#until someone who knows the silm comes along again

[astronicht]

i have been informed that the seven stars PLUS sun and moon that confused me on Aragorn's sword -- because seven stars were a common medieval theme, as they were the five visible planets plus the sun and the moon -- was in fact the seven stars of the Big Dipper (one of the only constellations for which we have a name in a spoken language -- ie not Latin -- in early medieval non-Muslim Europe*). He put Carles Wain on there I am going to riot.

*shoutout to Al-Andalus and Sicily and uhh that chunk of Muslim southern Italy, Arabic star names were going strong continue to go strong

[nikosheba]

Okay I read your defense of Turin & yeah!! I also did not like his chapter in the Silmarillion but CoH has left me very much spiraling about him and what he represents - elvish vs mortal perspectives, doom & reactions to it, possibility of overcoming it, etc... I don't always like him but I LOVE thinking about him (and characters around him!) and there's so much more to Turin's story than like. a tragic unlikable guy, and I get why it's one of the chief 3 stories of the whole legendarium

Yeah!!! He really frustrates me sometimes--it was only like two months ago that I was like....oh man how am I going to write Turleg when Túrin is such a piece of work lmao. And I started rereading CoH looking for quotes, and the more I flipped through that book, the more I fell in love with him. 

Part of it is, I can’t think of anyone else in all of the Tolkien legendarium who just...cannot understand how other people think, the way Túrin does. He’s always fair with other people (this is stated outright with the Gaurwaith), and cannot understand why people aren’t fair with him. He never comprehends that he’s being deceived--which I think is unfair to lay on his shoulders tbh. 

One great example of how he just cannot understand other people, even other humans, is the knife-giving scene (which I believe is cut out of the Silm), which just totally encapsulates the frustration of him all at once. For those who haven’t read CoH, at one point when he’s very young, his father gives him a very fancy knife of elvish make. It’s Túrin’s last birthday before the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, not that he knows it. Túrin then immediately runs out to find his best friend, a lame older man named Sador who does little woodworking projects for Morwen and Húrin, and gives him the knife, entirely not understanding why this would be perceived as a bad thing. So it’s very like:

In Túrin’s mind: Got lovely knife > Sador does a lot of woodworking > the knife made me happy to receive > it will help Sador in his work > give Sador the knife

But no one else sees it like that. Húrin is fine with it but a bit baffled, and tells Túrin basically, “Fine, but idk when I’ll be able to get you another knife like that.” Morwen actively dislikes this, and says that she thinks it’s useless to give something so fine to someone who’s just going to waste it. Even Sador is unhappy, because Edain custom says he can’t refuse the gift, but he knows it’s far beyond what he even can make use of, and that he cannot give it back to his young master without causing offense.

So here we have a 8-9 year old boy (sorry my copy is downstairs, I forget whether he’s 8 or 9), who has something nice happen to him and immediately his first thought is to pay it forward, and he winds up making everyone unhappy. And that just sort of....sets the tone for his life. 

It isn’t that he doesn’t love Finduilas. He does! He loves her like a sister--and textually, he never even really understands that she’s in love with him. She hints it, but she never tells him outright, and he is baffled when people talk to him about her in a romantic context. But he loves her! Like a friend and a sister--and has no idea why Finduilas’s mysterious (to him) feelings mean that now Gwindor, his friend who saved him from his madness, is angry with him, or why people keep placing this huge emphasis on his relationship with her.

The really tragic thing about Túrin, for me, is that he’s not genre-savvy. He thinks he’s in a Great Hero Tale, and has no idea he’s in a tragedy. I’ve said before that Children of Húrin feels like a dark inversion of Tolkien’s work to me. Acts of heroism are unrewarded. Acts of love are punished. Valiant stands get everyone around you killed. Beleg “yields to his love over his wisdom” and dies for it. There’s no reason that Túrin should have known the lovely maiden who kept begging him to marry he was his sister--he yields to his own love, and they both die for it, along with their unborn child. (For the record: he does love her, it’s not one-sided, she just wants to hustle the relationship along because it’s wartime and she fears to lose him, and he wants to wait for a more peaceful time.)

He even casts his sword aside at one point and is determined to live a peaceful life. But peace will not find him, and he is forced to take up the sword again, because his bow can do nothing against Glaurung.

A good portion of the angry, violent things he does are actually in defense of those who can’t defend themselves, or in defense of women. He’s oddly chivalric--with Saeros, his cry is, “Run, mocker of women!” When he goes back to Dor-Lómin, it isn’t until Brodda brags about sexually assaulting Túrin’s aunt-figure and scorns Túrin’s mother that Túrin goes super violent on him--and again, in anyone else’s story, killing Brodda would be the stuff of great songs. Alone he goes into a fortress that was stolen from his birthright, to find that there’s a drunken, abusive, cruel tyrant in his father’s place, and Túrin rouses the downtrodden, kills the usurpers, and casts out the rest. 

And everyone blames him for it. They tell him he shouldn’t have, even though they fought alongside him, because now more wil come, and they will suffer for it. Túrin even begs them to come with him to Doriath or at least Brethil--he was safe there, after all--and they refuse, preferring to starve in the mountains or commit suicide in Dor-Lómin rather than follow him on a difficult trek.

ETA: I forgot to add that he also becomes Captain of the Gaurwaith because he kills Forweg to protect Larnach’s daughter; he never questions what’s going on, he just sees a girl with torn clothes being chased and immediately murders the guy chasing her--and when he sees that it’s Forweg he doesn’t exactly feel bad about it, just offers to do the same to Andróg if Andróg doesn’t start drinking his Respect Women Juice.

Anyway YEAH I also love thinking about him...and the fact that Elrond names him as one of the great Elf-Friend Heroes in LotR makes me so freaking emotional every time, WOW. The fact that the Lay of the Children of Húrin was composed by a minstrel in Sirion, that Elrond would have heard it as a little child and remembered him as an Elf-Friend and a Hero, makes me absolutely SOFT inside. 

Túrin did legitimately deserve better. He deserved to be in the story he thought he was in. And dammit, I’m a fanfiction writer, I’m going to give it to him.

[warrioreowynofrohan]

On Doriathrin Isolationism

I’ve seen a fair number of takes in the Silm fandom on the topic of either “the Noldor are horrible imperialists” or “the Sindar are horrible isolationists”, so I thought it would be interesting to take a closer look at Doriathrin policy.

Firstly, how isolationist are they, following the creation of the Girdle of Melian? They still have close relations with the Laiquendi of Ossiriand, and some of them come to Doriath. They still have close relations with Círdan and are in communication with him. They’re fairly close with the children of Finarfin: Galadriel lives in Doriath, the others visit, Finrod is close enough with Thingol to act as an intermediary between him and the Haladin, and Thingol is the one who tells Finrod of the location for Nargothrond. The dwarves continue travelling to Doriath, and trading, and living there for long periods to do commissioned craft-work, through long periods of the First Age, even after the Nirnaeth - the Nauglamír Incident could never have happened if not for that. All these people can pass freely into Doriath. So we’re not talking about Doriath cutting itself off from the rest of the world, not by any means. We’re talking specifically about its relations with three groups: 1) the Fingolfinian and Fëanorian Noldor; 2) the Edain; and 3) the Northern Sindar.

Every time I try to write this post it gets really long, so here I’m going to focus on Doriath’s relationship with the first and third groups, other Elves, and leave the Edain for a separate post.

Doriath and the Northern Sindar

Thingol’s attitude towards this group is the least excusable, and something I wasn’t aware of until I got my hands on a copy of The Peoples of Middle-earth (HoME Vol. 12):

[Thingol] had small love for the Northern Sindar who had in regions near to Angband come under the dominion of Morgoth, and were accused of sometimes entering his service and providing him with spies. The Sindarin used by the Sons of Fëanor also was of the Northern dialect; and they were hated in Doriath.

Now, to be clear, Thingol is wrong about the Northern Sindar being shifty. They’re the ones more commonly described in The Silmarillion as the grey-elves of Hithlum. They make up a substantial portion of the people of Gondolin. They include Annael and his people, who raise Tuor. (Presumably others live in, or moved to, East Beleriand along with the Fëanorians, as the Fëanorians speak their tongue.) 

Here is what I think probably happened. We have statements in The Silmarillion that Morgoth captured elves when he could, and that:

“The Noldor feared most the treachery of those of their own kin, who had been thralls in Angband; for Morgoth used some of these for his evil purposes, and feigning to give them liberty sent them abroad, but their wills were chained to his, and they strayed only to com back to him again; therefore if any of his captives escaped in truth, and returned to their own people, they had little welcome, and wandered alone outlawed and desperate”. 

If Morgoth also captured some of the Northern Sindar - who, living closer to Angband, would be more at risk of this than Doriathrim, Falathrim, or Laiquendi - there could, as with later Noldor prisoners, have been some who were under his control and attacked and betrayed other elves. The Doriathrin Sindar, living further from Angband, might have been unaware of their capture, conflated this with deliberate and willful treachery, and so mistrusted the Northern Sindar.

That does not excuse Thingol’s attitude. He is stereotyping, and he is claiming kingship of all Beleriand while writing off a substantial portion of his own people, and this is unacceptable. One cannot claim rule of a people while simultaneously disdaining them and forswearing respinsibility for them. It is little surprise than the Northern Sindar largely joined themselves with various groups of Noldor and would have been glad of their arrival.

Doriath and the Noldor

This case is more complicated. I don’t like conflations of Thingol’s attitude towards the Fingolfinian and Fëanorian Noldor - or the Edain, for that matter - with anti-immigration sentiment. The basic concept of immigration is that you want to go to another country and live as a member of that country. When you enter an existing realm, claim its territory as your own, set up your own government, and justify it on the basis of “you’re not militarily able to stop us” that is not immigration. That is called an invasion, or annexation, or something of the sort. (Even if the realm in question is currently under invasion by enemies! Imagine if the British, after D-Day, had tried to annex half of France.)

(I will also note here that Thingol did not abandon the rest of the people of Beleriand prior to the Noldor’s arrival. The First Battle was the Doriathrim fighting alongside the Laiquendi. When Morgoth’s invasion became too large to fight on every front, the creation of the Girdle was the right choice. When assaulted by an overwhelming enemy force, the best, and indeed only militarily possible, option may be to withdraw as many of your people as possible to your fortress (as Thingol does - many of the Laiquendi and as many as possible of the grey-elves of Western Beleriand are evacuated to Doriath) and buckle down for a siege.) 

And the Noldor didn’t come with the Sindar’s benefit in mind. (As I have noted before, they were not even away of Angband’s existence. The Return was focused on fighting one very dangerous individual, regaining the Silmarils, and setting up realms in - if we’re being generous to the Noldor - presumably unoccupied territory. If we’re not being generous, the aim can equally well be read as setting themselves up as the rulers of the elves of Middle-earth. If their goal, or even a tiny part of their goal, was “rescue the Sindar”, then they could have pitched that to Olwë to get him on board - “help us rescue your brother from Morgoth” is a way stronger argument than “you owe us, you cultureless barbarians”.)

So, given that they’re annexing his territory without even considering that it might be someone else’s territory, it’s very understandable that Thingol isn’t pleased by the Noldor.  

On the other hand, Beleriand does benefit from the Noldor’s presence. Maedhros is quite correct when he points out that Thingol’s alternative to having the Nolder in northern Beleriand would be having orcs there [ironically, the Fëanorians do more harm to Doriath than orcs ever do, but that’s far in the future]. So given that the Sindar and Noldor have a common and very dangerous enemy, Thingol should at least try to work wth them. His deliberate isolation from the Noldor even prior to finding out about the Kinslaying comes across as prideful and petty. I am thinking particular of the absolutely minimal Doriathrin participation in Mereth Aderthad, when Fingolfin was specifically seeking to build a Beleriand-wide alliance, something that was in all their interests; and, addtionally, of not allowing the Nolofinwëans into Doriath. It automatically precludes any high-level negotiations or, just as importantly, any amount of in-person interaction that could lead to greater understanding. I can understand Thingol’s attitude towards Mereth Aderthad on some level - Fingolfin is in effect acting as though he is High King of Beleriand, something Thingol would resent - but it is nonetheless shortsighted.

It’s also worth noting, though, that acting with more tact and treating Thingol as King of Beleriand - as in fact he was throughout the Ages of the Stars - would not necessarily have posed any great difficulty or impeded Noldoran autonomy in decision-making in northern Beleriand. Notably, Thingol is on good terms with Finrod, gives him the location for building Nargothrond, and has no problems with him setting up a realm governing a large swath of West Beleriand. And yes, being relatives doesn’t hurt, but what stands out in this relationship is that Finrod treats Thingol with respect. He understand that Thingol knows more about Beleriand than him, and asks advice; when the Edain arrive, he’s the only one of the Noldor to consult with Thingol on his decisions (and that willingness to consult is what gets Thingol to agree to the Haladin settling in Brethil). And none of this prevents Finrod, or Orodreth after him, from having autonomy from Doriath in their decisions as lords of Nargothrond.

However, another interesting point is that Thingol’s early attitude towards the Noldor is not driven only by resentment of their infringements on his authority, but also by outright mistrust that doesn’t seem to be clearly grounded. Note that, after Galadriel tells Melian about Morgoth’s slaying of Finwë and theft of the Silmarils (which is well after Mereth Aderthad), Melian and Thingol talk, and Thingol says of the Noldor, “Yet all the more sure shall they be as allies against Morgoth, with whom it is not now to be thought they shall ever make treaty.” [Emphasis mine.] Which means that prior to this, he was genuinely worried about the Noldor allying with Morgoth! To paraphase The Order of the Stick, Thingol took Improved Paranoia several levels ago. (But he always seems to be paranoid about the wrong things. The Fëanorians are a threat, but not because of any possible league with Morgoth. Likewise, he is hostile to Beren because of dreams of a Man bringing doom to Doriath, but Thingol’s death and the first destruction of Doriath is instead set off by the actions of Húrin in bringing the cursed Nauglamír.)

So on the whole, neither the Noldor nor Thingol are behaving ideally in their early relations. After Thingol learns about Alqualondë, I find his hostility - especially to the Fëanorians - very warranted.  These aren’t some distant, once-related group of elves, these are his brother’s people! And “willing to betray and attack their friends” is not a quality anyone is looking for in an ally, nor something that is going to lead to trust.  

This also carries over to everything relating to the Leithian and the Silmaril. (Again, it is important to note with respect to the Leithain that Thingol states outright, after giving Beren the quest that he has zero expectation of - or desire for - Beren to obtain the Silmaril.  It’s a combination suicide mission and “when pigs fly” statement, and most people who say “when pigs fly” aren’t aiming at the invention of animatronic flying pigs.) In a theoretical world where the Kinslaying didn’t happen and the Fëanorians had no involvement in the Quest of the Silmaril, they might have had  a good shot at negotiating for it! (A much better shot than they had at getting it out of Angband, which they never even tried.) But of course Thingol would have no interest in handing it over to the people who, on top of the Kinslaying, also 1) betrayed his nephew and sent him to his death [that’s kind of on you as well, Elu], 2) kidnapped and attempted to rape his daughter; and 3) attempted to murder his daughter. And there should not be any reasonable expectation that he ought to do so! By their actions, the Fëanorians have forfeited any right to demand anything at all from Thingol, or from Beren and Lúthien, or from their descendents. 

(This is, in fact, the very point made in the Doom of Mandos: their oath shall drive them and yet betray them. Every Fëanorian action driven by the oath is counterproductive to them obtaining any of the Silmarils.)

Conclusion

In short:

- Yes, the Noldor are imperialist in their goals, but in they end they’re not ruling anyone who isn’t willing to be ruled by them. And the Northern Sindar who are part of their realms are people who Thingol had explicitly written off, which doesn’t reflect well on him.

- Doriath is not as isolationist as it is often portrayed and has close relations with many of the peoples in Beleriand. It also does participate in the wars against Morgoth (I’ll go into that in more detail in my Edain post). And they have valid grievances against the Fëanorians. However, Thingol’s deliberate snubbing of the FIngolfinian Noldor (and even before he knew about the Kinslaying), despite the evident benefits of planning a common defense of Beleriand, is selfish and petty.

[riding-with-the-wild-hunt]

Shattered: the Importance of Finarfin

From what I've seen, the Silm fandom as a whole doesn't pay a lot of attention to Finarfin. In most of the content I've seen about him, he's reduced to "the calm one," or even "the boring one." Fëanor gets attention (a lot of attention), Fingolfin gets attention too but Finarfin often just gets shunted to the side. The sedate one. The useless one.

And early this morning, I just started thinking about that. And I realized that, like, there's a whole lot of interesting stuff about Finarfin. So I thought I'd talk a bit about that here. :)

(TW for some violence and death/suicide mentions)

For the purposes of this post, I'm just going to be focusing on Finarfin's adult life. Maybe I'll do one on his childhood later if I have the spoons/people are interested.

But anyways. On to the writing.

I'm going to start our timeline when Fëanor threatens Fingolfin in Tirion. Chances are, since it was very public, Finarfin was there. He was aware, of course, that his brothers didn't get along, but watching one of your brothers take action to hurt the other? That's got to be really upsetting, especially for Finarfin, who seems to be much less volatile than either of his brothers, and much more interested in keeping the peace.

And after that? Well, we all know what happens. Fëanor's exile to Formenos. But not just Fëanor, because all his children, plus Nerdanel, go with him. Oh, and Finwë. He goes too.

Finwë who is also Finarfin's father. What do you do when your father so publicly shows that he, essentially, likes your half-brother better than you? You can't help but have a suspicion that if it had been you who'd been exiled, your father wouldn't have gone with you.

But, because you're Finarfin and you've got to be there for Fingolfin, you don't say anything. You say goodbye to your sister-in-law, and your nephews, and your father and then you set about trying to pick up the pieces. Because that's what you always do, isn't it?

And then the debacle with the Trees happens. Your home is in a blackout. This is your first time experiencing real darkness, because you were born in Valinor and have pretty much seen only light or twilight. You're confused and frightened already, and then you find out that your father is dead.

You haven't seen him for years. And now he's gone.

But you've got to be there for your wife, and your children, and your brother, so you deal with it (like you always do).

And then, suddenly, Fëanor's a Valar-hating revolutionary and you're trying to calm him down, but does he even recognize you at this point?

And then he's leaving, and Fingolfin and your other set of sibkids are packing up too, because apparently he has to go to make sure Fëanor will be all right, and Fingon needs to follow his cousin, and the others want to see Middle Earth. You try to persuade them not too, but it it doesn't work. Well, at least you have your children, you think.

And then they come to you and tell you that they're leaving too. And what can you do but follow them? Eärwen says she won't, and someone has to be with them. So you pack your things and you tell your wife you are sorry and you go.

It couldn't possibly get worse, could it? And then, of course, it does, because when you reach the Swanhavens, the beautiful, pearly harbor city where your in-laws live, Fëanor doesn't take no for an answer and decides to just take what he wants.

And there's blood in the sea and the white paving stones turn red, and you and your children are just trying to stop it all but then you look down and you see Eärwen's parents lying on the pier with their throats cut and you know you have to go back.

So you do. Alone. You throw yourself on the mercy of the Valar and they grant it. You go home to your wife and neither of you speak for days because what is there to say when everything has fallen apart?

But, because you are Finarfin and it's what you do, you and Eärwen start organizing relief for the surviving Teleri, and you help the Valar as much as you can. You light lamps in the darkness until the moon rises. You wonder if your children are looking at it too.

From some stragglers of Fëanor's pack, coming back to Tirion, you learn that Fingolfin was betrayed. That Fëanor burned the ships.

And you learn that your children, and your brother, and your niece and nephews, and everyone else, are all on the Helcaraxë. You try not to imagine them freezing to death, or drowning in a black ocean, or buried in the snow, or all the other things that keep you up at night.

Things go back to normal, essentially. Tirion stops being quite as much of a ghost city, and you and Eärwen learn to live in your silent, silent house.

And years pass. You learn from one of the Returned that Fëanor is dead, has been dead for a long time, and you feel a numb sort of grief but it doesn’t really touch you anymore. Your nephew comes home, serious and dull-eyed. You embrace him and you weep. 

It would be a lie to say that you weren’t expecting it someday, but when you open the door to a soft knocking and see Angrod standing outside, you and Eärwen cry and cry. He tells you that Aegnor will not be coming back, that he fell in love with a mortal woman and waits for her with Mandos. You learn to accept this, because there is no alternative. You are Finarfin. You should be used to this by now.

And the years pass, and the years pass, and its a Maia of Námo knocking at your door this time, telling you that Fingolfin is dead, killed by Morgoth, and that he will not be returning from Mandos anytime soon. You ask if you can see him. You hear that he will see no one. You write him a letter for every day anyways.

And there are many more. Five of your nephews from Fëanor’s side are dead, but who knows where they are. Finrod comes home, smiling a smile that doesn’t touch his haunted eyes. Fingon comes too, and sits in your garden for hours, staring at Nerdanel’s statue of Maitimo. Aredhel appears and stands at the seashore, waiting for her son to join her. He does, with Turgon and thousands of others behind him. Aredhel weeps. You rub her back and feel just as helpless as you did at the beginning of it all. 

And the years pass, and the years pass, and Tyelpë comes home, wary and weary, and tells Finarfin that Galadriel has gotten married. 

But she is a child, you almost say, and then you realize that she is not. Not anymore.

And the years pass, and the years pass, and suddenly your are going to Middle Earth again, with a divine army behind you, and you are standing at the gates of Angband and listening to Morgoth’s screams. You stand beside Eönwë and you feel nothing but revulsion. You do not touch the Silmarils when they are taken down.

You had hoped to see Galadriel, but she is not there. Someone tells you that she is expecting a child.

And then there are your two remaining nephews, desperate and wracked with pain, and they beg for the Silmarils, and you would’ve given them, but Eönwë shakes his regal, feathered head.

So they steal them in the night. It isn’t surprising. Why are you surprised? Why are you crying?

Later, you hear that Maitimo--Maedhros, now--killed himself. You begin steeling yourself to tell Fingon when you get home. 

And the years pass, and the years pass, and you wait for your daughter, but it is her daughter that comes first, barely able to stand, her hand shaking like leaves in the wind. She looks up at you and then buries her head in your chest. You stroke her hacked-off hair and this time you do not cry. 

You wait, with Eärwen, with Finrod and Angrod, and now Celebrían, who is waiting thrice over, for her parents, for her children, for her husband. You wait.

And finally, finally she comes home, flickering like a candle in the wind. Her husband, Celeborn, comes first, tells you that she will soon arrive, embraces you and calls you ada.

And then Celebrían’s husband comes, breaks the news that their daughter is not coming, will never come. Finarfin rests his hands on their shoulders as their tears fall into the sea. 

His great-grandsons come later, and bearing a bedraggled someone between them, and it is first Finarfin and then Elrond who recognizes those grey eyes, that once-melodious voice. 

Uncle, says your one surviving nephew. I am sorry.

And, because you are Finarfin, you take his burned, bloody hands and lead him up the beach and towards the city, because if this can happen, perhaps there’s hope for all the others too. 

[talldarkandroguesome]

49th Entry in Coldharbour

Yesterday I inquired with Bendralas if I should wear Mage’s Guild clothing while I was on duty for them, since I was often asked to confirm that I was working with them. He said that while he saw my point, it would not be appropriate to give out their robes to someone who was not a member, since it was a point of pride and honor to be awarded your Guild robes upon completion of initiation.

I said I understood and turned to leave, but he stopped me and asked if I would be interested in joining them. I said that I was no mage, then paused, remembering what Tharn had told me. All of the things I did, with a couple exceptions, were magicka. I said, I was not versed in traditional spells. That I had been rejected my previous entry to Shad Astula on account of not being able to cast fireball.

That seemed to intrigue him and he told me that when I finished the morning deliveries, that I should come and find him and he was going to speak to Silm-Kia and see if she would be able to speak with me about joining. I thanked him, but also asked that he not get his hopes up concerning my skills. He waved away my comment and told me that they welcome divergent paths of magicka.

I had my doubts, but went along to my duties anyhow. I stopped briefly by the Nord clothier and got myself a nice thick wool cape with a deep hood. It was a deep grey and had no lining, but it would do the trick well enough for hiding my identity as I made my way around the city.

I made my deliveries and by midday was back to Bendralas. As he had said, Silm-Kia was waiting with him. Her bright blue head feathers and white scales set off the gold-green of her eyes. Eyes that stared at me as though she could read my very soul in a glance. I stood still, not moving under her gaze until at last she spoke. 

She asked why I wanted to join the Guild.

I told her honestly that I was not particularly looking to join, nor did I feel particularly suited to being a mage, for I did not understand the theory behind magicka, nor did I have much luck in traditional spell casting.

She scratched her cheek contemplatively. We all stood in silence for a moment. Bendralas whispered something to her and she tilted her head.

Then she asked Bendralas if she could borrow me for the afternoon. He agreed.

I was feeling a bit nervous. I knew that if I was going to try traditional magicka it would be yet another failure. But at least it would mean that she would understand what I lacked.

Silm-Kia lead me to the main building and I pulled my hood down as I followed her, not wanting to risk being seen by Plays-With-Fire or Tel. We headed into a building and down a set of stairs. It was a small stone room with glowing runes upon the wall, floor, and ceiling.

She explained to me that this room could not be damaged by magicka, nor would any sound escape once the door was shut.

My whole body tensed. It sounded a right place for wicked deeds and not the fun kind.

Pulling my hood down from off my face she told me she knew who I was. I said nothing, unsure of if she truly was about to do something drastic. Not that I would not come back somewhere in Coldharbour, but dying is no great joy either.

She told me she knew how magickally adept my family was. That she had seen my uncle Tanval and my mother in battle and could imagine that magicka ran deep in my blood.

I sighed. I was a disappointment in casting, I explained. I had the magicka, just, I did not seem to be able to performing in a traditional setting. That I was not accepted to Shad Astula as a result and that I had learned different spells, ones held as part of a special order of mages.

Shadow mages, she asked. And I was struck dumb.

She laughed. She told me that she knew of the fact that many of the rulers of Tamriel would recruit people of unusual talents to small and secret groups, whether for assassination, spying, or protection.

I laughed and asked if I was so easy to read. She told me I was not, but that her job was to understand different magickal backgrounds and determine what would be the best candidates for which sector of the Guild.

She then asked if I could perform any spells from each of the traditional schools. Her eyes glowed as I called my flames around me or when I drew shadows to cloak me or summoned a shade. She told me that my fire was a traditional destruction spell, but that my invisibility was not the same as the one in the school of Illusion, nor was my shade summoned with conjuration.

I said that I knew a little, but only a very little, about the shadow magicka I used. She asked about my destructive magicka, what I knew. I explained to her that the flame cloak was the only spell I knew. Though I could manipulate it beyond just a cloak. So she asked me to show her.

I brought out my flames and made it dance around me in different directions, then I shaped it to look like her. Made it walk towards her and bow at her and then walk back to me and formed it into a Nord warrior in mock battle, then To an Orsimer bard singer her song as she strummed a lute. I continued shaping the flames into people or animals. Silm-Kia just kept watching, silently, an unreadable expression on her face. So I continued with the flame as she had not said to stop. I turned the fire into two figures, Sildras and Little Khes, laughing and playing games with one another. I made a tree that blossmed and flowers grew into plump ripe fruits. I made a Nord, Dunmer, and Argonian fighting back to back and then walking arm in arm and drinking. At last, after a long while I felt my magicka growing thin and I reduced the shape down to my own image and we danced together for a moment before the flames melted back into me and disappeared.

I apologized for running out of magicka. She shook her head and said she was impressed. For one who claimed not to be able to cast a fireball, I had a large pool of magicka and was able to manipulate the fire with great expertise. She asked me where I had learned to do it. I said that Mother had taught me to keep my flames to myself when I was very young, that like many magickally inclined Dunmer, I had many times nearly caught the house alight with my flames and she had taught me to keep them only to myself and not to reach out to harm others if I did not mean to. But after that, I had tried to cast the fireball, but it would only go in a sort of stream. But while I could not get it to be separate balls of fire, I realized I could manipulate the way the flames moved, so I experimented with it and learned to shape it at will.

She told me that few people were able to take a spell and craft it to their own will, particularly those who had not spent a long time training to do so. That I clearly had natural talent that simply needed to be honed. I could have laughed. How many times had I heard that, usually to my own ruin after false hope and confidence.

I thanked her for her time, but said I was feeling rather tired.

She moved in front of the door. She asked me what I was afraid of.

I met her gaze and told her that it was not fear, but that I had spent my energy and needed to recover. I could see her glowing eyes upon me.

Silm-Kia told me that she expected to see me again the next day to continue our conversation.

I left and went back to my duties. And if Bendralas gave me a raised eyebrow or two, so be it.

I returned to Dra’nassa and she seemed to sense that something was off. I told her that the Mage’s Guild was trying to get me to join them and I was not sure. That I had worked hard and used a lot of magicka and was very tired.

She gave me that look that meant she knew I was full of guar-shite but was not going to push it.

I had a nice night without any dreams. It was what I needed. Now I worry about going back to the Mage’s Guild for another reason. I know that Silm-Kia will be waiting for me. Of this I have no doubt. I do not plan on disclosing any more of the spells that were imparted to me in confidence. I will not explain anything about them. Nor will I show them to her outside of an actual battle. She is too keen, too knowing. Those spells were taught to me in secret and that is where I wish for them to remain.

However, if joining the Guild could teach me more skills, more power, more ways to protect myself and others, then while I am stuck here in this horrid plane of Oblivion, I might as well learn what I can.

[arianaofimladris]

I love your writing style! Do you take prompts? If so, and if you like my idea, could you write a fic about an elf escaping from Morgoth and, as it says in the Silm, being mistrusted and driven away by his people. So he instead goes to Himring and joins Maedhros. I headcanon that this is how Maedhros had such a loyal following up to as late as and after the third kinslaying. Although his later actions were evil, he had given these elves a home and the trust that they couldn't find elsewhere.

Thank you so much! It is a new experience for me to get anons and I was thrilled to see yours!

I like prompts, though I admit they don’t always work for me. Yours, however, hit right into my muses, so here’s the fic. I hope it fits the prompt more or less.

The first time time Mistoron sees an elven village, he weeps. His bare feet are bleeding and the rugs he wears no longer provide any shelter save for the sorry excuse of preserving of what is left of his dignity. He stumbles time after time and the fair, clean faces blur in his bleary eyes.

It takes a lot to come to the smithy. The noise makes his blood freeze and everything screams in him to run away, to run and hide before the lash falls on his back once again. But the shackle rubs against his ever raw wrist and the chain he has to carry is heavy; heavier now that he finally sees free elves around him. His other wrist is still swollen, though it has probably started to heal already; that he cannot tell. He pulled and pulled until he managed to pull his hand through the shackle. The damage was a small price to pay for freedom.

The smith is a sturdy elf. He speaks little and asks no questions, but he agrees to remove the shackle. Mistoron shivers and sinks down on a bench, suddenly too weary to move, but then anxiety strikes once again. He has no means to pay him and he utters as much, afraid that he will be send away, but the smith just shrugs.

“I will not see any elf suffer these,” he answers simply and prepares his tools.

Mistoron does not remember the moment the chains fall on the floor. He’s too petrified to look and awaits the pain that will surely follow, and the next thing he recalls is the smith helping him sit; he has fallen from the bench. Mistoron obeys blindly, still half expecting the pain to come, but none of this happens. Finally he looks down at his hands and sees only abused skin. No chains, no shackles. He’s free. Really, truly free. He’s weak and hurt, but that matters not; the ache will fade, he knows it will.

The smith (Mistoron never learns his name) feeds and cloths him, but then he is firm as he points at the door.

“You cannot stay here. I trust you not.”

“Wha-,“ words die in his throat and Mistoron stares blankly, the warmth in his belly that the real meal provided suddenly turning into a sickening heaviness. He cannot bear the thought of going back alone into the wilderness, not when, not....

“I know not what evil will come after you or what calamity will fall upon as all because of you. Leave. Now.” There is steel in his voice and Mistoron backs away until he feels a wall behind his back. He knows the tone too well.

The smith realises how terrified his unwanted guest is and he softens a bit. He leaves for a moment, and when he returns, there is a sack in his arms.

“Leave,” he repeats and throws the pack to Mistoron. Petrified as he is, he fails to catch it and it falls on the floor. “It’s just some food. You can take it,” the smith explains and picks the package. He offers it again and this time Mistoron takes it with his shaking hands.

“Now leave.”

Mistoron flees.

Every village he passes reacts in a similar manner. Those who take pity on him offer him some food, but more often than not he is just chased away. Even when he hides his wrists in his sleeves and cuts his matted hair short, they always recognise a prisoner and shut their doors. Mistoron goes on, wondering what kind of Morgoth’s curse is following him, one that prevents him from finding rest and safety among his people. He wanted to go home; now he fears he will be treated the same way by people he knows and he doesn’t think he can bear it.

“The only one crazy enough to take in someone like you is the Noldorin Prince Maedhros, if you’ve heard about him,” someone calls after Mistoron when he turns to leave yet another village.

He has heard about him; of course he has. Those who dwelt in the Pits of Angband whispered stories of those like him; the Noldorin king who had been rescued and who lived high up North. Of those who managed to escape the misery and returned to the world of living. What they never spoke of was the fact that their own kin refused to know them once they were lucky enough to escape.

It s a long journey, but Mistoron has already learned that his own kin would not have him back, no matter where, so he turns north. He travels mostly at nights. After having spent so much time in the dungeons, his eyes cannot accustom to light easily. He was born under the sun and he loved the warm glow it provided, yet now too much of that light makes his eyes tear and hurt. It is slowly getting better as he carries on with his journey, but it is just one more pain to add to his misery.

There is one more reason he chooses to travel at night. The warm hours of the day and the sun that pains his eyes, provide also some illusion of safety, allow him to find a place to hide and rest before journeying on, if these moments of vigilant napping can even be called so. Mistoron knows the foul servants of Morgoth dread the sun, so he shuts his eyes, covers his head and sleeps in the brightest spots he can find.

Finally the fortress at the top of Himring hill appears before his eyes. It looks strong and mighty, if a bit grim. But it is not dark-grim Mistoron is used to. The fortress screams defiance and as he climbs up the hill, he wishes he was already within its strong walls.

He asks a guard by the gate to see Lord Maedhros and his heart warms in hope as the soldier nods instead of telling him off. He calls someone to take his place and leads Mistoron up without asking any questions. They reach the walls and head to the nearest post.

“My lord,” the guard calls and the elf keeping watch turns around. He’s incredibly tall, with long, copper braid falling down his back. The silver circlet on his forehead glimmers in the sun, as does the eight-pointed star with crimson jewel holding his cloak. His face wears echo of old scars; they are almost invisible, nevertheless for someone like Mistoron they are hard to miss. And his eyes... Mistoron almost looks away.

The elf casts one long look at him and nods slightly to the guard. “What is your name?” He asks, his voice is calm and inviting.

“Mistoron.” It is the first time someone cares enough to ask him that question.

“I’m Maedhros Feanorion.”The Lord needs not to introduce himself, yet he does. He looks at the guard and waves his hand dismissively. “Thank you, Tuilindondil. Leave us.” The elf makes himself scarce and Maedhros points at the narrow platform running along the walls. “Walk with me, Mistoron.”

So far no one wished to deal with him, alone nor in a group. Mistoron fights down the hope that has been rising in him with each step he took to climb those walls. It can still go wrong. He follows the Noldorin Prince along the walls. No one wished to leave him unguarded, yet Maedhros does not even turn around to see if his guest is following. Mistoron envies him. He cannot stand anyone behind his back.

“I know why you sought me,” Maedhros says suddenly and he stops. He looks north and as Mistoron follows his gaze, he sees the cruel tops of mountains encircling Angband. “I want to hear your story.”

At first he finds no words, but once he starts talking, he cannot stop. The tight knot in his chest seem to loosen with each word he spits out. The lord listens as Mistoron recalls the dread of captivity, then the escape and the bitter disappointment that awaited him among his kin. He leaves out a lot, but he feels like Maedhros can see right through his story and easily fill in the untold details.

“I was hoping you could find my service useful somehow, my lord,” Mistoron utters finally and the knot tightens again. There. He has said it. Now it’s all up to the Noldorin Prince.

Maedhros watches him for a long time and his weird, blazing eyes seem to see pierce him. Mistoron waits, his heart racing in his chest.

Finally, the lord speaks. “It is a hard post, Mistoron. It’s cold in here and the Enemy is close. You’re welcome to stay, though it may not be easy. But I can promise you one thing,” his eyes suddenly glow with cold fury. “I will never allow any of you to return there.” The blazing eyes turn north towards the grim walls of Thangorodrim. “The Enemy will never lay his hands again on any of us.”

This ‘us’ is all Mistoron needs. He sinks on his knees and binds his fate to that strange Noldorin prince. And for the first time in what seems like eternity, he feels safe.

Lord Maedhros offers him a hand and helps him up. The smile he gives is astonishingly gentle for one so scarred and with such a reputation.

“Welcome home,” he says softly. I’ll show you the fortress and have someone explain you our customs, but this can wait. Now, I want you to go to the healers and ask for Alcarino*. Tell him I sent you. He will know how to help you.”

Mistoron nods and bows. Here, at this secluded hill, he’s finally home.

  *Alcarino is my OC healer who took care of Maedhros after Thangorodrim and then remained as his personal healer.

[arofili]

@but-what-if-i-fly replied to your post “lmao i am thinking about turgon and finrod again now…. i wish there...”

Do you have headcanons for them you’d like to share? Bc I’ve been bouncing between rare pairs recently and I’m not well-versed with this one but I always love to hear other people’s takes.

i’ve only seen a few people with headcanons & fics for these two but i really love them! i read this one fic that was called “The Condensed Silmarillion” on FFN, it’s basically a...pardoy/condensed version of the Silm and somehow the author ended up accidentally shipping Turgon and Finrod and turning the story of the Silm partially into their love story!

I like to imagine them being really good friends in Aman, always hanging out and such- Maedhros & Fingon are always together, so Finarfin’s eldest naturally gravitates toward Fingolfin’s second. And like, yeah, they’re princes of the Noldor, and they’ve got Responsibilities and stuff, but their friendship is so much less strained and political than Mae & Fingon’s. Like, M&F have their fathers’ rivalry hanging over their shoulders and the fact that they’re both firstborn (and correct me if I’m wrong, I think Fingon is the 2nd grandchild of Finwe? SO even more pressure). Finrod and Turgon are much more likely to be bros because their dads get along and yada yada.

And then they both go to Middle-earth and I imagine their friendship really keeps their families strong during the crossing of the Helcaraxe. I think Fingon, heartbroken of Mae’s/Feanor’s betrayal gravitates toward them too... Finrod and Turgon probably have some sort of budding of romantic feelings at that point, caring for Fingon and such, but mostly on Finrod’s side. Especially after Elenwe dies on the ice- like, Turgon was in love and married and has a child. He never expected to have anything like that ever again and it’s definitely not on his mind as he’s grieving. But Finrod’s like, Oh Shit.

Fingon goes off on his own quest once they get to Middle-earth and saves Maedhros. Wow, I am just now realizing how much of a parallel Russingon is to my idea of Turrod...! Except I think in a kind of inverse way. Finrod’s not going to be as dramatic or obvious about it, especially as Turgon’s recovering and taking Idril under his wing. But he does what he can to help.

Eventually, though, they go on that fateful trip into the wilderness. I think that’s where things heat up between them, and Turgon is like, Oh Shit I Like Finrod. There’s some good angst and emotion and shit there and maybe some sexy stuff, idk. But that night after everything gets crazy, is when Ulmo visits both of them (separately). And then they kind of just. Don’t talk about their dream or whatever it was that happened and part ways and have this like, weird confused and intense feeling hiding in their chests for the rest of the canon of the Silm. (I think Turgon’s got more of that, considering Finrod has had more time to grapple with this, but they’ve both got shit to figure out.)

They each form their own hidden kingdoms, each have their own tragic downfalls... I think that they keep in contact for a bit, until Turgon disappears off the map into Gondolin. And Finrod never hears from him again, because he dies helping Beren and Luthien (and depending on your idea of things, has a thing with Beor). Turgon is very upset when he finds that out, of course, but he’s got his own shit going on too. Maybe he doesn’t find out until he asks where Finrod is during the Nirnaeth Arnoediad (or however the fuck that’s spelled). And that makes that whole battle....Ominous. Especially as Fingon dies too, and Turgon takes on the mantle of High King, and he sees Maedhros grieving. But Turgon and Maedhros have never been close, and he doesn’t reach out.

Then Gondolin falls too, and they both end up in the Halls of Mandos... I don’t really have a solid idea of how that works, but I assume Finrod and Turgon aren’t reunited until after they’re both reborn. And then there’s things to work out, because Elenwe is alive again - and we don’t know what happened to Idril and Tuor - and Earendil is, like, doing his fucking thing, and then there’s the rest of the peredhil... And that’s just Turgon’s family drama. Finrod has some of his own too, what with reuniting with his parents who stayed behind (although IMO Finarfin and Earwen split up because Earwen/Anaire is a Very Good Ship and Earwen is not going to take back her bitchass husband after he runs away after the Kinslaying, esp not when it was her people he was slaying, and all their kids ran off to die and Galadriel doesn’t come back for another two fucking ages- but i digress)

As for Finrod and Amarie: I don’t think they lasted. I think Amarie found someone else, and definitely got over Finrod. Finrod was way more consumed with his life in Middle-earth and with Turgon. They don’t fit together anymore, and it’s a good thing they were never married.

I don’t know exactly what becomes of Turgon and Finrod. I haven’t gotten that part fleshed out. But I think once they are reborn they manage to find happiness together in some fashion. Because fuck the Valar’s marriage rules, that’s not how elf marriage works (another meta I’ve got to write one of these days), and also polyamory is a beautiful thing and if Turgon’s grandson is a Literal Flying Star, he can can have a wife and a husband because I said so.

Also, Ulmo ships it.

[cycas]

Tolkien Silmarilliony Meme

tagged by @grundyscribbling  and also  @any-shadow - who is the author of the questions!  And I was supposed to write more questions and tag people but I ran out of energy, sorry again....

1. How do you think the Oath worked practically?

I don't think it worked practically.  There are several different recorded versions of it.  None of them are recorded in full in the Silmarillion. Who knows what Tolkien would have chosen as the final version. It works the way the reader reads it, or the way the fiction-writer wants to tell the story.

I could write at least seven different versions and I am pretty sure I could make people weep at all of them. None would be truer or cleverer or wiser than the next, and no version would be morally superior. (Obviously, I would believe passionately that the last version I wrote was The Right One.)

I like the version I have written, where the oath is a semi-living serpent thing inside the oath-takers heads. I think it works well with the idea that doom came to Doriath carried by Hurin as dragon-gold, and the twistiness of dragons and serpents, their place in myth, their association with betrayal and with lies and temptation.  The idea of Arthur and Mordred at the start of the Battle of Camlann, riven with distrust yet meeting to try to make peace, and the battle - very much a kinslaying - starting almost by accident, because a viper struck and someone drew a sword to kill it. Also, snakes sleep a lot, particularly on a full stomach, and so does the Oath.  I liked the idea of it sated for a while, or sleeping until its master called upon it to wake it.

I like the wording of the Oath that cites the Everlasting Darkness, because of the pleasing resonance with the idea of the Shadow, though the other versions are also interesting. I have thought of making it explicit when I write that the power of the oath is drawn from the Naming of the Darkness, not from Eru.

I think a 'spell' reading fits well with the Dead Men of Dunharrow, held captive by their broken oath, and with the way that Frodo interacts with the Ring, knowing that he can't destroy it, and slowly coming to the realisation that probably he can't even kill himself along with it, only to be saved quite unexpectedly by Gollum. 

That relationship with the Ring meant I could write an interesting friendship between Frodo and Maglor in Fourth-age Aman, because I had written Maglor also held by a power he could for a while ignore, or divert, or hope to find a way past, but ultimately not defeat through strength.

But if I'm really honest, I wrote that version because I saw some poor soul lament that they loved the idea of a semi-sentient horrible living oath but nobody ever wrote it that way and it made them sad.  If the serpent-oath were common fanon, I'd probably have picked another version as my preferred telling.

2. Were the Valar in the right to bring the Elves to Valinor?

Depends on the point of view from which the story is being told.  Probably Manwe, Ingwe and most of the Vanyar would say 'yes', also, probably Olwe and the Teleri who left Thingol, grabbed at the last chance to leave, and refused to go back to the War of Wrath, even to help Cirdan and Thingol's heirs.  Fëanor would say it was wrong, and Ulmo agrees with him. Thranduil - I don't know, I'm not sure if Thranduil would think it was a bad idea for any Elves to go, or if he would think it was excellent that the Valar had removed the dratted Noldor with their provocative and wrong-headed ways.

Which side is 'right' depends on which side of the thing the character is on.

3. Which Silm character do you find the most relatable personally and why?

Beor, probably.  I'm not very Elf myself, but I think Elves are great, so I'd love to be invited to join Finrod and move to Nargothrond. Or maybe Hador, since I also love Fingolfin.

4. If you could ask one character one question (to get clarification on their motives, to ask their opinion etc), who would you ask and what?

Finrod.  I'd just say 'tell me the whole First Age'.  I reckon Finrod is sympathetic enough to all sides that you'd get a fair version of all the stories,  he's not an oathtaker or a kinslayer, he has a Teleri mother and he knows Doriath as well as Hithlum, Nargothrond, Dorthonion and the March of Maedhros, he also acknowledged that the sons of Fëanor were the owners of the Silmaril, yet was forced into a position of opposition to them. Also I'd just love to hear Finrod talk.

5. Would you have gone with Fëanor, Fingolfin or Finarfin?

Fëanor every time. I love Fingolfin, I love Finarfin, but I'm all creative impulse and 0% wisdom, so even if I hesitated for a moment when it was Fëanor talking, I'd probably be out of the door as soon as Maedhros whistled for supporters.

6. What do you think was the determining factor/reasoning behind the Doom of the Noldor? Does it hold for scrutiny in your opinion?

I think it was a judgement made in anger, and that's always a mistake. I am very glad that Gandalf's words on pity and mercy can be set against it.

7. Who is the scariest of Tolkiens characters?

When I was ... maybe five or six, I had so many Gollum nightmares, I can't tell you. When you're six and not entirely confident that there aren't crabs at the bottom of your bed waiting to pinch your toes, Gollum is the absolute pits. My room had this wallpaper with a pattern of roses on a trellis on one wall, and with the lights out, I was 100% certain that Gollum was hiding behind the trellis. I screamed the house down on many occasions, it's fortunate my parents were patient.

8. Any other versions of a story you prefer over the version published in the Silm?

No. I like the Silmarillion, I prefer to flesh it out with HoME or run multiple story versions side by side as inworld myth, but the Silmarillion as closest to objective truth.

9. Favourite story of the legendarium and why?

There shall be no favourites, and the number of favourites shall always be no more nor less than zero.

10. The latest thing you learned that made you reconsider or change your view on something in Tolkiens world?

Wank (often sprung unexpected from content seemingly about other characters) about why Fëanor is awful and immoral and the pits. I did not expect Tolkien fandom to have so little pity or mercy on any character. The more I see it, the more I am nudged away from my original neutral position towards becoming a bloodyminded and passionate Fëanor stan.

11. Thoughts on Fëanor not wanting to share the Silmarils after the Darkening?

It made no difference to the situation, since the Silmarils were already stolen by that point. It might be a symptom that Fëanor was not well, however, since the Noldor were traditionally very generous with the things they made, and particularly liked to give jewels freely. Hoarding is not a traditionally Noldor trait, and it makes for another interesting dragon-parallel.