A Sense of History: Thálatta! Thálatta!
While he never climbs the stairs of this Elf-tower, in Lothlórien Frodo Baggins descends a flight of steps to look into Galadriel’s Mirror, wherein he first sees the sea. This post examines the view.
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A Sense of History: Crossroads
In the ongoing series on towers in Tolkien's work, a thread runs through "The Lord of the Rings," revealing the divine assistance of Varda in the travails of the Fellowship.
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[Writing] Tengwar: To The Letter by cuarthol
For the Tengwar prompt challenge. To be updated as new prompts are completed.
Current up through 'Hwesta…
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A collection of Silmarillion-centric drabbles written for the Tengwar Challenge. Short and sweet!
[Writing] I Stood Aside by Flora-lass
Maedhros' horror at the burning of the ships. Inspired by a painting (see notes).
[Reference] Thálatta! Thálatta! by Simon J. Cook
While he never climbs the stairs of this Elf-tower, in Lothlórien Frodo Baggins descends a flight of steps to look into Galadriel’s Mirror, wherein he first sees the sea. This post examines the view.
[Writing] Words of Wisdom by AdmirableMonster
One or more drabbles about Pengolodh and his babysitter Salgant.
[Writing] Les Mots de Sagesse by AdmirableMonster
Plusieurs petites histoires qui parle de Pengolodh et Salgant pendant des moments differents.
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New in References
Thálatta! Thálatta! by Simon J. Cook
[]While he never climbs the stairs of this Elf-tower, in Lothlórien Frodo Baggins descends a flight of steps to look into Galadriel’s Mirror, wherein he first sees the sea. This post examines the view.
[]
With Gildor Inglorion we finally climb the stairs of Elostirion and look on the view, and what we see appears to reveal a hidden thread in the story of Frodo Baggins. This post reads two annotated translations of two Elvish songs to step through a crossroads in the narrative to arrive at the tower on the margin of the story, wherein is a stone that is a window onto Valinor.
Grief, Grieving, and Permission to Mourn in the "Quenta Silmarillion" by Dawn Walls-Thumma
[]In a book as full of death as the Quenta Silmarillion, grief and mourning are surprisingly absent. The characters who receive grief and mourning—and those who don't—appear to do so due to narrative bias. Grief and mourning (or a lack of them) serve to draw attention toward and away from objectionable actions committed by characters.
Beyond the Silmarillion
[Writing] Waybread (The Waybredlik) by Himring
[]Lembas speaks out.
[Series] Apr 1st Stories by Uvatha the Horseman
[]Once a year on April 1st, a canon character from LOTR or the Silmarillion gets pranked.
[Writing] Crossing Forest River by Dawn Felagund
[]Bilbo recounts, in verse, the attempt of Gandalf, Beorn, and him to cross the Forest River after the Battle of Five Armies. Written for the Hungarian Tolkien Society's 2024 Mailing Competition.
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Teitho May/June Challenge: Joker
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Exactly Alike by polutropos
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Chapter 1
Amrod to Amras, Valinor
With short, even taps I form a cleft in the translucent orange stone, where the lion’s mane meets his face. Carefully, carefully–it must be a perfect copy of the one I have already shaped on the other side.
“It is well done,” Amil says when I present it to her for scrutiny. “They look very much alike.”
“No, Amil,” I say, “they look exactly alike.”
She smiles and brushes a hand over my hair, cups my chin. “It is alright not to be exactly like your brother, Russa.”
My eyes dart over the muscles around her mouth and above her brow, to discover if she knows which of us I am. She does; I have not fooled her today.
At Laurelin’s zenith I leave the workshop, passing you as you are walking the other way to sculpt your stone. We exchange smiles and sparkling eyes. It is a game for us, to pretend we do not know. Of course we know; we know everything about each other.
On our begetting day, we each give the other an identical pendant of twin lions.
Amras to Amrod, Mithrim
At Mithrim, the pendant still hangs heavily around my neck. I thought of casting it into the sea where you were lost, to lie on the ocean floor with yours. With you. That is what you would have wanted me to do, isn’t it? You would not have wanted me to carry forever the weight of your loss. You would remind me of our other brothers who need us. Me.
I clasp a hand around the pendant and the chain is cold where it presses against my skin. I turn it over, let it rest, turn it again, wait. Turn it. I am afraid if I let one face rest against my breast too long, it will become worn and disappear.
“Stop touching it,” Macalaurë says. “Your fingers will rub them both away.”
I hold my hands on my thighs in tight fists, trying not to cry.
“I am here for you,” I say to our brother, and he gives me a grey and hollow look. He is the oldest now, just as I am the youngest.
Elros to Elrond, Sirion
We are each held firmly against a hard, armoured body. The bloodied Elves who found us in the wreck of our city are taking us away. Two arms are wrapped around me, strong fingers tight on my shoulders so I have to struggle to turn my head and see you: the tall one holds you with his only hand splayed wide across your back, a golden hand tucked under your legs. You have one arm hooked around his neck, your fist wrapped tightly around the pendant we found when we were running from the fire.
They put us down on the sand and you keep your hand shut tight. The dark-haired elf (my captor, my protector) kneels before you and peels back your fingers. “Where did you find that?” he asks. “That belonged to my brother.” He tries to take it from you.
“No!” I say, blocking you with my body. “We found it, it is all we have from our city. They are twins, like us.”
My captor holds his hands on his thighs in tight fists, as if trying not to cry – but his eyes look like they have been dry for many years.
“Yes,” he says, in a low and measured voice that frightens me a little less each time he speaks, “you should keep it,” and he closes your hands around the pendant.
Elrond to Elros, Mithlond
I go to join you where you sit on the pier, your feet in the ocean, gazing west. You are leaving soon. Your eyes are clouded but bright when you turn to look at me.
“It is time for you to have it,” you say, handing me the pendant of two lions. “But do not wear it in grief, as Amras did. We have been more fortunate than them. May your children and my descendants be still more fortunate than us. Keep it somewhere safe, look at it now and then, and remember me.” You smile, foot sliding through the water. “Give it to your own child.”
I wrap my hand around it, rubbing a thumb over each identical face. For all the sorrow and hardship it has seen, the stone remains bright, its lines sharp.
Elladan to Elrohir, Rivendell
“What is it?” I ask Adar when he hands me the carved pendant.
“It belonged to another twin, like you. His brother made it for him in Valinor, a long time ago. There were two but the second twin was lost and his pendant along with him.”
“Lost?” I say, “You mean he died?” I could never live without you, I think, and you wrap a soft hand around mine.
Adar does not answer but he hands an uncut stone to you and a set of chisels to me.
“What are these for?” we both say at once.
Adar gives us a warm and tender look. “The boy who made that – his mother was a sculptor. She taught them both how to carve the stones they gave each other. Now you will learn, so that we can replace the one that was lost.”
Chapter End Notes
Written for Feanorian Week 2022.
