turukáno and anairë. like mother, like son.

Ok it’s mermay, so what about Finrod and Beor mermaid au? Finrod is a sea prince and very curious about people and Balan is widowed fisherman who lives near the shore with his sons

Elrond and Celebrian style exploration? Ig? I just wanted to lol

Day 5 (Fall of Gondolin | The Balrog | Battle) for @glorfindelweek!

so does anybody remember when i drew a fluffy glorfindel and ecthelion piece and said i had an angstier sequel. and then i never finished it. here it is three and a half years later

One of my favorite Elrond headcanons is the idea that he starts out looking very much human and elvish. He has ears too pointed to be a man's, but not nearly long enough to be an elf's, his father's (grandfather's, really) blue eyes and brown hair that shines like an elf's, but gets tangled far too often.

Sure, some weird things happen around Elrond as a child– the birds that seems to follow him, the way some injuries mysteriously resolve in his prescense, the unusual flowers that bloom outside his windows– but really, it's easy to see those as distant remnants of an ainuric power that Elrond clearly didn't inherit. When he comes to Gil-Galad's camp, it's much easier for them to see Tuor or Beren in him than it is to think he's descended from Melian.

But then time passes. The changes are slow enough– happening over decades or centuries– that no one really notices at first. Elrond's hair darkens until it is as black as the night sky– as black as Luthien's was. His eyes leach color until they are gray– not Noldor gray, mind, but a strange, starry gray that some of the Iathrim whisper about. His voice changes, almost seems to take on an echo of itself, sometimes.

The strange things that happen around him only get stranger– the trees bend to shelter him, during storms, and sometimes when he sings, the birds sing with him. Elrond got a cat, right at the start of the Second Age– a gift from Gil-Galad. Somehow, it never seems to grow old or die. The parts of Lindon Elrond most often visits always seem to be in full bloom, no matter what season it is. His healing abilities surpass what is to be expected of a man– an elf– eventually, of what seems possible at all.

At the end of the First Age, it would've been hard to believe Elrond had more than a trickle of ainur blood in him. By the beginning of the Third Age, many have started to whisper about Rivendell– a new Doriath, ruled by a Maiarin lord with all Melian's grace, and her eccentricities.

Elrond doesn't realize just how much he's changed until the day, late in the Third Age, when he finds Maglor wandering on the shoreline. Nothing he says will convince Maglor that he isn't Luthien's spirit, returned from death to haunt him.

Maedhros and Maglor.

"pride, jealousy and harp" 😂😂😂

Golden scars

When a mysterious handsome man appears in your sect 🤔

#LiuJiu (but i'm going to give SJ an old hot Liu. he deserves to be spoiled)

@maedhrosmaglorweek, Day 7: Storytelling

Maglor sings, and the ruins of Tol Himling come to life.

I'm actually really proud of all the art I've made for Maedhros & Maglor Week (and I have so many new fics saved open to read)! Thanks to the mods for hosting this :-)

I’ve been thinking about Nerdanel’s body a lot recently and wanted to sketch her. She was pregnant 6 times, so her body definitely isn’t “perfect”.

Trials By Fire (After).

Part 2 of this installment, with no need to read it first.

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It does not seem possible that Maglor may survive the year.

So Maedhros wrote to the king - his new king, Fingon, along with his vows of fealty and the full promise to avenge Fingolfin, written and sealed in his own blood.

Maglor nearly followed his half-uncle. His flesh burned with a terrible fever. The whites of his eyes were fully red with smoke; he kept weeping, not with grief, but the poisonous grit that had become the fertile plains of the East.

He had refused to wash the last of the ash that had been his land; and barely permitted the healers to attend to him. He nearly went back to the Gap - would have gone without warning, if Maedhros had allowed it.

"Let go, release me," Maglor demanded.

Maedhros stood before him, between the landing and the gate. He had risen with a cold clarity of premonition, the sudden certainty - One whom you love is to die.

His voice broke and broke, until blood shone on his teeth. The power in it was a monstruous thing, filling the tall, tall stone halls of Himring.

He had been out of the healer's room and nearly down the staircases, enough beastly might in the ugly scrap of his throat to make ruthless warriors turn into peons, opening doors and gates for his passed.

Maedhros wielded in his hand his sheathed sword, the one he slept with like a lover beside him.

Release me, Maglor ordered with the fury of his mind, all his spirit warring against Maedhros; outraged, and betrayed truly to be held hostage.

Maedhros expelled his followers from the room - an effort of will, his dominion fighting against his brother's, and their own awareness flickering at the corner of his mind with animal terror.

And then he raised his blade from its sheath, without hesitation.

Scar concepts for Maglor post silmayeeting

half-maia siblings <3

in shards of crimson ever whisper

Maedhros asks a question and he isn't quite prepared for the answer. Set in the short king thicsmith Eol is a temporary babysitter for the two living Feanorians, an AU squared mess inspired by @welcometolotr.

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"Are your palms red?"

Eol stills in his movements where he has been packing. The greater army won't leave for a week or more yet, but he intends to be gone by the end of the day tomorrow; this many elves in one place gives him a rash, especially since the dwarves have departed for Khazad Dum.

On the cot, Maedhros the One Handed And One Grippy Carved Into A Cat's Head Because Eol Thinks He's Funny says, "Grandfather had red hands."