#sere rambles

[nycterisg]

Himring is vaguely middle finger shaped so Maedhros simultaneously gets to say fuck you to Morgoth and be a little psychosexual about his fortress because if you aren't a little bit weird about your ever-cold fortified monster are you really living

[nycterisg]

mindless and bloodthirsty Celegorm yes, but what about pre-darkening Tyelkormo, effortlessly charming, with an easy joke always on the tip of his tongue; quick to anger and hold a grudge, but just as quick to burst into warm laughter. So deeply in tune with nature he radiates a certain kind of ancient wisdom. Heavy gaze and a smug, charming smile. He speaks bluntly and harshly and yet with purpose, so his words land heavy, for better or worse

[nycterisg]

divorcecore is hot but have you considered the SoF (Caranthir, Maglor, Curufin)'s wives willingly, ardently joining the Flight? Drag that woman down from the purity of the moral high ground and have her dirtied with the blood of slain kin inconveniently placed between her and - what was that their father in law had said? Farewell to bondage! And isn't Beleriand, with its lands and its people on the other side of the sea, their chance to break the bounds of the patriarchal order and rewrite a new one? and isn't drawing their swords at Alqualonde the moment to prove their valor so often called into question? And in the carnage, aren't they truly their husbands' equals, the blood of the innocent speaking to how far they'll go to become the sole masters of the Unsullied Light?

[nycterisg]

hc Maglor and Maedhros being very close in age (our equivalent of 2 to 4 years apart?) so they grow up deeply intertwined in Tirion, where Maedhros being the heir doesn't really mean all *that much*, at least not to Kanafinwë Makalaurë most renowned bard of the Noldor anyway, so they stand on equal footing, they move as a pair, they're equals. And then Beleriand changes *everything*. Maedhros becomes king and then after his return he is still Maglor's liege and now Maglor cannot simply talk back to him but he must obey. And Maedhros is no longer merely his brother, no longer his closest confidant, and Maglor must guard his back even when he feels like hitting it himself really. So who is Maglor now who is Maedhros where does the brother end and the vassal begin

And it's harder than he thought you know. Maglor struggles to take Maedhros seriously at first because he had never really thought much about Maedhros' position but now it is real. And while he becomes Maedhros' right hand (no pun intended) helping build the reputation of The One Who Came Back From Thangorodrim unscathed, unvanquished, he starts believing his own chants, and Maedhros becomes something far removed from him now - not an elf at all, how could Maglor possibly resemble this white flame that is his lord and still his king. Because if Maedhros is merely an elf, if Maedhros is simply the brother, the brother he knows so intimately, if Maedhros is fallible then what

[nycterisg]

okay but how overwhelming it must be for an ainu to have a body: to have existed, spaceless and timeless, without any cognition of limits or confines, and then suddenly to craft a finite cage of flesh; to act upon matter, through matter. The body is action; the body is dead weight. The body is knowledge, it is to know, to experience the world through touch, sight, hearing, smell, taste. The body is ignorance, perception bound by the senses. The body is horror. The body is pleasure. I bet it's both beguiling and frightening at first, and that it never quite ceases to feel alien.

[nycterisg]

on a general note I find the War of Wrath/brink-of-apocalypse Maedhros–Maglor dynamic exhilarating because Maglor is clearly there screaming "FREE ME!!" while Maedhros is like "dude have you seen me? I'm broke as fuck I possess no shackles you have no shackles". And then they just move forward together because the possibility of parting ways never truly crosses their minds and that point they are practically one person merely fighting with itself really

[nycterisg]

absolutely delicious dynamic for Fingolfin to be Indis’ favorite but for Finarfin to be the one who took after her the most.

I’m specifically thinking of a post-flight context, when vague rumors of one of the princes returning reach Tirion, and Indis flees to the outskirts of the city, flees her own pride because gratitude washes through her anger and pain. The world is darkness, the stars barely outline the tall and noble figure walking toward her with bowed head. Her son! Her beloved son!

And then, at last! He truly stands before her.

Finarfin.

[nycterisg]

The world is a stage and you give yourself to its theatrics. You learned young, and you learned from the best. Now, when the curtain falls, your audience rises, claps and cheers for your performance. Your soul still sings even as you shed your lavish costumes for simpler garments. 

You join your family and they’re ecstatic. You shake your grandfather’s hand firmly, and make sure to brush the corner of Findekano’s lips when he offers his praises. Artanis must be handled with care – too much warmth in your voice, too quick a flutter of your lashes and she might see through the cracks. You avoid her face entirely and hug her instead, affectionate but fleeting. You retreat your teeth and melt your uncle's coolness with the soft curve of your innocuous smile.

You slip a flower into the hair of a maiden passing by.

And then your father comes, engulfing you in the heat of his blind pride. “You were born for this,” he declares, and if your sweat runs cold, no one can tell, for you are basked in the light of his flame.

He kisses your cheeks and you smile at him too, but not too obligingly: draw a thin line across your lips – yes, just like this – so he knows he does not own you. There, you see? You were born for this.