[minus all the wonderful elven diacritics because I cannot be bothered to format]
So, with all the Amazon Rings of Power stuff going on (which I will not discuss here because I am still getting over the fact that Finrod, my beautiful elf lord Finrod, is shockingly bereft of the silky, long, possibly braided tresses – okay, stop) I decided to re-read the Silmarillion.
And can I just say. Feanor. You amazing, vile, selfish wonder.
So, I named my dog after Feanor. And tried to teach him various commands in elvish, such as tolo for come, losto for lie down / sleep, mae govannen for well met which is when he places his paw on my hand. I mean, I mixed Sindarin and Quenya (don’t judge) because despite the professor’s extremely detailed dictionaries, there is a distinctive lack of dog commands there. I mean, how did they talk to best boy Huan, huh? Just kidding.
Anyways, moving on. I am a Feanor fangirl. I have been a Feanor fangirl since I was a naive teenager first reading the Silmarillion. Over a decade later, I question my choices. Because of all the various crushworthy elves… why did I pick him? I mean, Fingolfin, Finarfin, Fingon, Finrod, even Maedhros… so many better choices. Actually, I recall Fingolfin being a favorite. But my husband didn’t want to name our dog Fingolfin or Glorfindel, so we settled on Feanor. Fea for short, because it’s cute and sounds nicer in Japanese.
The point of this meandering, unrelated tidbit of information is to say that I am a Feanor fangirl. We’re all allowed to have that one guy elf, okay. That one elf who you really shouldn’t like, but you still do, even though he’s bad news, and pisses off the gods, slaughters innocent brethren, burns ships, and forces his sons to make a horrible, irrevocable oath – I mean, Maedhros and crew, get yourself a lawyer, because the loopholes are few in that one.
Feanor is that elf for me, and hence I named my dog after him. But as I read the Silmarillion again – now more mature with the years – it is becoming clear to me what once evaded my starstruck teenage mind.
Feanor is a bleeding asshole balrog. He is a nasty, nefarious nazgul. And amidst his artillery of various skills, lies perhaps his greatest craft of them all – the art of insult.
Seriously, I want to get into a fight with someone. Hey Amazon, how about you release a teaser of Glorfindel with a mohawk, that should do it.
No, but truly. I want to fight with someone, so I can refer to them as ‘thralls’ (Feanor just loved that one) or ‘brood of Morgoth’ or, the best of them all, ‘jail-crow of Mandos’. I mean, roast of Morgoth aside, that is a pretty fabulous insult on its own.
The next time my husband and I get into a fight, I am totally going to call him a jail-crow of Mandos.
And now whenever my puppy goes into one of his moods, where he starts barking inexplicably and angrily for a minute on end – I can just imagine the kind of flaming curses and oaths and whatnot he’s yapping about. Barking out a manner of edgy, fatalistic things, like ‘darkness doom us if our deed faileth’ and ‘woof unto world’s end!’
I meant woe.
What is even the point of this blog post anymore? I’m not sure, so I’ll be off then, fleeing like Melkor and Ungoliant from the wrath of the Valar – yeah, I don’t even have a good simile to end this, bye.
Overachieving Otaku 