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Creative Metaphor

@cuarthol / cuarthol.tumblr.com

~ Because I don't show up in tags, I have started posting my works under @nothinghereisworking ~ Lover of all things Tolkien, whether from the hand of the professor himself or out of the imaginations of his many fans. ~ Writer of short stories and poems, dabbler in the scribal arts - illumination and calligraphy - and a fan of very old fairy tales. ~Servant to cats. ~Feel free to call me Z (Zee, not Zed)

I know it’s ‘the thing’ to do, to say “my blog is a safe place” for this or that, but I’m gonna be honest, it’s not my place to tell anyone my blog is a safe place for them. 

That’s for them to decide. 

I hope it is, but it isn’t my place to decide that for someone else. 

If you decide it is, I’m grateful.  If you decide it’s not, I am sorry.  I understand.  I hope you might tell me why, but I also understand if you don’t or won’t or even can’t. 

That’s it, that’s my ‘statement’. 

Oh PS: my blog is absolutely not a safe place for fucking Nazis and White Fragilists (y’all don’t think you’re superior, nobody who thinks they’re actually superior acts like that). 

Y’all can F right off.  

Thank you. 

by polutropos

A cargo crackship carrying two angry elves and a full freight of phallic puns, in-universe curses, gratuitous insults, an immortal hunting falcon, an assault flute, a wine-infused linguistic seduction (ft. dirty Quenya phrases), and an opportunistic rebound with an ex-lover’s brother after being dumped for a mortal.

Words: 4980, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

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LOOK AT THIS SUMMARY, HOW CAN YOU GO WRONG!?

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Daeron + "the clinging mists"

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Thank you! From this prompt list. Some Daeron headcanons in the form of a melancholy parting between Daeron and Olwë. 740 words.

There is no canonical ‘Great Journey’ Eldarin-Telerin and I’m not about to do conlang for a ficlet, so enjoy a blend of Quenya and Sindarin names.

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A dense mist gathered about the edges of Nan Elmoth and clung to the tree roots. The open glade before the forest was filled with many clusters of elves, busy with final preparations for the journey.

Daeron would not be joining them. And, to avoid yet another plea to change his mind, he had retreated to the sparser woodland across the glade, where he sat upon his favourite rock by the stream. He chiselled a hollowed-out bit of wood. A few more cuts and it would be a whistle; but mostly, it was something to occupy his mind. Keep out the doubt that even now pressed at the fringes of his thought.

Absently, he glanced up from his work, and he spotted Olwë moving among the host. The chieftain paused to visit each group, his manner friendly and unassuming, as ever; yet he stood out like a beam of starlight against the indigo sky, his hair and raiment gleaming white amid the dull grey-green of the others. Small wonder there were so many prepared to follow him onwards to the Sea. 

Most, like Daeron’s closest kin, had been born on the march. Some had begun their journey at Cuiviénen—a place as distant and mythical as the realm of the Valar to Daeron, who had known no other land but here; no other life but uncertainty and endless seeking. 

Very few like Daeron were staying. Those born here felt no loyalty to a king they had never known, and they loved Olwë. As did Daeron.

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 I upgraded and partly redrew a very old sketch of Celegorm. The point was in trying to draw it as the community avatar is drawn. It proved to be HARD. Cuz now I draw in a completely different way. I don’t move lines and so. But I tried. 

“My dog is smarter than you”

Foods and Cuisine in Maglor's Gap

General: Food production at Maglor’s Gap has similar limitations to Himring. However, the Gap profits from extensive trade between Dorthonion, Himlad, and Thargelion, its flat land allowing for easy transportation and multiple trade routes. Cereals, fruits, meats, and wine are exchanged for mares from Maglor’s herds. Due to continuous winds across the Gap, the Elves specialize in salted and dried horse flesh, jerky, meat-stuffed dumplings, and other savory treats. In the eastern part of the Gap at the foothills of Rerir, where Maglor maintains a household for a long time, olive trees and low fruits are common. The fruits are eaten raw during harvest months and enjoyed sun-dried or as preserves during the season of frost.

Diet: Omnivore.

Common ingredients: Horse, elk, rabbit, falcon, goose, cereals, cheese.

Specialty: Elaborate charcuteries with dried horse flesh, smoked meats, cheese, bread, and dried fruits.

I wish I had more time this week to create something more for @aspecardaweek, but here's my recent attempt to explicitly write aromantic characters.

Keep my heart warm while I’m gone dives into life on Helcaraxë and intimacy between friends - Aredhel and Ecthelion. They march on, they love (in their own way), and they survive together.

Appropriate for the Day 4 theme of 'worldbuilding,' this was inspired by Lakota traditions and Cherokee astrology.

Fic snippet below the cut.

still can't believe ecthelion died impaling a balrog with the spike in his helmet. in a fountain. literal secksiest character in the entire silmarillion thrashing about in the water with his bejewelled armour going down fighting and killing a demon with his phallic murder helmet

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He didn’t just kill a balrog, he specifically took out the balrog that was responsible for both Feanor and Fingon’s deaths!

Obscure Tolkien Blorbo: Round 1

Olwë vs Edrahil

Olwë:

King of the Teleri in Aman and younger brother of Elu Thingol.

  • look he slays. literally. dude woke up under the stars. his brother wandered off never to be seen again. his aestethic SLAPS - sea, swans, pearls, what else do you want? his potential political role in Aman post-Flight is so tasty and so underexplored. the dude slaps alright. (also he murders people. canonically. you can't tell me he didn't go unhinged during the Kinslaying)

Edrahil:

The steward of Finrod Felagund and chief of the Ten who followed him.

  • He followed Finrod loyally to his death and never betrayed him. He only gets one line but it's the best.
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Olwë propaganda:

“Thy mind is greatly burdened,” Olwë said as Arafin continued to stand in silent contemplation. “Is there aught I can do to ease it?”

“Nay,” Arafin replied softly. “My worries are beyond both my reach and thine.”

Olwë nodded solemnly, taking a deep breath as he looked up at the stars before speaking. “I sometimes think of our kin who remained at Cuiviénen.” He spread his hands, unable to quite put into words the pain which that sundering had caused. “It seems that we are fated ever to be parted.”

Arafin bowed his head slightly. “Fated? Or doomed?”

“I admit, I cannot always tell the difference,” Olwë replied.

“My brothers and children have fallen under the Doom of Mandos,” Arafin murmured. “Was that fate? Was such a thing truly meant to happen?”

“If it was, would that be a comfort?” Olwë asked.

“No,” Arafin admitted.

“No, I would not think so, either,” Olwë said softly, his eyes filled with sympathy.

“Dost thou not fear for thy brother?” he asked then, not looking at his companion but gazing still across the sea to the dark line of that hinterland.

“Fear? No,” Olwë said, and a faint smile touched his lips. “It gives me hope to think of him there.”

Arafin was surprised to hear that. “Hope?”

“That he might yet be leading those of our people who remained on that distant shore.” Olwë sighed. “I have not forgotten them. Though Oromë has brought me little news of his journeys there, I am comforted by the thought that he is still their king.”

Though he had never seen it himself, Arafin wondered at Olwë’s words, that even with Morgoth there, he holds hope closer and trusts in the strength and wisdom of his brother.

“I fear for mine,” Arafin whispered.

Olwë looked at him with pity. “Ñolofin?”

“Both of them,” he admitted. It had been hard to admit even to himself, but as the time had worn on, he could not deny that he missed even Fëanor.

Olwë nodded, resting a hand on Arafin’s shoulder. “Perhaps my brother might yet talk some sense into thine,” he offered. “For he was closest to thy father.”

“I doubt either of them will listen.” Arafin’s eyes fell to the foamy waters, and for a moment a sad smile touched his lips, but it faded quickly. “Forgive me, I know that it must be hard for thee to speak of them-”

“‘Twas not thy doing,” Olwë said gently. “And thou hast done all in thy power to right it.”

“All the wide seas cannot wash that stain away,” Arafin sighed. “But I am grateful to thee, grateful for thy friendship.”

Olwë gave him a gentle smile and the two fell silent for quite some time. Arafin had always found comfort and strength in his father-in-law, perhaps now more than ever.

Edrahil propaganda:

“I am not altogether certain I like this sensation,” Edrahil said as the ship rolled gently with the waves.

“We have not even left the firth yet,” Felagund said, unable to resist a laugh, even though he felt for him. He did recall the first time he had brought Turukáno with him on his grandfather’s ship, having no idea it was possible to turn such shades of green.

But he and his siblings had spent their youths on the Swanships of Alqualondë, ever at the side of their Telerin kin. They would sail the shores of Eldamar even as far as Tol Eressëa, swim in those starlit waters, feast upon the bounty of the sea. This soothed Felagund’s soul to be upon the waves again.

Felagund closed his eyes and inhaled the brine-rich air, the wind already whipping at him. He had not felt so deeply at home in this new land until this moment, resting his arm over Edrahil’s shoulders.

“You will feel better when we reach Vinyamar,” he said.

“A journey I was perfectly happy to make on horseback,” Edrahil said as he stumbled slightly to the left.

“A two-month journey,” Felagund countered. “Whereas we shall be there in less than a week.”

You shall be there in less than a week,” Edrahil said. “I doubt I will survive the voyage.”

Felagund chuckled softly, shaking his head as he tugged Edrahil further into his arms. “Ossë’s music echoes all along this shore, can you not hear it? The song of the gulls, the rhythm of the rowers, the rush of the hull through the waters-”

“I hear the rushing of blood in my ears,” Edrahil interrupted.

“Oh, my poor meleth,” Felagund cooed, cupping his face softly. He almost admitted defeat in convincing him of the pleasure to be found upon the sea, but then a thought struck him. He fetched his harp, and, sitting at the prow, began to play. Soon his voice lifted, singing of calm and comfort, of seafoam and gentle waves lapping upon crystal strands, of a grandfather’s love and a father’s pride.

As he sang, Edrahil settled at his feet, resting his head in Felagund’s lap as the music flowed through him.

“It does feel better here,” he murmured, his eyes falling closed. Felagund sent currents of serenity to encompass him, lifting him to float gently in that sea of song.

Eventually Felagund let his harp go silent, continuing only his song but now letting his fingers rather play through Edrahil’s hair, who was humming softly in his lap.

Obscure Tolkien Blorbo: Round 1

Olwë vs Edrahil

Olwë:

King of the Teleri in Aman and younger brother of Elu Thingol.

  • look he slays. literally. dude woke up under the stars. his brother wandered off never to be seen again. his aestethic SLAPS - sea, swans, pearls, what else do you want? his potential political role in Aman post-Flight is so tasty and so underexplored. the dude slaps alright. (also he murders people. canonically. you can't tell me he didn't go unhinged during the Kinslaying)

Edrahil:

The steward of Finrod Felagund and chief of the Ten who followed him.

  • He followed Finrod loyally to his death and never betrayed him. He only gets one line but it's the best.
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I know it's kind of mixing games now, but would you do a director's cut of your Daeron + "the clinging mists" prompt fill? There are so many delicious little nods and tid-bits in there, I'd love to get more on them!

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Hey, there are no rules here! Thanks so much for asking about this prompt fill

I find these prompts often provide me with an opportunity to pull little pieces out of the longer stories that I may never write, or at least won’t write any time soon. Over a year ago now I took a bunch of notes for a long fic about Daeron set during the time of the Great Journey when the Teleri searched and waited for Thingol to return. 

Tolkien’s notes published in The Nature of Middle-earth say that the Elves stopped along the way to make babies, so I figured that’s why they were stopped near Nan Elmoth when Thingol made his trip to visit Finwë and never came back. So I headcanon that Daeron’s mother was pregnant with him when Thingol disappeared, and he grew up during a time of instability and general anxiety. It also means Olwë would have been the first leader of his people that he knew and, as I tried to show in the ficlet, he had a lot of respect for him.

I think there’s a lot of potential for drama with the Teleri during this period and I have seen very little fic about it (recs are welcome!).

With this ficlet I wanted to offer a glimpse of that drama. I also wanted to show the closeness between the Teleri who stay and the Teleri who leave. Olwë’s people and Thingol’s people weren’t just distantly connected members of the same tribe (nevermind that the two of them were literally brothers!). Many (most?) of these Elves would have known each other personally. I think showing that adds a lot more depth to the Noldo-Sinda relations in canon which, with my Daeron/Maglor brain rot (and don’t tell me you didn’t know this is where we were going), is one of my favourite things to think about.

Obscure Tolkien Blorbo: Round 1

Viznak vs Ælfwine

Viznak:

Goblin! Lives in an awful Mordor swamp after getting kicked out for not taking orders very well (Lord of the Rings Online character)

  • little goblin guy who's been living in the world's most fucked up swamp in mordor. got kicked out for not following orders well enough. makes friends with any random stranger who doesn't try to kill him immediately and also can make you an antidote for aforementioned awful swamp and all its diseases. you can get a title called 'goblin-friend' from him. i love him So much
  • he's literally just a silly little guy. in the questline you meet him at he raided your camp and stole your provisions, but he ends up saving your ranger friend from dying to a horrible fungus plague and you're all best friends after that!! he's like your fellowship's weird goblin son. he has horrible ideas but somehow they keep working?? he's scrungy! the other orcs and goblins hate him! and after the residents of Agarnaith leave to go besiege some place (it's not important), he takes up residence in the empty fortress of Seregost and declares himself king of Agarnaith. ALL HAIL KING VIZNAK, OUR WEIRD GOBLIN SON

Ælfwine:

One of the narrators of the legendarium in early drafts, an Anglo-Saxon Man who found the Straight Road.

  • The first guy who reached Tol Eressëa and got to listen to all the stories told by the elves
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Ælfwine, the first man to find the Straight Road and cross out of the circle of the world and step foot upon Tol Eressëa.

From Tolkiengateway:

When Ælfwine woke up, he found himself lying on a beach of Tol Eressëa and a group of Elves pulling up his ship on the shore. He came to Tavrobel, where lived Pengolodh who told him the Ainulindalë, and he was shown the Lammas, the Quenta Silmarillion, the Golden Book, the Narn i Chîn Húrin, and the Annals of Aman and Beleriand.
Ælfwine learned much of this lore. When he returned to England, he translated the Silmarillion, the Annals and the Narn into Old English, giving explanations on the many names.

Ælfwine Is Why We Have The Silmarillion!!! Why we have the Children of Hurin!!! Why we have any of it!