Headcanon time: Voronwë’s father Aranwë drowned in the shipwreck that he alone survived.
Voronwë later helped his mother Gailawen (who was of Círdan’s people) and sister Ancalimath to escape the fall of Gondolin, in which Ancalimath lost her fiancé Ecthelion.
They all then settled in Sirion, where they became close friends with a family of refugees from Doriath: Oropher, his wife Lassawen, and their young son Thranduil.
When the Third Kinslaying occurred, Voronwë sacrificed himself to protect Lady Elwing, and Lassawen sacrificed herself while shielding her son. Oropher was quick to avenge his wife before picking up Thranduil and guiding Gailawen and Ancalimath to safety aboard Círdan’s ships.
Full of grief for Aranwë, Ecthelion, and now Voronwë, Gailawen and Ancalimath accepted the Valar’s invitation to sail West when the War of Wrath was over. It was there that thousands of years later, their lost loved ones were re-embodied and everyone was reunited. Ecthelion and Ancalimath were finally married.
Guys, I got my act together and wrote A Thing for @tolkiengenweek! Huzzah! Here we have Voronwe and his dad trying very, very hard to be a normal family for five minutes and doing a terrible job. (It all works out ok though)
(Also, Aranwe has a Scottish accent in my head for some reason? I don't know why. It just works for him)
--
Voronwe would never have said (aloud, anyway), that he envied his friend for being an orphan since infancy. It was, of course, highly tragic that Tuor had never met Huor and Rian, and even more so that he'd lost his foster-family so young.
That said, if one didn't have parents, one didn't have to worry about visiting them.
"Are you certain you don't want me to come with you?" Tuor asked from the bed in the palace chamber he and Voronwe currently shared. His blue-green eyes were wide with concern, and for a moment Voronwe was tempted by the offer. The imposing presence of Ulmo's messenger would almost guarantee Aranwe wouldn't start any arguments.
And yet... well, perhaps some arguments needed to happen.
"No," said Voronwe at last. "Thank you, but I must do this alone."
Tuor shrugged. "If you insist. But if you come back from this interaction dejected and miserable, you need to talk to me about it, instead of simply retreating into your gloomy thoughts."
Voronwe tried not to let his gratitude show on his face. "if it will ease your mind, then yes, I'll prattle on as much as you please."
--
Aranwe's small house was on the western edge of the city, near the House of the Tree (Aranwe having served Lord Galdor for many years). It looked exactly the same as it always had, and yet somehow Voronwe felt it had shrunk.
Aranwe himself awaited his son in the parlor, which also had remained unchanged in the years since Voronwe's departure. As for Aranwe himself, well... he looked older, to the extent elves could. Aged by sorrow, perhaps.
"Well!" he said. "Hello, lad."
"Hello, Father," said Voronwe, suddenly feeling very awkward. "How are you?"
"As well as can be expected," said Aranwe gruffly. "The city hasn't changed since you left-- still full of fools. And with that human here, who knows what will happen next."
"His name is Tuor, and he happens to be my friend," said Voronwe, slightly offended at his father's tone. "Without him, I would not have made it back to you."
"if you had any sense, you never would have left in the first place," Aranwe grumbled.
Voronwe felt himself flush with annoyance. "That's it? After all these years, when I thought I would never see you again, that is how you respond? That I was a fool to leave Gondolin? Perhaps it would have been easier to stay if you hadn't insisted on treating me like a child, worrying endlessly about what I was doing and who I was with. I felt as though I was suffocating."
"You were all I had left!" Aranwe cried. "My only family! It nearly destroyed me when your mother died; how do you think I felt when I lost my son as well?"
Voronwe formulated a sharp retort, but restrained himself. There was an odd glitter in Aranwe's eyes, as though he was about to cry, and Voronwe felt he might do the same.
He wasn't the same rebellious boy who'd left Gondolin all those years ago. He was stronger now, wiser and sadder, and he could no longer see the sense in continuing this same old argument.
"You didn't lose me," he said quietly. "Nearly, perhaps, but I am here. And Father, I... I did miss you. I truly did."
Aranwe sighed. "Believe me, lad, I missed you too. More than I can say. You call me overly worried, and perhaps I am, but I lay awake in fear wondering if you would come home from that damned voyage. Those constant nightmares of you drowning"
"I know." Voronwe swallowed hard. "And I most likely would have drowned, if Ulmo hadn't had another purpose for me. But here I am, alive." He took a step closer, cautiously. "And I had hoped you could forgive me for leaving."
Aranwe shook his head. "Intellectually, Voronwe, I know I have nothing to forgive you for. You wanted adventure, you wanted to serve your king... how can I fault you for that? All I can say is that I hope you won't be heading out into the wide world from now on. You deserve to be safe, and happy."
No one is safe anymore, Voronwe thought. Not if Ulmo's message comes true.
But he smiled anyway, and set a hand on his father's shoulder. "I won't be going anywhere, Father," he said. "Though you may not see me quite as much as you used to. Tuor will need my help settling in here, as he has no idea how cities function, and so I'll be at the palace most of the time."
"My, aren't we grand!" Aranwe smiled for the first time in the conversation. "Well, I certainly hope you are not too high and mighty these days to join your old father for dinner."
"Never," said Voronwe. "I'll even help you cook. And Father..." He took a deep breath. "I love you."
Aranwe pulled Voronwe into his arms, hugging him so tightly Voronwe could barely breathe. "I love you too, son," he said. "Welcome home."
elves of arda ✹ gondolindrim ✹ headcanon disclaimer ✹ @gondolinweek
Aikamblotsë was a Noldo of Valinórë, a skilled hunter and archer. He befriended the Ambarussa, the youngest sons of Fëanáro and hunters like himself, and spent much time in their company, especially with Telufinwë. As their relationship progressed, Aikamblotsë attempted to become more intimate with Telufinwë, but his friend was uninterested in such passions and rebuffed his advances. Hurt and fearful that his secret desires would be found out, Aikamblotsë distanced himself from Telufinwë and grew close to another grandson of Finwë: Turukáno Ñolofinwion.
When the Noldor rebelled amidst the Darkening, Aikamblotsë was among the Host of Ñolofinwë, though as he remained by Turukáno’s side he did not participate in the Kinslaying at Alqualondë. He marched across the Helcaraxë, the old resentment against Telufinwë growing ever more bitter in his heart, and even when the Noldor reconciled he harbored a grudge against his once-friend.
In Beleriand, Aikamblotsë took the name Eglamoth and was appointed an advisor to High King Fingolfin, where he worked closely with his colleague Duilin, an archer even more masterful than he. Great love grew between them, and they were wed in the thirty-fifth year of the Sun, at which time they entered the court of their friend Turukáno at Nevrast.
When Turukáno began to order his new kingdom of Ondolindë, he offered positions of lordship to both Egalmoth and Duilin, which they were glad to accept. Upon removing to the isolated valley of Tumladen, Duilin returned to his previous name of Tuilindo, but Egalmoth chose to retain his Sindarin name, the meaning of which he found more poetic than the original Quenya despite its flawed Sindarization.
In Ondolindë, Egalmoth became the Lord of the House of the Heavenly Arch. He sponsored much development in the great markets in the King’s Square, earning unaccounted wealth and arraying his people in a glory of colors. His emblem was the rainbow, which in Valinor had been a subtle symbol of uncommon desires; since now in Beleriand he was free to wed another nér and yet hold high status, he wanted to proclaim his pride in himself and uplift those of his people who felt similarly.
Egalmoth and Tuilindo often hosted archery competitions, and after his husband bested him for the hundredth time in a row, Egalmoth dedicated himself to learning a new weapon in which he was unmatched. He fashioned a curved sword, the only one of its kind among the Noldor, and though the bow remained his preferred weapon he often proved his surpassing skill with his deadly blade. It was with the might of this sword that he slew many giant spiders when he, Glorfindel, and Ecthelion were lost in Nan Dungortheb whilst escorting Aredhel on her journey to Himlad; but though Egalmoth and his companions survived and returned to Ondolindë, Aredhel herself was lost and her fate would not be known for many years.
The folk of the Heavenly Arch were a diverse mix of Sindar and Noldor, as can be exemplified by the Noldorin fisher Aranwë and his Sindarin wife Hithaer, sister of Círdan. Though Hithaer turned back halfway through the journey to Gondolin, followed by Aranwë as soon as he ensured the safety of his son Voronwë with the Encircling Mountains sight, Voronwë himself did arrive in the Hidden Realm and dwelt there for many long years before his king sent him out to sea to beg aid of the Valar. Alone of the mariners entrusted with this mission, Voronwë alone was saved by the grace of Ulmo for the purpose of leading the Man Tuor back to Gondolin with a message for the King.
Another vassal to Egalmoth was Gaurin, a great stonemason who aided in the construction of the City of Stone, cleaving many rocks with gleaming strokes of his mighty glaive. Gaurin had once been known as Narmonodo, a member of Oromë’s Hunt, an archer and wolf-speaker who occasionally hunted with Egalmoth and naturally aligned himself with the Lord of the Heavenly Arch in Beleriand. Gaurin was a great warrior, fighting valiantly in the Fifth Battle, and was slain protecting his friend and lord as Egalmoth retreated from the Nírnaeth Arnœdiad.
When Morgoth’s forces assailed Ondolindë and the city’s fall began, a great part of the folk of the Heavenly Arch were in the walls of the northern gate and endured the main assault. Egalmoth himself was in the south of the city, commanding engines in the wall alongside his husband and the House of the Swallow. As the fighting entered the streets and Tuilindo was slain, Egalmoth saw that they could not keep fighting in the battlements. He gathered his folk and those of his fallen husband, casting away his bow and drawing his curved sword, and led them in a great march upon the streets.
Driven by fury and grief, Egalmoth and his followers defeated every band of enemies they encountered, rescuing many captives and leading them to the Square of the King. When Gothmog, Lord of Balrogs, destroyed the barricades protecting the square, Egalmoth was wounded, and knowing he could fight no longer he led many of the Gondolindrim in a retreat through Idril’s secret way.
Egalmoth alone of the Noldorin Lords survived the Fall of Gondolin, and he dwelt at the mouths of Sirion amid much grief and anger for many years. When the sons of Fëanor attacked the Havens, Egalmoth unleashed all his rage upon them and fought bitterly against his corrupted kin, slaying Amrod—once Telufinwë, his friend in their golden youth. As soon as Amrod’s head fell from his body, Egalmoth regretted the fatal blow and stared in horror at the destruction he had wrought, but he had little time for regret as Amras charged forth and slew him in retribution for the death of his twin.
In time Egalmoth would heal from the wounds upon his fëa and be reborn in Valinórë, reuniting with Tuilindo and even reconciling with Telufinwë, but the story of his first life ended upon the bloody banks of the river Sirion where kin slew kin for the third and final time.
"Then the waves hunted us like living things filled with malice, and the lightnings smote us; and when we were broken down to a helpless hull the seas leaped upon us in fury." (The Fall of Gondolin, pp. 118)
Introducing a fic by @ettelene for @tolkienrsb, based on art by @factorialrabbits, to be released 7th September!
Title: Gentle Yearning Of The Heart
Fandom: Silmarillion and Other Histories of Middle Earth
Rating: G
Category: Gen
Archive Warnings: N/A
Word Count: 8941
Characters: Voronwe, Tuor, Idril Celebrinal, Earendil, Ulmo, Oarni, Aranwe, Aranwe’s wife
Additional Tags: Merman Voronwe, Fall of Gondolin Sack of Sirion (Mentioned), Canon Compliant, the last mariner of the last voyage
Author’s AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firstamazon/pseuds/firstamazon
Artist’s Deviantart: https://www.deviantart.com/factorialrabbits
[Image description: Colored pencil drawing of Aranwë and his wife, from the Silmarillion. Aranwë is an elf man with light golden skin, flowing brown hair, and teal eyes; he is wearing a lavender shirt with gold buttons and pink lining. His wife, an OC named Hithaer, is an elf woman with pale skin, silver eyes, and long, straight red hair; she is wearing a grey shirt with green and purple lining as well as blue earrings. Aranwë has a mildly distressed expression, while Hithaer is smirking. End image description.]
September 14, 2020
Wow, it’s been awhile since I finished one of these! I feel like my art’s improved a lot since...I think March was the last time I did one, wow :o
Anyway - here’s Voronwë’s parents, Aranwë and my OC Hithaer! Headcanons for them under the cut (it got pretty long!)
For reference, my Voronwë headcanons are here, and a more updated Voronwë design is here!
Aranwë (despite his noble name) is a commoner-class elf who followed Nolofinwë to Beleriand, where he met and fell in love with Círdan’s sister Hithaer. They lived together in Vinyamar for awhile, where their son Voronwë was born.
Eventually Turgon built Gondolin, and Aranwë wanted to take his family there - but Hithaer was reluctant to leave her brother and her people, and decided to stay by the coast. Voronwë followed his father to Gondolin; however, at the very last minute, Aranwë changed his mind and turned back to return to Hithaer. Voronwë continued to Gondolin while Aranwë traversed Beleriand alone.
Unfortunately, Aranwë was accosted by orcs and killed before he could make it back to his wife. Voronwë lived happily in Gondolin, missing his parents but thinking his father was alive; Hithaer lived with her brother in the Falas, missing her family but thinking both her husband and her son were safe in Gondolin...
It wasn’t until Voronwë volunteered to take one of Turgon’s ships and sail for Valinor that he left the hidden city and went to his kinsman Círdan (and his mom!) at the Havens. He thought he would meet both his parents there - but when he finally showed up, both he and Hithaer realized that Aranwë never made it back home and has been dead for centuries...
Voronwë became even more determined to make it to Valinor, but - well - we know how that went. He is saved by Ulmo and returns to Gondolin - but since none of the other sailors returned to the Havens, Hithaer assumed he was dead and grieved for his loss.
Thankfully, after the remaining Gondolindrim came to the Havens after the Fall, they were reunited - though Hithaer was shortly thereafter killed in a skirmish with orcs. Voronwë sailed to Tol Eressëa at the end of the War of Wrath and was reunited with both his parents, who were eventually reborn.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 2/2
Fandom: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien, TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Relationships: Aranwe/Voronwe's mother
Characters: Voronwë (Tolkien), Aranwë (Tolkien), Voronwe's mother, Turgon of Gondolin
Additional Tags: Textual Ghost, House of Fingolfin, Fall of Gondolin, The Sindar, The Noldor, Challenge Response
Summary:
Vignettes featuring the parents of Voronwe.
Inspired by Oshun's character bio of Aranwe on the Silmarillion Writers' Guild Archive.
Their house in Nevrast opened East, which meant it was flooded by light very early in the morning. Voronwë’s father enjoyed this; his mother did not. She had won, and now there were curtains: thick, lustrous burgundy.
"It would not look out of place even in Valinor," his father said gravely, delightedly.
It was the first phrase Voronwë learned in Quenya. It was spoken with slight variations all through Nevrast’s streets and docks and markets. “as good as in Valinor” and “suitable even for Valinor” and “to rival Valinor” and occasionally the longing and defiant: ‘better than Valinor.’
Voronwë liked the Sea. He supposed it the same on both shores - tall and furious and full of energy, foaming, a glorious turquoise that mirrored the sky. It was free, also, of the frantic self-justifying polishing, building, refining - the restless energy that buzzed through the city, the measuring-up of all of its things. It created friction between his parents, he knew it did, the looming shadow of Valinor.
But the Sea brooked no comparisons. No one ever looked at it as if they were seeing through it, seeing something else. No one ever turned away in disappointment because the vision before their face did not match the one in their memories.
Voronwë waded in up to his neck and let the tallest waves carry him to shore and smash him forcefully against it. He lay there clinging to the shore while the waters rushed back out around him, while they dragged sand across his skin, while the next wave and the next crashed down atop him. Then he ran back out deeper and did it again.
He was doing this one day when his father found him.
It was usually his mother who came to fetch him from the shore, and only if she needed his help with something during daytime. Otherwise when the Sun hit the western horizon and turned the water to black glass, he would race home and do all his chores in the swiftly-fading light. By the time it was dark it’d be dinnertime.
For a second he didn’t even recognize his father, because his father did not come to the beach (the Noldor rarely did. Voronwë assumed this was because they liked to wear rich, long, beautiful, almost-Valinor robes and the Sea had little patience for nice clothing.) Certainly the man striding unhappily across the sand looked like Aranwë, but Voronwë found himself trying to fit the face to someone else, so implausible was it that his father had come down to the sea.
"Voronwë!" his father said.
His hair was plastered to his face. The water from the ocean had dried off his shoulders and back but left him crusted with swirls of salt. They stood out against his skin (he had skin dark enough it didn’t burn in the heat of the Sun; he pitied the children who didn’t). The effect was startling. Suited to Valinor, he thought, admiring his own arms. Then he looked back at his father. “Yes? Errands?”
He was still too little to run any useful errands - he couldn’t carry things very far and he couldn’t quite hold his own in the bargaining at market - but his mother sent him for small things, sometimes. He suspected she was just doing it to teach him good habits.
"No errands," he said. "I just - I don’t think I realized you were down here every day. You do know -" he looked at the sea and his voice faltered. "You do know how to be safe and not go in too far, right?"
"I’m stronger than the currents," Voronwë said; it was not a boast. "This is a bay, the waves aren’t even really real here. Not like the sea out where it meets the ocean.”
"I suppose not."
"Do you want to come and play?"
"I don’t think I will," his father said. "I’ll watch you at it, though."
Voronwë found himself pouting, even though his mother had told him repeatedly not to do that. “I wish you wouldn’t. Mum does sometimes and then she worries every time a wave hits me - a wave! they’re supposed to do that! - and her hands flap and she looks so miserable that I don’t have any fun.”
"I promise," said his father with great seriousness, "not to worry or look miserable."
He kept his promise. With someone watching who would assuredly save him from drowning if it actually came to that, Voronwë took more risks - headed out farther, climbed taller waves, angled his body to catch a faster ride into shore and a harder landing once he got there. When the sun started setting he was exhausted. He put his sandy clothes back on and took his father’s hand.
"You do that every day?" Aranwë said.
"Most of ‘em."
They walked for a minute in silence. Voronwë had to take three steps to each one of his father’s. “What’d you think I did?” he asked after a moment."Oh, I don’t know. Made sand castles. Played with the other children."
"I was playing with them, we yell to each other when there’s a really good wave on the way.”
"Oh good," his father said. They were walking through the market now. It had been planned as a great wide causeway, with carts lining both sides and a middle row of vendor’s tables that could be removed for major occasions to make this road spacious enough for a parade route. The vendor’s stalls competed not just on the shininess and appealingness of their goods, but also on the sleek, artistic elegance of their stalls. Most of them were carved from pale wood; some had exquisite metal screens, and some had glass worked into their design, so they glittered dizzyingly in the setting sun.
"As good as Valinor," his father murmured approvingly as they passed. It had become not a judgment but a sort of benediction: people said it to each other when they parted. May you meet the fortune that would have found you in Valinor.
"And the beach?" Voronwë asked. "The beach? Is it as beautiful as its sister shore in Valinor?"
His father’s hand went cold and stiff in his. “Who asked you that?”
"No one," Voronwë said indignantly, trying to tug his hand free. "It’s you grownups who say things like that."
"And who else have you asked?"
"No one! Dad, you’re crushing me."
His father let go of his hand. “You shouldn’t ask that,” he said. “It’s like asking who loves the snowfalls in winter. For some people it’s only a painful memory and for some people it’s a grief that they can barely carry, a grief that tears them apart every day.”
"Oh," said Voronwë.
"The King," his father said, "has made an announcement. He made it this morning; all the city is abuzz. He wishes to move from this place to a secret place he has dreamed of." He turned to look at Voronwë very intently. "Ulmo guides the King in dreams."
This seemed perfectly sensible. Voronwë made a face and patted his tender hand so his father would not forget how tightly he’d squeezed it. “So?”
"If we go, we must all go," he said, "the King would not see his people divided. And so it is being debated - should we leave? Should we leave behind everything we have just built, every improvement we have made?"
"The new city, is it by the Sea?"
"No," his father said.
"Then we shouldn’t."
Aranwë laughed. “I were it were so easy. It might be better, even, to leave the Sea.”
"You’re wrong," he said, a little too loudly.
"I realized," his father continued as if uninterrupted, "that I’d spent precious little time living in this city of ours, so concerned were we with trade and imports and resources and building. You will only grow up once. I would prefer not to miss it. In the new city there will be less strife, fewer worries. A safer world.”
"The safe waves are no fun."
"Maybe not when you’re young. When you grow older, though, you start to build things and hope that they won’t wash away." He looked pained.
If he’d realized the stakes Voronwë would have argued harder. But he didn’t, so he let it go. “The new city,” he said, “will it be like Valinor?”
His father brightened. “It will,” he said, and then leaned down and scooped Voronwë into his arm so as to whisper into his son’s ears the longing and defiant words: “even better.”
