runawaymun:

runawaymun:

You know how hair can turn white when a person is put under immense stress and trauma? You know how after Angband Maedhros’ spirit burned like white fire within? Is that anything or?

@disorganisedautodidact

#adult elrond being surprised to learn maedhros used to be a redhead#because after fingon’s death the last of maedhros’ hair turned white#he had white streaks after angband but the nirnaeth killed the rest of his hope and also his hair

you can’t do this to me on my own post OW

tolkien-feels:

tolkien-feels:

A potential problem: “While still in early youth Fëanor wedded Nerdanel, a maiden of the Noldor; at which many wondered, for she was not among the fairest of her people.”

A working solution by Feanor, cleverest of the Eldar: “At great feasts Fëanor would wear the Silmarils blazing on his brow.”

The result: Feanor and Nerdanel walking into feasts like

To be fair… He may be onto something

tanoraqui:

tanoraqui:

(AO3)

There are no books banned from the Great Library of Tirion. There are, however, books which are generally agreed to be dangerous to read. There is a section for them, officially called “Unadvised” and informally called “Cursed Knowledge”, “Shelves of Spiders”, and “the Things The Valar Don’t Want You To Know section.”

There are no spiders in it, Dark or natural; the library staff are careful of that. There are many tomes, scrolls, and other writings which are literally cursed.

There is a slim, perfectly natural volume bound in pale grey leather like any other publication from the Metaphysical Studies department of Tirion University. It is notable only in its contents, described by its title:

The Craft of Necromancy

A study of the manipulation of fëa in life, death, the terrible neither and the tormenting both.

A note from the single author on the fourth page, after the title page and publication information, reads,

On sources and citations in this volume:

This is, I must confess, an unusual study. For one thing, while I wrote it for classic philosophical principle, that knowledge closely held ought be shared instead, I also wrote it for the relief of that sharing, as advised by acquaintances wise and well-versed in healing. To my loving advisors: I was perfectly fine before, but I do feel even better now. I’m glad you’re satisfied.

I do not believe this affects the rigor of the discussion herein. I only share it because context is always part of knowledge that ought be shared, to maximize understanding.

More relevant to the question of academic rigor is: where possible, I have included standard citations of other works on the topic, academic, biographical, and other. However, most of my knowledge on this topic was gained firsthand, either through personal experience, tutelage, or both (demonstrations upon my person, patiently explained before, during and after), and I can provide no verification save my own memory and the reputation of my primary tutor.

My memory has been confirmed to be clear by nurses of the Gardens of Lórien. My tutor has been known by many names, among them, Gorthaur, Lieutenant of Angband and Lord (and creator) of Werewolves; the Necromancer of Dol Guldur; the Lidless Eye; and Sauron the Deceiver.

Despite the last, I have perfect confidence that he was not lying to me anymore by the end. He enjoyed showing off too much for that.

With that in mind, I hope you will forgive my academic negligence in referring to him henceforth only as “a source.” It is a matter of not humoring his ego, even after his dissolution.

All that said, I have endeavored throughout this study to clearly distinguish not only between fact and theory, but between facts which I can verify through personal experience (eg, the trapping of a fëa within its hröa past the reasonable point of death), facts which were expounded upon to me at length but which I cannot confirm beyond my certainty of the source’s genuinity in his intentions to taunt and/or tempt me (eg, the warping of a fëa to suit a hroä other than that its natural own), and facts which were told to me, or to others of my association, in contexts of deception but which were later re-examined for truth (eg, on the binding of one fëa [or ëala] to another). As with any work, readers are encouraged to take the knowledge enclosed herein and make their own interpretations—though I do NOT advise practical experimentation with these matters.

This study should be taken as my final word on the matters therein. While I usually applaud curiosity and thoroughness in investigation, do not seek me out with questions.

Additionally: in light of the sober and sometimes disturbing contents of this study, I have been advised by my editor to reassure the reader (somewhat redundantly, I would argue) that I did, in fact, escape the captivity of my primary source, and I am thoroughly and happily recovered from the various torments, betrayals, etc. inflicted upon my person. My source (and tutor, creative collaborator, friend…) is confirmed to be, at the time of this publication, reduced to a scrap of a shadow soon to fade utterly from the world that is, thanks in large parts to the efforts of others. For accounts of those heroes, I recommend “The War of the Ring: A Hobbit’s Very Extended Journey There and Back Again”, B. Baggins, F. Baggins; “Nine-Fingered Frodo and the Ring of Doom”, trans. B. Baggins; and “Garden Plants of the Western Shire”, S. Gamgee.

I recommend the last particular for aspiring gardeners. My floral and herbal window-boxes are all flourishing with the advice of Mr. Gamgee.

Yours in scholarship,

Celebrimbor Curufinwë

The volume is about 100 pages, mostly text with a handful of illustrative drawings scattered among the chapters. In the space in the back pages reserved for commentary from early readers, there is only one comment:

Concerningly accurate throughout.

– Aulë

fun fact: I wrote this not because I was dwelling on angst, but because I daydreamed myself into deciding that at some many centuries after his re-embodiment, Celebrimbor and Veryawendë (fourth daughter of Finrod & Amarië, burdened with unknown Destiny that hasn’t come to pass yet) get so ferally into an act of sub-creation together that they pass out for 2 days afterward and wake up to realize that they’ve made a fully animate, conscious cat made of “living” crystal and glass. It literally contains the fëa of a cat. Who was previously a flesh cat. They’re like 98% sure how they did it, and reconstructing the missing steps isn’t that hard—which is good because they so have to explain this to other people. Possibly via some sort of tribunal.

So then I needed to decide how DID they do that, and my obvious conclusion was: Celebrimbor knows necromancy (because Sauron likes to talk, including during torture, and Celebrimbor likes to learn, even during torture) (though he’s never put it into practice before).

Celebrimbor is SO removed from the Council of Is This Creation a Good Idea for this, and they are EXTREMELY forbidden from doing it again. But the cat is allowed to continue as he now is because he’s perfectly content like this, thank you. He doesn’t need to eat anymore—he can’t digest anything, in fact—so he just eats anyway and then hurks it up a few hours later on the most inconvenient carpet. He likes to lay in fires until he’s nearly melty, then cool off by laying in someone’s lap instead.

tanoraqui:

thelordofgifs:

wait so Maedhros was ambushed by Balrogs and his guard was all slain but he himself was taken alive to Angband – and then Fingon was attacked by Balrogs and his guard was all slain and he stood alone and then they killed him!! is this a parallel? I think it’s a parallel?

It’s definitely a parallel. Also,

Morgoth, pointing at Maedhros 30 BFA: I want that twink tortured, broken, and left hanging where all the world can see him as proof of their failure and my might >:)

Morgoth, pointing at Fingon 472 FA, after 500 years of dealing with Noldorin stubbornness and specifically impossible rescues, defeating dragons, repeatedly routing his armies in the field, etc: I want that twink obliterated

emilybeemartin:

emilybeemartin:

I saw a post saying that Boromir looked too scruffy in FotR for a Captain of Gondor, and I tried to move on, but I’m hyperfixating. Has anyone ever solo backpacked? I have. By the end, not only did I look like shit, but by day two I was talking to myself. On another occasion I did fourteen days’ backcountry as the lone woman in a group of twelve men, no showers, no deodorant, and brother, by the end of that we were all EXTREMELY feral. You think we looked like heirs to the throne of anywhere? We were thirteen wolverines in ripstop.

My boy Boromir? Spent FOUR MONTHS in the wilderness! Alone! No roads! High floods! His horse died! I’m amazed he showed up to Imladris wearing clothes, let alone with a decent haircut. I’m fully convinced that he left Gondor looking like Richard Sharpe being presented to the Prince Regent in 1813

*electric guitar riff*

And then rocked up to Imladris a hundred ten days later like

Some people have been wondering about the raccoon. Listen. Listennn. Don’t ask about the raccoon.

maironsmaid:

kanalaure:

hmm

if nerdanel’s epessë were carnë, on account of her hair (or complexion), moryo’s name starts making more sense

@kanalaure u can’t just keep the best part in the tags jshdhs

curuwen:

One of the things I find really fascinating about what I’ll call for shorthand Silm fandom (that is: people with a high level of critical engagement with specifically the text(s) of Arda significantly including the First and Second Ages) is the persistence, even as there is an underlying claim to complicating or deconstructing a simple Good/Evil narrative, of still needing to find someone in each catastrophe who is wholly in the wrong, and one who is, if not wholly in the right, at least absolved by the fact that the other side was So Wrong.

It’s present in the discourses around how to apply narratives of colonialism to the Noldorin Exilic return to Endorë, for example*, but I think my favourite remains the tangle of dealing with the Nauglamir, Silmaril, Elu Thingol and the Tumunzaharîm. There is a need for one side or the other to be, if not right, at least exonerated and a lot of words gone into, in particular, justifying the actions of the smiths in Menegroth.

I don’t think you have to do that, obviously.

(This, of course, gets long.)

Keep reading

youareunbearable:

Thinking about the Nauglamir, as one does, and just, like I know I have a bias as an Indigenous woman who’s historical artifacts are often stolen and who’s peoples’ treaties and promises are typically disregarded by other authority figures and whose ancestors were treated like animals and hunted for sport but God Thingol fucking sucks in that tale (and in general)

Like I’ve always kinda disliked Thingol, gives off major White Settler vibes but this whole tale is so tragic when you look at it through an Indigenous lens

We start off with a friendship. Good old Finrod Badger man himself, hears about his cousin Caranthir doing business with a new type of people that Love Gems just like the Noldor! Hes Thrilled!! He meets with the people, Dwarves, and while they are a lot shorter and got more hair than the Men he met, they become fast friends.

He talks about his travels and mentions that he fell in love with the art style of Thingol’s domain. The Dwarves are uneasy, cause they have bad history with Thingol’s people, but inform Finrod that Actually We Made That. Finrod is Over The Moon and commissions them to make one for him too. As a show of faith, they allow him to build it on a mountain that has history to them and Finrod, you know he would be, is respectful of this and pays them their due and more through Elf goods and more trade then they normally would have

Nargothrond is done and Finrod is super impressed with their skills and commissions them again. This time, to make a necklace of the gems he personally carried over from Valinor. The Dwarves would understand the importance of these gems, they’re literally Family Jewels and one of the only things Finrod has left of his homeland

So the Nauglamir is made. From Noldor gems and Dwarvish skill and shared friendship and memories of both parties. Its an agreement, a contract, a visual showcase of the friendship and alliance between the Dwarves and the Noldor.

(My people did this to. We made visual agreements. Wampum belts. Each shell bead took 1 whole day of hard labour to make and these belts had hundreds of them. They’re symbolic and important as well as a beautiful showcase of skill and craftsmanship. They are almost always made between friendly nations)

Then we have Azaghal. Who was saved by Maedhros and had a great friendship with him. They exchanged gifts, worked together on an alliance, and probably traded tales with each other. Azaghal and his people would have known why the Noldor are here in Beleriand. They would have known the importance of the Silmarils to the Noldor, to the Feanorians especially. They could avenge their fallen kings, stop the evil from spreading, complete their Oath, and go home. Azaghal was even willing to give up his life, and the lives of his men, to help Maedhros get a Silmarils back.

Finrod is dead. The Noldor are weak and scattered. Maedhros is displaced from his home in Himring, and all the gossip they hear about him is that he’s a shell of the Elf he used to be before the Noldor High King died.

A group of Dwarves are ordered to come to Doriath on Thingol’s behalf. “Add this gem to this necklace” theyre told. Its a beautiful necklace. Its a beautiful gem. They start to do as they are told but things aren’t sitting right with the Dwarven smiths. An older one notices first.

On the necklace with the beautiful and feather light gems, they notice a little sigil on the clasp. Its a Dwarven Smith sigil. They know the only work that smith did with Elven gems was Finrod’s Nauglamir. The smiths whisper amongst themselves in a frantic hiss. Why would the king of the Sindar Elves, one who has vocally stated his dislike and distrust of the Noldor, have Finrod’s necklace that THEY made for him out of friendship?

They turn to the strange gem they’ve been told to set within the Nauglamir. Its brilliant, beautiful, and glows with an inner light that is so very Elvish. One smith mentions the tale of Finrod, how he died helping Beren and Luthien get a Silmaril. The same Silmaril that the Noldor, and the Feanorians, need. The one their kings died to help them get.

One of the Dwarves feels sick. These are stolen goods. Goods literally taken from a grave and from their allies enemy and given to another that literally wouldn’t even spit on them when they burned. Thingol cannot have these goods, from the perspective of the Dwarves, they aren’t his. The Silmaril, well, maybe you could make an argument, but the Nauglamir? No way, it was stolen from a literal graveyard of a Noldor city and the person who gave it to him had no right or claim to it ever.

So the Dwarves tell him this. And Thingol is furious. He says, and I quote: “How do ye of uncouth race dare to demand aught of me, Elu Thingol, Lord of Beleriand, whose life began by waters of Cuivienen years uncounted ere the fathers of the stunted people awoke?” And goes nuts. He’s throwing out slurs, he’s trying to pull a Karen, definitely claiming Manifest Destiny which is so wild and kicks them out without even paying for their labour. For their craft, their skill, their time. He doesn’t acknowledge the unwritten treaty of friendship by completing this craft of unimaginable skill.

So they take it back. Sure Thingol died, but he is a thrice over thief at this point and no friend of the Dwarves or their allies.

Then Mr vegan “ill never harm or eat a living being” murders all the Dwarves that are trying to go back home with their rightful due. But what would Beren know about that anyways, he clearly has no head or mind about whats right or wrong as he himself finds it easy to cash in a favour from a king not to help resettle his displaced people, but to ask this king to sacrifice his own men and life to help him get married.

When Doriath is sacked by the Feanorians, oh I bet the Dwarves were pleased. I bet some of them even joined, what with being allies of the Noldor and all. The Dwarves hate the Elves, but not the Noldor who were loyal and trustworthy friends. Who paid and honored their skills and craft, who were cheated by the Sindar just as much as they were. Who fought and bled and died fighting evil while the Sindar stayed behind in their girdle

It was Silverfist Celebrimbor himself, a Noldor and a Feanorian who continued with their relationship. Who gave them rings of power to solidify that relationship. Shame he was betrayed, be he didn’t mean harm.

By the third age its a shame the Noldor are the smaller group of Elves in middle earth. They would have helped Durin’s Folk more. The Elves and Dwarves might of had a better relationship. I’m sure Elrond tried, and some Dwarves were warmer to him on account of being adopted sons of Maedhros and Maglor. Buts hes also Thingol’s blood, and that is a blood memory type of mistrust.

annoyinglandmagazine:

My entry for @aspecardaweek. Focused on Aromantic Curufin.

Celebrimbor had the sweetest little smile Curufin had ever seen. He smiled and giggled at the world as a whole but when he was in his father’s arms he looked up at him with those solemn grey eyes and his face broke into a wide smile of pure adoration. He was a miracle. Eru, he was absolutely perfect. He knew he would never grow tired of this child reaching out for him, of experiencing his joy and soothing his tears with gentle words and affection.
This was the most incredible thing he would ever accomplish, bringing this beautiful life into the world. His little patchy tufts of dark hair, the way he clapped his chubby little hands when he was happy, it was all so much more remarkable than anything he could ever have imagined. He was certain that there was nothing in this world he would not give or do for this child. The moment he had been placed in his arms he felt so perfectly happy and content while being overwhelmed with utter love that he knew would be the most important thing in his life from that moment onwards.

And he would not have it any other way. For what else could he want? When people had heard he had become a father the question that had come from seemingly all directions was always of the identity of the mother. A curiosity, he supposed, was probably understandable, Tirion’s gossip mill was notorious. But after he had made it clear that the mother was not simply hiding in his basement, and no, she was not dead, he expected people to move on.

And a lot of them did, resigned that they were not going to get any further information out of the most secretive son of Feanor (quite the achievement). But even if they abandoned interrogations he still heard about it. ‘The child resembles his grandfather an uncanny degree, you don’t suppose the mother could have gone the same way as-’ ‘He must be truly impossible to live with for a mother to abandon her child to be rid of him-’ ‘It’s surely something truly sordid and scandalous-’

He didn’t understand really why people reacted as strongly as they did to the sight of a father and a child, the idea that it was a tragic or immoral thing for a child to grow up in a home without two parents. Arguably his father had had three, and look how that had turned out. The equation of two parents who liked to kiss each other and children hardly seemed to work in that case, or many others he imagined. He cared for and gave his child all the love he would ever need, and even if he had somehow fallen short the child had six uncles and two doting grandparents who were just as happy to shower him with attention.

Celebrimbor lived in a happy home, so what if it wasn’t a mirror of all the others? The love Curufin held for his son was pure and strong, why would there need to be some other kind of confusing love involved in the equation for it to count? Why did he not marry the child’s mother? Because they hadn’t wanted to marry, had seen no reason to. Curufin had wanted a child, not a wife, and Telpiniel had no desire to be a wife or a mother, only a craftswoman who had wanted to attempt the art of creation. He’d gotten on well with her, enjoyed their time together, even.
But at no point, during their conversations, the time they’d been taking their pleasure or crafting the fëa of the child, had he felt the stirring of some dormant, deep longing, that had been the subject of so much focus in literature, plays, poetry and song. He hadn’t expected to, nor had he particularly wanted to. It seemed to make some people happy, but whenever he looked at a married or courting couple he felt no desire for something similar, no matter who with.

It simply felt unnecessary, for why would he want the perplexing, flustered love of some random nís or nér when he could have the deep security of the unconditional love he’d always had with his brothers and parents and now with his son? No, whatever emotions other people seemed to feel they were not part of his life and they didn’t need to be. He was perfectly full and content with his own.