Anna Robots

Portraits of Estel: a haunting collection of oil paintings by former High King Nelyafinwë, honoring the sacrifices made by the survivors of First Age conflict, highlighting the efforts of the Nelyafinwë Institute for Kinslaying Studies, and hoping for a better, brighter, more peaceful tomorrow.

Growing out of the prince’s personal commitment to survivors’ wellness, Portraits of Estel brings together sixty-four full-color original portraits depicting brave heroes from all sides of past military actions.  The collection also includes four murals, each representing a site of ancient violence: the starlit quays of Alqualondë, the wintry forest of Doriath, the melancholy shanties at the Mouths of Sirion, and the golden-bannered battle-tents of the War of Wrath. 

The metaphor speaks for itself: former opponents, all damaged by their experiences in myriad ways both visible and hidden, all now united in fellowship, side-by-side on the gallery walls, painted in the signature style with which Prince Nelyafinwë has recently distinguished himself.  In an age of Aman obsessed with technical mastery and emotional realism, the prince is interested in more fundamental questions of representation.  Must a landscape accurately depict its subject?  Must light sources follow the laws of physics?  Must a face suggest recognizable emotion?  Must the eyes, nose, and mouth occupy their customary positions?  His work answers each question with a confident and resounding "nah." 

for @silmarillionepistolary, 0.9k, General, No Archive Warnings Apply, Valinor in the Fourth Age of Arda (Tolkien), Re-embodied Elves (Tolkien), Propaganda, Art Criticism, Satire, inspired by real-world political figures, no real-world political knowledge required of the reader, Maedhros-unsympathetic

by John Ashbery

What names do I have for you? Certainly there is no name for you In the sense that the stars have names That somehow fit them. Just walking around,

An object of curiosity to some, But you are too preoccupied By the secret smudge in the back of your soul To say much, and wander around,

Smiling to yourself and others. It gets kind of lonely But at the same time off-putting, Counterproductive, as you realize once again

That the longest way is the most efficient way, The one that looped among islands, and You always seemed to be traveling in a circle. And now that the end is near

Chapters: 2/? Fandom: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien, J. R. R. Tolkien’s Middle-earth Legendarium & Related Fandoms Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Fingon/Maedhros’s Severed Hand Characters: Fingon (Tolkien), Maedhros’s Severed Hand - Character, Curufin (Tolkien), Celegorm (Tolkien), Maedhros (handless; mentioned) Additional Tags: probably AU, but who knows?, Humour?, Romance?, Handjob!, Anal Fingering, bad language Summary:

Findekáno encounters a guilt-inducing reminder of his past. But, hey, there is a happy ending!

No, wait, two happy endings, as the plot thickens in Chapter Two!

She did not know of her granddaughter, of her nephews and niece. Their fates were lost to her.

Only Arafinwë and Earwen, ever paler in sorrow and despair, told her of their fates. Only Nerdanel, quieter than ever she had been, was able to piece together when their lost family had faced some new horror.

Not an echo of their lamentations. Not a whisper of news for their families.

Not until a boy with Turukano’s nose and Elenwë’s eyes. Not until a girl with Olwë’s bearing. Not until two children cross the Sea bearing news and light.

Their tale hurts. It is cruel, difficult to hear, harder still for them to tell.

Anaire offers what kindness she can to her grandson. He is so young, barely more than a babe, yet speaks of having children of his own.

He left them behind. His Elwing left them behind. Anaire offers what hope she can, Maitimo ever was their first choice of babysitter. If he found the children then they will be safe.

She knows that it is bitter comfort. That were it not for her nephews, the grandchildren of her granddaughter would not have been left at all.

Arafinwë announces, to the relief of many of the Noldor left in Tirion, that they will be marching to Beleriand with the backing of the Valar and Vanyar. Earendil’s Silmaril has bought the Exiles an army.

Too late for most.

Too late for Anaire’s family.

Earwen will not go. She has been left to rule Tirion, to care for Findarato newly released from the Halls and so terribly fragile.

Nerdanel will not go. She fears to see what her sons have become. She fears that her face, so similar to that of her children, will spark distrust among those hurt by her sons.

Anaire does not speak of her choice at first. She returns to the home she has barely entered in centuries. Enters the chamber she had shared with her husband, and looks in the chest at the foot of their bed.

A sword lay within. Wrapped in linen, embellished with a star.

How she had hated it when Nolofinwe had brought it home! How she had despised the very thing! It had been pressed against his throat, been used to threaten his very life, and he had brought it into their bedchamber.

The last sword on the shores of Valinor forged by Fëanaro.

Anaire took it up, admired the gleam of the blade in the pale moonlight, and made her choice.

She would sail to Beleriand with the army. She would avenge her children and husband.

Findarato and Earendil had both spoken of Nolofinwe injuring Morgoth. Seven blows they said the songs spoke of.

by Frieda Hughes

They are killing her again. She said she did it One year in every ten, But they do it annually, or weekly, Some even do it daily, Carrying her death around in their heads And practising it. She saves them The trouble of their own; They can die through her Without ever making The decision. My buried mother Is up-dug for repeat performances.

Now they want to make a film For anyone lacking the ability To imagine the body, head in oven, Orphaning children. Then It can be rewound So they can watch her die Right from the beginning again.

The peanut eaters, entertained At my mother’s death, will go home, Each carrying their memory of her, Lifeless – a souvenir. Maybe they’ll buy the video.

But if of ships I now should sing, what ship would come to me, What ship would bear me ever back across so wide a Sea?

The Lord of the Rings, Galadriel’s Song

It happened so fast. 

After Alqualondë, Artanis looks only onward.  There can be no return, not after what they’ve done.  And what would await them?  Only darkness, only sorrow. 

Not even the curse and prophecy spoken by the dark figure standing high upon a rock could compel her to reverse course.  Nor the abandonment by the faithless Fëanáro and his sons, the stolen ships that vanished into the unmeasured night.

She will not turn back, defeated, begging at the feet of the Valar for pardon.

Angst and Tragedy, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Flight of the Noldor (Tolkien), First Kinslaying | Kinslaying at Alqualondë (Tolkien), Helcaraxë (Tolkien), Canon-Typical Violence, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Non-Linear Narrative, Make It Worse, mining the footnotes of the History of Middle-earth for the richest veins of angsty gold

Who Shall Release Us?

Rating: G | No warnings Words: 2.3k Relationships: Maedhros & Maglor, background Fingon/Maedhros Characters: Maedhros, Fingon, Nerdanel, Amrod, Estë

A bee jumps between ostentatious blooms. Something is always flowering on this slab of paradise, cut off from the world. Cut off from knowing.

A re-embodied Maedhros slowly remembers. As he does, he must come to terms with an absence and accept that there are some things he will never know.

A tail-end contribution for MerMay: Rog, Lord of the Hammerheads of Wrath