"Care to try again —- Perhaps in a less patronizing tone?"
Fëanáro raised his eyebrows, yet he did not repeat himself; he let a second of contemplation pass and adjusted his tone of voice. « With whom am I speaking? I do not intend to try again, but I shall use your name instead. »
said: ☠ -fairqueenindis
There was a pool of blood on the marble floor, the ferrous smell lingered in the room’s heavy air. Heavier than the smell in a forge when it was filled with coal and the smoke of the quenching. It came from there, Fëanáro and Rúmil by his side had sniffed it while walking down the corridor, and now whatever words he was planning to say remained trapped in his throat.
In the middle of that pool there was Indis; he could not mistake the clothes, or the golden hair, for someone else’s. Reb blood had drenched her gowns and a hand was pressed on her belly; blood had come out of her womb, instead of a child.
Rúmil dropped his parchments and rushed first, kneeling at her side with eyes wide and frantic. Fëanáro stood motionless.
(There were going to be those who, upon hearing the account of their finding, would have said he rejoiced, and he knew that already. Thoughts were clear as the profile of the loremaster turning her pale face toward him, slowly, touching her neck and finding nothing but absence of heartbeat. He was almost glad of not having been alone, because some would not have believed that he had only found her; they would have accused him of having killed two Queens.)
Rúmil rested a hand on her collarbones and blinked, repeatedly. « She has been dead for ten minutes at least. » His voice was a whisper, Fëanáro considered as he finally stepped forward and glanced over the blood – it was a stain, already slightly curdled. And as he approached, Rúmil’s next words arrived to him even before he could speak them out loud, yet not because his mind was open and receiving his thoughts; no, it was because he knew.
« We must tell the King. »
Fëanáro could see his father’s face go white, superimposed to Indis’ pallid countenance, he could see it crumble in grief, and how could have the Ñoldor dared call that land “blessed”, then? His father had forsaken his love for his mother and by divine law he had received the right to marry another, and now he was twice a widower. – He thought that there was no justice in that. – He also thought whether to ask Míriel if she had changed her mind, she was not bound anymore to Mandos, was she not? – And he thought, eventually, that the third child of Indis also had killed their mother, but had not survived to take the blame.
Indis had not chosen death, she would come back, that he realised too, and yet his father’s expression at the news would not leave his thoughts, although the pain that it would show could not reach his chest. Pressing his fingertips on his eyes until he saw sparkles of light against his eyelids, he understood that he could not be the one to give the news, and thus he nodded. « Go and tell him, that he may come here. »
When he opened his eyes again, Rúmil was on his feet.
(A single mention of his gesture would have spawned the speculation that he had tears in his eyes, or the certainty that there was satisfaction, and either way he had to hide them. The truth is that he only kept breathing; staring at the corpse again his bellows contracted and he could not understand why anymore. )
#fairqueenindis #fd meme #gore cw #miscarriage tw #blood cw #I'm not /that/ satisfied with this but I tried #answered #fanfiction
"Excuse me—- What did you just call me?!"
« Casar », he repeated, in a lower tone. « It is Quenya and it means nothing else but Khazad. I have called you a Dwarf— which is exactly what you are. »
#heyyy super quick reply #I need more dwarves in my life #khxzdul #short
|| If you ever need a dictionary of all of Tolkien’s elven languages —Quenya, Sindarin, Noldorin (which is not the language of the Ñoldor, that is Quenya. Noldorin is one of Tolkien’s archaic ideas that eventually became Sindarin), Quendya, Telerin and Nandorin— this is the place you should go look at. It has also Khuzdûl, Black Speech, Adûnaic and Westron. (All words are attested and not constructed.)
It includes roots of words, singular/plurals, reverse search, and comparisons between the various languages when possible. It’s not complete, but it’s very good, especially for Quenya/Sindarin comparisons and translations.
#tolkien #silmarillion #elvish #quenya #the hobbit
said: (I don't know if my opinion counts 'cause I don't rp but) I like that you keep a sort of ballance between the different sides of his personality. It's really easy to make him go to extremes (if that makes sense) but that doesn't happen to your Fëanor and you can see the fierce, determined Fëanor, with glimpses of the Fëanor that he used to be back when things were better.
|| I always accept messages and suggestions from everybody, so yes, of course your opinion counts. And I’m glad to hear that. I try to do my best at portraying a person and not only the “mythical figure”, because while I like the larger-than-life individual I also think the other things are good character traits. So, if that passes, I am happy. And thank you for the message.
#hwarang #answered #ooc #threads unnumbered #self indulgent meme
said: i think what i like is that there is a level of relentlessness that you play him with. he is as unstoppable in your verse as how i imagine him in tolkien's works.
|| Thank you. I try to work on the feelings that I would like the reader to experience, so it’s good to know that I somehow managed it, at least in this regard.
#nerdaneliswa #answered #self indulgent meme #sometimes I need that too #ooc #threads unnumbered
|| Lurking and trying to write. I feel so lazy this evening, I might browse the bunny tag until I’ve fancasted the whole House of Finwë.
#ooc #threads unnumbered
"You were named after the most skilled, wisest, mightiest, bravest man I ever knew, Curufinwë Atarinkë."
– Fëanor, at some point I bet (via ameliarating)
#bye #I fricking can't #feanor #curufin #crack #quotation
He had not… quite chosen Valinor, not willingly anyways.
Like his father, his heart had been bound to the woods —
to the waking world where men and dwarves and elves all
wandered together, discordant, yet harmonious in a hap-
hazard sort of manner. The truth was embarrassing and
something he wanted to avoid divulging, but as this was
a King of Kings, a power so formidable and inspiring, he
could not deny him the answers he employed to elicit from
the prince. And so his lips began to weave words into the
story of his death.
❝ I was foolish and naive. I thought my
victory against Sauron had won me strength
beyond measure. I believed myself to be
almost invincible, but I was… overpowered.
I was killed in a battle of my own making. ❞
It was for the sake of practise; of betterment of body and
and mind. To synchronize his thoughts with his movements
so he may react accordingly in the line of fire, so he had
enticed a scattered band of orcs to assemble and face him
head on, and he had been so sure he could demolish them
from the face of planet. What error of judgement he had
made! The prince; his very head. And they had screeched
their victory when they had him on his knees and a blade
upon his throat. The son of Thranduil; the saviour of Middle
Earth! His neck was split and his body broken and when he
had awakened, he was here and no longer able to walk the
« —Ah. » He halted and the corner of his lips curled up, not scorful but still amused. « Such a description of events does not sound so unfamiliar to me. » If the Prince of Mirkwood knew anything about history, that history so distant in the Ages that was almost fabled, then he would remember of his final battle, fought in fire.
Proceeding in the corridor, hands still clasped behind his back, a slight frown appeared on his forehead, an expression that some would say was apt to him, more than others. « So you passed through the Halls of Mandos. I assume your healing did not need so much time. » A hint of bitterness found its place in his voice, and Fëanáro glanced at the sun that came in through the arches — white light that hit the pavement like shining cones, so unlike the golden glimmer that Laurelin once cast.
He breathed in deeply. « And Thauron is annihilated. » That he said with relief. With a profound sense of fulfillment. « I would need a long time and many words to explain what feelings such news give me. But at times brevity is more effective— The blood of my blood has been avenged. »
#edhelernil #ten thousand years later #short #a wild icon appears