I really wanted to answer but then saw that not one but two people actually answered and yes next time maybe I’m lucky at ‘who got the silm question right!’
My new favorite game: being educated further on First Age and Before history by this beautiful fandom.
I once asked the Silm fandom how to say “climb Taniqueitl and steal Manwë’s knickers” in Quenya, and got an answer.
We have translated “Fiery balls of Sauron!” into at least five different fictional languages.
Quick question for those who KNOW. It’s probably in The Silmarillion but I would have no clue on where to start looking, and wikis are failing me. Haleth and her people were granted leave to settle in Brethil in exchange for the promise that they would guard the Crossings of Teiglin; but who granted them that leave ? I know Brethil was considered part of Doriath at some point, but it was excluded from the Girdle of Melian. I have different wiki pages telling me different things: one says it was Finrod Felagund, which doesn’t not make sense because he did rule the lands North of Narothrond, Talath Dirnen, and another says Elu Thingol, which would also make sense for the above noted reason of Brethil having once been a part of Doriath. But, since Brethil had been somewhat cut out of Doriath by the raising of the Girdle some 300-400 years prior, did that mean someone else claimed the land for their own ?
I am very confused, that’s all. Someone help please?
FIVE SECOND RULE: IF NO ONE CLAIMS BRETHIL, IT’S MELKOR’S
Sauron probably feels responsible for the annihilation of the werewolves at Tol-en-Gaurhoth. It a massacre, they lost their ancient pack elder and probably whole generations of wolves, and there would have been no way to go back and retrieve the bodies (to bring back to their clan for ritualistic eating, or whatever it is that werewolves do with their dead).
Sauron does not handle the loss of control well. Defeat is one thing, but when he’s personally lost the reins on something, he… well, goes into the forest to sulk for a year, or holes himself up in a fortress crafts a whole new body made of fuck you.
I can just imagine the delicious soul-rending angst it would cause to have him come across any surviving wolves from the tower while he was busy having a tantrum in Taur nu Fuin… especially if he had to put one down and return it to its pack, like…. he really genuinely loves his woofs, man IF YOU WANT TO SEE A GROWN MAIA CRY, YOU HAVE HIM NURSE A WEREWOLF THROUGH DEATH
FUCK IT NO I MADE MYSELF SAD THIS WAS A TERRIBLE IDEA
“Happy am I to let you wait, ignorant and cold, with your ass in the sod, Master of Fate."
The note, scrawled on dried skin, is delivered from the hand of a scrawny young waif with freckled skin and short-cropped hair the color of fox fur.
"I was bidden give this to you upon a red hill, Lord Turambar. I could not refuse,” they said, with something crooked in the tilt of their mouth.
=
Raza gave a broken yelp as all the air left their lungs, tugged backwards by four strong arms backed by vicious intent.
“WHAT?” Their pale legs left the ground as they were lifted, kicking and failing, by two of the larger bandits. “GET OFF, YOU—!! DON’T. TOUCH. ME! FILTH! PISSANTS! HOW DARE YOU?"
The squalling creature was subdued at the cost of a few bruises and one bloody bite-wound, but was soon held in place, head pulled back by the hair, forcing them to look directly into the eyes of the outlaw leader, whose flint-hard eyes bore down on them like Death itself.
Raza’s narrow chest heaved and quivered; at first it seemed, of course, from terror, and then—
Laughter burst out of them; loud, unrestrained cackling that brought a bright flush to their dappled cheeks.
"Incredible! I didn’t think you’d actually dare!"
Túrin’s lip curled, though whether in amusement or disgust it was impossible to tell. At his shoulder, Andróg was grinning with savage, wolfish expectancy. The others shuddered at the eerie laughter, but held fast. They had seen worse than this – and so far as dangers went, they saw no reason to believe Raza anything more than some half-mad traitor, or else some other unholy offspring of Angband’s pits that would be disposed of as easily as any of the orcs they dealt with daily.
Túrin held his chilly silence for several long minutes. Better to let the wretch understand their situation thoroughly rather than waste time riling them up. Then, at last, he exhaled slowly, and asked again:
"Who are you?”
The men who held Raza by the arms suddenly flinched and cried out in distress: something had twisted beneath the flesh their captive, undulating like a snake working to free itself from an old skin. To the bandits’ credit, they maintained their grip.
Raza’s head drooped for an instant, gritting their crooked teeth with some internal effort.
“I am…” they rasped, a small, bitten-back noise escaping their throat before they could catch their breath. “Ahaha… I am running out of time, is what I am…” They laughed, gnawing their bottom lip, then added just under their breath, “This used to be… so much easier."
When they raised their eyes again to meet Turin’s, the color and shape of them had changed– but only for the space of a blink. "Call me… a friend of the family, so to speak."
Pencil sketch of Queen Melian and King Thingol! (Able to produce the most beautiful Child of Iluvatar? You bet.)
I’ve only drawn the two of them once before and I wasn’t totally happy with either of them. The only thing I really kept from my first try is Melian’s white eyelashes – they are my lifeblood, ugh, I love them. Her hair is an homage to scorpionhoney and luaen although they draw that beautiful Melian bouffant way better
unbearably gorgeous! *o* I love Melian’s little Heian-period eyebrows!
Sauron probably feels responsible for the annihilation of the werewolves at Tol-en-Gaurhoth. It a massacre, they lost their ancient pack elder and probably whole generations of wolves, and there would have been no way to go back and retrieve the bodies (to bring back to their clan for ritualistic eating, or whatever it is that werewolves do with their dead).
Sauron does not handle the loss of control well. Defeat is one thing, but when he’s personally lost the reins on something, he… well, goes into the forest to sulk for a year, or holes himself up in a fortress crafts a whole new body made of fuck you.
I can just imagine the delicious soul-rending angst it would cause to have him come across any surviving wolves from the tower while he was busy having a tantrum in Taur nu Fuin… especially if he had to put one down and return it to its pack, like…. he really genuinely loves his woofs, man IF YOU WANT TO SEE A GROWN MAIA CRY, YOU HAVE HIM NURSE A WEREWOLF THROUGH DEATH
FUCK IT NO I MADE MYSELF SAD THIS WAS A TERRIBLE IDEA
I actually had this scenario in mind for some time, because I am terrible. Nothing too explicit, I think, but this is not everyone’s cup of… werewolf. Or something.
MisbehavingMaiar: Tumblr Archive 