Your Celegorm/Oromë is hands down the best in the fandom, so I vote for that! Thanks for writing some seriously incredible stories over the years. I’ve missed your work and I’m glad you’re getting back to fanfic for a while (also congrats on finishing the manuscript! that’s so awesome!)

imindhowwelayinjune:

Anon, you are the absolute kindest. Thank you so much for your lovely words and for encouraging me to think about this long abandoned OTP!

There is no room for pride in the Hunt. There is no room for arrogance lest it cloud a Hunter’s vision and block up a Hunter’s ears; there is no room for egos lest the horses founder upon them.

Orome knows this and chooses his hunters accordingly. Humility, savvy, wariness, patience, poise.

“Hail, Vala,” says the Boy, silver-haired and wearing his pride on his strong young shoulders, in his fierce bright eyes, glinting between his teeth. “I am son of Feanaro, grandson of Finwe. I am third of my house and strongest of it.” He tosses his head. “Fairest, too. I would be a Hunter. Teach me, O Lord.” He smiles, and the challenge of it subtly changes the space between them. “If you think you can.”

Orome does.

–

There are no favorites in the Hunt. Orome, who saw the first days of the Eldar and will eventually see the last, who loves all who follow him and takes no pets nor particulars, knows this well.

“Look, Lord!” says the silver-haired Hunter, blood streaking his bare chest as he raises his arms in victory, in brilliant joy. “For you, I have done this! For you I have killed. Are you proud?”

Orome is.

–

There is no leaving the Hunt, not when the greatest gifts have been given and the greatest trust bestowed. There is no walking back from the lessons of the forest, this all Hunters know.

“Please, Orome,” says the Warrior softly. “Do not hate me for doing what I must.” Huan, at his feet, is silent. Orome looks down at them both and knows the scent of regret, sharp as fresh blood in the air.

“Orome,” says the Warrior, still fierce, still fair, no longer his. “Do not be angry. I will be back one day.” He reaches up, his palms open, his lips parted. His mouth is hot and tastes of pride. “Tell me you will not forget me. Tell me I can come back.”

Orome does.

–

There is no room for forgiveness in Orome’s heart, just as there are no second chances in the Hunt. A spear ill-thrown throws open the door to accident and pain and there is no unthrowing it, no forgiveness in a boar’s tusks or a hind’s striking hooves.

And there is no place in the forest for a Hunter who has become a killer. No place in Orome’s heart for one who has betrayed him so.

“Hail,” says the spirit, fragile and thin and silvered still. “I am no one, born of nothing, knowing naught.” It laughs, or weeps. “I do not know who I am or where I am or why. But I know you, Hunter, and that I love you. Tell me why that is.”

And Orome, who has broken the rules a thousand times for Celegorm the Fair, breaks them one more time.

tiffanyengland:

“Yavanna: Queen of the Earth, Giver of the Fruits”, watercolor on paper.

Yavanna has been a dear character to me since reading the Silmarillion for a class project almost 10 years ago. She is one of the Valor, a creator being of Middle Earth, in charge of the care of all things that grow.

I’ve made several attempts already to illustrate her and this is the third. I have a feeling I will continue to illustrate her for years to come because to me she represents the wild creative. For her, anything is possible and that’s a rather intimidating task as an artist. As I continue to grow artistically, so will my idea of her.

Yavanna is now up for bidding at this month’s Changeling Artist Collective Auction! Please visit: http://tinyurl.com/thereandbackagain2 for more information!

hello-from-valinor:

radiantanor:

It’s so weird to think about how the Elves (especially Noldor) probably have calendars that show the anniversaries of the days when the moon and the sun first rose.

Assuming they are right about the Edain being created at the first sunrise, they actually know when the “birthday” of Mankind is. Now that I think about it, I like the idea of some Elves deciding to honor their allies by celebrating that day, and the Edain just being really confused at first. Then they feel like they are finally getting an appreciation of how old the Elves really are that old, just as some of the Elves begin to sing the precursor of the tra-la-lally songs of Rivendell.

Love it. We should decide for the date and have edain day.

I think we can safely assume that it wouldn’t be in late summer or autumn, when the days are getting shorter – it would have been really mean to make everyone in Beleriand feel good about the new light, then make them fear that the Valar changed their minds and are going to take it away again.

That still leaves plenty of possibilities. It should be something significant though, like 21st March (spring equinox), or 1st May (Beltane). Maybe Midwinter or Midsummer.

This has been bothering me for more than ten years

out-there-on-the-maroon:

So there’s that scene in The Two Towers where everyone’s holed up in Helm’s Deep and are super outnumbers and probably gonna die.

To bolster their forces, they decide to arm the old men (ok, fair enough) and … the young boys? Meanwhile all the women cower in the caves. 

What.

Like excuse me, in what way is a nine year old peasant boy with no training, who can barely see over the battlements, and who can probably barely lift a sword … in what way is that small child a more suitable combatant than an angry peasant woman who’s been slinging haybales and taming horses and rolling big barrels of mead and lifting pigs under her arms for all thirty years of her life. At the very least she can see over the battlements and lift a weapon. Depending on her place in society she almost certainly knows how to hold a rake or a scythe or a hammer or lift logs. She knows how to butcher animals, and has likely done so many times with giant knives and gotten covered in gore and viscera. Give her a cleaver on a stick and say “have at it, ma’am.”

Nobody in Helm’s Deep should be giving a flying fuck about “gender roles” when there’s an army about to come in and slaughter them to the last child. They should be thinking strategically. And strategically, arming untrained children is a bad idea, and arming strong adults with a basic grasp of how to wield a big weapon is a good idea.