It’s like this, Fëanáro doesn’t know how to do anything but burn and he will take the world with him if it means protecting what he has left. Fëanáro will set fire to the heights of the Iron Mountains and watch them burn until they are naught but cinders. Fëanáro will burn, and the world will burn with him. (Swear it, he tells his children, his legs already turned to flame, a light to rival the Trees in his eyes.
Swear it.)
It’s like this, Ñolofinwë has always been bright. Has shone with starlight even as a child. But stars are made of fire too and he burns just as his brother does. His light is a beacon for others to follow and when he burns out it’s with the power of a supernova. (
Ñolofinwë dies with stars in his eyes and without fear. If this haunts Morgoth, who can say?)
It’s like this, Arafinwë tries to be cold, to turn the heat of fire in him to winter ice. He tries to bury his fire underneath masks of polite dignity but even masks crack. Arafinwë is harsh summer storms and lightning cracking through the sky. He is deadly as his brothers, the only thing setting them apart being Arafinwë’s control. (When his brothers die, a storm will be unleashed, powerful enough to shake the earth and rattle the hevens.)
Tag: fic
Lost Memories Ch. 4
This took several rewrites but I finished it, hopefully it turned out good!
Parting
This is probably the angstiest thing I’ve ever written. It’s short, but here you go.
I made a second part to my modern AU Russingon series! It was difficult to write since I’ve never been anywhere near a ski slope, but I hopefully did an okay job. There’s probably going to be more of this series in the future!
A Light in the Heart chapter 2
Merry Christmas @fiinwe I am your #tolkiensecretsanta2017
Sorry this is late–it ended up longer than I anticipated. So here is some angsty, canon based Russingon for you! Hope you like it!
I’m so excited to read this! Merry Christmas to you too! ❤
“Explain to me again,” said Mairon as they walked out of the
emergency room, “exactly what happened.”“So I asked Gothmog to lend me five bucks,” Melkor began.
“No,” Mairon said. “I
got that part. You didn’t have cash, our
friends did their solemn duty and made fun of you. Whatever.
But then you…”“Let me remind you,” said Melkor, “that I was approaching
the brink of starvation. I hadn’t eaten
in at least—““Twenty minutes,” Mairon said.
“Two days,” Melkor finished blithely. “I wasn’t thinking clearly.”
“Story of your life,” said Mairon.
Sanctity of the Mind – harushagiku – The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth – J. R. R. Tolkien [Archive of Our Own]
SAVE ME i wrote another one. Wraithfisting squad it’s your fault. @cerulean-shark@cataclysmofstars @verymaedhros
Wraithfisting – cataclysmofstars – The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth – J. R. R. Tolkien [Archive of Our Own]
on chosen names
i.
He knows himself as Maedhros.
Nelyafinwë and its derivatives would only have alienated Fingolfin’s supporters further – third Finwë,
Fëanáro named him, as though his half-brothers did not count. Russandol he has not heard since childhood; hearing Findekáno use it now is to pour salt into an open wound. And since Thangorodrim Maitimo has felt like a cruel joke.
So he takes Maitimo and Russandol, the two of his names that are not insults, and puts them together. Maedhros fits him well; it is the language of this new land, a name that has never been turned against him. He wears it with pride.
ii.
Those who love him call him Macalaurë.
Maglor is hideous, Canafin even more so. His name is Macalaurë
Canafinwë son of Fëanáro, and Elu Thingol – see, he is willing to use Sindarin names for those who want them – cannot change it. Names are important and Macalaurë will not give his up.
Others call him Maglor, call his land Maglor’s Gap, and
Macalaurë becomes accustomed to it but never fails to notice.
iii.
He is Tyelcormo, Celegorm, what does it matter? As long as he is not called Turkafinwë, he does not care.
iv.
His brothers call him Moryo, and his allies call him Caranthir, and his enemies call him dark one, red faced, and he calls himself Carnistir still – a habit of millennia does not break easily – but he does not, truly, care.
v.
He calls himself Curufin, Curufinwë. For
Fëanáro to give him his own fathername is a rare gift, a show of inheritance that not even Nelyo was given, and Curufin values that gift more than he values the language it was given in.
He is skilled, and like his father – not merely his father’s echo, as Atarincë
would imply, but his father’s favored son. They say he is Fëanor come again, and Curufin smiles.
vi.
They were always Ambarussa, before – his brother’s mothername was Ambarto, but together they were Ambarussa. his name is Ambarussa now. He could change his own name, but he will not change his brother’s.