But Maedhros had the help of the Naugrim, both in armed force and in great store of weapons; and the smithies of Nogrod and Belegost were busy in those days. And he gathered together again all his brothers and all the people who would follow them; and the Men of Bór and Ulfang were marshalled and trained for war, and they summoned yet more of their kinsfolk out of the East. Moreover in the west Fingon, ever the friend of Maedhros, took counsel with Himring, and in Hithlum the Noldor and the Men of the house of Hador prepared for war. In the forest of Brethil Halmir, lord of the People of Haleth, gathered his men, and they whetted their axes; but Halmir died ere the war came, and Haldir his son ruled that people. And to Gondolin also the tidings came, to Turgon, the hidden king.
"Of the Fifth Battle: The Nirnaeth Arnoediad", The Silmarillion
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According to the drafts, Orodreth had two more sons: the younger Orodlin and the elder either Halmir or Haldir (they are mentioned in different, but I conclude that they are the same character).
This is a collection of headcanons that I have appeared in the last three days.
I think that when Orodreth had three children, he and his wife went crazy, because Finduilas is a typical Third house in appearance and disposition and most of all looks like uncle Finrod, Halmir is more and more drawn to Noldo and his mother from Sindar, and Orodlin is the most calm and soft, something from the Arafinve and Artaresto breed.
Halmir could be a potential heir and warlord, and Orodlin was an adviser. headcanon: what the youngest was able to survive, because there is zero information about him except for his name.
Halmir bonked Orodlin with a shovel - hysterics for half an hour and from both sides. because the drama queen is a family thing for Finwions.
Halmir looks like his dad, everyone thought he would grow up the same, but by the age of 20 he had already overtaken his father by half a head and shoulders too.
And Orod the dark-haired sun went to his mother, thin as a pine tree.
Halmir was fighting with the feanorings, he had heard enough from Uncle Angarato that the First House should be driven with a filthy broom. Halmir almost left with Finrod, he had a big fight with his father.
Orodlin then went to reconcile them.
Halmir literally I don't respect Beren! Feanorians, and fuck you clap, I don't respect you either!
they are like the sound from the Russian tiktok
I'm a darling, I'm an angel, that's what everyone calls me - Orodlin
Rails, sleepers, bricks, a stream of urine is flying at you - Finduilas
I killed 18 people quickly and without regret - Halmir
✨if something happens to my father, then you will be responsible for it✨
Orodlin the snake he has rings with poisons.
oh my God Finduilas was pulling apart the little Haldir and Orodlin by their ears.
She wanted to go for a walk with Gwindor, and mom and dad say: well, take the little ones with you
fuck if Halmir died here in these 5-8 years that the feanorings lived in Nargothrond, then they could put pressure on Orodreth with this and because of this he was silent when Beren came
and Celegorm and Curufin were the first to find Halmir's body when they went hunting ☠️
three houses of the edain ➴ house of haleth ➴ headcanon disclaimer
Halmir was the son of Haldan, and the fourth Chieftain of the Haladin. He wed the wise-woman Fendis, named for her unusual pale appearance and held as holy and mystical by her people. Fendis bore Halmir four children: two sons, Haldir and Hundar, and two daughters, Hareth and Hiril. Halmir encouraged his children to foster friendships with the heirs of the House of Hador, eventually leading to a great feast celebrating the union of the two Houses when Haldir and Hareth each wed children of Lord Hador. Hundar also wed outside of his House, though he met his wife while on a diplomatic visit to Ladros; alone of her siblings, Hiril married a man of the Haladin.
While the Battle of Sudden Flame did not directly affect the Haladin, Haldir was Chieftain when the House of Bëor was scattered and a portion of them fled to Brethil. He welcomed Emeldir the Man-hearted and the refugees she led out of Ladros, including the family of Astoriel, the Bëorian wife of his second son Hundar. At this time, he also fostered his young grandsons Húrin and Huor, children of Hareth and Galdor, and was deeply grieved when they disappeared amid a skirmish with orcs. For a year he held himself accountable for their loss, and was relieved and overjoyed when they miraculously returned to their homeland of Dor-lómin.
In the wake of the Dagor Bragollach, orcs began to roam unhindered across the lands of West Beleriand, and Halmir called on King Thingol of Doriath for aid. Thingol sent many stout marchwardens under the command of Beleg Cúthalion, and together the Sindar and the Haladin destroyed a legion of invading orcs, giving the southern lands a respite from the defeats of the north.
Halmir continued to fight against the Enemy for the rest of his reign, joining the Union of Maedhros and bringing his people into the wider sphere of Beleriandic politics, but he would pass away before the next great battle of the First Age, leaving his eldest son Haldir to lead the Haladin.
There was a discussion on SWG about the ever-evolving Finwion family tree, and this forgotten/deleted character was brought up, so I made him a moodboard.
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Chapter summary: The morning after Oropher’s vigil at his son’s bedside, the lords of the Last Alliance of Elves and Men meet to discuss Thranduil’s fate.
………………………..
It was the twelfth day.
Aran Oropher didn’t recall falling asleep, but he must have because he remembered the sky outside being an inky black and not the purple-grey of dawn that it was when he opened his eyes. Nestorion was no longer there either. Alone with his son for another precious few minutes as the war camps awoke, he spoke quietly to him. It made him feel better to speak to his child and imagine that somehow Thranduil could hear him. “Lots of people will be talking about you today,” he murmured, stroking Thranduil’s golden hair. “Everyone has been thinking of you and asking after you, but today we are to have a meeting all about you. You pretend not to mind but you hate being the centre of attention, don’t you. Still, I think you would find this funny. All the lords and commanders coming together just to talk about you? You would laugh. Ah, my Thranduil, I miss your laugh. I hope...”
And he had to stop then, because he didn’t know what he hoped. His heart was torn. “I hope we make the right decision for you,” he whispered finally. He leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to Thranduil’s brow, his hand tenderly cupping the young prince’s head.
It pained Oropher to turn his back on his son, but so he did, returning with a heavy heart to the royal tent where the air inside was redolent with citrus. Grateful to whichever of his attendants had thought to arrange a bath for him, he paused by his desk. What he saw made him roll his eyes. All of his work was done, at least everything that he had set out to do the night before and some that he hadn’t as well. He wondered what time Vehiron had gone to bed, or if he had at all. Probably not. He pushed it from his mind for now, and made his way slowly through the pavilion. It was tall enough for even the tallest elf to stand straight, with silk hangings dividing the tent into rooms and intricately carved wooden screens to block out noise.
There was the lounge area with comfortable seats, a table for dining, and a chest containing books, games and other treasures from home. Beyond that was a makeshift study where Oropher did his work and received visitors who wished to speak with him privately. At the back of the tent were the sleeping quarters. They had originally been divided into two, with a bedroom on either side, but last year the hangings had been taken down to make them into one large space. Lately a prisoner of war and captive of the Dark Lord, Thranduil had suffered from violent night terrors worse even than those that had plagued Oropher after the Fall of Doriath. Thranduil had needed to be near his father when they came, and Oropher had needed him near. The night terrors hadn’t stopped after that, and perhaps they never would, but they had at least lessened. That was something.
As Oropher reached the bath set behind a screen on the other side of the bedroom, he paused and stared through the swirling steam. Four days ago he had asked Nestorion if Thranduil could still dream. Nestorion hadn’t answered right away, letting out a slow and deep breath as he considered his answer. Finally, he had explained that not enough was yet known about a comatose state to be able to say with any certainty whether or not a patient could dream. That hadn’t been any comfort to Oropher, because he didn’t like the thought of his child being shrouded in darkness, but as ever he had valued Nestorion’s honesty. Now, he suddenly found himself hoping that Thranduil couldn’t dream. If he was unable to dream, there would be no nightmares that he couldn’t wake from. The King couldn’t help but dwell on those thoughts as he undressed and began to scrub away the dust of Mordor.
Fresh clothes had already been laid out for him, but he didn’t look at them and his hands worked methodically. It was only after, when he stood before the mirror in the bedroom and stared at his reflection, that he noticed the colours. His leggings and light cambric shirt were the hues of a storm-washed afternoon sky, and the just above knee-length tunic he wore over them was a richer shade of sapphire blue. His sigil, the great oak tree beneath a winged moon, was embroidered across the chest in delicate silver thread. They were his clothes, but they were Thranduil’s colours. His son loved blues and silvers, and they were one of the many things that Oropher automatically thought of when he thought of Thranduil.
“Are you satisfied with the clothing, aran-nín?”
Oropher didn’t move, but his eyes shifted slightly. He watched in the mirror as his wife’s cousin Lord Halmir Dagorionhil stepped into the room with various accoutrements in his arms. “The choice was well made. Thranduil would approve.”
“I know I have done well when my sartorial arrangements pass the exacting standards of the Crown Prince,” Halmir murmured, setting down a pair of dark grey leather boots and a set of silver vambraces engraved with a pattern of leaves and vines. He met Oropher’s gaze in the mirror, his sky blue eyes twinkling, and began wrapping a white and silver silk sash belt around the King’s waist. “When they pass Elder Luthavar’s, I know I have done exceedingly well.”
For the first time that day, Oropher managed a smile. “Eru forbid Lutha disapproves of a fashion choice. Of course, he wouldn’t say anything about it. His eyes would just…you know.”
“Do that thing,” Halmir agreed.
That made Oropher’s smile turn into a little chuckle as Halmir knotted the belt at his side. Everyone knew when his cousin Luthavar saw something that offended his fashion sense, for he could never quite control the incredulous flicker and flare of his dark eyes. Sitting down to pull on his boots and fit the silver vambraces around his forearms, Oropher reflected that it was likely an automatic reflex that Lutha was unaware of rather than something he did on purpose. Lady Aiwen, the youngest daughter of Halmir and twin sister to Fileg, had once publicly scolded Lutha for being rude and judgemental after one such look made a lady of the court burst into tears. Lutha had looked genuinely appalled by the accusation, but then he had snapped at Aiwen that he was only ever rude and judgemental in his head, but for what it was worth, anyone who paired fuchsia and lime – in a dress with frills, no less – ought to be tried for outraging public decency. The two hadn’t spoken for a month after that.
“Speaking of elflings,” Oropher said, sitting at the dressing table and starting to prepare the braids at the left side of his head while Halmir started on the right, “I am afraid I haven’t had a chance to visit Fileg these last few days. How is his injury?”
“Ah. His injury.” Halmir fell silent with a frown as he deftly wove beads and gems into the first of Oropher’s braids. There was the pattern of the royal house of Doriath – pearls, black opals, silver beads and moonstones, which Lord Vehiron and Thranduil wore as well – interspersed with some that were personally meaningful to the King. He wore lapis lazuli in memory of his parents, blue larimar for his wife, and star sapphire for his son. “Fileg’s injury is not greatly concerning,” Halmir said finally. “It is just a broken ankle. He will be fine soon enough.”
Oropher had been afraid that the younger ellon would say something like that. “Do you remember when Thranduil broke the little finger of his right hand? That was the year before last. He had spent the evening in Elendil’s camp, accepting the most foolhardy and reckless challenges from the young men until finally he landed awkwardly during some stunt and injured himself. I was so cross with him. As soon as he returned from being bandaged up, I embraced my fatherly duty and began to scold him.”
“Did he not tell you that it was dishonourable to use violence against a maimed war veteran, so you had to wait to punish him?” Halmir asked.
“Yes, the insolent bratling,” Oropher laughed, tying off his braid and starting the next one.
“And you summoned Healer Nestorion,” Halmir recalled.
“I did, and he was quite willing to inform my son that warmth to the muscles would stimulate blood flow and speed up his healing. Thranduil isn’t often lost for words, but he had no rebuttal to that. My point, Halmir, is that despite my exasperation and the punishment I gave him for showing off and behaving recklessly, I still felt awful for him,” Oropher said. “Every time he knocked his finger or stifled a cry because he’d tried to pick something up without thinking, my heart ached for him – even though it was just a broken finger. So don’t tell me that Fileg’s injury is not concerning. I appreciate your thinking of me, but just because my son is…the way that he is, right now, that doesn’t mean you should feel guilty for worrying about your son. Now please, mellon-nín – how is Fileg?”
Halmir exhaled in relief as he picked up a handful of gems from a pot on the dressing table. Of course the injury was nothing. Fileg was his son, and that meant it was everything. “Healer Nielinyë went to check on him yesterday evening. Now that the swelling has gone down, it seems that the break is a simple one and it should heal quickly enough if he takes it slowly. In himself, Fileg is…well, struggling.”
“How so?”
“Oh, he is angry with himself for causing the injury. And he’s not wrong, it was self-inflicted, but I can hardly blame him for being upset about Thranduil. Veassen told him to kick a pillow next time instead of a rock, but I don’t think Fileg is ready to hear jokes yet,” Halmir replied. “He is quiet and he grieves for Thranduil. He wants desperately to visit him, but the ground is too rough for him at least until he is able to walk with crutches. Healer Galad is going to bring them tomorrow.”
“I hope he will be in better spirits soon,” Oropher said gently.
Halmir smiled at the other ellon in the mirror. “As do I.”
They finished the braids more or less at the same time, and the outfit was completed with a silver circlet upon the King’s brow. He thanked Halmir, who responded by quietly wishing him luck. It was time to go, and there was no putting it off. Part of him just wanted it to be over with even as the thought of what was to come filled him with dread. Waiting for him outside the royal pavilion was his brother, along with their best friend and Oropher’s most trusted Chief Advisor, Lord Herdir. He clasped the arms of both ellyn in greeting as he stepped out to meet them. “Well,” he sighed. “I suppose we must go.”
“Yes,” Herdir said sympathetically. “The others are gathering. How are you feeling?”
“I…I have no idea,” Oropher admitted, realising that he truly didn’t.
“That’s fine.” Herdir gave his friend a small but reassuring smile. “You don’t have to.”
“We are with you, muindor,” Vehiron added.
They had always been with him. They had seen him through the very best of times and the very worst of times, sharing in his pain as easily as they shared in his laughter. Oropher shared blood with only one of them, but Vehiron and Herdir were both his brothers and best friends. It had been important to him that Thranduil experience that same level of loyalty and friendship, for a life lived without friends was a lonely one. Oropher knew he wouldn’t have got far without his. He gave the two of them a strained smile, and he drew one final deep breath before taking his first step in the direction of the camps of Ereinion Gil-galad and Elendil, where a command tent in blue and silver with green and gold trim lay on the border between the two.
When he arrived there, most of the seats within were occupied. The High King of the Noldor was at the great round table with Captain Glorfindel in his golden armour, and Lord Elrond, to his left. On his right was the King of Arnor and Gondor, with Elendil’s proud son Prince Isildur and eldest grandson Elendur to his right. Sitting next to Elendur was the new King of Lórien, young Aran Amroth. That still startled Oropher sometimes. He missed his beloved cousin Amdír terribly, though he thought Amdír’s son would do well enough at ruling with the right guidance. Much of that guidance would come from Amroth’s great-uncle Lord Celeborn, who sat to his right. Then, there were three empty seats. Herdir took the one next to Celeborn, with Oropher in the middle and Vehiron on his other side next to General Rochendil and Captain Curulas of the Greenwood army. Finally, completing the circle between Curulas and Elrond was Master Healer Nestorion.
“We have come together today to decide the fate of Prince Thranduil,” Ereinion said quietly, when everyone was settled. “If all are ready, we shall begin.”
Then in the plain of Anfauglith, on the fourth day of the war, there began Nirnaeth Arnoediad, Unnumbered Tears, for no song or tale can contain all its grief. The host of Fingon retreated over the sands, and Haldir lord of the Haladin was slain in the rearguard; with him fell most of the Men of Brethil, and came never back to their woods. But on the fifth day as night fell, and they were still far from Ered Wethrin, the Orcs surrounded the host of Hithlum, and they fought until day, pressed ever closer. In the morning came hope, when the horns of Turgon were heard as he marched up with the main host of Gondolin; for they had been stationed southward guarding the Pass of Sirion, and Turgon restrained most of his people from the rash onslaught. Now he hastened to the aid of his brother; and the Gondolindrim were strong and clad in mail, and their ranks shone like a river of steel in the sun.
"Of the Fifth Battle: The Nirnaeth Arnoediad", The Silmarillion
three houses of the edain ➴ house of haleth ➴ headcanon disclaimer
Haldar was the son of Haldad and the twin brother of Haleth. Like his father, Haldar declared his manhood as he came of age, though in his youth he had been seen as a girl like his sister. As the younger twin, he had not been raised as his father’s heir, and Haleth remained the more forward and stronger-willed of the siblings, while Haldar was quicker to laugh and to play. Haldar wed the warrior Thordan at a young age, contrasting his sister who did not marry at all, and bore his husband a son, Haldan.
At the Battle of the Gelion-Ascar Stockade, Haldar lost first his father Danhar and then his husband Thordan. Unlike Thordan, he was inclined more to farming than to war, but in the midst of his grief Haldar took up a sword and threw himself into battle. The final blow to his heart was the death of Haldad, the father who bore him, and going mad with grief he rushed to rescue Haldad’s body and was cut down himself.
But Haleth his sister stood firm, rallying her people through seven more days of a dreadful siege. When at last the elven-lord Caranthir rode to their aid, the fallen heroes were given a solemn funeral: Haldad, Danhar, Haldar, Thordan, and many other warriors were all buried together in a great mound held sacred to the Haladin.
Now orphaned, Haldar’s young son Haldan found himself in the care of his formidable aunt, Chieftain Haleth. She led her people from Thargelion to Estolad and then to Brethil, all the while raising up her nephew as her heir. Along the long and difficult journey to Brethil, Haldan, now a young man, courted and wed the maiden Aveth, who bore him a son not long after the Haladin settled in their new lands.
This was Halmir, and as he had no siblings, he was the only heir of his father when Haldan took up lordship of his people. In the past, the Haladin had passed leadership from mother to daughter, but after a series of several men being the only available heirs, and mingling with the elves and the other Houses of the Edain, who were traditionally patrilineal, this custom fell away. By the time of Halmir’s own children it was assumed that his son Haldir would inherit even though he had sisters who under the old customs would have taken his place in the line of succession.
