#thus ends maedhros asking for surprises

[superloves4]

While I slog through a fic I actually really want to tell (the joys of writing!) I decided to talk about that Feanor as Melkor's son AU I mentioned in my tags

So far I have three possibilities, from least realized to most:

Feanor as Melkor and Mairon bio baby, so far I don't really have much for this one, the Valar find baby Feanor after Melkor's imprisonment (haven't decided why Mairon wouldn't have escaped with the baby) and give him to Finwe to raise (I hadn't realized it doesn't makes sense for Miriel to die in this one until now, so either she doesn't and it's full throwing away canon or in this one she doesn't exist and Finwe just didn't want to tell Feanor who his real parents were, it's both sad and funny)

Baby Feanor kidnap adopted by Melkor, the timeline is bothering me here, maybe Feanor is born before Melkor's imprisonment? Or he leaves imprisonment way before the original? I mostly wanted this to be funny about Melkor and Mairon getting so attached and wanting so bad to be good parents to feral child Feanor that they actually get redeemed (although dark!Feanor x Nerdanel is very intriguing)

And the one I (unfortunately) have the most on (as of right now) is Feanor as Melkor... and Miriel's son, I jokingly thought about this one but alas it got bigger than I expected, so: Melkor decides to go mess with the elves only to find Miriel collecting bugs (they're silk worms, weird bug girl Miriel for the win!) and he gets actually quite impressed with her desire to not settle with the world and wanting to make it prettier with fabrics, they fall in love (or as much in love Melkor can be, so far he is more like canon evil Melkor than the softer one of the other two ideas) but when she finds out who he is, she runs away and falls for Finwe instead.

Finwe is then totally cool with raising Miriel's child because he loves her so much but Miriel keeps feeling she's awful for her previous love for Melkor, combined with the power required to sustain a half-ainur child, and ends up dying.

Finwe of course, absolutely adores little Feanor despite not being his bio dad, and thus names him Finwion (later Curufinwe), but raising a half-ainur child is not easy, especially when you can't actually ask anyone for help without revealing the truth, so Finwe just has to deal with eldritch child Feanor, alone.

(like, one time there's a teacher Feanor hates because he heard the teacher say that Feanor killed Miriel, so Feanor gives the teacher a bracelet he doesn't even understand how he made cursed, the teacher then complains to Finwe, who is just trying to understand how to explain to his son that he can't do that, also he fires the teacher)

Then it's basically the same as canon up until Melkor return, because instead of trying to create discord he arrives and realizes Feanor's his son and tries to pull a Darth Vader and convince Feanor to join him.

Feanor is, of course, against the idea but Melkor is convinced that if he reveals Feanor's true parentage in the upcoming festival then the uproar and hate will cause Feanor to be more willing.

Only, right before he can make his announcement Feanor shows up wearing the silmarils (Melkor decides to rename him Lightbringer but I haven't figured out what that is in Quenya) and instead of going along with Melkor, Feanor

Bows. to. MANWE!!!!!

And does a whole speech about Melkor trying to deceive him by claiming he isn't Finwe's son (Feanor already realized the truth, he's just rejecting it) and doing a whole spectacle of proof

The Finwe family isn't stupid and to Feanor's surprise, the first person to join his show is INDIS!!! Joined then (in order) by Nolo, Nerdanel, and Maglor (if it was political it would be Maedhros but it's a performance remember)

Manwe isn't stupid and understands what they are doing so when Melkor tries to say that it's all Finwe's lie he just tells Melkor that it was clear that Feanor was Finwe's son

Melkor storms out (he still plans to destroy the trees but his objective is Feanor instead of just the silmarils) and the Finweans leave too

Feanor has a cathartic talk and cry with his dad while the rest of the family discuss what this means for them all, Feanor is now more open to his half-family and his relation to the other Valas is totally different, and how that could end up having happier ending to the story.

And that's how much I have of this one, it compels me but it's the only one that I have no idea of how to add Melkor x Mairon and the original idea was about THEM as parents whereas this one is about the original Finweans in a different situation so I'm conflicted

[polutrope]

Ya know, reading your wonderful fic Everlasting Darkness made me realize the Earendil x Maedhros ship kinda makes sense cause like in one version of Silmarillion, Maedhros did hang out with Earendil in Vingilot or something while sailing the skies, and then after went to the Valar to beg forgiveness so yeah.

Are you the same Anon who sent me an Ask about this fic a few weeks ago? Anyway, so glad you love the fic! It's one that's close to my heart despite (because of) its crackiness.

Now I hope you'll forgive me for diving into an analysis here because what?! Hahaha I never heard this idea of Maedhros spending time on Vingilot, but I suspect I know where it came from. I thought I'd share because I'm genuinely fascinated by how the "tales grow in the telling" in the fandom with respect to Tolkien's drafts. AND, I discovered to my surprise in revisiting this passage, this interpretation isn't exactly wrong.

Here's a passage from The Sketch of the Mythology, titled The 'Original' Silmarillion by Tolkien. It was a summary of his mythology written for a friend as background to his alliterative Lay of the Children of Hurin. It dates to 1926 and underwent various revisions between then and 1930. I've incorporated revisions in the excerpts below. The relevant quote isn't until the very end, but it's such an interesting passage so I couldn't resist quoting the context.

The Gods [Valar] [...] march through the lands summoning the remnant of the Gnomes [Noldor] and Ilkorins [Sindar] to join them. All do except the people of Maidros. Maidros prepares to perform his oath, though now at last weighed down by sorrow because of it. He sends to Fionwe [Eonwe] reminding him of the oath and begging for the Silmarils [etc., much as in the published Silm]. Maidros and Maglor submit. [...] On the last march Maglor says to Maidros that there are two sons of Feanor now left, and two Silmarils; one is his. He steals it, and flies, but it burns him ... [Maglor casts the Silmaril into a fiery pit.] One Silmaril is now in the sea [because Elwing cast it there], and one in the earth. Maglor sings now ever in sorrow by the sea. [There follows a long passage about the prophecy about the end of the world, including the line:] In those days the Silmarils shall be recovered from sea and earth and air, and Maidros shall break them[1] and Belaurin [Yavanna] with their fire rekindle the Two Trees [...] And thus is was that the Silmaril came into the air. The Gods adjudged the last Silmaril to Earendel -- 'until many things shall come to pass' -- because of the deeds of the sons of Feanor. Maidros is sent to Earendel and with the aid of the Silmaril Elwing is found and restored. Earendel's boat is drawn over Valinor to the Outer Seas [...] From sections 18-19, The Sketch of the Mythology, History of Middle-earth Vol. 4: The Shaping of Middle-earth

"Maidros is sent to Earendel" -- yep! That's there. And, to my surprise, this is after Earendel "sails by the aid of [seabirds'] wings even over the airs in search of Elwing, but is scorched by the Sun, and hunted by the Moon, and for a long while he wanders the sky as a fugitive star." (Section 17).

Fascinating! I can't say I think Tolkien intended in this sketch to suggest Maidros served some time as Earendel's crewman but I also can't say the text precludes that reading. Thank you, Anon, for bringing this little nugget to my attention. I wish I could say I was playing on it in Everlasting Darkness, but I was not.

[1] Maidros is replaced by Feanor in all subsequent versions of this prophecy. I do find Tolkien's first impulse to make it Maidros fascinating.

Btw if you're intrigued by the role of Maglor in this passage, a little plug for my Maglor Biography on SWG.

[outofangband]

Interlude

Previous Part  AU masterlist + explanation  Other masterlists 

CW: gaslighting, ableism, restraints used on someone who has survived captivity 

This part is short! I am writing this AU sort of in order but I’m always taking prompts for any time in this narrative and after this part chronology of events is much less clear until the end. 

 and feel free to ask any questions!

sorry to post two in a row like this, I just thought this didn’t fit in the last part so I wanted to post it separately 

Arafinwë watches as the younger elf takes in these words as he pulls almost absently at his restraints. His eyes are still rather glassy from the herbs and he seems to be caught halfway between anger and apprehension.  Arafinwë waits patiently for his half nephew to decide which he will act on. 

“You have no right to keep me here. You said I was meant to leave after three days time.” So it was to be anger. That was hardly surprising though there was no denying that the words are laced with uncertainty. Arafinwë has no difficulty maintaining his impassive expression as he regards the other. 

“I have every right to detain those who pose a danger to my subjects.” Maedhros stops his struggles, face full of a wariness that would have been dangerous had he any ability to retaliate. 

“How have I posed a danger? I have spent the entirety of my stay here behind closed doors.” 

Arafinwë tilts his head, appearing troubled. Then he nods. 

“You do not remember what occurred the previous night?” This has the intended reaction. The first crack appears in the Fëanorian’s facade. He raises his eyes, a note of desperation in his voice. 

“What has happened?” he repeats, “No, I do not remember.” The golden haired prince waits several moments before speaking. He travels to Maedhros’s other side. He moves as though to touch the other’s face, ignoring when Maedhros moves his head away sharply before telling him coolly, “You are lucky that this occurred within the palace. This is the second time in a short period you have brought distress. I do not need to remind you why you are not viewed with trust nor kindness here? Yet despite this you endanger the elves here, those who have already suffered at the hands of your father and brothers. And yourself.” 

For a few moments Maedhros looks quite stricken. Arafinwë wonders if this is simply too much for him to take in so soon after waking from the induced sleep. His face soon becomes guarded and suspicious again however and Arafinwë wonders what conclusions he is drawing from the information he has been given. 

...

He is lying. Maedhros is almost sure of it. And what is more, he is not making much of an effort to convincingly lie, his words idle and careless as though making some flimsy excuse to a child who has asked too profound a question too early in the day. That is what unsettles Maedhros more than the lie itself. 

Of course an inkling of doubt remains. He can think of quite a few occurrences that would fit his half uncle’s vague answers; if he had become trapped in his memories again...such an episode had not happened for some time but he knew he had acted rashly, even violently during previous ones. 

The mention of the kinslaying makes him pause. He cannot deny the truth in this part. Indeed he had not wished to come to Alqualondë at all for this reason, he would not have done so had he not received a formal summons. But he had and he went and now he is trapped again. 

Maedhros wants to ask how long he is meant to stay here or to request to write to Nolofinwë who will surely be alarmed if he hears the news of the altercation that had landed him with Arafinwë in the first place. He doesn’t dare to do either. Not because he fears being rebuked but because of what it will mean if...when...Arafinwë denies him. 

Author’s note: Ara is implying that Maedhros had a flashback or similar trauma related episode and thus needed to be restrained. This was probably obvious but I wanted to clarify because I wanted to clarify that’s why the ableism warning is there and not because there’s anything wrong with like, the residents of Alqualondë not liking or trusting Maedhros because they’re  justified in that. 

Tag list: @psychobootyshorts, @oswaldinator3000 @miriel-estelwen, @iwenttomordor , @tears-and-lilies, @pepperonyscience @much-ado-about-whumping

[warrioreowynofrohan]

Noldorin Rulers - A Public Policy Analysis

Fëanor

A civil servant’s nightmare; the kind of person that makes one want to beat their head against the wall. Extremely stubborn once he has chosen a course of action; little to no inclination towards planning ahead; regards anyone who disagrees with him as an enemy.

In his extreme rush to depart from Valinor, he leaves behind items of extreme value for intelligence and communication, the palatíri. If they could see as far as Beleriand from Valinor, using them prior to leaving would have been highly prudent. In addition to preventing him from being completely blindsided by the very existence of Angband, it would have told him that Olwë’s brother was the ruler of a substantial realm in Middle-earth that was under attack by Morgoth, thus providing a much stronger argument when seeking to convince the Teleri to join in the Return (“Your brother needs your help!” is clearly a better case than “You’re all ungrateful assholes”).

Even if the palatíri couldn’t be used at such a distance, bringing them along would still have bern invaluable. Using them upon arrival would have, again, provided the knowledge that Morgoth had a fortress and considerable resources of materiel and personnel. Their surveillance and long-distance-communication capabilities would have been of great value throughout the First Age. They could also have prevented the Nirnaeth, where the lack of communications abilities between the two armies was a key factor in the defeat.

And while we’re on the topic of leaving behind invaluble military resources, let’s not forget the the much larger issue of leaving behind more than half of your army - again, while pursuing a war against a very powerful enemy whose full capacities and resources are unknown to you - on the sole basis that they don’t like you very much. It’s an almost incomprehensibly bad decision, entirely on the basis of personal pride, with no practical merits whatsoever. You’re in unknown territory, about to commence a war that you’ve already been warned is hopeless, and your first decision is “No, we need fewer people”?!

And yet, for all this, Fëanor is not the worst of the Noldorin leaders described here. More on that to come!

Fingolfin

During his time in Beleriand, largely does an excellent job from a policy perspective. Firstly, upon arrival, refrains from immediately attacking Angband - despite Morgoth being at a temporary tactical disadvatage due to the Sun - in order take time to gather intelligence and enable his forces to recover from the crossing of the Helcaraxë. He avoids conflict with the Fëanorians despite he and all his people having a rather substantial grievance against them, and when Fingon provides him with an opportunity to reconcile, he does so, and proceeds to set up surveillance of Angband and seek to establish diplomatic relations with the other peoples of Beleriand.

He doesn’t become offended when Thingol is unwilling to meet, and is satisfied with the practical choice of having Finarfin’s children act as go-betweens. He arranges Mereth Aderthad for mutual intelligence-sharing, strengthing of bonds, and diplomatic engagement, and it is essentially successful, though hampered by Thingol’s isolationism. And he doesn’t lose sight of his goal - of the main Noldorin leaders, he’s the most interested in attempting to attack Angband during the Siege.

Maedhros

Many similar characteristics to Fingolfin, during the period of the Siege. Doesn’t allow himself to be offended easily, avoids and defuses conflict insofar as he is able (even if it means moving his family to the other side of Beleriand), seeks out opportunities to build new alliances. Probably very annoyed that Caranthir lost the opportunity to recruit the Haladin by ignoring them for too long. 

Somewhat more cold-blooded and ruthless about policy and objectives than Fingolfin - his statement that Thingol’s realm consists of the areas Thingol can militarily control, and everything else is in practice Noldor territory, comes to mind. And while his motive for recruiting the Men of the East (the Noldor and Edain have a lot fewer people than Morgoth has orcs) doesn’t have to be characterized as “we’re low on cannon fodder”, it certain can be seen that way. (And if Caranthir, never the most diplomatic, was rather less subtle about that, it could explain certain changes in allegiance.)

Fingon

On the whole, he does well. He’s very much a military leader - in addition to taking on Glaurung, he detects and deals with a party of ocrs that are seeking to carry out a surprise attack on Hithlum from the west. He’s stated to have been on good terms with everyone, a valuable characteristic in the contentious House of Finwë. If there’s a policy flaw, it’s that he leads rather too much from the front, given that he’s the crown prince and (after Turgon’s disappearance to Gondolin) there’s no clear heir after him, something that would leave his advisors biting their fingernails.

Turgon

Tempermentally, the opposite of Fingon: not impulsive, and inclined to be slow and conservative in his decision-making. For example, does a lot of planning on Gondolin, but doesn’t take any action until Ulmo gives him more of a push.

The later choice not to evacuate Gondolin is a wrong one, but it comes from a lack of faith more than from bad policy. The policy-makers and bureaucrats of Gondolin would largely have backed the choice - they have strong and extensive defenses, and the rest of Beleriand is overrun by Morgoth’s forces, with no safe strongholds. If they might be attacked in Gondolin, they undoubtedly would be attacked elsewhere, with no walls and towers guarding them. Staying is clearly the most prudent choice. Policy and prophets rarely mesh well.

Finrod

Very good from a policy standpoint, in several respects. He’s proactive, and when he lacks knowledge and expertise on a subject, he seeks out those who have it. We see this with the construction of Nargothrond - first, when considering a place to build, he asks Thingol, since Thingol has greater knowledge of the region. Then he hires the dwarves to help in the building, since they’re the experts on subterranean architecture.

He’s also an skilled diplomat. He stays on good terms with the House of Fëanor (he’s visiting Maedhros and Maglor when he first encounters the Edain). His diplomatic skills are of great benefit to the Edain: for example when he negotiates with Thingol to permit the Haladinto live in Brethil, as well as, earlier, helping Beor’s people to avoid conflict with the Laiquendi. He’s also the only one of the Noldorin princes who consults with Thingol about the Edain, another important indicator of diplomatic tact since the Noldor are inviting the Edain to settle in what is (from Thingol’s point of view, anyway) Thingol’s realm.

He’s certainly more of a diplomat than an administrator, but he is decidedly not a flake or a lightweight. However, it’s certainly possible that the people of Nargothrond felt that they were not a high priority, which could have played a role in later events.

Which brings us to -

Celegorm

If Fëanor is the kind of leader who makes policy types want to beat their head against a wall, Celegorm is the kind who make them want to shoot themselves - or him. Setting aside the patent immorality or everything he does in Nargothrond, and evaluating it solely from the perspective of whether it achieves his goals, it’s still unremittingly terrible.

Let’s begin by granting that in addition to the goal of 1) fighting Morgoth, he and Curufin also have the goals of 2) preventing anyone else from obtaining a Silmaril and 3) consolidating the rule of most of Beleriand under the House of Fëanor by gaining control of Nargothrond and alliance with Doriath.

So. Beren shows up wanting to get a Silmaril out of Angband. There are two possible options here: either it’s impossible, in which case there is no need to impede him, or it’s possible, if which case you want to be involved to at least a sufficient extent to get the Silmaril from him once it’s out of Angband. And you have the ability to talk to animals. So the optimal course is to find a bird that can carry a lightweight, written message to your brothers; proffer assistance in the quest; and have a midsized military force intercept the team on the way out. Moreover, you’ve got the opportunity to try to obtain the other two Silmarils while infiltrating Angband as well - which also gives you a passable non-suspicious motive for the offer of assistance. But going by their actions, actually attempting get the Silmarils away from Morgoth isn’t a priority for Celegorm and Curufin.

So let’s move on to Goal 3, rule of a large segment of Beleriand by the House of Fëanor. Here, again, Celegorm’s methods are not at all conducive to his ends. First, Finrod departs with a very small force on a very dangerous mission into the heart of enemy territory. He is captured. Celegorm regards this as a good thing. However, a little thought would show that Finrod is the person with the most knowledge of Nargothrond - its precise location and means of access, its strengths, its weaknesses, its defenses. He is in the hands of Morgoth’s most skilled torturer. If he breaks, that is a disaster for you. That opens the way to a large-scale invasion, in which case you’ll have no realm and no refuge and no allies, having burned your bridges. And the plans involving Lúthien are even worse, because there is no scenario in which success achieves your goals. Given the nature of Eldarin marriage, if you actually manage to marry her the only possible result in the death of both you and her. (It’s worth noting that Huan’s defection likely saved his master’s life.) And whether she is captive or dead, the most probable result of this plan is the invasion of Nargothrond by Thingol (longer renditions of the Leithian, outside the Silm, note that Thingol was preparing for an attack on Nargothrond when news arrived of the fall of Tol-in-Gaurhoth), which is both bad for you and terrible for the war effort.

So all you’ve managed to do is come up with a succession of actions which are inherently counterproductive to your goals and alienate the two largest realms in Beleriand (with disastrous later consequences for the Nirnaeth).

(I’m barely going to touch on the later attack on Beren and Lúthien, because by that point any long-term goals are entirely forgotten and Celegorm and Curufin are operating solely on the basis of lust and spite, but I will say - If you succeeded, where were you intending to go? Do you think Maedhros will be impressed if you show up on his doorstep with a kidnapped Sindarin princess? Because he won’t be!)

[Many points in the analysis of why Celegorm’s decisions are all terrible can be credited to Philosopher at Large, author of The Leithian Script.]

[arianaofimladris]

English version of my contribution to Tolkien Secret Santa 2020, written for @meg-pond

The sins of fathers and sons

 Festivals and feasts at the royal palace were always a thrill for both adults and children, the latter finding each time something new and exciting. For Celegorm it was watching everything from a new perspective. At first he stayed with his older brothers, glad that he had been deemed old enough to sit with the grown-ups, but when the gathered elves dispersed in the halls and the gardens and his brothers disappeared somewhere with Fingon, he found himself being bored. So when Amme asked him to check if his younger brothers were not quarrelling, Celegorm used the pretext eagerly and left. Curufin and Caranthir had solemnly promised Nerdanel they would behave, but... Celegorm hoped he wouldn’t have to intervene. He wasn’t Maedhros to know how to deal with soothing ruffled feathers.

The festivities were also a wonderful opportunity for the younger participants to explore the palace gardens or usually unused chambers when the feast was becoming too long. It took a while before Celegorm located his younger brothers building a tower along with Angrod and Aegnor out of everything they could find, from twigs to empty plates. He didn’t really want to join them or startle them and thus ruin their work, and he was about to venture further to find perhaps Maglor, when he heard someone calling him.

“Tyelkormo, come help us!”

Turning around, Celegorm saw Finrod waving at him. He and Turgon were trying to carry a pile of boards, which was intriguing enough.

“What is it?”

“Grandfather has had the wainscot replaced before the feast in one of the halls,” explained Turgon. Unlike Feanor, Fingolfin and his family had come a few days earlier to grandfather Finwe. “These are no longer needed, but look how smooth they still are, they will be perfect,” he claimed excitedly and Finrod nodded in agreement. Seeing that Celegorm had no clue what they were talking about, they started explaining one over the other what idea they had for fun. The smooth boards, they said, should be great for sliding down one of the wide staircases in the palace. They had in mind using the one in the western wing leading to the gardens. It wasn’t frequently used at the moment and the stairs rose in a gentle flight that curved halfway up at a right angle and disappeared in a corridor on the next floor.

“Sound’s like a plan,” Celegorm grinned. He no longer needed to find his brothers to keep himself occupied. “Give me some.”

“Perhaps we can make a competition, if these boards work well,” suggested Finrod. “We have plenty of time.”

Sliding down the stairs was not something any of them had ever tried and the idea sounded appealing. The less appealing part was the fact that there were more tiny interested ears around to hear them.

“What competition?” Celegorm heard Angrod asking and wondered when he had joined them. Turning around, he saw that both his cousins and brothers had sneaked on them, their tower all but abandoned.

“Don’t you want to go check what Artaresto is doing?” Finrod asked weakly, clearly without holding too much hope that his younger brothers would leave, now that they knew what kind of play he and his cousins had in mind.

“Sure not!” puffed Aegnor. “He’s minding Nerwen.”

“We want to play too,” Curufin stated. “You can’t say we can’t.”

“Or what?” Turgon crooked his head as he teased the younger boy.

The ‘I will tell Atto’ hung unsaid in the air, but before any of them vocalised it, Finrod gave his brothers a board to carry. Curufin and Celegorm took the remaining two, while Caranthir trotted behind. Turgon and Finrod clearly had planned everything beforehand, for they led their cousins picking routes where no one could see them. The echo of the feast could still be heard through the open windows they sneaked past, but their way was clear. They found the staircase empty and waiting for them.

“Alright, let’s try them from here first,” suggested Turgon standing just a few steps above the ground floor. “We couldn’t check the balance earlier.”

While the older boys tried to stand on the boards and slide without falling, Aegnor and Caranthir grabbed one of the shorter boards and dragged it up as well. There was a short argument about who was going first, but in the end Caranthir kept the board in place while his cousin straddled it, then let him go. Aegnor slid down with a giggle, Caranthir running after him. They dragged the board up again and again, taking turns. Angrod and Curufin couldn’t really decide whether it was better to slide down sitting or standing, so they were switching from one style to the other, while the older focused on the latter. It took some practicing and quite a lot of hasty jumping off the board was involved before Turgon, Finrod and Celegorm mastered balancing during the slide enough to feel confident enough to drag the boards higher.

“I want too, Ingoldo,” Aegnor called after his brother.

“Oh, we can slide together I guess,” Finrod offered after a moment of hesitation. “I will hold you.”

Celegorm finished his slide and looked up just in time to see Curufin dragging a board up after Finrod and sighed inwardly. He hated being the adult one.

"You are not doing this alone." He ran up, taking two steps at a time.

"I'm hardly younger than them!" Curufin protested and waved at Finrod and Turgon. “And I know how.”

"You are younger. You can slide alone from the tenth step. That's-"

At a startled cry above, Celegorm turned from Curufin, but it was already too late. He could only watch as Finrod lost balance and suddenly the board escaped from under his feet. The boy sat abruptly with a grunted "ouf!", but the momentum dragged him and he slid down after the board still carrying the now screaming Aegnor. The younger boy swept Caranthir on his way and they both tumbled down, falling to the sides at the bottom of the stairs.

For a moment there was a startled silence. Finrod, blinking in surprise, sat on the last step where he had finished the slide, with Aegnor sprawled at his feet.

Leaving the cousins to take care of one another, Celegorm rushed to his brother, who laid unmoving, glued to the marble floor. When touched, Caranthir jerked and looked up, his mouth and chin covered with blood. And then the crying started.

Celegorm picked his brother, feeling utterly helpless. He was never as good as Maedhros or Maglor in comforting his younger brothers and now, between the hysterical sobbing, he couldn’t even get a proper look at his face, as Caranthir wouldn’t even let him touch him.

Aegnor sat up, blinked at his brother, hiccupped and flooded in tears. Turgon ran down to help his cousins, with Curufin and Angrod watching the whole scene in alarm from the middle of the staircase.

“Don’t just stand like that! Bring Atto!”

“Which one?” Angrod glanced at Finrod, who scrambled on his feet and was trying to soothe his crying brother.

“Whichever,” snapped Celegorm over Caranthir’s head. “Just be quick.”

 Meanwhile, in one of the smaller chambers prepared for the festivities, Feanor, Fingolfin and Finarfin were deeply involved in a discussion regarding the necessary changes in the royal palace that would improve the functionality regarding the growing needs of their growing family. When gathered together in times like this, they would often stay for days and their father’s palace was getting crowded. Since they already had Finwe's approval and some of the works were already taking place, the brothers found themselves a relatively safe topic.

Fingolfin wished to use opportunity to force some changes he had had in mind, while Feanor brought forth new ideas about the lightning. Finarfin backed their plans with structural design details and what was at first a leisure chat about the possible ideas, the three brothers quickly turned into a vivid discussion with sketches made on the nearest available sheet of paper, with splashes of wine here and there as one of them tipped a goblet. There were healthy proportions of fun and arguing as the ideas kept evolving, but before the brothers could talk about the possible rearranging of the palace gardens, they were quite abruptly interrupted by a pit-a-pat of tiny feet and then bombarded with a chaos of explanations provided by Curufin and Angrod, both too agitated to be making much sense. There wasn’t much point in trying to make them slow down and explain what was amiss, so the fathers just followed their sons. Fingolfin joined them as well, as his own offspring was likely involved too.

 The boys did well and instead of bringing one, they brought all three fathers. Celegorm would have thought it amusing, for it wasn’t everyday one could see the three High Princes going in such an agreeable haste, had his brother not smeared the blood running from his nose all over his cheeks when he had tried to cover his face. And had he not been crying so hysterically.

“What happened here?” Feanor glanced at the children, then at the board by Finrod’s feet and looked like he fought an urge to roll his eyes.

“It was an accident!” Finrod and Celegorm both rushed to reassure them.

“I’m sure it was.” The eldest son of Finwe nodded distractedly and knelt by Caranthir. He firmly took his hands away from his face and first of all made sure the nose wasn’t broken, then gently wiped the blood from the cut lip with his finger.

”It is alright, Moryo, just lean forwards and let it pass,” he instructed calmly and placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder.

Carnistir sniffed and glared, then, seeing his father still kneeling at his level, wrapped his thin arms around his neck and did as he was told, burying his face in his collar. With a sigh, Feanor picked him and stood up.

“Here, it’s cold,” Fingolfin came closer and passed him his goblet, now almost empty. Feanor nodded in thanks and forced his son to let go of his collar. Once he could see Caranthir’s face again, still red, though some of the blood had been smeared on his robes, he gently pressed the cool metal to the tender nose.

The boy yelped and tried to escape, balancing on his father’s hip.

“Be still, Moryo, it will help.”

"Whose brilliant idea was this?" asked Finarfin once he too made sure Aegnor needed mostly wiping tears and washing his scraped palms.

Finrod and Turgon glanced at each other, but stayed silent.

“We really didn’t mean that...” Celegorm tried to support his cousins.

"And you didn't know better than to stop this foolishness before someone got hurt?" Fingolfin asked, turning towards Celegorm, the eldest among all the children present.

Celegorm looked offended. "I didn't let Moryo or Curvo go all the way down on their own!" he exclaimed and Curufin's annoyed huff backed him up.

"But it was perfectly alright to let the other youngest go."

"Leave it, Nolofinwe," Feanor cut him off with a hint of annoyance, rocking Caranthir in his arms. "My son is not a handler of your offspring."

“I don’t need handling,” muttered Turgon under his breath before Finrod stepped on his foot.

“We are still waiting for an explanation,” Finarfin reminded them sternly. “How did you come up with such a foolish idea to let your younger brothers participate in your hazardous and foolish antics?”

“We didn’t!” objected Finrod weakly. “We went together, only it didn’t work...” he trailed off and winced. Aegnor nodded and looked at his hands, sniffling.

“Did you hurt yourself as well?” Finarfin turned towards his eldest.

“No, no,” Finrod reassured him and wiped his trousers. “I’m fine, Atto.”

Finarfin wasn’t convinced, but he didn’t comment. The children still were not too eager to enlighten their fathers as to what exactly had happened that had resulted in a quite unexpected landing, but any further inquiries were interrupted by Lalwende who came in from the gardens. She stopped at the doorstep, quite surprised to see the whole gathering.

“Why are you occupying the corrid-“ she noticed the boards and grinned. “Oh, so you’re here already.”

“Irime, you’re not helping,” Fingolfin sighed ostensibly.

“Don’t intend to when you’re having fun without me,” Lalwende’s melodious laughter echoed on the corridor as she regarded her brothers and nephews critically. “As far as I can see, everyone’s more or less in one piece. And don’t tell me you forgot how much fun that was.”

Celegorm had hard time trying not to snicker. His father looked a bit like Maedhros, whenever he tried to act like an adult towards his younger brothers and failed. Feanor was doing only marginally better.

And it was all the boys needed.

”Atto, does it mean you too...?” Turgon bolted a question just as Finarfin had to deal with three pairs of curious eyes looking at him expectantly. Caranthir was still sulking, but Celegorm and Curufin were too interested in hearing a story that would not involve them giving any explanations.

“Leave me out of it,” Feanor huffed at his sister.

“Oh come now, you did play too!” Lalwende objected. She was clearly having too much fun at her brothers’ expense. “If only to make sure we wouldn’t mess up.”

“That was not the point,” Finarfin cut them off. “Whoever came up with this idea, I believe you all can draw conclusions for yourselves,” he looked sternly at both his sons and nephews.

“And I think you have some mess to clean.” Fingolfin added and pointed at the disregarded boards. It seemed, though nobody said anything, that they all assumed the eldest boys were responsible for the whole idea.

“Oh...”

“Want Amme,” muttered Caranthir over the hesitant objections. His voice was still thick and he was unusually clingy.

“Yes, I think that was enough excitement for today,” agreed Feanor and passed the goblet back to Fingolfin “Let’s get you cleaned before Amme sees you and then,” he looked pointedly at his brothers, “perhaps we can finish. Curvo, you are going with me too.”

“But-“

“No ‘buts’.”

Beside them, Finarfin was having the same argument with Angrod and Aegnor, who were clearly unwilling to leave. Neither of the fathers surrendered and the youngest offspring of the House of Finwe was promptly taken away.

Not fast enough, however, not to hear Lalwende who stayed behind.

“Alright, before we clean all that. Want to see how it’s done?”

[avantegarda]

Wonderful 1000: Family Reunion

@romanaisalive I have no excuses for why this took so long (other than spring break and a global pandemic) but you requested some Elrond and Maglor whatnot and I present it to you now!

--

Elrond had always known, essentially from the moment he was old enough to be aware of such things, that he had a strange family. Several strange families, in fact.

There were his blood relations, to begin with. His grandparents and great-grandparents, a strange mixture of Elven royalty and human adventurers; his great-great-grandmother, a Maia; his parents with their odd ancestry and thrilling adventures...right down to Elros and himself, identical twins who were so very different. 

Then, to make matters even more complicated, there was his adopted family.

Was “adopted” the right word, really? It was a frequent debate between Elrond and Elros as their time in the Feanorian household went on. Elrond, who frequently made up words, suggested “kidnapdopted” as the correct term, while Elros simply said they’d been “acquired.” Whatever the proper description, though, the fact remained that Earendil and Elwing had vanished, to be replaced by two of the continent’s most infamous characters.

Maglor and Maedhros were, it should be noted, never cruel to them. Maedhros was distant and often unintentionally frightening, but he was hardly unkind, and Maglor’s treatment of the twins was nothing but gently. That did not make the situation any less odd.

“What should we call you?” Elrond asked at one point. It didn’t seem polite to call an adult simply by their name, particularly when the adult in question was technically royal, but considering the circumstances…

Maglor had frowned, reflecting upon this, and then simply shrugged. “Call me whatever you like. Simply my name will do, if nothing else.”

Thus, for the next year, their guardians were simply referred to as Maedhros and Maglor, or occasionally, in whispered tones, them.

Until the nightmare.

Neither Elrond nor Elros was a stranger to bad dreams—and who could be surprised, after what they’d experienced in their short lives? And yet what seven-year-old Elrond experienced that winter night was different from any prior bad dreams. For what seemed like ages he was back there, at Sirion, watching the battle rage around him...and his mother was falling, and there was nothing he could do…

He woke up screaming. Screaming, and shaking, and sobbing, and all of Elros’ efforts to soothe him were useless. So as little as the younger twin enjoyed asking either of their guardians for help (after all, had they not been the ones who caused the nightmares in the first place?), he hesitantly woke Maglor and begged him to calm Elrond down.

Maglor uncomplainingly spent the rest of the night sitting with Elrond, singing to him in that magical voice of his, slowly lulling him back to sleep—and, at the same time, unwittingly planting the seed in Elrond’s mind that his guardian was Someone To Be Trusted. 

The next morning, Elrond had come down to breakfast, thrown his arms around Maglor’s waist, and declared “Good morning, Father!”

And the rest, as they say, was history.

--

As an adult, Elrond rarely discussed his upbringing with those around him, save for a few very trusted friends. How was he to explain, really, that two people who had caused so much chaos and destruction had raised him—indeed, that he’d loved them? Hardly the thing one talked about in polite company.

He didn’t have much of a choice in telling Celebrian, though. Partially because, even after only knowing her for three weeks he was already falling in love with her. And partially because she’d seen the painting in his private study.

Elrond had painted the portrait himself, not long after settling in Imladris, in a moment of panic that he was beginning to forget what Maedhros and Maglor had looked like. So he’d set to work, capturing their images just as he remembered them: Maedhros, tall and scarred and imposing, and Maglor, thin and pale, his dark curls unruly as they had always been. Elrond was proud of it, certainly, but always hesitant for others to see it—there couldn’t be any doubt, looking at this painting, that he thought of its subjects as family. 

“That’s a lovely painting,” Celebrian said upon sighting it. “Did you do it?” At his nod, she beamed approvingly. “It’s lovely. Beautifully done. But the subjects...they look familiar. Not my mother’s cousins, by any chance?”

“Yes,” said Elrond. And then, hesitantly: “My fathers.”

Celebrian’s brow creased just slightly in confusion. “Your fathers?”

“Yes, that’s how I grew to think of them. I’m under no illusions about their behavior, of course. Believe me, I am entirely aware that they did terrible things. And yet…” Elrond looked up at the portrait, unable to suppress a fond smile. “And yet my brother and I were alone in the world, and they raised us as though we were their own. They never pretended to be anything they were not, while still doing their best to make sure that we would never follow in their footsteps. Maedhros and Maglor may have been bad, Celebrian, but in their way they were good, too. I firmly believe that.”

Celebrian nodded, slowly, carefully. “I believe you. Mother, you know, doesn’t talk about her cousins much, but when she does it’s with more pity than anger. And...well, they raised you, didn’t they? And you seem to have turned out just fine. More than fine, in fact.”

Elrond had known from the minute he’d met Celebrian that he would be perfectly happy marrying her. Still, it was encouraging to have his first impressions of her character so soundly confirmed.

--

Centuries passed once again, bringing with them the usual upheaval: the horrors of war, the loss of loved ones. Yet in the midst of all the struggles, Elrond discovered two bright spots, that made all the loss nearly worth it: Imladris, and Celebrian.

It was Celebrian, really, who kept him sane during those difficult years. She’d waited for him patiently, never letting him doubt her love and dedication, always there to assist with what needed to be done. When their wedding day finally arrived, there was only one thing to dampen Elrond’s joy. One guest who was absent.

He’d held out hope, until the very end of the festivities, that his erstwhile foster-father might make an appearance at the wedding. Wasn’t that what family was supposed to do? Show up at important events, embarrass their young relations, and feast themselves into a stupor? But if Maglor was among the many visitors crowding the valley that week, he did not make his presence known. 

And so, with a heavy heart, Elrond decided to give up. If Maglor was unwilling to come to Elrond’s wedding, then he was clearly not coming back. 

Ever.

--

In keeping with the trajectory of Elrond’s life thus far, it was exactly when he had finally come to terms with his foster-father’s disappearance that Maglor came back—both unexpectedly and unwillingly. Specifically, he arrived via being dragged into the house by guards, who had evidently captured him on the edge of the forest.

“He doesn’t look too dangerous, but he’s refusing to let on who he is,” one of the guards explained with amusement. “So I thought you might want to have a chat with him, milord. Make sure everything’s as it should be...I say, sir, are you all right?”

Elrond was not all right. Quite the opposite of it, in fact. The minute Maglor had stumbled through his door, looking considerably worse for wear, Elrond had experienced more emotions in thirty seconds than he had in twenty years. Relief, fury, nostalgia...to name but a few. 

And love, of course. Strange, familiar, complicated love.

“What are you doing here?” he blurted out.

“Being taken prisoner, apparently,” Maglor said dryly. “Can’t say I’m enjoying it. Usually when something like this happens I’m on the other side of it.”

There was that famous Feanorian wit again. It was annoying, Elrond thought, how much he’d missed it. “Gentlemen, I thank you for your diligence, but this prisoner is an...acquaintance of mine,” he informed the guards. “It will be perfectly safe for you to place him in my care.”

The guards nodded and departed, leaving Elrond alone with his foster father for the first time in...Valar, what had it been? Three millenia? Something like that.

“I didn’t mean to come into your house, I hope you know that,” Maglor said suddenly. “I would never want to burden you like that. My only intention was to check in from afar, make sure you were all right…”

Elrond frowned, bewildered. “Burden me? Father, it’s not a burden to have you here. Far from it. How could you possibly think so? I’ve spent centuries thinking you were dead, or worse, and I’ve missed you, blast it all.” Tears were welling up in his eyes, and he blinked them away, desperately trying to stay calm. “I just...I don’t understand. I don’t understand how you could possibly stay away for this long.”

“You don’t? Well, perhaps I should remind you,” said Maglor evenly. “Stealing the Silmarils. Countless deaths. The family curse. All of which is to say that you are much, much better off without me in your life.”

“Father…”

“Stop calling me that!” Maglor roared, causing Elrond to step back in shock. “How many times do I have to tell you that I am not your father? Your father, your real father, was a good man. A hero. Not me.”

“But you were…”

“I was what? Your guardian? Your captor, more like. Do you think Maedhros and I kept you out of parental kindness?”

“Don’t patronize me, Maglor,” Elrond replied coldly. “I’m not a child anymore, even if you insist on treating me like one. I know you and Maedhros kept us for political reasons, at least at first, but that doesn’t mean we didn’t become a family. It doesn’t mean that we are not still a family, you and I. Unless you plan to tell me that you no longer care about me.”

Maglor’s mouth dropped open in an almost comical expression of horror. “If I...how can you even suggest such a thing? You know—or at least I should hope you do—that I love you as much as, or more than, I could possibly love a child of my own blood. That is not the point here.”

  “It is the point. I can’t think of another one. You raised me, Maglor. For better or worse, you were my father. Our father.” Elrond sat down and put a hand on Maglor’s arm, making the other man flinch...though surprisingly, he didn’t pull away. “Believe me, I know Earendil is my blood. And I am proud of him, and admire everything he has done. But I have not seen him since I was six years old. I don’t know him. Everything I am, everything Elros and I became, is essentially because of three people: Gil-Galad, Maedhros, and you.”

“I don’t…” Maglor’s usually smooth, melodious voice cracked, and he shook his head. “I don’t deserve someone like you as a son.”

“Perhaps not,” Elrond said gently. “Perhaps no parent deserves the children they have. But I see no reason why that should change things.”

Maglor’s eyes lit up—with that extraordinary light that could only come from someone who had seen the Trees—and rewarded Elrond with a rare, wonderful smile.

He said nothing. Because really, what more was there to say? Instead, he simply held out his arms. And Elrond, of course, responded by giving his foster-father the tightest hug he was capable of.

Finally, Elrond cleared his throat. “Listen, Father, I know you won’t want to go about meeting everyone in the house. But would you care to meet your daughter-in-law?” 

--

The poise Celebrian had inherited from her mother faltered only a little upon entering her husband’s study and being introduced to his father, a well-known disgraced prince. She bowed, of course, and greeted him politely, but her expression was distinctly apprehensive.

“You must be Celebrian,” Maglor said—despite his shabbiness, the manners he’d been raised with were not entirely gone. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you. I hope you don’t mind me saying so, but you look very much like your mother. How is Artanis these days?”

Celebrian visibly relaxed, and treated Maglor to one of her glorious smiles that always made Elrond weak at the knees. “Mother is very well, though she would be terribly annoyed to discover someone still refers to her as Artanis. She’s got very strong opinions about her name.”

“She always was a stubborn young creature,” Maglor said fondly. “And yet it seems that out of the lot of us, she has done the best for herself. I’d ask you to give her my love, but…” He grimaced. “Anyway. It is very good to meet you at last. And I hope you don’t mind, but there is a question I wanted to ask you.”

“Of course.”

 “You lived in Ost-in-Edhil for a time during the last age, did you not?” At Celebrian’s nod, Maglor took a deep breath, as though bracing himself for pain. “Did you...by any chance, did you ever see my nephew?”

“Celebrimbor?” Celebrian said gently. “Yes. I was very young, you understand, and so I’m afraid we never spent as much time together as I would have liked. But he was always kind to me, I remember that clearly. I could tell you a bit about him, if you like.”

“I would be...extremely grateful,” said Maglor. “What a first-rate young woman you’ve married, Elrond. I expected nothing less.”

This time, the tears that sprung up in Elrond’s eyes were from the pure joy of having what little family he had reunited—and this time, he did absolutely nothing to suppress them.

[squirrelwrangler]

Well, you don't talk about hating Fingon as much as of hating Maedross (at least from my observations that consisted of digging your years old meta posts) and tbh Maedros inherited his dad's ability to hog attention (also, your dislike of Feanor alse seems more apparent to average observer). So. Um. Why do you hate Fingon? As in, your personal opinion on what's wrong with this guy (me, I just think the fact this guy ended with crown is a good example of what can go wrong with monarchies)

My fingon hate is more lowkey- and slow building not as visceral- in part because I have(had) few mutuals that also hated him but vocally would get into it w/ the Fëanor did nothing wrong crowd. So I didn’t take opportunities to talk about it as much. My dislike of Fingon was the realization that it wasn’t just completely ignoring his character/utter disinterest plus my heavy dislike of the Noldor that committed war crimes then stole land ownership of the native population went into Exile wasn’t just a generalization with him. I had dislike of him as a character in his own right as well as just hating this inescapable fanon of Maedhrosandfingon. So start with the basics. He never clicked as interesting for me and his part of the story wasn’t a draw. boring beige wallpaper boy. It’s like asking someone who read the Illiad why they liked the rest of the story or maybe the Odyssey more but did not like Achilles and Patrocles or thought those two were just as awful as Agamemnon instead of oh tragic gay guys I want to read fanfic of them and explore this dynamic. I’m never wanted to or have yet to read a fic where the focus is Fingon/Maedhros. And yes, that is a fandom juggernaut and I miss out on a ton of fanon and thus have disconnected myself from influences and influencers in the Silm fandom. For most the Silm characters, especially the popular Noldor princes, it’s fanon and not canon providing the characterizations. Not a bad thing; most of what I write is canon ghosts and OCs and I’m the last person to disparage that - but of characters in the Silm the ones with the most actual fleshed out page time and inner thoughts revealed or such is...Túrin. Then next I’d argue is Beren and Thingol. And Fëanor for his short role on the page his awful personality and thoughts/actions are quite clear. So my Fingon dislike is threefold: popular fanon Fingon can jump off a cliff while I’m not watching, the little bit in canon doesn’t impress me, and anything I’m been able to build from canon into a fanon that feels like an actual character I could use in my stories is a character that is interesting to use in writing but not a ‘new favorite character’. 

Maedhros my thoughts I could go into more detail but most days it boils down to “String that F***ker Back Up.” So, remove Maedhros from Fingon, knowing that I resent Fingon for his big heroic act of rescuing Maedhros (oh goodie the Noldor paper over their serious serious divide aka atrocities so they can lie to our new allies about the war crimes and atrocities and surprise surprise the Fëanorians are the Fifth Column that will turn and slaughter their allies). So, what else does Fingon do besides the big heroic act that I hate him for doing? He charges in to slaughter the Teleri and help steal their cultural relics on par with the Silmarils because he sees his friend/cousin in danger. Okay, understandable. Reckless, shows that he definitely values his close Noldor cousins lives above those that aren’t Noldor/Maedhros -my personal feelings would rank those two groups on the kill/save dichotomy exactly the opposite- but hey there’s a character trait there. (I rank the Exilic Noldor only above a few groups on the favorites list in the Silm because the other groups are orcs, balrogs, Numenoreans, or the Avari where I have nothing to build on). Fingon is obviously a Tulkas instead of a Manwë. Tulkas-type characters can be fun; just don’t make them kings.

So, does Fingon ever show signs of regretting that decision and the Doom it led to? In the text -never. And this related issue is my biggest problem with the narrative, what sticks in my craw. And then he speaks Quenya at the Fifth Battle -which ever since my first read through was the moment that destroyed the scene for me because it baffled me. ESPLAIN Banned language where the use of it was a vibrantly clear political statement of utter unrepentance of the kin-slaying. And that at least half of his army would not understand a word of- unless it was actually smaller than I thought it was and composed of just Noldor he brought over with him - but any second generation, any Sindar, and especially his human allies wouldn’t know (Húrin and Huor, ironically, are the one exception because of summer in Gondolin). Oh, let’s talk human allies. I like Finrod and almost any elf that implied or develops a relationship with non-elves/mortals. Fingon? Where is any of that? Húrin admires him- because Húrin admired his dad and was buds with Turgon. Does Fingon rule any kingdom until Fingolfin died or implied to gather allies to him like how Turgon gathered an entire region of people and moved them in secret to create a hidden city? Uhh..horse archer troop when he attacked Glaurung. But he was staying with Fingolfin and Fingolfin even gives ‘his’ land to the newly arrived Hador (like, laughing wildly here -”I’m giving your fiefdom to this newly arrived mortals because [fill in the blanks but probably a lack of confidence or desire for Fingon to keep at it]). When Fingon went to rescue Fingolfin, this second-in-line for the crown told nobody of the incredibly dangerous disappearing act he did. Yeah, no wonder Fingolfin keeps him house-arrest close from then on. 

So who else does Fingon regularly interact with in the text that isn’t his father or Maedhros? Any non Noldor? Anyone besides Fingolfin that I could give a damn about? Not his siblings. Oh- good! Círdan ....oh wait that’s a temporary holdover from Finrod as Gil-galad’s father. Ah, there’s the one fact Fingon has going for him, being the published Silm version’s sperm donor for Gil-galad (whose’s father in all but biology was Círdan and who he emulated in life was his grandfather Fingolfin and grandfather Finarfin). Drives back the dragon- okay martial prowess. Not overarching leadership yet, so again as someone from an early age as most nerds do who liked the Odysseus to the Ajax or Achilles that doesn’t actually make me impressed with Fingon or think he’s cool. Sort of weirded out by the omission of Fingon when it talks about how Angrod and Aegnor were the only ones agreeing with FIngolfin about being in Beleriand for the war effort and not empire building on the Sindar’s stolen lands - have to assume Fingon is just lumped in with Fingolfin here as an unacknowledged extension of his father or assume the two were at odds. When Fingon is made king- it is as you said, not a great -or long- run. He’s Takeda Katsuyori inheriting the clan leadership after the death of his more powerful and accomplished father, Takeda Shigen, and then being famous for fucking up the battle that wipes his people out. Which can inspire a lot of sad poetry and did- but also a lot of contempt. So what archetypes are there also for Fingon to slide into to gain any interest? Oh look, it’s the similarly golden boy admired figure that is actually a shallow self-centered douchebag. Oh yeah, that’s the vibes I’m getting. This propaganda ideal of ideal Noldor male warrior, lots of reckless courage and loyalty to immediate kin, good looks and decent singing voice, but uh little else. Hmm, nice asking Manwë for help, Tolkien giving you piety points there, pity it didn’t stop you from rebelling against the gods in the first place and Turgon is the one, not you, to try to go ask for forgiveness and assistance.

Looking in old meta so you’ve found my Lalwen and Fingon ideas as well as Turgon versus Fingon on who would be comfortable and open to connecting with different people and had the actual leadership skills instead of just charisma. I could build an actual interesting character and narrative for him- and one that didn’t revolve around the ship- but it was one in which Fingon only because a character by imagining a guy that I wouldn’t really like and who won’t develop and grown into a likeable character but fall even deeper into the other direction.

Long and rambly and hard to read but tl;dr boring i hate your boyfriend and you have nothing else to offer that isn’t archetypes also personally boring or ew hate him

[wearetakingthehobbitstogallifrey]

MONICA YOU LOVED MANIC TOO??!?!? I'm overjoyed because I've only spoken to one (1) other person who really loved it & I feel so relieved, somehow, that you love it since you're the BEST OF US and what YOU love always gets right to the heart of a thing or a story. ANYWAY. Finally // and I Hate Everybody are my absolute favorites, and don't you think this album is like Ashley's version of Lover??? it's her most honest, and maybe lowest but also sweetest and steadiest album. I'M IN LOVE

YES YES YES YES YES I AM SOOO EXCITED YOU LOVE IT WILL YOU BE MY MANIC BUDDY *SINGS IT’S NICE TO HAVE A FRIEND WHO LOVES HALSEY*

also thank you sincerely and seriously so much for the glowing shoutout

#WONDER WOMAN SPEAKS MY HEART AND ALSO THIS IS SURPRISINGLY (?) RELEVANT TO THE ONCOMING STORM OF AN ESSAY

before I go any further I want to inform you I am drinking hot chocolate and Bailey’s out of my Batman/Catwoman mug and I still have Christmas lights up. This is not relevant to the following essay but I just thought you should know

I should start the essay shouldn’t I

First of all, I LOVE what you say about this being Ashley’s version of Lover. Both are a...finding of self, more or less complete. This isn’t to say that Taylor’s journey is over—she still has a lot of life and song left to fight through and to enjoy—but by the last words of “Daylight,” it seems to me that through all her struggles, she has finally discovered how to be gentle with herself and how to light her world.

I want to be defined by the things I love,

Not the things I hate

Not the things I am afraid of, I’m afraid of,

The things that haunt me in the middle of the

night, I

I just think that you are what you love.

In Lover, through Lover, by Lover, Taylor is whole again in her soul, and being thus whole and free, her future is quietly hopeful—even in the reality of the sorrowful “Soon You’ll Get Better” (which I still cannot listen to because it wounds my heart). I cannot imagine what she will do next, for she has the most expansive possibilities ahead of her.

Going back to Ashley, or Halsey, well, I can say nothing so clear about Manic other than that it aches. It aches because the whole thing is a confession. It is a spilling out of herself, all her hurts and frustrations and failures and most importantly the confusion of it all that lasts till this day and may last many more. Somehow, somewhere, in all this mess, I feel that by the end of the album, Ashley has found a grain of peace. She is still searching, still longing for things she maybe doesn’t even understand, but she understands herself, and, I hope, understands in a small way that it is okay to be in a state of longing and aching and messing up and trying again.

I’m sleepy so I’m not sure I am being coherent or cohesive, forgive me. I’m just going to say a few things about my favorite songs!

“Ashley.” So this wasn’t the first song I listened to, because of the singles released earlier. But how powerful is it that Halsey opens up with her name? There is nothing I like better than an album that tells a story (surprise!) and the instant I saw the track listing, I was shook.

Seems like now it's impossible to work this outI'm so committed to an old ghost townIs it really that strange if I always wanna change?And if only the time and space between us wasn't lonelyI'd disintegrate into a thousand piecesI think I'm making a mistakeBut if I decide to break, who will fill the empty space?

This verse—I don’t know if it is just where I am in my own life, but really, who hasn’t felt this strange rending of desires in some capacity. Cling to the past? Leap toward the unknown? I want to live near my parents forever, and see my mom every Sunday like I have for years now. I want to live in a foreign country, or even out near my old college, or heck even live in a city for year or six months, just because it would be an Experience. (Couldn’t live there indefinitely, not this girl who loves endless trees and hills and warm summer night country roads and rustling corn.)

How do we know what to do? How do we decide? What if we get left alone, with no one to comfort and support us? What if we cannot handle the consequences of our choices?

Apart from my beating heartIt's a muscle but it's still not strong enoughTo carry the weight of the choices I've madeI told you I'd ride this outIt's getting harder every day somehowI'm bursting out of myself

LOOK AT THIS! LOOK AT IT! I DARE YOU TO SAY THIS IS NOT A UNIVERSAL EMOTION. THIS IS WHAT THE ALBUM WILL BE ABOUT SO IF YOU CANNOT OPEN YOUR HEART AND BE PREPARED TO FEEL EMPATHY AND COMPASSION FOR THE YOUNG WOMAN WHO IS ABOUT TO SPILL HER GUTS TO YOU THEN GET OUT OF MY HOUSE

Ahem, I’m sorry, please stay, I don’t actually want you to go. Just sit down and I’ll give you your own hot chocolate. But listen. Ashley is, before anything, a human being. Therefore, she is going to mess up, just the same as any of us, maybe more, maybe less, but that is never going to take away a speck of her intrinsic worth, or the way that God loves her. Her struggles will not obliterate her humanity, but if I ignore her sorrows, her need for something more, her brilliance and strength and longing to love, then I would nigh obliterate my own.

Also, can I just say she has gone through some REALLY hard things in her life, things I couldn’t imagine, and for her to be where she is now—I just want the best for her. Do I agree with everything she does or believes? No. Is my life at all similar to hers? Not really. But I still feel a kinship with her, and it bleeds through in her music.

This is getting away from me isn’t it. I’m just trying to say that Manic struck a chord in my heart that has been reverberating ever since I first perceived it.

Oh gosh it is 12:30, I have to be up at 6. I’m going to fly through a few other songs and then you can message me about the rest or something 😊

“Clementine” has such color, doesn’t it? Also the line about her wondering what it’s like to be the blood in her veins—I love it!

“Graveyard” with the thing you love the most being the detriment—not going to lie, this is a story song for me, it fits into the Gold Rush Silmarillion AU I am co-authoring. Feanor and his own pride, Maedhros and half the people he loves, Fingon and Maedhros—the list could go on.

“You should be sad” and “More” gutted me because I had only just learned she has endometriosis, and has experienced a miscarriage before.

“Forever...(is a long time)”:

It's a nice surprise knowing six feet highWould reach and grab the moon if I should ask

Or just imply that I want you to be more lightSo I could look inside his eyesAnd get the colors just right

And

What am I thinking? What does this mean?How could somebody ever love me?

Self-doubt and questioning one’s ability to be loved ☹

“Without Me” gets stuck in my head and I LOVE IT I SING IT.

Found you when your heart was brokeI filled your cup until it overflowedTook it so far to keep you close (Keep you close)I was afraid to leave you on your own

 Is there anything more painful than giving all of yourself to someone, loving them so much that you do anything to help them heal—and then all they do is hurt you.

“Finally// beautiful stranger” I’m ashamed to say the first time I listened to it I wasn’t paying attention and so I was like eh it’s fine. THEN I LISTENED TO IT AGAIN. WHY IS THIS SONG HALSEY’S “ENCHANTED” (I can probably explain this, but just after I’ve had sleep)

“killing boys” there are a lot of things I could say about this song but the main thing I want to say is if there was a song that is ME regarding the sound of it only, it is this one. When she sings “you don’t need me anymore” and “I don’t need you anymore” OOH IT GETS ME IT’S SO BEAUTIFUL

Also

Told me pick my battles and be picking 'em wiseBut I wanna pick 'em all and I don't want to decideNo more, no more, anymore

THIS IS THAT TUMBLR THING  “MY MOM LIKES TO TELL ME ‘YOU HAVE TO PICK YOUR BATTLES’ WELL I’M FULL OF RAGE AND I’M PICKING ALL OF THEM”

ALSO ALSO GETTING INTO THE LYRICS THIS IS HER MOVING ON, THIS IS HER DECISIVELY SAYING NO THIS NOT RIGHT THIS IS HARMFUL TO ME I AM DONE. AND FOR SOMEONE WHO HAS EXPRESSED UNCERTAINTY AND DIFFICULTY MAKING DECISIONS, IT SO GOOD TO SEE HER MAKE A HEALTHY CHOICE FOR HERSELF

“Suga’s Interlude:” LOOK YOU LOVE BTS TOO SO I’M SURE YOU KNOW THE STORY OF HOW IT CAME TO BE AND YOU KNOW ALL ABOUT BTS AND THEIR RELATIONSHIP WITH HALSEY BUT FOR THE SAKE OF THE READERS LET ME SUM UP

Halsey did a collaboration with BTS called “Boy with Luv” and it shook the charts and is wonderful and I love it. Not only did they create that song though, but she flew out to South Korea and learned the dance choreography so that she could sing and dance in the song’s music video. This was the beginning of a beautiful, cross-language, cross-cultural friendship that has involved friendship bracelets, churros, a personalized microphone, and mutual teasing.

Anyway, Halsey had been really impressed with BTS member Suga, saying “Yoongi is really introspective and has this really intelligent perspective on where we are and what we are doing in our unique lifestyles.” She also was moved by the hard work and sacrifices he (and his fellow band members) have made. Anyway, she asked Suga to write and sing a song with her. He was initially surprised, saying that he can’t rap in English. Halsey, gem that she is, was like bro, pls rap in Korean, that would be awesome. Pardon me for copying half the lyrics for this song but to me it is pivotal in Manic as a whole:

I’ve been trying all my lifeTo separate the timeIn between the having it allAnd giving it up, yeah...

Here is the conflict and strife that Halsey has dealt with all her life—there is fear of loss there, and also fear of what one has. The power it has over you. The way things might go wrong.

I believe your faith, efforts, beliefs, and greed,are not hideous...Although the dawn right before the sun rises is the darkest,Never forget that the stars that you wish for,can only rise within the dark...

Suga reminding himself, Halsey, and us to cling to hope, ragged and worn, even in the most difficult of times. Also—in the face of our insecurities and self-recrimination for the goals we set—he tell us that our deepest parts are valid

If I run endlessly towards the end of the tunnel,what will there beIt’s true, it’s honestly differentfrom the future that I had hoped forBut it doesn’t matter, now it’s a matter of living/survivingIt doesn’t matter what happenedYeah yeah it might bedifferent from the things that you expectedYour living and your loving might changeThat’s true That’s true That’s trueYeah so are you gonna moveWe’re still too youthful and young to hesitateLet’s face it (our lives)...

This, this verse is so important. Look back at the song “Ashley”, particularly the lines I already quoted. Indecision because the fear of what might be, of what failure could do, wrecking her worse than ever, with no one to help her. Indecision because of a nostalgia that might be bitter or softly sad, what was past was at least known. It was good perhaps, it was awful more likely. But it was gotten through. There is no guarantee that Halsey will be able to get through whatever the future holds. But Suga comes in here, having faced struggles similar at their core, and he embodies the Nike slogan. Just DO IT. Don’t hold yourself back. Don’t let yourself drown, stuck in sinking mud. Embrace the unknown. If you let fear hold you back, you are as good as dead. There will be no growth, no hope battling through the dark for something better. You have to MOVE! And maybe you were right, things will never be the same, or the way you want it to be, but MAYBE THE DIFFERENT WILL BE BETTER!!!

Anyway, this section really should have been its own essay, because I’m still not done with it. You may have noticed I have been calling them Halsey and Suga, and the song is indeed called “Suga’s Interlude” but this song is so deep and personal to them both, it feels wrong to use their stage names. This is Ashley speaking, this is Yoongi speaking. Halsey posted a cute, stick figure drawing as artwork for the song, and the two singers are pictured there—and named as Ashley and Yoongi. This song is not just a collaboration by two talented artists, this is a look into the souls of a woman and a man who’ve shed blood, sweat, and tears to become the people they are. This intimacy fits the whole theme of the album so well, I LITERALLY CANNOT

I am so sorry I will move on now. It is 2:00 am. I need to go to bed. I am not. I need to talk about 929.

Well first let me say that “Still Learning” is also super important to the theme of the album.

I know that I've done some wrongBut I'm trying to make it rightDid the one I love do me wrong?Give me up right now

I know that I love you but I'm still learningTo love myself (to love my, to love my, to love my)I'm still learning to love myself (to love my, to love my, to love my)

She has made confessions and declarations and sung her frustration, and now she is moving forward. The road may be long and hard, but she is moving forward. I had something else to say but I forgot it sorry.

And NOW

929!!!!

This song miiiiight be my favorite on the album, not sure. My heart trembles and I get chills listening to it, because the music and her voice are so gentle and soothing but the lyrics are essentially a list of moments that have been needles and knives to Ashley, all her fears revealed, that she wasn’t enough then and she isn’t enough now, that the girl with the pink hair lied when she said that everyone needed Ashley. It’s a soft confession, a stream of consciousness, so it was written and so I hear it. And in this moment, how can I not love her? How can I not cry for her, for me, for anyone and everyone who struggles with self-worth, with being wanted, with being loved, with loving, with forgiving self and others?Halsey is flawed, and I just want to give her extra love because of that.

But you know what? I think she is going to be ok.

This is where I want to go back and compare Manic to Lover. There is this knowledge of the self, a kind of peace with who one is. I don’t mean that either Taylor or Ashley have reached their pinnacle of self, but they see themselves a little more clearly, and are not suppressing that knowledge.

929 sounds like water gently pouring out of a pitcher into a basin, and water, properly placed, does not drown but gives life. There is hope by the end of this song, hope despite her difficult life, hope despite the fact that she was never even telling the truth about her time of birth. (That story could be a despairing one, the “I’m a fucking liar” could be the miniscule mistake that breaks her after all the rest of her mistakes, but instead...I don’t know she just sounds kind of amused, like even if she is disappointed or upset about it, there is still this “oh well, whatever, can’t believe that happened lol” to her voice and laughter. She knows who she is now, and there is a better woman she might be, but she is not angry with herself for being who she is, and she will move forward, letting go of her ghost towns and all her fears.

Let me end with a quote about 929: “I just start spilling all of my thoughts about myself and my fans and my family, and I admit so many faults and flaws all in one go. It’s forgiving, however, it ends with the acknowledgment that I am learning and growing, minute by minute.”

Ashley, like Taylor, is making a new start. They have both found a sort of daylight, and though there may always be shadows, I really really hope that they will know mostly sun, and spread it around for others.

ALSO I JUST REALIZED I COULD NOW BE SOMEONE’S MANIC PIXIE DREAMGIRL :D 

*Disclaimer: I AM SO FREAKING TIRED I AM GOING TO BED, THIS WHOLE THING IS ENTIRELY UNEDITED, ALSO I LEFT SOME SONGS OUT OOPS WELL TWO OF THEM I DON’T CARE FOR AS MUCH BUT I THINK I FORGOT 3 AM WHICH I DO  LIKE BUT I AM NOT GOING BACK TO WRITE ABOUT IT NOW. I APOLOGIZE FOR THE RAMBLING MESS AND LACK OF ELOQUENCE BUT HERE WE BE THIS IS WHAT YOU GET HOPE IT MADE YOU SMILE

[skyeventide]

five short drabbles for an event on the silm writers’ guild discord

1. Finarfin (Arafinwë) and the first rising of the sun 2. Fingolfin (Ñolofinwë) and Maedhros send each other messages 3. an elf and his old human love 4. Círdan towards the end of the War of Wrath 5. Finwë goes into exile

-----

1.

The architects of the Ñoldor and the Vanyar, when the word for architect first came to be, had devised the throne room of Tirion’s palace so that its far end would look towards the Ezellohar. Great emptiness had been carved out of the wall behind the thrones: large arched windows, a mighty framework for a wonder of glass and light.

Arafinwë recalled the thronging hall, and the colours of the stained windows bursting to life in a haze of gold, the luminous story of Cuiviénen and the records of their folks’ awakening. But it had come to pass that Arafinwë should only sit on his father’s chair, a painful honour unsought and unexpected, with a heavy heart, and look upon emptied rooms and a long darkness that the stars could only partly pierce.

Yet, as all things, even the darkness came to an end.

Thus Arafinwë walked into the halls of his rulership even as the Sun raced through the sky in the first morning of Arda and halted far from the throne, for the great wall shone anew, its colours painted on the floors with unparalleled clarity.

So he sat on the marble, as if child again, and marvelled at it with an aching smile.

2.

Ñolofinwë, who was now oft called Fingolfin by his own people, sipped his wine with the right hand and held up the message with his left.

His nephew’s newfound handwriting was, he thought, indistinguishable from how it had once been. That, one could say (for he was not at all hard-hearted), gladdened him.

He called no scribe, penning the answer himself.

Nelyafinwë, whom no one called that anymore at his own request, set down his cup of red before he could pick up the message with the very same hand.

He would ride with his uncle into battle; thus they would descend upon the hosts of Morgoth from the East and the West both, and may the Enemy’s spawn not see another day. So he smiled thinly and drank again.

3. 

Beinor was old, old in the way all men eventually become, his face wrinkled as scrunched up parchment, his back slightly bent, his limbs thin and frail.

He had been fair, once, youthful and strong, bright and swift of foot. Celúmë had loved him then and, for the memory of the Eldar is as stark as the profile of mountains in a bright afternoon, yet recalled how Beinor had wondered if he would still be loved once the cruel years had altered him.

They had travelled all day and now rested under the midnight sky. A long day for an aged man.

Celúmë had carried him as one would with a child, had sat him upon the horse, had helped him eat, had made his pallet with four blankets of wool so that no twig or stone could disturb his sleep.

He asked, « Art thou cold? ».

Beinor shook his head, so Celúmë smiled and gazed at the stars.

4.

The great bird flew against a sallow sky, full of dust, full of clouds heavy with sulphur, approaching Balar. It landed upon the port’s piers, its head heavy, its feathers dirty.

Land is no more. The northern pits spew and heave the evils of the dark caves, a great slide of mud slowly crawls down from Anfauglith and swallows the mountain passes, the forests and plains. It shall reach the sea, or the sea shall swallow it.

Círdan gazed north, where the shadows were thicker, and let go of a deep sigh as the fish hawk fell silent. He turned to his lieutenant, the iridescent armour glowing sickly under the pale glare of the hidden sun.

« The harbour stays open. If no more ships reach us by overmorrow, we shall consider visiting the coast of Lindon. » Then he paused and, more gently, he added: « This too shall pass. »

5.

Finwë left his court and met his firstborn son on the steps of his house in Tirion. He came uncrowned, holding no sceptre, bearing no mantle.

Servants and loyal friends of Fëanáro moved about, undoing the dwelling’s soul piece by piece, as things were chosen to be carried away north, to Formenos.

« So you come with us », Fëanáro said, and Finwë was pained to find the faintest note of surprise in his voice, buried amongst a vindicated satisfaction.

And he gazed upon his son’s face, upon little wrinkles that should not have been there (it had once been believed impossible that a Quendë should visibly age: this belief had long been proven wrong); he thought how Fëanáro, for all his mastery of words, had hardly attempted to defend himself from the sentence, and greatly wondered at his reasons. It was a bitter realisation that he no longer truly knew him.

Always divided, always split in halves that nonetheless were both of his spirit, Finwë bowed his head. « So I come with thee. »

Of the two, he thought or hoped, Ñolofinwë would more easily understand.

[sweetteaanddragons]

A Grief Shared

So I realized that I’ve never actually written anything where Arwen meets Maglor. She’s been referenced in my Maglor fics before, but she never quite makes it onscreen. 

This is mostly because I’m weirdly uncomfortable writing her. I say “weirdly” because I don’t have any idea why I had difficulty with her, I just do.

So I decided to both practice writing Arwen and amend that lack with this:

He had thought to find his cousin’s lands empty. The songs he had overheard as he went to the harbor had sung of emptiness and abandonment, of one last ship departing.

In hindsight, he thought wryly, he should have allowed for poetic license. He had certainly made use of it often enough.

The last thing he had wanted was a confrontation with any of his distant kin. He had only wanted . . . he hardly knew. To glimpse the last of their glory as it faded, perhaps. To feel the last threads of his cousin’s magic and thus not feel quite so alone.

To not actually be alone, though, was terrifying. It would be so easy for fear to become bloodshed again. He ought to go.

And yet . . . Maglor hesitated. There was so much grief in the song that now wound through the forest. Grief such as he had not heard outside of himself since his brother had thrown himself into the depths of the earth.

That comparison was what drove him forward. Probably futilely, just like his reaching hand had been then, just as all his efforts had been, but for all that, he still had to try.

It was a woman he saw, a woman sitting on a tall green mound. She was beautiful, yet not quite elvish. Not quite human, either.

Peredhel.

After that, he could hardly have stopped himself from raising his voice in counterpoint to her grief, foolish though it no doubt was.

She was not Elrond or Elros. She would want no comfort from him.

He sang anyway.

He started by echoing her song, slowly weaving his own grief into it. She startled at the second voice but sang on, so he did too, softly turning his words from despair to hope.

At the very mention of estel however, she rebelled. Hope was dead, and only grief remained.

He had heard that before from Maedhros. He challenged it now as he had for long years then.

The pattern was much like a song duel, though rarely was a duel fought on such terms as these, where one fought for her own despair, and her opponent fought for a hope he himself did not quite believe in. Despair was an old companion of his by now. He just had no wish to abandon her to its miserable company.

He would find joy for her, if he could. If he was yet capable of doing some small good.

She was a powerful singer, and it was a delight to have a challenge, any challenge, after countless years of singing alone. As the light faded, however, his invention began to fail. It had been so long since had been called upon to do this. He borrowed liberally from what he had once sang to Maedhros in desperate attempts to help his brother persevere.

That was a mistake. He only realized how much of one when her eyes widened in shock, and he thought back over what he had just sang.

The Oath may yet be fulfilled.

Not quite applicable here.

Or at least, there had better not be any oaths applicable here.

“Maglor?” she asked in disbelief, rising from her grassy seat.

Maglor stepped back hastily, hands raised to show their emptiness. “I mean you no harm, my lady,” he said. “I thought only to help your grief, but I will cease intruding at once - “

“Maglor,” she repeated, all but flying down the hill towards him. 

Towards him?

“My father thought you dead!”

He winced. “As I probably ought to be.”

She shook her head in dismissal of this. “He searched for you for so long.” Her look turned accusing. “He missed you.”

There were many he could imagine looking for him, but few he could flatter himself into thinking would fulfill the latter claim.

And she was half-elven.

“Elrond?” he asked cautiously.

“Yes,” she said, coloring slightly. “Forgive me. I forgot you would not know me. I am Arwen, daughter of Elrond and Celebrian, wife of - “ Here her voice broke.

“Of the man you sang for,” he said gently. “For what little it is worth, I am very sorry for your loss. I am familiar with the pain of losing a spouse.”

She seemed grateful for the distraction he presented. “Father never mentioned that.”

Maglor winced. “We tried not to burden the twins with our troubles any more than we already had. We were not always successful, I fear, but in some few instances we were.” He hesitated, knowing it might cause her more grief, but he could not help but ask. “Your father, is he - ?”

“He sailed,” she said. Her face was shadowed. “Recently as elves count it, some time ago as men do.”

“While you were yet here?” Elrond and Elros had suffered from their own parents’ passage, however understandable that passage had been. He doubted very much that Elrond would have made the trip lightly while his daughter remained on these shores.

She raised her chin. “He did not want to. We had to press him, and in the end, he had to concede that one way or another he would soon depart. His health was not . . . the loss of the ring cost him much.”

He knew nothing of what ring she might be talking about, but he understood the rest well enough. “But he will have recovered in Aman?” he asked somewhat desperately.

“Of course,” she said in some surprise, and he was forcefully reminded that she had never been there. She didn’t fully understand that even there, grief still came.

“Of course,” he repeated and tried to smile. “I should - “ He made a move to go.

Her face fell. “Will you not linger a little longer? I confess I had hoped that not quite all my mother’s kin would have departed when I came here. I would welcome someone with which to speak. I could tell you more of my father, if you wish,” she added in enticement.

That anyone wished for his company took a moment to process, but - why not? Perhaps he could keep her from despair as he had failed to keep his brother. And to speak to Elrond’s daughter, to know more of her father . . . 

It might yet come to ill, he reminded himself sternly.

He allowed himself to be led forward anyway.