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tilions · 3 years

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A life saved

A Feanor lives AU... more or less. No he's not a ghost in this one. English is not my first language and a large portion of this text was translated from my mother tongue German into English so if some things like metaphors seem weird to you that might be why. I also aplogise for any errors.

There was nobody welcoming them when Nolofinwe and his followers arrived on the northern side of Lake Mithrim. Not that they should have expected this much from Feanáro to begin with. Instead of wasting time waiting for those too proud to come they started setting up their camp and began restocking their food and water supplies as best as they could with their limited resources.

But when the third and fourth day had come to pass without a single word from the camp on the other side of the lake it was not only Nolofinwe who grew tense. When he made his rounds through the rows of tents to look after the injured or to speak with the few scouts they could spare he could hear the people mutter the same things that were going through his own head.

Shouldn’t the Feanorians have noticed them by now? Was it not enough that they had abandoned them in the first place? Left them to fend for themselves? To take on the risk of crossing the grinding ice? Did they have to ignore them even now? Or was the king perhaps absent, so that it was unclear whether they should be approached at all? But even then, Maitimo was not the sort of person who would act like this.

The fifth day had to begin before there was any change to their situation and it was Irisse who brought it upon them in her usual stubborn manner. Nolofinwe watched her drag Tyelkormo of all people from the west side of their camp all the way to where he was standing, watching Isil rise. Huan was trotting after them leisurely, a stark contrast to his master who was complaining loudly about the way he was being treated.

Irisse ignored him and only pulled harder in his arm, her face very much like her mothers when she was angry. For all the noise he was making Tyelkomro was surprisingly tame and went with his cousin rather willingly. He did not even try to bolt when they stopped in front of Nolofinwe and Irisse let go of his arm.

‘Now talk,’ she said and left them to their own devices. Both Tyelkomo and Nolofinwe watched her as she vanished between the tents, her white dress stained with grass and dirt. As Nolofinwe turned his head to look at Tyelkomo he noticed that his nephew's clothes were similarly looking. He did not even need to ask how Irisse had gotten him here.

When it became very clear that she would not return, Tyelkormo turned his head and looked up into his half uncle's face with a look of great discomfort.

‘And?’ he asked, less sharp than normal, ‘What is it that you want to know?’

'Answers for a start,' Nolofinwe found himself replying. Upon closer observation of his nephew’s face he noticed a faint scar above his left eye that had not been there when they had last seen each other.

‘Well they were too frail,’ was all that Tyelkormo said as if the answer was enough in his mind. It was not for Nolofinwe, a fact that the other one quickly realised. He seemed even more uncomfortable than before and only when Huan laid his head on Tyelkormo’s shoulder and nuzzled the right side of his face he replied reculantly: ‘The boats. They were too frail to cross the sea, technically. It’s a miracle we made it work but they wouldn’t have survived another journey. You don’t have to believe me but I can tell you from what I have seen that you would have been lucky to catch a glimpse of them on the far horizon before they would have fallen apart.’

‘The Teleri are… were very well known to keep their ships in good shape. why then should they let boats like this rest in their havens?’

He was aware that Tylekormo, who never had been overly fond of boating, was the last person who could know the answer to this question. Yet Nolofinwe felt the need to ask anyway. Arafinwe would have known surely but Arafinwe was not here with him but on the other side, in Tirion. Instead of an answer all Tylekormo was able to do was flinch when his uncle mentioned the Teleri and bite his lower lip.

Then after they had stood in silence for a while and that silence became uncomfortable he lifted his shoulders and with a defeated tone in his voice he said: ‘What do I know? All I can tell you is what I already have said. They were too frail. One of them nearly sank to the bottom of the ocean during the journey here because it started falling apart. If Aiwë.. Curvo's wife hadn't been there, we wouldn't have been able to fix it in time.'

Ñolofinwë refrained from asking why Curufinwës Telerin wife had decided to accompany her husband even though he had been part of the slaughtering of her kin. He could see that Tyelkormo's patience was running thin. A question like this could end their conversation in a very short amount of time.

'And how did your father expect us to follow him?' he asked instead.

'Not at all,’ Tyelkormo said. ‘Father mentioned something like this but I wasn’t really paying attention.’

It was very much like Tyelkormo to not pay attention and that was not what surprised Nolofinwe. It was the fact that Feanáro had expected him to turn back. Had he not told his brother that he would follow him?

"He wanted us to turn back?"

"Turn back, return home, well whatever. You hardly had any part in... what happened. They probably would have forgiven you."

We didn’t participate. They will forgive us, Nolo.

Arafinwe's voice rang clear in his head and Nolofinwe could barely hold back a flinch on his own. For once his brothers seemed to have thought alike and he could not disagree more with their notions. He was here for a reason and because of a promise he made. He could not just turn back.

It was then that Huan, who had been quiet the entire time and had been resting his chin on Tyelkormo’s shoulder, made a small noise, which Nolofinwe could not quite identify. Tyelkormo petted his head and nodded as if he had understood what his companion wanted to tell him. The uncomfortable look on his face vanished for a moment.

‘I know, Káno wanted us to be back yesterday…,’ he said, then he smiled a little. ‘You just want to see Tyelpe again, don’t you?’

Once again Huan made a noise and this time it sounded like agreement to Nolofinwe.

'You could come with me,' Tyelkormo then addressed Nolofinwe again and he looked like he thought this was a very good idea, 'if you want to talk to someone who is more informed than me.'

Preferably he would have liked the Feanorians to come, for then it would not have looked as if Nolofinwe would give in, but it seemed to him that this would take days perhaps even weeks and he simply did not have the time for this.

'I want to inform Findekáno before we leave.'

'Mhm,' was all his nephew replied and proceeded to scratch Huan behind the ear.

Soon enough they were on their way around the lake to the Feanorian camp. Neither Findekáno nor Turukáno had been particularly happy about Nolofinwe’s announcement but for different reasons as it seemed. Findekáno most certainly had hoped to accompany his father so that he could have a word with Maitimo but Nolofinwe had been clear that he needed his eldest son here to aid his aunt. Turukáno on the other hand had looked like somebody had served him a cup of sour milk as soon as the name Tyelkormo had left his fathers mouth. He was still grieving and full of hatred.

It was Findaráto who made them agree in the end as he promised to go along with Nolofinwe as a representative of the House Arafinwe. If he would have been able to have things his way Nolofinwe would have told this one of his nephews to remain behind but alas Findaráto could be just as stubborn as any of their family when he wanted to. Besides he also had inherited his mothers ability to become menacingly scary when he really wanted to bring a point across in an argument. Nolofinwe did not want this to happen.

‘I did know that grandfather was reluctant to use the ships,’ Findaráto remarked once Tyelkormo was done telling him what he had told Nolofinwe before. ‘They were treated like holy artifacts by many of the older generation, so it would make sense to have them on display and not use them. They fell apart, yes? I guess the wood here on these shores is not made to last forever like it did at home…’

Nolofinwe remained silent. He was vibrating with tension. The anger at his brother, though somewhat mitigated by Tyelkormo's words, was still boiling under his skin and he had to prepare himself not to explode the moment he saw him. He could just be as fiery as his brother if the occasion arose. Many would have doubted this because he put a lot of effort in his calm and put-together appearance. It was a trait both of them had inherited from their father although Finwe had been very good at turning his temperament into passion.

Nolofinwe bit his lower lip. No, it was still too early to think about father.

Carnistir was the one waiting for them once they reached the outskirts of the Feanorian camp. Nolofinwe noticed almost immediately that many of the buildings were in fact made from wood or stone. There were only a few tents left standing. The pathway they set foot onto was also made with stone. His brother’s people had not been idle in the last years.

‘You’re late,’ Carnistir greeted Tyelkomo unimpressed and with his arms folded in front of his chest.

His trademark frown was not missing either, yet there was something off about him but it took Nolofinwe a few seconds to realise that Carnistir had cut off a large chunk of his hair. Automatically he looked over to Tyelkormo and noticed the same thing. Both men's hair barely reached their shoulders now. He wondered what had caused this drastic decision, for it was very un-Noldorin to cut off one's own hair unless it got burned or otherwise stained in an accident. Neither Tyelkomo nor Carnistir looked like they had been in an accident recently but Nolofinwe did not know what had happened in the past years.

‘I would have been back earlier if Irisse hadn’t found me and decided to drag me all the way back to her father, so that I could have the conversation with him all of you are refusing to have,’ Tyelkomo replied.

Carnistir only sighed.

‘Discuss this with Káno if you wish to complain.’

This made Tyelkormo go silent within a split second. Findaráto and Nolofinwe exchanged confused glances. Neither of them could make anything of the conversation that was happening in front of them.

‘I see, well if you don’t have anything more to say,’ Carnistir turned to them and bowed formally. ‘Uncle, cousin, please follow me. He would like to speak with you in person.’

He started moving almost immediately and at a fast pace at that. They followed him as best as they could with Tyelkormo and Huan behind them. The way they were led through the settlement - because upon further inspection and observation Nolofinwe opted that it was in fact more a settlement than a camp - made them visible and unable to ignore for many eyes. Their presence was not met with hostility or any form of annoyance but rather with curiosity and calm acceptance. Nolofinwe did not know whether he prefered their rather passive behaviour.

‘Where are you bringing us?” Findaráto asked and caught up to Carnistir.

‘The community hall… well it is supposed to be the community hall but these days it serves as an infirmary.’

‘Neither of us is wounded…’ Findaráto said and Nolofinwe could hear the irritation in his voice.

‘Well that’s good for you,’ Carnistir acknowledged. ‘But this is also where he wants to meet you. His study is in one of the spare rooms.’

They were led through a side entrance of one of the larger buildings near the town centre. It was nowhere near as impressive as the buildings Nolofinwe had seen and grown up in all his life but it was rather admirable what had been accomplished with the recousers given to them. He should have expected nothing else from his brother. The room they entered was some sort of dining space with a large wooden table right in the middle surrounded by what looked like ten chairs. One for each member of the house Feanor, including Curufinwes wife and child.

‘Where is he?’, Carnister asked one of the guards hiding in the shadows next to the door. The man made a step forwards into the light and Nolofinwe recognised him as Makalaures confidant Erestor.

‘His study,’ the man replied in his usual stoic manner. ‘A report came in this morning regarding enemy movements in the north-west. He wanted to look into what he can do to keep the residents safe.’

The residents, Nolofinwe realised, were his people. They were the only ones living in the north-west - as far as he was aware. If there was enemy movement he should probably also keep his people prepared no matter what his brother planned to do to keep them safe. It seemed like a miracle to him that Feanáro was even considering this given that he had wanted Nolofinwe and his people to turn back and had ignored them for the better part of the past week.

Carbistir just nodded.

'I see,' he noted the news and turned to the others, 'Come. And Tyelko if you want to tag along, you'll have to leave the fleabag here.'

'You know Huan doesn't like it when you call him that, Moryo.'

'He's just a dog. He doesn't care about what I call him. He cares about what I feed him.'

'Say that when he starts chewing on your shoes again.'

Nonetheless he told Huan to go and lay down on a large rug on the north side of the hall where a small fire burned in a chimney, while Carnistir led them through a door on the opposite side of the hall.

The study they entered then was… a mess if Nolofinwe was completely honest. It was a battlefield of papers, documents, books and various other objects buried underneath them. There was not one empty chair, not one empty spot of floor aside from a small area by the door. The dark wooden desk in the centre of the room was no exception to this. Nolofinw had seen massive amounts of paperwork in his fathers study all the time but Finwe despite his faults had been a very tidy person and had kept them all neatly organised. Feanáro on the other hand had never seemed like someone who would keep things tidy - not the Nolofinwe would know this, he had not been allowed to set his foot into his older brother's study ever in his life.

But this was not Feanáro’s study. On the floor in front of them, bent over an especially important looking paper sat not Nolofinwe’s brother but his second eldest nephew instead. Makalure was dressed in heavy looking robes of red and gold but they fitted him ill for they seemed like they had originally belonged to his father and Feanáro was not only taller than Makalaure but also broader. Loosley they hang from his shoulders and Nolofinwe could not get out of his way to notice that his nephew was thin and boney underneath.

‘You own a table, Káno,’ Tyelkomo commented on his older brother’s app and waved his hand in the general direction of said object. Makalure looked up then with an unimpressed expression on his face.

‘Well in theory you are correct but as you may be able to see, it is not in a state where I could use it.’

‘You could if you would keep things tidy and organised,’ Carnistir then said and started picking up some of the papers close to them. ‘Didn’t the Ambarussar volunteer to craft you some shelves from the wood that was left from building the watchtower in the south?’

Makalaure nodded.

‘Yes they did such a splendid job that I thought it a shame to waste such craftsmanship on me. I ordered Narendil to make sure that they’re brought to the infirmary so that the healers would have a safe place to store their medicine. I think Curvo got one as well for his tools. You know that he leaves them lying around everywhere otherwise,’ Makalure said and then he turned towards Nolofinwe and Findaráto who had listened to their exchange in silence. ‘Uncle, Findaráto, if you’d like to sit down I can only offer you the chairs by the window. You might want to remove the papers from them though…’

They did no such thing.

Makalaure looked back and forth between them and his brothers for a moment. Carnistir had proceeded to pick up some more papers from the floor, quietly fussing over how such important documents were left to fly around. Tyelkormo had stepped up to one of the windows and pulled open the curtains, allowing natural light to reach the small room.

When they had all not spoken for a while and the silence was beginning to get a little uncomfortable, Findaráto spoke for the first time:

‘Káno... where is...?’

‘Father?’ Makalaure interrupted him instantly, ‘you were expecting him here, weren't you?’

‘To be honest, yes…’, Nolofinwe pressed out. Carnistir and Tyelkormo paused in their work, exchanging meaningful glances. Makalaure sighed.

‘Well..’ he said, looking him in the eye, ‘then I'm sorry to disappoint you. Father is not available at the moment.’

‘Is he absent?’ asked Nolofinwe with a little more emphasis. Didn't they say they were going to take them to the king? Was he being made a fool of?

‘You could say that, yes.’

‘And Maitimo?’

This time Makalure remained silent for a long while. He had closed his eyes and Nolofinwe could see how the hand holding onto the papers was slightly shaking. When Findaráto looked questioningly at Carnistir and Tyelkormo both of them avoided his gaze. In the end Makalure slowly came to his feet. He handed his papers to Carnistir and then proceeded to fix his clothing so that it looked less ill-fit but still a little big on him.

As he then stood face to face with his uncle Nolofinwe could not help but notice that Makalaure was not only thinner than before but he looked tired, too tired. Whatever had happened had drained Makalaure to a point where it seemed like a miracle that he was still able to stand upright.

'Maitimo is also not available at the moment…’

‘Is he dead?’ Nolofinwe came straight to the point.

Makalaure swallowed but then he shook his head avoiding his uncle's eyes.

‘We don’t know. It… it was shortly after our arrival that we received a message from the enemy which said that he would be open to negotiate. I do not know the details, Maitimo kept them for himself but he rode out to meet with an envoy… and did not return. It was many days later that a messenger came telling us that everyone is dead and he brought a bloodied strand of Maitomos hair as evidence. I would have gone after him but he made me swear to remain behind and take care of our people.’

‘So you do not believe him dead?’

‘I would have felt it, uncle,’ Makalure answered. ‘Just like with grandfather… I didn’t feel anything like this this time around. It must mean that he still lives.’

And I am unable to help him.

He did not say this out loud but Nolofinwe could see it in his eyes. The oath Makalaure had to swear seemed to only increase the guilt he must have been feeling.

‘Káno… perhaps you should,’ Carnistir said as he balanced another stack of papers on the desk.

‘No self-pity I know,’ Makalaure answered but it did not seem like this was what Carnistr had wanted to say. Yet he straightened his back and put on a brave face. He even smiled a bit at his uncle and Findaráto, ‘If there is anything you need please tell me, I will make sure that we will spare what we can and have it delivered to your side of the lake. In the same manner I wish to apologise for not reaching out earlier. The last few days were rather troublesome…’

‘I would have to look at Turukáno's lists of supplies…’ Findaráto said and looked past Tylekormo out of the window.

‘Medicines,’ Nolofinwe said, thinking of Lalwende, who desperately needed something for her leg if she didn't want to lose it, ‘and bandages.’

Makalaure looked at Carnistir.

‘Come, cousin,’ he said to Findaráto without being prompted any further, ‘I am in charge of our supplies. We will see how best to manage the matter. Tyelko can help too. He knows about the best hunting grounds in the area and will surely be able to give you some advice.’

Makalaure watched them silently as they departed from the room and when the door closed behind Tyelkormo he turned to Nolofinwe.

'Do not apologise for your father's deeds,' Nolofinwe said before his nephew even had the opportunity to open his mouth. 'I have heard why you didn't send back the ships. I wish to hear what your father has to say in his defense and whether he feels sorry for it or not.'

'Then you will probably never get an answer,' Makalaure said gravely. He pressed his lips into a thin line and turned to the second door in this room, left to where he was standing 'Come, uncle I will show you something. Maybe then you will hear my apology.'

Nolofinw was not sure what he should expect when he followed his nephew through the door and into a barely lit hallway. The voices of Carnisti, Tyelkormo and Findaráto could be heard from down the hall, where somebody had left a door slightly ajar. Makalaure did not lead him in that direction but the opposite one and up to the next floor. Like the one downstairs this one was only sparsely lit but at least there was a window on the far end of the hallway from where silver light shone onto dark wooden planks. They made creaking noises even under the light elven footsteps. Nolofinwe flinched the first time he heard that noise.

Makalaure walked down the corridor at a quick pace, unmoved by the creaking wooden floorboards. He seemed determined to waste no time to get to their destination. Nolofinwe followed him in a similar manner once he had gotten used to the unsettling noise from below his feet.

Once they reached the window Makalaure halted and looked outside. Nolofinwe glanced over his shoulder and saw Curufinwe training with his son in the courtyard. Tyelperinquar had grown quite a bit since Nolofinwe had last seen him but even though he and Itarille were around the same age the boy looked less mature than Nolofinwe’s granddaughter. It seemed as if his childhood innocence had somehow been preserved in these wild lands.

It made jealousy boil inside him but he was quick to suppress it. Tyelperinquar had no fault in what had happened. It was a good thing that at least one child of their family was still child enough to smile and fool around. Maybe one day Itarille would find the strength and happiness to smile once more.

‘You did not bring me here only to watch your nephew train,’ it was not a question or at least it did not sound like one as the words left Nolofinwe’s mouth. He was not quite sure himself whether he had wanted the words to sound as impatient and stern as they did but they seemed to bring Makalaure out of some kind of trance he had drifted into.

‘No… of course not, uncle,’ he answered and stepped past Nolofinwe in front of the last door in this hallway.

He turned the door knob around and pushed the door open. Nolofinwe followed him inside what seemed like a private sleeping chamber. It was better lit than any other room he had seen so far in this house including Makalaure’s study, which was mostly because the curtains had been drawn back and the windows opened to let fresh air inside. Aside from a wardrobe on the left side of the door the room contained a cupboard underneath the windows, an unused desk to Nolofinwe’s right and a bed, half hidden behind a set of curtains, which Makalaure was pulling back.

Nolofinwe did not need to ask why his nephew had brought him here. He could not make out the patients face but the way Makalure sat down on their bedside and took one of the heavily bandaged hands into his with utmost care and started to stroke it gently with index and middle finger was enough to tell Nolofinwe that this was not just somebody.

‘I’m here…’ Makalaure said quietly, almost in a whisper. ‘Please forgive that I could not make it this morning. I heard that Ambarussar came to spend time with you.’

Nolofinwe carefully stepped closer to the bed until he was half behind Makalaure and could look over his nephew’s shoulder at the patient. It took him longer than it should have to realise whom he was looking at. The man's entire body, save for a few bits here and there, seemed to be wrapped in bandages and what little skin was left visible was burned and bruised and scarred. Half his face was hidden underneath some kind of paste and his eyes closed.

‘Feanáro…’ Nolofinwe whispered in shock once his voice had returned to him. Makalaure turned his head with a sad smile.

‘Father is unavailable at the moment, uncle,’ his nephew told him quietly. ‘It’s not as bad as it was at the beginning and he is slowly, ever so slowly getting better but it will take some time until he will open his eyes again. But even if he does there is no guarantee he will ever fully recover.’

Feanáro’s hand twitched in Makalaure’s hold. Makalaure turned to his father again and lowered his head ever so slightly.

‘It was only a few days ago, when you and your people arrived that he moved… it was just a twitch of his fingers no stronger than now but he moved. There… There was finally some sign of progress.’

‘How? When? Did the enemy?’

Makalaure gave him no answer but continued to absently stroke Feanáro’s hand. Nolofinwe did not press him. It seemed like this was not an easy talk to have and given the circumstances Nolofinwe was willing to accept this.

‘It was the enemy…’ Makalaure said after a while, his voice void of any emotion. ‘They had planned an ambush and even though we were able to fight them back there were many losses and many more who were gravely injured. Father had been at the front fighting against so many of them at the same time. He slew a large number of the Valaraukar - as Maitimo called them - but their commander was too strong for him. He landed a fatal blow mere minutes before we chased them off for good. At first it seemed like that monster had killed father but he kept fighting and breathing long enough for us to bring him to safety. He has been in this state ever since.’

Nolofinwe had to look away at that. He had no words, he who always knew what to say, who was known for his way with words, had none. All the anger, all the hatred that had been driving him the entire time was gone. The words he had prepared years ago, that he had memorized like a mantra, felt hollow now that there was essentially no one to address them at. He could tell them Feanáro but what use would they have? His brother could not hear him. He could not answer him or give him one of the awfully arrogant smiles.

As a child Nolofinwe had done everything to earn one of these. As a young adult he had learned to despise them. But now? Now, he would be lucky to receive a slight twitch of Feanaŕos hand. That was much more cruel than anything his brother could have said to him. It didn't compare to what his brother had done, of course, but it was pretty close.

'Do… Do you want me to pity him?'

Makalaure shock his head

'Believe me uncle I do not. He wouldn't want your pity and you know that. I wanted you to understand that the only apology you will probably ever get is my own. Will you accept it?'

'Your father wouldn't have wanted you to apologise,' Nolofinwe replied. Makalure made a low chuckling noise.

'But I want to apologise. It will not bring back the dead, it will not heal the wounded, it will not rewind the years you and your people spend on the grinding ice and it will not undo what has been done but maybe an apology can help to bring our people back together ever so slightly. We're all strangers in a strange land and as such we have no choice but to stick together. You don't have to accept me as prince regent and I will not demand to lead your people, all I want is a basis on which we can work on the way forward.'

'Very well,' Nolofinwe replied. 'I shall accept your apology… for now.'

'This is more than I would have asked for, uncle.'

They both remained at Feanáro's bedside for a while longer in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Nolofinwe avoided looking at his brother or his nephew and held his gaze fixed on the window.

A basis to work on the way forward. Makalaure had not specified what this way would look like and Nolofinwe was not sure himself. His people were bitter. They felt betrayed and abandoned and he could not blame them. He felt very much the same even after learning this truth.

All he could hope for was that his nephew's words had not been all empty. Makalaure was an excellent talker and sometimes it was hard to differentiate between honest words and acting. He did not believe that his nephew had acted but he knew that he should remain observant.

'Don't tell anyone of what I have shown you today, uncle,' Makalure asked him when they finally left the room.

'For what reason?'

'Father is in a bad state and I feel it would only worsen if he was confronted with the anger of all your people. I will bear this burden until the day of his awakening. Besides… I have reason to believe that the enemy thinks him dead and I would like for it to remain that way for as long as possible.'

'I see," Nolofinwe remarked. 'I will do as you ask but only if you inform me immediately should he wake.'

Makalure nodded seriously.

When Nolofinwe returned to his camp late in the evening to eat and maybe get some rest, still very much thinking about his brother's fate and his nephew's wish for cooperation, he was greeted with even more unsettling news.

Apparently Findekáno had vanished without a trace and only his harp in tow after being told about Maitimo's fate from Finderáto. All he had left them was a note telling them not to worry and that he would be back soon.

Nolofinwe thought of what had happened to Arakáno and prayed that his eldest son would return safely to him.

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avantegarda · 4 years

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Hey @nerdanelparmandil, I’m your Secret Santa for @officialtolkiensecretsanta!

You asked for something Feanor/Nerdanel and what happened was this: I had one modern-au Feanorians joke that I felt I absolutely had to share with the world and I used your poor unfortunate fic as the vehicle for it. I hope that’s okay. Here’s the Feanorian gang in Modern Times. Happy Holidays!

In Feanor and Nerdanel’s household there was one phrase that prompted immediate action, and that phrase was “the boys are home.”

Not that it was terribly uncommon for some of the boys to be home. The youngest four, after all, were still technically living with their parents, though Caranthir and, increasingly, Curufin tended to disappear for what seemed like days at a time, caught up in school and a dozen other activities. The ten-year-old twins, Nerdanel often lamented, were the only ones who really seemed like children anymore.

But children or not, three days before Christmas, everyone was back under one roof again. The younger ones were off school, Maedhros and Celegorm had earned a reprieve from their studies (law school and first-year animal science, respectively), and Maglor was back from a tour opening for a band that no one in the family had ever heard of. The family was together again, and that meant chaos. It meant buying presents and doing laundry and going to the grocery store every other day.

And by Christmas Eve, when the thrill of seeing each other for the first time in months wore off, it meant arguing.

From her position in the kitchen, where she was decorating cookies, Nerdanel had a direct line of sight into the living room. She and Feanor had meticulously decorated the Christmas tree with the help of the younger children, but as lovely as the tree was it was a considerably less entertaining sight than the argument currently going on between her second and third sons.

“What is this?” Maglor wrinkled his nose as he scrolled through Celegorm’s phone. “Your top 100 songs of the year are just Flo Rida and whale noises? No, I’m wrong, there are some dolphin noises on here too. This is what you listen to? You know I have an entire new album on Spotify now, right?”

Celegorm rolled his eyes in exaggerated irritation as he snatched back his phone. “Well, excuse me if I’m not listening to your hipster garbage every minute of every day. You know what, maybe you should listen to whale sounds more often. Might help you stop being such a high-strung weirdo.”

“I genuinely don’t understand how we’re related.”

“Those two at it again?” Entering the kitchen, Maedhros laughed and shook his head fondly, putting an arm around his mother’s shoulders. “Man. Is it weird to say that I’ve missed this? I know how annoying they are, but...it feels right, having all of us home. No matter how much bickering goes on.”

“Don’t I know it! You can’t imagine how quiet it gets around here sometimes. Even with the youngest four still at home. It’s much better, all nine of us being under one roof.”

“It’ll be about thirty tomorrow, with all the extended family at Grandpa’s house! But it’ll be great to see all the cousins again. Especially Fingon...we’ve been so bad about keeping in touch ever since I started law school.”

“I hope you know how proud we are of you,” Nerdanel said. “Are you happy, at school? Not putting too much pressure on yourself?”

Maedhros hesitated before nodding, quickly. “Nothing to worry about, Ma. I’m doing absolutely fine.” He grabbed a cookie from the baking sheet and devoured it in two bites. “I’m heading out to the living room. I need to see how this music debate plays out. Come find me if you need any help, all right?”

Sometimes, Nerdanel reflected, as Maedhros departed from the kitchen, her eldest son was a bit too responsible for his own good.

Stepping out onto the upstairs balcony later that evening for a breath of fresh air, Nerdanel was slightly surprised to see her husband, who had spent much of the week still working, and even more surprised to see a bottle of champagne and two full glasses on the table.

“Well!” Nerdanel exclaimed. “This is all very luxurious.”

“I thought you deserved a bit of luxury, after all the stressful holiday preparations. Where are the boys, if I may ask? I’d rather not have to share this champagne with all of them.”

“Last time I checked, they were all in Maedhros’ room watching It’s a Wonderful Life. Now, don’t quote me on this,” Nerdanel said solemnly, “but I believe the oldest three were playing a game where they had to drink every time someone says something charmingly folksy.”

“Were they indeed?” Feanor shook his head in mock disapproval. “I’ll have to go have a chat with them later. We can’t have our children being hungover on Christmas Day. Now, now, I said I would, later,” he added, as Nerdanel turned to head inside. He handed her a glass of champagne and squeezed her upper arm gently “You’ve been working quite hard enough today.”

“Well, you’ve been working hard too. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your doing the shopping.” Nerdanel leaned against her husband’s shoulder contentedly and took a sip of her wine, watching the snow swirl in the air around them. “You know what this reminds me of?”

“Our first apartment,” Feanor said with a smile. “Back when we were first married and trying so hard to be penniless entrepreneurs with integrity.”

“Drinking hot chocolate on the fire escape…”

“Out of those giant mugs you used to make…”

“The boys broke so many of those when they were little. But I think I still have a few stashed away in the cupboard. Would you rather be drinking champagne out of them?”

Feanor laughed and leaned over to kiss his wife on the cheek. “I don’t much care what I’m drinking or what I’m drinking it out of, as long as I’ve got my gorgeous wife by my side.”

#nerdanel #feanor #silmarillion #secret santa #my writing #tolkien

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lendmyboyfriendahand · 5 years

Text

Amrodnor

Amrod was on the ships, but when he saw Feanor approaching with a torch, he jumped.

He swam to shore. He figured is his family was going to kill him, he might as well leave - the plan had been to go back to his mother, but that was no longer possible.

He ran into a group of Nandor, and joined their community.

His old names didn't fit – he’s no longer the smallest Finwe, having rejected his house. He keeps half his name, and instead of Doomed or Upwards-Exalted, he becomes Exalted-by-Fire; the burning of the ships was what gave him the strength to turn from an evil path.

It takes him a bit to decide on this, dramatic Finwean he is, and in the meantime the Nandor called him Bright Eyes, for the Treelight reflected in his gaze. He says this is a more appropriate name for a horse than a person, and they compromise on calling him Star Bright

So Amrod hangs out is southwest Beleriand, avoiding Sindar and Orcs and Noldor and Men alike for over four hundred years.

The Bragollach, the Nirnaeth; Beleriand isn't safe.

The Nandor decide to go east across the mountains. Amrod decides to see how the Noldor are doing - despite himself, he hopes his brothers are okay. He finds Nargothrond.

He says he is Rodnor Gil-Galad, called in his youth after his hair.

Orodreth doesn't recognize him - Orodreth is young, born after the division between their families was already stark. Orodreth rarely saw Amrod in Tirion, and everyone saying he looks just like Amras means the brown hair throws him.

Celebrimbor does recognize him.

"What are you doing here?" "I'm trying to avoid our family!" "I thought you were dead!" "Don't you dare tell anyone you met me!" - excerpts from the whispered confrontation in Celebrimbor's workroom

Eventually they agree that yes, Feanorians are terrible and blindly loyal, and they're both glad to be out of it.

They spend time together, a bit, more as escapees from the same cult than out of a desire to reminisce about Tirion.

Celebrimbor accidentally mentions Fingon as if they both know him in public. People ask how Gil-Galad knew him. He fumbles and says they're related. Later he slips and says Celegorm “turned out to be the family disappointment after all.” That makes him pretty obviously Finwean, though he still doesn’t admit who.

Someone tries to draw him out, and spends a whole conversation deliberately referring to Maglor Feanorian, Fingon Fingolfinion, and Finrod Finarfinion.

Rodnor eventually says, “By that manner I suppose I’m Gil-Galad Erenion.” This shuts up the first guy for a moment, but people start speculating how he can be the descendant of multiple kings – did Thingol have any other kids?

Turin arrives; Rodnor has no opinion of him or of men in general, and no official seat on Orodreth’s council. When the dragon kills Orodreth and kidnaps Findulias, Rodnor leads the survivors away to the south. He feels bad about abandoning them, but the number of soldiers they ‘d lose rescuing her is too high, and just because a life is royal (or family) doesn’t mean it’s more valuable. (Feanor burned a prince, his son, as easily as he killed fishermen.)

His opinion on royalty isn’t widely held though. The people of Nargothrond have decided he is Orodreth’s heir and started calling him Lord Erenion. He declares that Cirdan is lord of the Falas, which gets people to at least decide bring some of their issues elsewhere, and tries not to stress about the details.

So Rodnor is in charge of the Noldor in Sirion. Galadriel is in Doriath. They do meet when it falls, but only for a few hours as the Iathrim refugees settle in, and she speaks more with Cirdan than with him. He tells her of the Nandor tribe he was with and their plans for the journey, and off she goes to the East.

After the council is over and every newcomer has a bed, Rodnor goes to Celebrimbor. They mourn privately those who neither of them dare speak of publically. Rodnor is back in his own rooms long before morning. He spends the next few weeks solemn, but everyone is gloomy after news of another kinslaying.

Gondolin falls. There are suddenly a lot more Noldor in Sirion. Pretty soon they're calling him King. He considers telling them it's not true, that the succession hasn't come to him yet.

On the other hand, having a leader be whoever happens to be the son of the previous leader is kind of silly. The Sindar tribe he was with acknowledged Elwe, but not Dior. Your leader was whoever you trusted to do right by the community. When Denethor died, his son took interim authority, and then they all met and discussed it and decided that actually Enellas knew how to manage people better, and so Denethor’s son stepped down.

If Rodnor squints, this is the same. At the very least, if the Nargothrondrim hated him one of them would have proposed crowning the ten-year-old Eärendil instead. So King Gil-Galad takes up the throne.

He was on Balar when the attack came. He told himself later he couldn't have stopped it, couldn't have helped. He could guess by how much more enchantingly beautiful the Silmaril around Elwing's neck seemed, that his brothers would attack soon, but not the month or day. And she was a queen, he could not order her to hand over the jewel. So all he did was warn her, not tell her his birth name, or leap across the council table and pull it off her throat. He could not have known there was no time to wait for Eärendil’s return. He had not set a watch on the island towards the city, but he had no reason to.

He did not want to kill his brothers, but he was a king and he could not let that make his decisions.

He can't stop himself from crying when he sees Amras's body. The Feanorians had tried to make a pyre, but must have left with it still burning and the wet sea wind had extinguished it, and the wood had barely caught.

"Relight the pyres."

"Your Majesty?"

"For the dead Feanorians, relight them."

"But they're murderers! They showed no such respect to us." Indeed, the city is still littered with the corpses of Noldor, Men, and Sindar alike.

"And we are better than they are. We will bury our dead, with a week of singing and lamenting, and tales of their deeds told by friends and kin. We will mark our people’s graves, and the Men will leave grave goods on theirs. And we will not leave the enemy dead to rot where they lie or be eaten by beasts, though they showed us not that respect." He sighed. "We have not fallen as they have, and we must hold onto that."

"Yes, your majesty"

"Have someone take a census of those who are left. And lists of the dead – ours and theirs." He needs to know how strong the rogue army was. If it is now leaderless, he would... he isn't sure. He wouldn’t have to declare a feast for victory over the Kinslayers, they'd lost enough of their own. But some kind of amnesty, with reparations, if any Feanorian soldiers wanted to rejoin... He thinks of the abstract plans now, while he is unsure, because he knows he'll barely be able to keep together if Maedhros and Maglor are dead and he is alone. (Three died last time.)

His eldest brothers are not among the dead invaders.

Lady Elwing and her sons are not found, either dead or living. Gil-Galad knows that his brothers would have no interest in taking her prisoner, for if she was under their power they could rip their glorious, wonderful jewel from her neck and cast her aside like so much wrapping. So he assumes that instead Elwing got away somehow, taking her sons with her. Whether the Feanorians have the jewel or she does is unimportant, he reminds himself, at least unless she returns. He decides then that Balar will never house the Silmaril – he'll bury it beneath the mountains with his own two hands if that's what it takes. His people deserve one place, just one, that isn't destroyed around them. Please Valar, grant them this, for Cirdan's sake if for none of the Noldor.

Ships come one day out of the West. King Finarfin leads them, and Eärendil is with them. Eärendil says that his wife Elwing escaped, but not the boys. (Eärendil is politely told he must either take off the necklace, stay on his ship, or go to the mainland.)

Gil-Galad realizes where they must be. It's hardly fair, but he knows at least they're being treated as well as can be. Maedhros and Maglor did alright by the five of them, and have never been cruel to children.

No one else seems so optimistic, though they are willing to believe that the boys are alive, even after seven years, simply to avoid believing the alternative. Gil-Galad and Finarfin cooperate to get a letter and a messenger (a newly arrived Noldo) that will be demanding but – hopefully – not provoke violence.

It takes two years more, with messengers from both parties expressing grave concern for the boys’ safety on a journey and reluctant to meet the other too close, but Elros and Elrond are returned. They meet Eärendil again, but he is on the front lines and so they spend most of their time in the camp. Gil-Galad has them sit in on strategy meetings to keep them occupied.

The war is over, Morgoth is defeated, and the Noldor are allowed to return.

Gil-Galad finds he doesn’t want to.

Returning had been as much about getting out of Feanor’s shadow as finding safety, and he realizes he has done the first and the second is near at hand. If he goes back to Tirion, he will be again Pityafinwe, one of Feanor’s youngest sons, half of the twins with a missing twin. The child so redundant his own mother had known so, and asked Feanor to leave her one of the youngest without care for which. Pityafinwe had led no armies, fought no battles, earned no praise. Pityafinwe killed Teleri and was murdered by his father, and did nothing else.

Sure, he could try to be both, admit he was Pityafinwe to start with, but no one will understand. The will see him as the usurper of the crown that should have gone to – Eärendil perhaps? and then Elros? or Galadriel? Maybe they’ll weigh his victories in battle against his theft of the crown, and say they make up for it, but maybe they’ll say anyone could have done them, or he should have done them as a general in the real King’s army. So he’d be Pityafinwe, who pretended to be a king for a bit but understands now that it’s not his place, and that his place is to be the sixth-born son of the (dead, disgraced) Crown Prince.

Besides, they’re making the ‘leaders’ apologize for leaving, and Gil-Galad spent enough years wandering Beleriand safe behind Noldorin fortresses he can’t really be sorry they came.

Gil-Galad does write a letter though, to the Lady Nerdanel, his mother. He tells people that it’s commendations for her grandson’s valor, and assurance that Celebrimbor will be regarded on his own merits in the Age to come. The letter does contain those, but it also contains “You were half right about my mother-name; I was fated to die but leapt out of Fate’s way.” It’s rather blasphemous, but Gil-Galad isn’t going to be setting foot near the Valar again.

ao3

#silmarillion #amrod #Gil Galad #The Silmarillion #silm #My fic #gil galad son of plot hole #amrodnor

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nerdanel-istarnie · 7 years

Text

No space left for Noldor blood

//So that’s my entry for Feanorian’s week about Maedhros’s childhood. Maedhros realises it's unseemly that the third in line to the crown doesn't have the family's black hair. Fingon disagrees. Curufin just likes to eat it.

It’s on A3O too: http://archiveofourown.org/works/10390731

=========================================

Maedhros’ eyes were pensive as he watched Curufin toddle around, leaning on the bannister of the inner courtyard. The eldest son of Fëanor was usually the first to play with his younger brothers, caring and doting on them while their parents were busy. There was a remoteness in him now that made Maglor’s heart clench. He knelt next to Curufin who imperiously demanded to be taken up by pulling on the musician’s shoulder sleeve. Drawing his brother in his arms, he noted how unwieldy this was starting to get. Maedhros managed better but then he had the experience of several baby brothers growing into young limbed youngsters. Smiling at his oldest brother, he came to join him on the terrace. Curufin wasted no time grasping toward Maedhros, who begrudgingly got nearer. Curufin picked up one of the copper strands and pulled. Maglor laughed, trying with one hand to extricate the braid without letting go. When he succeeded, Maedhros face was even somber, if it was at all possible.

“What is it Nelyo? I remember Curvo stuffing your hair in his mouth before with you being far less troubled” The taller elf made a noncommittal answer, muted reassurances that everything was fine and Maglor put his younger brother down, now fairly alarmed “Tell me. You know anything that grieves you grieves me even more so”

Maedhros looked at the departing toddler, words coming only when their brother sat down and started eating purple lilies “Tyelko cares not at all he has silver hair. He says he likes being different. He doesn’t get lectures about spending time in the forge and can ride his nightmare of a horse all around Tirion without being bothered. He thinks it’s because it reminds father of Miriel”

Maglor was bemused. Maedhros was bothered by hair? But before he could ask, his brother forged on, still not looking at him “I went to the palace with Father and Curvo earlier. Finwë wanted to see his grandson’’ He gestured to the flower-eating elf ‘’Father thought he might enjoy Curvo’s new habit of saying no to things offered to him and then going to get them by himself. Apparently, it’s an action Father did himself in youth. Then uncle Nolofinwë had the terrible idea of dropping by with Findekáno unexpectedly. You can imagine that the afternoon became quite frosty. But it gave me plenty of time to observe” He continued paying little attention to Maglor, twisting the red hair between his fingers ‘‘I think no one would know I am from the line of Finwë if I stopped wearing the circlet”

He suddenly focused on his brother, grey eyes suddenly filled with remorse “I love Mother of course, you know that! And Mahtan. But father named me Nelyafinwë did he not? Something I am hardly in temperament or in looks. Or worse, perhaps I do take after Finwë but not enough after Father, and I irk him the way uncle Nolofinwë irks him’’ He lapsed into a brief silence ‘’If it wasn’t for him being called Curufinwë already, I think Curvo would better suited to my name than I am. He bit Fingon and father laughed! What a thing to teach a child”

Maglor snickered but Maedhros seemed unamused “I took him out with me to get some air” Maglor tried lightly “He has a temper that’s certain. A bit of air might have gotten him out of his snit” Maedhros corrected him “I took Findekáno out not Curvo. Curvo was busy being fawned over’’ His own unkind tone made him mad at himself. Curufin was not at fault here ‘’Note that after I suggested it, Findekáno forgot all his hurt from the bite and I don’t think all the hounds of Oromë could have pulled him away from my side. Those meetings must be so tedious for him’’ He frowned ‘’And hurtful”

The musician sighed ‘’Findekáno likes you. You take him with you on adventures and keep him safe. You teach him things and listen to him. He has no big brother but you’’ Maglor took his brother’s arm, stopping his harsh twists on his hair and returning to the subject at hand “You never say anything cross at any of them, I would never have thought it bothered you. I don’t think anyone knows it bothers you. Really Nelyo, you are a fine son and an even finer brother. I’m certain no one tough you less of the house of Finwë because of your hair. Everyone loves your hair!” “Yes. It’s a curiosity’’ Seeing the retort on his brother’s lips, he conceded ‘’It’s beautiful, I know. But I would rather have black hair. And it’s not the crux of the matter, my character is. The hair is just a reminder”

From afar they heard the powerful horn of Curvo crying. Maedhros all but ran to his brother, only to find him kicking Findekáno’s shin while jumping for a delicate kite the young Nolofinwean was holding aloft above his head ‘’I did nothing. He saw me playing with the kite and wanted it. It’s unsafe for him. I didn’t mean to make him cry’’

Maedhros picked up Curufin, who was still bawling while reaching for the colourful silk bird ‘’Do not let it trouble you. He likes purple things these days’’ Reassured his kite was safely out of Curvo’s reach, Fingon held it close to his chest, eyeing the toddler with distrust. Curufin, filled with anger still, took two full hands of Nelyo’s hair and shoved them in his mouth. The immediate silence was only broken when Maglor exploded laughing ‘’See. He likes red too’’ Maedhros let a polite smile grace his lips, not wanting to reopen their earlier debate in front of their cousin. Fingon for his part was staring quite openly at Maedhros’ hair and blurted out ‘’I like your hair. It looks like a waterfall made of fire’’ Maglor looked far too pleased with himself but Maedhros snapped, rage flashing in his eyes ‘’Maybe there was so much fire in my conception that there wasn’t any space left for Noldor blood’’

It was a testament to his nascent courage that Fingon did not flee after such a comment and retorted ‘’You are the only one able to withstand grandfather’s unending meetings with the Vanyar without going cross-eyed. You wouldn’t be able to do that if you weren’t his grandson. And you are so patient. If I hear about Cuivenen one more time I’ll go live in the woods with the beasts to relive it instead!’’ Maedhros was taken by surprise by the speech, but Fingon forged on, not leaving the taller elf’s eyes a second ‘’You treat me like family. Even when people are looking! Plus, you don’t give me ‘’that’’ look’’. Maglor inquired about the nature of said look. What followed was a very approximate impression of Fëanor glaring, as rendered by a young gangly elf holding a purple sparrow kite. It broke Maedhros’ heart. Somehow, the idea of not being like his father at this moment made Maedhros feel more at peace rather than less. Slowly Maedhros smiled at his cousin’s ridiculous display ‘’Yes, my strengths lie not in glaring’’ Curufin gurgled and spit out a braid. Now was the time to bring him back home.

Maedhros transferred Curufin to Maglor ‘’Thank you for the compliments Findekáno. They were strange’’ Findekáno earnest face scrunched in disappointment ‘’But welcome’’ And then the light of his smile was back. Not for the first time Maedhros was amazed by how easily his cousin’s mood turned with only a word from him.

As they were walking home, Maedhros could feel how much Maglor wanted to talk and pushing the gooey strand of hair behind his shoulder he looked at his brother expectantly ‘’Well?’’ Maglor nearly had a skip in his step ‘’I have no better qualifier than ‘waterfall of fire’ really’’ Maedhros groaned ‘’He’s young. He doesn’t understand…’’ the red-haired elf trailed off, slipping back into his earlier mood. Maglor was having none of it ‘’Understand what? I felt he understood very clearly. He saw you are a fine study for a statesman, a fair one that doesn’t begrudge him his lineage’’ The eldest said nothing. But touching the end of one of his unmaimed braids he smiled as he looked over his shoulder at the purple kite flying high about the line of the trees. ‘’Perhaps there was some wisdom in his words’’

#maedhros #fingon #curufin being the embodiment of the terrible 2 #feanorianweek

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lendmyboyfriendahand · 4 years

Text

Tehhumi’s W.N.I.P.s: Amras/Haldir

I am posting some things over the next little bit that I have stalled out on or not touched in months as Works Not In Progress. (I got the idea from copperbadge’s annual “works no longer in progress”.) These are things that are not quite complete or do not have good formatting, and I may end up coming back to polish someday, but for now they just are as they are. I like the ideas though, s I’m sharing what I’ve got.

This one is Amras/Haldir, from a prompt that was never actually called in Back to Middle Earth Month back in March.

Amras walked in from a visit to Hithlum. “I’m not going back there, send someone else next time.”

Maedhros: ‘Who did you annoy so badly?”

Amras: “Actually, it’s your fault.”

Maedhros: “How is it my fault?”

Amras: “You and Fingon are providing a bad example for the next generation.”

Celegorm had been in the next room. “Oh this, I have to hear. What’s the trend in court? Tormented duets? Tying yourself to buildings? Knifeplay?”

Maedhros: “Must you?”

Celegorm: “You won’t let me go to Hithlum, I have to get all my news second hand. And you can’t help with that,” he nodded to Maedhros’s prosthetic, “So I have to ask Amras.”

Amras: “It’s not a trend, so much as an ideal romantic partner.”

Celegorm: “And no one would give you a second glance if you didn’t tie golden ribbons in your hair. Do you suppose I could pull off the reverse? I think black streaks would look very fetching on me.”

Amras was not going to let Celegorm’s ridiculous comments get in the way of a good complaining session. “The new fascination is redheads who’ve been through a terrible personal tragedy, and only your love can help them recover. Especially if the redhead is a relative who your father disapproves of.”

Maedhros was unable to comment for a minute. “That seems oddly specific.”

Amras: “Maybe people settle for two out of three when I’m not there. As it was, I had to fend off potential suitors every time I wanted a drink.”

Celegorm winked. “That doesn't sound so bad.”

Amras: “Most of them had enough tact not to bring up Amrod in the first sentence, but only most.”

Celegorm: “Sorry.”

Amras: “By the end of the first week I stayed in the palace as much as possible, but unless I wanted to drink in my rooms I still had to deal with them.”

Maedhros: “You could’ve asked for a dinner with just family.”

Amras: “I did, but I couldn’t get narrower than ‘house of Finwe’.”

Maedhros: “And?”

Amras: “Orodreth was visiting from Tol Sirion, and his son idolizes Fingon more than anyone else.”

Celegorm: “What’s his name again - Halon, Halmir, Halfin? Is he even old enough to court?”

Amras: “Haldir is fifty-five, and certain that since Arafinwe married at fifty, he’s old enough to do whatever he likes. He sat next to me at every meal, and kept saying he would be there if I ever need someone to listen.”

Maedhros: “It might help you to talk about it.”

Amras: “Not to a child who never met Father, never saw the Trees, never met Amrod, and is spending the whole time thinking about kissing me!”

Maedhros: “Of course not, but with someone. I find helping other Angband escapees get settled helped me a lot.”

Amras: “Tell you what, I’ll talk with Turgon next time I see him. We can discuss Feanor burning the boats and killing the most important person in our lives, and how we feel guilty because it was our decision to leave Aman in the first place.”

Celegorm: “If you put it like that he’ll punch you.”

Amras: “No he won’t. He was acting the responsible leader of his people last time anyone saw him, that doesn’t allow punching annoying cousins.”

Maedhros: “Last time anyone saw him was forty years ago.”

Amras: “Then I suppose I’ll have to wait a while on the soul-baring emotional discussions. I’m serious about not going to Hithlum though.”

Maedhros: “Alright, I’ll do the visits for the next decade or two.”

Ii. (Haldir so of Halmir)

Amras attended a lot of meetings leading up to the battle Maedhros and Fingon were planning. After all, Amon Ereb is where the best horses were bred, and rebuilding the Noldorin cavalry after the fires of Lothlann was vital. But Maglor was the one who commanded the cavalry, so generally Amras would only be need for an hour or so at a time.

He had been told in very clear terms to leave intra-Noldor diplomacy to Maedhros, he went instead to the area of the city where the Men dwelt. Elves were not a rare sight in Hithlum. After a few days, he found the pub where many of the sons of chieftains, lords of a few dozen soldiers, and other such people spent time. They either had important specialist knowledge, or were there to show their people’s seriousness, but like him were not needed for most of the tactical planning.

Amras sat down next to a dark haired man who, while nowhere near old age, was no longer a youth. “Does this place have good ale, or should I ask for wine first to dull the taste?” Amras asked in Taliska, aware of his accent but figuring it was worth the effort to try and be friendly.

“I find the ale thoroughly satisfactory, but my taste may be less refined than yours.” The man’s speech was, surprisingly, accented as well.

Amras shrugged. “If you say it’s good, I guarantee I’ve had worse. It’s mostly when people spend hours extolling an ale’s praise that I start to worry.” He flagged down the bartender for a pint.

“Literal hours?”

“My brother writes songs, and a friend of his decided to start brewing ale. He wasn’t very good at it, but there were a dozen distinct flavors in every swallow, and my brother sang a dozen verses for each of them. It was mostly to get out of a bet I think, neither admitting the drink tasted like horse piss.”

iii.

Haldir of Lothlorien arrives in Valinor. There’s a party. he meets cute guy. They flirt for a bit, are somewhere semi-private like gardens when they meet. Amras says ‘so hot stuff, what do they call you?’

Haldir: “My name’s Haldir, of Lothlorien.”

Amras: “Seriously?”

Haldir, confused: “yes?”

Amras: “Artanis put you up to this, didn’t she?”

Haldir: “What?”

Amras: “Lady Galadriel of the golden wood or whatever she’s calling herself these days, did she put you up to it? You’d think she’d have better things to do than make fun of me for gossip that’s nearly fifty yeni old.”

Haldir: “First off, Lady Galadriel didn’t put me up to anything. Secondly, I thought you said you were around 2000?”

Amras, awkward: “Ah, sorry. I was counting years-lived rather than years-since-born.”

Haldir: “You spent four thousand years dead? How many times did you get killed that it took so long?”

Amras, defensive: “More like five thousand, but I just died the once. Lord Namo took a while to release me.”

Haldir: What the fuck did you do to get stuck there so long? “Glorfindel says even the traitor of Gondolin was alive before he returned to Middle Earth.”

Amras: “Well, Maeglin was tortured into it after all, and only doomed by descent. I was Doomed in person and specifically, and probably as many dead are on my name as his.”

Haldir: WTF?!

Amras: calm down

Haldir: “So, why did they let you out?”

Amras: “Something about Sauron’s theft of the last corrupted work of my family - I think it was a dwarven ring. The evil end foretold for our good beginnings was now complete, and the Doom fulfilled.”

Haldir: “So now all of you are just free to wander around Valinor?”

Amras shrugs: “More or less. My father’s still not out, and most of the Sindar kings have banned us from their cities. But there’s a lot of Valinor that’s wild, and no one’s stopping us Feanorians there.”

#my wnip's #silm #tehhumi does b2mem #crack pairings 2 card #my fic #amras #as far as i can tell haldir is the only name tolkien used 3 times #beating out even legolas and gelmir

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