#highbornlowtide

˗ˏˋ ❝ENOUGH!!❞ The shout tore from his throat, broken & anguished as his hand slammed down on the table with enough force to rattle the dishes. Pain and rage and despair surged through him, coiling around his throat like a serpent until he could barely breathe.

❝How DARE you ——— ?! How dare you compare their actions to mine, how dare you pretend what they did is remotely the same?! You make a mockery of the innocent blood on my hands!❞ The gentle-voiced noldo who had seemed so hollow, so empty of all passion, now burned with fury. ❝They defied the Valar's will, yes, but they did not slaughter their kin three times over! They didn't birth this cycle of violence and death! WE are the root of all this evil and suffering!!❞

When Eönwë had summoned them, Maglor had believed redemption was possible. He'd been willing to surrender, to stand before the Valar & accept their judgment. Some small part of him had even dared to hope that someday, somehow, forgiveness might be possible. But Maedhros had talked him out of it. If they surrendered, after everything they had done, all that bloodshed would be meaningless. Worse — they'd risk damning not just themselves but their entire house to eternal darkness.

What awaited them in death? The Void? Mandos? Something even worse?

Maglor had been willing to face it if it meant no more killing... But condemning his whole family? His father? His brothers? He couldn't. Who was he to decide their fate?

❝You want evidence?? Then LOOK at me!!❞ He threw his arms out. ❝I wander as a walking corpse, unable to die, unable to fade, unable to find any rest!❞ His voice cracked. ❝...I am damned to continue existing with the guilt of what I've done. I am your evidence, once-priest.❞

Perhaps Aerwain was right. Perhaps this wasn't mere coincidence because this fate was Maglor's eternal darkness...

The sun, a blazing heart in the sky, caresses the sea's horizon with its fiery kiss, igniting the heavens with hues of love's sweet longing.

volwë & auriel drawn by @sidmarillion

ft. @curufiins angry jealous curufin below

What was the difference in these days between noontide and midnight? In the darkness, it had not mattered, and indeed, even here, returned to Beleriand by her own will and own hands, Ranyasúre found that the night remained preferable to her. She was not yet fully, there in the long afternoon of the First Age, returned to herself. Others of her kin were not safe. She decided that for herself. It was an easy discernment to make, yet she still had need of food. Humans were mistrustful and sparse, often unable to spare even brown bread crusts. Thus, she lingered when she could find them, on the edge of elven encampments.

Voices in Teler, here. Here among the soldiers. She crouched behind one of the tents, rubbing her rotten knee as her shoulders began to relax. It was the tongue of her father's kin, her second language, one that brought her some relief. There were memories of treelight woven into the words, and she let her guard down. Rani felt safe for a moment. She forgot, almost forgot-- she was here to find something to eat.

Send the word Duo into my askbox and I will make a picrew of our muses | accepting! | @highbornlowtide

Me shoving these two together like….“kith”

oh valar help them…. | accepting! | @highbornlowtide

Name: Almarië [blessing, good fortune] — Auriel named her, of course.

Gender: Female

General Appearance: White hair, tanned skin, golden eyes. Curls, curls, curls for days. Relatively tall, somewhere between her parents. Lithe and lean. Has her father’s coloring and traits, but looks like her mother in the face.

Personality: Sweet and charming, genuinely kind. Very self aware. Prefers small groups to large gatherings. Good at getting what she wants.

Special Talents: Climbing & Swimming, very good at tying knots (Auriel tried to teach her to weave, but it just kept getting tangled up. This is how she found out her skill at knot tying).

Who they like better: She knows better than to say who she prefers (it’s Volwë, she is a daddy’s girl.)

Who they take after more: A good mix, but leans towards Volwë.

Personal Headcanon: Was born in Valinor, but wishes she could have known what Middle Earth was like after hearing her parents many stories. Though she prefers Volwë as a parent, she likes living closer to Glorfindel & Ecthelion. She finds the palace too overwhelming, even if she is technically a princess, she doesn’t feel like one.

Face Claim Picrew:

Auriel continued to rub small circles against her husband’s back as he cried, holding him close against her body as though she could protect and shield him from the pain of it all. Now, at last, everything was beginning to make sense. Curufin’s strange demeanor earlier, the tension in his voice, the unhappiness at the news of their marriage.

“How could you have known, miquelis?” she murmured, trying to make her voice as gentle and soothing as possible. “How could either of us have known?”

Her fingers drifted upward through his hair, smoothing the pale strands back from his face and wiping the streaks of tears from his cheeks. There was no anger in her, no bitterness, only a deep, aching sorrow for all three of them. They had been separated by war, by death, by centuries of grief and distance. So much of their lives had been shaped by things none of them had ever truly chosen.

"Ummmm..." Volwë glanced quickly between the unknown boy and the high table, where his ada sat with Elulindo and some other grown-ups he neither knew nor cared about. He wasn't supposed to run or scream inside, but ada hadn't said he couldn't leave the meeting before it finished, and he was so bored he thought he would scream. He supposed he hadn't been forbidden from taking other kids with him, either. "I guess so. Do you want to see my shark teeth? I've been collecting them. But if I show you where they are, you can't tell Eärwen. That's my sister. She'll steal them."

Ingoldo looked to the table, where his father sat talking with the king of the Teleri, and various other lordly figures he could not identify. His father had bid him go and play, but he was shy and nervous, and hardly knew where to take himself. It was a relief to find someone who looked friendly.

When they'd been children, winning a game on the same team, their hugs had been more evenly matched. Arafinwë had been the elder, but not by much. The house of Finwë was so generally tall, though, that once they had grown to full stature, Volwë was completely engulfed in his friend's arms. He was nigh unto suffocating before he disentangled himself. "It's good to see you," Volwë said. "How long has it been? Ten years? Fifty? You've changed. It's almost like you stopped visiting your old friend the moment you proposed to his sister. Almost like that was the point of the friendship all along. That's cold, Arvo." He was joking, but his deadpan was very good. It was hard to tell. "Let's see how you like it. Where's Irimë?"

“Fifteen, Volwë.” Arvo laughed, releasing his friend to clap him gently on the shoulder. “And proposing is not all I have been doing. Apparently, even third sons have to complete their education.” 

He looked over his shoulder, as if expecting his sister to appear at the very mention of her name.