put together for day 1 of @sindarweek, prompt “early days.” the hcs aren’t meant specifically to focus on the early sindar, but since thingol is the subject here, they naturally include a good bit about them. lots of ocs who are members of the proto-sindar
this got pretty graphic towards the end so trigger warning for pretty detailed descriptions of violence! early elves and horror is my jam, and putting characters through terrible things as an expression of love is also my jam, so hereeee goes
thingol and his brothers’ relation to enel and enelye (whom they are canonically descendants of) is that of grandchildren and grandparents. their father, alâkô (“alak” = “rushing/wild wind”, “ô” = primitive elvish masculine ending) is enel and enelye’s eldest son. their mother, luktiênê (“luktiê” = enchantment, “nê” = primitive elvish feminine ending), is the daughter of two of enel and enelye’s close friends of the same generation (aka the og generation of 144 elves who first awakened at cuivienen). she and alako were childhood friends
elwe is closer to his mother than his father, though that’s not at all to say he and alako have a bad relationship. in terms of personality, he takes after luktiene to an almost uncanny degree; his temper, stubbornness, protectiveness, sharp tongue, and commanding presence all come primarily from her, as does his flightiness, love for silly little jokes, and sense of humor. he also has her unusual purple eyes. (olwe’s the one who takes more after alako -- milder and more even-tempered, slower to make judgment calls, but also more calculating)
thingol will later name luthien after his mother!
enel, thingol’s paternal grandfather, particularly cherished him and had a feeling since elwe was a child that he would be an excellent leader. he encourages elwe’s curiosity and adventurousness -- within reason of course -- and kind of lets him get away with a whole lot, much to luktiene and enelye’s exasperation
(tanget here: because thingol has such warm and close memories of his grandfather, he turns out to be very much the same way with his own grandson, albeit he spoils dior more than even enel did him; a luxury he can afford thanks to the relative safety of dior’s childhood and adolescence compared to his own. he too gets the feeling that dior is a natural leader -- but it’s not a future he wants for his grandson. he knows only too intimately the burdens that come with that position. ofc we all know dior does end up having to step into leadership…)
physically elwe resembles his maternal grandfather, khyelesô (“khyel(es)” = “glass,” “ô” = primitive elvish masculine ending), a lot. he never met the man -- who was captured by morgoth’s servants, loosed upon the early elves, before luktiene was fully mature -- but he’s heard many people say he’s the spitting image of him. (he does lose some of that resemblance after meeting melian and spending those years with her in nan elmoth, but their physical similarities, especially in their facial features, remain undeniable)
elwe’s maternal grandmother, ailin (“ailin” = “pool, lake” in primitive elvish), is kind but pretty distant both from him and olwe. luktiene explains to them that ailin withdrew emotionally over the years as more and more of the people she loved were killed, taken, or vanished. the number includes khyeleso but isn’t just him; ailin lost most of her close friends too. as a child, elwe doesn’t get it. he thinks that, if anything, he would cling harder to the people he loves if he lost any one of them. it’s only later in life that he understands where ailin is coming from -- in fact, that urge to close himself off in an attempt to preemptively avoid further pain is something he finds himself having to actively work past in his own emotions. he also comes to recognize to what extent he shares her tendency to entirely hide her more vulnerable feelings -- e.g. grief, fear, guilt -- from anyone but the people who are closest to her
all in all, thingol’s childhood and adolescence were as alright as they could be. they can’t be called happy by any stretch of the imagination -- with unknown dangers lurking everywhere and members of the community, a good amount of whom he knew personally, regularly being snatched off the census by said dangers and either never heard from again or turning up as mangled bodies; everyone’s highkey living in a psychological horror movie -- but he had a loving, stable family and plenty of friends his own age to support him
enel and enelye vanish not long before the war of the powers begins and are presumed to have been taken by morgoth’s servants. their loss affects elwe deeply, especially since he’s still fairly young at the time. he never sees them again and, even until the end of his life, is uncertain of what exactly happened to them. throughout the rest of his time in beleriand he can only pray that they’re dead already, but on some bad days the thought that they might still be out there somewhere, suffering, eats at him. after their disappearance is when the nightmares start -- nightmares about the loss of his loved ones are a recurring thing for the rest of thingol’s life
it doesn’t get much better after that! elwe is already an important leader of the nelyar by the time the valar invite him, along with ingwe and finwe, to valinor as ambassadors, but he has his parents available for counsel or even just for solace and support. however, only a handful of years after the great journey starts and elmo is born, alako and luktiene go missing. people, including elwe himself, try to find them, but it’s no use. he feels sick with the familiar dread he remembers from when enel and enelye disappeared, and every day he just hopes against hope that his parents will somehow turn up unharmed. either alternative -- that they’ll be dead, or they’re alive and being tortured -- is too much for him to contemplate
to make matters worse, elmo is still barely a toddler, and elwe and olwe now have the responsibility of taking care of him when all three of them have in all likelihood just been orphaned or as good as. of course they have friends who are willing to help out, and ailin also steps up and does a good bit of the heavy lifting since she has actual experience raising a child -- but it’s not the same as having their mother and father there
unlike with enel and enelye, thingol actually does get to know what happened to his parents. alako is found first, his body dangling by the neck from the branches of an oak tree. his face has been mutilated -- tongue cut out, one eye entirely missing, deep gouges across his skull -- his limbs have been broken in odd directions, and his abdomen and chest have been horrifically disfigured. he’s given a cremation, and elwe hugs a quietly weeping olwe as they watch their father’s body burn
it’s some years later, when elwe is on patrol with caranor (oc, one of thingol’s close followers, i’ll probably expand on him sometime), that he finds luktiene at the bottom of an immense sequoia tree. at first, elwe thinks she’s dead. her hair is matted with blood from a traumatic head injury, she’s missing fingers, her cheeks and eye sockets are sunken in, and her lips are blue. her body is battered and scraped, as if she was dragged carelessly across rough ground for a long distance. it’s only when elwe runs to her and gathers her in his arms that he realizes her chest is moving very faintly. she stirs and opens her eyes, and when she recognizes him, her first words are to order him to kill her
and she is ordering him -- elwe can always tell when there’s no arguing with his mother. still, he tries to protest; that they can bring her back, that surely someone can do something, that ailin is waiting, that olwe and elmo are waiting. but it’s obvious, both to him and caranor and luktiene herself, that there’s no way to save her. all they’re doing is prolonging her pain
in the end, he complies
he and caranor bring luktiene’s body back to the teleri settlement. olwe and ailin keep asking what happened, but elwe won’t talk about it, no matter how much they pry. caranor doesn’t say anything either, but elwe can see the worry in his eyes when he looks at him
every time caranor tries to bring up what happened to him, elwe shuts the conversation down. he throws himself into his everyday tasks -- hunting, fishing, foraging, making clothes and bedsheets and blankets, mediating between the elves -- with obsessive intensity. he puts distance between himself and everyone he’s close to, even his brothers. he finds it’s hard for him to process luktiene’s death and its circumstances; everything surrounding it feels surreal, like a dream
it’s in this (fairly short) period of time that elwe grows exponentially closer to ailin. he goes to her -- not quite thinking about it, to be frank -- and ends up telling her what happened. ailin listens. when he’s finished she admits that she’s never been good at comforting others and doesn’t have anything she can say or do for him, and for some reason, elwe finds himself comforted by that. he consciously realizes then why he spilled everything to her specifically: they both deal with loss the same way, with burning sorrow that expresses itself as coldness, withdrawal, and self-isolation -- and that shared understanding helps both of them find an odd measure of peace. if not for her, elwe thinks he probably would have lost himself to his grief completely
(jumping to the future real quick -- ailin is among the teleri who leave with olwe’s host for valinor rather than remain in beleriand. though thingol is saddened to hear this when he returns from nan elmoth with melian, he understands how tired she was, and for how long)
thanks to ailin, elwe begins to come back to himself. in some ways he still feels shattered, but he mends the distance that’s grown between himself and the people around him, explains at last to olwe and elmo what exactly happened, and actually allows himself to properly mourn luktiene
elwe and finwe haven’t been in contact since before luktiene’s death -- partly because elwe stopped responding to his friend’s communications -- so he reaches out to him again. their subsequent meeting is a good one; when it’s over, they say a fond goodbye, plan to meet again within the month (note that the concept of a month itself doesn’t exist in-universe at this point, the passage of time is measured by the stars), and elwe strikes out on his way back home. as he gets farther and farther from the place finwe and his people have settled, the stars seem to grow brighter, and he notices that the birds are becoming strangely loud and strangely harmonious. it should make him uneasy -- he’s never heard anything like it before, and he and his people know the dangers that can hide in the forest -- but instead, instinctively, he feels a deep sense of safety and peace
Anyway, I will try to catch up. So day one, shipping :
Meet Harold. Minstrel, born in Esgaroth, wanderer, poet, philosopher. If you want to learn more about him read further ! And mind that english is not my first language, hence the poor writing.
My name is Harold.
I am not of high lineage, nor very strong of limb, nor rich - but I am a poet, and a minstrel, and a philosopher. I love all things living, and all I meet I try to look upon with a gentle heart.
I grew up in the wallowing canals of Laketown, hopping from stilt to stilt, catching small fish, running and swimming and canoeing everywhere I could — sometimes with a certain Bard, who would become a famous bowman and more, in further days — and I was happy with this simple life.
Then, of course, everything changed. The dragon destroyed the life I had just built : a house, a marriage, a good lute and a blooming trade.
Bard offered me to be his court minstrel, when they rebuilt Dale, and I accepted for a time. There were lots of dwarves and elves to learn from, telling stories and songs, reshaping my world. But then the merry craze of the rebuilding eased down in a nice little routine, and I found myself hungry. I looked down upon the long lake, and dreamt of a larger body of water, the fabled sea described by the elves in their tales. One of them was a minstrel too, and he worked with the dwarves on a new instrument for me. Not a lute, but a curious thing, with a keypad, and a wheel. It made a sound like the hammers of dwarves and the constant singing of elven voices. He had one just like it, except far more ancient and it moved on its own at will. He taught me before I left.
I bid everyone adieu, and away I went, going westwards always.
Of my stay in the halls of the Elven kingdom in the woods, I will not talk here, nor of my dreary crossing of the mountain passes, far up north. These were times full of wonders and peril, and it would be too long to disclose them now.
One night, I was running from a pack of Wargs, and I would have perished if two tall warriors had not come to succor me. Elladan and Elrohir were there names, the stern faced sons of Elrond. I was famished and somewhat delirious. They brought me back to their father, who tended to my wounds and cured me. When I got better, he told me I was welcome to stay in Imladris as long as I wished.
For a time, I was content there. The many wonders filled my soul with awe and an eagerness to learn, I played music and told tales in the Fire Room with the elves, I spent my days in the grand library. When he could, the Lord Elrond would share kind words with me, and we would go for a walk. Strangely, we seemed to often cross paths with an odd figure : a lady, a human just like me, standing or sitting by a pond in a small grove, all by herself. He told me she was of the blood of kings. Gilraen was her name.
I began to seek her company. Elves are wonderful to be around, but sometimes, I longed for something simpler : the warmth and comfort of a mortal presence.
She was very fair, but also immensely sad, and terribly alone. Lines were starting to crease her face, but altered nothing to the beautiful graveness of her grey gaze, and time could do nothing to the grace of her stance.
She did not talk to me, but she did not bid me leave, so I sat by her side on the water’s edge, and I played tunes sad and merry, and I sang, and I told my story and many others.
Autumn passed, and winter made us stay indoors. She did not come down often to have supper with the others. One afternoon though, I was alone by the hearth, changing the cottons on my hurdy-gurdy, and she quietly came to sit beside me.
« Pray, my good sir, sing one of your merry songs », she asked. I obliged happily.
She began to invite me for supper, from time to time. She went more often to join the crowd in the dining hall, too.
And as winter grew colder and harsher, she in contrast seemed to thaw, and began to talk to me.
She told me of her early marriage, of the tall, dark, very handsome man who had wedded her, and left her never to return, two years later. She told me of the horrible vision of his pierced skull, blood clotting the eye socket. She told me of her smiling boy, who could not understand why she cried and held him so tight. She told me of her grief when he, too, left, called by a destiny too heavy for his young shoulders. She told me of her solitude, of her regrets.
By springtime, we were good friends — and one bright morning, she smiled and laughed as I imitated the call of the lark.
This smile — like the first ray of sun after long weeks of rain — it made me bold, and I took her hand and kissed it, and she took my face in her hands, and she in turn kissed my mouth.
The lord Elrond did not seem to be around much anymore, but when I saw him from afar, a few days later, he waved at us and smiled a strange smile.
I dared not kiss her again — but we walked together and held hands, and we were happy, for a time.
Then one night I had stayed for supper, and it was very late, and the fire was warm, and the wine was sweet — and we kissed again. And again. And again.
I woke up in a chilly bed. She was standing by the window, arms crossed.
« I cannot do this », she simply said.
« You have the right to enjoy life while you can », I replied, very softly.
« I do not think my people would understand. I do not think my son —
— Where is he now ? Where is your son ? And are you persuaded that he would deny his mother what happiness she can find now that he is away, and his father long gone ? »
She turned to me, a grave look on her face.
« He would not. But you do not know who you speak of. »
I remember losing my voice, for the first time. After a while, I found it back, for there was one question that would not let me rest until I had asked :
« What if you have a child from me ? »
« It will not happen.» Her voice was sharp as a blade. « I made sure. »
« Ah. »
There was nothing more to say.
On the morning after, my little bundle was packed. The elves were a little saddened to lose their human minstrel, and gifted me with many precious and useful things for my travel. I would go to sea, as I had planned all along. She was not among the crowd when I departed, but I thought I caught a glimpse of a white dress behind a tall arch, high up the walls of the Last Homely Home.
I made many songs in the days that followed.
Months after, I made it to Mithlond, and the Great Sea. It had a soothing vastness, an emptiness that demanded to be plunged into. Nothing kept me on earth, and the great voice of Ulmo was calling to me. They would not let me board a ship, but Cirdan did not mind if I watched as they built their ships, so I observed, and I learned. I tried, and I failed, but eventually, I got better.
In my old days, I completed my own boat. It was not as beautiful as the elven ships, but it was sturdy and solid.
“Then a winter, as it were the hoar age of mortal Men, fell upon Thingol.” (Chapter 19, The Silmarillion)
The king moves as if in a trance, and Caranor can hardly stand to watch it. It is only his love for his liege, and the protectiveness that comes from it – though nary a soul is unaware that the king of Doriath does not need protection from anyone – which keeps his eyes bound to the tall silver form around which the throng parts. They part, and then the king is there, upon him but not seeing him.
Caranor steps aside as his lord passes. He must lower his eyes, for even the brief glimpse of King Elu’s face that catches within them threatens to unravel him.
