#tribble post

Maedhros was a brilliant military leader. Able to command respect, love, and fear all at once, adept at soothing egos, but also at knowing when a particular burr needed pulling and not pacifying. He could look at a map and see the full picture for what it was and not what he wanted it to be. He had an innate knack for swiftly deciding how to best allocate resources, both material and in terms of bodies. He could make sacrifices.

His only real fault was his inability- or, Amras suspected, lack of will- to truly read his enemies and make accurate predictions of their next move.

Always getting surprised, Maedhros. He couldn’t stand the prospect of identifying too much with his enemies, both the ones he pitied and the ones he reviled. But, luckily, he had brothers willing to do that for him.

Maglor was his most trusted commander, because he was a damn skilled one, as he was at most things. By Amras’s estimation, Maglor was the only one to inherit their father’s genius- that was, his ability to be near effortlessly good at basically everything he tried- and it showed. It was no coincidence that Maglor was there to cut down Uldor, who he never trusted and privately protested against giving such an important place in their column.

A shame that Maedhros always listened to Fingon over any of his brothers.

Then there was Celegorm, who Amras wouldn’t call a strategist, but had provided invaluable knowledge and expertise in organization. The Hunt of Orome had been the closest Valinor had to a host of warriors, and they hunted not just animals but monsters. Celegorm was the only one among them who knew how to create formations, to run drills, maintain rotations, to organize relief and extraction and medical aid. He’d spent most of the early days as Feanor’s, then Maedhros’s, then Maglor’s quartermaster until someone else could be trained to take on those duties. To say nothing of how his warriors loved him.

To the end, he was the best field commander.

Caranthir and Curufin were no help.

Oh, Caranthir was a dab hand at supply lines and a decent strategist, but he got flustered too easily. If one piece of his intricate plans fell through, he wasn’t able to recover fast enough. He got frustrated, angry, scared. He was much, much better at negotiating trade in his office, where he was given hours and days to think his way through everything thrown his way before he needed to send a reply back. The battlefield was too chaotic for his tendency to focus on one thing and one alone. His greatest strength, and also probably how he let himself be killed by a half-grown archer with shaking hands while trying to save Curufin’s already doomed life.

And the less said about Curufin, the better. He tried too hard at everything; if it wasn’t about measuring up to Feanor, it was about outdoing Maedhros, and that was no way to command men or win a war, to say nothing about stealing cities from cousins. His every move reeked of insecurity and that was a pungent smell.

Amras knew nothing about Pityafinwe’s prowess as a general.

Except, a small part of him that he quickly crushed whispered, his propensity to run.

The weather was fair and lovely, and there was a warmth at his back. And yet still, the day felt quite sad. Sad in the way that only sad things can be incomparably beautiful. Elrond and his mother-in-law went to go see many of the same beloved people and also shared much beloved that they left behind.

Elrond looked to her when Galadriel let out a tremulous sound.

“My uncle was right about few things,” she said, “but he was right that this land across the sea is beautiful and that we were meant to be a part of it. It has been my great honor, not to master a piece of this land as I initially sought, but to watch and help it grow, and to grow with it. So bitter was the way, so foolish were our intentions, but I do not regret. I do not regret a bit the going. Nor do I regret the leaving. I only feel joy and pride to have been a piece of a song so lovely, so lively, and so grand.”

And if Galadriel wept a little, Elrond would never tell.

Or, rather, that their father was more like one of their uncles. Like so-

Maedhros, looks at Fingolfin and sees a king and a diplomat and a statesman of unrivaled poise. His father is not so composed, he’s flighty and bombastic, genius but miserable at following the details of things that don’t interest him. Is it wrong that Maedhros wishes to be the heir of someone with such focus and dignity as Fingolfin?

Fingon, meanwhile, looks at Finarfin and sees a good man with good perspective. His father is more short-sighted, more prone to offense and pettiness. His father is also deeply committed to honor and decency! But he misses moments of simple joy, freedom, and forgiveness. Why could Fingon’s house not also simply live happily like Finarfin’s?

Finrod, though, oh Finrod, he looks at Feanor and he sees and Elf-prince of stature and grandiosity and individuality. His father is a simple man, a kind and good man, but he lacks all ambition. He won’t do anything to advance his interests, his name and power, or that of his children. Why could Finrod not be the son of so great and bright an Elf as Feanor?

So, like, what kinds of hunting to do you the Ambarussa engaged in?

Celegorm 'followed Orome's horn'. Given what we know of Orome (his host, his horses, his dogs, the purging of evil monsters), I've always imaged the type of hunting these Elves and Ainur engaged was modeled after the Medieval mounted hunt.

Dogs chasing down on-foot game (deer, boar, wolves, foxes, badgers) while mounted riders followed with spears and bows (tho some considered bow hunting to be ignoble and an insult to the slain animal). Given Celegorm's canonical spear and bow use... safe bet.

It's important to note, though, that this manner of hunting was more ritual and sport than it was sustenance hunting. These enterprises were performed by the nobility as a past time with nice benefits, it was very well-organized and coordinated and /fancy/. They required an incredible amount of teamwork, preparation, and coordination, as well as grace and skill, so its no surprise someone could gain renown doing it, either in a leading or supporting role

Ambarussa don't follow Orome's horn. They aren't part of his host. And, in some texts, they are noted to be less 'great and renowed' hunters than Celegorm.

Given all this, I'd like to propose that Amrod and Amras engage in different types of hunting (of which there are many) in which they might have gained some renown, but wouldn't have been known as 'great' hunters as they weren't primarily interested in the pageantry and sport of the Hunt.

I like to think that Amrod was a very well-respected falconer and Amras was an excellent trap hunter.

Falconry was a common and highly respectable practice, wherein a falcon or hawk was trained to hunt waterfowl usually. Sometimes small animals. And heck, lets throw in that Amrod liked to train smaller dog breeds (terrier, spaniel) to hunt burrowing ground game. While Celegorm leans more spear, Amrod leans more bow.

Trapping was not really a 'sporting' type of hunting, it was hugely practical and, of course, takes more time (though all hunting takes time, in the kinds assisted by animals, you have the dogs or birds flush out the prey for you, rather than waiting for prey to come to you). And he fishes (fishing as we imagine it really pop up much until 15th century but shhh)! I imagine Amras enjoys setting traps before dawn, then going to fish for several hours before checking his traps and lines.

Because his stomach was roiling, and there was a heaviness in his chest, a great emptiness which his heart was pounding against, echoing, echoing, echoing.

Father had one hand on Feanor’s shoulder and the other was upon Indis’s. She was sat in front of them, smiling beautifully, little golden-haired Arafinwe in her lap. Around them, her three dark-haired children were gathered. Findis on Father’s other side, Nolofinwe with her, and Lalwen in front of Feanor.

To the unaware eye, Feanor knew, they must all look like they matched. Like they went together correctly. Like a family.

When the portrait was complete and those dark haired children were gathered around the mother and father, who would guess that one child was out of place? Who might glance at all that paint representing their faces and think anything but-

You could almost be her son, Feanor thought, and then his mind replied, But you’re not.