Thus at last the Teleri were overcome, and a great part of their mariners that dwelt in Alqualondë were wickedly slain…. And Olwë called upon Ossë, but he came not, for it was not permitted by the Valar that the flight of the Noldor should be hindered by force. But Uinen wept for the mariners of the Teleri; and the sea rose in wrath against the slayers, so that many of the ships were wrecked and those in them drowned. Of the Kinslaying at Alqualondë more is told in that lament which is named Noldolantë, the Fall of the Noldor, that Maglor made ere he was lost. – The Silmarillion, Quenta Silmarillion, Chapter IX Of the Flight of the Noldor
The tints of red just evokes the aftermath of the Kinslaying for me.
Did a sketch of Morgoth from J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Silmarillion. Really enjoying the book and it was fun to take another shot at this character; someone I’ve been trying to depict for years. The idea here is that the Silmarils continue to burn him even while set in the iron crown he forged to hold them, eradicating the flesh of his head as he continues to wear them in spite of his agony. I plan on doing a more refined version at some point in the summer perhaps as this is quite sloppy
awesome idea of silmarils ощо
Dark now fell the shadow on Beleriand, as is told hereafter; but in Angband Morgoth forged for himself a great crown of iron, and he called himself King of the World. In token of this he set the Silmarils in his crown. His hands were burned black by the touch of those hallowed jewels, and black they remained ever after; nor was he ever free from the pain of the burning, and the anger of the pain. That crown he never took from his head, though its weight became a deadly weariness. Never but once only did he depart for a while secretly from his domain in the North; seldom indeed did he leave the deep places of his fortress, but governed his armies from his northern throne. And once only also did he himself wield weapon, while his realm lasted.
For now, more than in the days of Utumno ere his pride was humbled, his hatred devoured him, and in the domination of his servants and the inspiring of them with lust of evil he spent his spirit. Nonetheless his majesty as one of the Valar long remained, though turned to terror, and before his face all save the mightiest sank into a dark pit of fear. – The Silmarillion, Quenta Silmarillion Chapter IX Of the Flight of the Noldor
Against the deep of the Firmament, the Queen of the Valar made new stars, twinkling beacons that break the unending dark, a welcome from the heavens for the Firstborn waking upon the shores of Cuiviénen, in response to the Doom Mandos spoke.
‘In this age the Children of Ilúvatar shall come indeed, but they come not yet. Moreover it is doom that the Firstborn shall come in the darkness, and shall look first upon the stars. Great light shall be for their waning. To Varda ever shall they call at need.’
Reader deep thought: What an eventful time! The Noldor sure started their careers as Exiles with a bang, or three. And the Sun and the Moon sprung up in time to bear witness to the stuff of legends. Gothmog debuted, Fëanor passed, the Noldor-lords reunited willy-nilly, Noldor meets Sindar, and Thingol unhappy. But still, the Noldor prospered and there was diaspora, much thanks in part to Maedhros’ mellowing out, Finrod’s loyalty to their friendship, and the even-tempered EQ of Fingolfin. Everything happened. Even LOVE, blooming in Galadriel and Celeborn’s companionship in Menegroth (interestingly, both were Thingol’s kin). And yet, already two Wars of Beleriand before the end of the chapter, in the brief span of time right before the Sun first rose to her 60th anniversary, and the Silmarils were still in Morgoth’s ever scheming hands. Bummer. And what did the Noldor do? Siege Angband of course! Four hundred fifty years. Longevity hath its privileges.
Reader deep thought: How bitter the cup Melkor brewed. And yet it would not have burnt as terribly if not for Fëanor’s self-righteous hard-heartedness, and obsession with the Silmarils. Continue reading →