#they got nothing on círdan

[dfwbwfbbwfbwf]

The Noldor needed to return to Middle Earth.

This is a long one, so I put it under a Read More thing.

I was looking into the Doom of the Noldor, and why the Valar weren't interested in going after Morgoth after he murdered a guy, and I came across the rather reasonable argument that the Valar could only defeat Morgoth after he put a great deal of his influence into Arda, kind of like a giant One Ring, which would weaken him. Which is all fine and good, I guess.

(Not sure why they couldn't just do what they did in the War of the Powers and evacuate everyone out of Beleriand before sending Tulkas in, as that would be far more responsible than what they actually ended up doing, but I digress.)

So that's it then. The Valar plan to just sit around Valinor, chilling, while Morgoth essentially runs around Beleriand with a can of gasoline and a match. And, based off what I've read, it sounds like they were really just kind of doing nothing until Eärendil and Elwing showed up to buy protection. Or it does take three years to sail from southwest Beleriand to the Bay of Eldamar. (It took Eärendil eight total, and four of them were after Elwing showed up, and it is a long journey; there's a reason the Noldor went as far north as they could in Aman before attempting to sail.)

Here's a map for reference. Credit to Karen Wynn Fonstadt. The Helcaraxë is so tiny!

Anyway, I'm going to give those who stayed in Valinor the benefit of the doubt and assume they spent 5 and a half centuries preparing for war.

(Even though the Noldor were plenty ready for it when they left, considering they annihilated Morgoth's army. Yeah, Fëanor died, but who could expect fire demons of nightmares to show up randomly?)

Sorry. I keep getting into tangents. The Valinorians prepare, get a signal from ... something, and sail across Belaegar to destroy Morgoth and save the Men, Elves, and Dwarves. Happy ever after, and the Flight of the Noldor was completely useless and pointless.

Except it wasn't.

Sure, most of that plan would've still worked as intended, except for the "save Men, Elves, and Dwarves" part. Beleriand would have been an utter wasteland by the time they got there without the Noldor's intervention. Morgoth might have conquered even more. Imagine if he got to Cuiviénen, the far south of Harad, even Hildórien.

"That's impossible, dfwbwfbbwfbwf. Even Morgoth couldn't have mustered up the strength to do that."

But is it impossible? Who would have been there to stop him?

Círdan's Falathrim were nearly exterminated, saved only due to Fëanor's intervention. Denethor died because Fëanor was too late. (By how much, it's unclear, but it happened the same Valerian Year, so maybe a few Sun Years. If Olwë had helped, and Uinen not slowed the Noldor, and Ulmo provided a way across, perhaps Denethor would have lived. But I suppose we'll never know.) Melian guarded Doriath with her Girdle, but Þingollo never sent anyone out to engage with Morgoth; he couldn't, because Doriath didn't stand a snowball's chance in Mordor. What Sindar and Nandor were trapped outside the Girdle were certainly no match for Morgoth's forces. I wouldn't be surprised if Morgoth conquered the entire continent (again, save Doriath, but Doriath is about as concerning to him as a mosquito bite) before Iþil rose for the first time. After all, it took him about 19-20 years to take over half the land, and he had about 27 to take the other half.

I don't imagine Morgoth would go after the Khazad, and I don't see the Khazad going after Morgoth. They'd close their doors to all, and Morgoth wouldn't have to worry about them.

Morgoth would still venture east and corrupt the newly awoken Men, and I think some would repent and travel west to become the Edain, but they would either remain in Middle Earth, or be destroyed and/or corrupted upon reaching Beleriand. There would be no Finrod to greet them, no Dorthonion or Brethil or Dor-Lómin for them to settle and thrive in. There would be no Beren, Dior, Elwing. There would be no Hador, Galdor, Huor, Tuor, Eärendil. No Elrond or Elros.

Morgoth would continue south and east. The Nandor and Avari would likely fall - I think the Silvans would be destroyed or subjugated first, as they probably have a smaller population. And with each civilization Morgoth conquers, he has more potential orcs.

I do think Morgoth would still develop his dragons. He's a reptile dad imo.

By the time the Valinorians arrive in this timeline, there's nothing TO save. Even if they manage to defeat Morgoth, it would take longer. More lives lost. More land sunk.

Do I think the Noldor were the only reason this didn't happen? No, but they were a very big one. Their first attack in the Dagor-nuin-Giliath decimated Morgoth's army, something that took him four and a half centuries to build up enough to fight with again. They guarded Beleriand against the northern menace. They made the continent a safe place for Elf, Man, and Dwarf to thrive, something the "King of Beleriand" couldn't accomplish, and the "King of Elves" Ingwë and "King of Arda" Manwë refused to try.

Do I think the original argument of the Valar waging a war of attrition against Morgoth makes sense? Yes. Do I think their plan would have worked? Depends how you define "worked" - they would have defeated Morgoth, but the cost would be too great. This is why Fëanáro was born: to save Beleriand. And even though he was only on the continent for a short time, he did just that. The Valar should have helped him, but they were, at best, foolish, at worst cowards.

Remember to thank a Fëanárion for your existence today.

... No one is going to read this, and if you did, you're insane. But I guess I'm insane for writing it. Have a cookie and milk. 🍪🥛

[magicalmanhattanproject]

okay i have to talk about my obscure blorbo fíriel ondoheriel. literally no one cares about her except me. not even tolkien cares about her. she has Zero canon traits. no personality, no physical appearance, not even a death date. here's what we know about her

in 1940 TA, Arvedui, then-prince of Arthedain* marries Fíriel, daughter of King Ondoher of Gondor, uniting the two realms after a long estrangement

[loads up Tolkien Gateway to cross check dates] HOLY SHIT YOU GUYS

in 1938 TA, Aranarth, eldest son of Arvedui is born. Now, if we're being real with ourselves, Jirt made an oopsie here and no one caught it. But, no one caught it and the only numbers we have are Aranarth, son of Arvedui, is born in 1938 and Arvedui marries Fíriel in 1940.

So, like, what's up there? Did Arvedui and Fíriel meet before their wedding and elope? Was Aranarth born in Gondor and hidden to protect Fíriel's reputation? Or did Fíriel have to make an excuse to stay in Arthedain and hide her pregnancy and then abandon her child until a proper marriage could be arranged? Was Arvedui married to someone else first and a widower? Was Fíriel a second wife and a stepmother to the real heir? Was Aranarth a bastard and Fíriel brought in to produce the real heir? Had Fíriel ever left home before? Did she have any feelings about being sent away from her whole family to be a queen for a man who already had an heir? Did she have a child she had to travel with? That she was desperate to reunite with? That she wanted nothing to do with? Did she love travel? Hate it? How did she feel about Gondor? Arthedain? We don't know. Tolkien doesn't care.

Anyway, back to what I already knew about.

in 1944 TA, Ondoher and both his sons are killed in the invasion of the Wainriders.

How does Fíriel feel about this? What's her relationship with her father like? Her brothers? Presumably she has a mother in there somewhere too? We don't know. Tolkien doesn't care.

Now, the doozy.

later in 1944 TA, Arvedui sends messages to Gondor claiming the throne both as a descendant of Isildur and as the husband of Fíriel, who would have been ruling queen according to Númenorean law.**

How does Fíriel feel about that? How does Fíriel feel about claiming the throne of her father and her brothers and her homeland through her blood for himself? We don't know. Tolkien doesn't care.

This is the last mention of Fíriel in the text. We don't know what happens to her after this. Maybe she trips and falls down the stairs the very next day. Maybe she lives a long life and dies of old age in her sleep. We don't know. We know what happens to her family though and it's not pretty.

Arvedui ascends to the throne of Arthedain in 1964 with the realm already struggling under invasion from Angmar. In 1974, the Witch-King invades and captures the capital of Fornost. Arvedui escapes to the Ice Bay of Forochel where he is aided by the locals over the bitter winter. Aranarth, a young man at this point, gets word to Círdan that his father is stranded there and Círdan sends a ship to bring them aid. When the ship arrives, Arvedui wants to leave immediately, but the locals warn him against leaving, saying that the Witch-King's power wanes in the summer and the bay is too dangerous.

Let's backtrack a moment. The name Arvedui means "last-king" and was given to him at his birth by Malbeth the Seer. Though, the seer said, "a choice well come to the Dúnedain, and if they take the one that seems less hopeful, then your son will change his name and become ruler of a great realm."

Arvedui does not. He takes the ship Círdan sent, which is sunk in an ice storm. Arthedain falls. Aranarth becomes the first Chieftain of the Rangers.

There's one last piece to all this. Name meanings. Tolkien likes them. I was looking through canon name meanings for OC names and I decided to check Fíriel out and I got fucking flashbanged.

See, something you gotta remember about the descendants of Elros is that a lot of them resent his choice. It's said that the line of Gondor failed because the kings were too busy contemplating immortality and their ancestors to look to the future and have heirs of their own. That's maybe not fair to the kings whose lines failed, but it's certainly a trait they all share.

So, what does Fíriel mean?

Mortal Maid

Look at everything else about her and everything that happened to everyone she loved and realize that she was born to the name She Will Die

How did she feel about that? We don't know. But I want to.

*The northern kingdom of Arnor had long ago split into three kingdoms. Arthedain is the one from which the eldest and true line of descent from Elendil continued. The other two had already fallen by this point.

**For the record, Ondoher was the 31st king of Gondor and somehow the issue of a ruling queen has not been litigated before now. Not a single time in the past 30 generations has a daughter been the eldest child or only available heir. That... stretches plausibility. This is easily explained by Tolkien forgetting that women exist until they become immediately plot relevant, but it certainly gestures in the direction of things about Gondorian kings that are rather unflattering.

[buffyfan145]

I got the first 2 episodes in of "Rings of Power" s2 and they were amazing!!! 😀 Worth waking up at 5 am to watch. LOL I still got ep 3 to watch and will this afternoon, but need to get my thoughts out here behind a cut, but so happy with s2 so far. Not tagging all the characters, as it seems to think too many is spam, so hopefully this goes in the tags and I talk about most.

First off, I loved seeing Sauron's backstory in ep 1!!! 😀 I mentioned before in my other posts that I'm a fan of Jack Lowden's and it was great getting to see him after the version Adar knew. I only expect Jack back in flashbacks if he's able, even more so seeing a new interview with Charlie this morning assuring fans that he won't be recast. The whole prologue explained so much about what happened with Adar, and then Sauron reforming eventually into Halbrand. Also confirmed he really was going to Númenor on his own, and his meeting with Galadriel really was by chance so those theories he planned it all along were wrong.

Charlie's doing amazing too both as Halbrand and now as Annatar. I loved all the shoutouts too to "The Silmarillion" and other 1st Age stories about him, including him being The Lord of the Werewolves and able to talk with that wolf. Then the Bible references as we knew about the Annatar transformation scene looking like Jesus and angel paintings, but also the "Let My People Go!" scene fit with Moses and especially the "Prince of Egypt" movie, which I love too. But also realized at times they way they're doing (and Tolkien wrote) Sauron rising from nothing to being aids to kings is so similar to the Bible story of Joseph, and the musical "Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat" (which my high school did an amazing version of that music my junior year of high school LOL). So I loved all of this and everything we saw with Celebrimbor in ep 2.

Then with Galadriel!!! 😀 OMG, first I have to mention about those Haladriel scenes!!! We knew the rings were going to connect them, as well as their mental bond in general, but now she's seeing visions and knows Sauron is in Eregion and saw him there. Plus, hearing him call her name in that vision, and confirming that she can read his mind, and him hers (as he knew the rings worked). Then the big one where Galadriel confessed to Elrond about how she feels about Halbrand/Sauron (and still used his Halbrand name) and it clearly was showing us that she fell in love with him by using that flashback to the "I felt it too" scene, and that's why everything that happened and being deceived hurt her so much. And Elrond knows now, which is why he and Gil Galad are being like that to her now as they don't trust her around Sauron anymore and think she'll turn. Loving that we're getting scenes about Haladriel even if they both are actually in the same place.

Then I loved the scene with the rings and showing they are good and worked to help restore the elves. Absolutely love Círdan too and being a mentor to Elrond. Him talking about more 1st Age characters and their flaws was great too. LOL

The storyline with The Stranger, Nori, and Poppy is great too. He's got to be Gandalf. I thought this the whole time but every scene I see of him just confirms it to me.

Pretty sure Ciarán Hinds' character is one of the Blue Wizards. The show did supposedly get the rights to use the Blue Wizards stories that Tolkien wrote in "Unfinished Tales" and one of the 2 Blues went evil in the 2nd Age in Rhûn, similar to how Saruman did in the 3rd Age. So I'm pretty sure that's what we're seeing him and that he found a cult with the Mystics.

Then loved seeing more with Durin, Disa, and the dwarves. It's setting up Sauron/Annatar giving them the 7 rings, and the making of the Doors of Durin too. Also very cool seeing Narvi too and the female dwarves having facial hair similar to more male elves having long hair (this didn't bother me like it did other fans but cool to see them add it). Though also really sad about the singing not working.

So now getting ready to watch ep 3 this afternoon and I saw from the description that it involves other characters we haven't seen yet from s1, and then I'll be caught up till ep 4 next week.

[incorrectringsofpower]

Season 2 First 3 episodes thoughts (spoilers below the cut, DO NOT click the cut if you do not want to be spoiled!)

Episode 1

The dimples are a bit disarming ngl.

The chorals Bear added are interesting. Someone translate them please and thank you.

Ewwwww bug!Sauron nope nope nope.

Why hallo there handsome asshole :D

What's in the pouuuuch? (I don't think we're ever gonna find out tbh)

O shit are these the raft redshirts? Oh nooo.

I support horse girl rights and wrongs.

Mooom, Galadriel is a lying liar who lies.

Gil-galad looks so done lmfao. "Great-auntie whyyyy."

Elrond about to pull an Elwing.

I want to see my little boy (Isildur). (Where is heeeee?)

Hello Glüg, you SDCC photo gem.

Ah Waldreg you fucker. Guess you figured out between seasons that he ain't Sauron.

Lmao not Sauron pulling a Moses on Adar. Wtf are you doing buddy?

Nori my beloved

Wow The Stranger has so much vocabulary now. I still think he swallowed a Harfoot dictionary.

Ok additional Harfoot food note: Beetles (scarab beetles?)

Oh yeah some fic writers are reaaaaally gonna enjoy the scenes of Halron chained and collared. Here comes another fic deluge!

Sauron, don't you remember what happened with Huan in the FA?

BEN DANIELS TIME LET'S GOOOOO.

RIP to this random elf messenger bc I don't think he's gonna make it.

Ben Daniels has the raaaaange.

Eärendil mentionnnn. And Beleriand mention! I wonder why the Mariana Trench option wasn't considered in the TA. Update: Ok nvm Círdan will answer that for us.

Poppy! Hopefully the others can still travel without the maps she took.

The music is so prettyyyy.

"Your people have been set free." #doubt (show me the proof! also why did Sauron want that? He needed slaves to work the fields in Mordor, right?)

Ah Waldreg did die in the exact episode we predicted.

More elf nuns!

Elf costumes! I need an analysis post!

Lmao Elrond's face. "Grunkle Círdan, you betrayed meeee!"

Galadriel: How 'bout I do anyway?

Elrond: Thanks I hate it.

Galadriel: Please don't jump off waterfalls again.

Mirdania! Aw shit Halron got there before the nameless doomed Lindon elf.

Ominous ending music, Bear.

Episode 2

DWARVES MY BELOVED

I love the terrace farming so much.

Dwarf food note: Mole-tail stew, Large mushroom (chanterelle-like) that is very valuable, smaller mushrooms, gourds!

ilu Disa

This scene was exactly what I needed for dwarves and dwarvish food reasons.

Oh shit not my dwarves :(((

Alfirin seeds!

Ooh creepy!

New elf characters! Do they have names? Please give them names!

"Crush two spiders with one boot." Ooh I hate the foreshadowing of that metaphor. Hates it, hates it.

More foreshadowiiiing.

Mirror of Galadriel foreshadowing specifically!

Eregion is so beautiful and majestic (thanks, Season 2 budget!). Sure do hope nothing bad happens to it! (sobbing)

Yup, RIP Lindon messenger elves.

I looove this music.

Skeletor! (By the power of Grayskull!)

Ooh cultists.

The Dweller is back!

"curse upon our flesh" wut

I have a bad feeling about this. (Wait, wrong fandom)

Where is Narviiii.

Do Disa's friends have naaames? Wait x-ray actually was helpful for once. Rachel Payne as Brenna and Laura Jane Matthewson as Revna! I'm so happy she has named friends who even gossip!

Hi Narvi!

King Durin: But do I still have grandparent's rights?

"Stubborn as a root-bound parsnip!" Hah.

Oh my god he's working on ships. I love that so much.

Ooh shit a flashback to the woods scene from Udûn.

Why are you shaving, sir? Sir.

Ahhhh poetry mentions from the FA! How nerdy.

The bell seems bad.

Eye of Sauron?

Uh-oh. Is this how he learns how squishy hobbits are on adventures?

Ooh he's developing door ideas. Fun!

I get the feeling Mirdania ain't gonna last the season, either.

Fuuuck tower foreshadowing.

Ooh elf umbrella!

Oh you little weasel!

"I'm going to open a First Age bottle." Love that detail.

"Are you my friend?" Hoo boi.

Ominous thunderclap. Ooooh.

Is he gonna larp as an Istar? Lmao.

"Soon every realm will fall." Because of you, asshole!

Title drop!

Wow. Okay. Playing on his insecurities and also calling him the "Lord of the Rings". Overdoing it a bit much there, Ronnie?

"I am your partner." screech

Pope-galad says you need babysitter, Gal. I'm sure this will go splendidly!

Episode 3

Bronwyn ;_;

Berek best boi my beloved

Sad Elendil and Valandil :(((

YESSS OH MY GOD IT'S HAPPENING. EVERYONE STAY CALM. IT'S HAPPENING!

ISILDUR SAVE YOUR HORSE FOR THE LOVE OF ERU.

Pls don't kill Berek. I couldn't stand it 😭

ISILDUR BEST HORSE GIRL

THEY'D BOTH BETTER LIVE OR SO HELP ME

FUCKING RUN ISILDUR FFS

(GOD I HATE LARGE FANTASY SPIDERS AND THIS IS WHY)

Ooh the shells funerary detail!

Eärien girrrrl your evil phase alarms me.

This ship is so saddd :(

More ominous tower shit.

Pharazôn, you weasel 2.0.

Fucking foreshadowiiiing.

Valandil my beloved! Oooh tension with Kemen.

A baby orc! Fascinating!

Damrod has arrived!

More title dropping!

"--a friend." The emphasis was so funny.

Durin is suspicious. Love it.

Celebrimbor: Well if I start a Catholic schism then so be it.

It is your moment, Holly-boy, but also your doom. You're being Anakined into Vader by Palpannatar.

Isildur has discovered the DnD means of equipment acquisition.

Noooo more dead horsies :(

Estrid :D (please don't be evil)

Lmao at least he knows proper wound procedures lol.

DO NOT HURT BEREK

Potato food spotted!

ARONDIR YASSS

THEY STOLE BEREK NOOOOO

Arondir sir you are low on arrows.

Arondir ;_;

Bronwyn :(((( fuck I'm so sad about this

I will never recover from the Aronwyn ship, I fear :(

Theo, buddy, need someone to talk to?

Sad version of Aronwyn theme nooooo :(

Really not liking how much King Durin's crown sorta resembles Sauron's this season.

Theo taking over his mother's skills :(

Yup, poisoned orc arrow theory confirmed.

Stepparenting with foreshadowing for Numenor, delightfulll.

Please don't be foreshadowing.

Who is his dad? Oh no hurtful, Theo. Buddy :(

My Garden Fam is broken and I'm deeply unwell about it.

Theo-Isildur friendship time?

BEREK HEIST BEREK HEIST

Isildur really is so relieved to be alive and not eaten by spiders that he's gone friend mode. How very like his Grunkle Elrond!

Oh no Isildur mom backstory :(

Don't cry Isildur and Theo bc then I'm gonna cry ;;_;;

Also now this is a narrative parallel!

Ah good gift discussion next to the word "precious" is throwing my brain. Oh lordy.

Please don't be evil, Estrid! I'm already suffering without Bronwyn and both Disa and Míriel are doomed af.

Theo wtf are you doing?

ENTS.

No don't lose the sword Galadriel gave you!

Míriel in white, Elendil in blue and gold, Pharazôn in red. Totally Kate Hawley doing some fascinating storytelling here.

Oh no my quote about Elendil and his daughter in a courtroom is suddenly very apt. Oh dear.

What did Elendil see?

Huh the unrest happened sooner than I thought.

EAGLE TIME LET'S GOOOO!

Eagle: Y'all are gonna die!

Elendil: Top 10 anime betrayals and by my own daughter. Wtf.

Annatar gets his own cute lil forging outfit :D

More symbolism!

Oh god what a way to end the first 3 episodes. Send help.

[ladysternchen]

Headcanon explained/character study- Elu Thingol, part 7

Long time no see. To my defence, these headcanon explained:s become a true headache of mine. I totally lost the thread and more than once just wanted to abandon them, or rewrite them into a more readable fashion. But that’s not what I do. I keep going and keep making it worse lol

And also, Elu is and will ever be my heart-elf (lol, if there’s heart-horses, there got to be heart-elves, right?) and clearly needs the support within fandom just now. So in this episode, we go back to another rather important relationship in Elu’s life, and that’s the Dwarves, and we’ll also touch a little more on the Years of the Trees in Beleriand, of which Tolkien sadly tells us nothing, except that the Sindar lived in undisturbed bliss for the most part.

(Um, undisturbed, but apparently disturbing others- namely Pettydwarves. Now, that is a very sketchy topic and it is impossible to tell from canon what exactly happened there, and especially for this headcanon-series, what Elu might or might not have had to do with it. We do know the Sindar hunted them. We also know that upon realising what they had truly done, they left them in peace. But then again, it was Elu himself who suggested the caves by the banks of Narog to Finrod as a possible location for his city. Did he know that some of the Pettydwarves still lived there and simply did not care? Did he not know? Apparently, the Dwarves of Nogrod and Belegost did not mind it at all IF they knew, and we are also told that the Pettydwarves themselves hated the Noldor more than the Sindar, and in return were ousted by the other dwarven tribes. 

As I said it is a super sketchy thing: I personally, with the eyes of a reader and writer talking about their favourite character, would think that Elu most certainly would not have agreed with the killing of the Pettydwarves. Simply because Melian would surely not have supported this, and whatever fanon makes of their relationship, he DID work together with his queen. 

As for Nargothrond… I honestly don’t know. Maybe he just didn’t know because he was not at all concerned with the Pettydwarves apart from telling his people to let them be, maybe he thought that if the Dwarves of the Blue Mountains were not concerned with soon-to-be-Nargothrond being the Pettydwarves’ domain, the Elves need not be, either, maybe he didn’t care, I don’t know. I think the most disturbing fact about that dwarven folk is the hatred they apparently get from their own people. That is just weird and makes so little sense. Anyway, on with the story.)

Ok, let’s start again. Tolkien tells us very very little about the blissful years of the Sindar, and we can let our imagination roam freely.

Elu could truly not have lived in greater bliss in Aman than he did in Beleriand during the long years of peace. It was almost possible, sometimes, to forget that he was indeed king, with his court being more friends than subjects and all those who lived further away only seldom seeking him out. The only grief in his heart remained the sea, for which he longed, but that he would hardly ever visit. Círdan often sought him out in the woods of Beleriand, but Elu in return could not bear the sound of the waves without a desperate longing gripping him- for Aman, for Finwë, for Olwë.

For Círdan, the sea was a -the- connection to his sundered kin, for Elu it was a constant remainder of whom he had abandoned. And then guilt would stir within him as well, for he had made his choice, and would make it over and over again. But that he would always choose Melian and Lúthien over everything else did not make him miss those who had gone on any less. 

It was almost like being stirred out of a happy dream when the Dwarves first arrived. 

(Now, I think it is worth noting here that the relationship between the Sindar and the Dwarves from the Blue Mountains were about as good as relationships between two so fundamentally different peoples can be. Remember, unlike with the Noldor, the Dwarves had very little to nothing in common with the Sindar, who were dancers and singers and loved both the sea and the trees- something the Dwarves were not particularly partial to. That they didn’t find each other very appealing was the design of Ilúvatar himself (‘no great love shall there be’), but they got along fine, apart from the name-calling (that we know occurred on part of the Sindar- Naugrim meaning the ‘stunted people’, but rather likely happened on the other side as well). And both benefited hugely from their relationship, the Sindar because the dwarves built them their city and wrought them their armours and weapons, and the Dwarves because they acquired both knowledge and treasures they would otherwise not have got. Even after the Noldor came to Beleriand, with whom the Dwarves got on much better than with the Sindar, they maintained their ties with Doriath and were allowed to pass freely in and out of the realm- with ultimate  consequences, as we all know. Anyway, on with the headcanon)

Elu did not like the Dwarves much in the beginning, but was courteous towards them all the same, and respected them, and was grateful for the invaluable knowledge they passed onto his people. Yet they carried news he would rather not have had, of evil stirring again beyond the Blue Mountains, evil that would inevitably creep into Beleriand was well, sooner or later. Melian only reinforced that dread with her foreseeing the coming war, and so they decided that they needed a stronghold, somewhere they could retreat to. But even though the Dwarves did build Menegroth unlikeness of their own fortresses, it was not them who knew of those caves- no, it was Elu himself who showed them. He had known the hill by the banks of Esgalduin and the caves it hid in its heart ever since that fateful day he had last said goodbye to Finwë. They had slunk away from the camp of the Noldor that day, enjoying only each other’s company as they had done so many times before. And then Finwë had told him of a noise he had heard a couple of times in these woods, and naturally, they had had to go and investigate. And there on the hilltop they found a small fissure and squeezed through it, only to find themselves in a cave. And then they had heard the wind, and realised that it must be an entire system of caves that was connected, and that the wind played as if it were a flute. 

So when the dwarves explained how they would build a city that could be a stronghold to the Eglath, Elu showed them the caves with mingled joy and grief. It was a way to honour Finwë, and be close to him in thought, though only a handful of people ever knew this.

The delving of Menegroth tightened the bond between the Eglath and the Dwarves of Belegost and Nogrod, to whom Elu would from now on turn in deep trust, be it where the making of weapons was concerned or the gathering of knowledge about the enemy’s movements. Especially to Gamil Zirak and his disciple Telchar became friends to him, and they wrought him both his shield and armour and also his sword (I’ve talked about the naming of Aranrúth in these headcanons already, and will do so again a bit later). But they also were his first contact with the finitude of mortal life, and with a grief that lacked the hope of a reunion. He feared this grief, and it may well be that this fear was part of the reason why after Telchar and Gamil, he became more emotionally distanced to the Dwarves, deciding that it did neither of them any good to bond too closely. The Dwarves later friendship with the Noldor only furthered this distance, though Elu still very much valued the Dwarves and their works. He viewed them as allies and people whom he could trust to bring his designs to life, and that did not change until his final moments. The Dwarves might have seen the end coming from the beginning of the Nauglamir business, but Elu did not. For him, it was simple- he commissioned them to join two of his possessions, and they would do so and get paid for their work. For the Dwarves, it was more. For one, they did not like the idea of treasures made by their hands passing from elf to elf, and only grudgingly saw the Nauglamir in Elu’s possession. (Ok, pause here for a moment. I know that fanon likes to see the Dwarves as the rightful owners of the Nauglamir and the Elves the thieves of their artwork- but that really doesn’t hold imo. Yes, we are talking here about different justice-systems, different laws and a different understanding of ownership. That’s fine, and I do not want to place the Elvish take on the matter above that of the Dwarves just because the Elvish one is closer to our own. BUT (!) The Dwarves of Nogrod had had trading relations for a thousand years before they set out to work on the Nauglamir. They knew the laws of the Sindar very well, and when agreeing to the commission agreed on the terms, like they had done countless times before. Also, they were IN an elvish realm, not dragged there, but by their own design. They agreed in the full understanding that they would never get the treasures they were asked to join. So no, as much as I see his death to be Elu’s lowest moment, it was still murder plotted by the dwarves. They wanted both the Nauglamir and the Silmaril. He always sat with them alone. They knew precisely what they were doing).

And again, the Silmaril. I will talk about Elu’s death in more detail later on in the series and really concentrate on the dwarves here. Maybe he guessed how it might end, or feared it, so that their claim made him all the angrier. Keeping his temper when under pressure was never one of his strength, and in that moment boiled over. He insulted them, and worse, practically threw them out without payment for a work they had done already. And that no dwarf would take. I mean, as I said before, they would have killed him anyway, because there was no other way for them to get what they wanted, but he made sure to go in the most undignified way possible, thus starting a strife between the Sindar and the Dwarves that would last for Ages. He did rue is actions, once death had cooled his anger rather effectively. It was not something he had to learn in the Halls of Mandos, it was something he knew and regretted straight away, and he cursed himself and his loose tongue and the fact that he could not have kept his mouth shut. Don’t get me wrong, he was still furious at the smiths, but he had insulted Dwarves in general, and that he really hadn’t wanted, not after all that they had done for him. Naturally, he could never amend for the insults, nor what has come of it, but it gave him a deep peace of mind when he heard about Legolas and Gimli many millennia later. 

(Yes, this is only headcanon. We do not have proof in canon that he ever rued his words. But given that he insulted Beren -and the entire race of Men alongside him- in quite a similar way and later completely turned around, it is quite fair to suggest he did the same with the Dwarves as well)

[aurore-parle-de-ses-idees]

7: dream

(tw near-death by fire and/or water? non graphic)

this week on what is up with sileär anyway:

You think you died, sometimes, in darker moments, or stranger ones, the ones when you’re exhausted and wrung out and people would not be wrong to call you fey. It was stupid to stay aboard Falarië and you knew it then, clinging stubbornly to the boards as they went up in flames around you, ignoring the pleading of those who tried to warn you, desperate not to have any more blood on their hands (but not enough to stop the others, you thought bitterly). It did no good, but you couldn’t bring yourself to abandon it, the last fleeting piece of home, the only thing you knew this side of the Sea.

You coughed and coughed in the smoke until nothing remained of your ship, and then you coughed and coughed in the cold water, all light obscured by thick smoke and dark waters. You hardly remember anything after that. You know it hurt.

The thought of dying was still strange to you, then. If this was it, it was nothing like the few stories you had heard. You recall it only dimly now, like a long-forgotten dream, but you do not think these were the Halls of Waiting. There the halls are narrow and the walls broad, reaching ever upward until they are lost to sight, and in shadows where the ceiling might be there swim the ghosts of doom. What light there is comes from the tapestries and the voice falls muted and dull.

Or so you have heard. 

You remember walking in halls of dark stone with pillars marbled with pearl, with great dark windows through which you see nothing. You were nearly alone there, but sometimes passing in the distance in the broad, vaulted halls something moves, some in the dark and some in the light of smooth crystal stones that cast a strange pale light that refracts like starlight through the water.

You walked with someone once, folded into a shape like yours but with ill-hidden power trailing behind like the train of long robes. 

“Where will you go, Luimiel?” you were asked.

You wonder sometimes if you could have gone home then. You spoke and you listened, and the talk was of fate and doom and futures so distant you can hardly believe they will ever come to be. You might be needed, some day. You would be. You will be.

You believed it. Even later, when you washed ashore along the Falas with no memory of how you got there or how long it had been since Losgar, fevered and still marked by the fires, you believed it. You stayed among Lord Círdan’s people and even when you believed the memory of the Deep Palace to be no more than a dream spun by delirium, you listened to the Sea and the rivers for whispers of purpose or of things to come. Sometimes they even answer you.

[icryyoumercy]

i feel like a lot of takes on criticising the valar's decisionmaking and their judgement of the elves are very... careful? elaborate? like slowly taking apart a complex bit of mechanics one screw at a time until the entire thing falls apart, and while i appreciate it, and it's neat to read, i feel like it's putting far more effort into it than any of it deserves

especially when we could just take up the metaphorical sledgehammer of their treatment of círdan

one of the very few people who has been unfailingly loyal, faithful, and obedient to the will of the valar, and their 'reward' for him is... leaving him stranded on a besieged shore for more than three ages of the world, and 'blessing' him with foresight about halfway through, and just generally expecting him to deal with the mess that was very much their own damn responsibility, and at absolutely no point offering him any sort of actual assistance or showing any sort of recognition for his work

hell, it would be fairly easy to argue that they knowingly and quite possibly deliberately tried to make his task harder if not downright impossible

like, it doesn't matter how irreplaceable círdan is, it doesn't matter just how badly it would have gone without him, it doesn't matter just how desperately needed he was. he had no hand in any of what happened. there was absolutely nothing whatsoever he could have done to avoid the disaster. it was not his duty to help fix it, and no one had any right whatsoever to order him to do so. and the fact that the valar nevertheless did order him, and then doubled down on that order while allowing literally everyone else to sail means their judgement isn't worth shit and they deserve absolutely zero authority over anyone or anything whatsoever

[thevalleyisjolly]

More Elrond and Elros headcanons:

Elrond may resemble Lúthien, but his singing voice, while decent, is more suited to the mead-hall than a starry forest glade or the Halls of Mandos.  Elros, on the other hand, was once told by Maglor that if he applied himself to his music, he could quite possibly be the equal of Finrod Felagund himself one day in skill and power.   From that day on, the only song Elros would sing in Maglor’s presence was the Lay of Leithian.

Neither of them are vegetarians; however, Elros did become a pescatarian, and because Elrond had a seafood allergy, they often ended up having vegetarian meals simply because it was something they could both eat.

Technically, they have not seen their parents since the Third Kinslaying, apart from a brief sneaky shore visit from Eärendil during the War of Wrath.  Unofficially, a friendly albatross used to wing its way back and forth between Tol Eressëa and Númenor, following the trade ships, and if it happened to carry letters that ended up making their way to a white tower by the Sundering Sea or a royal hall in Armenelos, Ulmo shamelessly guilt-tripped the other Valar into overlooking the fact.

Neither of them were able to learn how to shapeshift in their youth, and it became moot point for Elros after the Choice.  Elrond once attempted to turn into a crow, but wound up stuck as a half bird person for seven whole months until Galadriel figured out how to reverse it.

Elrond spent the first five decades of the Second Age hanging around Men and learning from their lorekeepers, while Elros sometimes shadowed Gil-Galad and Círdan to learn non-Fëanorian leadership tactics.  Although they were not identical twins, this understandably caused the occasional bit of confusion about which one was which.

Elros never deliberately grew a beard, although with razors in limited supply on long sea voyages and brand new Valar-raised islands, he sometimes sported a respectable short beard.  Elrond did deliberately keep a scruff from the many post-apocalyptic lore-mastering trips he made in his youth, but Círdan advised him to either commit to a full beard or go clean-shaven because the scruff-look was too distracting.  A half-dozen people had already re-evaluated their sexuality, a dozen more were still in crisis, Círdan’s most reliable coxswain had been standing frozen in pure enchantment for a week, and he simply refused to deal with another Thingol-Melian situation.

Aranrúth and Narsil may be heirlooms of his House, but Elros personally preferred a spear and a shield when it came to combat.  It had nothing to do with Gil-Galad -fishing spears were common in Mortal fishing villages and Elros spent a lot of time with his people- although they did exchange the occasional tip or manoeuvre.

Both of them had the gift of foresight, but while Elrond received long-term big picture visions, Elros got the “You will stub your toe on that chair leg in three days” type of deal.  He used it primarily for cheap tricks.

There was some surprise when Gil-Galad appointed Elrond his herald and sent him to relieve Eregion, since up until that point, he had spent most of his time studying lore, mastering healing, and engaging in statecraft rather than practicing martial pursuits.  Then his soldiers saw him in battle and had an “Oh shit” moment when they realized that the reason he usually stayed out of the fighting yards was because Maglor Fëanorian had been his first teacher.

There was a period of time in their youth when they would braid silver into their hair in memory of Doriath.  It always upset Maglor terribly; he would go off by himself mumbling snatches of the Noldolantë.  Maedhros only smiled bitterly and, in a rare show of involvement in their upbringing, took them out on wilderness survival trips to practice woodcraft.

Contrary to what the Lindon rumour mill speculated, it was not Elrond who made out with Gil-Galad in the library after dark that one time.

The personal archives of Elros Tar-Minyatur were not among the artifacts rescued from Númenor before its destruction; however, an infant Meneldil was playing with a very old clay dog on wheels when he was hastily bundled onto one of his father’s ships.  Over 3000 years ago, Elros had clutched that same toy as Maglor’s servants tore him and Elrond away from the nursery; some years before that, one of Elwing’s nurses had quickly shoved it into her small hands to soothe her distress as they fled from Doriath.  Many years ago, in a peaceful little home in Tol Galen, Beren had once delighted his baby son with a set of lovingly crafted figurines of Papa, Mama, and their good friends Huan and Uncle Felagund.  Uncle Felagund got lost during a picnic, Mama Lúthien was accidentally left behind when they returned to Doriath, and Elúred and Elúrin had been playing with (Grand)Papa Beren when the Fëanorians came.

Elros’ favourite birds were ducks.  Elrond is personally fond of geese, but agreed with Celebrían that raising both geese and children at the same time was just adding more stress to their lives.

For nearly 6000 years, the sea has always seemed to become especially frothy whenever Elrond steps on a ship or walks along its shore.  Much to the dismay of the Hobbits (and Gandalf, though he will never admit it), their entire sailing to Valinor is accompanied by cresting waves capped with glittering sea-foam.

[absynthe--minded]

in the midst of a long-awaited ask about institutional critique in Tolkien’s works I find myself fascinated by the fact that there’s not a lot of inherent worth in being royalty in the Silm and the Histories, and as this is sort of tangential to the points I’m going to be making in that ask, I figured I should talk about it here

specifically, in The Lord of the Rings there’s real importance to the fact that Aragorn isn’t just a really cool guy he’s got spiritual bonds to and dominion over the land? there’s prophecies to fulfill and unjust systems to break down and justice to be done and restoration that’s got to happen, and Aragorn (as I’ve said before in other posts) is of course a moral person who chooses to do the right thing and who has had decades of training to be a good diplomat and a good King, but also, it matters that he’s the heir. LotR is about Frodo and Sam (and neither of them are nobility, that’s Merry and Pippin, Frodo might be landed gentry but he doesn’t have an inherited title and Sam is 100% common-born) but in the background it matters that the monarchy be populated by good people because otherwise the monarchy is fucked

but in the Silm, where we get maybe five or six total non-noble characters of any importance (Círdan, Aerin, Sador, Nellas, Beleg, Bereg potentially), the monarchy is kind of ineffective when it comes to... well. basically everything. Manwë might be king of Arda but he can’t stop Morgoth from destroying the Trees. Thingol sits in Menegroth feeling smug but he’s hiding behind Melian’s Girdle. Fëanáro is High King for what might as well be all of five minutes and he uses that High Kingship to fuck everything up and make his personal problems the whole world’s problems. Findekáno’s most heroic moments (facing off against baby Glaurung, rescuing Maitimo, presumably assisting during the Bragollach) happen when he’s still a prince. Once Morgoth wins everything enough to call himself king he’s basically on the way out. Findaráto and Turukáno and Artaresto/Orodreth make their marks as essentially ineffective outside their very limited sphere of influence, with Turukáno both refusing to offer help to Húrin and refusing to heed Ulmo’s words of warning. Findaráto goes further than that - he really only becomes truly heroic when he gives up his kingship, realizing that there are things more important and more honorable than maintaining his life of relative comfort and luxury and influence.

Nolofinwë is sort of the lone exception, winning the Dagor Aglareb and reunifying the Noldor as best he can and introducing a few centuries of relative peace and prosperity for his people, but unlike Aragorn there’s nothing about what he does that truly necessitates him being High King. If he’d been a charismatic populist leader or a community organizer he could have conceivably done a lot of what he does in canon.

and I find this interesting because this is a story where everyone - and I do mean everyone - has some kind of tie to the nobility or to the ruling class, and yet one of the messages it repeatedly returns to is “the nobility and the ruling class are fallible, they are prone to error, they are just as flawed as anyone else, and when they fuck up they fuck up spectacularly”. Fëanáro doesn’t have some kind of deep spiritual tie to his people, they decided to follow him because they liked him. Thingol declared himself king of Beleriand and possibly arranged for his most significant political rival to die in battle, RIP Denethor of the Laiquendi but he ultimately doesn’t act in the best interest of Beleriand as a whole at any point.

the people who do the most good - Túrin, Beren, Findekáno - are acting outside of their roles as the heirs to great houses, and often are forced to choose between loyalty to the governmental system that gave them power or their hereditary office and doing what’s right. Túrin goes back to Dor-lómin and instead of freeing everyone from slavery and starting a resistance movement and restoring his family name to a place of honor he makes everything objectively worse; his heroism is best showcased when he’s under an assumed name and away from his identity as the heir of Húrin Thalion. Beren has to abandon Dorthonion for the sake of his own survival, and he never reclaims it, he finds worth and value in a life beyond striving to save a legacy that cannot be saved by just one man. Findekáno goes against the political best interests of his father when he saves Maitimo from Angamando - even though this act of selfless altruism and deep love is ultimately the right choice, in the moment he’s risking his own life for the heir of a hostile house and he has no idea how this will end up.

there’s something really compelling about the fact that the story Tolkien wrote that’s praised as glorifying the heroism of everyday people is the one about the spiritual renewal inherent in the fulfillment of prophecy, and the story he wrote about a bunch of bitchy nobles all fighting each other is the one that’s most ambivalent about whether or not there’s anything special about the people in charge.

[undercat-overdog]

Various headcanons about Celebrimbor and his family that is inspired by secondageweek but that I’m not going to link to because some of them are contrary and not particularly second agey.

The only (paternal) uncle he’s close to, and the only one he loves, is Celegorm, who was, by and large, an excellent uncle, and not just because he had the dog.

Celebrimbor doesn’t like Maedhros, and inasmuch as Maedhros thinks of him (not that he thinks of him much) there’s also no liking. This is by and large personality conflict, neither of them being particularly easy people, but after Celebrimbor sees the wreckage of Sirion (he was one of the people who came with Círdan and Gil-Galad), the primary attitude Celebrimbor has to Maedhros (and Maglor, and the dead Amrod and Amras) is disgusted horror. Over time that changes to pity, but he’ll never be sad Maedhros died, and in Aman, if prodded and feeling cornered, Celebrimbor might well say that Feanor and himself weren’t the only Feanorians who were killed by the enemy. (Does C mean that, that Maedhros was also killed by the enemy? Yes and no, but mostly his automatic response when feeling trapped and attacked is to be cruel. He keeps it mostly under control, because he is a good person who knows it’s wrong, but instinctive responses do surface under stress.)

If Maglor ever showed up in Eregion, Celebrimbor would welcome him for philosophical reasons but not think he was family, not really, and make no effort to spend time with him, certainly not in private, would probably avoid him. As a kid, Maglor did send the best toys, many fun musical instruments to play with and take apart! Like drums and xylophones! Awesome uncle! (Eternal enmity from Curufin and the Mrs.)

Close to the Arafinweans. Finrod acted as an uncle in Nargothrond (Celebrimbor and Finduilas got several Very Important Talks on the necessity of shiny things) and Galadriel and Celeborn are close family (”great friends” with them). Celebrían is like a sister.  In Aman, Finarfin and Celebrimbor bond, initially over talking about silversmithing (which I headcanon Finarfin learned in Alqualonde), and Finarfin and Finrod do a fair bit of shielding C from politics.

On the Nolofinwean side, not close to Elrond but no conflict. They got along fine, just never spent time together. Never met Idril, Turgon, Aredhel, or Maeglin. Briefly met Fingolfin and Fingon, nothing to report there. (Edit: actually, likely met Idril when he was on Balar and she in Sirion.)

Very close to his maternal family as a child - mother and her family are Falathrin - and he and Curufin/Mrs Curufin spends some time living with her family as a kid, in part as insurance against the Doom. They all die in the First Age, though. Most people die, really. Dead turtles all the way down.

[child-of-hurin]

I’m not sure Elwing is officially a queen without the realm, but the lathrim might regard her as one? I do think Elwing has a queenly air, born and then cultivated. Maybe to the Teleri she at first seems a scared girl but they see that air and feel…courage? Maybe Elros has that air the Edain see? It’s easy for me to see them both giving off such vibes, whereas kingly Eärendil or Elrond is…amusing…

I love what you said about Elwing and the Teleri, that's definitely what I think too! When she starts talking some of the older ones are reminded of Elu Thingol convincing them to take on the Journey... I had NOT thought of Elros in these terms but it is also easy to see him showcasing the charisma necessary to make people follow you into a journey to an unknown land, full of bliss and promise, to make a home there :')

Re: the scaffolding I use to hold up my queen Elwing headcanon (I got wordy):

We know the Sindar have hereditary monarchy because Dior inherited from Thingol; we don't know whether Lúthien was skipped because they don't have women queens (like every other goddamned Tolkien monarchy) or because she clearly had No Interest in doing that (my hc and IMO a reading that makes the most sense regardless of what Tolkien intended for Sindar laws of succession). Regardless, there are no other heirs who could claim that title during her lifetime.

The matter of Earendil as a king is tricky because Turgon was king of Gondolin; Earendil should have inherited that throne (since Idril can't because Woman), but Gondolin was destroyed. Some fellow nerds argue Turgon WAS High King of the Noldor, but to me that's a big fat joke lol, maybe he had an arguable claim but that's all... Earendil COULD inherit that possible argument for a claim but it doesn't seem like he does or like anybody ever considers it. He has no means to enforce it even if he wanted to. The only claim to kingship Earendil would have would be to Gondolin, if it still existed. 

disclaimer that this is just my preferred HC at the moment, but here goes:

Thingol was their king since before the First Age, and many of them are only there in Beleriand because they didn't want to leave without him in the first place. My HC is that the Sindar are greatly attached to Thingol as a monarch figure. I think that plays into how easily they adopt Dior as the new king: I think they WANT to have a king.**

My HC also is that being the king of the Sindar involved, for Thingol, much less administrative work than for the kings of the Noldor. Why this headcanon? IDK, just vibes. The Sindar are no longer actively participating in a war effort, and inside the Girdle we don't really get a farming vibe. We know Círdan sends Thingol pearls, but there's nothing very clear on whether that's like, tribute, or just a gift. There's trade, of course, with Dwarves and other elves, but that's a Doriath issue, not a Sindar issue. He's not telling Círdan who to trade with or how to do it... But when he issues the Quenya ban, for example, he's not (unlike some very creative fans seem to think) sending a secret police of Sindar elves to enforce it. He counts on his people's willingness to listen to his commands, even those who are beyond the Girdle, and it seems like that's exactly what they do. They defer to his authority when he requests it, but it doesn't seem like he (needs to) request it very often.

This all to say that it is my common assumption that being a loyalist to Thingol and his line is a cultural thing for many Sindar, including, ofc, the ones who escaped with Elwing to Sirion. It makes a lot of sense to me that she would be seen by her people as the queen of the Sindar, so I like to HC that :)

[armenelols]

What happened next to Gil-galad the time travelling king?

Referencing this post.

I haven't thought about the AU much; it was mostly a self-indulgent idea I thought of due to my desperate need for more Elrond & Gil-galad content.

But you bet I am willing to ramble about it. Also, sorry it took me this long to answer - originally, I started writing it in the more story-telling way the OG post was in, then read it, disliked it strongly, tried again, was interrupted by having to study, forgot about it, remembered when I had no free time and finally got to it yesterday. Oh well.

So of the things I had thought of, we have several points:

1. His time in the Third Age

2. Did he keep his memories after returning to the First Age?

3. How does the time travel here work?

1. He was mostly trying to cope with the idea that he time travelled. Gil-galad isn't dumb - sooner or later he would realise that in the Third Age, he is dead. More angst ensues. He would probably spend the largest amount of time with Círdan - someone who stayed similar to what he remembered him like in the ages past unlike Elrond who is suddenly an old wise lord rather than a kidnapped baby, but Gil-galad still befriends him. In a way. Elrond is up for an emotional rollercoaster, but then again, so is everyone else. At this point in time, Elladan and Elrohir are already on their vengeance highway and spending much of their time with rangers - not much opportunity for Gil-galad, who is barely into his adulthood, to befriend them. Arwen would be a good choice, but I don't know if she is in Rivendell or Lothlórien; Glorfindel is a dead hero out of a legend and young Gil-galad is way too awed. Other than them, we know next to nothing about the other elves of Rivendell, so depends on what one's headcanons are.

He wouldn't do much in the Third Age in general - he is a time traveller, he isn't supposed to be there, he can't suddenly walk around and announce his presence to the world. He stays in Rivendell. He probably doesn't learn about the past - his future - much because I doubt someone would tell him everything when they don't know what will happen once he gets back. He feels very out of place since his mind is still toned to a different age, although everyone tries to make him feel welcome.

2. Two scenarios here;

A/ He forgets everything, but is left with feelings of deja vu way too often afterwards. He thinks it's foresight - he knew things he wasn't supposed to, things that he shouldn't be able to know. But he does, and when he marches to his last battle, he knows how he will die before he even stands against Sauron. He doesn't back out of the fight.

Kind of like Halbarad during Pelennor.

B/ He keeps his memories and spends the following age in despair over how he is afraid to change the timeline, but wants to change the timeline; but once he tries, the timeline stays the same. Otherwise, it would create a paradox - he can't prevent something that he knows will happen if he knows it because he learned it after it happened. He wouldn't be able to learn it in the first place otherwise. *did I make sense?* More angst. Death feels like an end to the endless loop of being trapped in a life he can't properly control.

3. My idea was related to Ainulindalë, in a way similar to the one Melkor took when trying to change the melody to his own tune. For Gil-galad to time travel, someone would have to attempt something similar - add their own tune to the song of creation. To explain it in a very simplistic way:

The first pic: four E2 quarter notes

The second pic: four E2 quarter notes, with an added C1 whole note

Also shown here in the video for comparison (in case someone has no idea about sheet music and also because I am a dumbass) - includes both pics; as well as a simple D major chord (and after that, D major with an added G2)

If you play a song, the song stays the same even if you add your own touch to it - you don't change the tone of the whole song by adding a tone or two. If you change too much, it's not the same song.

We know songs have power in Middle Earth. Finrod who sung an orcish disguise on himself, Beren and their companions, battled Sauron with a song; Lúthien in pretty much half of her scenes. In my headcanons, they are able to do that because they blend their own song with the song of creation - enough change that Lúthien can pull a Rapunzel with her hair, but not enough to change the course and nature of the world for the rest of eternity *glances at Melkor*

In that case, that would be the way Gil-galad time travelled in the first place - I have yet to think of why (maybe a failed attempt of one of his Morgoth's servants to get rid of him? Idk), but that was also the way he got back - probably with the help of elves such as Elrond, Círdan, whichever minstrel of old was hanging out around Rivendell.

He gets back to the very hour he time travelled from. No one has noticed he was gone. Now he just has to deal with deja vu and foresight or memories.

And win a war or two.

[arofili]

HCs about Elemmírë?

Oh man, for a character we have next to no information about other than “Vanya” and “sang a really sad song about the Trees,” I have a lot of headcanons for Elemmírë!

First of all, Elemmírë is named after a heavenly body (possibly Arda’s version of Mercury?) and the name is not given in either a masculine or feminine form, so we don’t know Elemmírë’s canon gender. This of course means that Elemmírë is trans, you can’t change my mind! I’ve seen depictions of them as nonbinary, which I love, but personally my Elemmírë is a trans woman!

All the rest of my headcanons are pretty much made up whole cloth :)

I intended to make like, a bullet point list of headcanons, but I ended up referencing my recently created personal timeline of the Years of the Trees and the First Age, and...it kind of expanded into an essay on Elemmírë’s role in the larger story of that verse of mine. So, under the cut is a roughly 2,000 word essay on my take on this blank slate of a character!

~

Elemmírë is one of the Unbegotten elves who awoke at Cuiviénen. When she awoke, everyone assumed she was a male elf, which didn’t really sit right with her but she didn’t know how to express herself at the time. For the first part of her life she lived as a nér.

Elemmírë has a sister*, Calima (one of my OCs). Calima marries an Avar, who she manages to drag with her on the Great Journey despite his reluctance to go West. Right before Ulmo takes the Vanyar and the Noldor to Aman, Calima’s husband leaves her and disappears into Taur-im-Duinath...but not before Calima becomes pregnant. Elemmírë comforts her and supports her through the birth of her child, Elenwë - the first child to be born in Aman.

*(My headcanon around Unbegotten siblings is that some elves woke with soul bonds that connected them to other elves, which while they aren’t genetically related, they consider to be siblings of their fëa. This is the case for Elwë, Olwë, and Elmo; I also gave Nowë (Círdan) and Ingwë OC siblings. Finwë is a loner, which is part of why he’s so concerned about creating and keeping a marriage bond...)

While Ingwë is busy building Tirion with Finwë, his sister-in-law Alcariniel (the mother of Indis; her spouse died on the Great Journey and has yet to be reborn) leads some of the Vanyar to the foot of Taniquetil and founds what will become Valmar. Calima, Elenwë, and Elemmírë go with Alcariniel.

At this time, Elemmírë enters into the service of Varda. She develops a close relationship with her Vala, and feels more comfortable in the beautiful starry robes and among the company of mostly priestesses than she ever did in the more gendered Vanyarin society. She sings and composes hymns to Varda and the heavens.

About a century later, Elemmírë is an established and well-renowned musician in Valmar. It is then that she meets Findis, daughter of Indis, when Findis is visiting Taniquetil with her grandmother Alcariniel. Findis greatly admires Elemmírë’s songs and engages her in a discussion about poetry; the two quickly become friends.

After another hundred years or so, Findis’ half-brother Fëanáro has his fourth child. Finwë invites his whole family to the celebration; Findis now lives in Valmar and does not always attend these begetting day parties, but she happens to be in Tirion for the occasion - with Elemmírë, who tags along to the party.

At the celebration, Makalaurë (a young teen in Elf Years) sings a piece he wrote for his new baby brother, and Elemmírë is greatly impressed by his talent and offers to teach him personally. He’s had music tutors before, but none so renowned, and he is absolutely star-struck. Fëanáro has an inherent distrust of the Vanyar, but he cannot deny his son anything, especially when it comes to furthering his craft, so he agrees to let Elemmírë teach Makalaurë, on the condition that she move to Tirion. Findis offers to move back as well, so her friend won’t be alone; they move in together.

A few years later, Elemmírë takes her star student Makalaurë to Valmar so he can perform at her niece’s 200th begetting day party. This is, of course, Elenwë; Makalaurë is immediately besotted with her, and does his best to impress her. Of course, Elenwë is well into adulthood and Makalaurë is still an awkward adolescent, so nothing ever comes of this, but they do eventually become friends.

All this time, everyone has assumed that Elemmírë is a nér, but with every passing year she becomes more and more certain that is not actually the case. At last she confesses to her dear friend Findis that she thinks she might be a nís, and while Findis isn’t quite sure what that means at first, she’s very supportive and encourages Elemmírë to go to Varda with this revelation.

I do operate in a verse where some homophobia and transphobia exist in Aman, kind of accidently put into place by a well-meaning but ultimately harmful decision by Manwë, but Varda is significantly more chill than her husband. She doesn’t really get what Elemmírë is saying, but she supports her servant’s change in expression. Elven gender roles are pretty loose, so it’s not really that much of a difference, and with Varda’s support Elemmírë feels more confident in herself and comes out to the public.

Most elves, especially the Vanyar, likewise don’t really get it, and privately they still see her as a nér, but there is a firm taboo against rudeness which means they will refer to Elemmírë with the correct pronouns and honorifics and such because it would be incredibly rude not to. The discomfort with someone else’s non-normative expression is easier to deal with than the social impropriety of deliberately refusing to respect someone’s wishes about their personal identity.

This, along with Varda’s kind-of-confused-but-she’s-still-got-the-spirit support of  Elemmírë means it’s a pretty smooth transition process for her. Since her name isn’t gendered, she decides to keep it, and she is much happier now that she can express her true self. She also has a staunch ally in Findis, who she has recently begun courting.

Again, there is some homophobia in my verse, and two níssi in a relationship is generally frowned upon, but the half-acceptance of Elemmírë’s gender allows them to exploit a loophole in that particular Law/Custom. Manwë, at least, still sees Elemmírë as a nér, and so doesn’t see anything wrong with her dating Findis. It’s not the ideal situation, but Elemmírë and Findis aren’t really the “fight the system” type, so they’re content to live with the happiness they’ve been allowed.

Eventually, Makalaurë reaches his first coming of age** and Elemmírë takes her student on a tour of all Eldamar to show off how exceptional a musician he has become. He is declared a master singer, and leaves Elemmírë’s side to pursue mastery in instruments, beginning with the harp. His teacher couldn’t be more proud.

**(In my headcanon, elves have two coming-of-age ceremonies: one when they reach age 50, and are considered physically mature and old enough to be given more freedoms in their decisions, including now being of a socially acceptable age to start dating; and the other at age 100, where they are considered a Full Adult and able to marry. Sometimes elves marry younger than that, but it isn’t super common. Age pretty much stops mattering, especially when it comes to age gaps in relationships, when an elf is about 150.)

Not long after this, Elemmírë and Findis get married! Makalaurë performs his then-masterpiece at their wedding. Also at the wedding, Findekáno is caught up in all the glorious romance, and the possibilities of same-gender marriage now that two níssi (one a princess!) can be wed, and confesses the depth of his love for Maitimo. Maitimo...immediately panics and brings up all the reasons why their love is doomed, how their aunts are the exception and not the rule and besides there’s that loophole they’re taking advantage of that doesn’t really work for néri like us - but notably does not deny that he feels the same way. Findekáno is heartbroken by the rejection; Maitimo is terrified of his feelings and distances himself from his beloved cousin for a time.

But of course that doesn’t last long - and it’s at the celebration of the birth of Laurefindil, Findis and Elemmírë’s son, that Maitimo brings himself to reconcile with Findekáno...platonically. Of course. Until a few months later where he just can’t take it anymore and breaks down and confesses he can’t deny his feelings any longer, and they get together at long last.

Findis, Elemmírë, and Laurefindil return to Valmar and settle down there. Laurefindil is buds with both his Vanyarin cousin Elenwë and his oodles of Noldorin cousins. At his first coming of age celebration, he introduces his cousin Elenwë (on Elemmírë’s side) to his cousin Turukáno (on Findis’ side), and Turukáno immediately falls madly in love and begins some intense pining that will rival even his older brother’s romantic dramatics.

As strife grows among the Noldor, Findis and Elemmírë distance themselves from Tirion as much as they can; Makalaurë is pretty much the only Finwëan who is allowed to visit them. However, Laurefindil misses his Noldorin cousins and, after his second coming of age, chooses to move to Tirion and join his grandfather Finwë’s court. He becomes even closer to Turukáno (who has by now married Elenwë) and is very loyal to his older cousin.

At the Darkening, Elemmírë is deeply grieved at the destruction of the Two Trees, and it is then that she composes her most famous song, the Aldudénië, “Lament for the Trees.” Her grief is compounded when her son chooses to go into exile with his Noldorin kin - and, almost worse, when her niece Elenwë chooses to leave as well.

Elenwë is the only Vanya who leaves (well, the only Vanya who is fully culturally Vanyarin without any Noldorin ancestry), mostly because she cannot bear to be separated from her husband and young daughter, but also because she knows the story of her Avarin father who stayed behind in Endórë and hopes that she will meet him on the hither shore. (Unfortunately, she perishes crossing the Ice. Idril will eventually meet her maternal grandfather, but not until just before she and Tuor sail West. Elenwë is reborn in Aman shortly after the founding of Gondolin; she reunites with her Vanyarin family and with her good friend Amárië.)

I don’t have a whole lot of headcanons for Elemmírë and Findis during the events of the First Age; they live mostly a quiet life. I think Elemmírë rededicates herself to the service of Varda, and pleads with her Vala to show mercy for the Noldor in their need. (Perhaps that helped to convince Varda’s husband to send an eagle to Thangorodrim?)

When they hear of Laurefindil’s death in the Fall of Gondolin (because of course Glorfindel followed his favorite cousin Turgon to his hidden city, and got a noble house out of it!), Elemmírë and Findis grieve his loss all over again. They don’t know how long it will be before his rebirth, and they soon decide to have another child together. This is their daughter, Faniel, who grows up on stories about her brother’s bravery.

Eventually Glorfindel is reborn, and he has a few good centuries in Aman with his family (and his husband Ecthelion, who he finally gets to marry; they had gotten betrothed the day before Gondolin fell, RIP) before the Valar send him back to Middle-earth to play the hero again. Elemmírë and Findis are once again heartbroken to lose him, but they are at the same time incredibly proud of their son for his bravery and dedication to all things good in the world. This time, he leaves with the blessing of Varda, his mother’s patron Vala, and a promise that he will return when his task is complete. He does, but not until the Fourth Age, when he sails back to Valinor with Elladan and Elrohir!

[halfelven]

Last 20 Stories: First Lines

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line. Then tag [up to] 10 authors! (Feel free to link your fics in the titles.)

tagged by @unnamedelement thank you!

🌲🌷🌸🌷🌹🌳🌻🌲🌳🌻🌲🌳🌷🌹🌲🌻🌻🌷🌷🌷🌺🌻🌸🌳🌲

(garden where the flowers are as big as the trees)

works!

the unwronged

Mairon watches the water pool on the floor.

throwing stones

The sun seeps along the horizon, lighting the dark clouds red. Elrond watches seagulls rise into the sky. They hover and dip, settle on the rocks. They are fighting over fish and crabs or finding bits of dark seaweed. Elrond has his black hair knotted on the back of his head and then braided down his back. The bottom of the braid sweeps along the icy rocks. He has never cut his hair in his whole life.

Announcing High King Whatever

Gil-galad stood in his room smiling. He was filled with bliss. The blue curtains in the window blew in on the wind. In the trees outside birds were singing sweet songs that filled the air. All was well in Middle-earth. Morgoth had been thrown out. Their enemies were scattered. And Círdan had sent Gil-galad a herald.

burn a lament (lend me your fears)

The wind would have blown the house over; it would have racked the ground bare beneath its hidden strength and shattering wail. It would have taken everything that Túrin knew, but he stood in its way.

what we played

Elrond’s skin is cold.

Morgoth Fun for the Whole Family

'Blast!' Andróg brushed away a prickly branch tugging at his knee. 'Neithan, are you sure we are going the right way?' Andróg stopped for a moment to detach an especially tangled blackberry vine from his hair and stumbled after his captain.

Selfish

The sky is darkening to a deep blue. Leorio sits on the fire escape, unfinished dinner plate beside him. The wind stirs his hair. Killua is slouched against him, done with dinner, sucking on a lollipop. He’s got his head on Leorio’s shoulder, legs up on the railing, crossed at the ankles.

when the morning comes

Maedhros wakes with a start in the night, and the stars are gone.

you can’t be pure

In the pain of Thranduil’s heart there is a common thread: a blue cord like a vein holding loss together in names that he will never hear answered now. There are many.

notorious

Elrohir can see the present. It is a gift. It is a curse.

Victory Comes Late

And love is a brushed on kiss, a brushed away tear, a brush against the cheek, and it means isn’t there a god with mercy? But Maglor’s tears are as hot as the molten core of the bent earth, but the paths do not bend, so how shall any find them? How do you beg for mercy when no one will hear you?

‘twere easier for you

Elrond pauses before opening the door.

butterfly

Legolas wanders along the river bank, arms stretched out at his sides like wings.

the answer is time

Legolas’s knees are painted green from the grass when he comes back from the moss-grown groves of silver trees. The sky is lit with stars, and there is no other light, for the moon will not rise, and they have made no fire. Still Gimli can see the green on his skin, when Legolas sits beside him and rests his arms around his legs, draws his knees up to his chin.

storms

Celebrían wakes to the wind. It’s strong enough that it sounds like it could take the house down, maybe even the mountains. Elrond is already awake. He sits, staring out the window. The curtains are open. She wishes they were drawn. There’s something in the wind she doesn’t want to see. There are shadows stretched out from the window – long and bent – on the floor, though there is no light outside.

kanerva

Celebrían stirs when the water touches her ankle. The tide is coming in along the strip of grey sand. Soon it will reach the rocks that slide towards it from beneath the pine trees. Then the strip of sand will become nothing, all of it will be covered, and the waves will search the rocks for company.

on the strangest sea

Killua had not known that nights were meant to be this gentle.

through realm of shadow (aragorn/legolas)

The rain is hard on the roof of the hut. The hut is all roof. Eight large beams lean together at a point in the top. Between them run smaller beams, and then there is wood, pitched with wood tar to keep out the weather.

my love/saving

‘We were children,’ Turgon says.

all I know

‘What is this thing?’ Thranduil asks. He stands in the night as the moon rises from behind the trees. It is wide and white, and already scarred.

patterns are 'I wanted to be with you alone/and talk about the weather but traditions I can trace against the child in your face/won't escape my attention. I made a fire and watching it burn I thought of your future (Have you no ambition?)

but yes natural world/weather/environment/surroundings are also a character and will be established immediately comes up a lot

I do not like opening on dialogue but I knew that about myself and it takes a lot for me to read a story that starts with dialogue too and I do not know why

my favourite opening line out of these is probably 'Maedhros wakes with a start in the night, and the stars are gone.' or 'The sun seeps along the horizon, lighting the dark clouds red. Elrond watches seagulls rise into the sky. They hover and dip, settle on the rocks. They are fighting over fish and crabs or finding bits of dark seaweed. Elrond has his black hair knotted on the back of his head and then braided down his back. The bottom of the braid sweeps along the icy rocks. He has never cut his hair in his whole life.' which are like opposites in terms of openings but both just establish tone and character voice for me really fast

also 'The rain is hard on the roof of the hut. The hut is all roof. Eight large beams lean together at a point in the top. Between them run smaller beams, and then there is wood, pitched with wood tar to keep out the weather. ' from through realm of shadow because you know you're going to be dealing with someone who is a bit hunted by how careful he is with mapping out the entire environment

also 'Mairon watches the water pool on the floor.'

also I like that the comedic ones set the tone of being comedic v fast

and if the title has capitalisation then there's like a 50/50 chance it's going to be a comedy

also a couple of these I started when I was 16 - 17 and it shows

I can't think of anyone I know who I haven't seen tagged in this already so..................... if you weren't you can be now?

also now I really want to write more comedy. I have Ideas!

[monstersandmaw]

Winter Solstice - Fae Prince, Part Three

Here’s Part Three of Winter Solstice for you! Patreon folks have had access to it for a little while, and now it’s time to share it here. Hope you enjoy! If you do, don’t forget to reblog or let me know with a comment etc. It really is fuel for us writers!!

There’s also artwork of our boy Círdan now too, which you can find over on the Shadows tier ($1) on Patreon!

Finally, Trope Tuesdays are starting over on Patreon (only), with the poll for the first trope going up on 31st January. Both the poll and the resulting story will be available for all patrons from $1 upwards.

Part One (sfw), Part Two (sfw)

Content: exploration of the castle, some time with Mirana, a creepy Librarian, and a bit of our one winged angel uh, I mean, Fae...! Wordcount: 3361

After waking up in the Fae Realm after her ordeal with the tainted creature, in the frozen Court of Winter no less, our human met the prince and the closest members of his court, and learns that she has to remain there for a while. This time, we see a bit of the palace, and get to know a couple more of those closest advisors a tiny bit better... 

As one lovely patreon commenter said, ‘our human really knows how to make friends’... or... uh... not.

“Shall I at least give you a little tour?” Mirana said politely as the throne room doors closed with a surprisingly soft whisper behind them, shutting Prince Círdan in and them out with barely a sound.

Narrowing her eyes, she nodded and said tartly, “Show me the places I’m permitted to explore?”

“And the ones you’re not, if you’d like to see them,” Mirana said with a glint in her eyes.

“Yeah, how about I don’t piss off my captor on my first day?” she snorted and Mirana laughed openly, a sound like tinkling glass.

The castle - the House of Winter - was larger than any keep she’d ever even imagined. The only building she had for reference was the king’s palace in Caer Grauth, which, although ancient, had nothing on this place. The walls, as they walked down corridors with lace-like plasterwork, were white as the fresh-fallen snow blanketing the mountainside beyond the crystal windows, and the pale floors were polished to a high sheen and patterned with forking fronds of frost like rare plant fossils.

“Let’s begin with the ballroom,” she crooned, seeming almost to float down a winding staircase with a gently curved banister. The halls and rooms seemed oddly empty as they walked in silence, and when she brought this up, Mirana sighed. “Most of our High Fae in the court live in their own holds,” she explained. “It’s tough living up here.”

She looked around at the opulence as they stepped into the ballroom and snorted sarcastically, “I can see that.”

Mirana rolled her eyes and turned to face her. “Nothing lives here save for brambles inland and seals on the coast. Almost everything we eat we have to trade for.”

That was interesting. “Can’t your magic grow things?”

“Not on a large enough scale to feed an entire nation, which is what the Court of Winter amounts to. The gardens here have the crystal houses, of course, but that is only for the high table and the royal family to enjoy.”

“So what’s your export then?”

The Fae’s eyes brightened at her question and she jutted one hip out as she stood surveying her new human companion thoughtfully. With pretty lips just revealing the hint of a smile at one corner, she said, “These mountains have some of the richest veins of gold, silver, and gemstones. Not to mention that we are the only place that stellarite has been uncovered.”

She frowned, unfamiliar with the word, and Mirana giggled, filling the room with a playful noise that was completely at odds with the solemn, empty ballroom. Mirrors lined each wall, framed by white arboreal columns, slender as saplings, with branches reaching up and over the glass to become the vaults of the ceiling so that it felt like standing in a silver birch forest at dusk, the crystal chandeliers unlit but still sparkling like frozen leaves above.

“Stellarite is the metal from which we make our crowns and jewellery,” she purred, raising her hand and rippling her fingers to show off the three delicate rings she wore on each hand. The metal looked like white gold, but it had a speckled quality to it, like starlight. “A single gram of it costs more than most Fae here earn in a year, and Círdan’s mask is made of an even rarer alloy of stellarite and inlustrium.”

Her lip curled. “What’s wrong with a plain old wooden one?” she muttered, turning on her heel and pacing from the ballroom.

Growing up on the edge of the small village, they’d not been precisely poor, but they’d certainly struggled at times. She remembered vividly in that moment the winter when her mother had hurt her back, having been kicked by a crazy, savage horse that should have been put down years earlier, and she’d not been able to work for months. They’d tried their best, with their father making the journey into the city to sell his turned wooden bowls and carved spoons, but it hadn’t been enough. The boys had only been eight and six at the time, so it had fallen to her to hunt in the forest with arrows that she and her mother had made. They’d got by, and her mother had gone back to work once her mother’s back had healed, but it had been one of the harshest winters she’d ever experienced. And here these creatures were, gloating about some useless precious metal that cost more than most people would see in a lifetime. Her stomach churned.

Mirana had adopted her frosty veneer again when she followed her out of the ballroom, and she marched her down corridors, waving her elegant, jewelled hand briefly to indicate one state room or other, until finally she paused at the top of a staircase. “This is the East Wing,” she said. “The prince, Ahrin, Raeth and I all have our rooms in that part of the castle. I suspect you would not be welcome wandering here, human…”

“What on earth makes you think I’d willingly go looking for any of your bedrooms?” she said and Mirana pouted slightly, as if affronted and trying not to show it.

“Fine,” she said. “Since none of this has been to your liking, perhaps you could tell me what you would actually like to see?”

“Does any of you read?” she asked acerbically. “Do you have a library I can lose myself in while I’m stuck here as your prisoner?”

Returning the venom in the human’s gaze, Mirana crooned, “Oh, I assumed a simple peasant like you couldn’t read. Now that I know that’s not the case, let’s go.”

‘Bitch’, she thought but wisely kept that to herself.

The library was beyond what she’d expected. Like the rest of the palace, it was sculpted from smooth stone, the colour of bleached bones, and it was as cold as everywhere else in the castle, but the three-storey high room was lined with books and scrolls. The light was muted; the enormous windows on the left hand side of the room that stretched from floor to ceiling had had their white shutters drawn halfway, and each panel had, like a child’s cut-out snowflake, twisting voids in the woodwork which let in a pale, muted shafts of light.

A yelp escaped her, however, when someone emerged through a slender, pointed archway in the wall opposite the windows, and she took an involuntary step back in alarm as the strange, inhuman figure approached.

Stoop-shouldered, with iron grey skin and opalescent wings like a dragonfly’s folded neatly behind them, the creature had a gaunt, skull-like face with its leathery skin stretched tightly over harsh cheekbones and deep eye sockets. They were slender in the extreme, walking on legs like a bird’s with deadly jet black talons, their body swathed in a piece of fabric reminiscent of a toga, and, she noted with a swirl of fearful unease, they had four arms. Their head was bald, and their two huge eyes were a startling, blood red.

She had never seen anything like this creature, but, despite the fact that the sight of them brought back memories of the tainted horror that had attacked her, she refused to look away or to be intimidated by them.

When they saw Mirana standing there, they bowed low, wings buzzing a quick, terse salute, and straightened, asking, “Your Highness, what can I do for you today?”

“Nothing, Librarian,” she smiled. “I am just showing our new guest around. Apparently the human can read.”

“Human…” the Librarian hissed, drawing themselves up defensively, lips peeling back to reveal a maw full of needle-sharp teeth. It brought to mind the curiosities which sometimes appeared at the marketplace when a fisherman dredged up something unspeakable from the deep, and she staved off the urge to reach for a belt knife.

Mirana only laughed again, the steel-hard edge creeping back into it that set goosebumps shivering along her skin to hear it. “I know!” she purred in feigned shock. “My dear brother has said she’s not to be harmed though. I’ve grown bored with her inane company, and thought I might just leave her here for a while, if you don’t object.”

There was clearly no way that the Librarian could have objected, even if they’d really rather not have had a human wandering the hallowed halls of their collection. They simply bobbed their head, red eyes blinking softly, and backed away. “The human will make sure its hands are clean before touching anything,” they spat as their parting shot.

“Well, how does that sound then?” Mirana said in that brassy, overly-bright tone that made her want to punch the Fae in the face. Obviously sensing her intentions, said princess’ face morphed into an unmasked expression of deep loathing and she snarled, “I don’t like you being here any more than the next of my kin do, human. I’m not sure what possessed my brother to leave you alive, but do not think for a single heartbeat that I will not do whatever I deem necessary to protect this Court and this family. If you try anything…”

“I have no doubt,” she interrupted softly, trying to keep the fear from her voice. The only salvation she felt, like an anchor on a tiny craft, was the cold iron pendant she still wore under her shirt. It had clearly not been touched when she’d been divested on arrival, and she wondered why they’d left it with her. Perhaps they’d feared to touch it. Fighting the urge to clutch it in her fingers - or, even better, to ram it straight into Mirana’s forehead - she stood tall and stared the princess down.

A soft knock on the wood of the open door behind them drew their attention away from one another, and she watched a servant approach on deferential feet, head bowed low. This one looked almost human, save for the pointed ears and unnatural grace. His hair was black, long - as seemed to be the fashion in the Winter Court if the male Fae she’d encountered so far were anything to go by - plaited back off his face, and his skin was a warm, rich brown. When he rose from his bow, she saw that he had freckles all over his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, and bright green eyes.

“Forgive the intrusion, Highness,” he said in a soft, heavily accented voice. “The Prince has asked for your presence. He is in his private study.”

Message delivered, the Fae waited for a dismissal, which came in the form of a flicked wrist, before he bowed once more, shooting the human a quick, nervous glance before backing away a few paces and then turning to leave.

“Well,” Mirana sighed dramatically. “I suppose I’ll leave you here. You know how to get back to your rooms? Good.” The princess didn’t wait to find out the answer, and in fact, she didn’t know how to get back at all; their route had been so winding and circuitous that she had lost all sense of direction, but she was damned if she was going to let on that she was disorientated.

Mirana swept from the library and left her alone with the creepy looking Fae Librarian, who buzzed their wings menacingly from the shadows nearby, a stack of books now in their lower set of arms. There was something insectoid and unsettling about those emaciated limbs that made her think of a patient mantis, with the tightly stretched, grey-brown skin, that made her shiver. Still, not one to let herself be outfaced by a situation, she chirped, “So, what’s the system here?”

“Excuse me?” the Fae asked, half turning back to look at her.

“The system. This is a huge collection - it must be ordered, so I’m just wondering how I find out what’s where, without… how to put it…? Putting my ‘grubby little hands all over everything’ until I find something that attracts my attention…”

Those teeth flashed momentarily before the Fae reined themselves in. They set their small pile of books reverently down on a nearby table and turned back to face her. “History,” they began, pointing a three-fingered, clawed hand at the nearest section and then gesturing along a huge swathe of bookshelves. “Magic,” they added, pointing through another elegant, pointed archway into a separate section of the library. “Fiction,” they sneered, pointing upwards at a shadowy gallery that honestly didn’t look like it got much foot traffic, and finally they indicated, “Music, Nature, Travel Journals and -” here they buzzed their wings again, “- The Mortal Realm.”

She bowed her head and smiled, knowing somewhere in the back of her mind that it was insulting for a human to ‘thank’ a Fae explicitly, given that it implied that they had offered the human some kind of favour. The Fae were a prideful lot, if legend was to be believed, and none would willingly offer anything without thought of something in return. Whether it was impolite for another Fae to offer their thanks was a different quandary for another day.

“I’ll head up there then,” she said, nodding at the dusty fiction section. “Nice and out of the way…”

“You do that,” the Fae rasped and a cold shiver thrummed down her spine as they bared all those needle-sharp teeth again in a grimace.

With a false smile of her own plastered to her face, she scampered up to one of the polished wooden ladders and climbed nimbly, almost daring to pretend she was back in the hay loft at their little smallholding and not in the enormous library of a Fae Prince, held there until goodness knew when, completely at the mercy of their every petty whim… Blinking back the prickling in her eyes as panic welled in her chest, she licked her lips and looked around at this part of the library, pacing along the catwalk as if it were a minstrel’s gallery in a lord’s hall.

She’d been right about the fiction section not getting much attention. Leather bound books with brittle, crumbled spines beckoned her closer and, curling up on the floor of a gallery and leaning her weight against the end wall, she drew out one called, ‘The Lay of The Ember Knight’. It was a ballad, written in verse and hand-scribed onto the pale, pristine velum of the book, and as she carefully turned each folio, she lost herself in the lilting rhythm of the lines. Someone had loved this book once, she realised, seeing that the spine was worn and the velum bore the marks of fingers in the corners of each folio.

Swept up in the action as the Ember Knight - actually one of the Unseelie Royal Princesses in disguise - did furious battle with a raging fire drake on the ruined, volcanic landscape of some distant mountain range, the voice calling her from below didn’t rouse her from the story. When someone materialised directly in front of her with a soft ‘whoosh’ and a theatrical rush of odourless smoke, however, she screamed in surprise and dropped the book into her lap.

The six foot six figure in front of her was that of Ahrin, his one remaining wing hanging behind him like a darker shadow in the already dim gallery. And he was laughing softly at her.

“Fuck, you scared me,” she growled, gripping the end-boards of the book in her fingers until her knuckles went white, and staring up at him without standing. “What do you want?”

Still chuckling, he reached his rough-palmed hand out to her and held it there, clearly expecting her to take it and help herself to her feet. When she didn’t, he rolled his amber eyes and withdrew the offer, folding his muscular arms again. “Thought you might want some food… You’ve been in here for hours.”

“You expect me to eat Fae Realm food? Do you think I’m that stupid?”

Again, the hulking Fae showed his amusement freely, shrugging too as he laughed. The sound was rich and warm, with no artifice or pretence to it. He seemed as open as the book in her lap, and even easier to read. “We have access to human food too,” he said. “In fact, Círdan sent me off to the Mortal Realm to get something for you so that you didn’t have to eat our food.”

“I don’t believe you for a second,” she blurted before she recalled that Fae were supposedly not able to lie. Then again, he hadn’t explicitly said that the food she would be offered would be from the Mortal Realm. ‘Tricksy fucking Fae’, she thought darkly.

“Well, that’s up to you,” he said, turning around and shifting into black mist that swirled like a drop of ink in a glass of water. The darkness shot away like smoke pulled by a draft, and he reappeared heartbeat later on the main floor of the library.

“Guess ladders are too mundane for you lot,” she grumbled, easing herself to her feet, stretching her spine until each vertebra had popped satisfyingly, and sliding the book back into the case.

As she descended the ladder, she heard Ahrin say, “You try squeezing through that small gap in the railings with one big wing and broad shoulders.”

“Oh what a terrible burden it must be to be so muscular,” she sarcastically, and he tipped his head back and crowed another laugh.

“I like you,” he said, eyes flashing gold. “Come on. I’ll escort you back to your rooms if you’d like to eat there.”

Deciding not to look that particular gift horse in the mouth since she didn’t actually know the way herself, she accepted, deciding that she could always refuse the food when they got there, and the two of them left the library together. As Ahrin stood politely back at the doorway to usher her through first, she glanced back over her shoulder and caught the creepy Librarian staring after them.

Once outside, with the doors closed, Ahrin leaned down and hissed in a conspiratorial stage whisper, “Don’t worry; they give me the creeps too. I think Círdan only hired them so that no one would dare walk off with one of his precious books…”

“He likes to read?” she asked, astonished.

“Sure,” he said. “But only the really boring stuff…”

“Figures,” she retorted, unable to forgive herself for warming to the enormous brute of a Fae. He carried a straight sword at each hip, their pommels a simple half-moon of what looked like silver but she couldn’t be sure, and he had another smaller knife hanging just in front of those on a frog from the belt. Frankly, he looked a bit rough around the edges compared to the other pristine Fae she’d encountered, with stubble on his anvil of a jaw, and rough, practical leathers instead of fancy silk tunics; Ahrin was definitely a warrior, and she wondered if he was the prince’s personal bodyguard or something. The two had certainly seemed close back in the great hall.

“So Mirana tells me we’re still calling you ‘human’…?” Ahrin ventured.

“You think I’m just going to give you my name?”

“You could at least give us another name,” he said a bit sheepishly. “Seems better than ‘human’…”

“We’ll see about that,” she hedged and he tossed her a roguish, lopsided grin.

A second later, she shot his ruined wings a cautiously curious glance, and all the mirth drained out of his handsome face when he saw where her eyes had landed. He didn’t utter another word to her, even when they reached the vaguely familiar corridor which led to her rooms. He simply stopped outside the door, nodded tersely, and stalked off, shadows roiling around his leather boots until he vanished in a rush of darkness, leaving her alone in the pale hallway with only her pounding heartbeat for company.

Blowing the air out of puffed cheeks, she set her fingers to the door handle and pushed it open to find that she had company waiting inside.

To be continued…

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Male winged shadowborne fae (Shaer) x female reader (nsfw) *commission* (long!)

Male reptilian fae (Adan) x female reader (nsfw) *commission*

Male triton Fae (Kaerio) x female character (sfw) *commission*

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[ladysternchen]

Yet Were Its Making Good, For This- Part Two- Unexpected

It was almost completely dark when the crunching of gravel made Mablung turn around, prepared to greet whoever had sought him out here, or else just stumbled across him. It quite caught him by surprise as the cloaked figure drew back his hood, and revealed himself to be none other than Elmo. Mablung frowned. Elmo had left Alqualondë together with the King and Círdan a few weeks back, to what errand Mablung knew not- it was not uncommon for Olwë’s presence to be required in Tirion, or else in Valmar, and as his chief counsellors, Elmo and Círdan would often accompany him. What was uncommon was that he had heard nothing of the King returning to his court, which he ought to have if Elmo was back. 

He had no time to mull that over, though, as Elmo was now close enough for Mablung to see his face, and thus see that he looked exhilarated. Mablung rose to greet his old friend, but could hardly get the words out before Elmo had wrapped his arms around him, hugging him tightly.

“What…”

“What? Not happy to see me?”

Elmo grinned from one ear to the other.

“I’m always happy to see you, especially seeing you so happy. But what is the matter? You seem to be out on an urgent errand.”

“You’re going to pick whatever you need for a trip to Lórien, quickish. And then you’ll accompany me, and if all works out as it should and Galadhon actually manages to find Thônwen and Beleg on their hunt, we’ll meet up with them on the way.”

Elmo had said all this quietly but with a tone that allowed for no contradiction. 

“What?”

“Don’t ask questions, Mablung, just come with me. We’re in a hurry.”

“Alright.” Mablung said, hurrying to fall into stride beside Elmo. “But you still haven’t told me why we are in such a hurry to meet them that we have to leave at night? And why we need to meet Thônwen and Beleg now when they’re away on their hunt?”

Mablung’s bewilderment grew with every moment. Ever since they were both returned to their bodies, Thônwen and Beleg left for hunting trips in Oromë’s woods once in a while. They had always been close friends, and Thônwen had been Beleg’s mentor, had taught him the language of the trees, and the art of healing and hunting alike. For both, these trips here in Valinor had become a treasured ritual, and if Elmo chose to call his wife back from that month before they were due to return, the cause had to be something serious.

“True. But both would be very annoyed with us if we didn’t call on them. Now, get what you need swiftly, and don’t talk to anyone but your family. I’d quite like to keep this unnoticed as long as possible.”

Now, finally, Mablung reached the end of his patience.

“What do you want to keep unnoticed? What am I to tell my family? I’m not going to move one inch before you tell me what this is about!”

There was a curious look on Elmo’s face, and it took Mablung a moment to realise that it was something close to pity.

“What?” Mablung asked again, desperately. “You’re scaring me, Elmo!”

Elmo, however, smiled and shook his head slightly.

“Please trust me, Mablung. There is no need to be scared at all. Do as I told you, gather what you need, tell someone you’ll be gone for a while, and come with me. I promise I will tell you as soon as we’re on horseback.”

Mablung hesitated for only a heartbeat, then nodded. There were not many people in Arda whom he trusted more than Elmo, so he turned on his heels to head back to the city. 

He packed up a spare set of clothes, a comb and some dried fish and fruit and just in case an empty waterskin, put it all into his cloak, bundled and tied it up and slunk it over his back. On his way back to Elmo, he ran into one of his grand-nephews who just got ready to board his boat and set out with Alqualondë’s fishing fleet. They quickly exchanged a few words, Mablung wishing his nephew luck at sea, and his nephew him a good journey. It was not unusual for people to travel around Aman, sometimes for days, sometimes for several years. It mattered little, but it was still custom to let one’s closest kin know. 

Why then, Mablung wondered, did he still have this peculiar feeling in his stomach that he was once again leaving a life he had grown accustomed to behind? 

They had ridden for quite a distance before Elmo at last bade his horse halt, and looked at Mablung in the darkness.

“Have you guessed by now where I am taking you, and to what purpose?”

Mablung shook his head, unease again flooding him, more so as Elmo reached out to grasp his hand tightly.

“Ai Mablung, your mind once was sharper. Or else you are so afraid to admit it that you hide the truth even from yourself. We have Elu back, Mablung, and he desperately, desperately wants to see you.”

If ever Mablung might have fainted from shock, it was this moment. As it was, he did feel quite dizzy as Elmo’s words sank in, and also completely unable access his emotions. Dimly, he noticed Elmo tighten his grip on his arm.

“Breathe for me, Mablung. It would not do for you to fall from your horse out of shock.”

Though Elmo sounded a little worried, Mablung could still discern the amusement in his tone quite easily.

“But…” 

He could not put his thoughts into words, not yet. Instead he just shook his head, and leaned forward to bury his face in his horse’s mane, so as to hide his face while he came to terms with all the conflicting thoughts and emotions that were hurling through his head, making him feel quite sick in the process. Elmo stroked his back gently, and Mablung tentatively allowed himself to dive into that pool of whirling thoughts and actually think them through.

He had prayed and pleaded with who knows whom for exactly that for eons- to have Elu back, even if deep down he had long since given up that hope. How was it then that now that his wish was granted against all odds, he had no idea whatsoever how to deal with it? He would not be able to continue living as they had done in Doriath, would not be able to go back to hiding his feelings. Was this how all those that awaited the return of their sundered kin from Middle-Earth felt? Were they just as much at a loss of how to resume life after Ages spent apart?

But they at least knew how and what they should feel. Mablung did not, and for the briefest moment, he wished that Elu could just have stayed dead. That thought, however, instantly sent a white-hot pain through his heart, and though it made him sob in despair, it was a comforting feeling all the same. No, he most certainly didn’t want Elu dead. But what else did he want? 

“But… but they said… even Melian thought he would not return, that he couldn’t… and as he renounced kingship in Dior’s favour I assumed that he truly didn’t want to return himself.” he managed to stammer at last, sitting back up and wiping his face.

“So we all thought. That he couldn’t come back.” Elmo agreed softly, still rubbing Mablung’s back. “And indeed he is not wholly… well, he’s not as I was when I left Mandos, or you. Lord Námo explained that to us, that Elu is not truly healed from the grief that ripped him apart even in life. That he cannot be free from that, ever. But still, Námo aims to return all who can be returned to their bodies, and so released Elu from his halls even if he was not… well. You’ll see.”

Mablung nodded absent-mindedly, but did not speak, and after a while Elmo went on:

“I never realised just how serious your relationship was, Mablung. I’m sorry. I always thought you just… had a crush on him. I thought that had long since burned itself into just friendship. I never knew that you loved him all your life, I realised that only after, um, after I had a conversation with Thônwen and Melian here in Aman that I am loathe to recall, for it left me feeling like an ignorant elfling. Oh Mablung, I’m so sorry that I left you alone in that mess after Beleg was gone. I was so�� consumed by my grief for Thônwen that I did not notice that my brother was dying long before the dwarves wielded their weapons. I knew that he was not doing too well, but I thought… you know how he was after Lúthien forsook immortality. He had those bad phases and then would get back onto his feet, and I just assumed that it was a little worse then.”

“It was not.” Mablung muttered through gritted teeth. He had never talked about that time to anyone safe Melian only, but he could not help it. “He kept himself off food and sleep, would sit in the cold… that is, whenever he was not locked up in that smithy. You know, had the Nauglamir taken a little longer to complete, I reckon Maedhros would not have been the first Elf to succeed in taking his own life.”

“I know. I knew the moment knelt beside his body and saw what he had done to himself. But by then it was too late. By then I had already let him down, and Melian, and you. And still you comforted me when we laid Elu to rest. It should have been the other way round.”

Mablung shook his head. As if Elmo could have comforted anyone then.

“No. We all did what we could to just stay alive. But let us ride on. I fear that reunion more than I can say, and I cannot imagine how it can possibly turn out alright, but I long to see him nonetheless.”

If Mablung had thought that knowing in advance would make the actual meeting any easier, he had been widely mistaken. Their journey had been quite uneventful, meeting up with Beleg, Galadhon and Thônwen had even driven Mablung’s anxiousness back a little, but now that he really and truly stood before Elu, his emotions overwhelmed him once more, engulfing all his senses, so that he could do nothing but stand motionless and gaze at the elf he had pined over for millennia. He watched Galadhon fling himself into his uncle’s arms, watched Thônwen grip Elu’s arm in greeting, then think better of it and wrap her arms around him tightly, and then Beleg do the same.

He himself could not move. Or at least not until Elu’s gaze met his at last, and he spread his arms a little awkwardly- only then did Mablung feel his muscles move, and accept the invitation, and next moment he found himself face to face with his former king, and gripped his arms tightly. He tried to do his very best to suppress his shaking, but to little avail. Seeing Elu standing there, in the same sort of robes he himself had been dressed in as he had left the Halls was.. too much. Where before all had been numbed by the sheer amount of feelings that wanted to be felt at once, now all his senses became keen and clear and he gazed into Elu’s eyes in despair, unable to imagine what might come next.

Melian, who looked happier than Mablung had seen her in aeons, glanced between them, at last finding Mablung’s gaze. He held hers and felt as if she could look right past his eyes into his troubled mind, and knew all the thoughts and feelings that wreaked havoc in his head.

“Oh Mablung…” she sighed at last, a very curious smile on her face. “Oh, saying this aloud feels awkward, but alright, here goes- I think it is high time that we settle something here. Mablung, I trust you know of the degree that was passed for Meadhros and Fingon and a handful of others? That if all parties are willing, bonds of more than two people would be suffered?”

“They what?” Elu interrupted, making Melian giggle at the incredulity in her husband’s voice.

“Be quiet, love, and listen. It is as I said indeed. You see, my kin is not omniscient. The Valar too need to learn from experience, and they are very keen to avoid any more disasters like the situation that ultimately arose around Finwë. You see, there are very little exceptions in the mind of the Ainur. It is the way we are made.”

“Says the one exception to everything.” remarked Elmo wryly, and everyone laughed. A reddish tinge crept into Melian’s cheeks, but she grinned all the same.

“Well, yes, true, but that’s not the point here. They have an idea of how the Children are supposed to work and are then flabbergasted whenever there are… special cases. Elves grow no beards. Well, tell that to Círdan and Mahtan. They’re both prouder of their beards than the Dwarves. Elves are not supposed to die at birth, ever. Míriel still did. Elves only form one bond in life- yes, mostly. Not always. Sometimes… unexpected things happen.”She paused to look between her husband and Mablung. “Sometimes Maiar happen. I do not regret it, nor will I ever do so, and would do it all over again without blinking an eye, but I cannot deny that I stole Elu from you, Mablung.”

Mablung gasped. Had Melian just said what he had heard?

“What?”

Galadhon’s shocked exclamation provided an unlooked for comfort to Mablung- so at least not everyone had known. All the others, though -and that included Olwë and Círdan, which made Mablung blush violently- were not in the least surprised. In fact, they seemed highly amused by Galadhon’s ignorance. 

“How come you all know that and I don’t?”

“Because your uncle’s pre-marriage love life is none of your business”

“Aye, but neither is it your’s, Nana.” 

“Which is not the point right now.” said Melian, bringing the conversation back to the point she was apparently eager to stress. “We can all make fun of Elu and Mablung later.”

Mablung scowled. Trust Melian to get everyone’s attention back in such a way. 

“Because I’m finally going to tell them about a thing I’ve been mulling over for a very very very long time- see, if Fingon’s wife actually can put up with Maedhros and be fine with it, then I most certainly can live with one of my dearest friends in my relationship. I know I tore you both apart and I am so sorry for that. I always was. But now at last I can put this right without forsaking my own bond. So if both Elu and you want it, I am more than happy to have you with us, Mablung.”

Mablung’s mind was utterly blank. He knew that some part of him wanted to say something, anything really, but he could not. Elu stood in equal silence, his expression unreadable even for Mablung. But then a shudder went through him, and he let go of Mablung’s arms to cup Melian’s face with trembling fingers.

“Do you mean that? Do you really, really mean that?”

And when she nodded, he pulled her into his arms in an embrace that spoke of his gratitude just as much as his unwavering love for his wife. 

Beleg was actually the one to rush forward first once Melian had gently disentangled herself from her husband, and hug her tightly as well. Beleg’s gratefulness on his behalf touched Mablung deeply, and also made it clear that he was not dreaming, or else had imagined Melian’s words. Slowly but steadily, the realisation of all that had happened since Elmo had sought him out on the beach started to sink in, and with it exhilarating, all-consuming happiness. He beamed at Elu, who smiled back, and Círdan said, laughing:

“Am I supposed to say you may seal that bond now?” 

The others cheered and giggled, and Mablung, feeling that he could not get any more embarrassed than he already was, reached up to lay his hands on either side of Elu’s face, and pull him down into a kiss.