Generally I’m A Terrible Reviewer Of Fic. When I Like Something Very Much, I Always Want To Write A

So this is your friendly reminder that a certain heroic part of Sam’s and Fingon’s narratives are the same. To summarize:

✅ Best friend is captured 

✅ Go to dark fortress to save best friend 

✅ Cannot find best friend

✅ Sing a cool song 

✅ Best friend hears song and sings with you 

✅ Find best friend and save him 

Maybe somehow, in a way, even though the time, language, and situation were very different, they sang the exact same song.

Tried some soft bluish colour.

It all makes sense now.

I just realized why so few of Feanor's sons are married:

Feanor is just that good at burning ships.

Oh. OH.

“It's not a code,” said Lindir. He clutched the stones tight in his hands. “They’re mine, not the orcs. I hid them inside my robes so that no one would take them away. They’re my - my family.”

“Family?” repeated Lord Maedhros.

Lindir laid the stones out, taking comfort in the pattern. “Like this,” he said. “It always has to be like this. No - no you’re not looking at it the right way.” He tugged at Lord Maedhros’ metal hand so that they stood shoulder to shoulder. “See? Now they’re in the right order.”

“What does it mean?”

Could he explain? It became so muddled in his head that putting it to words felt impossible. Lindir would try. Maybe, if he did a good enough job, they would let him keep his stones and not hurt him. He was so tired of being hurt.

“This one goes first,” he said, pointing to the red pebble, “because it's the biggest. The oldest. Then - ” he moved past the gap to point at the next one “ - this one, which is white like the - like the moon. Then this one with its dark spot in the centre and then this one with the little iron flakes that make it shine and these two, which are stuck together. The littlest that are two-in-one must always go last. That’s important. They can’t be put in any other order.”

“And here?” There was an odd note in Lord Maedhros’ voice. A slight waver of pain beneath the gentle calm. “You’ve left a space between the first two stones. What goes between them?”

“There has to be a space.” Lindir twisted his hands. The light inside his head hurt, something crooked pressing down down down against it, threatening to break him all over again. “There has to be. Always. I - I don’t know - I lost - something else goes there. I lost it. It flew away. But I have to leave a space.” He started to shake. “Please don’t take them. They’re my family. I have to protect them. Please, please, don’t take them away.”

“I won’t,” said Lord Maedhros. The odd note had grown stronger. Lindir glanced up to see that the towering Fëanorian leader had turned his face away, the bright light making it look like something wet glittered on his face. “I promise you, Laurë. No one will ever separate you from your family again.”

IDEA: The Silmarils were, in fact, crystal containers with either:

- fluorescent proteins, or (even more likely)

- luciferases (proteins that catalyze chemical reactions producing light, e.g. in fireflies or jellyfish)

because that's probably how the Trees could shine in the first place.

Bonus:

OG Art by choistar

“Nobody will ever know what it is like for them. The Valar tell nobody of it. But Elwing and Maedhros fall into this strange, unnatural rhythm. Sometimes it feels like they are laying down and longing to die. Other times, it is all that keeps them alive. Each night, the moon climbs the trees, an aloof observer. The two of them begin uncurling out from themselves and into each other like pressed-together seeds in the cold earth. An unasked-for hybridisation.”

thought today’s sickbed sketch was cute enough to share, so enjoy desert island frenemies-with-benefits Elwing and Maedhros, as seen in my fic The Island Dwellers where they explore each other’s bodies for the sole purpose of fucking with the Valar 😇

thought i heard a red-winged blackbird red-winged blackbird down my road he'll be in there singing his heart out he'll be telling me stories too of where he went to winter last year of how he's going back there too

Saw this post on Instagram the other day, so ...

Like an old little leaf in its hopeless dream Can't forget its bygone beauty, dance on the wind I can wait all my life to be taken away with flow Autumn shrouded by rain turns to cold winter snow When the birds fly away I'm still left here alone I still search for my own land where flowers grow

~ Land Where Flowers Grow, Lind Erebros

The leaf is from Liriodendron tulipifera, a beautiful tree whose flowers strongly resemble tulips. It doesn't usually grow near the sea, but it's my favourite tree, and I liked the parallel between Maglor and the leaf—both alone and far from home.