#silmarillionepistolary | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cilil · 13 days

Text

Day 2 ~ Exploration & New Lands

AN: Companion piece to my contribution for @silmarillionepistolary day 2.

𓂃🖋 Characters/pairings: Fëanor x Nerdanel, Finwë 𓂃🖋 Synopsis: Fëanor receives a mysterious letter and finds himself quite intrigued. 𓂃🖋 Warnings: / 𓂃🖋 Oneshot (~1k) | AO3

"Here is a letter for you. Something private, apparently."

Finwë purposefully pulled an envelope out of the small stack on his desk when his son walked in. There was a soft smile on his face and a warm glint in his eyes, making Fëanáro pause and look at him in surprise. The way his father was acting made it seem as if the letter in question had to be something special, even though it wasn't exactly unusual for people, family members and others alike, to contact the crown prince of the Noldor.

Yet Fëanáro's doubts were soon dispelled when he saw the envelope that Finwë now handed him. It immediately stuck out, being smaller and differently shaped compared to the formal letters he and his father often received, apparently handmade by whoever had sent it, and not least because of the red and orange ribbon wrapped around it, rough and visibly self-spun, and a few dried, slightly crumpled wild flowers sticking out from every twist and knot.

Whoever had sent this letter had clearly put a lot of effort into it, and Fëanáro was intrigued.

He held it with both hands, taking his time to admire it. Instead of the usual formal listing of his names and titles, there was a simple "To Fëanáro" written on the envelope in sweeping, whimsical handwriting, suggesting the sender had addressed it to him with a certain amount of fondness or even joy.

Finwë, that much was clear, had made similar observations and was curious as well.

"The sender didn't provide their name, and the letter was apparently passed from person to person in the forges a few times before it finally arrived here," he said. "The only thing I could find was a tiny drawing of... I believe those are acanthus flowers."

It was at this moment that Fëanáro suddenly flushed a bright red. Acanthus? He turned the envelope and saw the drawing in question, immediately reminded of a conversation he had recently had with a certain travel companion of his.

She remembered? he wondered, the thought making him smile involuntarily, but he tried to suppress his excitement. There was no way of knowing for sure until he read that letter.

Finwë studied his expression with fatherly amusement. "May I take this as you having an idea who could have sent you this letter?"

Still red like the rubies he had polished earlier, Fëanáro shook his head reflexively. He was no fool; he knew that expression. His father was hoping that his stubborn, ambitious and reclusive son had been acquainted with a charming young lady that he could meet and accept into their family. Unfortunately for Finwë, however, the prince in question was not quite ready for that conversation yet, not to mention his uncertainty regarding his past encounters with the lady in question.

Who was no lady at all, in fact.

Finwë didn't believe him, Fëanáro could tell, but mercifully chose not to press this matter further for the time being.

"Very well. Let us speak of this another time then," he concluded their conversation.

Fëanáro gave a curt nod, forced a smile and practically fled from his father's office.

Only after he had reached the privacy of his own chambers, he went to work carefully undoing the ribbon and opening the envelope. Everything had to stay intact, he thought as he attempted to suppress his impatience as well as the excited trembling of his fingers, for if his suspicions were correct, he was going to keep it safely stashed away in his collection.

Finally, he was able to read the mystery letter.

Dear Fëanáro,

I hope you rested and recovered well after our last journey and that you don't mind me writing you like this.

When we parted ways near Tirion, I meant to tell you how much I enjoyed your company and that I would love to travel with you again — or meet up and show you all the projects we talked about, as well as seeing your works — though I must admit that I lost courage in the moment.

I am certain that you are in great company at your father's court and I don't want to overstep any boundaries, but if you feel the same way about the time we spent together, please respond to this letter and let me know where and when we could meet again.

Don't feel pressured, though — if I don't hear back from you I will assume you aren't interested and neither mention this nor bother you again.

I hope you recognised the flower signature — I tried my best to avoid getting you in trouble with your father too soon.

Yours, Nerdanel

Her name was accompanied by yet another flower drawing, this time a few camellias and calla lilies.

Fëanáro's blush extended all the way to the tips of his ears now, and a huge grin illuminated his fair face.

It was her after all. Nerdanel who had walked up to him with such casual confidence that she had immediately caught his eye. Nerdanel who had offered her company, even though he had been too flustered to strike up a proper conversation. Nerdanel who had respected him and listened to him without the false and formal deference he was used to from the royal court. Nerdanel who had talked to him like a normal Elf and fellow artist and showed genuine interest in his passion. Nerdanel who was so capable, smart and wise, so much so that he could listen to her all day. Nerdanel whose eyes shone when she spoke about her art and whose cheeks turned as red as her beautiful hair when she gesticulated with her hands and feet while engaged in conversation.

And Fëanáro was going to see her again. He had decided that already.

Thanks for reading! ♡

Flower language explanation:

Acanthus: Fine art, artifice

Camellia: Longing, flame in my heart, adorable (depending on color)

Cally lily: Beauty, love at first sight

taglist: @asianbutnotjapanese @elanna-elrondiel @i-did-not-mean-to @saintstars @urwendii

#nerdanel #fëanor #feanor #finwe #finwë #feanor x nerdanel #feanel #house of finwe #silmarillion fanfiction #silm fanfic #silmarillion #cílil writes #my writing #silmarillionepistolary

35 notes · View notes

eccentricmya · 14 days

Note

Prompt: The viewpoint of a Noldo on the ships while Uinen’s tears make the sea rougher

Anon! Thank you for this most inspiring prompt! 🤍💛

I've decided to explore this as diary entries for @silmarillionepistolary week! There will be one entry for each day. Hope you like it ^^

Chapters: 1/7 Warnings: Major Character Death Characters: Original Characters, Uinen (Tolkien) Additional Tags: Epistolary, Flight of the Noldor, Psychological Horror

Summary: Some snippets from the journal of Almalindë during the flight of the Noldor on the stolen ships.

#silm fic #flight of the noldor #horror?#my writing #silmarillion #silmarillionepistolary

32 notes · View notes

annoyinglandmagazine · 12 days

Text

@silmarillionepistolary Lord Maedhros of Himring

Prince Nelyafinwë Maitimo Russandol of The Noldor

I’ve sent my latest ledger alongside this and I believe you know by now that there is no chance of you finding a fault with it so let’s not shall we? You will not be able to prove anything with any group of accountants you can cobble together from those battle fixated imbeciles in your employ and it’s not as if I intend to withhold aught from you.

I agree begrudgingly that we must approach things from a united perspective, why I even agreed to give Celegorm a loan recently, for military matters apparently though I have my doubts, and I certainly won’t see a coin of it returned without having to write him much more persistently than I like to. He’ll yield eventually, he always does. Though it would be faster if you applied some pressure as well I’m close to getting Ambarussa on side and he’s always been putty in their hands so your assistance isn’t strictly necessary this time.

I am aware that when you talk about the risks of fighting amongst ourselves you are including the Arafinwean and Nolofinwean elements but I am simply electing to ignore that excessively ambitious request. The only ‘us’ that matters to any extent here is the seven of us and our followers and I think, considering I would say those relationships are all in a relatively good place presently, you should cut your losses and accept the win on that front.

You can’t fix all the Noldor, Maedhros, and the sooner you manage to accept that the better as far as I’m concerned. Besides, from what I hear of your own particular diplomatic skills in regards to a certain Nolofinwean you should have an in there no matter what the rest of us do. Curufin and I think you don’t take advantage of it anyone near regularly enough when all of Beleriand knows he would not refuse you any favour you may ask of him but I suppose that’s your own prerogative; we can count on his support on the more dire situations for your sake which is something in any case.

I trust my last shipment of wool will have reached you by the time you receive this; which is all for the better considering I have heard from reliable sources (Maglor but even so) that the weather has taken a sharp turn into an early winter. It was your decision to settle so far north when you could have shunted it on to those Arafinwean brats so you shan’t get my sympathy on that matter but it wouldn’t do for us to lose our mannish recruits to the cold, without all the soldiers we can get our position in the north will quickly become untenable.

In reference to your last letter I do wish that you would stop nagging me about said Arafinwean brats, Nelyo, I have been entirely well behaved in my dealings with them in recent months and am entitled to place whatever taxes I wish on my own exports. If they are unhappy with this they can go elsewhere, they certainly shouldn’t go whining to my older brother to get a discount on my perfectly standard rates.

The disparity you pointed out between their rates and your own was entirely unfounded as I am naturally giving you a discount as head of the house of Feanor and my boneheaded older brother who decided he’d like to freeze to death while fighting off Morgoth armed only with fury. So really you should be thanking me but I am used to receiving no gratitude for my efforts with this family so I shall let it slide.

As for the comparisons you drew between other rates and their’s, if you had time to peruse them I have a list of criteria for which I give lower prices and why they apply to specific groups, ledgers upon ledgers of meticulous, complex calculations, Nelyo dear. Dorothion just happens to meet none of them by pure chance.

On the matter of my trade to the west I think the plan you detailed in your last letter sounded quite satisfactory. I assume you have already begun on having the diplomatic groundwork laid down so we receive ample credit as the benevolent saviours of their economy for the deal I ran by you?

It’s rather ingenious I have to say, I’m sure your end of it will work perfectly and you needn’t worry about the wording of the deal itself, it’s quite brilliant if I do say so myself. Irreproachable really, Fingolfin won’t be able to find any justification to turn it down without looking hopelessly petty. Maybe have Maglor spread a bit of propaganda, some catchy song with subliminal messaging and the like, he’s quite useful for that I suppose. It’s a pleasure doing business with you as always.

I should pay a visit to Himring next summer if all goes to plan, I would only be staying about three months mind; it’s looking to be a busy year and I’ve already got two important trade deals lined up for the autumn that I should be east for at the final stages. I warn you this far in advance because I know your Fingon tends to travel north in the warmer months and I’m sure you would like to avoid any overlap after last time with Curufin.

I recommend you issue an official invitation for a state visit soon, it makes it simpler to write things off as diplomatic expenses on my payments to Fingolfin and it is going to be a hard winter after all. I look forward to it, I haven’t seen you in quite some time now, I miss you. Keep an eye on Maglor, his expenditure has been lower than usual recently and while it hasn’t crossed the threshold of a concerning change best watch for anything out of the ordinary.

No I am not giving you a source for my information on his accounts, I have my ways and I’ll leave it there. On an entirely unrelated note now would be an excellent time to see if Belegost may be more open to a military agreement with Himring than it was previously. I have my ways.

The Lord Caranthir of Thargelion

Prince Morifinwë Carnistir of The Noldor

#silmarillion #tolkien #silmarillionepistolary #caranthir and maedhros #caranthir #maedhros #sons of feanor #feanorians #Background Russingon

24 notes · View notes

elenagr · 8 days

Text

The last letter

@silmarillionepistolary Fingolfin to Fingon

My dear son,

Our warriors continue to die in a war that seems hopeless. I have to take one step that can change everything. Even if my chances are negligible, I feel I have to do it. If I achieve victory, then the elves and men can have a celebration. But just in case, I'm saying goodbye to you. Take care of Hithlum and Dor Lomin. Whatever my fate, do not believe the promises of the enemy and do not try to save me. Don't risk yourself unnecessarily and think about saving our fortresses and our people. I cannot say goodbye to your brother Turukano at this hour. If you see him again, give him the heart pendant that Anaire gave me as a gift. I leave the crown to you. Maybe you'll become a better king. I don't have to tell you to be brave, because I know you are already brave. In any case, I wish you strength during these difficult times.

Your father Nolofinwe Arakano

#silmarillionepistolary #silmarillion #fingolfin #fingon #tolkien #nolofinwe #nolofinweans #silmarillion epistolary

24 notes · View notes

a-world-of-whimsy-5 · 11 days

Text

The seduction of Fëanor

Day 4 prompts: Friendship | Alliances

For: @silmarillionepistolary

Rating: General Audience

Characters: Fëanor

Epistolary format: Journal entry

Themes: Corruption | Seduction of Fëanor AU

Warnings: Manipulation

Wordcount: 1.4k words

Summary: Fëanor writes of Melkor calling on him after he is exiled to Formenos

This is also available on AO3

Fëanáro Curufinwë’s journal

65th day of Y.T. 1492.— Lord Melkor called on me in Formenos, offering his friendship and aid in my quest to deliver all who would follow me from life under the Valar’s rule.

“You are a thrall of Manwë, the brother who supplanted me in everything,” he declared. “Lord Námo pronounced it freely, and to all those who had gathered to hear you explain yourself to those who think themselves to be your masters. He claims that this is your fate, and that this is the fate of all the Eldar that dwell in the Blessed Realm and beyond! And to exile you, to place your freedom in the hands of a lesser prince who speaks against you in secret! Bah! Do you now see, my prince, the truth in my words? Do you now see through their lies and schemes to place your half-brother above you?”

“Aye.” I gestured for Lord Melkor to join me in the gardens. My sons have taken my father on a grand hunt, but many of the servants remained in the palace. I cannot trust them. Despite their many oaths of loyalty, I cannot fully trust them. I cannot risk them repeating whatever they might hear to others. We spread our cloaks on the grass and sat beneath the branches of an apple tree already rich in fruit. “You have spoken the truth of the other Valar, the scheming of the half-brother who wishes to supplant me like yours did with you. The scales have fallen from my eyes, my lord, and I like not what I see.”

The Vala smiled. “It pleases me to know that there are those born into the House of Finwë who are not afraid to open their eyes and see. It also pleases me to see that the words and deeds of others have not put out the fires within your heart. Join hands with me, Fëanáro, prince of the Noldor. Join hands with me, and I will aid you in all things. I will carry you across Araman and the icy wastes of the Helcaraxë. I will deliver you and all those who follow you from thralldom. I can make you a mighty king. High king of all the elves in Endórë. Am I not a Vala, also? I am that, my prince, and I am so much more than those who sit on their great thrones in Valimar. There are many things that I am willing to do for the Noldor, for I am their friend, and I am a friend to you most of all.”

His words struck a chord within me. I confess, Lord Námo’s proclamation was humiliating to hear. To live the life of an exile is a terrible thing. To have my half-brother, the son of a woman who usurped my mother’s rightful place by my father’s side, and a prince who secretly speaks against me hold the key to my freedom within the palms of his hands, was even worse. The knowledge of it would have been more than I could bear if my spirit had been weaker. Woe be to my foes! I am stronger than they think, and I will not yield. I will not bow my head and live my life according to the whims and wishes of others. I studied Lord Melkor and pondered if I could indeed trust him to honor his vow to aid me. The others branded him a liar and a schemer, a Vala who was most dark and cruel and cunning. I do not think such is indeed the case. He pulled off the mask my half-brother used to hide his true self, did he not, and showed the other Valar for what they were? Beings who placed my half-brother above me by making him Regent of Túna, and who expect the Eldar to live their lives shackled to the Valar’s feet? It is too much! Too much! But to leave the only home I have ever known and to begin life anew in a land I have only heard of in songs and my father’s many tales… my hesitation must have shown, for Lord Melkor placed his hand over mine and gave it a soothing squeeze.

“Take hold of this hand, Fëanáro, prince of the Noldor,” he said anew, “and I will help you find freedom from those who dare call themselves your overlords and mine. I will never restrain you, nor will I place others above you. I will make you a king who rules all other kings and a master of your own destiny. I will help you carve out a great kingdom in Endórë, a kingdom that will live on for a thousand ages and beyond. No one will hinder you, not even the weak, short-lived beings the Valar intends to place above the elves. I will make certain that they do not. Pray tell me your answer.”

I considered his words and his offer to aid me. I thought of what I could become if I joined hands with him: a king who rules all other kings, a master of my destiny. I could lay the foundations for a kingdom that would thrive through the ages. I will have no one to restrain me. I will have no half-brother plotting to usurp me. I will have no one to say that I go too far, no one to declare that the works of my hands are unlawful and unjustified.

But the Silmarils, came the unbidden and worrying thought. What will become of the Silmarils? What will become of the hallowed jewels? What will become of your father, your wife, and your sons?

I knew then that if I took Lord Melkor’s hand and agreed to leave with him, many preparations would have to be made. I could not leave the hallowed jewels here in Formenos. Even if I left my father, my wife, and my sons behind, I could not leave the greatest and most treasured of my creations behind. I could not leave them in the care of others. It would only lead to their destruction if I did, and that was something I could never allow.

“A great many preparations have to be made, my lord, if I do decide to leave with you,” I replied. The hand over my own squeezed gently again. “For I cannot simply leave on a whim. I need to discover who among my followers and my kin will be most amenable to leave with us, and there are a great many things that we must take. Provisions to guarantee our comfort, treasures that I cannot bear to part with, arms to protect us from the short-lived race that the Valar hope to place over us. I trust these things will not be a hindrance in any way.”

“I understand very well, my prince, the need for such measures.” Lord Melkor lifted his other hand to one of the low-hanging branches and plucked a crimson and gold apple. He offered the first bite to me. The fruit was uncommonly ripe and sweet, and I savoured the taste. Lord Melkor then helped himself; his bite was as hearty as mine. He turned to face me and smiled. That smile was dreadful and beautiful—even more beautiful than the hallowed jewels themselves. Then he set the fruit aside and reached out to brush his thumb over my chin and wipe away the juice that dripped down.

“But I hope you will have faith in my ability to provide for you and keep you and yours safe,” he continued softly. “Nevertheless, sound out your allies and make your plans! And do not take too long! Word of my coming here will fly to the furthest corners of Valinor on the swiftest of wings. Others will not take kindly to my calling on you, and they will not forgive you for listening to what I say. My brother may not forgive you for listening to what I say. We must be ready to leave when they are ready to move against us.”

“Indeed, my lord.” I made my decision. I will leave. Even if the others insist on staying behind, I will leave. I will forge a glorious new life and name for myself—one that will live on in tales and songs. It is my destiny. Lord Melkor squeezed my hand a third time. This time, I reciprocated the gesture to show him that I agreed. He was pleased. “Indeed.”

tags: @cilil @asianbutnotjapanese

#silmarillionepistolary #epistolary #fëanor #melkor #fëanor x melkor #the seduction of fëanor AU #the silmarillion #the silm fanfiction

13 notes · View notes

meluiloth · 13 days

Text

Here is my drawing for @silmarillionepistolary day 2, Exploration!

There are a lot of drawings on this page, and Finwë has been practicing - though it isn’t just his sketches that are new. The Elves are migrating!

On the top left is a patch of strawberries, which Finwë really likes. The top left is an illustration of Oromë, the Elves’ Valadin guide, and his steed. There is also a sketch of a mountain, and a moment from the journey; some of the Elves are excited about the new land that Oromë is leading them to, but others are more wary about the possibility of danger (a company remained behind, at Cuivienen, which Finwë is still grieving). Then, on the bottom right, is a portrait of the weaver Míriel, whom Finwë finds very beautiful.

I had so much fun with this page (although not the horse or the mountains). So far this event has been lovely, and it’s a challenge figuring out how to draw in Finwë’s style, and also portray a story without words. I hope I’m doing well!

#art #my art #the silmarillion #finwe #miriel serinde #orome #silmarillion epistolary #fandom event #finwe's sketchbook

161 notes · View notes

aotearoa20 · 13 days

Text

correspondence and revelations shortly after Dagor Bragollach for @silmarillionepistolary

To, Caranthir Morifinwë Fëanorian Lord of the East

Dear cousin, it is with great sorrow which I greet you. The attacks of the Enemy took us all by surprise and I mourn the blow the loss of Thargelion will surely have on us all. Though I had never the chance to visit I had heard many great things of the eastern mountains, they were fair to behold, I am told, and I know that you loved it there. Still it gladdens me to hear that you and yours escaped for the most part unscathed. Know whatever aid and support we can spare is already on its way to you as you receive this letter.

I'm sure you know already that Celegorm and Curufin have taken up refuge among my people. You should know you they are well and whole. They, along with I, have sent letters detailing their arrival and stay. I have also sent some papers detailing preliminary adjustments to traderoutes and logistics for delivering aid among our people and allies. I am sure you have more than enough plans of your own and as always i defer to you judgement on such matters.

But all this aside I had another matter I wished to inform you of concerning one of the people of Haleth in Brethil. I have kept it to myself for some time but if anything has come from these last days is that none of us knows when doom will rear its head.

The Lady Haleth herself I met only a few times, when negotiating the terms of her people’s dwelling, and found her to be a woman of brusque and bright countenance. Indeed, when I learnt of her dealings with you I thought that the pair of you must have gotten on like a house on fire, else hated each other entirely. But I digress.

It was upon one of those meetings when I saw a child, I reckoned at the time, perhaps five by the count of Men often about her dwelling. No husband she ever spoke of nor did I ask. The child had her likeness and hearing of the tradgey that claimed the rest of her family, I thought perhaps his father had perished with her kin.

In truth, I thought little of it at all until some years ago, on a visit to the city of Menegroth, when I found a youth milling about the edges of the Girdle. It must have been two hundred years since I’d last seen him, the Haladin had since had two chieftains but the boy looked no older than twenty. He named himself a changeling in his own tongue and told me his father was one of the Eldar.

Erestor he called himself in Sindarin for though he’d lived among his people, at on the request of his mother had not taken her title. Instead he stayed as a counseler for his cousin and later his children and grandchildren. (The translation is a bit off I deem but he having learned more seems loath to correct it and resistant to advice) Either way, wishing to learn more of his father’s people and had come to Doriath to see if he may by his blood be permitted. I spoke with him a while and finding him genuine in his desire, brought him with me and vouched for him before Elu Thingol, the King.

Since then he visits the city every few summers and then returns to his people before the snows set in. He has had little trouble of it, for his mother’s features hide much of his fathers heritage and he is wont to pass through, drawing as little attention to himself as he can. But I found him curious and upon further investigation and despite his protests to the contrary, I am certain his father is Noldorin. In fact, on those rare occasions he does smiles without restrain cousin - were it not for his quiet temperament I know he did not inherit from his mother - I would have wondered if he was your own.

At any rate, considering the time and circumstances I first found him, it's likely it is that his father is among your people. I can think of any number of reasons such a thing would have been hidden from offical records but I truly doubt it could have happened without your knowledge. To the point, I thought, especially in the chaos of these days, you might pass on some news of the boy’s well being. I have had news from Brethil, written in the the his hand, they are well, if overwhelmed with refugees from Dor Lomin. But he is safe. Perhaps that might comfort his kin in Amon Ereb. And perhaps you could tell him that his child is a scholar in training. That he is happy, as much as any of us can be, and untouched by doom or darkness. May he remain so.

I hope I have not overstepped in my assumptions. Always I have hesitated in speaking on this subject. I just have with the loss of don't want to leave anything unsaid that ought to be.

That is all.

As I detailed before, i have sent ahead letters pertaining to more practical means. I have no doubt in your prompt reply. I wish you well, cousin. May Tilion watch your steps before the Dawn breaks.

Finrod Felagund King of Nargothrond

#this has been sitting in my drafts #waiting for the right moment #so here you go:)#silmarillion epistolary #my writing #silmarillion #tolkien #finrod felagund #caranthir x haleth #caranthir #erestor #erestor son of canarthir

63 notes · View notes

welcomingdisaster · 12 days

Text

A Refutation of Claims Made by Professor Basil Dyer in the Minas Tirith Review

for @silmarillionepistolary | M | ao3

It has come to my attention that The Minas Tirith Review has recently published an essay by one Professor Basil Dyer detailing and reinterpreting letters exchanged between Fingon, son of Fingolfin, and Maedhros, son of Fëanor, in light of recent translations and publications of long-censored exchanges. In his composition, Dyer claims the letters show evidence of long-established homoaffective relationship between the two, beginning shortly after Fingon’s arrival and in Beleriand, and continuing until his death.

This turn in the discourse is troubling, both because of the undue and perverse attention which it may attract to this noble publication and for the aspersions which it may cast upon the already well-sullied reputation of the historiographer. Perhaps if there was any academic merit behind them such faults may be forgiven, but they consist of nothing besides applying an all-too-modern understandings of customs (and the ever-loosening morality of the age of Man!) onto the long-gone age of the Eldar.

That said, I shall begin by laying out the terms of the engagement. Let us assume, for the sake of simplicity and brevity both, that there is no doubt on the matter of authenticity of the letters exchanged between our two principal figures during the Long Peace. Even the most recently recovered—and most hotly contested—of these letters, dated F.A. 345, referred to in the previous publication by the first lines (“Concerning the matter of honey…”) and sometimes abbreviated as the “honey missive” (alternately, in particularly tasteless publications, the “honey-thigh letter”) in such discourses, shall be accepted into our metaphorical evidence box (though indeed any reader familiar with my previous publications might be predisposed to hold its veracity in some doubt). I shall also reference the K. M. Singer translation of all available letters as the most widely-accepted and aspire to make no reference to the probable inaccuracies in Singer’s understanding of Quenya terms of endearment and vocabulary regarding parts of the body.

It may be wise to note before we begin that ladies of a delicate composition and children may find frank discussions of homosexual activity unnerving and inflaming. I would urge readers to exercise caution.

And so, our terms of engagement well-laid, I shall begin by establishing the reasons any romantic or sexual entanglement between Fingon of the House of Fingolfin and Maedhros of the House of Feanor is entirely impossible, then move on to a sensible and scholarly interpretation of the letters.

First, I draw the attention of noble reader first to the matter of cousin-marriage among the Eldar. While laws prohibiting cousin-marriage may appear novel and controversial to the modern Gondorian—indeed even a generation ago such unions were common among Men—the Eldar have once again proved perceptive beyond the ancient days during which they lived, and our betters in matters of morality and purity.

I will not bore the reader with a recounting of the Fall of Gondolin, but work only to draw the reader’s attention to the doomed romantic entanglement at its center. Maeglin, the nephew of the King, coming out of savage darkness, saw Idril, the king’s daughter, and loved her. Given the depth of infatuation he purportedly developed it seems likely to the modern sociologist that for some time she encouraged this attention. Of course, as a highborn Noldo raised among a peoples of impeccable moral discretion, she had known for the beginning that such an affair could not bear any fruit. Such knowledge could not be expected from Maeglin, and many attribute his eventual decline and betrayal of the city to a broken and aching heart.

That such an understanding was so plain to her and yet not to him may seem strange. Were they not both elves, living in the first of age of Arda, and nearly of the same blood? The answer to such a query might come from the relative moral tightness of Noldor society. Recall that Maeglin was no native Gondolian, but a son of the house of Eöl, and so of mixed Sindar and Avar heritage. All recording of first-cousin marriages among Elven Kin, as few as they are, come from lowborn elves among these two tribes. Recall that neither grey-elven nor dark-elven tribes, as their names suggest, had ever journeyed to the sacred light of the Blessed Isles, nor received council from the Valar. Their traditions and customs, then, may seen as more akin to those of Men than elves, lacking the moral rigor of their light-elf counterparts.

Though I do not claim to liken homosexual acts to the sacred institution of marriage, one must admit that the act of bodily union is shared among the two, and so may be held in common as forbidden under the laws of the Noldor.

With those facts in mind we must return to the matter of Fingon of Hithlum and Maedhros of Himring, famously first-cousins through the lines of their fathers. There is no question that that both were elves full-grown upon their departure to Middle-Earth, that according to all sources Fingon was a particularly devout follower of Aran Einior, the lord of air and great judge. Though the latter acts of Maedhros indicate a rather tenuous connection to the sacred laws of his people, Fingon’s devotion did not waver in his lifetime. Raised in such a morally upright culture, neither of them likely would have been able to conceive of engaging in any unholy union. Indeed, such a thought must have been so far from their minds as to allow a certain looseness of the tongue and purity of platonic intimacy, as evidenced by some of the exchanges I address.

Next we must discuss homosexuality among the Eldar. For years the historical establishment has maintained that no homosexual activity had ever existed among elven-folk; indeed, it is an affliction that appears to trouble only the modern Man. That school of thought has been challenged recently, with very little justice. Basil Dyer and Feya Patrice, two of the most infamous names subscribing to this school of thought, point to articles of elven art which they claim contain themes of same-sex entanglements. Most notable among these are Fragment #221 by Daeron the Bard, which appears addressed to a male lover, surviving recreations of Lalwendë and a Friend in Bed by an unknown artist, and a series of oil lamps recovered from Eregion which seem to depict various sexual acts between elves. This evidence is scant, and spurious at best. More detailed refutations of the first two—clearly expressions of deep platonic affection or affectation of a different character—may be found in my earlier bodies of work, while the last is plain done in the spirit of parody.

Indeed writings by earlier historians indicate that no desire could occur between elves without procreative desire, plainly rendering same-sex unions impossible. Relationships which modern historians sometimes interpret as homosexual are indeed better described with the elven understanding of melotorni and meletheldi, translated as chosen love-brothers and love-sisters respectively. That some form of platonic physical intimacy might have existed within these bonds is inarguable, but plainly it did not rise to the unholy stirrings of the flesh.

All of the surviving letters available to us are those addressed from Maedhros to Fingon. Though these do not use the term meletorni directly, it is plain to see that many terms of brotherly affection to enter their forms of address. The opening of letter #5, addressed F. A. 302, has been much maligned, for to a modern reader it appears rather excessive in its affection. “Most beloved of cousins,” Maedhros writes, “how I miss thy kisses, and the weight of thy body atop mine, and the sweet softness of thy ear-tips beneath my mouth” —and on, in such a fashion, for a time. A modern reader may see conventions of a love-letter within these words. A historian intimately familiar with the details of the correspondence of the eldest son of Feanor would argue otherwise. Indeed, Maedhros appears often expressive of his affection.

Of his surviving letters only remains which is addressed to Maglor the Bard, the eldest of his brothers and his second in command, mailed in F. A. 456, pleads with him to “take heart, and hold close my kisses.” Similarly, journals kept by contemporaries note nothing unusual in exchanges of kisses between friends, brothers, cousins, and so forth. A later elven play following the events of the Fall of Nargothrond features a kiss between Finrod and Orodreth in parting; similarly, artistic depictions of Finwë’s death often show his son kissing his face and his lips. What may seem unthinkable to the modern Gondorian was indeed quite commonplace among the Noldor.

Which brings us to another turn of phrase in letter #5, which has gained some level of infamy among those determined to read perversion into the intimacy of their friendship. Lines 304-314 read as follows: “I have received thy handkerchief, with the sweet scent of thy sweat and thy perfume, and the imprints of thy lip-paint kisses. Know that I have sewn it now against the heart of my sleep-robes, so each night I might feel thee upon my breast, and that a hundred times now I have kissed the same cloth as thou hast.”

I would not blame the modern man whose mind conjures a young woman pressing lipstick-kissed onto a postcard for her beloved, but in cultural context the meaning of these words changes. While it may appear rather odd in our time, lip-paint was common for men and women both among the Noldor. Being, for all their nobility, at times a vain people, the Noldor historically likened physical beauty to battle-prowess. The sending of lipstick-prints can be read as a show of force and physical ability between two young men, somewhat akin to bragging. The answering kisses, then, signal not a desire for intimacy but answering show of strength and of power.

I may go on for some time to discuss each mention on kisses in the surviving letters, I would assume any discerning reader would be able to understand them by now as brotherly affection. And so, without further delay, I will move on to address the honey missive.

First, let us examine lines 2-13 of the honey missive, the most hotly debated in meaning:

“Concerning the matter of honey; while I should be glad to sample any taste of the spring of Hithlum thou shouldst be willing to share with me, we have no great need of in trade. The wiry clover and harebell of Himring make for surprisingly subtle yet fragrant honey, thick and amber-gold. But indeed so taken with thee I am that even thoughts of trade I return to thee, and of honey; how I sit and think of thee bare before me—of how I might take such sweetness and spread it upon thy handsome thighs, to work clean with my mouth. I would be much obliged if thou wert to write to me of how thou wouldst stir beneath me, and call my name—indeed nothing now could make me happier.”

In interpreting this passage, we must remember the positions of the Noldor as craftsmen and admirers of art. Despite being remembered now primarily as a warlord, Maedhros was born the son of a gem-smith and a sculptor, and was raised in a society which placed much appreciation on both masculine and feminine beauty. That in his time Fingon was considered beautiful is undoubtedly true. The rest, while resembling a sexual act to some readers, is plainly ridiculous, meant in all likelihood as a joking exaggeration. It is common among young men even in our time to joke crudely with each other; if we had Fingon’s letter of response I am certain we would see a laughing refusal.

Having examined the scope of the evidence before us, I believe any reasonable reader would be forced to yield to the rightness of my position, and to admit there is nothing at all to the claims of those like Dyer, who seek to introduce perversion into the annals of history. We must then examine the motivations behind these claims, and wonder if Dyer and his ilk might not mean to work backwards, seeking justify their modern-day inclinations by creating precedent where is none. It is said, after all, that Basil Dyer has not cohabitated with his wife since the first two weeks of their thirty-year marriage.

#my fic #russingon

59 notes · View notes

niennawept · 12 days

Text

Warning(s): None Rating: Gen Summary: The origins of moon dumplings, shared amongst all branches of elven kindred, are a source of frequent arguments, both culinary and scholarly.

An annotated copy of a recipe book from Nargothrond before its fall

To make moon dumplings:

A short time before moonrise, take a good amount of ground corn (as was the gift of the Valar for the Great Journey) and by gradations, add to it enough water to make a fine dough. Knead this with your hands until it is well combined. Allow the dough to rest under the light of Tilion’s full face for a time.[1] Knead the dough afterward until it is smooth. Allow this to rest again until the moon’s face is the breadth of one finger above the horizon and the dough feels as soft as a fawn’s ear. Divide the dough into four parts. Keeping one out, cover the others with a dark cloth so that they absorb no more light.

Pluck a piece of dough from the ball that is as wide as a thumb from tip to first joint. Flatten this to a disc and then, roll it flat with a pin using more ground corn to prevent the moon dough sticking. Place a good amount of filling[2] on top and carefully pleat the edges shut, using water if necessary to seal. The finished dumpling should be the shape of a crescent moon.

[1] The amount of time for the first resting of the dough is a matter of heated debate among the various branches of elvenkind. While the Exilic Noldor say that it can rest no longer than seven minutes, Vanyar sources claim that precisely fourteen minutes is optimal, in honor of the Valar themselves. The Teleri and Sindar agree that the dough can rest for up to ten minutes, but disagree on the manner by which the time to knead again is decided. The Teleri say that it should be done once the surface of the dough has a pearlescent sheen to it; the Sindar say it must be done when a cloud breaks the moon’s gaze or the full time has elapsed, whichever comes first. The Nandor are an outlier, who claim that dough for moon dumplings is only ready after twenty full minutes at rest. Notably, all of the other groups agree that this is too long of an exposure and produces a tough dough with an overwhelming flavor.

[2] The source declines to describe what manner of filling should be used, and consequently, the original filling is also a matter of intense research. During the early part of the Second Age, the scholar, Díril of Lindon, undertook a lengthy project, traveling across Middle-earth and even into the East to interview elves who could remember when moon dumplings first arose within their communities. This undertaking did not result in consensus.

For @silmarillionepistolary week

#silmarillion epistolary #silmarillion fic #tolkien elves #every culture has a dumpling

58 notes · View notes

zealouswerewolfcollector · 2 days

Text

A Tale That Wasn't Right

Belated entry for @silmarillionepistolary

2406 words, M, Maedhros/Fingon

Warnings: violence but not very graphic

On Ao3

NOLDÓRAN ARCHIVES PROJECT

MANUSCRIPT 26328-lambe

Records of the Hearing Convened by Finwë Noldóran Concerning the Incident Occurred Between Two Highborn Eldar

Editor’s note: Perhaps one of the most fascinating manuscripts among the royal records, 26328-lambe has been classified for Ages. Only now, well into the Fifth Age, it has finally been released to the public.

Certainly, the reluctance to publicize these records must be due to the scandalous subject matter and the involvement of highly recognizable figures of the Years of the Trees. We shall refrain from speculations as to the identity of the involved parties and redact or change several identifying details as per the request of King Arafinwë.

The manuscript is also distinguished because of the considerably biased notes of the unnamed scribe, possibly one who did not continue their service for long. Despite their unconventional approach to their role, we have this scribe to thank for the preservation of the very first draft of the records.

Without further ado, we invite the reader to peruse the records and draw their own conclusions.

At the second hour of the Mingling of [precise date omitted], the Noldóran convened a private hearing, concerning an altercation between two highborn Eldar that has been brought to the Noldóran’s attention.

Present at the meeting

Finwë Noldóran

[redacted], tavernkeeper of the tavern [redacted] in Tirion

Finwë Noldóran’s humble scribe

Noldóran: Let us begin. Tavernkeeper, I would hear all that occurred between [title omitted] N and [title omitted] F.

Tavernkeeper: Where should I begin, lord?

Noldóran: When did you first notice their presence at your tavern?

Tavernkeeper: Immediately, lord. It was the first time such highborn lords visited my establishment. [Title omitted] F was the first to arrive. He sat in a corner and ordered [drink name omitted to avoid identification]. I did not know how to make it. He kindly explained it to me. He was three cups in when [title omitted] N joined him.

Editor’s note: Henceforth, the omission of the titles will not be mentioned. Let it be noted that the involved parties were addressed appropriately throughout the hearing.

Noldóran: Did you notice any enmity between them when N arrived?

Tavernkeeper: Not at all! F did look ill-pleased at seeing N, but I assumed it was due to N’s tardiness. N whispered something into F’s ear, which seemed to appease him.

Noldóran: How so?

Tavernkeeper: After, well, the whispering, F smiled and ordered more drinks. [Drink name omitted] for himself again and simple mead for N.

Scribe’s note: Only a son of [redacted] would drink such an abomination.

Noldóran: Could you perhaps hear parts of their conversation?

Tavernkeeper: I would not presume to eavesdrop on a conversation between such highborn lords.

Noldóran: Not even if it was to the benefit of your king?

Tavernkeeper: Alas, the tavern was busy, lord, and they spoke in very low voices, so I missed the beginning of their discussion.

Noldóran: So you mean to say you heard the ending, the part before the incident.

Scribe’s note: If this tavernkeeper does not hurry up and tell the interesting parts, I may die of boredom in front of the King and embarrass myself and my entire family.

Tavernkeeper: They stayed long after the tavern emptied. I must say, lord, they had drunk quite a lot, so their voices were raised. I did not eavesdrop on purpose.

Noldóran: I do not fault you, tavernkeeper. Do recount the argument arising between N and F.

Editor’s note: To make for easier reading, the argument is relayed here directly. Readers must trust that they shall miss only a great amount of hesitation by the tavernkeeper to report to the King the exact details of the conversation and the number of drinks N and F consumed meanwhile, which is high.

F: It has always been your greatest fault! N: Loyalty? F: Loyalty to the wrong person. N: Who would the right person be then? [long silence] N: It is not in your nature to avoid a question. F: Why speak if you know the answer well? N: You cannot fathom what you demand of me. F: Only to do the right thing. Is it too much to ask for? N: Ever you have shown nothing but contempt to my father. You do not know him as I do. F: You are blind to his faults. N: I am not. But, unlike you, I am familiar with his virtues, too. F: Any virtue he possesses pales before his vices. N: Is it not unfair to speak so when you have made no attempt to understand him? F: He deserves none. N: Do I? Do it for my sake. I would do it for you. I have done it for you. F: It was not for me. You had taken a liking to my father long before I was born. He is easy to love. N: How naive for someone who claims to know others with no effort. You say I am blind to my father’s faults, yet you see none in yours. F: He has none. N: I can name one. Just now, he made you lie to me and to yourself. F: My father is blameless in this! N: Of course, only mine is to blame for everything. F: What is the use of seeing his faults if you do nothing about them? N: What do you expect me to do? F: I told you. The right thing. N: Why did you summon me here? We are only repeating ourselves again and again. We shall never agree. F: If only you were less stubborn. N: I am no more stubborn than you. Why should I be the one to relent? What will you sacrifice? F: Have I not sacrificed enough? Have I not endured your father’s scorn without protest? Have I not stayed by your side through all of it? N: What a great sacrifice it must be for you to stay by my side! Have you overlooked that I did the same? Or perhaps you believe it is easier for me? F: If it is not, then we both know who to blame. I suppose I must be grateful you have gathered enough courage to even agree to speak with me. Have you told your father where you will be? N: Have you told yours? F: You give me no answer as expected, but I shall answer you. I have not only because my father has no perverse need to keep watch over his children’s every move. He is not cowardly enough to look for betrayal where there is none. N: You will not call my father a coward! Have I ever treated your father with such disdain? F: Why would you? He does not deserve it. N: But mine does? F: Doesn’t someone who belittles others to hide his own weakness, who is craven enough to forge weapons in secret, deserve to be treated with contempt? N: Do not speak so, I warn you. F: What will you do? Leave and shun me as always? Disregard my letters and flee when I try to visit? Run to your father to assure him of your loyalty, so you can stave off his bitterness and suspicion for a while longer?

Noldóran: Do go on! What happened then?

Tavernkeeper: I hesitate, lord, for even now, I can scarcely believe it.

Noldóran: Nevertheless, I would hear it.

Tavernkeeper: After those words, N, well, he struck F.

Noldóran: Struck him?

Tavernkeeper: He did. A mighty fist against F’s jaw.

Noldóran: Are you certain that it was N who struck first?

Tavernkeeper: Quite certain, lord. I must say I had lost count of the cups they had both drunk by that point.

Scribe’s note: Liar! It does not sound like N. Although, the son of [redacted] would have deserved it.

Noldóran: Please continue. Spare no detail.

Tavernkeeper: The blow was strong enough that F fell from his chair. They both looked as astounded as I was. I thought N wished to offer a hand to F, but instead, he turned back and moved to the door. That was when F pounced on him and brought him down. They tumbled together, grappled, and shoved each other against the walls. They damaged five chairs and two tables during their brawl as well as all the cups and plates that were on them. F twisted N’s wrist in an attempt to restrain him, but N wrapped F’s braids around his other hand and wrenched him away. They were on the floor once again by then. N tried to rise, but F took a broken chair leg and hurled it towards N. It hit the mark rather painfully. In response, N threw a half-empty goblet at F, which missed his head but drenched his hair in ale.

Editor’s note: The sketch of King Finwë with his head in his hands is presumably drawn by the scribe.

Noldóran: What then?

Tavernkeeper: They must have exhausted themselves because they remained lying on the floor for a while. I was afraid to approach them, but I also hesitated to leave in case they resumed their fight.

Noldóran: Did they?

Tavernkeeper: No… They did something else.

Noldóran: …what was it?

Tavernkeeper: F sat and helped N up. N said something to F in a very low voice. F answered. I could not hear the words. And then they… They kissed, lord.

Noldóran: A kiss between friends?

Tavernkeeper: I would not say so.

Scribe’s note: This does sound like N.

Noldóran: Did you see what happened after the so-called kiss?

Tavernkeeper: No, lord. I hurried to leave. That was all I saw, I swear.

Noldóran: Thank you, tavernkeeper. I believe it goes without saying that what we have spoken about must remain within the walls of this hall. Of course, you shall be compensated generously for your losses. Scribe, there is no need to record this part.

Scribe: As you command, Noldóran.

Tavernkeeper: No word shall leave my lips, lord.

Noldóran: You have my gratitude.

Scribe’s note: Future generations of the Noldor, I shall have your gratitude for making and preserving these records. Glory to the House of [redacted]!

***

Fingers run between disheveled braids, smoothing them with gentleness in stark contrast with the violence they had yanked at them. Inhale. The faint perfume of almond oil wafts through the heavy scent of ale. They do not mix well. Maitimo says so.

“Who could have guessed?” Findekáno says dryly.

Maitimo’s fingers continue their tender way through Findekáno’s braids. Findekáno closes his eyes, his head turning where Maitimo guides him, willingly this time.

Languidly, he raises a hand and runs it – feather-light – across Maitimo’s face, across his left cheekbone where a hideous bruise is already forming.

“Does it hurt?” he asks.

“Yes.”

Findekáno leans forward and retraces the path of his fingers with his lips, leaving a faint trail of red across Maitimo’s cheekbone. Maitimo’s eyes fall shut, his breath stutters. Findekáno takes Maitimo’s hand – the same one that split his lip open – and kisses the bloodied knuckles. Maitimo’s fingers entwine with Findekáno’s – a movement so familiar and practiced that it is almost an instinct.

Findekáno raises his head and presses his lips to Maitimo’s, but the moment Maitimo deepens the kiss, Findekáno pulls back with a hiss.

“It is bleeding again,” Maitimo says with dismay.

He takes a dampened rag and taps it tenderly against Findekáno’s lip, careful to avoid touching his bruised jaw. But Findekáno leans into his hand, his eyelids fluttering in something between pain and relief.

Maitimo undresses him, runs his fingers along his shoulders, caresses his chest, strokes his hips. Bruises are late to bloom and hard to find on Findekáno’s skin, unlike Maitimo, who is already painted red and purple. But Maitimo knows exactly where he had hurt Findekáno – an elbow to the sternum, a closed fist beneath the ribs, shoulders slammed against the edge of a table too many times.

Maitimo explores Findekáno’s body with hesitant touches, soothes his aches, brushes his fingers against the bruises. Does not apologize. The sound of Findekáno’s harsh breathing grows louder and louder until he grabs Maitimo’s hands and turns in his arms.

He bares Maitimo from the waist up in pained, hurried movements as if there is no time left. Maitimo winces when he raises his arms to allow Findekáno to disrobe him.

“Oh!” Findekáno exclaims, staring at the fresh bruise that covers most of Maitimo’s lower rib cage.

“Even inebriated, your aim is true,” Maitimo says.

Findekáno sinks down. Raises a hand to the bruise, then lets it fall. Leans forward and traces the uneven edges of the bruise with his lips, warms it up with his breath, soothes it with his tongue. Does not apologize.

Findekáno begins the work of relieving Maitimo of the rest of his clothing. Maitimo’s hands shake, then his knees, then his shoulders. Findekáno’s lips slide lower, ghost over Maitimo’s groin.

“You did not hurt me there,” Maitimo says, his voice coming out as bruised as his body is.

“How fortunate I still had some sense left,” Findekáno says.

Maitimo laughs, and for the briefest of moments, all pieces fall into their places – Findekáno before him, teasing him gently, making him laugh – so familiar and so right. But the tremors of laughter reach every aching place, reminding him sharply of what they did.

“Wait,” he says.

“Hush,” Findekáno says, holding Maitimo by his unhurt hip.

Maitimo looks down at Findekáno, kneeling on his bruised knees, looks at Findekáno’s swollen lip and beaten face.

“Who would do this?” he asks.

Findekáno draws back.

“Who hurts someone he loves and cherishes in such a cruel way?” Maitimo asks.

“You do,” Findekáno says. His gaze slowly passes over all the angry red marks he has left on Maitimo’s body. “And I.”

Maitimo sits before him.

“Will you swear it will never happen again?” he asks. “Can you give me your word that you will not do it again?”

Findekáno is silent for a moment.

“You cannot either,” he says then.

“No.”

“It is not right.”

“No.”

Findekáno leans his forehead against Maitimo’s. There is a small but painful bump on it from hitting it against a chair. It aches.

“You should leave,” Findekáno says.

“I should.”

“So should I.”

“Yes.”

They sit before each other, bare and bruised, hand in hand, skin to skin, amid the broken cups and chairs, amid the destruction they caused. None moves.

#silmarillion #finwe #maedhros #fingon #russingon #silm fic #zwc fic

42 notes · View notes

cilil · 14 days

Text

Day 1 ~ Daily Life & Customs

AN: For day 1 of @silmarillionepistolary. Yes, it had to be Cara for tax day, and yes, with Turgon. Thanks again to @elentarial for suggesting this pairing all the way back in December, I'm invested (pun intended) now.

𓂃🖋 Characters/pairings: Caranthir x Turgon 𓂃🖋 Synopsis: Caranthir is delighted to finally receive some personal correspondence - from his favourite cousin no less. 𓂃🖋 Warnings: / 𓂃🖋 Oneshot (~600 words) | AO3

Dear cousin,

I hope you are well.

The pen you gifted me proves to be wonderful not just for writing, but for inking my sketches and drawings as well, so I must thank you again.

I have been making some progress with the tower I was designing, though I am not yet happy with the archway and window designs. Uncle Arafinwë was so kind as to ask Eönwë to take me to Ilmarin for inspiration, but Lord Manwë was more interested in telling me about the birds nesting in his towers than explaining the design.

I am admittedly lacking inspiration of my own at the moment, so if you happen to have other ideas, please let me know.

Regards, Turukáno

Carnistir read the letter several times, his brow furrowed in concentration and contemplation. It was quite like Turukáno to keep his correspondence short and to the point, yet another reason why he was — despite his sincere commiseration for his dear cousin's troubles — positively delighted to hear from him.

Prince or not, Carnistir didn't receive many letters, and most of the ones that ended up on his desk were formal correspondence, either addressed to him or to one of his brothers. Tyelkormo and Makalaurë were particularly notorious for forgetting to take care of theirs, and Maitimo had recently taken to spending a lot of time with Findekáno and was less willing to help out.

Thus many things fell onto Carnistir's shoulders, and private correspondence had become an even rarer treat. It made him feel important — even wanted in a strange and possibly pathetic manner, as he chastised himself — that Turukáno was indirectly asking him for help and opinions regarding one of his passion projects.

Determined, Carnistir pushed a stack of papers aside and placed his new favourite letter in the middle, reaching for an empty sheet of paper to compose his response posthaste. While not exactly an urgent matter, it was not one to ignore for days or weeks either.

Dear cousin,

I appreciate your letter, and hope this one finds you well.

If you would like my personal opinion, I am afraid I cannot say much without having seen the progress on your sketch. I would be happy to visit and have a look, though.

What I can also do for you, if you wish, is arrange a meeting with Grandfather Mahtan and possibly Lord Aulë as well; surely they could provide some better insights. Let me know if you would like that, and I shall speak to my mother promptly.

Regards, Carnistir

Carnistir hesitated before writing down his final lines. Briefly, he contemplated a warmer wording, at least a "yours" or "yours truly", but in the end decided the safest way was to simply mirror Turukáno's style. Besides, he didn't want to seem pushy or intrusive, not when he had such a golden opportunity to gain his favourite cousin's favour.

He would accompany him to any meeting he might agree to, of course. It would certainly be helpful for his own studies as well, he justified it to himself as soon as the thought crossed his mind. If he was going to study the depths and nuances of things like trade, taxes and even the occasional textile work, something his family members liked to tease him about, some input on style, composition and architecture couldn't hurt.

Waiting for the ink to dry on the paper to avoid any unforgivable stains or smears, Carnistir began looking for an envelope and sealing wax. He was going to make sure that his letter would be sent as soon as possible.

Thanks for reading! ♡

taglist: @elanna-elrondiel @i-did-not-mean-to @saintstars @urwendii

#silmarillionepistolary #caranthir #carnistir #turgon #turukano #turgon x caranthir #house of finwe #silmarillion fanfiction #silm fanfic #silmarillion #cílil writes #my writing

36 notes · View notes