betrayed Finrod, though - though if you asked him, Curufin would probably argue that Finrod betrayed them first by helping Beren or something like this - he probably shared Feanor’s weakness of for-us-or-against-us thinking; He’s somewhat spiteful, too (the brothers didn’t really have anything to gain from the second attack - Curufin in particular made sure to shoot them for good measure as he was riding away)

There seems to be a tendency to see Celegorm as the ‘eviler’ one because he does some things we’d consider line-crossing today but looking at the text itself, Curufin is clearly the mastermind & the designated bad influence,- it’s not that one-sided, though, you get the sense that he kind of hides behind Celegorm who has more of a “stage presence”. He’s got certain draco malfoy vibes. 

- Ultimately they were both doing the same plan and it’s largely a distinction between lawful and chaotic evil.

One thing that he does have in common with Feanor, though, is a certain tendency to be half-right; Both probably have the same degree of mild foresight. Feanor made the Silmarils in part because he felt some catastrophe comming and wasn’t exactly wrong about how the Noldor would rip Morgoth a new one and inspire the Valar to follow them in the end; Curufin also gets a few moments like this like when he tells Beren that he won’t get to enjoy his victory for long, or warns Eol that pursuing his ex would end badly for him - but both were missing crucial parts of the picture particularly the ones were they antagonize potential allies and get their butts kicked. 

On the other hand, he continued to be a scholar even in Beleriand (maybe that’s part of why he shared a territory with Celegorm, so he’d have time for that) & in particular studied dwarves which were otherwise supposedly somewhat overlooked by elvish scholars. It’s easy to see why if you look at that snippet from right before Thorin first meets Gandalf where it’s mentioned that they take oaths of vengeance and the like very seriously - they’re also noted to have had an approximately human-like tendency of fihting among each other whereas for, say, elves or Hobbits it would generally be rare scandalous thing. “They killed our father and stole our treasure!” would fly as a motivation with few follow-up questions asked. 

Though he’s nearly the youngest, he’s practically the mastermind, the schemer, the “crafty one” - the first bit of characterization any of the brothers received back when they were just 1D one-off villains in the Lost Tales, though Maedhros is the nominal leader - though he’s not really the “number two” either, his & Maedhros’ approaches & attitudes are too incongruent for that so the result is a left-hand-fighting-the-right scenario. Both realized that all the realms of Beleriand need to unite if they want a crack at defeating Morgoth. Maedhros was going to do it through diplomacy & decicive action; Curufin, probably thinking that was impossible, was going to bide his time & use subterfuge, which, aside from involving immoral acts in itself, also ends up torpedoing Maedhros’ plan later down the line. This is really an aspect that I’d really like to see explored more tbh, much like his relationship with Maedhros. While Feanor lived & walked around, they were probably the ones that would’ve come into the rooms at his side and got fetched for important secret business - Maedhros because he was the designated heir, and Curufin cause he was Feanor’s professional sucessor of sorts (and the nominal favorite)

In the end though the big irony is that he was always motivated by something external - the oath, the loyalty to Feanor & what he would have wanted... whereas Feanor basically did whatever he wanted & followed only his own mind. 

There’s the initial tragedy of Feanor as someone who valued independent thought but due to his shortcomings inadventedly sabotaged his endeavor to instill that value into them; & then Celebrimbor comes much closer to that, ironically, by renouncing his family, though his thoughts on the matter, in the end were probably fairly ambiguous; though he repudiated them as people, he must have admired & envied them professionally & part of why Sauron “got” him is explicitly noted to be that Celebrimbor secretly desired to match up to & surpass his ancestor. 

[sweetteaanddragons]

Here's an implausible character thing for you to mess with if you want: Gil-Galad is not actually related to the House of Finwe. He's a random commoner Noldo who managed to fast-talk his way into the kingship and got to keep it because all of the remaining members of the House of Finwe were either too young. kinda evil, or busy somewhere else and the Noldor wanted at least one good king no matter his family

So . . . this is not exactly what you asked for, but it does involve random commoner Gil-Galad making his not exactly legitimate way to kingship, so I hope you like it:

So here’s the thing: Ereinion is possibly, maybe, at the very least conceivably, not his actual name.

It could be! It might. He doesn’t actually know, seeing as how both his parents managed to get themselves killed before he was old enough for what they were actually calling him to stick.

He thinks they died, at least. He’s pretty sure they didn’t just leave him because food was scarce and a crying baby’s the last thing you need when you’re trying to hide from orcs in the dark as you run - 

Anyway! That’s not the point. The point is that he might have a name that means scion of kings.

And it’s not like he can go around using the first name he actually remembers being called.

Being found by a group of the Secondborn before he could die of exposure was a good thing. Being called the first elvish name they could remember was not, mainly because that name happened to be Feanor. All they knew about him was that his star was on an elvish weapon their chief carried. He’s just lucky he found out more before someone with a grudge against Feanor found out about it.

Or one of his sons. He’s honestly not sure which would have been worse.

So - Ereinion. He picks it because it sounds grand, and it makes people make assumptions that are not “possibly orphaned, possibly abandoned baby that was raised by a bunch of Secondborn that called themselves nomads, but who were, upon reflection, probably bandits.” He also gets a lot of girls smiling at him, as opposed to a lot of ticked off Feanorians punching him in the face. Between the two, he’ll definitely pick the girls.

(He shows up at Nargothrond covered in blood. Everyone he knows is dead, and he couldn’t save them because they didn’t heal like he does, and they weren’t as fast as him when they fought, and the orcs have taken everything from him again, and he can barely breathe, let alone think -

He’s barely met any other elves, and now he’s in a city of them, and it becomes painfully clear within about two minutes that he’s nothing like them at all. Thankfully, they all think it’s blood loss causing the issue.

And he grew up with a group of probably-bandits, that sometimes took and sometimes tricked, and he was raised to trick travelers into thinking he was one of them to prepare the way for an ambush, making distractions and diversions, giving out false names to confuse the rumors and doing whatever it takes to survive.

He survived before. He’ll survive this too.)

Apparently, he’s charming and novel. He can work with both.

Also apparently, there’s so many descendants of Finwe floating around that are refusing to talk to each other that Finrod hears his name, jumps to conclusions, and welcomes him.

This is simultaneously the best opportunity and the worst idea he’s ever had.

He rolls with it.

(He doesn’t understand the other elves. He hates being trapped inside. He has no idea what he’s going to do if there’s ever a big reconciliation and he’s caught out.

He throws himself into studying in the library in a desperate attempt to catch up with what everyone else already knows. They start calling him studious. Knowledgeable. Wise, even, after he offhandedly uses a legal tidbit that apparently everyone else didn’t already have memorized to solve an argument. 

Finrod is very kind. He tries sometimes to empathize with whatever family trouble drove him here.

My family is dead, he thinks, trying not to remember the way the blood had covered the road, and my parents might be too. Assuming they didn’t abandon me.

He doesn’t tell Finrod that, of course.)

It works. That’s the point. It works. Even with Finrod de- gone, it works.

When Nargothrond falls, he thinks that’s it, except somehow a group of survivors have gathered around him and started calling him Gil-Galad.

His first thought is, I don’t know what to do, and then he’s almost horrified to realize that after so long using this mask, he actually does.

And he can’t just leave them, can he?

He briefly considers trying to convert them to banditry.

He leads them to Cirdan instead.

(He thought they’d be safe there. He’d thought he could hand them off, fade back into obscurity, choose a different mask. This one had long served its purpose. It was time for it to go.

Cirdan greets him as an equal, and he realizes with horror that it’s far, far, far too late to back out now.)

“I beg your pardon,” he says blankly to the messenger.

“The High King of the Noldor is dead,” the messenger repeats grimly. He’s just marched in from the ruins of Gondolin with the other survivors. He hasn’t bothered to wash the dried blood from his tunic. “The king is dead,” he repeats. “Long live the king.”

What king? he almost demands, and then the coin drops.

I’m not even sure I’m Noldor! He wants to scream. This was a con, a con, do you understand me? It was never supposed to go this far!

What he actually says is, “Surely there’s someone ahead of me in line.”

There’s . . . the Feanorians. But after Doriath, no one’s going to go for that.

There’s . . . Idril? 

The messenger is shaking his head, though, so apparently no one’s going to go for that either.

He’s going to be king. Of the Noldor.

And the worst part is, part of him’s already thinking of how to help the refugees from Gondolin integrate, how this effects the war as a whole, how everyone’s going to react to this announcement.

He’s king, and he’s not sure if he’s just pulled off the greatest con of his life, or if he should find a way to go back in time and tell his younger self to just admit to his real name and let himself get punched.

He thinks of what’s happened to every previous king of the Noldor and decides that it’s definitely the latter.

[thegatesfamilyfiles]

Important 1910s-1920s Children of Hurin (Part 6/??)

I’m sure you’ve all been lying awake at night wondering what happens next.

So we’ve left Turin down in Tennessee, and it’s high time we turned our attention to what his mama and sister are up to. Rewinding a few months, then:

When Brodda and the other bad dudes from out east showed up in West Virginia, Morwen decided it was high time for her and Nienor to skedaddle. And where better to go than to visit Thingol duBois down in Baton Rouge?

Naturally, when Morwen and Nienor hear the news about Nargothrond and Turin’s possible involvement in it, they are extremely upset, and Morwen insists on heading out to California to look for him. 

Thingol reluctantly allows this, but does secretly send out a security person (Mr. Mablung Deschamps) after Morwen to make sure nothing bad happens (ha). Speaking of doing things secretly, Nienor decides to tag along, very cleverly disguised as a boy (which fools her mother for all of five minutes)

Look, we all know what happened to Nargothrond. The town’s basically abandoned and half the houses are burnt to the ground. But at least there aren’t any gangsters still hanging about, right?

WRONG! Glaurung and a couple of his cronies are still hanging about hoping for an opportunity to cause trouble. In the ensuing kerfuffle, all three of our heroes are separated, and after a nasty confrontation with Glaurung Nienor hits her head hard. Which, in true soap-opera fashion, causes some very thorough amnesia.

The poor girl spends more time than I care to think about wandering around the countryside with no idea who or where she is, relying on occasional kindness from farmers and hobos to keep her from starving.

UNTIL, one fine day, she passes out in the woods in Tennessee and is discovered by some kindly chaps from the nearby town of Brethil.

And the rest is a story for another time.

[eigwayne]

I had some ideas about a Time Travel Fic I Shouldn’t Really Be Working On Yet, and was feeling silly, so now I have a summary/outline in rhyming couplets.

Gil-Galad was an Elven King who never wanted that fancy Ring. Instead she yearned for peace and love and Gwindor back from the skies above (or rather Halls on distant shores but rhyming 'love’ sure was a chore).

Sent back through time by Eru’s grace and also to spit in Morgoth’s face, Sweet Faelivrin of Nargothrond vows to make her marriage bond and save Finrod from a grisly fate- That Turin guy will have to wait.

For she also needs to find the heir of Fingon with gold-threaded hair. But still no-one knows of Gil-Galad Who he was or of his dad. Last time she took the High King’s place because no one had seen his face. And Celebrimbor is of no help though Eru also sent back Tyelp’. For in Aman it’s known far and wide that Curufin pissed off his bride. Older Tyelpë’s from a broken home ’cause Dad just had to Finrod bone.

So our hapless Telperinquar juggles Finwion affairs galore and he’s only got ten years to plan or Uncle’s heart dies at Eol’s hand. His own lovelife takes a back burner; perhaps he’ll forget his crush on her. Each change a ripple in time and space while Morgoth’s team against them race. Tyelpë dreams of future Ost-in-Edhil but Glaurung schemes with Thuringwethil, and Finny hopes the true Gil’s not dead- Oh the trouble she’ll face to Gwindor wed!

(Finduilas’s arcs are not entirely about getting hitched, but it would be a nice bonus in her mind and ‘wed’ rhymes with ‘dead’.)

Basically the premise is the Door of Night is breaking down, and Morgoth figures out how to send some of his people back in time (I’m envisioning Glaurung and Thuringwethil but who knows). And someone (Eru himself? Namo? IDK yet) thinks this is excessive levels of cheating, so they send back some of their own people- Celebrimbor and Finduilas-who-was-Gil-Galad.

(There are reasons behind this decision, only one of which is ‘I like Celebrimbor and Fin-Galad so nyah’.)

The ‘her’ in italics is meant to be Galadriel, as a reference to that ‘though you turned to Celeborn of the Trees’ bit in Unfinished Tales. But any relationships besides Gwindor/Finduilas are up in the air so they’re mostly there for rhyming purposes.

The vision I have at the moment is the original timeline has all the death and tragedy of canon with additional poor relationship choices (and questionable sexual histories? IDK what to say except I used to write for kink memes and sometimes I miss it, so ideas happen in planning stages that might not make it to publishing). 

Finny and Tyelpe are going back in time for a Perfect Ending. Endgame is Gwindor/Finduilas with a possible side of Curufin/’not ruining his marriage’ (because Tyelpe loves and respects his mommy) and hopefully ‘no one dies’/’everyone lives’. Also eventually I will make a decision on the ‘real’ Gil-Galad, but today is not that day.

[dawnfelagund]

Turin?

So I survived the two field trips, student-led conferences, and teaching my first solo adult ed class and am resuming character asks! I still have quite a few in my inbox, so if you sent me one, it is forthcoming!

Favorite Thing: I’m going to say what might be an unpopular thing right off the bat and admit that I detest Túrin. I know he has his fans, and they probably feel about me the way I feel about the anti-Fëanorian people. Túrin fans, please do tell me what you see in him because I’ve been trying to like him for over a decade! I only read his chapter when I have to for research. Reading it, for me, is the literary equivalent of wallowing through cold mud: both difficult and joyless. So it’s hard to find a favorite thing about him. Perhaps that his mom and sister clearly love him so he can’t be completely awful? Also, he has Beleg’s regard, and I have respect for Beleg.

(Also, anon, I did reread his chapter for you, so I could give a fair answer to your ask.)

Least Favorite Thing: It’s tempting to say every-fucking-thing but I won’t. (See what I just did there? :D)

It’s his utter lack of accountability. He’s one of those people who assigns blame to everyone but himself. One of the first of many names he chooses for himself is Neithan, the Wronged. Exactly how? Because one guy said something mean to him one time? (And he responded with the outsized reaction of driving Saeros to his death?) Oh cry me a river! I had more unkind things said to me before I left the second grade! And his response to this so-called wrong is … to join a group of outlaws whose “hands were turned against all who came in their path, Elves and Men and Orcs” (The Silmarillion, “Of Túrin Turambar”). And he is “the Wronged”?

He’s given chance after chance, and love is heaped upon him by countless characters with no change in attitude or behavior. He’s a one-man pity party and behaves accordingly.

Favorite Line: 

But Glaurung spoke again, taunting Túrin, and hesaid: ‘Evil have been all thy ways, son of Húrin. Thankless fosterling, outlaw,slayer of thy friend, thief of love, usurper of Nargothrond, captain foolhardy,and deserter of thy kin. As thralls thy mother and thy sister live inDor-lómin, in misery and want. Thou art arrayed as a prince, but they go inrags; and for thee they yearn, but thou carest not for that. Glad may thyfather be to learn that he hath such a son; as learn he shall.’ And Túrin beingunder the spell of Glaurung hearkened to his words, and he saw himself as in amirror misshapen by malice, and loathed that which he saw. (The Silmarillion, “Of Túrin Turambar”)

I don’t think the mirror was “misshapen” at all. I think Túrin saw himself for who he was and didn’t like the reflection.

brOTP: Túrin and Beleg. Those two would make a good buddy film, right down to Túrin getting to be the one who’s unbearable.

OTP: I don’t really have one. I’ve seen people make the case for Túrin/Beleg, but it’s not a pairing I ship.

nOTP: Same. I’ve never imagined Túrin in a pairing at all, aside from the canonical pairing with his sister.

Random Headcanon: The only way I can make sense of Túrin in my own mind is to see him as a trauma kid. He was eight years old when he was shipped off to Doriath, which was plenty of time to witness the kind of political violence that can create the bad temper, wanton violence, and lack of accountability that define Túrin as a character. If I see him through this lens, I detest him less. After all, I’ve taught a lot of kids who acted a lot like Túrin because of trauma in their backgrounds.

What makes this difficult even still for me is that Beleriand was, post-Nirnaeth, a war zone for everyone. Compared to other children, Túrin was granted a fairly comfortable upbringing, being raised as he was behind the Girdle in Doriath as the foster-son of Thingol. That doesn’t mean that he can’t be traumatized and that his actions can’t be explained in that way, but his “Neithan” attitude makes it hard for me to find the kind of sympathy for him that he demands. There are many other characters more wronged than he is, and he doesn’t seem capable of seeing that at all.

Unpopular Opinion: The curse isn’t a real thing.

Part of this is my own dislike for narrative devices that remove characters’ agency. Being told that their circumstances and actions are caused by a curse takes the fun out of the story for me, which is using literature as a vehicle to discuss what it means to be human, including why people do the awful, seemingly inexplicable things that they do.

Besides the fact that life sucked for pretty much every character in First Age Beleriand. There are characters who end up in equally crappy or crappier circumstances to Húrin’s kin just by virtue of being alive in the First Age. Lots of parents watched their children suffer and die before they did.

The “curse” seems to be that Túrin believed he was owed something beyond what he received in a war-torn land where many people (like Morwen) were trying to do their best with very little. He had trouble listening or accepting responsibility. Now this is an interesting story to me because we encounter people like this all the time–and many end up occupying positions of power where we the people bear the brunt of these personality flaws, much as Túrin’s many innocent victims did.

Morgoth played the biggest role in creating the war zone that perhaps created Túrin’s flaws. But that’s the extent of the curse. The rest falls on Túrin, who behaved abominably over and over again with seemingly no interest in making right or doing better.

Song I Associate with the Character: Push over a stack of one hundred glass plates and that’s roughly the sound of Túrin entering the room.

Favorite Image: I actually love the cover of The Children of Húrin. I was so desperate, when this book came out, to find something to like in Túrin’s story that I tried to like him based on the fact that he looks kinda hot on the cover of the book. I still couldn’t.

[atariince]

Anathema - chapter 11 : Memory Vaults

SWG - AO3

There is no reason to worry. Everything is in order in Nargothrond; the borders seem safe, the people calm and confident, the Fëanorian troops have strengthened Finrod’s army with the feeling that the belong here. The Narog itself seems to mirror the peaceful atmosphere which now reigns in the kingdom, in which neither wolf nor orc has stepped during the past few months: an absence of meaningful event which, even though it frustrates Tyelkormo’s thirst for action, should leave everyone with a sweet if not joyful taste on their lips.

But in the depths of the caves, his gaze glued onto the piece of velum in front of him, Curufinwë seems immune to the latent peace carried by the late autumn gale. His mind cannot rest, and throttled by his agitated thoughts, he finds himself unable to relax, deprived of sleep and uncapable to work. For, although the engine of his mind – never halting, always labouring - keeps on feeding his heart with troubles nurtured by doubts and an excess of intrusive reflexions, he can’t grasp it. The very core of his worries, the source of this anxiety – if he could just unveil the tormenting cause of his unrest…

But not on this night. On this night he has to work, to try. Again. Trembling fingers on a dripping quill, he knows there is nothing to fear. No worry. Tyelperinquar is still working in the smithies. Tyelkormo is probably drinking his share of liquor somewhere in the caves, Huan at his side. The news from Himring are good. His brothers are safe. What should Curufinwë fear?

The quill falls back in the inkpot, and the Ñoldo falls back into his chair, arms crossed and grey eyes staring at an invisible spot on the wall. Only his jaw moves, agitated by the tension in his nerves, by the never-ending cycle of doubts in his mind. He can hear a few laughter in the adjacent rooms, but he pays no heed to the noise. All he feels is this mysterious force that seems to hinder him, freezing his thoughts, and like a rat in a cage, he can but follow his own tail. And threading the yarns of his own tale. His fingers find the quill again, and soon the silence of the room is replaced with the scratching sound of ink on velum. He allows his mind to wander back in history, and forgets his hand for moment, eyes half-closed and his heart following a path which he has always been afraid to tread. Retrieving his own footsteps, ignored for too long for all they could unleash. On the parchment a drawing, a few uncertain lines, a draft too much like those he made as a child, huddled in his father’s workshop, too impressed to talk and too fascinated to not absorb all that he could see. Curufinwë smiles, and he no longer resists the urge to close his eyes… Hoping for an oblivious slumber.

--

Tirion. How old can he be? Young. Very young. But his diction is perfect, and his eyes already inquisitive. He sits at the dinner table, in front of his brothers. On his right, his mother, but his eyes stare intently at his father, sitting on his left. Fëanáro seems joyful. He smiles and laughs enthusiastically at something… Kano just made one of his usual puns. Curvo laughs too, although he is not sure he has understood. Now, Nelyo says something, but Curvo doesn’t care. He stares at his father. Fëanáro picks up a piece of bread, brings it to his mouth and eats it. So does Curvo, who struggles to swallow it (too focused on his father, the child has not noticed it was much too big for his young teeth). Fëanáro grabs his cup and takes a sip of his drink. So does Curvo, who finds himself released from the barely bitten piece of bread which was blocked in his throat. It seems nobody has noticed. Good. Curvo’s observation of his father continues.

“Nerdanel dear, can you give me some more wine, please?” asks Fëanáro with a smile.

Curvo watches his father’s cup being refilled and turns to his mother. “Nerdanel dear, can you give me some,more wine please?” He asks, adopting his father’s tone - although the voice is that of a child - his smile reflecting his father’s smile, his own small cup clasped in his tiny hand with a confidence which leaves everyone speechless.

Silence in the room. Tyelkormo bites back a laugh. Kano and Moryo look at each other, barely trying to hide their growing smirk. Fëanáro’s gaze falls on his younger son, half-amused, half-confused, but he says nothing. Nerdanel glances confusingly at her oldest son - as if he had anything to do with it - and frowns, but she cannot totally hide her amusement. The child doesn’t lose his ground, and with an admirable determination, he holds his cup higher.

“My dear son,” Nerdanel begins, trying her best to not giggle and to give her voice a reproachful pitch, “I believe you are a bit too young for the wine, but you can have grape juice instead. Besides, need I remind you that I am your mother and expect you to call me accordingly?”

After a quick look toward his father who struggles to keep an impassive face, Curvo gives a nod. Nelyo snorts and Fëanáro is uselessly hiding his amusement by burying his face into his cup. Curvo, who has taken up his observation, buries his face in hiscup as well, caring not for the squash tickling his , and wnáro puts his glass back on the table, Curvo’s own cup joins it at the very same time. Fëanáro freezes and observes his son from the corner on his eyes. So does Curvo. Fëanáro, who pretends to not see (he is now exchanginga cunning look with his older sons) runs an absent-minded hand through his hair. So does Curvo.

“You know I can see you, Curvo.” Says Fëanáro, with a tone that is supposed to be disapproving.

“You know can see you too, father.”

--

Curufinwë smiles as the memory unfolds. Its sweetness takes hold of his heart and he prays for the vision to go on. He doesn’t want it to fade, he craves the delicate taste of the past, the light of Tirion on his father’s face, his brother’s remorseless smiles, the delicate scent of his mother and the touch of her fingers in his hair. He doesn’t only want to keep these memories, he also wants them to keep him.

--

“Nerdanel,” Fëanáro kisses his wife’s cheek and gently entwines his fingers with hers. ‘”I think we have a small problem.”

Stepping next to his mother, Curvo takes hold of Nerdanel’s free hand, but he cannot reach her cheek, and instead, drops a clumsy kiss on her finger. “ I think we have a small problem.” He repeats, looking up at her.

“Not a small one…” Nerdanel laughs as she picks up her son. “A tiny one.”

Curvo cannot conceal his childish consternation, and he glances at his father, waiting for him to react – but Fëanáro has anticipated it, and decided to not to do anything. He stares back at his son, inexpressive, quiet and still. So, does Curvo. The staring contest lasts a minute or two, until Nerdanel stops it by placing her son in her husband’s arms.

“As long as he does not call me 'Nerdanel' again, it is your tiny problem, Fëanáro. Just make sure he does not offend anyone by trying to impersonate you.”

“ Why would he offend anyone?”

“Why would he offend anyone?”

Nerdanel’s smile widens. “And since he is so good at repeating everything you say, avoid any sort of obscenities.” 

He has four older brothers, it would be vain to keep him from learning obscenities. Besides, he needs to enrich his vocabulary.”

Oh. That’s a lot of words to repeat. The child frowns as he focuses but he does not give up, and shows no sign of disarray. “He has four brothers and… he is learning obs---curity… to keep his vocabulary rich.”

“After all, I could turn this new fancy of his into the most efficient lexical teaching.”

“After all, I could turn this new fancy of his into the most efficient lexical teaching.” The child repeats, proudly remembering the entire sentence, even though he isn’t sure what ‘lexical’ means.

Nerdanel shakes her head, but her smile seems glued to her lips. “So I believe it is not a problem anymore?”

But Fëanáro is already heading towards the door, and the child in his arms has never felt so happy before.

--

If only he could drown into this memory and linger in its currents, as the warm waves of forgotten joy drench his fëa and purify his heart. So he clings to the images that pass too swiftly in his mind, and tries, uselessly, to capture them. Instead of a quill, he holds now a piece of chalk and scrambles like a madman on the parchment in front of him: a sketch of his father’s face, a few lines supposed to convey a vision of his father’s workshop in Tirion – and his name, again and again.

--

It is late, the court is almost empty, and Fëanáro is bowing in front of king Finwë. Behind him, the young Ñoldo mimics his father and gives a long respectful bow which doesn’t fail at impressing Finwë. The child is even more impressed, as he has always been, by his grandfather. The king. But he doesn’t want to show it.

“ Well, is my young grandson already planning to become the most diligent courtier of Tirion?” Asks Finwë with a smile that betrays his amused affection. “

Your grandson has decided to do everything I do…”, Fëanáro explains.

“ Your grandson has decided to do everything…”

“ …And to repeat everything I say.”

“…And to repeat everything I say.”

“Therefore, I daresay he will never disappoint you in terms of affection and devotion.”

“ Therefore I daresay he shall never disappoint you terms of affection and devotion.”

Eyes wide open and surprise burning in the grey depths of iris, Finwë observes the strange pair in front of him. Strange but not as grotesque as it could seem. In fact, it makes sense, the child appearing as a fragmented part of Fëanáro, not a seedling but a very portion of him. A midget one. The boy wears his hair just like his father, the same expression floats on his face, the same flame in his eyes and the same determination in his chin. The king is speechless for a moment, until a loud laughter falls from his lips and echoes in the court.

“ So what do we have here?” Finwë asks, kneeling down in front of his grandson to better look at the youthful face. “A midget prince? A pocket Curufinwë?”.

With his grandfather’s gentle fingers wrapped delicately around his chin, and his benevolent eyes on his face, Curvo doesn’t dare to move. Puzzled and no less impressed, he casts an eye toward his father whose features display pride and amusement. ‘Pocket Curufinwë’ is a naming which doesn’t remain unnoticed.

--

“Pocket Curufinwë”.

The words draw a smile from his lips, but the chalk has already stopped its labour. The piece of parchment is ruined, words scribbled upon words, names upon names, portraits merging with tengwar, ink and specks of chalk mixed together to form thick, sooty spots on what used to be an immaculate promise. As in a trance, Curufinwë has paid no attention to his hands’ movements, and as he looks at them now, he finally notices the stains, like traces of his own mistakes. Ungrateful, unworthy heir – his devotion to his father should have opened the way, it should have brightened up the path that his determined footsteps have been treading. Instead, it closed the doors to enlightenment and left him confused, shameful and utterly lost under the vaults of his fate, which is yet obscured by his own fears. He closes his eyes and remembers his grandfather’s laughing voice.

“Be careful Fëanáro, soon, he will be able to anticipate each of your word and action.”

Finwë was right. For long, Curufinwë had been able to see, feel, sense, understand and almost foretell his father’s thoughts, reactions, decisions. But It seems to him that the connection between father and son died with the father, and Curufinwë has been left powerless, yet blinded by his determination to cling to his father’s image. An image which he cannot grasp. What would Fëanáro do?

What would he think of him? He buries his head between his arms – unwilling to look reality in the face.

--

The young child is focused on the position of his fingers on the quill, right beside his father’s desk. Fëanáro has allowed him to have his own small desk in his study. And as the father works, so does Curvo, who tirelessly tries to improve his handwriting. It is still clumsy, he can see it – it looks terrible, and has nothing in common with his father’s handwriting – but what he doesn’t see is how proud it makes Fëanáro. The latter’s eyes have left his own work, and he silently observes his son, touched by the child’s devotion and impressed by his quiet determination. But there is something wrong, isn't it? Eventually, Fëanáro calls his son and after a moment of perplexity during which the child doesn’t know what to do with his quill, his father takes him on his lap.

“Your handwriting is improving, my child. This is very good” Curvo is about to repeat his father’s words when Fëanáro, with a smile, put a finger on his lips. “Let me speak. There is something important I need to tell you.” The young Ñoldo nods respectfully, his two grey eyes wide open with the anticipation of an eager pupil. “Curvo, I want to make deal with you. Do you know what it means?”

The child frowns, pinches his lips, engaged in a solid reflexion. “Like a bargain?” “

Well, yes almost. What we call a deal is when someone promises to do something for someone else and receives a promise in return. Does it sound right?

“Yes father! We should do this!”

The child’s enthusiasm happens to be contagious, and Fëanáro chuckles as his son claps his hands. But he is soon serious again and gently takes his son’s agitated hand between his fingers. “First and foremost, Curvo, you must wait for the conditions and be sure you agree, alright? So here is what I offer: I promise you to teach you everything I know about anything you want to know.” The child’s eyes widen, and he is speechless for a moment.

“Really…? About the beautiful rocks?”

“Yes, my son, if this is what you want.”

“..And I will know how to make shiny jewels?”

“If you want to become a jewel-smith, you shall become a jewel-smith.”

“And the complicated words? Will you tell me about all the complicated words?"

“About the complicated words, their origins and evolution.”

“Even the words we don’t use anymore?”

“All the words.”

“All the words?”

Fëanaro nods solemnly, but not without uttering another chuckle.

“And I’ll be just like you, father?” There were sparkles in Curvo’s eyes, and the father could only wish for his son to never lose this enthusiasm.

“This is when your own promise comes into the deal.” The child stares at him, greedy eyes begging for more. “In exchange, you must promise me that you will always try to follow your own desires, to listen to your heart and to be yourself. Can you do that, my child?”

Curvo ponders the offer: his face betrays his confusion, but the way he rubs his chin with his fingers can only amuse his father. “I do not know who is myself , father.” He eventually says, suddenly bashful.

“Do not worry about that, Curvo. You have all the time you need to discover it ; you will eventually know yourself and your own heart. If I did, you can surely do it as well, don’t you think?"

“ I guess... I can try, father.”

“Do we have a deal?”

The child gives a determined nod. “I promise father. I promise I will find myself.”

--

When Curufinwë raises his head, he is gasping, struggling for air. So he failed in that too…

With a few clumsy movements, he leaves his chair and stumbles toward a basin. The fresh water on his face doesn’t relieve the tension. His own heartbeats echo in his head, in his stomach, in his limbs. He tries to calm his nerves, but his airways are still blocked by a shameful and rotten feeling which he cannot decipher.

He failed. Yes. But it is not too late, is it? His mind sharpens - or so he thinks – as he furtively meets his own reflect in the mirror hanging on the wall. He must ignore it. Avoid it. Must he become someone else? Must he step away from the path which he has been treading for so many years? Must he stop clinging to the mirror image which has always led his footsteps?

He can

He must

Be someone

Different.

He didn’t live up to his father’s memory. He could neither anticipate, nor foretell. He could not even guess what his father would have done…. He failed. But now. Now he remembers. He was wrong all the way. Now it is time to be someone else. Himself, whoever that is. He must act according to his own desires….which are yet to be defined.

To protect his son.

To retrieve the Silmarili.

To muster the required strength to fight the Enemy. Oh but not now not yet.

First, he must care after his people, here, in Nargothrond.

To keep Nargothrond safe.

Nargothrond.

As his new stronghold. And to protect it, he needs influence. he needs… power.

“If I can be you father, I shall be who you expected me to be…My own master.”

A king.