Earlier today, recently-arrived prince and intrepid explorer Findekáno, well-known harpist and first son of current High King Ñolofinwë, unexpectedly returned to camp on the back of a giant eagle while carrying mostof his cousin, also current High King Nelyafinwë Maitimo.
“I was wandering around the mountains near Thangorodrim, looking for a nice place to sit down and maybe hitch a ride with a passing Orc patrol, when suddenly this great shadow descended upon me and Thorondor showed up,” Findekáno said earlier, pointing to the giant eagle he rode in on. “He even showed me where Cousin Russandol was, which was pretty nice.”
Findekáno, fifty-second place winner of the All-Valinor Archery Competition three hundred and fifty years in a row, had been last seen setting foot in Beleriand and was rumored to have run away to search for his missing cousin three weeks ago. High King Nelyafinwë Maitimo, colloquially known as “Cousin Russandol,” disappeared when his supposedly fool-proof ambush was counter-ambushed by the Dark Lord Morgoth over a century ago.
Findekáno reportedly found his cousin hanging from one hand on a mountain and was about to prove his archery skills when the Eagle suggested he use a melee weapon instead. Findekáno, who placed ten thousandth in the All-Valinor Knifework and Lockpicking Competition a hundred and twelve years in a row, apparently missed his blow, hitting his cousin in the wrist instead of the chain he’d been aiming for.
“It was a good blow,” Findekáno insisted. “I managed to take off his hand in one cut, which I’ve never been able to do before. And I didn’t even drop the knife! Thorondor managed to catch Cousin Russandol, although he accidentally swallowed his hand, so I guess they’re not reattaching it anytime soon. And Thorondor was so sorry about it he even offered to give us a ride home!”
Thorondor, colloquially known as the greatest of Eagles and quite possibly the hand of the King of the Valar in Middle-earth, added that he would love to give more rides to Noldor, especially those who are “going hunting or expected to lose a limb or two in the near future.”
He then added, “I would like to clarify that we are not a ferry service, however, and should not be ridden lightly. Also, no journeys longer than three days.” To summon Thorondor, just go to an open field with at least a hand’s worth of meat and shout his name until he responds.
Neither possibly-still-current-High King Nelyafinwë Maitimo, nor any members of his court, couldbe reached for comment.
My first convention as an artist ever and I couldn’t be more happy. Sold nearly everything I had with me (beside the A3 prints, too big for a convention, A4 sells better, better to carry around), made amazing new contacts, met friends and made new ones. <3 For my next convention I’ll definitely do some things different and will have a more professional set up. I didn’t want to invest money in stuff without knowing if I ever want to go to a convention again. But I made up my mind and RPC won’t be the last one. See you at RatCon 2017 in August! <3
It seems like not many people talk about Mahtan, let alone his relationships with his grandsons, so I just felt like jotting down a handful of thoughts about them.
- Maedhros and the twins are his absolute pride and joy. He adores them. He calls all three of them “Russa” and always ruffles their hair when he sees them. To the casual observer, it would seem like they are the obvious Favorites. They are the ones he asks about first. His workshop is plastered with drawings of them made by their mother, and he loves showing off his favorites. He is super proud of every tiny thing they do, and even when they misbehave, he can’t stay mad at them for long. He brags about them to everyone he talks to. He dotes on them almost to the point of spoiling them. He loves to make them things, always out of copper: jewelry, circlets, play weapons and armor, anything they want. Maedhros in particular is his Little Prince, and the twins his Little Treasures.
- The one he’s most likely to get choked up over, though, is Maglor. He’s the one most similar to his mother, and even if he doesn’t have the red hair, every time Mahtan looks at his secondborn grandson, he sees his precious baby girl. He sees her in Maglor’s smile, in his mannerisms, those little gestures, a thousand subtle ways. Maglor isn’t a smith, but Mahtan sees the same joy in him when he’s writing and performing his songs as he did in Nerdanel when she was learning her art. He is there for every concert, every recital. He can listen to Maglor talk and sing for hours on end and never get tired or lose interest in what he’s saying. They may not have much overlap in hobbies, but they have the best conversations.
- Celegorm is his Little Buddy. He learned early on not to let Tyelko into his workshop, but he loves to play with him. He would give him piggyback rides all the time when he was little, and tickle fights, arm wrestling and other rough-house horseplay were common. They’d go on nature walks together and he laughs at Celegorm’s constant chatter and excitement. Even if he’s otherwise busy, he always takes time to have fun with Celegorm.
- His relationship with Caranthir is a bit more mysterious. He teaches Caranthir how to channel his temper productively. He has a ready ear if he ever wants to talk, and Caranthir knows he can tell his grandpa anything and doesn’t have to worry about his reactions. Sometimes, they can just work beside each other on separate projects, never saying a word, but communicating in small ways. A hug from Grandpa Mahtan can always make Caranthir feel better if he’s unhappy about something.
- Curufin is his Little Helper. Whatever Mahtan is working on, Curufin wants to help. He absorbs EVERYTHING Grandpa has to teach him and he’s eager to show off his ideas and projects. Curufin is the one full of questions and wanting to know how things work, and he is rapt with attention when Mahtan explains and demonstrates. He brings Grandpa tools and equipment or helps clear away things no longer needed. He’s one of the people Curufin looks up to most, aside from his father.
young isildur honestly. put in the fiction words that he has blue hair
His grandfather read to him. He couldn’t hear it. He opened his eyes and was confounded by silence, like morning after a snowstorm. Snow, rare in his childhood, now was unknown on the isle—unless on Meneltarma’s slopes, forbidden to worshippers. Which was no loss, in that he hated the cold. He lay cocooned in linen and wool, too warm to speak, mouth dry, with the blood budding hard at his pulse-points, and in the window, the garden—the tree that bent to toy with listing reeds. Green caverns. He should hear wind, and branches sawing at the glass. He heard his heart, unless it were the drums that called men to provision Sauron’s fires.
He had had a vision of a white fruit splitting, roots wandering. Far from needing to nurse at the dream, he was aware that it waited for him, alive, immense, independent of any effort to maintain it—but here was his grandfather. Could he not keep awake? If he concentrated, he found there was nothing to prevent him from reopening his eyes when he closed them; and again.
Amandil smiled and shut the book. Isildur felt childish outrage, grown cloying from much use, and too sweet to give up; how could he, how dare he, when Isildur hadn’t learned yet what there was in the book?
The next time he woke, it was to the sound of his name, spoken by the sea wind in the hedge.
They had shaved all his hair to tend to the great gash on his brow, which now was healed to a sprig of a scar. His grandfather brought him a wig, in the capital style, dyed blue and divided in fine braids, sewn to a circlet. Isildur could hardly bear to sit for it, the last piece of his armor; in a tunic and sandals, barelegged and without a shield, he ran out the door, unrecognizable, he hoped, as the thief.
But there was his tree! A sprout. It was very much smaller above ground, and outside his dream. He knelt and kissed the mound, and, rubbing dirt from his lips, stood and beheld the courtyard that had curled in his window; he waved up at the window, where no one now lay sick.
Samwise: means “Half-wise” or “Half-wit.” He is Stupid Gamgee
Faramir: Boromir’s name means “steadfast jewel”, but Faramir’s name just means “sufficient jewel.”
Denethor took one look at baby Faramir and thought “eh I guess he exists or whatever” which is very in character
2. Characters who Have Way Too Many Names
Examples include Aragorn son of Arathorn son of Arador heir of Isildur Elendil’s son, descendant of Numenor, Thorongill, Eagle of the Star, Dúnadan, Strider, Wingfoot, Longshanks, Elessar, Edhelharn, Elfstone, Estel (”Hope,”) The Chieftain of the Dúnedain, King of the West, High King of Gondor and Arnor, and Envinyatar the Renewer of the House of Telcontar
Wait I’m sorry did I say “examples” plural
Cuz that was all one guy
3. Characters whose parents must’ve been prophets
-Frodo means “wise by experience.” His story is about becoming wise by experience -A lady named Elwing turns into a bird (geddit)
4. Characters whose families were so lazy that they copy-pasted the same first half of a name onto multiple people
Éomund/Éowyn/Éorl Elladan/Elrohir/Elrond/Elros/Elwing/Elenwë/Elendil/Eldarion (the laziest family)
5.Characters whose Names are Expertly Designed so that Newbies can’t Remember Who is Who and Feel Sad
All the people mentioned in number 4 Celeborn, Celegorm, Celebrimbor, Celebrian All the rhyming dwarf names in the Hobbit Sauron and Saruman Arwen and Éowyn
6. Name so nice, you say it twice
Legoas Greenleaf: Legolas’s first name means “Greenleaf” in elvish. Legolas is Greenleaf Greenleaf (thranduil really likes green leaves ok)
King Théoden’s name means King in Rohirric. Tolkien decided to name his king “King.” All hail King King
this is what the fanbase means when we say tolkien was a creative genius with language
I’m so disappointed when elves in fiction are merely immortal humans with pointy ears, and dwarves are just short humans with beards. Perhaps others enjoy it, but I am bored of banal human conflicts and vices projected ad nauseam onto supposedly inhuman races.
I want to see things that really make me believe elves and dwarves and other fantasy races aren’t just disguised humans. Show me strange biology, incomprehensible minds, impossible virtues and unthinkable sins, oddities and curiosities of all kinds.
I think that’s what drew me to Tolkien’s races, who have exactly those kinds of quirks that set them apart from ordinary humans - like dwarves having only 1/3 of their race female, or elves being capable of telepathy. I love fic that explores the consequences of these strange characteristics most of all.
There was Eru, the One, who in Arda is called Ilúvatar; and he made first the Ainur, the Holy Ones, that were the offspring of his thought, and they were with him before aught else was made. And then the murders began.