I was just rereading your kidnap family hcs post, and I was wondering, did anyone ever ask your thoughts about the last followers of the sons of feanor? Bc I'd love to know 👀
@feanorianethicsdepartment did, iirc, and I didn't answer...I also haven't given my full eloquent pitch for Maglor/Eärendil courtly romance...but I shall now! for the former. My thoughts are this:
"Of course," said Eonwë, with a susurrus of wings and a tone of benevolent surprise, as though the Herald of Manwë hadn't considered that they might need to ask.
The last three followers of the Sons of Fëanor bowed politely and gave him thanks, except for Baradiel who was nursing broken ribs and so only nodded. Together they turned away and walked to an outcropping of the stony shore. It wasn’t far—there was little left of Beleriand but sea-shore, here in the shadow of the northern Ered Luin at the end of the War of Wrath.
Once there had been thousands in the following of blinding-bright Fëanor and his sons. Then there had been flames, dragons, betrayal and tears, and there were hundreds. Then there had been blood under shadowed trees and on foggy cliffs, a steady winnowing as poison and monsters swallowed the land. and there were tens. Then there had been the final campaign, the war to end all wars, the very last hunt through the dark and twisting bowels of black Angband itself...and now there were three, and together they stood on a sandy stone jutting out over the white-capped sea. (There might have been even fewer, but for the very last fight of all, their lords had slipped away in the night with nary a word, which was probably meant as a mercy. The three of them certainly didn't know.)
"I'm going," Rador said abruptly.
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