Category: Prince of Noldor

Maedhros
Maglor

© ALEF Club, Journey to The Middle-Earth Project

Maedhros
Maglor

© ALEF Club, Journey to The Middle-Earth Project

Curufin, Celebrimbor
© ALEF Club, Journey to The Middle-Earth Project

His father-name, Curufinwë, means “Skilled (son of) Finwë”. The name Curufinwë is also Fëanor’s original name. This was because Curufin was most like his father both in appearance, temperament and skill. His mother-name is Atarinkë (“Little Father”) for he resembled his father in both mind and talent.
— J.R.R.Tolkien, Silmarillion

Curufin

© ALEF Club, Journey to The Middle-Earth Project

Curufin, Celebrimbor
© ALEF Club, Journey to The Middle-Earth Project

Russandol’s body convulsed in uncontrollable spasms, his muscles tensing involuntarily with far more strength than he could ever have mustered by will; he almost threw Findekáno off-balance. His face was buried in the crook of Findekáno’s neck, teeth clamping down on the cloak in order to keep from screaming, but a high keening sound escaped his throat, chilling to the bone.© 
The tempered steel by Lyra

Maedhros, Fingon

© ALEF Club, Journey to The Middle-Earth Project

«And he wept when he saw the cruel device of Morgoth. Maedhros therefore, being in anguish without hope, begged Fingon to shoot him with his bow; and Fingon strung an arrow, and bent his bow. And seeing no better hope he cried to Manwë, saying: ‘O King to whom all birds are dear, speed now this feathered shaft, and recall some pity for the Noldor in their need!»
— J.R.R.Tolkien, Silmarillion


Maedhros, Fingon
© ALEF Club, Journey to The Middle-Earth Project

He took the harp from his back, and sitting down against the steep walls of the mountain, he began to sing that ancient song that would not leave him alone. He began softly, picking the tune on the strings hesitantly; but soon the song took hold of his voice and hands, the music surging through him; and his voice swelled over the wasteland, angry and defiant, loud and clear. His fingers fell onto the harp-strings with determination, and over his anger he felt a certain satisfaction at having brought some beauty to this desolate realm.©
The tempered steel by Lyra

Fingon

© ALEF Club, Journey to The Middle-Earth Project

The song had begun suddenly, familiar and yet alien, distant as he now was from his past life. At first he had not realised that it had its source not in his mind – he had been forcing himself to recall songs and poems whenever he had managed to grasp a moment of clarity amidst his pain, and if this memory was more lucid than usual, he hadn’t noticed it immediately. Only when he had tried to sing along and his voice, unfamiliar with uttering anything beyond the occasional groan, had joined the other without drowning it out, his hoarse croaking not replacing the other voice but adding to it, he had realised that there must be somebody far below, somebody to do the singing. ©
The tempered steel by Lyra

Maedhros, Fingon

© ALEF Club, Journey to The Middle-Earth Project

If he took the appearance of the moon as a sign of hope, the fiery light that joined it some time later filled him with dread. Oh, at first he cherished the new light, fierce and hot, bathing the land in golden light. He was astonished by the multitude of colours that now appeared, delighted by the far-off birdsong and soothed by the warmth on his torn body; but when the light grew higher, it blinded him, and the black rock from which he hung grew scalding hot. His thirst grew ever more unbearable. He felt as though he were hung in a furnace. His head lolled back against the stone, and his eyes fell shut; memories appeared unbidden of his father working in the forge, explaining to him how to melt ores. Dazed by the intense heat, he drifted into illusions. © The tempered steel by Lyra

Maedhros

© ALEF Club, Journey to The Middle-Earth Project