king regent the mighty
Fëanorians' responses to "What's your dream job?"
Maedhros: My life is already a full-time job.
Maglor: *is paying no attention because he's busy playing the lyre with one hand and the lute with the other*
Celegorm: Listen, if I could live in the woods and go hunting all day, that would be enough, but I'll settle for being King of Nargothrond.
Caranthir: Anything where I can enjoy doing math without my brothers laughing at me.
Curufin: My real answer is being a smith, but the realistic answer is that I'm going to get dragged into whatever Celegorm ends up doing.
Amrod & Amras: *while actually ruling over their lands* What's a job?
Bonus:
Celebrimbor: *has prepared a 2,000 word answer to the question that is essentially a treatise on jewel-smithing and a thinly-veiled advertisement to join the Gwaith-i-Mírdain* :)
Maglor ; kinda rushed this one because I was tired drawing it but heh here is this lil fella
Maedhros: Wow, Celegorm and Aredhel are being really quiet today.
Fingon: Yeah, it's quite nice actually.
Maedhros :
Fingon:
Maedhros: We should check on them
Fingon: Immediately
This beach belongs to a seal colony; wary of disturbing them, Maglor climbs the rugged cliffs of the headland. Slim chance of finding a good place to settle down for the night here - the ground is rocky and the wind punishing, strong enough to steal the voice even of the Noldor's greatest singer.
He won't sleep, anyway. The pain in his burnt hand lingers, though the wound itself closed up some time ago. (He still keeps it bandaged, so he does not have to look at the mark the Silmaril left behind.) Tonight it flares bright as the myriad stars over the headland.
The stars are almost beautiful enough to make up for Maglor's sleeplessness. Perhaps this is why his brother so often took the night watch, in long-ago Himring.
The wind is just as cold.
More of Maglor's Second Age wanderings. Based on a photograph of Flamborough Head in Yorkshire.