Seeing this and believing war already to be kindled came now those of the Gnomes who might not fare aboard the ships but whose part it was to march along the shores, and they sped behind the Solosimpi, until coming suddenly upon them nigh the Haven’s gate they slew them bitterly or cast them in the sea; and so first perished the Eldar neath the weapons of their kin, and that was a deed of horror.
—The Flight of the Ñoldor as it is told in the old discarded draft of the Book of Lost Tales.
#silmedit #tolkienreadalong bingo #thefeanoriansareback #graphic #tag the kinslaying
Fëanorians being merry elves making music to the stars. I like to think that this kind of thing happened at some point, but with all things considered, I’m not sure. Maybe it’s a huge AU.
From left to right: Fëanor, Nerdanel, Amod, Amras, Curufin (with baby Celebrimbor), Celegorm, Caranthir, Maedhros and Maglor.
PS: curufinwefeanaro, it’s the family portrait for ‘House of Fëanor’ project. I figured I could combo it with a bingo card fill. *shrugs*
|| I am in love with this picture.
#you did it I'm going to cry #I owe you another fic now #art #feanor #nerdanel #wife #sons #grandson
said: hey there I saw that you're a little inactive lately, I hope you're doing ok and everything's fine!
|| Hi, anon, thank you for such a kind message. Yes, everything is fine and I am actually not posting much but actively lurking the dash.
I am simply trying to not push myself too much when it comes to roleplaying because I can tell by experience that it’s nothing nice and only results in lack of motivation. I am ridiculously slow, lately, but I write for fun and I wish to keep doing it. Thus my slow approach to drafts and memes and such. Thank you for asking and have a good day.
#anon #answered #ooc #threads unnumbered
Tolkien full texts
Because my blog is getting a lot of traffic right now, I feel it’s a good opportunity to link to the online texts of Tolkien’s books for anyone who wants to read or reference them.
Here is the Hobbit
Here is the Fellowship of the Ring
Here is the Two Towers
Here if the Return of the King
Here is the Silmarillion
Here is all 12 volumes of the History of Middle Earth (HoME)
Here is the Children of Húrin
#resources for people #ooc #threads unnumbered
I knew you in this dark
“I am not yours to order like a servant!” The words burst from Telufinwë in an angry rush. “I have my own mind and my own needs and you don’t care! You only want us to follow you and do everything like you say whether we want to or not because you can’t accept the idea of being wrong!”
If he paused to consider it in detail, he might have conceded that his accusations were not a proper fit; Fëanáro rarely imposed his will so strongly that his sons could not think, could not act for themselves. Where he might have needed to, they had all seven volunteered themselves freely. And Telufinwë regretted it. He hated the Oath, he hated himself for failing to see its implications while he was blinded by a sense of duty. He had stood up thinking himself loyal, and only afterwards did he realize that his loyalty made him a traitor to another who needed him.
He was not only Fëanáro’s son; the most skilled craftsman of the Eldar could not craft his children alone. Ambarussa was Nerdanel’s son too. He loved her too. She was so far away from him now, though. Ambarussa knew that she would have received his confused, terrified fëa and comforted him, as Fëanáro should have been doing now.
Maybe he had not meant to kill anyone in the fires, least of all his own child. But what kind of remorse was it if he insisted that the cause and the effect were two separate things? How was it different to regret Telufinwë’s death, but not starting the flames that had caused it? Maybe his mind, the most refined and brilliant of all the minds of the Eldar, could not understand what responsibility was.
Responsibility. Loyalty. So many virtues. Telufinwë supposed he didn’t know what any of them were supposed to mean anymore, either. If his anger had subsided, he might have taken it to find a bit of pity for his father. But his anger still burned hotly, and once he considered the limitations of the morals undermining their argument, his next move was easy.
“Love is earned, atar. What is earned may be lost.”
He turned away, and faced a long, empty hall, the only movement coming from the twisting designs of Vairë’s tapestries and the occasional flittering soul. It was a yawning, empty, and cold place, but maybe cold was better than fire.
Of course he had no breath, the immolation of his flesh had brought that away in a burts of spirit, a last flare in the darkness. Had he had breath, now it would have been heavy, not unlike one’s panting after a battle — and the battle he had never left, not even through death; he brought battle within himself, and its doubts with it, its fears, its hatred. Its fury.
The core of his spirit was there, in that battle. But his son’s words stunned him, left him astonished, and his spirit for a few moments was silent. He had no eyelids either, or else he would blink. I may accept ideas of wrongness if I were wrong at all, he replied with what once would have been ósanwë and now was only the quickest way to communicate, avoiding the imitation of words that put spirits at ease, as if they could still speak as living beings.
Fëanáro would not relent on that — he would not concede to anyone a surrender in regard to what he had started in Tirion, carried to Alqualondë, finished on the shores of Endórë. He would not repent or repudiate having left the followers of a traitorous, too ambitious a half brother, and those who died among the ice, those he could stare at with chin always high. Yet, now, the matter was different.
He shared no bond of love with them. With Telufinwë, he did. He had. His soul quivered after that long moment of motionless silence, and as his son turned from him, he felt himself expand in what, had he wished to imitate the movements of the hroa, would have been alike to try to catch his shoulder, to surpass him and be in front of him again. Still, the shape of his spirit remained where it was.
The agitation in him was so akin to anger; the pull which was the intent of his energy toward his son seemed no different from an order; but the core of it, the essence, that was different and yet something not at all unknown to him. With a body, it would have had an acrid smell. —He knew terror, he knew when it stabbed him all of a sudden even though he wished to not acknowledge it; but that was not a quick, painful, destabilising blow, that was a pulsation, a costant het rising to his face and crawling in his soul.
« No one ever earned my love, son. Some earned my respect, and then lost it. I believed it was the same thing. It was not. » His voice was low, and a rumbling, urgent undertone echoed in it, as if he were ready to speak aloud and yell in front of a crowd. But it was a different roar — and he was not yelling. « Turn back and face me. I have asked you to prove me otherwise, but you walk away instead. Was I not right again, then? You had to stay — you have to stay. »
Or else you have stopped loving me before we both came here.
How tightly should he pull, he wondered in a shiver, how steadfast should he be. Fëanáro tried to withdraw the imposition of his spirit, but tried too faintly for he shivered again; a blank space filled his thoughts and, at least for that moment, the restless need to keep Telufinwë where he was stopped shaking him. He sounded softer, no vibration was not in his timbre. « I care about a son and love a son, and you did not try to betray a father only, but a King also. Those who did not wish to follow, I left them on the other side and I did not love them. I kept with me those I loved with every means I had. » And he would do that again— even if being hated was expected. « I may have had no servants, but I still wore the crown that was Finwë’s. Now turn back. »
#toprusset #I knew you in this dark #more like shoot me or stab me in the eyes #I'm crying #rp
Things that are more fun than writing a Mandos thread with curufinwefeanaro:
- Sitting inside a burning swan ship
- Getting clubbed into the mud by Gothmog
- Jumping into a fiery chasm
|| This is not even a fricking exaggeration, I didn’t even start reading the reply yet and I can already feel the pain, it’s worse than seven Balrog at once.
#toprusset #JFC #ooc #threads unnumbered