That's So Sweet

Music, of all the arts, stands in a special region, unlit by any star but its own, and utterly without meaning… without meaning, that is, except its own, a meaning in musical terms, not in terms of words, which inhabit an altogether different mental climate… If it could be told in words, then why would Chopin have found it necessary to tell it through notes in the first place?

- Leonard Bernstein

Leonard Bernstein at Frédéric Chopin’s piano in Warsaw, Poland, 1959.

Morgoth hated the Feanorians. Or no, that's not quite it. He hated the Finwëans, he loathed them.

The whole line of Finwe had his hatred (and the hatred of Sauron as well, but that's a bit different pice of cake).

He hated them because that whole lineage, from Finwe himself to his very last descendants were the only ones of this world who could look him in the eyes and stand straight, to oppose him.

(Because Luthien doesn't count, now does she? She wasn't fully of the Eldar after all, no. She was other, and half. But the line of Finwe had no such advantages!)

Morgoth hated and feared them, thought not in ways that often could be perceived.

He saw weak, worthless elves who could look at him and say 'you are nothing'. Elves who could look the Darkness into the eyes and burn brighter, bright enough to banish the shadows.

Finwe, who stood between him and the Silmarils (Morgoth was wrong, Finwe wasn't protecting the Silmarils only). The High King of the Noldor who knew he will die and died with his head high and back unbroken, with eyes fearless and blood boiling with fire (where did you think Feanor got it from huh?).

Feanor, who slammed the door in his face, who spat and ragged and could not be contained. Feanor who he manipulated but couldn't corrupt. Feanor who lost only due to himself, whose death was his own no matter what Morgoth would give to be able to say that the Spirit of Fire was his at the end.

Maitimo, Maedhros, who endured torment and torture, humiliation and agony under which any other would break. Nelyafinwe who was rescued and came back, making himself the wall and shield between Morgoth and the whole world. Russandol who died by his own hand, because of his own pain and his own mind, his own actions. He who was never Morgoths, even at his lowest.

Maglor, a singer of such renown and talent one could be forgiven for mistaking him for a Maia. Makalaure who bend the reality in ways that should have been impossible to the elves and that were alien to Ainur. Kanafinwe who walks upon Middle Earth, enduring through his pain because it is his, his crimes, his mind, his hands. He is his own.

Celegrom who was hild, of the forest and rivers and streams, of the Hunt. Turcafinwe who rode against dark beasts and hunted in Oromes train long before Morgoths was released. Tyelkormo the Fair, the Cruel, master of his own soul, untamed and free as the wind. He who looked upon the shadows and walked right through them, he who looked at it and grinned with blood on his mouth and said at it 'i am better'.

Caranthir, never seen or heard but always there. Morifinwe who walked the thin line of Dark and Light with ease seen in none other before. Carnistir who burned with cold fire and walked in the shadows of others with skill unparalleled. He who was called The Dark, and he who carried that name with grace of the night sky. Unbending, master of his own life.

Curufin, so like his father and yet so different. Atarince who instead of jewels made draggers, he who forged armour that somehow was as unbreakable as the house that wore it. Curufinwe, The Crafty they called him, not knowing how close to the truth they were. He burned brightly, which made it all more tragic when he met his own end.

Ambarussa, one never without the other, red hair as the fire raging within. Amrod and Amras, wild as Celegrom, yet as silent as Caranthir. They who were twins, one an extension of the other. They who were so like their brothers, while being entirely different. They who burned the hottest.

Elrond: It is better to ask forgiveness than permission.

Gil-galad: (to the guards) Keep an eye on him. And keep a watch on all waterfalls.

Masterlist for Lady of the Noldor - Noldoriel of Eregion (Part I) and Noldoriel of Rivendell (Part II)

Inspiration strikes (a brief introduction to my story)

Part I:

Chapter I: The Realm of Elven Smiths (to be added)

Part II:

tba

(will add the other chapters after I write them!)

Preview

TROP Celebrimbor cuz his acting’s so good

Look, I would make the same face, ok, if dwarves come to save my ass

Cute!

Finwe & Finarfin (+Nolo)

Nolo: ..do you think atar is into blonde?

Feanor: no, why?

OPPENHEIMER (2023) | dir. Christopher Nolan "And now I am become death. The destroyer of worlds." ​​​

Imagine that when the Fellowship goes through Khazad-Dûm, they come across this old dining room with a dead tree inside, only a skeleton, all of the leaves disintegrated onto the stone floor, shards of mithril surrounding it as if someone had frantically tried to heal it long ago... but could not.

Silly headcanon courtesy of me being tired (what? Who said that!-)

Tiny Elrond has a lisp, and Maglor and Maedhros struggle to understand a word the poor child says at first. They just look at each other in confusion, meanwhile little Elrond is standing there with the sweetest and purest little puppy dog eyes and the cutest smile with his hands outstretched because he was just asking for some sweets to snack on.