#thorondor

[zishiyao]

The Rescue of Maedhros

[irrational-philosophy]

part 2 of my copper-haired Maedhros au (with even more oxidation thanks to hanging on a cliff for 30 years 😬)

… and some much later aftermath with Curufin and Celebrimbor

[barelyanartblog]

"But Fingon could not release the hell-wrought bond upon his carpal pad, nor sever it, nor draw it from the stone. Again therefore in his pain Maedhros begged that he would slay him; but Fingon cut off his paw above the carpal pad, and Thorondor bore them back to Mithrim."

– Of the Return of the Noldor, The Silmeowrillion

[chiliadicorum]

I sometimes love getting in Fingon's headspace after he found out that Thorondor delivered Fingolfin's body to Turgon (however long that news took), especially when he must have believed he was on good terms with the eagle king (you know, after that whole rescue thing and all). He spent every year of their foray into beleriand by his father's side, fighting the battle with him. He must've been so torn...

What did I do wrong?

Is it because I'm a kinslayer? Maedhros and his brothers never got to have their father's body...

Do I not deserve to say goodbye...

Fingon never got to see his father again after he road off, alive or dead. I wonder if there was confusion, or anger, jealousy? Or maybe he knew the reason why and made his peace with it. Either one, no way it was easy.

[arofili]

@russingon-week day six | rescue from thangorodrim

Thus Fingon found what he sought. For suddenly above him far and faint his song was taken up, and a voice answering called to him. Maedhros it was that sang amid his torment. But Fingon climbed to the foot of the precipice where his kinsman hung, and then could go no further; and he wept when he saw the cruel device of Morgoth. Maedhros therefore, being in anguish without hope, begged Fingon to shoot him with his bow; and Fingon strung an arrow, and bent his bow. And seeing no better hope he cried to Manwë, saying: ‘O King to whom all birds are dear, speed now this feathered shaft, and recall some pity for the Noldor in their need!’ His prayer was answered swiftly. For Manwë to whom all birds are dear, and to whom they bring news upon Taniquetil from Middle-earth, had sent forth the race of Eagles, commanding them to dwell in the crags of the North, and to keep watch upon Morgoth; for Manwë still had pity for the exiled Elves. And the Eagles brought news of much that passed in those days to the sad ears of Manwë. Now, even as Fingon bent his bow, there flew down from the high airs Thorondor, King of Eagles, mightiest of all birds that have ever been, whose outstretched wings spanned thirty fathoms; and staying Fingon's hand he took him up, and bore him to the face of the rock where Maedhros hung. But Fingon could not release the hell-wrought bond upon his wrist, nor sever it, nor draw it from the stone. Again therefore in his pain Maedhros begged that he would slay him; but Fingon cut off his hand above the wrist, and Thorondor bore them back to Mithrim.

—The Silmarillion, “Of the Return of the Noldor”

Thus he rescued his friend of old from torment, and their love was renewed; and the hatred between the houses of Fingolfin and Fëanor was assuaged.

—The War of the Jewels, “The Grey Annals” (Year of the Sun 5)

[marhelf]

Eonwe and Thorondor. The messengers

[thesummerestsolstice]

A Birdwatcher's Guide to Rivendell - Expected Sightings

(Exerpt from Bilbo Baggins' A Hobbit's Traveling Companion)

Many species of singing finches, some of the color and kind of the Shire, but some of bright hues– dusty pinks, deep purples, and gentle greens– that I have yet to see anywhere else.

A great number of sweet-singing nightingales.

Ducks. For the avid birders among you I would recommend visiting in the spring and early summer to ensure you see the duckling season.

An exceedingly small type of shimmering bird which does the work of a bee and which the elves refer to as "hummingbirds." Feeders are set up for them around the valley and, with much patience and time, they can be convinced to eat out of one's hand.

A number of swans, both black and white. Very elegant, though best witnessed at some distance. One of these has silver feathers and often seems to be "laughing." This one you will find on certain days only, usually following Lord Elrond.

A small population of chickens. Apparently they were a gift to Lord Elrond, and intended to be eaten, but instead have become the collective pets of the valley. They are dark-feathered and, apparently, dark-fleshed, though I can't be sure of that last bit.

Addendum to the previous note about nightingales: there is one in particular, which sings much better than the rest, though much more sadly. It is easy to recognize, as unlike all the others, it is pure white.

Owls. The natural kind in Rivendell are the horned ones, though you will occasionally also spot barn owls, which are apparently messengers from the witch of Lothlorien. They are given time to rest and eat before being sent back, and enjoy perching on any in the valley who will let them.

Doves and pigeons, of all shapes and colors, taken as both messengers and as pets by various inhabitants. Lord Elrond is occasionally numbered amongst these, though I can always pick him out.

Eagles, which are magnificent to behold. One particularly large bird– which can speak in elvish tongue– occasionally joins the household for dinner. I am told his name is Thorondor, and that he has a long-standing friendship with the Lord Glorfindel. He has also obliged my of my questions about the history of the First Age.

Pheasants and quails of many varieties. They appear to gather in the valley because hunting is forbidden there, and enjoy mostly peaceful lives because of it.

One magpie. Initially I thought there was a small population, but after careful observation, there really is just the one. He's a fiend about shiny objects, and difficult to spot, but has a rather remarkable singing voice, especially for such a bird. I have found him often in concert with the white nightingale– a behavior I have not observed amongst any other birds. It is a marvelous performance, and I wouldn't miss it.

Lindir, who has the most birdish mannerisms of any elf I've ever met, and who therefore counts as one, by my reckoning. He does also sing very nicely.

[polutrope]

“Why have you brought him here?” Turgon finds breath to speak at last, slumping towards his father’s body. But the bare rocks cannot answer, and Thorondor has long departed. There is no one to speak on behalf of the King of Arda, if this deed was even at Manwë’s behest. The servants of the Valar work in strange ways, even as their lords.

Maedhros was brought back maimed, but alive.

To Turgon Thorondor has brought Fingolfin’s mangled corpse.

“Wherefore?” Turgon’s hands shake as he gropes at the humid warmth of his father’s gambeson, fingers brushing the raised threads of embroidered flames. Once bright bursts of yellow, they are stained damp and dark with blood. Turgon chokes on his grief. A cloud of guilt bloats his chest.

It is well that he can say no more, for the questions that weigh upon his thoughts would blaspheme the Powers.

What was he to do? The Lord of Waters himself had commanded it. Build a city; take refuge. None shall see thy going. So he left them: father, brother, all. And now here is Fingolfin, face bloodied, jaw askew, to torment him. Could he have chosen otherwise?

How many more? How many more have fallen, whose bodies will find no lofty cairn in the Echoriath?

Does his brother live, and reign now alone?

Never again, Turgon swears. Morgoth has been cowed; his father has seen to it. But he will rise again, and when the assault comes — from the North or South — whether the Valar will it or no, Turgon will open the leaguer, and he will march forth to fight beside kin and people.

AO3