GRIEFSUNG. writing blog for maglor the swift, from j.r.r. tolkien's legendarium. 21+ only. follows back from @saovaene.
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@griefsung
GRIEFSUNG. writing blog for maglor the swift, from j.r.r. tolkien's legendarium. 21+ only. follows back from @saovaene.
📍 affiliated with findile, vinduri/fel4gund, misaentropy
LINKS: rules / info / hcs / visual / audio / prompts / pinterest

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elros tweedled the net in his hands, playing at detangling the knots wrung together by the waves. he hadn't thought of scoffing this time when the fëanorean proclaimed their honesty. honesty and integrity were made of different stuff; overtime, he had come to accept the former from maglor. it was a strange thing, to trust someone in this way.
"there is nothing to speak of." he paused, then amended, "none you could resolve."
a knot cannot untie itself any more than the fish could swim itself out of the net, every thrashing attempt wrap the mesh tighter around its scaled trunk. he had long ceased to be fearful of harm from the brothers who had become his wards since the last day of havens. the specter of threat never realized. still, elros—elerosse—hesitated to overshare his thoughts, unsure whether he was the fish or the net.
but then, he trusted maglor to be honest.
"what would you have done? if earendil returned this eve, the jewel betwixt his brows?" it was... a version of the conversation he had with elrond—his twin with whom he'd had an unspoken pact with to never utter the name of the jewels that derailed their life. he observed this rule mostly for elrond's benefit, and elrond—elros reckoned—for the fëanoreans' benefit, more than his own.
he looked out to the water again before maglor could answer. in the days they had spent on the isle, they had discovered more traces of the elves who once fled to and sheltered here. they had gathered, now, a rough sense of where the refugees had gone for a more permanent home. the discovery made them restless, dredged up old conversations, and unresolved contention.
the difference now... he didn't feel like hiding it from maglor.
there was an undeniable curiousity prickling under his skin, desiring to know what had pushed the twins apart for the afternoon. though he could guess at the undercurrent, which had stirred them all into an unease greater than even that brought by their flight from amon ereb, maglor could not glean the specifics from elros' eyes alone.
he needed not suffer uncertainty long; the question placed before him told enough.
even when elros turned away, his guardian's eyes remained upon him. they seemed suddenly to recognise how much he had grown. they could not recall the shift to have been so sudden in their brothers or their nephew, though such memories were clouded with the forbidden sweetness of a home long lost and the fog of war. after a moment's silent contemplation, the noldo offered the only true answer they could give.
"i do not know."
it would not satisfy elros, of that he was certain. his gaze drifted away, out onto the water as he imagined eärendil's return upon the white ship, gleaming with the light of the stolen gem. yet what grasped first at the elf's heart was not the thought of the silmaril, but a sudden, jealous vision of the twins departing at their father's side, never to return to him. and he alone dreaded eärendil's return, for between the twins and his brother, maglor would be called to betray one or the other, and knew it would take from him the children he loved.
he spoke again, giving voice to the coursing of his thoughts. "my brother would not relinquish our task. for an oath we swore, and too much have we lost to remain, at the end, empty handed." finally, he gave into the magnetic pull of the western horizon, drawing his eyes with a longing so great, it stole his breath for a moment. "and yet ... could i turn my sword against you? no more easily could i betray my own brother. so it is that i cannot know."
they tore their eyes from the water to return to elros. elerossë, their glistening star. did he still dream of his father's return? had he asked in resentment or in hope? "was that what you thought i might say?"
i hope you think of me not as a maglor apologist but as a maglor dissecter. he lives under my microscope.
all I do is post pics from this cosplay but man I do love it
he was pulling up the net when he heard footsteps. elros @lastsons didn't turn, narrowing his focus on the pull of the net, minding any snag or uneven resistance. a handful of fish in the basket of water by his side, enough for supper, and some surplus to dry and cure for later use.
"does he know you're here?" the question was only half rhetorical. he doubted his twin brother would complain about their early disagreement to the fëanorean at his expense. rather, little escaped elrond's notice these days. his tenderhearted mirror-self, seeing too much and caring too much. he took one last pull of the net, feeling the heft of the water draining through the mesh. two silvery fish caught in the net, bouncing off the ground in a last desperate attempt to get free.
"i hadn't meant to upset him. but i could not regret speaking what is true on my mind. i wouldn't lie to him—i won't." elros tossed the fish into the basket after untangling them from the net. he sighed then, whipping his hair back. two single braids by his temples, pulled back to together behind his head. they kept the hair out of his face, at least, though not from falling in front of his shoulders as he bent down to work. at last elros stood and turned to face maglor. he looked upon the noldor, their captor and guardian; keeper in more ways than one—proof in elros' world the self-same nature of boon and bane.
his eyes were grey, paler in the light like mist, or ash. they softened in the way of a setting moon. "...i won't lie to you either," issued like a challenge and a promise.
it did not take a great search to find elros at the shore, net in hand and the breeze in his face. their greeting was plucked from their mouth before it could be spoken, silenced by a question that needed no clarification as to who he was. "he might guess." the elf stopped a few paces away from their charge and waited, watching as elros pulled in the net. for a moment, his movements mirrored a young maitimo. they had to remind themself that, of course, it had been the very same maitimo teaching the twins how to fish. the observation passed, unspoken.
"he did not send me, nor tell of your argument."
strife between the twins troubled maglor. he had ever sought to retain peace between his own brothers and found tragedy to follow imbalance among them. here, not all too far from the mouths of sirion, the water yet carried the haven's memories, and the isle bore traces of its previous inhabitants. from the moment of their arrival on the isle, maglor had felt it stir something within him and watched more carefully over the two young men, whose hearts he believed more affected.
he found a seat on a rock that had been sharpened by the tides, far enough from the water to not be touched by the waves, but close enough to feel the seaspray on his face. his hair fell down his back in a long, heavy braid that had begun to show threads of silver ever since the massacre at the havens. a headband, no more than two fingers wide and of a deep scarlet, kept stray strands out of his face. the taste of seasalt on his tongue carried a longing, as if urging his gaze westward. it took a great effort to hold against it.
instead, he studied elros' eyes. their pale grey that could gleam like a knife, or shine softly as the waxing glow of telperion. there was in their heart a certain pride at watching the twins grow into curious and witty young men. a stolen thing, not rightly his, and yet he held it closely, as cherished their joy and weathered their storms.
"that is well," maglor spoke calmly. "i would not like you to lie to me. as have i not lied to you." at least, no more than the little lies one told children. they held the young one's gaze, the deep brown of their eyes cool and open, like a hand outstretched.
"if there is aught you wish to say to me, elerosse, i will hear it."
@lastsons

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In my previous drawing, Maglor looked too sad, so I decided to comfort him🥺 happy blorbo
maglor starts greying after the third kinslaying. by the second age, their hair is streaked with it, and majority grey by the third. at the start of the fourth, it has turned almost fully white.
Maglor :(
crablor is all good and fun but i still think about mad spirit trapped in the ocean maglor. too tied to the world for his fëa to move on maglor. sailors avoid this one specific coast because they say they hear his songs and they will drive you to despair maglor.

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Viggo Helsted (Danish, 1861–1926), "Coastal Scenery with Breakers", 1911
i think i never really shared this, so i'll write it out now. in my mind the noldorin love for craftsmanship maglor also exhibits is not only in the craft of music and poetry, but that he learned to build instruments, too. he did not like the forge, nor find much joy in his mother's sculpting, though he spent much of his time with her in her workshop. but she taught him woodworking, learned with him and sent him to the right teachers. so he learned to build harps—standing and handheld—lyres and lutes, to carve flutes from wood and bone.
this meant that, given enough time and mental capacity, he would build his own instruments in exile too. the first harp he makes after the establishment of the gap, when the tides have settled somewhat and the grief mellowed. a second one made at that time still remains in the ruins of himring. after the nirnaeth, he only makes smaller ones, but may make concert harps again in surviving second/third age verses. despite his mental issues then, he remembers as if blindly how to build them, and finds stability and peace in the process.
DARK SOULS III — [ 1/? ]
still funny to me how tolkien randomly mentions that maglor had a wife and never elaborates. "he had game btw, no i won't explain"

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"there wasn’t a time i didn’t have a brother" and "he ain’t heavy, he’s my brother" and so on
you’re still bleeding, a little. + @griefsung, for maitimo
"it is nothing," he says, not dismissive, but tender. maitimo's laugh is like their mother's, a soft, rough chuckle, made rougher by the dryness of his throat, the long disuse of his voice. "no more than the molt of an ugly bird, soon to grow a better feather."
wounds heal faster away from the filth of melkor, but he knows it is upon him still. he can see it, reflected as clearly as if playing across still water, in the heaviness of his little brother's shoulders, in the tension of his mouth. the uneasy fear in his eyes. perhaps it is an ugliness that will never depart from him. bleeding is not new. but the blood of a wound that could bring death is new, because death is new, as new as when maitimo first beheld it on the steps of their father's house, despite all the blood that they have shed since then.
against the deep blue stone of the mountain from which formenos had been carved, in the deep of the first true dark, the blood of their grandfather had looked black.
"will you play, káno?"
as their mother would ask when trouble was over them. will you play, will you draw, will you shape. will you stoke the fire, will you mix the clay. will you go to the woods and give chase. work, learn, create, and the things that hurt you will fall away. you will be free. maitimo looks at his little brother through his one healed eye. in kanafinwë's bent head he sees the bent head of nerdanel. not for the first time, even as sitting at her feet, at peace, in her workshop, he wonders if she is free, now. he wonders if any of them are free. is this what the death of the beloved does?
mother, if you had not loved my father—
it is the same as thinking brother, if you had not been my brother, some other than my father's son, who else could you have been?
with his remaining hand, maitimo reaches out and touches maglor's slimmer fingers where they rest on the edge of his bedclothes. "play for me, little brother."
it is not fair to ask, but the eldest's gentle, steady voice belies a firmness like command. this, too, is like their mother. play for me. think of the strings, and the placement of your fingers. think of the notes that make the melody, and the melody that hides within the song. make it, reveal it, change it. remember your beauty and your power. think of all you can give form, forever, perpetually new. abandon worry, abandon anger. abandon fear.
play for me, do not fear for me, for fear cannot change my fate.
maitimo watches his brother pull his hand away and rise. dutiful. faithful. sudden guilt grips him, and shame. in his mind, as he did on the cliff, he asks their mother to help him. there was no need for the might one's deceit then. the silence that had answered him was real. on the eve of their departure, maitimo had last asked her: mother, how can i keep safe your sons? the answer then is the answer now. the scorched hilltop, the bloodied deck of the burning boat. the chain about his wrist. his dead father, and his dead father's crownless son. but also—the song. their time together. the first note that his little brother pulls from his instrument, like a shining string from the silver tree at dawn.
maitimo, my strong one—only love can do that.
the pillars of the earth