galadrielmaxxing. artanispilled. nerwenfocusing. etc etc
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One Nice Bug Per Day

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@thesilverfist
galadrielmaxxing. artanispilled. nerwenfocusing. etc etc
The separation began as a crack. When they spoke the words of the Oath, his mouth remained closed, and his mind rejected the evil they wove into mantles. He wasn’t where he was supposed to be; instead of joining his father, his uncles, his grandfather when they’d gone to take the ships from the Teler, he’d remained with his cousins.
The crack became a ditch when he saw the horrors that followed the taking of those ships, dug deeper and deeper with the cries from Findarato, from Angarato and Ambarato, from Artanis herself, weeping for their slain kin. He would have understood if they’d abandoned him, but they did not.
The ditch became a moat when he witnessed the unfortunate death of Ambarussa the elder and the beginnings of Feanaro’s madness. Neither Maitimo nor Macalaure stopped him when he left for Nolofinwe’s camp and the safety of his cousins’ campfire.
The moat became a river when he was left with Nolofinwe’s host to cross the Helcaraxe, and it widened and deepened with every life lost to the cold and ice. His uncles and father tried to build a bridge across that river when they’d caught up to Feanaro’s supporters, only to find that Feanaro himself had perished. Maitimo refused the crown, giving it Nolofinwe instead.
The bridge was raized, the river becoming a canyon when his father and some of his uncles attacked Nargothrond. He forsook his name, forsook his heritage, spitting in his father’s face and called himself Feanorion no longer.
The chasm only widened with each reported death from the family he no longer loved, and widened further still with Findarato, Angarato, and Ambarato’s deaths. He only had Artanis to cling to, and she’d chosen another. But she never let him go, keeping a hand always about his wrist to follow in her wake. He only removed her hand when his folly and pride spelled doom for their people. Only then did he return the star to his armor and cloak. The descendants of Feanaro, after all, were doomed, Oath taken or not.
And even then, she did not let him go until she felt his spirit fly away West, to the home she was no longer allowed to return to. And when he went to Mandos, he found the chasm between him and his blood family was as wide as the ocean, and he was content to stay on his own side of it until the world broke.
celebrimbor and his legacy
Reaching through the fog of night, To avenge those long betrayed.
Arwen’s banner
Arwen, granddaughter of Galadriel, who made the star-glass that drove back Shelob and broke the will of the Watchers, and the Mirror that can look across space and time and see possible futures, as well as cloaks that can hide you from your enemies and lembas bread that keeps you on your feet when you otherwise would just lie down to die. Arwen, who made Frodo a ‘white stone’ that helped him in his darkest moments after the Ring was destroyed. Arwen, who grew up in Rivendell with the remains of the Gwaith-i-Mirdain. Arwen, Celebrimbor’s cousin, daughter of Elrond, master of lore and language. That banner was not just a flag. I honestly read it as a Thing of Power, like the Rings, like the star-glass, and the Mirror. I love the idea that although Arwen didn’t come to fight in the battle with her brothers, she made Aragorn a banner that would be a weapon to encourage his armies and terrify his enemies. (Arwen is of course Sindar/Edain/Vanyar/Noldor with a teaspoon of Maia, but culturally that particular thing feels very Noldor.)
@cycas I have posted this on AO3 and gifted it to you, as it was inspired by your post, but I am going to be cheeky and reblog it with the content that inspired it…
Undómiel
They would remember her as the Evenstar. The scholars described her beauty as a soft, fragile thing – a delicate whisper to be caught in glass and cherished, needing the tranquillity of darkness and the silence of the night before it would unfurl and gently shine.
How little they knew her. How little they knew of the stars.
Galadriel had taught her to weave. As a child she studied the art of the loom, the warp and the weft, the picking and shedding and battening. Much later she learned to stitch Power into cloth, just as Galadriel had learned from Melian in Doriath, before the fall of the kingdoms of old.
From her grandmother Arwen also learned Dwarvish lore, and the properties of certain metals. When trade delegations came to Imladris out of the Ered Mithrin, they found in their host’s daughter a curious listener, a respectful student, and an intelligent judge of their wares.
Gemcraft she learned from her mother. In Eregion Celebrían had been taught by the greatest artisans of Middle-earth. She knew how to find a stone’s soul, how to hear its story, how to carve in belief and intent as one cut. Later, Arwen honed her craft with the Brotherhood’s remants, the last of the Gwaith who had fled to the Valley when Ost-in-Edhil was lost. They told her tales of their great lord Celebrimbor – the cousin her mother had treasured and called by his old name, Tyelpe, and whom Arwen would now never know.
Her father Elrond had taught her to heal, and to hope. Sometimes, quietly, he would speak of the kinslayers who raised him, of Maglor the Singer and Maedhros the Tall, the doomed, beautiful brothers who broke open the world in their quest for revenge. (And in the sorrow and darkness that followed her mother’s departure,when the winter nights snarled and her brothers rode after Orcs in the fells, Arwen thought she could half-understand.) Elrond passed on their lessons – music, linguistics, mathematics, the relation of one thing to another, the theory of the Deep Arts. Through careful practice she learned to reach for the Song and draw it near, and to sift through it, seeking, understanding, binding.
Glorfindel taught her swordplay; with Erestor she sharpened her mind. She wove all of it in: everything she knew, each skill she had learned, all the Power she could harness and spare – she who bore Melian’s blood, and in whom the wild magic of the Ainur had bloomed more brightly and dangerously than in any of her kin. She sang, too, as she worked, murmuring the lore-rhymes of old.
“Tall ships and tall kings Three times three, What brought they from the foundered land Over the flowing sea? Seven stars and seven stones And one white tree…”
Even the numbers held power, for those who understood. As she wrought the crown of mithril and gold, the Evenstar smiled, and the seven white stars flared bright in reply.
He knew it all, the mortal King who loved her; he knew all that she was, and honoured her for it. He knew it was no token she sent him. His heart kindled as touched it; when he kissed it, her power sparked through him like fire; as he prepared for battle its cloth folds rustled, whispering a murmured promise.
Aurë entuluva.
When they entered the Harlond and the standard broke, so hope unfurled in the souls of Men, and it burned like the Flame at the heart of the world.
She would forever be known as the Evenstar – and yet what is starlight, but fire?
I understand now why you never liked Fëanor. I imagine looking at him was rather like looking in a mirror.
- Celeborn, during a fight with his wife, Unfinished Tales, The History of Galadriel and Celeborn
I mean, for me personally it’s emblematic of hubris and misplaced trust and misguided loyalty? But I’ve definitely outgrown those flaws. So yeah, let’s slap it on there.
- Tyelperinquar “Celebrimbor” Curufinwion, to Narvi of Khazad-dûm, regarding his family’s star and the Doors of Durin, Unfinished Tales, The History of Galadriel and Celeborn
So I stuck my head in the door and I swear he was trying to artificially manufacture a star or something, and I was weirded out, you know? And I said “uh, what are you working on?” because I couldn’t think of what the fuck else to say while I’m staring at this gleaming ring of light hanging in the fucking air over his desk, and he kind of looks at me funny and says “trying to stop the heat death of the universe”, and he’s completely fucking serious. Totally deadpan. And all of a sudden I remembered who his grandfather was and long story short, Celebrimbor might be nice but that doesn’t make him less Fëanorian.
- Ereinion Artanáro Gil-galad, High King of the Noldor East of the Sea, to Círdan the Shipwright, on the forging projects of Celebrimbor of Ost-in-Edhil, Unfinished Tales, the History of Galadriel and Celeborn
To the Helcaraxë
"We cannot simply turn back, Findaráto! He will do more evil to the world, he has to be stopped!" Artanis was not going to be swayed from the issue.
"At the very least, should we not get Tyelpe back?" Angaráto added quietly. "He was our friend, and he's been dragged further into this mess unwillingly."
Tyelperinquar had advocated against even going down to the beach, but Artanis wouldn't hear it. Her mother's people--his mother's people--were being slaughtered.
Findaráto's lips pressed into a line, his brow furrowing into a scowl as he regarded his sister. "You know what you're asking of me. You heard Námo. If we leave, we aren't to come back. Amarië and I..."
Arafinwë's children fell into an awkward silence. Findaráto and Amarië were to be married, and soon. This, however, would put those plans on hold indefinitely.
Artanis was the first to avert her gaze. "I know. Stay if you want, get married, have children. I'm going, father be damned. I cannot sit idle and do nothing while Fëanáro burns the world down."
Findaráto made a noise of exasperation after a few long moments and let out a sigh. "And I can't let you lot go without me. Fine. We'll rescue our dear cousin and thwart Fëanáro . And then what, dear sister? Come back and hope that Námo's changed his mind?"
Artanis pursed her lips, avoiding her brother's gaze. She, of course, did not mean to return. "Or you could send for Amarië to join you, when he's been dealt with. Build a kingdom to rule, like we were taught."
"Just so we're clear, you mean for us to never return."
Artanis startled a bit at the word 'never', her eyes going wide. "No, not...not never, just..." But she could already feel that particular ugly tingle that represented a truth she did not want to face. They would not return to these shores again. Not alive. She balled her hands into fists to keep them from trembling. She hung her head, stray golden strands of her hair that had gotten free of her braids falling into her face.
"Are we going or not?" Aikanáro finally spoke, his arms crossed over his chest, an impatient look written into his features. "If we debate too long, all the boats will have left and the decision will be made for us."
Aikanáro spoke truly; Ñolofinwë's followers were gathering the last of the boats to pursue Fëanáro's. Without another moment of hesitation, the four proceeded to the quay, securing their passage away from Alqualondë. They would meet Tyelperinquar again soon, of that Artanis was certain.
◈ ◈ ◈
Fëanáro was of the opinion that if one wanted to learn a particular craft, it was best to go to the source. Curufinwë always emphatically agreed to whatever his father said, so little Curufinwë--he detested this name, there being two others that bore it before him, and his mother had not given him a name yet--was sent to the Teler to learn the methods by which one smithed silver. He was young, still a child, but possessed of a great talent. A talent that only his father and grandfather seemed to grasp of the entire family.
That was not to say that little Curufinwë's uncles weren't talented. Macalaurë made music that made even the Maiar weep to hear. Maitimo was a hero without parallel. Tyelcormo and Carnistir were skilled hunters, and while the Ambarussa were still young, they also gravitated toward their elder brothers' bows.
Fëanáro did not hide his disappointment with his sons; he would have preferred they all become artists of some sort. But he also did not hide his pride at their accomplishments. Indeed, he sang their praises to the very heavens. That praise was all little Curufinwë's father lived for. He could have done without all the embarrassment, preferring to simply work rather than hang on every word of another.
While tempers were marginally milder in the Telerin forges, it was very much the same. Everyone got scolded for something or other, and only the youngest cried. Little Curufinwë had learned early that tears got one nowhere under Fëanáro 's supervision, likewise it went for his own father. Even so, words weren't so harsh here, and he found that he enjoyed working with the pale metal. He also enjoyed watching the glass makers, promising to come back when he was older to learn its craft as well. Glass was highly prized in Tirion, being so far from the sea and sand.
When he returned, having learned much from the Teler, he presented a fine silver comb to his mother. Ignoring his father's wont to point out its flaws, his mother swept him up into her arms and called him her little Silver-fist. Telperinquar.
Tyelperinquar, Curufinwë corrected her, with some gentleness. That was the proper way to say it as the Ñoldor did, for the first had been styled in Telerin.
Delighted, he hugged his mother, having gotten a name that he liked at last.
◈ ◈ ◈
"I didn't imagine we'd find you so soon," Findaráto stated, amusement playing about his features. "Certainly, not like this."
Tyelperinquar had his hands raised in surrender, on his knees. There was only a hint of a plea in the Ñoldo's features; clearly the son of Curufinwë wasn't desperate. Yet. "I'll submit to whatever punishment you see fit, just don't send me back there. Grandfather is raving mad, and not even Maitimo nor Macalaurë can make him see sense. My stomach roils as if it's had bad food in it whenever I'm in my father's presence."
He let his chin drop a degree. "Ambarussa was speaking of leaving, both of them. Turning back to beg forgiveness from Námo. I couldn't wait for them to take a ship, but I do pray they succeed. This is madness. All of this is madness."
"Not that we ever doubted your conscience," Findaráto extended a hand to his cousin, bringing him to his feet. "You've a Teler grandmother too after all."
Aikanáro punched Tyelperinquar in the shoulder, once. "You should've fought harder. Bite 'em if you have to."
"We're not babies anymore, 'Náro," Tyelpe snorted. He paused for a just a moment before laughing quietly. "I was sorely tempted to, though." Aikanáro laughed, hugging his cousin fiercely.
◈ ◈ ◈
What had been a relatively happy reunion had turned to ash in mere hours. Tyelperinquar had told Ñolofinwë all of what he'd heard and seen at his grandfather's camp. When Ñolofinwë and his followers had advanced upon the bay where Fëanáro's ships had been moored, they found the remnants of fire instead. Smoke and ash and detritus littering the shores, and Fëanáro gone with all his company.
Tyelperinquar sank to his knees in shock, but it was Findaráto that spoke, his voice hushed. "What will we do, uncle?"
Ñolofinwë's jaw tightened as he grit his teeth. "I, for one, will not turn back. There is still the matter of my father, King Finwë, being slaughtered while the Valar do nothing. I will continue in my cursed brother's wake, and I will welcome any that follow me."
Those that followed found what could only be described as hell ahead of them. Leagues of snow and treacherous ice as far as the eye could see, of the likes that not even Tyelpe had experienced in Formenos. Cold took many at night, in ones and twos, where they'd gone to sleep and simply hadn't woken up again. The ice took more, shifting and treacherous, making Ñolofinwë's advance slow and painful.
Narvi and Celebrimbor (Admiring their door)
This is still my all-time favourite Shadow of Mordor screenshot I’ve taken so far and I doubt I’ll top it
He’s so casual killing this dude basking in sunlight, generally being a goddamn elf
The Lord of Eregion
Hi! I'm sorry to bother but did you ever consider drawing Celebrimbor? Your art is so so lovely and he'd look great with your style!
Thanks!!♥I like Celebrimbor’s design from Shadow of Mordor ^^
Hi! i saw you were accepting requests, and as i do love the way you draw Curufin, I was wondering if you could do something with him (+ cats or + son or just Curvo being a judgmental goldsmith) :) Thank you!
Hello there :>
Ok, I have many Curvo requests, as well as Feanor and Tyelpe. Anon said: “Celebrimbor and daddy pretty please =D “ and amauriel–elencalima said “Feanor”
So let’s join these, because it’s always good to draw The Clones™ all at once. Here goes then: Feanor, Curufin (very smol, very angry) and Celebrimbor :D
I was super busy today but I got something quick done; Celebrimbor doing some sword smithing
Celebrimbor // by 面堂かずき@8/12東ク-37b