andie, she/her, 26, united states. this blog is full of Tolkien. also other art, photos, fandoms, and big-eyes-emoji stuff, but mostly Tolkien. i tag! my girlfriend is bright ivanaskye, who is a lot, but not too much
There was a little scrap of paper that Elu Thingol kept in his pocket at all times. If asked, the king would not have been able to explain why. Most days, he forgot that it was there. On occasion, Elu would forget the paper in his sleeping chambers, and he would spend the day twisting on his throne in discomfort. The paper was a welcome weight, different than the sort that came with the crown.
The ink was mostly faded, but Elu could still make out the old drawing. The spiraling star was poorly drawn, like all things drawn by Finwë’s hand, and it made Elu smile to look upon. A simple gift from a cherished friend was nothing to look down upon.
Melian once offered to restore the drawing to its original state, but Elu declined. Even should the ink fade beyond recognition, Elu would have it fade as Finwë’s creation and Finwë’s creation alone.
“A star for a star!” Finwë grinned, even as Elwë doubled over. “Stop laughing! I tried!”
“I could not tell,” Elwë managed.
Elu ran his thumb over the paper and looked up at his banners with a distant smile. They were beautifully crafted, fit for a king, but they still paled in comparison to Finwë’s gift.
@vardasvapors unfortunately, once again, NUMENOREANS for ‘there angsts the lonely storm-tossed sea’
so blah blah cult of melkor, whatever. enter *drumroll* disaffected and plucky band of rebels! who decide to counterworship one of the valar! they fix on……ULMO. (traditions of teleri cultural exchanges, uinen and osse veneration, etc.)
Ulmo had a special role involved in defeating morgoth the first few times, right? he had a fondness for our true queen’s line, surely he’ll help? lo and behold, they actually do find some deep cove/miraculous spring, now overgrown but with carvings to indicate it was once dedicated to someone.
then a few forays into lovecraftian horror style references – waking the THINGS that live in the deep, etc. is it really ulmo? (YES DDD:) But none of that is as terrible as what’s going on with sauron and ar-pharazon just being their best selves.
[êphal êphalak îdôn hi-akallabêth] later, some of them do make it. (maybe a few die on the ships) elendil’s saying that it was eru who did this but how does he know? do they confessit might have been them who caused numenor’s downfall. andif it was them that brought this upon numenor (rather than many centuries of the king’s men), that they survived to bring that sin with them again to middle earth —— *cue attempted redeeming death by last alliance*
(the epilogue can have the watery grave that isildur dies in, ulmo’s element pettishly opposed to sauron still)
lots of foreshadowy THE SEA IS TERROR – at least a few moments of transition from ‘nyah we live on a special island’to ‘oh shit we live on an island, completely surrounded by water which is now hostile to us (why was it never [hostile to them] until the downfall, anyway?) the valar being exactly as unknowable/perilous as the king’s men claimed, whether they’re helping or not. we’re way past the point where ulmo has the heart to make powerpoints. I don’t have any idea about what ulmo was thinking post war of wrath, but that slots in somehow. may…be there’s a parallel fic where ulmo explains this to maglor, who is capable of surviving an encounter with him, unlike the Men of the third age? ulmo to maglor: you really don’t have anything else to do, and your songs are harshing my mellow, and I’m conflictedly sad that [events of akallabeth]. bear this story to the dunedain, go on, shoo.
the frame is the dunedain listeners not sure about whether they believe this random passerby. what’s his motive here, if he’s lying about the regret of the valar? (a kindness to elro’s people, or did ulmo actually pelt him with whelks)
It was a beautiful day, cloudless, the sun shining brightly on the
sea and making the wave tips glitter like diamonds. Fishing boats dotted
the bay, and in the distance Balar rose dark and solid out of the
water. Gulls wheeled overhead, calling to one another, as Elwing
followed Elrond and Elros to the beach. They scrambled over the dunes,
laughing and chattering to each other about what they would build today.
Elwing
herself carried a basket, with bread and cheese and blackberries for
lunch, and a blanket to spread across the sand. She had also tucked a
spyglass into the basket, a surprise for the boys, who liked to scan the
horizon for a glimpse of Vingilot’s familiar sails—or, failing that,
counting all of the fishing boats they could find, and trying to
identify the larger vessels that came and went on occasion from Balar.
Merry Christmas! My present to myself is to start posting this earlier than I planned. I hope you love it as much as I do.
Pieces of the Stars
When the Oath brings disaster to Sirion, Maglor attempts to fix what he
can, but a temporary arrangement becomes much more permanent than anyone
had foreseen. Elrond and Elros grow up, grow together, and grow apart
at the end of a world slowly decaying into myth and legend.
Chapter 1/13(?) Gen, rated M for violence and some mature themes. Everything else is tagged at AO3.
Hey, I’ve been beta-ing this for a few months, and its gorgeous. Even if @actualmermaid weren’t my gf I would be all over this, because the writing is so natural and beautiful. I am so excited that someone else gets to read this because I love it so much, so if you’re into Tolkien/LotR/the Silm, give this a read.
Allow me to begin by offering my profoundest, most heartfelt apologies.
There is no excuse that can be offered for such a lapse in respectful behavior, no claim of ignorance, or confusion, or blind inebriation that would alleviate the wrong done you. That being said, had your presence at ALL been perceived, I can assure you the act would never have been committed. I of all individuals hold you and yours in the highest regard and desire only to show my gratitude and awe for your noble work and the value of your very existence.
It is a feeble thing, perhaps, but at the least allow me to offer my bonded word – my oath even, a phrase I can assure you I do not take lightly – that such an incident will not take place again.
Should that feel insufficient, I would also like to offer the following (any or all): a tithe of annual taxes leveled in my kingdom; a league of new growth planted every quarter, in perpetuity; my firstborn (actually this one is unlikely so I suggest you take one of the others); my person and services, whatever those entail.
Yours sincerely,
Finrod Felagund,
Lord of Nargothrond
PS Did I mention I was briefly an acolyte of Yavanna when I was a child? Not that it matters. I did a wonderful moss dance tho’.
–
“Hmm,” said Edrahil, reading the letter his king had handed him. “Very nicely said.” His lips moved in what a less disciplined individual might have been deemed amusement. “Rather calmer than you were in the moment.”
“Yes, well,” said Finrod, smoothing his hair so he could resettle the holly wreath upon it. “I had a bit of a moment. Wouldn’t you?”
“Sorry sorry sorry!” cried Finrod, leaping about and wringing his hands. “Sorry! Oh shit. I’m so sorry!”
“Burrrhummmm,” growled the pine tree, shaking a garland of cranberries from its boughs. “Houm. Little bugger!”
“I didn’t know!” Finrod jumped to try and retrieve a string of popped corn from the lower branches. “I didn’t realize! You were very still!”
“BOUHM,” roared the Ent, for of course that it was. “THAT IS….HOM! WHAT WE….ARE KNOWN FOR.” A merry bauble dropped over one glowering, knotty eye socket. “SODDING IDIOT.”
Finrod’s red robe was damp with snow and perspiration as he pushed the ermine lined hood back from his face and desperately tried to retrieve all the spun peppermint candy twists from the Ent’s very slowly flailing body.
“A Bad…hhhUOm!… Elf, you arrrre,” declaimed the Ent, shuddering with outrage. “What….were…you playing…at?”
“I got carried away with mid-winter decorations,” said Finrod, almost crying with distress and regret. “Someone told me they were surprised I hadn’t done more, given my talent for decor, and I thought the line of pines leading to the entrance could use – could use – sprucing up?”
“WAS THAT – PHOWM! – A PUN?” bellowed the Ent, and Finrod squeaked and jumped again and tried to pluck the gilded swan tree topper from the Ent’s head.
–
“That was inspired, even for me,” said Curufin, who was watching through a spyglass from the western tower. “Ooh! Another gold coin to you, brother, well done. It did stuff the popcorn down his trousers.”
“A midwinter miracle,” sighed Celegorm, wiping away tears of merriment. “Ho ho ho.”
My blog is getting a bunch of extra traffic because of That Post, sooooo
Hi! I’m Amanda! If you like reading fanfic, maybe consider checking mine out, because I crave validation and I’m not ashamed to admit it. It’s pretty good stuff! I spend a lot of time and energy on it!
The night was still but for the rustle of the wind roosting in the treetops and rattling at the canvas of their tents. There were no night birds. Once something large went swishing through the undergrowth and Maedhros and some soldiers went to deal with it. They did not speak of what it had been when they returned, swords wiped clean but clothing splotched with black. They might have, only Maglor cleared his throat and said it was time for supper.
Supper was not the draw it should have been for two growing boys.
“I don’t want to eat snails,” Elrond said, prodding at the gelatinous brown sauce and gelatinous blobs of meat upon his plate.
Maedhros spat a shell into the fire. “Then don’t. Plenty of others will be glad of them.”
“You can’t tell me you weren’t served molluscs in Sirion,” Maglor said, placatingly. “These are just the same.” He teased one daintily from its shell with what looked like a repurposed sewing needle and offered it to Elrond.
“Those were nice,” Elros said sullenly but did not push his plate away. He was hungry enough that even the thought of eating snails had lost its horror and the smell they gave off was very savoury.
Maglor saw his resolve waver. “So are these, darling. See, they’ve been cooked with mushrooms and wild garlic. That’s a meal fit for a prince.”
“They’re all slimy.”
“I know, dearest. Just try one. For me. Couldn’t you find us any meat?” Maglor muttered that last part to his brother, who shrugged.
“In these lands? We’re lucky the snails yet live. Soon it shall be worms and whatever carrion the wargs leave us. Or the wargs themselves.“ Maedhros tilted his head thoughtfully. “We haven’t burnt the carcass yet-”
Maglor wiped his lips primly upon the piece of tattered heraldry he was using for a napkin. “Just once I’d like a nice dinner where you don’t start off about maggots and butchery.”
“Make your mind up. It’s not getting any fresher,” said Maedhros and went back to cracking shells between his teeth.
It wasn’t Maglor’s prompting but that of their own stomachs that finally drove the twins to eat. The snails didn’t taste at all like the whelks they’d once been served in their mother’s dining hall but they looked back on them fondly all the same. They were much better than the warg jerky that came later.
Do you know the darkness in the hour just before the dawn? When all shadows disappear because there is no light to fall from the sky, no light to show you the right path? In Dor Daedeloth this hour seems to last forever. And if you are one of those who used to live in light. this darkness feels so unnatural, so strange. You can only stare at this grim land and think of how long it is under the Shadow. Will the spring ever return here? Will flowers bloom again? You can walk away from the camp, but there is nothing to admire, nothing to awake happiness, hope, joy. Only ashes. And howling wind, like the voice of Manwë crying over the pitiful fate of this land. You don’t want to go, don’t want to go there alone. The option of being attacked by servants of the Enemy is nothing compared to the endless pain and sorrow of this desolate land. But you must go forth, you must leave the silent safety of the camp, the feeling that there are your friends, who can come to help you or simply talk to you. Now you are not thinking about your duties as the leader of Vanyarin hosts. You don’t remember about the council with High King Arafinwë and Herald Eonwe, Nëlyafinwë, Kanafinwë and others… There is only the need, something that pushes you away from the circle of lights, deep into the shadows, into the darkness. And there are corpses – all over the fields of dust. There was a battle, not so long ago, when the sun was above. The battlefield will be cleaned soon. The Maiar of Aulë, who came with Herald Eonwë will sing tommorow at the morning, and the earth will cover this horrible view. The bodies of all followers of the Light will be moved to rest on the hill, where a new forest will grow. You are walking through the field, empty eyes following you, broken pieces of armour or some parts of bodies are trying to stop you. But you are not stopping. And soon there is light before you, dim and red, like fresh blood. And there are mountains hovering above you – grim, dark, merciless mountains. Three volcanic peeks are bleeding with lava flowing lazily down the mountainside. And you are there, alone, shivering under the cold wind, defenceless; your light hair is shining like a falling star. And you know there are countless eyes looking at you, a lonely Vanya, here, on the treshold of Angband. And when the gate will open you know who will come out.
ephal ephalak idon hi-akallabeth 