By The Way! BBC Merlin, In Its Ongoing Quest To Achieve Ren Faire Levels Of Historical Accuracy, Used

The difference between Beren and Luthien and Aragorn and Arwen is that the former follows the conventions of fairy tale and the latter follows the conventions of courtly love. In this essay I will

So my friends and i came up with a sort of AU where people sprout flowers in their hair when they feel any sort of love. So anyways, ahklut crew teases Zuko about how many blue family flowers have been growing in his hair the longer he stays on the ship.

This puts his Season One hair into a whole new perspective.

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Uncle's hair has dried flowers: his wife's panda lily, Lu Ten's dragon ivy. Everyone knows that dead flowers aren't as fragile as they seem, but he has the crewmen carry an umbrella over him when it rains, anyway. Carefully, he combs around them every morning. Leaves from the vine, Zuko hears him crooning sometimes, even though Lu Ten won't ever lose his leaves. He won't grow any new ones, either.

(Tucked away under his greying strands, still too close to the scalp to be easily seen, a bud has been growing for years. Iroh does not pressure it to bloom, but he does look forward to the occasion.)

(And then a storm, and the Dragon of the West realizes there is no way to tell a dead bloom from a live one without prying its petals open, and this he cannot do. A dead bloom can never heal.)

The Akhlut's crew find the Fire Prince's shaved head profane. When he's caught stealing razors, they crack down. Stubble grows around the black ponytail. Flowers don't.

(At thirteen, the Fire Lord set a hand on Zuko's face, and burned Ursa's sheltering rose bramble away. It would have grown back if she was alive.)

("It would have grown back if she still loved you," Azula corrects him, and he's never sure it if was a fever dream that placed her next to his sick bed, or if she really was there, her precise flames as good as any garden shears as she burned his fire lily from above her ear.)

"Whose is that?" Toklo asks, delighted and too loud, when he catches sight of the little sprig of blue flowers that are only visible when the Fire Prince lets his hair down to wash.

"No one," Zuko says, loudly. "My little sister," he says, more quietly.

Uncle's white jade flower is too large, too showy, it sticks out as it curls above his head. He snips it off between his fingers each morning, but it never stops trying to come back.

The crewmen, their own heads in ruckus and unashamed bloom, watch his daily pruning with distaste. No one ever catches what the Fire Lord's flower looks like; they can never catch him pruning it.

(They assume it's there to be pruned.)

(Zuko would like to know what his father's love looks like, too.)

His outrage at Toklo's snowdrops peaking their way through his black fuzz is as hilarious as it is worrying.

("Don't get attached, Toklo," they warn.

"But warm water," says their younger crewmen, who has never seen a reason to be stingy with his love.)

The Fire Prince shouts and steams. The snowdrops shake quite merrily in his rage. He doesn't pluck them.

He doesn't pluck Kustaa's grudging little cloudberry flowers, either.

"Are you loving me to spite me?" the Fire Prince accuses.

"Yes," says Kustaa, who parted his hair specifically to show off the new little bud trying so hard to hide.

They don't give the boy to the Earth Kingdom. They forget to scowl while they teach him how to do new things. They stop threatening him, mostly. That shouldn't be all it takes for those little buds to start spreading among the crew.

(The Wani's crew had them, too. Back when the prince was a shouty little thirteen year old monster, they'd taken it as a sign that things would soon get better. Things did not get better. Most of them forgot about those under-developed buds, except on the odd occasion when their combs would jar against them.)

Then they fight a Fire Navy ship, and find the prince curled up as far as he can get from the man he's killed. Kustaa holds him as he shakes, a fire lily in full bloom on his head. It would look ridiculous, if it didn't look so much like blood.

He's not the prince for long after that.

His hair isn't so barren of flowers for long after that, either. Eventually, he even lets his real uncle's bloom find its place among the rest. It doesn't look so overbearing, when it's not so alone.

"I miss him," The boy admits, as they sit on the main mast (as one does).

Somewhere far, but not too far, a tired old man passes his mirror, and catches the impossible flash of something new. A red fire lily, finally unfurled into bloom.

"Zuko," he says.

This neatly accelerates his plans for active treason.

Nerd Rage, general hatred of Amazon, and, yes, a certain degree of racism are surely aspects of it for some people, but I think that the backlash against the "Rings of Power" is more prosaic than any of this.

What I think that it boils down to is that "Lord of the Rings" was made with love. Tolkien was certainly not writing it to make huge amounts of money off of it, he did it out of love; the generations of children who grew up RPing Elves and drawing detailed maps of Osgiliath and somehow forcing their way through the text of the Silmarillion were acting out if love; even, yes, the Peter Jackson movies, which were absolutely capitalist enterprises from top to bottom, would not have been what they were without the love of the people working on them.

And then along comes Amazon, for whom this obsession, this passion, this love is just a market segment. Amazon, the economic equivalent of a malignant brain tumour, to which all things are always and only IP to be consumed. And they show complete disregard for the original text, because they just don't care. To them, it's an aesthetic. Something they can market to fans of Game of Thrones or the Witcher. A centrepiece for their own forays into streaming.

So that's the basis for the pushback. It's not because Galadriel has the wrong heraldry or because the Dwarven women are beardless. It is the revolt of culture against being puréed, processed, and packaged into #Content

Part 6 of Tolkien's Women: Aerin

CW: vaguely implied rape, suicide. Basically it's canon compliant.

The revulsion she feels is not for him as a man, for he is fair to behold and not unkind to his servants and thralls. In other circumstances she might have liked him, even. But she was never offered a choice. And so she detests every gift from him, every touch, every word of affection. She resents him for the pretense of a marriage he has forced her to take part in. To her, he will always be the invader, the conqueror, never the loving husband.

At times she envies Morwen. Witch-woman, the invaders call her. They shun her, they go to great lengths to avoid her stern, unflinching gaze. They whisper about her kinsman, Beren, who rose from the grave through the dark sorcery of the elves. Even Brodda fears Morwen, fears what curses she may lay upon him. Every time he passes by her house, he makes signs to ward off evil. Aerin sneers at such behaviour. The only evil in Dor-lómin is the one he has brought with him, the darkness he serves.

Most of all she envies the menfolk of the House of Hador. She envies them their swift deaths at swordpoint, so much more merciful than the slow death of a life in captivity. Many a night she has lain awake in the darkness, clutching her dagger, calculating how many throats she would be able to slit before someone raised the alarm, thinking, would she have time to plunge the dagger into her own heart before they caught her. But there are too many of them, and she knows that her people will pay tenfold in blood for every life she takes. So she plays at being the dutiful wife. She tries to make the most of what influence she has with Brodda. Many a child of the House of Hador makes it through the winter thanks to the food she smuggles to their families. And with every small victory, every tiny act of resistance, she feels a little bit less dead inside.

Until the day Morwen's son strides into Brodda's hall and she is caught in the gaze of those stern, accusing eyes. When he cuts through the guards, when he puts her husband to the sword, every blow is a reprimand for the years spent under the thumb of the enemy. As if he could ever understand restraint in the service of honour and duty.

In the end they are the only two people left in the hall. And Aerin faces him, unflinching, without shame.

"Know this, son of Húrin. Our people will suffer for what you have done here. I hope you learn, before it is too late, to leave more than ashes in your wake."

She sees the pain in his eyes then, yet knows that he is too young, too blinded by his own sense of earth-shattering importance, too weighed down by pride and doom, to ever turn from the path he has started down. He will burn, and he will make the world burn with him.

But one gift has he given her. With Brodda and his household slain, with everything she has built through her life crumbling around her, duty to her people no longer holds her back. With one last look at the sky, she drops a torch on the oil-doused floor. Aerin stands tall at the chieftain's seat, watching her prison go up in flames, and when the fire reaches for her, she unsheathes her dagger and plunges it straight into her chest. Smoke and darkness cloud her vision, but through it all it seems to her that a piercing light shines through. Aerin sinks to the floor with a smile on her face, free at last.

The Valar as a collective (not necessarily each individual, such as Ulmo) seem to find it difficult to empathize with beings of lesser power than they who are tied to time, especially beings who can be killed and aren’t willing to wait around for millennia for the Valar to come up with a solution when things are bad and people are dying right now. Like op said, they aren’t used to being told, “I don’t agree with any of y’all, and I’m going to pursue this goal my own way, whether y’all like it or not.” They’re not used to having more than two sides to a conflict, and throughout the Silmarillion they consistently underestimate the determination of the Children, especially the Noldor and the Numenoreans. 

So, do the Valar know the elves aren’t  just fleshy-Maiar?

(I’m tired so this might be ramble-y but oh well)

So, Pre-elves the Valar only really interact with Maiar, who basically do whatever they want and are kind of just fancy servants. The only times we actually see a Maia rebel- e.g. Mairon- it’s basically just a switch in who they listen too and not a bid for independence.

So has anyone except Melkor actually flat out told the Valar No?

Because if not that sort of explains how they have no idea how to deal with the elves.

Specifically the Noldor.

Because the Noldor, even though they are favoured by Aule, strive to create independently and without oversight from the Valar, and it’s with them the Valar screw up the most. Literally most of the problems in the first age would have been less catastrophic if the Valar had just let them leave. No first kinslaying because Olwe could just let the borrow the boats, no Helcaraxe, someone could have slapped Feanor upside the head before he got himself killed ect. But instead the Valar just…thought they’d be listened to when they told them to not go after the guy who murdered their dearly beloved king and stay put in Valinor forever, even when it’s implied Namo already knew Finwe is dead and should probably have told his son as soon as he found out but didn’t and the Valar immediately mourned the loss of the Silmarils rather than the elf who died in a place they promised would be safe.

And not knowing how elves work would kind of explain why they thought Feanor would be okay with Finwe remarrying. No Maiar had ever been unhappy with their decisions, so why would an elf be different?

It also explains the…weirder aspects of LaCE. Because some of LaCE reads like it was invented purely for population control (see sex as an act purely to create children), and that would make sense if it was put down by a race that just didn’t do sex as the ainur are implied to be. And everyone is expected to follow it and be happy, because no-one had ever told the Valar they weren’t.

Any way, idk. I’m probably reading too much into this, and this probably wasn’t articulated very well.

Tl:dr- The Valar got too used to dealing with people that do everything they tell them too and elves don’t like being told what to do Thank You Very Much

Sauron’s First age elf ratings:

Feanor: husband stealer -5/10

Maedhros: squishy, screams loudly 7/10

Fingon: stole favourite prisoner 2/10

Celegorm/Curufin: commited grave sin of letting Lúthien leave to fuck shit up 0/10

Lúthien: FUCK NO. SCARY AS HELL -1000/10

Thingol: has scary wife 1/10

Finrod: tasty 9/10

Fingolfin: hurt husband -2/10

Turgon: unreasonably paranoid 3/10

Maeglin: whiny 6/10

Gil-Galad : who is he?? 1/10

Galadriel: too close to Melian -1/10

Elrond/Elros: mini Lúthien x2 -20/10

Eärendil: killed favourite dragon -30/10

I really hope the Amazon show picks a side in the Gil-Gadad debate. Just for the drama. I think it will be funny to watch.

You're telling me that I can't eat plain marinara sauce for lunch, even if it's my safe food? Who came up with that rule?

I like to believe that in the same way Glorfindel was sent to Middle Earth, Finrod could have been a messenger in Númenor and change the fate of Dúnedain.

Whenever I read LotR and reach the battle between Eowyn and the Witch-king, I get the impression that the reason why the prophecy loophole works isn’t that the Witch-king is unkillable except for some illogical weakness nobody had thought about yet for misogynistic reasons, but that the Witch-king himself derives so much of his power from the fear he instills in others and from his own belief that he is unkillable. Eowyn doesn’t fear him, because she doesn’t fear death. When she twists his words right back at him, she’s not trying to exploit a prophecy loophole, she’s just making a play on the double meaning of the word «man» with fairly standard battlefield bravado.

But, crucially, it gets the Witch-king wondering if there might be an actual loophole in the prophecy. He starts doubting his own invincibility. There’s no logical reason why a woman might be able to kill him if a man cannot, but prophecies are tricky things. What if …

And this is what undoes him, in the end. This last minute doubt. The Witch-king, deep down, believes that Eowyn can kill him, thus making it possible for her to do so.