Elrohir

If you hate Fëanáro we're gonna fight. She/her || 18 || Presbyterian || Tolkien fan from birth || I can't internet help

[elrohir-elauriel]

An 8 pointed star: *exists*

Me: FEANORIANS?!?!

[halfelven]

Hey, I love your work. I was wanting to request a story. :)

Maglor, winter, red, fatherhood. ❤️

Thank you!

oh, thank you that’s sweet!  ❤️ Here you are with a bit from their childhoods  ❤️

to ward all wounds and harm from them

Elrond and Elros get colder faster than elven children would. They come in from outside with red cheeks, red noses, red on the tips of their ears. Their teeth chatter. Their lips turn blue.

Maglor tries to keep track of it, makes notes of when they start getting cold, sets time limits. He wraps them in their little wool cloaks – red with a pointed hood. They run through the snow and come back shivering, so he takes them inside and pours them tea and warms them by the fire.

He wonders if their parents had these same problems, or if they knew when it was time to drag them back inside, if they got cold fast too. But Elrond grows quiet. But Elros doesn’t remember.

‘Even elves get frostbite,’ Maedhros whispers as the boys sleep. He sips his tea and watches the dark clouds in the sky.

Maglor adds salt to the soup. He doesn’t reply because he’s thinking of Fingon and the missing tip of his ear.

‘We’ll get more fur,’ Maedhros says.

Elros and Elrond bring Maglor holly from the forest. They hang it with twine from the rafters and in front of the window. The candlelight jumps over the leaves and the berries. It sets Maedhros’s hair blazing. It gathers in the boys’ starlit eyes.

Elros dances his finger along the candle flame then back and forth fast enough that it doesn’t burn him.

Maglor sits across the table from him and says, ‘Eat.’

Elros drinks the broth from the soup and then eats the vegetables, the bits of meat. He drinks his milk last.

‘I’m cold, I’m cold, I’m cold!’ Elrond sings, like he isn’t cold at all and just wants Maglor to gather him into his arms and keep him close. Maglor does. He lifts Elrond and holds him tightly to him. Elrond eats the rest of his dinner from Maglor’s lap. Elros skips around the small cabin and then runs to Maglor and holds his arms up. Maglor shifts Elrond over and puts Elros up near him. He kisses the tops of their heads.

The fire grows low. The embers are red. The ash turns from black to grey.

Maglor still hates fire.

‘I want to see the stars, I want to see the stars,’ Elros says, singing it out too. They always sing.

‘It’s cold,’ Maglor says.

‘Cloak!’ Elros retorts. He jumps off Maglor’s lap and pulls on his arm. Maglor gets up, carrying Elrond against his chest. He sets him down on the floor beside the door and helps the boys put on their boots, lace them up, wool sweaters, wool cloak, fur hats, pointed hoods up.

The boys run out in front of him into the winter night. The stars are bright where the clouds aren’t hiding them.

‘It’s the sickle!’ Elros says.

‘It looks like a dipper,’ Elrond sings. His voice bounces off the dark trees around them.

‘Shh,’ Maglor says. He put his hands on their shoulders. ‘It looks like either.’

‘Like a dipper,’ Elrond whispers.

‘Like a sickle,’ Elros says.

‘Like a dipper.’

Elros shoves Elrond into the snow. Elrond throws snow back at him, but it’s the soft, powdery kind that won’t make a real ball and just goes up in a flash of glitter in the lamp light.

‘Boys,’ Maglor scolds. He lifts Elrond off the snow. Elrond brushes the snow from his cloak.

‘I don’t like you anymore, Elros,’ and he rolls the ‘r’ very hard to show he’s serious.

Elros rolls his eyes at him.

Maglor takes Elrond’s hand and then Elros’s and holds them both at his sides so that they can’t fight each other. It feels suddenly like it’s ages ago, when he was holding his little brothers apart so they wouldn’t kill each other. It’s then and it’s now, but it isn’t the future, because his heart is very heavy, and he feels inside of him that these are his last children. His only children, because he’s their father now, not just the older brother who would lock himself in his room when he was sick of it. He can’t walk away from these ones.

And then Elros’s teeth start to chatter, so he scoops them both up and carries them inside to where it is warm again and the room glows with the light of the flames, and it’s so very red on the wooden walls. He stops breathing for a moment, and Maedhros stands, because he knows he’s afraid of fire, and he knows why.

‘It was a bit clear out,’ Maglor says. He sets the boys down. ‘Boots off. Go to the fire.’ He watches them take off their outer clothes, handing each piece to be hung to him so that he can hang them on the wooden pegs on the wooden walls that are too high for them.

Maglor touches the wall.

‘Wood burns so easily.’

And he’s said it out loud, but his children haven’t heard him. They’re by the fire playing with each other’s hair because they’ve already forgotten their fight or it wasn’t important enough to matter.

‘Nelyo,’ Maglor says and clears his throat and smiles. Because he said it out loud.

Maedhros shrugs.

‘But wood is easy to leave. Easy to burn when you have to leave.’

Maglor nods. He pulls off his cloak and hangs it on the peg beside his sons’ cloaks. He brushes out his hair with his fingers until he feels like he’s real again and not a figure standing to the side of a tragedy unable to stop the flames because you can’t scream loud enough to put out fire.

Elrond throws his hands up in the air, and the fire in the brick oven jumps up with his hands, sparking up the chimney.

‘Don’t do that,’ Maglor says firmly.

Elrond looks over his shoulder.

‘I don’t mean to do it,’ he says.

‘I know,’ Maglor answers. He takes the tea that Maedhros hands him and drinks it on the low bench by the low table.

Elrond and Elros face each other to play a clapping game and then the cabin is a home, because there are his children, and they are laughing. And they have hair as black as midnight and eyes as grey as dusk, and they laugh like they could never forget how to, no matter what.

Elros looks over his shoulder at Maglor and smiles. His cheeks are still red, the tip of his nose, the tips of his ears. But his smile is sunshine on a summer day, and his eyes are as bright as starlight.

‘I love you,’ Maglor says.

‘I love you, Ada,’ Elros says.

And Elrond sings, ‘I love you,’ and slaps his hand down on the top of Elros’s hand when he’s distracted.

Elros knocks him to the floor again and they wrestle, hair and teeth and nails. Maglor doesn’t stop them. He watches the way their hair flashes in the firelight, in the candlelight, the way it lights their skin up golden, the summer caught in both their smiles when they think that maybe they’re winning before they go down again.

Maedhros rests his hand on Maglor’s shoulder. Maglor looks up for a moment, but his attention is drawn back to the children.

‘I think maybe you’re too evenly matched,’ he says. The candle flames dance with the children as they fight, going up straighter and taller than their flames should. And the water jumps in the bucket, high like a fountain.

‘That’s enough now,’ Maedhros says.

Maglor shakes his head.

‘No, it’s fine.’

And it is fine, because in the dead of winter, the house glows like summer, and in the dead of the wilderness, a fountain springs. These are his children, born from mortal, immortal, and holy. And the world sings around them, or they sing with the world, and they are caught in the music, and the music catches in their eyes. And the flames are dancing, the water leaping, and the rocks jump to play, and sometimes flowers spring up around them, but they are still his children.

Because he took them. Because he held them. Because they have no one else now. Because he loves them, even with his broken heart. And they can still laugh, even when they are kidnapped, stolen. Even when the world is dying. And maybe that means that there is always hope. Even if that hope was snatched from a battlefield and carried off crying.

Elrond bites Elros, and Elros gasps.

‘Elrond!’

‘Elrond, don’t bite your brother,’ Maglor says instinctively. He’s said that a thousand times too. ‘Turko, Moryo, Curvo, Pityo, Telvo, Elrond, Elros, don’t bite your brother.’

Elros runs to Maglor; Maglor lifts him into his arms. Elros tosses his head at Elrond. Elrond stares back with wide eyes, but then he laughs, and the fire plays like summer-light on his face. Maglor lifts him too. He kisses his children.

Outside the snow falls. The wind screams.

[elrohir-elauriel]

AAAH thank you! Kidnap fam, so precious aaaagh. This was wonderful! So sweet and so heavy. The bits about fire, and the world ending, but the children just lighting everything up. Oh, it was so good. ❤️

[elrohir-elauriel]

Current mood: I need to go read some fanfiction about suffering Noldor to put my life into perspective. Am I overreacting? At this point I don't think so. What a lovely day.

[arlenianchronicles]

Prompt 20 for Namotober: Bëor

“The years of the Edain were lengthened, according to the reckoning of Men, after their coming to Beleriand; but at last Bëor the Old died when he had lived for three and ninety years, for four and forty of which he had served King Felagund.”

– The Silmarillion, Of the Coming of Men Into the West

[elrohir-elauriel]

Oooh Bëor! He looks very human. Not only the beard, but the eyebrows, and the hair. It's kind of unruly. Wonderfully done, once again!

[arlenianchronicles]

Day 3 of @doriathweek: Dior (and Nimloth) – Choice

At first Nimloth was going to be in the painting, but then I decided to focus on Dior ^^;; My thought process for this scene was that he’s thinking of handing over the Silmaril, but decides not to. My reasonings for his choice involve my headcanons for the Silmarils, so I’ll just leave all that in the tags hahaa

[elrohir-elauriel]

Oh my goodness those headcanons are so interesting! I'd just always thought that the Silmaril embodies greed, feeds off it, and brings it out in people. But that's such a neat interpretation!

[arlenianchronicles]

Alrighty, here it is! A Maedros drawing, fittingly posted on day 19 of Namotober, which is Maedros’ prompt day! XDD

So this is a bit different than usual hahaa XD I’ve made this post to announce that I’ll be writing Maedhros’ name as Maedros from now on! I learned a little while ago that Maedros is technically the correct way to spell his name, especially given the context of translating Maitimo Russandol into Sindarin. Quenya t (in Maitimo) becomes Sindarin d (in Maedros), never dh. Tolkien himself gave Maedros in HoME-XII.

Why did Chris Tolkien go with Maedhros in the Silmarillion? Beats me loll He probably didn’t find all of his father’s notes at the time. Plus I like how Maedros is pronounced XDD

Anyways, I just wanted to let you guys know so there wouldn’t be any confusion when I start writing Maedros in future posts. If you have any questions, I’ll do my best to explain! But I’d highly recommend asking @aurandel on Instagram if you need clarification or have any other questions relating to the Elvish languages. This guy is a loremaster when it comes to the languages! :D

[elrohir-elauriel]

Ah! No! Mae! He looks so very done. I wonder what a brother did this time. XD His hair is fantastic as ever and also, I can't get over the gold freckles.

[gilgalads]

LOTR extras → ”He proceeded to sort of talk about some very clandestine part of WW2… He seemed to have expert knowledge of exactly the sort of noise that they make so I just sort of didn’t push the subject any further, I just said ”Well you obviously know what to do, Christopher, so I’m sure you’ll do it great” and he did.”

[russandolly]

we talk a lot about Fëanor being the Spirit of Fire and burning bright like a mf, but we don’t talk enough about Maedhros burning even brighter than him.

also let’s talk about that last line “him fate awaited with fell purpose” goodbye

[elrohir-elauriel]

Yes, and can we talk about how it says that in contrast to "Fëanor's wrath?" Fëanor's flame was characterised by anger, but Mae is described in contrast. He is canonically the sane one, but he still was more firey than his father. And to think about the end, when the only option he could see was to be consumed by fire.

Goodnight.

[potootagath-deactivated20150202]

reading the Silmarillion feels a bit like this

[raisingcain-onceagain]

Tolkien: And then something good happened, and the elves had peace and happiness

Tolkien: Don’t worry

Tolkien: It won’t last

[mirkwoodest]

One of the ballsiest things Tolkien ever did was write 473k words about some hobbits called frodo, sam, merry, and pippin and then write in the appendices that their names are actually maura, ban, kali, and razal. 

[mirkwoodest]

This just in: Eowyn and Eomer’s names actually start with the letter “L.” [source for other nerds] 

[mirkwoodest]

#wait so they have hobbitish names and common names?

No, they have Westron names and English names.

What you’ve got to understand is that everything Tolkien wrote was him pretending to merely translate ancient documents. He was writing as if the Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings were actually been written by Bilbo, Frodo, and Sam (or Bilba, Maura, and Ban) and he was just some random contemporary academic translating it all into English for us. 

There are many languages in his books, but generally speaking, everything written in English in the books is a translation of the language “Westron.” Therefore any names that come from Westron, he translated. Names coming from other languages, like Sindarin, he left as they were. Why? IDK. Maybe because the stories are from a hobbit perspective and hobbits speak Westron, so he wanted the Westron parts to sound familiar and the other languages/names to remain foreign? 

“But Mirkwoodest!” you cry, “The word ‘hobbit’ isn’t an English word! And the names Bilbo Baggins, Frodo Baggins, Samwise Gamgee, Peregrin Took, and Meriadoc Brandybuck” all sounds super weird and not like English at all!”

Psych! They are in English! (Or Old English, German, or Norse.) Once again you underestimate what a nerd Tolkien was. Let me break it down: 

In Westron, hobbits are actually called “kuduk,” which means “hole-dweller,” so for an English translation, Tolkien called them “hobbits” which is a modernization of the Old English word “holbytla” which comes from “Hol” (hole) and “Bytla”(builder). 

“Maura” is a Westron name which means “Wise.” Weirdly enough, “Frodo” is an actual Proto-Germanic name that actual people used to have and it means the same thing. 

“Banazîr” is Westron for “half-wise, or simple.” In Proto Germanic, the prefix “Sam” means half, and wise is obviously a word we still use. 

“Razanur” means “Traveler” or “Stranger” which is also the meaning of the word “Peregrin(e)” This one is a twofer because  “Razar” means “a small red apple” and in English so does “Pippin.”

“Kalimac” apparently is a meaningless name in Westron, but the shortened form “Kali” means “happy,” so Jirt decided his nickname would be “Merry” and chose the really obscure ancient Celtic name “Meriodoc” to match. 

Jirt chose to leave “Bilba” almost exactly the same in English, but he changed the ending to an “O” because in Westron names ending in “a” are masculine. 

I’m not going to go on and talk about the last names but those all have special meanings too (except Tûk, which is too iconic to change more than the spelling of, apparently). 

The Rohirrim were also Westron speakers first and foremost, so their names are also “translations” into Old English and Proto-Germanic words, i.e. “Eowyn”  is a combination of “Eoh” (horse) and “Wynn” (joy/bliss). 

“Rohirrim/Rohan” are Sindarin words, but in the books, they call themselves the “Éothéod” which is an Old English/Norse combo that means “horse people.” Tolkien tells us in the “Peoples of Middle Earth” that the actual Westron for “Éothéod” is Lohtûr, which means that Eowyn and Eomer’s names, which come from the same root word, must also start with the letter L. 

The names of all the elves, dwarves, Dunedain, and men from Gondor are not English translations, since they come from root words other than Westron. 

The takeaway from this is that when a guy whose first real job was researching the history and etymology of words of Germanic origin beginning with the letter “W” writes a book, you can expect this kind of tomfoolery.

Notes: Sorry I said “Razal” instead of “Razar” in my original post I’m a fraud. 

Further Reading: 

Rohirric , Westron 

[threeunwisehunters]

Good Daddy Feanor: Part I - “Pancake Omelette” 

Zoom in for more detail :) 

Series on good dad Feanor taking care of his baby Nelyo.

Pancakes aren’t easy to make….I think bad cook Feanor is really cute, but I also love the idea of Feanor being a really good cook and making amazing meals for his children…So I don’t know. Maybe this is Feanor starting out his culinary skills, and he’ll greatly improve as time goes on. 

Nelyo totally has a Feanor doll.  And I feel like Feanor is smart, he would have come up with something like a stove. Also the flour is “Yavanna brand”…

[elrohir-elauriel]

Oh my gosh I love this so much

[eldamaranquendi]

Feanor by https://www.instagram.com/elenakukanova_art/

[lidoshka]

“Como una extremidad faltante”

Después de sobrevivir a nirnaeth arnoediad, los hijos de Feanor se refugian en una pequeño barranco. Celegorm y Caranthir están de guardia, Curufin está completamente sedado y con una pierna rota, los gemelos están exhaustos y Maglor apenas y puede abrir los ojos. Maedhros aprovecha esta situación para alejarse durante la noche y llorar la muerte de su mejor amigo, aferrándose con fuerza a una de las banderas de Fingon.

Se supone que esta imagen iba a ser parte de una imagen más grande para Feanorianweek, pero no me gusto mucho como termino la imagen completa, así que solo dejaré esta parte aquí!

^^;

PD: si, si, ya se que no hay una heráldica oficial para Fingon… lo que quiere decir que me puedo inventar una. :P

[cerulean-shark]

I’m right, you know

[cerulean-shark]

is this how u do

[elrohir-elauriel]

Pffft

Language but also... Mood.

[filthyprotozoan]

we make fun of thorin getting lost in the shire but you know the nazgul also had to keep asking for directions to find bag end so maybe hobbits’ city planning is just wack

[that-catholic-shinobi]

The Hobbits have spent generations making their roads complex af to keep Gandalf out

[under-the-arch]

Theory accepted 

[ioannemos]

#which is why they’re always so sulky whenever he shows up………….#oh………….you found ur way back………………how nice…………….. (via @thisbrilliantsky)

[enjolrasapproves]

Which is also why Gandalf is always late

[elrohir-elauriel]

Also why Elves are never seen when going straight from Imladris to Mithlond. They have no choice but detour all the way around so they don't get lost in the Shire. "Cirdan is waiting for us hurry up!" "Nono we have to go around. It's faster. Truuust me."

[lendmyboyfriendahand]

Maeglin didn’t get a wide array of visitors to his house in Tirion, but there were a few regular guests. His parents - separately, of course. Turgon, every year or so. A few old friends from the House of the Mole. Smiths who were able to focus on technical discussions rather than old history and politics. Nolofinwe and Anaire, once, who invited him to move into the palace but didn’t bother him afterwards. 

Very rarely anyone else from Gondolin. Never Idril, Tuor, or Earendil.

So he was quite surprised when Lord Elrond of Rivendell knocked on his door one day.

“Hello Uncle Maeglin. I happened to be in this part of town and thought I’d stop by for a visit; is now a good time?”

“As good as any, I suppose.”

“I can come back later, if you’re in the middle of a project.”

“No, come in. I’ll get us both something to drink.” Maeglin did so, and readied himself for a shouting argument or another painful retread of the past.

Once they had drinks and were seated, Elrond asked, “So, do you have any embarrassing stories about Earendil as a child?”

Maeglin blinked as he tried to figure out where this was going. “A few.”

Elrond waited a moment, then prompted, “Well?”

“He thought that the mountains on the west side of Gondolin were the Pelori and that Valinor was just the other side until he was nine.”

Elrond smiled. “That does have a certain childish logic to it. Elrohir, my oldest, had the Greenwood and Nan Elmoth confused for quite a while.”

“Ah, yes.” Maeglin took a sip of his tea for something to do with his hands, then gave up. “I’m sorry, but why are you here?”

“Like I said, to get to know my family, including the things they won’t tell me themselves but are great family jokes.”

“I really don’t think I’m the best one to be telling you about Earendil, given everything. Why not just talk to him, or Idril, or anyone else from Gondolin?”

“Earendil is my father who I barely remember; we’re trying hard to build a relationship but there’s no space at the moment for anything like mockery. Idril is supporting that, so she’ll only share complimentary stories or ones from before he could talk. The rest of the Gondolindrim are either accustomed to him as their lord in Sirion or don’t like to think about the last few years in Gondolin at all. Besides, you presumably knew him better; you’re family, after all.”

“Family that tried to throw him off a cliff after betraying our city.”

“If I disowned every family member that attacked another family member, or overthrew a city, or threatened a child, I would have to cut off half my relatives.” Elrond made a thoughtful hum. “I suppose I have a lot more family here than I did in Middle Earth, but I’d still rather not.”

Maeglin would have objected, but something in that list was distracting. “Who else threatened a child?”

“Maedhros, though he only drew his sword the once. Elros and I were complete and utter brats, I’m actually surprised he wasn’t pushed there more often.  And of course people say Celegorm, but since Elrued and Elurin were killed after he was already dead, I’m not inclined to blame him.”

“And you still count Maedhros Feanorian as family?”

“Of course. You should understand - Turgon says that Eol still visits you.”

“He’s my father.”

“Maedhros is essentially mine; he and Maglor raised me after all. And he never actually attempted to kill me.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I asked Maglor, in the early Third Age. And if he’d tried without Maglor knowing, I’d be dead.”

“You have a rather disturbing childhood.”

“I’m well aware.”

[elrohir-elauriel]

I cannot not reblog this.