There was Fingon, walking toward the platform with Anairë and Nolofinwë on either side. He was resplendent, clad in a pale blue garment that swept from his shoulders to the ground, a gown with a night-dark cape trailing behind him. His dark hair was braided into a crown, intertwined with golden ribbons whose ends hung about his ears. He, too, wore a necklace, bearing the sun of Finwë that had been adopted by all the High Kings since him, wrought in shimmering blue metal to match the colors of Fingon's own house.
The sight of his beloved so radiant and joyful took Maedhros' breath away. He thought he could faint from the wonder of it all. What had he done to deserve this happiness, this glorious moment, this beautiful man?
When he looked back upon their wedding day, Maedhros could not remember all the words spoken nor the tears shed. But the sight of his Finno staring up at him with a gentle smile as they exchanged rings of promise and the necklaces bearing the emblems of their houses stayed with him forever.
A commission of the Russingon wedding scene at the end of my fic ATATYA, done by the amazing @princess-faelivrin! Thank you so much, they’re beautiful <3
You said you had a theory on Tauriel being related to the Fëanorians, could you elaborate on that? I have been thinking about it a lot.
Yes! This will eventually show up in my fic In the Grey (if I ever get around to updating that...) and has already been discussed in ATATYA, but here’s the basic summary of my headcanon:
Amras marries Thennes, an OC marchwarden of Doriath. It’s kind of a rivals to lovers situation, and when Thingol bans Quenya Thennes goes off at him and then leaves to join the Feanorians permanently.
Eventually the Second Kinslaying happens. Thennes was very reluctant to be involved; she and Amras fight about it the night before and end up having some rough angry sex. Amras promises to try and keep the violence to a minimum - but that pretty much fails immediately. Doriath is a bloodbath. Thennes is torn between her loyalty to the Feanorians and her husband and her Sindarin kin, and ends up fleeing the worst of the fight. She helps some civilians flee from the battle.
After the worst of the fighting has died down, Thennes comes across some of Celegorm’s servants with Elured and Elurin. The servants are about to kill the children, but Thennes surprises them and kills them instead. At this point Amras finds her again; they fight, and Thennes returns her wedding ring and breaks their marriage bond. She makes Amras swear to tell everyone that she died and that the princes of Doriath were lost in the woods. Maedhros tries to find the twins, and Amras wants to tell him the truth but can’t because of his promise to the wife he still loves.
Thennes takes Elured and Elurin across the Blue Mountains and away from the horrors of Beleriand. As they travel, she realizes she’s pregnant with Amras’ child. Her son is born around the area that will become the Shire; she names him Collas. He has his father’s red hair. Eventually Thennes takes her boys to Mirkwood, where they settle down for awhile. Collas is raised among the Silvan elves; Elured and Elurin change their names to Tinuloth and Tinudil, and they all put their pasts behind them.
Eventually Collas grows up and has a child of his own, Merilon, who also has the Feanorian red hair. By this point Thennes and the twins she kidnapdopted are itching to travel again; they stay long enough so Merilon will remember them, but then start wandering around Middle-earth. They do visit Mirkwood occasionally.
Merilon grows up and marries an elleth named Arasseth; they have a child of their own. Unfortunately, the village where they live is attacked by orcs and Merilon and Arasseth are killed - but Legolas, prince of Mirkwood, comes to the rescue just in time to save their daughter, Tauriel. He takes the girl to the palace and Thranduil finds her a foster family to grow up with; she’s not a foster daughter of the king, but he is interested in her wellbeing, and eventually she grows up and joins the Guard, even becoming its Captain.
After the Battle of the Five Armies, Tauriel takes to wandering herself. She probably runs into her ancestress Thennes at some point, and definitely runs into Maglor, who is very spooked by how much she resembles his long-dead brother.
(Even later, she sails to Valinor and meets Maedhros...because let me tell you, the Kiliel and Russingon parallels are Something...but I haven’t written that fic yet.)
@tolkiengenweek day three | gray spaces | thennes, eluréd, and elurín
Thus the sons of Fëanor under Maedhros were the lords of East Beleriand, but their people were in that time mostly in the north of the land, and southward they rode only to hunt in the greenwoods. But there Amrod and Amras had their abode, and they came seldom northward while the Siege lasted; and there also other of the Elf-lords would ride at times, even from afar, for the land was wild but very fair.
—The Silmarillion, “Of Beleriand and its Realms”
But Dior returned no answer to the sons of Fëanor; and Celegorm stirred up his brothers to prepare an assault upon Doriath. They came at unawares in the middle of winter, and fought with Dior in the Thousand Caves; and so befell the second slaying of Elf by Elf. There fell Celegorm by Dior's hand, and there fell Curufin, and dark Caranthir; but Dior was slain also, and Nimloth his wife, and the cruel servants of Celegorm seized his young sons and left them to starve in the forest. Of this Maedhros indeed repented, and sought for them long in the woods of Doriath; but his search was unavailing, and of the fate of Eluréd and Elurín no tale tells.
—The Silmarillion, “Of the Ruin of Doriath”
For more about my OC Thennes, check out her tag and chapter 4 of this fic!
@feanorianweek day six | amras, thennes, and amrod
The final two sons of Fëanor were A M R A S and A M R O D, the twins collectively known as A M B A R U S S A. Their birth caused a strain on the relationship of their parents, especially when they disagreed over the prophetic nature of Amrod’s mother-name. Nonetheless the boys were beloved by all their family, and grew into mighty hunters.
They followed their father to Middle-earth, but Amrod had second thoughts and secretly wished to return to Valinor. He stayed aboard the ships, unaware that Fëanor planned to burn them in order to strand Fingolfin and his host upon the far shores; though he escaped, he was badly burned and forever disfigured.
In Beleriand the twins roamed the plains and forests of the east with only a small company of followers, exploring the borders of Doriath where Amras met the marchwarden T H E N N E S. Amras was the only one of his brothers to marry while in Beleriand, and though Thennes was welcomed warmly into the family, her marriage to Amras for a time drove a wedge between the twins.
Thennes turned from her husband at the Second Kinslaying, refusing to participate in the slaughter of her kin. When she left Amras she in secret took the young twins Eluréd and Elurín with her as atonement for the deeds of her husband, and with them disappeared from any great tales.
Amrod and Amras died side by side in the Third Kinslaying, together to the very end.
The Elf Who Circumnavigated Arda in a Ship of Their Own Making
Three letters home from a Telerin adventurer.
for @tolkiengenweek day 4: solo! based off a throwaway detail from ch7 of my fic ATATYA, this is the story of “a Teler who was attempting to circumnavigate the globe after Eru first changed the world.”
Rating: G | No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Telerin Sailor & Their Mother
Characters: Ranyatië (OC)
Word count: 1.2k
@feanorianweek day two | maglor, daeron, and ezellë
The second son of Fëanor was M A G L O R, one of the greatest singers and musicians of all Elvendom. In Valinor Maglor wed E Z E L L Ë, a writer with whom he often collaborated, but when the Flight of the Noldor came she did not accompany him to Middle-earth, remaining faithful instead to the Valar.
In Beleriand Maglor followed the leadership of his elder brother and was Maedhros’ right hand at all times. He held Maglor’s Gap, guarding the mountain pass against the Enemy’s intrusion from the north. At the Mereth Aderthad he met D A E R O N, the great Sindarin minstrel, and began a tumultuous relationship with him that flared on and off throughout the early centuries of the First Age.
After the Second and Third Kinslayings, only Maglor and Maedhros alone remained of the sons of Fëanor. Maglor adopted the children of Elwing, raising Elrond and Elros as his own sons, but was forced to part from them during the War of Wrath. When he and Maedhros reclaimed the Silmarils at last, the jewel burned his hand and in despair he cast it into the sea even as his brother carried the other into the depths of a fiery chasm.
Now alone, Maglor wandered the shores of Beleriand and passed from recorded history, save for the echo of his lament the Noldolantë upon the ocean air. Rumors speak of his reunion with Elrond in later ages, of meeting the also-wandering Daeron once more, of returning to Valinor, but whether these whispers are true none can say for certain.
@feanorianweek day four | caranthir, haleth, and rýndil
The fourth son of Fëanor was C A R A N T H I R the Dark, who dwelt in Thargelion in the uttermost east of Beleriand. He was ever the most reclusive of his brothers and quickest to anger, but he was shrewd and clever also and traded extensively with the peoples of Beleriand, Sindar, Khazâd, and Edain alike.
It was thus that he met H A L E T H the Chieftain of the Haladin as her people were besieged by orcs. He came too late to save her father and brother, and Haleth herself spurned his offer of lordship, instead leading her people westward to Brethil. But Caranthir was intrigued by this mortal woman and would visit her from time to time in her new lands, and they grew quite close.
Caranthir knew not that Haleth had born him a child, R Ý N D I L, among the first of the peredhel. Rýndil dwelt mostly with the Haladin, essaying forth to battle from time to time, and it was not until the Fall of Nargothrond that they departed their home for good. It was then that they met Gil-galad, another peredhel whose true heritage was hidden from the world, and the two fell in love while traveling to the Havens of Sirion with the remnants of the Nargothrondrim.
Caranthir died in the Second Kinslaying, and Rýndil in the Third, slain by their own kin unbeknownst to all but themself.
for @feanorianweek, day 5: Curufin. this fic is my headcanons for how the Second Kinslaying went down. this is a dream/flashback from chapter 4 of a longer fic about the Feanorians’ rebirth, but it stands on its own and i’m quite proud of it so i wanted to share it again!!
CW: canonical character death, graphic depictions of violence
~
Maedhros tells them to hold back as long as they can. Curufin tries to listen, but he is so full of anger; the Oath pushes him forward...
They are met by a line of guards—marchwardens summoned home to protect Menegroth from attack. They are not enough, not without Melian's protection. Maedhros orders not to kill them unless they must. Curufin tries to obey, he truly does, but the first marchwarden cuts down one of his warriors and he sees red. Before he knows it, he has killed again.
It's never easy. Looking into the glassy eyes of another elf, their blood on your hands, their fae drained away... Your own fae is tattered at the edges, bleeding out its light. Curufin isn't just tattered, he's shredded into pieces.
Caranthir charges forward, wreaking a path of destruction. He screams Dior's name, taunting him, goading him to come out and fight. "Or are you content to let your people die for you?" he cries. Curufin is too caught up in the battle to feel anything other than a brief pang of fear for his brother. Caranthir fights alone: it is his way, has always been his way.
Maedhros and Maglor are together, bellowing commands to their warriors, trying to keep the bloodshed to a minimum. Maglor weaves between Maedhros' swordstrokes, dancing in a rhythm only he can hear. He is preparing for something, Curufin knows. Something powerful. Maedhros stands tall, defending. He cuts down only those who come for him, never seeking out an opponent. He doesn't have to: he is the leader, the eldest, the fiery beacon burning through the gaping wounds in his fae. He is the target.
The twins are hidden in the trees. They and their archers rain arrows upon the warriors; the strategy is not as effective as it would have been in their own lands. The marchwardens know their home too well, and clamber up the branches to fight them closer.
He and Celegorm are back to back, working together as they always have. They are better as a unit, fiercer and sharper and faster. United with his brother, Curufin is unstoppable. Celegorm is wildness, he is cleverness. Together they are a force to be reckoned with.
The carnage outside the throne room is sickening, even to Curufin. He wades in blood, widening his stance so he does not slip; he watches less experienced fighters trip over the bodies of their fallen kin. When one marchwarden falters in such a blunder, Curufin lunges, splitting him open from groin to gullet.
At last they see Dior. He is radiant, glowing like a Calaquendi, but all seven Fëanorians can see at once that he has hidden the Silmaril. It may still be on his person, or it may be elsewhere—where is it? where is it? where is it?
Caranthir screams and rushes forward into the throne room. He babbles some nonsense about a Maia's bastard, coming completely unhinged. Curufin exchanges one look with Celegorm, and they hurry to their brother's aid.
They can't get close enough. Behind him, Curufin can hear Maglor's voice raised in a song of power, and the earth trembles—the walls outside the throne room collapse. They are trapped inside. The fighting intensifies; Curufin and Celegorm protect Caranthir's back, holding back anyone who tries to assault him in his march to Dior, but they cannot reach him.
"What is he doing?" Celegorm bellows. "This is madness! He'll be killed!"
Caranthir has cast down his shield. He holds a blade in either hand, and he leaps toward Dior, who catches those twin blades with his own curved sword.
Madness. Yes, that was the right word. Caranthir had gone mad, heedless of his many wounds, completely berserk. Celegorm cried out to him, but Curufin knew it wouldn't work. Caranthir was too far gone inside his own mind.
Dior's blade has sliced through Caranthir's armor, through his skin, through his belly, straight through to the other side of his body.
Caranthir goes still, staring into Dior's gleaming eyes. "Kinslayer," he says through a mouthful of blood, before he falls limp, Dior's blade sliding out of him.
Fool. A damn fool, that's what he was. Curufin's hot tears blind him as he rushes forward, heedless of who he's killing as he fights his way to his brother's body. Celegorm roars, and he's no singer like Maglor, but the sound sends a wave of force throughout the throne room. Every elf tumbles to the ground—only Curufin, standing in his shadow, keeps his footing. He darts forward, slicing throats, slitting wrists, stealing life from all those around him. He isn't sure if all his own warriors had already fallen, or if he had killed them all too, but by the time he regains control of himself, only he, Celegorm, and Dior are standing.
"You know," Celegorm growls as he advances on the murderous king, "if you had surrendered and given us the Silmaril, we would have spared you. Even if we'd already started fighting. But now?" He lunges forward, nicking Dior on the arm before his blow is deflected. "Now, I don't care what you do. I'm going to fucking disembowl you."
"Oh, yes," Curufin hisses, mirroring his brother as the duel begins in earnest. "You killed our brother. I am going to enjoy your suffering, Dior Eluchíl."
(The worst thing, Curufin thinks later, after it is all over, is that it is absolutely true. He never took pleasure in murder, despite what the stories may have said. He accepted it as part of the Oath they had sworn and didn't waste time obsessing over the guilt—not the way Nelyo did—but he never liked it. But this time...)
This time, he relishes every second of Dior's pain and fear. He draws it out, longer than he needs to, balancing Celegorm's impatient fury. Dior knows he's losing, but he holds his own against the two most fearsome warriors left living in Beleriand. He must have known this day would come, must have been raised in fear of the Fëanorians.
Well, good, Curufin thinks as he cuts one of Dior's sleeves off, then the other, grinning as Dior gasps from the pain of the shallow grazes on his arms. He deserves every second of terror, for what he had done to Caranthir.
"Shall we finish him, brother?" he asks Celegorm.
"I think we shall," Celegorm growls. He raises his sword for one final, heaving blow—
And Dior, faster than Curufin thought anyone could be, twists away from Curufin and drives his blade right into Celegorm's chest.
Celegorm finishes his movement, thrown off balance by the deadly wound but still managing to slice open Dior's stomach. His guts spill across his body with an acidic stench that rises to Curufin's nostrils, but he barely notices as Celegorm heaves his last breath and falls, glassy-eyed, to the blood-drenched floor.
Dior tumbles to the ground, groaning horribly, his sword clattering out of his hand. Curufin turns away from him, kneeling beside Celegorm's body, howling his grief. He feels as if half his soul has been torn from him. Celegorm is dead.
Curufin rises, trembling. He casts aside his own blade and picks up Dior's sword, advancing on his fallen foe.
"Where is it?" he hisses. "The Silmaril! Where is it?"
Dior laughs, an awful, guttural sound. "You'll never get it," he rasps. "Never. Not even—" he coughs, choking on his own blood— "not even if you slaughter everyone in Doriath. You'll never find it."
Curufin's rage is controlled, precise. He has honed it over his entire life like he would any other weapon, and even now he does not lose that control.
"My brother was always true to his word," he says softly, almost conversationally. "He promised to disembowl you." Curufin prods the mass of putrid guts spilling out of Dior's stomach, chuckling. "And he did it. I, however, am a known liar. I said I would enjoy your death. Now I am not so sure. Perhaps I will let you lie here until the rats come to feast upon you. I should let you bleed out, long and slow. You are going to die, you know."
Fear flickers in Dior's eyes. Curufin smiles.
"Yes, I think I'll do that," he says. "Let you go at your own pace. That will delay the inevitable."
"You..." Dior rasps, but Curufin cuts him off.
"Ah ah ah," he tuts. "Talking only makes it worse."
He shifts as if to turn around, letting Dior think he's gotten off the hook, that perhaps there may some way his Ainur blood could stitch him back together. He sees Dior relax slightly out of the corner of his eye.
Then he spins back around, shoving Dior's own blade down his throat until he chokes on it, bursting through his esophagus and pinning him to the floor. Dior screams, as much as a dying man with a sword through his throat can scream, and the awful noise causes a thrill of sadistic joy in the pit of Curufin's stomach.
The scream trails off into a hideous gurgle, and Curufin's shoulders slump. Grief at last overtakes him, and he shakes as sobs rack his body. Caranthir is dead. Celegorm is dead. Dior is dead, also, but the Silmaril is not on his body. Unless the others have discovered it, this horror is all in vain...
The others. Maedhros, Maglor, Amrod, Amras. He must tell them what had happened. He must be the one to deliver the heartbreaking news that two of them had fallen. He must—
"Oh," he says softly as he feels cold steel run through his back and watches as a sword slides through his belly. He is dizzy all of a sudden, though his rhaw has gone numb and all sense of pain is dulled.
Curufin topples backward, falling on the hilt of the sword, the weight of his body pushing the blade deeper into his torso. He looks up, mouth hanging open in surprise, to see a slight and silvery figure hovering above him, her bloodstained hands clasped over her mouth in horror. Nimloth has taken vengeance for her husband.
He locks eyes with her. He is barely aware of what he whispers in his dying breath, but she hears it, the echo of Caranthir's last accusation:
"Kinslayer."
~
[read more about Curvo’s thoughts “after it is all over” in ATATYA, the fic i pulled this snippet from! and please, please leave a comment if you enjoy!]
