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#the valar: we are the gods

silvantransthranduiltrash · 9 months

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Legolas: *sees a bunch of people do stupid shit* Okrea, save their souls. Akami, give me the patience to endure these fools.

Elladan: Why do you do that?

Legolas: do what?

Elladan: why do you invoke “Okrea” and “Akami”?

Legolas: ... because Okrea is the godess of exploration (regardless of how stupid it is) hence me praying to them to help those souls. And Akami is the goddess of war, hence my patron as a warrior?

Elrohir: what my brother means to ask is: why do you pray to these ‘gods’ who you’ve never seen, instead of the valar, whom you know exist?

Legolas: because i know the valar exist, and that’s exactly why i don’t pray to them.

Elladan: wha- but the valar are real!

Legolas: the valar are real, but never done a thing to help my people. My gods, however? I might not be able to meet with them face to face like you do with yours, but my people have been worshipping them since before Orome came and we’re still here, alive and kicking. Which is more than i can say about most of your kin, who have long since started to abandon these lands.

#lord of the rings #silmarillion #lotr #the hobbit #lotr elves #thranduil #legolas #mirkwood #greenwood the great #silvans #elladan #elrohir #the silvans/avari worship gods other than the valar and it confuses the other elven races #which in turn ticks off the silvans and avari bc the other elves act like they’re stupid #lwgolas is snappy at the end bc he doesn’t appreciate the condescending attitude of the other elves when he speaks of his gods #Okrea is the genderfluid god of exploration/experimentation #akami is the old godess of war #Miriel also warshipped these gods #as did the -we’s #but the practices was softly outlawed when they came to valinor by the valar bc ‘those gods don’t exist’#there was a lot of purpesfull erasure of elven culture from the pre-orome days by the sindar/vanyar/noldor/teleri #and it is another reason why a lot of silvans/avari don’t get along well with the other elven races

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gardensofthemoon · 4 months

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i’m on my first silm reread since highschool i think (so more than eight years), and it’s the first time i read it in english — and i JUST finished the flight of the noldor and i’m an emotional wreck, my hands tremble, i cried so much, i didn’t expect to be so angry at the valar. look how they massacred my boy

after so much introduction and infodumping (affectionate) there is SO MUCH happening here, i thought i could handle it since i’ve been in the fandom for a few months already and i’m familiar with the plotline but DAMN i had such a gut-punch, i’m sobbing

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first-son-of-finwe · 11 months

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Apparently there’s a bit in Morgoth’s Ring that says “Aulë named Fëanor the greatest of the Eldar” and excuse me a moment

You’re telling me that the whole “Greatest of the Eldar” thing….was SPECIFICALLY Aulë?!

Because if so, this vala is just….so normal about this elf. Never mind “lover of Fëanor” and the general “leave him alone guys, oh my god” at the darkening. Now we also have this.

Other Valar: You can’t just name one elf “greatest of the Eldar” because he happens to be good at your favourite skill! What about hunting, weaving, singing, poetry? Do none of our skills count??

Aulë: Well yes, good point. But have you considered….that he is MY special boy, therefore he is the greatest?

Other Valar: …..

Aulë: I thought not.

#out of silmarils #feanor #aule #just get married already guys

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thelien-art · 1 month

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Fëanáro; King of the Noldor and Lord of the Lights

‘Why, O my people, why should we longer serve these jealous gods, who cannot keep us, nor their own realm even, secure from their Enemy? And though he be now their foe, are not they and he of one kin? Vengeance calls me hence, but even were it otherwise, I would not dwell longer in the same land with the kin of my father’s slayer and the thief of my treasure. Yet I am not the only valiant in this valiant people. And have ye not all lost your king? And what else have ye not lost, cooped here in a narrow land between the jealous mountains and the harvestless Sea? Here once was light, that the Valar begrudged to Middle-earth, but now dark levels all. Shall we mourn here deedless for ever, a shadow-folk, mist-haunting, dropping vain tears in the salt thankless Sea? Or shall we go home? In Cuiviénen sweet ran the waters under unclouded stars, and wide lands lay about where a free folk might walk. There they lie still and await us who in our folly forsook them. Come away! Let the cowards keep this city. But by the blood of Finwë! unless I dote, if the cowards only remain, then grass will grow in the streets. Nay, rot, mildew, and toadstool.’

Morgoth´s Ring by J.R.R Tolkien - Of the Speech of Fëanor upon Túna

This took way too long - want a burning version too? or the end of his speech??↓

‘Fair shall the end be, though long and hard shall be the road! Say farewell to bondage! But say farewell also to ease! Say farewell to the weak! Say farewell to your treasures — more still shall we make! Journey light. But bring with you your swords! For we will go further than Tauros, endure longer than Tulkas: we will never turn back from pursuit. After Morgoth to the ends of the Earth! War shall he have and hatred undying. But when we have conquered and have regained the Silmarils that he stole, then behold! We, we alone, shall be the lords of the unsullied Light, and masters of the bliss and the beauty of Arda! No other race shall oust us!’

#feanor #feanaro #curufinwe #sons of feanor #if you look close #tolkien #jrr tolkien #silmarillion #tolkien art #silm art #my art #digital art

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from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras · 2 months

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Religion in Rohan

On the recommendation of @sotwk and on the off chance that others find this interesting or useful, here is another summary of some of the background head canons that support how I think of Rohan when I'm writing stories set there. This one is about religion, for lack of a better term, and covers at a high level what they think about gods, the afterlife, etc. and the influence of that on their culture. I fine-tuned some of this recently as part of a back-and-forth with others, and it's (hopefully?) more interesting than my pages of thoughts about changes in Rohan's horse breeding economy over time (the TL;DR there is that Théoden’s grandfather created crown-sponsored horse breeding enterprises to better supply the expanding army, but that ended up forcing some of the traditional horse breeding families into poverty)! Anywho...

Most of what we know about the religious history of Middle Earth (the full Silmarillion-style recounting of Eru, the Valar, the making of the world, etc.) comes via the elves and Númenóreans. But the Northmen ancestors of the Rohirrim didn’t really interact much with these groups, and so their knowledge of that history was limited to what they directly experienced themselves or what filtered through to them in sometimes irregular ways. This means their belief system, which is what became the Rohirrim belief system, is a mix of those Silmarillion-style ideas plus concepts they picked up in other places and some homegrown beliefs and practices.

For example, the Rohirrim don’t make a real distinction between Eru and the Valar. To them, they’re all “the gods” who made the world and are of roughly equal power and importance (though they are particularly attached to one as further discussed below).

They also recognize fewer of the Valar than others do, having a stripped down set of 7 associated with earth, sky, water, plants/animals, battle/protection, weather, and all things to do with the spirit/soul (roughly corresponding to the Silm’s Aulë, Varda, Ulmo, Yavanna, Oromë, Vána and Eru). The compression of all the spirit-based Valar into just one likely happened because these Valar almost never left Valinor and so the evidence of their separate existence for those who had never been there was tenuous at best. Although the Rohirrim gods have spheres of influence as denoted above, the lines between these gods are porous and they might all be involved in anything. They also each have their own Rohirric names.

The Rohirrim don’t practice their beliefs in a form that is anything like organized religion – no formal rites, ceremonies, prayers, etc. They simply pass down beliefs from generation to generation, and individuals or families may all have different ways of expressing those beliefs (or may choose not to express them in any sense). The primary purpose of their beliefs is to explain the world as they see it around them (How was the world created? Where did this storm come from? etc.). People may appeal to a certain god for help in difficult times or they may give thanks to a god for luck or fortune, but they also believe direct, purposeful intervention by a god in the real world is extremely limited since the War of Wrath and the end of the First Age. This causes the Rohirrim to put a lot of weight on both living honorably and taking care of your community, because there probably is no god coming to help you – you can only help each other.

Unlike the Gondorians, who think the ultimate fate of mortals beyond the world is unknown, the Rohirrim believe in a very specific afterlife. They believe the gods come to collect the dead and reunite them with their families so that they can “live” a second existence together with one another (the so-called “halls of our fathers”). Anyone who doesn’t deserve admittance to their family’s halls is put in service of the spirit/soul god until they’ve earned their honor back through deeds.

The Rohirrim are particularly attached to their god that is the Valar Oromë the huntsman, who they call Béma and associate with both battle and protection. He was a great favorite of the Northmen, and this connection was passed on through time to the Rohirrim.

They believe that, just as he did for the earliest elves, Béma rode among early men. They don’t care that the elves and Gondorians don’t believe this happened; they will not be swayed and say that he came in disguise, which is why others didn’t recognize him. They further believe that Béma chose their ancestors among early men to be his loyal foot soldiers in the fight against the evil creatures of the world. He asked for their aid, and they granted it. This established a firm belief among them that coming to the aid of an ally against evil is a sacred duty, never to be refused or ignored when requested in good faith.

As his allies, Béma bestowed horses on them, and the most treasured and best of those horses (the mearas) are thought to be descendants of Béma’s own horse, Hnaegan (whose elvish name, Nahar, is meant to evoke the sound of neighing and so the Rohirrim call him by the Rohirric word for “neigh”). Because Béma always hunted and fought on horseback and usually announced his arrival through the blowing of his great horn, the Rohirrim inherited these same practices from their ancestors.

Béma also influenced the disposition of the people, who adopted his very stern personality and his tendency to pursue thankless duty with grim determination. Showing Béma-like strength and persistence in the face of insurmountable odds is considered one of the very highest demonstrations of character in Rohan, akin to a religious virtue.

While their reverence for Béma shaped many significant elements of Rohirric culture and identity, they also ask/hope for his intervention in times of crisis. As a huntsman, they leave him small offerings of spear heads or bridle bits when they most hope that he will come to their aid, and the phrases “Béma protect us” or “thank Béma” are common parts of the lexicon – as noted above, they don’t necessarily *expect* Béma will show up and intervene, but it doesn’t hurt to ask!

Although their focus is Béma, the Rohirrim also give some primacy of place to his wife, whose name is Vána in the Silmarillion and is called Ácith in Rohan as the rough translation of her epithet “Ever-young”. She’s associated with the weather and turning of the seasons. Much like the other peoples of Middle Earth, the Rohirrim say that flowers bloom in Ácith’s wake as she walks through the world, which she does at the end of each winter to usher in the spring. The Rohirrim also believe that the consistent and otherwise unexplained appearance of simbelmynë on their graves is evidence that Ácith has been there to personally escort the dead to the halls of their fathers. The Rohirric expression that someone “went with Ácith” means that they died.

Other common Rohirric expressions with religious roots: “the light of Hnaegan” (a sign of hope in a bad situation, deriving from the sparks of light that came from Nahar’s golden hooves and were the first light in the world after Morgoth killed the trees); “you’re going to hear Béma’s horn” (you really fucked up and are about to experience someone’s wrath); and “to earn the hall” (doing something good and honorable that would earn your place in the afterlife halls of your fathers).

#lotr #lord of the rings #tolkien #head canons #rohan #religion in middle earth #things no one asked for but i have them nonetheless

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aragornsrockcollection · 2 years

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The silly post about Elrond’s healing just being very strong Dad Energy™️ made me want to put forth a theory I’ve had for a while about what Melian is the Maia of, and how that affects the powers of her descendants.

So it’s no secret that the Valar are a pantheon in the style of the Pre-Christian Europe, like the Greek and Norse pantheons; head-honcho god has bird/sky themes, and all the big archetypes are filled: war, nature, forge, spring, death/doom, chaos, sea, weaving/history, hunting, dancing, dreams, healing/medicine, stars, and pity, the last one being Nienna and a bit of an outlier who makes a lot of sense filling the role that Mary fills in Catholicism, which makes the whole group align better with Tolkien’s Catholic worldview of compassionate deities, a concept that was NOT prevalent in those pre-Christian gods.

A few main members of the archetypal pantheon are missing, One is a god of music, which makes sense because ALL the Ainur are gods of music due to the nature of the universe. Others are taken up by maiar, such as Arien and Tillion being the sun and the moon, Tillion being a Maia of Orome the hunter, which draws Artemis connections, and Arien being a Maia of Vana the ever young. Eonwe is the messenger and

Melian’s role is never expressly defined unlike Arien and Tillion and others. She’s associated with both spring and healing through Vana and Este, and her contribution to the song pre-children seems to be songbirds-more specifically teaching the nightingales to sing songs, since birds should fall under Manwe or Yavanna’s purview (she is said to be akin to Yavanna, but that’s vague and not fleshed out).

But she’s also seen as one of the more powerful Maia, and I don’t see that justified by being the Maia of songbirds. Again, music is ALL of the Ainur’s thing, and what do songbirds have to do with healing, the main power her descendants inherit?

Well, what do songbirds have to do with spring? What is the point of their songs?

It’s attracting a mate. Birds in spring is euphemistically associated with love and sex.

Melian is the only Maia we know of to marry one of the children, and this pantheon is MISSING a goddess of love and marriage and motherhood. Her daughter then goes on to have THE romance of legend, and while Luthien is acting out of love for Beren she is basically unstoppable.

We never see Luthien use her power any other way, outside of her love story, and the idea that she would NOT be as powerful when her songs were not in service of saving her love is actually pretty compelling to me. And also solves the problem of “Why did Luthien, who can put a spell on MORGOTH, let Celegorm and Curufin keep her hostage for a bit.”

The idea of Melian being the Maia of Love and Motherhood also makes sense in context of her abandoning Doriath. If her power comes from love of her husband and daughter, then the girdle was doomed once Thingol died whether she stuck around or not, so her leaving is more forgivable.

Love being such a huge theme in Tolkien’s work, it makes sense why Melian and her descendants are SO powerful. And why they are canonically the most beautiful creatures to walk the earth, as beauty and love are usually intertwined in these figures of mythology.

And Tolkien connects love and healing many times in his work. Aragorn working in the halls of Healing specifically orders Eomer to be the first person Eowyn sees, because her love for her brother is more true than her toxic obsession with him. Also as noted in the other post, his magic healing includes giving them a kiss on the forehead.

Faramir and Eowyn’s whole relationship plays out in the halls of healing, and Eowyn’s arc in this time is seeing no value in healing, either herself or others, until she finds love and hope in Faramir and basically in the same breath vows to become a healer.

Elrond’s compassion and Big Dad Energy and love for everyone is indeed what makes him the best healer in middle earth. And I’m going to argue there is a legit reason for that, with the source of his family’s healing talent being this world’s goddess of love. And of motherhood, which I think translates well to Elrond being everyone’s dad. Perhaps I should say “parenthood” since that is so obviously passed down.

Tl.Dr. Melian is the Maia of love, romantic and familial, which is the source of the Peredhil’s healing powers (and extreme attractiveness).

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elfy-elf-imagines · 10 months

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— Out of the Woods | Maedhros *✧･ﾟ

▹ Pairing: Maedhros x Reader

▹ Genre: Fluff and Angst

▹ Words: ~8k

▹ Summary: Thrust into the world of Arda, you find yourself enraptured by the elven lord Maedhros. Yet nothing is ever easy in times of war as your love story unfolds and then unravels.

▹ Notes: Hi, hello, this is about 6k words longer than I intended. Oh well. This is a rewrite of a oneshot I wrote yearsssss ago, but thought it deserved a rewrite. I hope you guys like this because I deleted the original. You have no choice, YOU WILL LIKE THIS MORE. Please tell me you like it, I crave validation. Jk, jk...unless.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Golden.

Glittering and gleaming.

Opulent in an understated way and all too beautiful to be real.

It was the only way to describe the lavish keep the armored guards escorted you into. Men with delicately pointed ears and unnatural beauty were both your protectors and jailers as they paraded you through the city. You weren’t familiar with your surroundings, never even heard of it. You feel as though a place as beautiful as this would be pasted on every tourist’s brochure and dream board. And yet there was nothing familiar.

Even the people seemed so different from you.

“You have brought a mortal woman before me; why is that?” his voice boomed as he sat straight back and stiff as a board on a lavish throne. You were speaking with the presiding ruler if the golden crown atop his head was anything to go by. He was tall and regal, only made taller by the raised platform his throne was built upon, his figure looming over you with an intimidating presence.

His hair was like fire, falling in perfect waves that reached the middle of his back. His skin was porcelain and perfection, clear of any slight imperfections or marks that marred your own. He wore formal attire made from silk, with details of glittering gems that made him look like a sun. The heavy crown resting up his head was made of pure gold and dotted with jewels, each worth more than you’d ever make in a lifetime. But what captured your eyes were his own. Light green, they shone like the reflection of emerald leaves off a crystal clear lake. No poem or ballad could ever capture the beauty he possessed.

He was ethereal, the poster child for what a king should be.

One of the guards pushed you forward, and you nearly stumbled to the ground, but you’d caught yourself in time. You looked up at him, not even knowing his name yet and already being enraptured by him. A god, that’s what he has to be. There’s no other way he could look like that.

You must’ve died and now stand at the gates of heaven. In your current situation, the most illogical answer has become the only one that made any sense.

“T-they found me, your grace, in the...woods.” He raised an eyebrow at you, and your face flushed hotly as red stained your face. Did you address him adequately? Was there any correct way to address a literal angel?

His gaze on you was sharp, making you shrink within yourself. His hair may have been made of fire, but he was entirely crafted from ice. Cold, biting, and bitter, you were surprised your skin wasn’t frostbitten.

“She was rambling like a mad woman when we found her. Despite that, she seems harmless. We thought it best to present her for your judgment, your grace.” The guard spoke with a smooth and even tone, able to look at the elven man unflinchingly. Does one become accustomed to staring at the sun? They must if the guards can directly look at him.

“And so you deign to bring the mad woman before your lord?”

“Times are strange. She may be a gift from the Valar.”

A hush fell over the onlookers before a flurry of whispers filled the courtroom. The lord returned his attention to you, raising a single, inquisitive brow. He was assessing you, determining if there could be any truth to the guard’s words. It made you squirm under the weight of his eyes. They were too piercing and too invasive. He could see past your soul. Your deepest fears and thoughts were laid before him.

“Perhaps there is some merit to the words my guard speaks,” There was a lilt of amusement in his otherwise smooth, dulce voice. It nearly seemed mocking, the way he looked down on you. He leaned to the left side of his chair with his knuckles tucked under his sharp jaw, momentarily taking a more relaxed posture. Yet his gaze on you didn’t lighten; if anything, it became heavier.

“Have you been sent to us by the Gods?”

The throne room became quiet once more.

Your heart hammered against your chest, a lump stuck in your throat. All eyes were on you, the undivided attention making you want to curl in on yourself.

“I don’t know.” You mustered up the strength to speak, attempting to keep the fear drowning you out of your voice. Would he cast you out of the kingdom, leaving you to fend for yourself? You couldn’t survive in the woods alone, but you didn’t want to lie and be heralded as a sign of divine intervention.

You were stuck between a rock and a hard place, the room’s walls closing in on you.

All there was to be done was hope he was as kind as fair.

He hummed in response, neither angry nor pleased. There was no grand statement or judgment, instead, he continued to inspect every detail of you. His eyes scanned you up and down in an almost clinical manner like you were a new art exhibit in his favorite museum. He took notice of your odd clothes, maintained teeth, and healthy hair. Strange for a human in these lands to be so… well groomed. Even with the mud that caked your body, you were cleaner than the other humans before you.

“You place me in a strange place. If I send you away, it may anger the Gods, yet if I allow you to stay, I may be dooming the very people who’ve put their belief in me.” He spoke in such a calm tone as if the fate of your life didn’t rest in his long fingers, each embellished with a ring.

The anxiety made your body weigh a thousand pounds. You weren’t even sure your heart was beating, the impulse to check your pulse growing stronger. There was worry in your eyes, creases above your brows that were pulled together tightly.

Yet you didn’t speak, unable to make your tongue form words.

“Will you not plead your cause to me?” He leaned forward; both brows pulled upward, an almost challenging smirk pulling on his lips.

Rendered speechless and playing the fool, you opened and closed your mouth as you tried to remember how to speak.

He clicked his tongue against his teeth, leaning back into his seat, his smirk pulling back into a nearly disappointed frown.

“Very well. I shall make the decision for you.”

You prepared to be condemned to the wilds, thrown to the wolves who would surely tear you apart. Head lowered, eyes counting the reflections of sunlight inside the room. Tears threatened to fall, but you forced them away. You would face your imminent death with pride.

“You will stay here.

Gasps of surprise filled the room, followed by mutters of the courtesans. You made no such noise, head snapping up to meet the elven lord’s gaze. There was surprise evident in your wide-eyed gaze. You’d expected the worst, yet that was not what you’d been given.

“In time, we will learn if the Gods truly sent you to us.”

He nodded at the guards around you, and they helped you stand. Shaking and nervous, the guards held your body up as they guided you from the throne room to what would become your quarters. But over your shoulder, you spared one last glance at the elven lord, his green eyes watching your form disappear.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

“Sinome maruvan ar Hildinyar--” You stumbled over the elvish text, unable to translate the rest of the sentence. There was a crease above your furrowed brows and a slight frown on your face.

It had only been two months since you were unceremoniously dropped here, yet it felt as if no time had passed, but not in a good way. You were like a newborn babe, stumbling in the dark as you attempted to gain your bearings. The faint throb in your head warned you of a headache, encouraging you to put the book down. A warning you didn't heed, you were stubborn, determined to prove you could assimilate.

The court has been a dizzying experience to get accustomed to. Most courtesans treated you like a curiosity, a pretty bird for them to teach silly words and feed salted crackers. They were nice enough and greeted you with pleasant smiles, but it all felt patronizing. As if you were nothing but a simpleton child, but perhaps that’s just how they viewed you; elves were immortal, after all. Nevertheless, they have treated you kinder than expected, correcting your choppy Quenya with lyrical giggles and coy smiles.

The giant oak doors swung open, startling you. Looking up, you watched as Maedhros swept through the library. He grabbed a few books from the shelves and went to a table opposite the room. His hair was pulled back into a loose braid, and his clothes were more casual than what he would don at court. Your eyes followed his form, only looking down when he briefly looked up from his book.

Heat flared to your cheeks, eyes returning to the book before you. You haven’t spoken with him since your initial meeting. He’d never invited conversation, and you were too terrified to do so. Instead, you stole glances at him whenever the moment presented itself, content to daydream about the Maedhros turning his eyes to you.

He’d say hello, inquiring about your stay in Himring. You’d answer him shyly, looking up at him through your lashes. So enchanted by your beauty and quiet whit as the conversation continued, he’d invite you to take a stroll with him around the gardens and then--

Your daydreams were cut short by the loud thump of a book falling. Turning, you watched as one of the library attendants scurried towards the fallen three or so books. A soft sigh left your mouth, and your attention returned to the book you were struggling through.

Picking up where you left off, you struggled through the same sentence. No matter how many times you re-read it, the translation wasn’t clicking. What did tenn’ mean again? A grunt escaped your mouth, the pulsing headache returning. You shut the book, perhaps harder than necessary, and opted to fiddle with the bracelets you wore.

Was it even worth struggling through this silly language? Surely you’d return home sooner or later and this grand delusion would be broken.

Yet the longer you’d spent here, the less likely the prospect seemed. You poured over every map and searched every geographical book, and nothing seemed familiar to the home you’d known.

Lost in your mind, you didn’t hear the scratch of a chair being pushed back nor the light padding of footsteps approaching your table. Only when you felt someone’s presence beside you and red hair loosely hanging did you look up? Maedhros had stood beside you, leaned over to be at eye level with you. His expression was perfectly neutral, not portraying a single thought in his head. Tucked behind his back was his left hand, which he’d lost many years ago. There were whispers in court about how it happened, being hung from a cliff for thirty years. How terrible that must’ve been.

“You seem frustrated.” His common was not as smooth as his elvish, yet speaking a common language with someone was nice. Most of the elves here only spoke their native tongue.

“It’s nothing, your grace,” you looked away from his gaze that was entirely too invasive. You didn’t want to risk that he really could read your thoughts; you didn’t want him to see how often they lingered on him.

“Your lie would be convincing if you hadn’t spent the past hour stuck on the same page,” he breezily replied, pulling up a chair to sit beside you.

Has an hour already passed?

And how did he know you hadn’t flipped pages? Had he paid that much attention…?

“Some words are confusing in their translations; no need to be concerned.” You didn’t want him to burden himself with such a silly thing. This wasn’t something a lord needed to concern himself with. There was also a flush of embarrassment creeping up on you. You wanted him to see you as competent and intelligent, not fumbling over simple translations.

“Allow me to offer insight. It is my native tongue, after all.”

You stared at him for a moment, lips pursed. His expression never wavered, and you couldn’t think of any reason to dissuade him from helping you. Apprehensive, you grabbed the book you’d previously pushed away. There was a light shake in your body from nerves, and you prayed to whatever god there was that Maedhros wouldn’t notice.

Flipping through the page, more delicate with it than usual to avoid Maedhros thinking you disrespectful, you pause on the last page you’d read. You point at the sentence you were struggling with and push the book toward Maedhros.

He leaned forward to read the sentence, and you took the opportunity to appreciate his side profile. His facial structure was sharp, with a tall, noble nose and a strong jawline. Pristine and void of imperfections, he was even more beautiful this close up. With each breath taken, the warm, heady cologne was enough to send you into a dizzy spell. It wasn’t fair for one person to be so…perfect.

He whispered the sentence under his breath, then straightened his posture. As he did, you moved your eyes from his face, looking at the book as if that was where your eyes always were. His eyes met yours as he began to speak.

“Sinome maruvan ar Hildinyar tenn' Ambar-metta.”

You mimicked his pronunciation, awkwardly fumbling over the words as you did. The faint whisper of a smile appeared on his lips. However, as soon as it was there, it was gone.

“Do you know what it means?”

“No, I was having trouble translating.”

This time he allowed his lips to turn upward into a faint smile, eyes glimmering in the dim lighting of the room.

“It’s no wonder. This is in Sindarin. My understanding is you’ve been learning Quenya.” He reached over and grabbed the book, pulling it closer to him.

“What’s the difference?”

“Quenya is an older dialect, though many of the Noldar still use it, whereas Sindarin is a newer version of the Eldar language.”

You didn’t respond, simply nodding your head as you fiddled with the fabric of your dress. Maedhros closed the book much more gently than you initially did, though he made no move to stand.

“I apologize; I have yet to inquire about your stay here. Have you found the accommodations to your liking?”

His question was nearly word for word what you fantasized he would say to you. Was he teasing you? Could he truly read your every thought, or was it just a coincidence?

“They’ve been great, better than I could’ve hoped.” You were nervous, so nervous it wasn’t even a joke anymore. Why couldn’t you just be normal?

“And how do you find yourself settling in?” He seemed so relaxed and at ease; why can’t you be more like that.

“I’m getting accustomed, but it’s all so different from the home I knew. I will admit, it is refreshing to speak with someone in a language I am familiar with.”

Maedhros pauses, slightly tilting his head to the side, something flashing across his face.

“Forgive me; I did not think about how few people share a common language with you.”

You shook your head once again afraid of accidentally offending him. “It’s no issue; if anything, it forces my Quenyan to improve.” You wanted to be reassuring, to show that you were more than comfortable with your current circumstances. The last thing you needed was the king thinking you were being difficult or ungrateful.

“But it must be frustrating not being able to convey your thoughts clearly.”

You merely shrugged in response. It was, and sometimes it made you want to scream and break something, but you couldn’t admit that. You didn’t want to seem ungrateful.

Maedhros hummed in response and pushed his chair back, now standing at full height.

“I must part from you, but perhaps we could meet here again tomorrow, if only so I may offer my translating abilities.”

A tentative smile appeared on your face, and you nodded in agreement. Maedhros tilted his head in a slight nod and turned, exiting the room with a flourish.

Only once you were left alone did you let a high and girlish giggle leave your mouth. It echoed in the quiet library, and unbeknownst to you, Maedhros heard it on the other side of the door.

And so a new tradition began as you and Maedhros met in the library every evening. You’d spend hours with one another, and within the first week, the excuse of studying linguistics had been forgotten. Enraptured in the presence of one another, you were both entirely unaware of the impending war.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

You were waiting by the gardens.

Wearing a new dress, fiddling with the bracelets that adorned your wrists. You were so nervous yet equally excited. Maedhros had broken tradition, and instead of meeting you in the library, he asked to meet you near the gardens.

Your heart was in your throat; nervous goosebumps were all over your skin. It was truly as if all of your fantasies had come to life. Light footsteps echoed on the marbled flooring, and it made you turn. Maedhros, your intended partner, walked towards you, taking long strides.

A smile was placed on your lips, and Maedhros matched it. Long ago had he shed the detached demeanor he so often presented to the rest of the world. Instead, he was open with his emotions - both good and bad - allowing himself to be vulnerable with you in a way so few people have witnessed.

“You came,” he spoke as he closed the distance separating the two of you.

“How could I refuse?” Your smile widened, eyes in the shape of crescent moons. He laughed, low and smooth, offering his arm to you. Your hand wrapped around the crook of his arm, and it fits as if your hand was met for his.

“Shall we?”

You motioned with your hand towards the gardens. “We shall.”

The two of you walked in near perfect sync, wandering through the gardens, making quiet conversation with explosive banter. He was not as stern and rigid as he once appeared. With the moonlight reflected in his eyes and the stars making him shine, he seemed more like an innocent child than a hardened warrior burdened with war and trauma.

You wanted to see this side of him every moment of every day. To see his eyes resemble glass and to hear his hearty chuckle as he threw his head back. Eventually, you gave up the guise of being interested in the flowers, even though they were quite beautiful. All your attention was focused on Maedhros, a sight you were determined to imprint in your brain.

If you were to wake up tomorrow, back in your old bed, in your old apartment, you’d be happy to remember this moment and this moment only. You’d dedicate the rest of your life to writing poems about him, painting portraits, and writing overly embellished love stories. Anything to commemorate Maedhros and everything you’d wanted with him. Even if he didn’t return your affections quite as fiercely.

“Tell me about your home. You never speak of it.”

Your expression fell, your smile dimmed, and your eyes downturned. Home. You hadn’t really thought of it as much. It used to be a constant thought, a thing you wished on every falling star to return to. But now… You couldn’t remember the last time you made that wish.

“It’s…different.” You fumbled over your words. How do you explain something you yourself hardly understand?

“In what way?” Maedhros pries, wanting to know more information. You’d be flattered in any circumstance or with any different topic. Yet the subject of home was complicated and one you hadn’t dared to broach with anyone.

“In every way.” A breezy laugh escaped your mouth, hoping to distract how tense you suddenly became.

“I’d like to hear it all if you’d be willing to tell me.”

“I--” You stuttered over the words, a lump caught in your throat. You wanted to tell Maedhros to bear your entire soul to him, but an inkling of fear gave you pause. Would he deem you a mad woman? Distancing himself and becoming as aloof as he once was.

Yet the two of you had grown so close as of late, and if you’d ever hoped to be more than friends, it would only be fair, to be honest.

“I don’t think I’m from this time.” You began, unsure of the best way to start.

Maedhros stopped, turning to face you. You nearly stumble but manage to catch yourself, meeting Maedhros’ gaze.

“In what way?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, pressing your hand into a fist. Fortune favors the bold. You have to be bold if you want this.

“I believe when I was dropped here, I was dropped in the past. My world is so different and so much more advanced in terms of technology.”

He gave you a hard stare, not speaking for a few minutes. The moments of silence dragged on, and you were half tempted to flee and never return. Yet your body had become so heavy, and your feet were bolted to the ground. There would be no escape.

“I don’t know why, but I believe you.” He spoke slowly, as if unsure of his own words as he said them. “At the very least, I believe you believe in what you say, and you have given me no reason to distrust you.”

Your breath that had been caught in your throat was suddenly released as your body slackened. The wide grin you previously wore returned to your face, all the worry lines and creases on your face melting away.

“You have no idea how relieved I am to hear that.” You were breathless, a weight you hadn’t even realized was weighing you down, relieved from your chest.

“I can only imagine how you must’ve felt, how confused you were.” His tone was soft and took a somber note, his eyes closer to an emerald green than the light color they previously were.

“I managed to get by.”

Maedhros nodded, a smile tugging on the edges of his lips.

“Well, please indulge me then, and tell me all the wonders of your home. I’m sure you’ve longed to do as such; you assimilated so quickly, I never would’ve thought you were from a completely different time.”

You stared at him a moment longer, a breath caught in your throat. Yet this time, it wasn’t from nerves or anxiety; no, the pounding in your chest was for an entirely different reason. It had everything to do with the softness in Maedhros’ eyes as he looked at you.

And so you indulged his every question and whim, the two of you wrapping around the garden a million times, talking until the moon was at the highest point in the sky, and all was silent.

You were exhausted, holding back yawns every other sentence, but you pushed through, soaking in the time with Maedhros. Who knew when you’d get another chance? But eventually, he caught on, noticing the droop of your eyes and the lethargic pace you walked with.

He guided you back to your chambers with all the chivalry gone from your world. You expected him to say farewell and give a single nod, as he always did when parting ways. He did bid you farewell, his smile warm and vibrant, and he did dip his head into a nod.

But he also placed a kiss on the very edge of your lips before turning and disappearing down the hall.

Frozen, you stood there for who knew how long, face awestruck and hand resting where his lips previously had been.

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Time had seemed nothing more than an illusion.

It seemed to move around you, yet you were the same, unchanged by it. Physically, you may appear the same, yet everything is so entirely…different. Maedhros made quick work of letting you know he intended to court you, and who would you be to deny it.

All the formalities and technicalities that came with courting royalty was dizzying, but Maedhros was always there to center you. Strolls through the gardens and long evenings in the libraries; it made everything more bearable. It was also worth the stiffness that came with court to see the child-like grin that would light up Maedhros’ face when it was just the two of you.

But doubt was a terrible thing.

You constantly feared you wouldn’t live up to not only his expectations, but the expectations of his people. You were a human among elves, and despite not aging, you knew the court talked. Their fascination with you long died out, and anyone who believed you were sent by the Gods was the minority. They hid sharp words behind pretty smiles and musical laughter, but you could see through the fakeness all the same. Their cruel words only helped reinforce the doubts you already had.

And you weren’t the only one weighed down by it.

Maedhros was a far cry from what he used to be. Before the oath, before the torment, and before all the death at the hands of his kin. Could he really be so selfish as to tie you down to him? You were blind to this of course. You knew he suffered from PTSD and trauma, but even as you held him under the light of the moon, you were never aware of just how deep his fears went.

How when he wept in your arms, it wasn’t only for what he suffered, but what he may suffer when you decide you want better. When you finally realized he wasn’t enough for you.

His anxiety twisted into something harsh, manifesting as anger rather than sadness. Yet even as he lashed out, you stayed. Your face would remain perfectly passive, seemingly unbothered by it.

It was another one of those nights.

You both sat on the balcony attached to his chambers, feet dangling over the edge. It was improper for you to be in his bed chambers, especially so late at night, but you couldn’t care about court etiquette at a moment like this.

Your arms were wrapped around Maedhros, keeping him as close to you as physically possible. His head rested in the crook of your neck, eyes shut as his breathing matched the rhythm of your heart. All was quiet except the occasional sniffle from Maedhros. But after a few moments he was the one to break it.

He pulled himself away from you, not an inch of his body touching yours. His relaxed posture suddenly seemed so tense and proper; an austere expression falling over his face. The sudden change was enough to give you whiplash, all the worst of your insecurities coming to head.

A moment passed before Maedhros stood, returning to his chambers. Tentatively, you stood, following after him. What made him suddenly change, as if a light had been switched?

He walked across the room, to the decanter holding a red wine. Maedhros took his time pouring it into a crystal glass before bringing it to his lips and nearly downing it all in one drink. He sent it down and refilled the glass, continuing the same pattern.

The entire time he refused to meet your gaze. Awkwardly you say at the end of his bed, intertwining your fingers in an attempt to distract yourself. It hadn’t worked, all your fears growing the longer Maedhros held the silence. Was it a contest? Was he waiting for you to poke and prod?

“We should dissolve our courtship.”

If you hadn’t already been sitting, you could’ve fallen to your knees. One simple sentence, that was all it took to make the past years come crumbling to nothing.

“What?” Your voice was barely louder than a whisper. “Why?”

Another glass of wine drank and another glass filled before he dared to answer.

“While I have enjoyed your company, I do not believe us suited to continue any further,” he said. Even still, he refused to meet your eyes. His hand gripped the table he stood before, his grip so tight you were half surprised it didn’t crack under the weight of it.

“So that’s it.” Your voice was like stone; hard, cold, and unwavering. “You decide to end our courtship, yet you can’t even look me in the eye as you do it.”

Maedhros didn’t move from his position, you however, stood from the bed.

All the anger and frustration, needling insecurities and self doubt came bubbling to the surface. You didn’t bother to push it down, or rationalize it so much you can’t even feel anymore. It came together in one chaotic concoction and exploded.

“Look at me.” You weren’t shouting, but there was force behind your tone. A warning and a threat all in one. Yet Maedhros still kept his back to you. You took three more steps towards him, nearly behind him.

“I said look at me.” The volume of your voice became louder, the stone facade breaking and cracks of desperation shone through you. You couldn’t understand why he was doing this, you’d thought he loved you the same way you loved him.

Had it all been a mistake, were there signs and clues you’d missed along the way?

Finally Maedhros turned to face you, and within moments all of your anger dissipated. Tears streamed down his cheeks, unshed ones exaggerating his red rimmed eyes. He looked absolutely broken, the worst you’d ever seen him.

“Why are you doing this?” You dropped the facade of nonchalance. Tears began to well in your eyes, a slight waver in your voice as you spoke.

Still he didn’t speak.

You closed the distance separating the two of you, grabbing his hand in yours, but he pushed you away. Still you attempted to grab it again and this time he didn’t bother rejecting your touch.

“Mae please, what is the real reason for this?” You looked up at him like a doe, so wide-eyed and teary. Any shred of conviction he previously held onto crumbled as he looked at your face.

He thought marrying you would be selfish, but perhaps this was the more selfish option?

“You deserve better. I can’t give you what you deserve.”

A crease formed on your forehead as your brows furrowed.

“Fuck it.”

Maedhros blinked, stunned by your brash words. For a moment he thought he might’ve misheard, he’d never heard you speak like that. But it would appear he hadn’t misheard you.

“What?”

“I said, fuck it. I love you, and you love me, and god dammit, if you’re not best for me then I don’t want better.”

You moved one of your hands from his, cupping his chin, forcing Maedhros to meet your gaze, an attempt to show the sincerity in every word spoken.

“I love you, and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.”

Your words hung in the room, imprinted on the floorboards and the walls.

The Maedhros’ lips were on yours. The kiss was quick and fervent, expressing everything he’d never be able to put into words. All the love and fear that clung to him like a shadow; his entire soul was laid before you. It was dizzying - you were drowning at sea, and Maedhros was your only lifeboat.

You clung to his form, never able to get close enough, one of your hands wrapped around his lithe form while the other reached towards the nape of his neck, gently tugging on his hair. He groaned against your lips and you swallowed the noise, deepening the kiss.

Closer, closer, you needed to be closer.

He pulled you just as tight as you were pulling him, just as desperate if not more so than you were. His one arm wrapped around your waist and held you against his body. His scent was intoxicating, that same heady cologne he’d been wearing when you first spoke in the library. Your teeth clacked against his, but you couldn’t find it in you to care. You needed him to know that every word you’d said, you’d meant.

There wasn’t a universe you wanted to exist in without him.

And while that thought terrified you, you repressed it, opting to deal with it later.

Maedhros needed to know you were all in, and you’d spent the rest of eternity convincing him if need be.

At some point he pulled back, the rise of fall of both of your chest and heavy breathing the only sound in the room.

His hand moved from your waist and into your hair, finger combing through it. There were stars in his eyes that you surely replicated.

“Forgive me, I was being foolish. I don’t want our courtship to end, you’re the woman I want to marry. I never want to leave your side and I promise to never send you away, I swear it.”

A smile, small and delicate, lit up your features as you frantically nodded in response. Maedhros huffed out a laugh, pressing his forehead against yours, muttering elvish endearments against your skin.

You closed your eyes, basking in his presence and the musical sound of his voice.

Oh to freeze this moment and live in it forever.

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Everything was silent and calm, but not in a way that would be soothing and leave behind a sense of weightlessness. Instead, it was harsh and grating, mile-high walls building up around you as you subconsciously prepared for...something. Anything that would cause a ripple and disturb this illusion that encased you.

You couldn’t deny it anymore and continue to make excuses for what was so clearly right in front of you. War had brought devastation, and with that came change, and with change came the end of a life you’d built. For so long, Maedhros was able to ignore the Oath he and his brothers had sworn. The Silmarils were forgotten but only for a time. Word had reached Ossiriand that the son of Beren and Luthien had inherited the Silmaril his parents had recovered.

Maedhros, once noble and as bright as the sun, now appeared worn and haggard, his eyes bearing the weight of a consuming madness. Restlessness gnawed at his soul as his insatiable quest for the Silmarils tightened its grip on his heart.

It was only a matter of time before the bubble burst, and you could no longer delude yourself into thinking he was still the same man you fell in love with.

“Maedhros,” you said quietly in hopes of not sparking another argument. “Are you certain this is the wise decision?”

He turned to you, his eyes stern and calculating. It was a stark difference from the love and warmth they used to be lit by. Instead of looking into the sun, you were staring into a fiery furnace.

“It is my duty, as well as my brothers, to honor the Oath we swore to our father. I have no doubt this is the right course of action.” He sounded so detached when he spoke to you. It was the same way he talked to commanding officers and diplomats, not how he should speak to his wife. Not the way he used to talk to you.

The fear you’d felt, the drop of your heart each time you looked into his eyes, intensified. He was teetering on the precipice of madness. You bit your lip, mulling over the right words to keep him from falling off the ledge.

“I understand your quest,” your voice trembled with slight trepidation despite your best efforts to keep it even. “But Maedhros, the toll it’s taking on you…I fear for your well being.”

His eyes bore into yours, a mixture of frustration, impatience, and slight madness evident in his gaze. It made you nearly flinch, but you held your ground.

“You doubt me?” His voice had an edge so sharp it cut you like a knife. It intensified your anxiety, but you swallowed it, steeling yourself against your nerves.

“I don’t doubt your intentions, Maedhros,” she replied, her voice steady now, “but I fear for what this obsession is doing to you.”

Your words seemed to strike a chord within him, his anger momentarily giving way to a flicker of doubt. A moment of clarity within his addled mind. “You think I don’t know the burden I bear?” he murmured, his voice softening now, but the anger still lingered beneath the surface.

“I know, my love,” you replied, much softer this time. You crossed the room’s threshold, gingerly sweeping your knuckles across his cheek. His eyes flutter shut, momentarily allowing your soothing touch to wash over him. “But I can’t bear to see you suffer like this. Your people need you. I need you. Not just as a leader but as a husband too.”

His eyes opened, and the green within them softened as his anger began to wane. Yet the turmoil was still evident within him. He was a man fighting two wars, one war with the forces of Morgoth and the second war within himself.

“It’s not easy for me either, and I curse the day I swore that oath.” His confession made the flicker of hope within you get bigger. Perhaps you’d successfully pulled him from the ledge. “But I cannot turn away from my destiny.”

Just as soon as it appeared, the hope was snuffed out; stubborn and proud, you now cursed what you used to admire about him most.

“But at what cost, Maedhros? The Oath has led to nothing but tragedy and death. You are losing yourself in this darkness, forsaking all that once mattered. Look around you! Our people suffer, our family crumbles, and still, you are blinded by this madness!” Desperate and pleading, you tried to force him to see reason.

As if your touch was made of acid, Maedhros pulled away and sidestepped you, a sea separating you from him. The anger returned to his eyes as they hardened once more. The brief moment of vulnerability was gone, and it was difficult to remember if it had ever even been there, to begin with.

“And for what? For some gems that shine prettily,” you continued; he needed to hear your words, to taste the venom behind them. If he held even an ounce of love for you, he would heed your warning. But your words seemed to fall on deaf ears, lost amidst the blaze of anger that threatened to burn the whole world.

“You know nothing of the weight I carry,” he snapped, his voice cutting through the air like a freshly sharpened sword. “You are my wife, not an advisor; quit constantly questioning me and stand by my side as you were intended to.”

The words caught in your throat faded, replaced with a bitter taste of the last bit of love and hope you held for Maedhros dying. Your eyes fell to the floor; there was nothing left to do. The butterflies he incited within you had turned to ash. Everything the two of you built crumbled, and Maedhros gladly helped, knocking down the pillars it once stood upon.

The Maedhros you loved was long gone; what stood before you now was a shell of the man he once was.

“If that’s the way you feel.” It was all you uttered before exiting the room, leaving Maedhros in the dimly lit room with nothing but anger and regret. He wanted to call out to you, to beg you to stay and reassure you he hadn’t meant it. But the grip of madness was unyielding, and even in the depths of sorrow, it would not relent.

The Silmarils that had once been a beacon of hope now seemed to mock him, and the emptiness in his heart felt like a chasm he could never fill.

In the stillness of the night, as Maedhros lay slumbering, you stole away into vast open fields. Cloaked in the darkness that came with night, you ran, nowhere in particular, just so long as it was as far away from Maedhros. Your heart was heavy with the weight of your decision and the finality of the ending of a love you thought would last forever. Yet the echoes of the argument lingered; his harsh words and austere face were a haunting reminder of what had been lost.

“It’s better this way,” you told yourself.

You would carry the memory of Maedhros until your dying day, praying that he might find solace and release from his Oath. But you couldn’t count on it, and you wouldn’t waste your days hoping he’d change.

“It’s better this way,” you repeated once more.

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The warm glow of the sun was waning, warning you of the impending cloak of night.

You stood on the cliffside, staring into the waters below, feet buried in the overgrowth and dirt. The air was cool, and the world was quiet. So serene and perfect that it was hard to believe it was real. You burrowed your feet deeper into the dirt, desperate to ground yourself into reality.

The mellowness of your surroundings eased the grief within your heart. War was over, and the suffering you’d endured was but a distant dream. Residing in the lands of Aman, you could forget your life had been anything other than something full of beautiful poetic prose.

Yet it was hard to let go of all of your pain. But as time passed, it became twisted, no longer the stabbing pain of a needle. It poured from you into a melancholia that you would use to paint all your skies a dark blue. It lingered in the edges of your landscape, blurred in the edges and nearly unseen by anyone except for you.

A soft hum escaped your mouth as you allowed the sound of cascading waves to fall over you. Eyes fluttered shut, the faint mist of water touching your body.

You only opened your eyes once the sound of footsteps was heard. Your posture stiffened, ears sharpening to hone in on the sounds of the intruder. No one dared to intrude upon you, and if they did, it was preemptively planned, never just a sudden visit.

Slowly, you turned, but you were still surprised even though you didn’t know what to expect.

Standing before you, as tall and proud as the day you’d first met, was Maedhros. He was vibrant and real, only a hint of tentative uncertainty marring his neutral expression. He stopped a few paces away, silent as you took him in. Framed by the soft glow of the golden rays of sunlight, he was just as you remembered him, yet with an unmistakable touch of time.

It wasn’t in the traditional ways of humans; there were no wrinkles and lines imprinted on his face. It was all in the eyes, the centuries of wisdom, pain, and suffering making them heavier than they once were.

He’d died. You knew that. He cast himself into the fire alongside his brother when he could no longer possess the Silmarils. It was said they burned him upon contact and it was a fate too terrible for him to live. You’d wept for days on end upon learning his fate.

And yet here he was, as real as the day you’d met.

“Maedhros.” His name hung in the air as if you were unsure it was truly him. He simply nodded, an affirmation that he was really here, standing before you.

Silence stretched between the two of you, your eyes locked in a gaze that spoke the words your lips couldn’t find. There was a tempest of emotions within you - joy, relief, curiosity, and a lingering sense of hurt you couldn’t fully let go of.

And then, like the first rays of sunrise, a smile graced Maedhros’ lips, and it was as if the years spent separated vanished. The arguments disappeared with them, leaving only an overwhelming happiness to see him standing before you. Your strides were sure as you stepped towards Maedhros, and he helped to close the gap, your arms weaving around his body as you embraced him for the first time in years.

He smelled just how you’d remembered, and you buried your face into his chest, determined to remember how his arm felt around your waist.

“Is it really you?” you whispered, your voice trembling with a mix of disbelief and delight.

You felt the rumble of Maedhros’ slight laughter as he nodded his head. “ Yes, it’s me, my love.”

You pulled back slightly, just enough that you could see his face but close enough that you could feel the warmth he radiated. “I- I can’t believe it; how is this even possible?” You were nearly out of breath as you spoke, eyes searching for answers within his.

“A twist of fate, I suppose. I was released from the Halls of Mandos, my time of repentance done.” A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips, his grip on you tightening. “I should have listened to you the night that you left. You were right, and I was just to--”

You cut him off by placing a searing kiss on his lips. His words were forgotten, the long speech he’d probably been preparing since the moment you left cut off. There would be an eternity for forgiveness and apologetic words. Right now, you just wanted to remember how his lips had felt on yours.

He melted into the kiss, his lips just as sweet as you’d remembered them to be. The years melted into oblivion; it was just you and Maedhros, with nothing severing the love you held. The kiss was a mixture of vehement remorse and a promise to never forsake the promise of love he’d made to you. Time slowed as the two of you savored the moment, fully immersed in the warmth of his body and the taste of his lips.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, you and Maedhros stayed tangled in one another. You’d both been given a second chance, something you hadn’t dared to think would be possible. And yet here he was, so intertwined with you it was hard to see where you ended and he began. It was a chance to reignite a love that had never fully died out.

#maedhros imagine #maedhros x reader #maedhros #lord of the rings imagine #the silmarillion imagine #lord of the rings #the silmarillion #lord of the rings oneshot #tolkien #lotr #lotr imagine #silmarillion #angst #lotr fluff

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tanoraqui · 7 months

Note

Trick or treat lotr?

I forget where it’s written that Valinor is too…intense for mortals to live there, but I think it makes sense: we see the hobbit-pov escalation from normal places in Middle Earth to peaceful Rivendell to dreamlike Lothlórien. I imagine the land of the gods is like Lothlórien on average. It’s like standing in direct sunlight on a spiritual level—it may feel lovely at first, but soon you start to overheat and burn.

But! It’s perfectly possible for a mortal to live there as long as they like, as un-aging and joyous as their Elvish neighbors, if they have a patron Vala (deity) who shields them from the metaphorical heat. So, while Bilbo and Frodo are Sailing, there is a swift and almost violent debate among the Valar as to who gets to sponsor which heroic hobbit. Winds blow, earth trembles, flowers grow aggressively…

Aulë, Lord of Forges, wins Bilbo in the end—for his long and loyal friendship with dwarves; for his long and steady bearing of the Ring wrought by Aulë’s treacherous former student; and above all because Bilbo is a dedicated linguist, which is a much-respected craft.

Nienna, Lady of Grief and Mercy, for a while tutor of the being we know as Gandalf, let’s everyone else argue for a while before stepping in and quietly dibsing Frodo. A few people put up further half-hearted arguments, but no one really disputes Nienna when she puts her foot down.

Yavanna, Mother of Trees, claims Sam as her liegehobbit before he so much as sets foot on a boat, and no one dares dispute her—nor do they have grounds to do so.

I don’t think any of them stay permanently. Once Sam catches up, and has some time to rest and garden, the three of them go on a long rambling journey across the continent for a decade or so, visiting many people and having a few more adventures along the way, before they end up at the Doors of Death at the farthest edge of the world and walk on to wherever mortals go.

#springfountain #ask meme #lotr #bilbo baggins #frodo baggins #samwise gamgee #aman ever after #hobbits #valar #lord of the rings

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verecunda · 6 months

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We all really need to spare a thought for Eönwë's stress-levels by the end of the War of Wrath, because they must have been off the charts. To wit: 1. Okay, so we've overthrown Morgoth and put an end to his vile reign. Cool. But now there's the logistical problems of keeping him bound and quiet for the duration of the trip back to Aman, and I highly doubt he's a passive, subdued kind of prisoner. Also he can't walk by himself any more, so there's that. (Probably should've thought twice about that hewing the feet from under him thing, but hey-ho.) 2. Due to the epic, apocalyptic nature of the WoW, Beleriand appears to have sprung a leak. Actually, a few leaks. Actually, quite a lot of leaks. Shitshitshit, time to organise the evacuation efforts! Also need to round up the Edain so they can be gifted that new island. 3. Got back the last two of Fëanor's problem gems (see point 1), but now his sons are still agitating to get them back. NO. No, you can't bloody well have them. And now, oh dear god, now they've decided they're going to commit Kinslaying... #4? #3.5? in order to get them back. Ugh. You know what? Have them. Fucking HAVE THEM. You'll get no fucking joy out of them but that's your look-out. .....Yeah, stings a bit, don't it? Well, I did try and warn you. 4. If that's not enough to be going on with, here comes bloody Sauron crawling out of the woodwork, batting his eyelashes and twirling his hair all like "oh I'm so sorry, I've been so naughty but if you forgive me, I promise I'll never, ever do it again." (Shit, forgot how pretty Mairon could be when he put his mind to it oh no oh no.) Oh God, this is so not my job description. Um... well, why don't you come back to Valinor and submit yourself to the Valar's judgme— oh, he's gone. Oh no.

#The Silmarillion #Eönwë #I just think he deserves a rest and a nice mug of tea after putting up with all that #:3

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outofangband · 6 months

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Could you expand on what Morgoth said about the Valar having harems in Aman??? I’ve never heard that before and whether he’s lying or not that’s wild. Like, was it just something he causally dropped in a generally menacing speech or what, I’m trying to figure out in what context he would even bring that up!

Yeah no problem!

I was half joking about him saying there were harems in Valinor but well, he certainly talks about elves being used by the gods for similar purposes.

Warning: this passage contains sexual harassment and implicit threats of sexual violence. The language is flowery but it’s still in my opinion one of the more disturbing passages from Tolkien, in this regard at least.

From The Lay of Leithan

Of what avail here dost thou deem thy babbling song and foolish laughter? minstrels strong are at my call. Yet I will give it a respite brief, a while to live, alittle while though purchase dear, to Lúthien the fair and clear, a pretty toy for idle hour

In slothful gardens many a flower like thee the amorous gods are used, honey sweet to kiss, and cast then bruised, their fragrance loosing under feet, but here we seldom find such sweet amid our labours long and hard, from godlike idleness debarred

This goes on like this for another few lines before Lúthien interrupts

It’s worth noting that this is not the first time that he makes references to the idle lazy and indulgent atmosphere of Valinor, in Tolkien’s earlier texts. In the Book of Lost Tales part one Morgoth similarly speaks directly to the Valar through their herald, complaining of the brutal labor he must undergo which they are interrupting, accusing them similarly of laziness and decadence.

So yeah something he casually drops in a genuinely menacing speech more or less sums it up in my opinion.

I think he’s probably wrong but I’m actually undecided if he believes himself lying. I could see him truly believing the other Valar partake in this and that he has been cast out from this privilege, or that the other Valar truly treat the elves as he does but are better at papering it over in pretty settings.

On the other hand he could very easily be deliberately painting a cruel and wicked portrait of Valinor and the gods to Lúthien on purpose, he taunts her for being naive earlier in this scene, I can definitely see him spinning this story purely out of malice.

#the silmarillion #the lays of beleriand #morgoth #melkor #Lúthien #in the iron hell #musing and meta #cw abuse #the hidden hours

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nenyabusiness · 8 months

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"Arda Unmarred"

Tolkien’s legendarium is full of unreliable narrators. “The Silmarillion”, for example, is based on the lore of the Elves, and “The Lord of the Rings” is based on a fictional book written by Hobbits. In these stories, Melkor, the fallen Vala who later goes by the name Morgoth, is the power-hungry being that brought evil to Middle-earth. According to the Elves, the Valar refer to the world as “Arda Marred” – a name based on the assumption that Ilúvatar’s original design, “Arda Unmarred”, has to have been free from evil.

I use the phrase “unreliable narrators”, because we don’t know for sure what Eru Ilúvatar was truly planning when he created the Music of the Ainur. Not even the Valar, who are described as being the offspring of his thought, could fully understand his vision. So, can we really say for sure that there ever was, or ever will be, an “Arda Unmarred”? Was Melkor’s initiation of the cycle of evil in Middle-earth unintentional, or was it a part of Ilúvatar’s design all along? Those are the questions that this short essay is going to explore.

The creation of the world is described in “Ainulindalë”. The story has gone through multiple changes over the years, but its foundations remain the same. Eä, the universe, is sung into existence by the Ainur. Melkor, gifted with the most power and knowledge of them all, tries to introduce his own ideas into the song, but Ilúvatar simply incorporates the discord into his Music. Melkor is incapable of creating anything of his own, since he is ultimately an offspring of Ilúvatar’s own thought. This is later stated by Ilúvatar himself.

“And thou, Melkor, shalt see that no theme may be played that hath not its uttermost source in me, nor can any alter the music in my despite. For he that attempteth this shall prove but mine instrument in the devising of things more wonderful, which he himself hath not imagined.” (The Silmarillion: Ainulindalë)

The statement is repeated again when the Ainur are shown the world that their Music has created.

“Behold your Music! This is your minstrelsy; and each of you shall find contained herein, amid the design that I set before you, all those things which it may seem that he himself devised or added. And thou, Melkor, wilt discover all the secret thoughts of thy mind, and wilt perceive that they are but a part of the whole and tributary to its glory.” (The Silmarillion: Ainulindalë)

The Ainur learn much about this new world from Ilúvatar, but their god also withholds a lot of information, especially regarding his Children – the Elves and Men.

Yet some things there are that they cannot see, neither alone nor taking counsel together; for to none but himself has Ilúvatar revealed all that he has in store, and in every age there come forth things that are new and have no foretelling, for they do not proceed from the past. (The Silmarillion: Ainulindalë)

For the Children of Ilúvatar were conceived by him alone; and they came with the third theme, and were not in the theme which Ilúvatar propounded at the beginning, and none of the Ainur had part in their making. (The Silmarillion: Ainulindalë)

These statements prove that not even the Valar can be considered fully reliable narrators. They never saw the full design, and their knowledge of the fate of Elves and Men is ultimately limited.

Later in the chapter, we find out that there’s another layer of unreliability in this story.

For what has here been declared is come from the Valar themselves, with whom the Eldalië spoke in the land of Valinor, and by whom they were instructed; but little would the Valar ever tell of the wars before the coming of the Elves. Yet it is told among the Eldar that the Valar endeavoured ever, in despite of Melkor, to rule the Earth and to prepare it for the coming of the Firstborn; and they built lands and Melkor destroyed them; valleys they delved and Melkor raised them up; mountains they carved and Melkor threw them down; seas they hollowed and Melkor spilled them; and naught might have peace or come to lasting growth, for as surely as the Valar began a labour so would Melkor undo it or corrupt it. And yet their labour was not all in vain; and though nowhere and in no work was their will and purpose wholly fulfilled, and all things were in hue and shape other than the Valar had at first intended, slowly nonetheless the Earth was fashioned and made firm. (The Silmarillion: Ainulindalë)

The phrasing of this paragraph reveals that “Ainulindalë” is not a story told by an omniscient narrator – it’s Elven lore. Melkor is depicted as the culprit behind all of Arda’s flaws, but since we now know that it’s an Elven story, we also have to take possible bias into consideration.

Even here, however, is it clearly stated that Melkor was incapable of creating anything of his own, and that the Valar didn’t know every detail of Ilúvatar’s design. It’s also worth noting that it’s the will and purpose of the Valar that were never wholly fulfilled. This is also reiterated in a similar description of the formation of Arda, told in “The Annals of Aman”.

… And the shape of Arda and the symmetry of its waters and its lands was marred in that time, so that the first designs of the Valar were never after restored. (Morgoth’s Ring: The Annals of Aman)

At this point in the story, Ilúvatar is no longer an active participant. The Valar are acting on their own, based on the vast yet still limited information that’s been given to them. The greatest fears of Elves and Men – fading and dying – are blamed on Arda being marred by Melkor. This is clearly expressed in “Athrabeth Finrod ah Andreth”:

Now the Eldar learned that, according to the lore of the Edain, Men believed that their hröar were not by right nature short-lived, but had been made so by the malice of Melkor. It was not clear to the Eldar whether Men meant: by the general marring of Arda (which they themselves held to be the cause of the waning of their own hröar); or by some special malice against Men as Men that was achieved in the dark ages before the Edain and the Eldar met in Beleriand; or by both. (Morgoth’s Ring: Athrabeth Finrod ah Andreth)

Valar, Elves, and Men alike believe that they live in Arda Marred, and that Melkor is the sole culprit behind the cycle of evil that plagues Middle-earth. As readers, we’re led to believe that this is true, but Tolkien does occasionally remind us that this is a story told by unreliable narrators. He himself considers Melkor a Lucifer-like figure, but he also recognizes the differences between his Catholic faith and the universe he created.

I suppose a difference between this Myth and what may be perhaps called Christian mythology is this. In the latter the Fall of Man is subsequent to and a consequence (though not a necessary l consequence) of the 'Fall of the Angels': a rebellion of created free-will at a higher level than Man; but it is not clearly held (and in many versions is not held at all) that this affected the 'World' in its nature: evil was brought in from outside, by Satan. In this Myth the rebellion of created free-will precedes creation of the World (Eä); Eä has in it, subcreatively introduced, evil, rebellious, discordant elements of its own nature already when the ‘Let it Be’ was spoken. The Fall or corruption, therefore, of all things in it and all inhabitants of it, was a possibility if not inevitable. (The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien: 212.)

So, here we are again. Evil was created before Melkor descended into Eä. This raises even more questions about Ilúvatar’s original design – the supposed “Arda Unmarred”. There was evil in Arda before Melkor entered it. Does that mean that Ilúvatar knew that the world that he was about to send his Children into was already marred? Or was it a part of his design all along?

What we do know for sure is that there was always evil in Eä. We’re presented with another perspective in “Myths Transformed”, which puts even more emphasis on Melkor being a catalyst rather than the source of that evil.

Out of the discords of the Music – sc. not directly out of either of the themes, Eru's or Melkor's, but of their dissonance with regard one to another – evil things appeared in Arda, which did not descend from any direct plan or vision of Melkor: they were not 'his children'; and therefore, since all evil hates, hated him too. (Morgoth’s Ring: Myths Transformed)

Another important aspect of Melkor’s role in the supposed marring of Arda is the evil’s independence. As previously stated, the cycle started before his descent into Eä, and it continues after he’s been thrust into the Timeless Void at the end of the First Age.

One of the reasons for his self-weakening is that he has given to his 'creatures', Orcs, Balrogs, etc. power of recuperation and multiplication. So that they will gather again without further specific orders. Part of his native creative power has gone out into making an independent evil growth out of his control. (Morgoth’s Ring: Myths Transformed)

Yet the lies of Melkor, the mighty and accursed, Morgoth Bauglir, the Power of Terror and of Hate, sowed in the hearts of Elves and Men are a seed that does not die and cannot be destroyed; and ever and anon it sprouts anew, and will bear dark fruit even unto the latest day. (The Silmarillion: Quenta Silmarillion)

When Melkor is defeated, Sauron takes his place, upholding the cycle of evil.

The servants of Sauron were routed and dispersed, yet they were not wholly destroyed; and though many Men turned now from evil and became subject to the heirs of Elendil, yet many more remembered Sauron in their hearts and hated the kingdoms of the West. The Dark Tower was levelled to the ground, yet its foundations remained, and it was not forgotten. (The Silmarillion: Of the Rings of Power and the Third Age)

This is where Tolkien decides to end his grand saga about Middle-earth. Sauron is defeated, but evil is not. Months before his death, however, he started a draft of a story taking place about a century into the Fourth Age called “The New Shadow”. He eventually decided to scrap it, but the parts he did write indicate that evil still lingers in Middle-earth after the end of “The Lord of the Rings”.

He halted in the narrow passage that ran through the house, and it seemed that he was wrapped in a blackness: not a glimmer of twilight of the world outside remained there. Suddenly he smelt it, or so it seemed, though it came as it were from within outwards to the sense: he smelt the old Evil and knew it for what it was. (Morgoth’s Ring: “The New Shadow”)

The cycle of evil continues, even though Melkor no longer has any influence over the world. The Arda we see in Tolkien’s universe has always been marred – always, or never. These texts show that the concept of “Arda Unmarred” was most likely an invention of the Valar, or possibly the Elves – unreliable narrators with a desperate need for an explanation for why their world is full of evil. Ilúvatar’s original design was known to him and him alone, and Melkor was always a part of it.

Arda is simply Arda.

#tolkien #meta #melkor #morgoth #lord of the rings #lotr #silmarillion #lore #atheist bias i know i know

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silvantransthranduiltrash · 6 months

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Bby Aragorn: *wondering through the halls of Imlardis*

Rando elf 1: ugh, i can’t believe that savage is visiting again. You’d think that our lords would have better taste.

Rando elf 2: i’ll say! And i can’t believe they allow him to be near Lady Arwen! Unsupervised at that! He’s already taught her to fight, who knows how else he’ll corrupt her.

Elf 1: truelly the silvans are such a barbaric lot, not only do they have everyone fight, but they scorn and ignore the Ainur, our holy gods who represent the light!

Elf 2: we can only hope that that brute Legolas *spits the name* doesn’t further influence our lord and his family with his dark ways.

Bby Aragorn: *frowning at what he’s overhearing*

Bby Aragorn: *suddenly lifted into the air*

Legolas, setting Aragorn on his hip: hey there, Aragorn! Have you been good? Caused any chaos lately?

Bby Aragorn: *cheers* Las! I have been a super good boy! Though i might have stolen some cookies here and there... but ‘Lladan and ‘Rohir helped me!

Legolas: *carrying bby aragron away* that’s good! And if you get in trouble, just blame it on the twins, that’s what i do.

Bby Aragorn: *nods with a pleased expression*

Bby Aragorn:

Bby Aragorn: hey, Las?

Legolas: yes?

Bby Aragorn: what’s a sav-savge?

Legolas:... a savage?

Bby Aragorn: mhmm! Or “barbiac”

Legolas: Barbaric. Where did you here those words?

Bby Aragron: just now! I over heard some elves talking about you and they used those words. They also called you a brute! I don’t think they were being very nice.

Legolas: well, you’d be right, kiddo. Those aren’t nice words to use.

Bby Aragorn: then why do they use them?

Legolas: bc there are a lot of light elves that don’t like dark elves, such as myself. They don’t think we’re good enough, “elf” enough, in a way.

Bby Aragorn: but... you are an elf?

Legolas: i very much am, but some elves don’t think that my people qualify.

Bby Aragorn: well that’s stupid.

Legolas: you can say that again.

Bby Aragorn: what’s a light elf? Or a dark elf?

Legolas: well, “light” and “dark” are basically the way the elves are divided in those who don’t believe in the Valar, and those who do believe in the Valar. There are a few more distinctions, but that’s the gist of it. I, myself, along with my people and the avari, are all considered “dark elves” because we don’t believe in the valar. The elves who live here, such as the Noldor and the Sindar, do believe in the Valar.

Bby Aragorn: so those elves don’t like you bc you don’t believe in the same things they do?

Legolas: well, that, and bc they have a superiority complex.

Bby Aragorn: well that’s stupid. All of it is stupid. Those are stupid things to do for stupid reasons!

Legolas: yes, so don’t be mean to someone just because they’re different from you, ok? After all, like you said, it’s a pretty stupid reason to be mean.

Bby Aragorn: *nodding determinatly* when i grow up, i’m gonna make sure people stop being mean to each other bc they’re different! That way i’ll be surrounded by not stupid people. And anyone who is mean to someone else bc they are different will be called a stupid poopy-head!

Legolas: *laughs* you do that! I look forward to it.

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silver-grasp · 6 months

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Narrative Power in Arda

An embarrassing number of months ago, I alluded to narrative as an in-universe force within the Silmarillion in my tags on a post I have since lost, which I feel merits further elaboration. The short version is that crafting a story carries meaningful weight and power in Arda, which is not much of a reach considering that 1) telling a story in a certain way has power even in the real world, and 2) music is already well-established as an important medium and means of magic in Middle Earth. I think it is relevant to consider this aspect when discussing the nature and weight of words in the Silmarillion, whether it be curses, dooms, oaths, or anything else.

To begin with, it is difficult to tease apart what I will call in-universe narrative from narrative in the sense that a guy called Tolkien wrote this whole story down, on purpose, with various story arcs that come to various narratively satisfying conclusions. The best illustrative example of in-universe narrative, thus, is Finrod’s duel in song against Sauron, because Tolkien could have had the song battle work however he wanted, but he chose to make it about storytelling. We joke about Finrod and Sauron’s rap battle, but their contest really is a battle of narratives – particularly cultural narratives. To quote:

Then sudden Felagund there swaying Sang in answer a song of staying, Resisting, battling against power, Of secrets kept, strength like a tower, And trust unbroken, freedom, escape; […] And all the magic and might be brought Of Elvenesse into his words. […] The sighing of the sea beyond, Beyond the western world on sand, On sand of pearls in Elvenland.

This is arguably the story of the Noldor, as told by Finrod – all the beauty and power of Aman, but brought by the Noldor to Middle Earth in their flight to escape the control of the Valar and avenge their king against Morgoth’s evil. This is his choice of story to wield against Sauron, and it makes sense. It invokes the Noldor’s heroism against Morgoth in maintaining the long siege, as well as their rejection of all the higher powers and his own faithfulness to his oath to Barahir that led him to this point. It’s a good story, but Sauron shatters it with a single invocation, because this narrative Finrod spins of the Flight of the Noldor cannot accommodate the atrocity that was the Kinslaying at Alqualonde.

The outcome of the song battle is not decided based on raw power, or skill in crafting magic or spells, or even singing ability. It is won on the merits of narrative: Finrod’s story doesn’t work; he cannot narratively reconcile the reality of the Kinslaying with “trust unbroken, freedom, escape,” and thus Sauron has the victory (1). Thus, we can conclude that “does the story work” is a legitimate part of how magic functions in Middle Earth.

This should not come as a surprise; Middle Earth (and the world itself) were created/predicted by the Music of the Ainur, which is itself a narrative work of music. It, arguably, puts the story in history (2). The narrative of the Ainulindale, moreover, is disrupted by Morgoth in much the same way Sauron disrupts Finrod’s narrative in their contest. But whereas Finrod’s story collapses under the contradictions introduced by Sauron, Eru incorporates Morgoth’s discord into the Music to create a new, greater theme than the one before. This is not an accident, and it shows that Eru, as God and Creator (read: Author), understands narrative better than Morgoth does: any good story has conflict of one sort or another. That’s what makes them stories, rather than a pleasant but boring account of a series of pleasant but boring events.

This is to say, Tolkien makes the necessity of having a plot arc into part of his theological worldbuilding. There is, frankly, a lot you could say about that, but I am not going to, because it is somewhat off-topic from the point I’m trying to make and also I really don’t know where to begin.

Additionally, while Finrod’s own narrative fails, the overall narrative of Middle Earth picks up where he left off and turns his defeat into a fourth-act crisis point, the abyss which makes way for Luthien’s subsequent victory over both Sauron and Morgoth and triumphant retrieval of the Silmaril. Finrod may not have known how to turn Sauron’s narrative disruption to his own ends, but Eru does.

Returning to the Doom of the Noldor, while Manwe is said to be the closest of the Valar to Eru in thought, I would argue that Namo, as the Vala of fate, is the closest of the God-as-Author aspect of Eru. His domain, fate, is closely linked with the Music. I said earlier that Middle Earth was created/predicted by the Music, and that blurriness between creation and prophecy is important for understanding the nature of Fate in Tolkien’s work - there is a careful tightrope walked between free will and determinism (3). I argue that the Music additionally suggests that fate in Arda is really Narrative at work.

So where does that leave, for instance, the Doom of the Noldor? Is it curse or prophecy? Punishment meted out by the gods or natural consequences of an unprecedented violent attack? Framing it in these binaries is reductive no matter which side you come down on. The Doom is neither a curse nor a prophecy: it is a narrative.

The soon-to-be Exiles, led by Feanor, kick off their narrative in maybe the worst way possible (murder). This is, objectively, a very bad inciting incident – stories that start with murder don’t tend to turn out well for the people doing the murdering. Within the Music, and the fabric of Arda’s fate, the Noldor have narrowed their narrative options significantly. “Slain ye may be, and slain ye shall be,” for have they not already slain their own kin? But it is very difficult to argue for the Doom as purely prophetic. The text itself indicates in multiple places the judgment or wrath of the Valar as something laid upon the house of Feanor and all who follow them, not simply natural consequences. There is a tangible weight to the Doom, and a sense after the War of Wrath that it is something that can be lifted.

Mandos says, you have chosen your story to be a tragedy by opening with a tragedy. But when this is spoken by Narrative himself, it takes on a weight greater than that of a mere prediction. The Doom defines the genre of the story that is to follow: Tears unnumbered ye shall shed. And they did.

The story, of course, is never truly over. But I’ll leave eucatastrophe for another day.

Footnotes: (1) As a side note, I am forever thinking about arrogantemu’s fic “Beyond the Western World,” in which Finrod says “I’d staked everything on an innocence I didn’t have.” Credit where credit is due for influencing my thinking on this subject.

(2) Tolkien as a linguist would undoubtedly be aware that the words come from the same root, and that other modern languages have not in fact separated the meanings of “work of fiction” and “account of real events” into separate words.

(3) To write a proper meta on this subject I would have to dig much deeper into other sources, but from my understanding fate in Tolkien’s works works very similarly to the Anglo-Saxon concept of wyrd – there’s a very interesting line in Beowulf, I believe, about how “for undaunted courage, fate spares the man it has not already marked” (paraphrased). I highly recommend reading more about it for a better understanding of fate in Middle Earth.

#the silmarilion #the doom of the noldor #meta #dear god this has been. a long time in the writing #in my defense I had to move across the country shortly after starting this #and my copy of the silm was in a box. which made research difficult. and then I forgot about it

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alatismeni-theitsa · 1 day

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I'm starting to wonder if your and other Greek people's points fall on deaf ears not because of ignorance or cognitive dissonance but because people actually see all mythology and history(I am bringing history into this because I am Romanian and our myths have been mercifully left alone for the most part and it's our history that gets taken to the doll house) as fiction stories with fandoms and they would treat all the others the same if they were more widespread.

People say 'gods can be anything' but that is only true of gods in fantasy stories. Eru Iluvatar and the Valar can be anything, real gods(real as in at any point in time worshipped by real people) can't be anything that the people who worshipped them did not understand them as. Everything about a real god from the stories to the minutia of their apperance carries deep cultural meanings and is inextricably tied to the way the real people that worshipped them experienced the world. Mythology is part of history and culture.

Zeus does not turn into a swan because he's a character that can shapeshift into anything, he does it because swans had symbolic meaning to the people of ancient Greece. That's why they circle Delos while Apollo is born and then pull his chariot. Speaking of Apollo, I am pretty sure his hair would still be gold even if blonde hair was impossible for humans to have because it was meant to repesent the sun's light and warmth.

I feel like you need to read mythology divorced from its culture and history to have the 'progressive epiphany of the century' like Supergiant's creative director did. Like, how do you square the circle of this pantheon being an extended family whose patriarch goes around fathering all of the founders of the Greek tribes and them not being the Greek gods only because they were worshipped in Greece? How can the most inescapable meme about Greek mythology be 'Zeus can't keep it in his pants' and people not see that it has implications?

Sorry for getting long winded. I have lots of thoughts and don't know where to put them.

We welcome salt and rants in this blog, so fear not! I think you worded your concerns very well, and I share the frustration 😞

#answered

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