On the Eroticism of Death in Eldar Art, by an Esteemed and Learned Scholar of the Blessed Isle of Númenor

by bottlecapmermaid

Summary:

A treatise on certain traditions in Elvish art. From a scroll in the Library of Imladris. It is black ink on the flesh side of fine parchment, in the Humanist hand of an accomplished academic scribe of the tradition of the Men of Númenor.

Although the race of Elves are no longer permitted upon our fair Isle, their influence over our artistic heritage must be acknowledged, and not wholly to our detriment. By searching the art of the Elves, we Men see how they differ from us and thereby deepen our understanding of ourselves as both a race and as single persons. Although not so dissimilar at first in form and systems, Men and Elves diverge most sharply in the matters of love, death, and morality. These differences elucidate and are made most evident are in their depictions of the death of their peoples. 

Any person with even the most passing familiarity with Elvish art, particularly Elvish painting, knows of that most famous scene: the death of Finrod Felagund, the lord of the caves torn apart by wolves. Second only to the death of Felagund is the death of Celebrimbor the Ringmaker, broken and displayed by his divine Enemy. The traditions of these two scenes I wish to present in contrast to a third, and thereby to examine the lacunae of the empty spaces between.

The Elvish faculties of morality are fundamentally different from those of Men, for Elves account beauty a moral virtue; and consequently the destruction of some beautiful thing an immoral act. Even one of the grimmest and most terrible criminals of the Elves was named and renowned for his extraordinary beauty, despite his numerous offenses against all his own people and against Men as well: a leader of violent military campaigns, a thief and then abandoner of children, a murderer of the highest degree termed a ‘kinslayer’ by Elves, and, finally, a suicide. The death of Elves at the hands of one and other is considered among the gravest possible crimes within their society, alongside suicide, and, as mentioned above, the destruction of beauty. And yet, the arch-sinner Maedhros who commits all three was named for his beauty in two tongues of the Elves! Such inability to look past physical beauty blinds the race of Elves to the dangers of those they revere.

This is said to be the great failing of the Ringmaker: he was so blinded by beauty that he could not perceive the presence of the gravest Enemy of his own people! Because the face and words of Sauron were lovely to him, the Ringmaker was unable to see any ill intent, as he assumed that what was beautiful to him must therefore be good and could not be a tool of evil; indeed, with the understanding of Elvish morality, he had no reason to think such a thing possible.

Depictions of the death of Maedhros are less common than those of the deaths of Felagund or the Ringmaker, but they are notable not only for what motifs they share with the aforementioned, but moreover for that which is not present: Felagund was said to be a celebrated beauty, and scenes of his death preserve this nearly without exception. Likewise, although there is no legend of the Ringmaker’s own fairness of face or form, he is always shown strong of arm and without natural physical flaw. Both Felagund and the Ringmaker often appear in a kind of ecstasy, and with the focus of the artist upon the harm and despoiling of the body. However, that ecstasy and tragedy of the body, and indeed of embodiment, is not extended to Maedhros in his death. He may be shown in fine armor or robes, but consignment to the caverns of fire holds none of the allure or appeal to the viewer of Felagund or the Ringmaker. 

As Elves believe that the being is divided between the body and the soul, and that the two may exist separately, it is little enough wonder that they focus so heavily upon insults to the physical form: even they have not found a way to represent the soul to the eyes. By directing the viewer to the tragedy of a beautiful form marred, the Elvish artist uses violation of the physical to represent violation of the spiritual. The unquestionable eroticism present in the scenes of Felagund or the Ringmaker exists to evoke horror within the Elvish mind: the inextricable joining of beauty and tragedy is surely awful.

The iconography of the death of Felagund is invariably clear: his depiction is golden-haired and unarmed, often with broken shackles or torn rope at his wrists and ankles, and either dressed in rags or nude. Often his hair is literally golden, rendered in shell gold or gold leaf. Regardless of the state of dress, he is always depicted wearing several pieces of jewelry including finger rings, armrings, and earrings, although conspicuously never a crown nor circlet, and rarely a necklace or collar. Jewelry may also be detailed or highlighted with gold. His death scenes fall into two types: combat with the wolf, or the immediate aftermath, wherein he lies in the arms of the Man Beren. Both archetypes partake of the same sense of eroticism, with visual and artistic focus on Felagund’s body and the damage thereto. The wolf is similar in size to Felagund, if not larger, and the eyes are either red or yellow.

In combat with the wolf, the figure of Felagund may appear either above or below the wolf, but only infrequently within the same horizontal line: the two cannot be equals. His posture is most frequently that of a wrestler, with bent knees, rounded back and high shoulders, and arms outstretched to grasp his enemy. Many artists render his hands in extraordinary detail, as well as his eyes and mouth. I have never seen a depiction of Felagund in combat with the wolf that does not display his teeth; interestingly, and in notable contrast, the mouth of the beast is sometimes closed, most frequently in Felagund’s grip. No known depiction of Felagund attempting to escape the wolf exists. Although some scenes involving the sons of Fëanor depict Elves with fangs, Felagund’s teeth are always round and distinctly contrasted with the carnivore’s teeth of the wolf.

The aftermath of Felagund’s encounter with the wolf depicts his teeth as well, and this scene is identifiable through iconographic language in much the same manner as above. Beren is marked by his beard and the emerald ring on his hand, and Felagund’s hands are covered in blood. Often Felagund’s face or mouth is likewise bloody, as the legend states that he killed the wolf with only his nails and teeth. His eyes may or may not be closed. The placement of the mortal wound varies, although Felagund’s body is always left whole and is never dismembered. Most artists place the wound in either the throat or the abdomen; among the most prominent legends of Felagund is of his skill in song. Wounds compromising the lungs or the throat are surely a clear sign of defeat, and a further specific source of horror particularly in combination with the destruction of physical beauty. These two scenes are always set in a prison, cave, or dungeon. Light in these settings is sourceless, and Felagund’s eyes are luminous when he is alive or dying; in death, that light is distinctly absent.

Beyond the emphasis of Felagund’s teeth and eyes on his countenance, his expression is nearly always one of rapture or ecstasy, never fear, pain, or regret. On rare occasions, he is depicted in what might be described as a state of noble rage. In depictions where he is already injured, his movement does not appear to be impeded. Felagund’s attention is moreover always clearly directed toward his opponent, rather than toward the viewer or a middle distance, as in the case of the Lindon Muralist’s Fëanor Devouring his Sons.

Without question, the height of eroticised death in Elvish art appears in the depictions of the death of Celebrimbor the Ringmaker. Akin to portrayals of Felagund, these works fall into two types: the Ringmaker’s death by torture, and the subsequent display and desecration of his body. The most explicit eroticism appears in multiple depictions of the Ringmaker’s torture: no fewer than four paintings have been recorded in which either or both figures are shown with an erection.

The iconography of the Ringmaker is similarly distinctive, although more apparent in the environment and composition than in the details of the figure itself. His depiction is smaller than that of Sauron, and is never placed above him: in scenes in which the Ringmaker is upright, his head is never higher than Sauron’s. Most frequently, the Ringmaker’s clothing is absent, ruined, or rendered as stylistic drapery. The color of the fabric, if present, appears to carry little significance and is variable. Tradition dictates that, as a descendant of the House of Feanor, the Ringmaker should most often be dressed in or surrounded by red fabric, but this broader trend is rarely expressed within this particular subject matter. Despite the artistic apathy toward the color of the Ringmaker’s clothing, the treatment of other colors remains consistent: his hair color is invariably dark and the strands long, although the texture and style may vary considerably. All depictions of the Ringmaker with blond or fair hair are considered spurious and the work of lesser artists, regardless of other quality of craft.

Environmental iconography proves critical to identifying Ringmaker scenes. These may take place in a dungeon, a prison, or any manner of forge or metallurgist’s workshop. A fire or lighted forge is always present, as well as associated instruments such as branding irons, pliers, hammers, and chisels. Eight-pointed stars often appear in the background, either incorporated as decorative motifs or as discarded jewelry. Unlike Felagund, the Ringmaker may be portrayed with a crown or circlet, but no other jewelry; the Eregion Gilding Master often depicts wounds to the ears such that piercings have been torn out. Frequently, the Ringmaker is restrained in some manner, either bound or chained to a wall or floor, or broken across an anvil. His bonds, unlike Felagund’s, are always shown whole and unbroken, although often appear unnecessary in conjunction with the extent or manner of the wounds inflicted. 

While the Ringmaker is never depicted wearing finger rings of any kind, his hands are noteworthy, often the sites of extensive and detailed mutilation: torn or removed fingernails, broken fingers and carpal bones, broken or twisted wrists, and severe burns to the palms and fingertips are among the most common. Other common wound iconography includes hand-shaped burns around the neck or throat, disembowelment, or a clearly shattered hip or shoulder. One remarkable work depicts the Ringmaker on his back, shoulder drawn over the anvil, with Sauron holding a hammer aloft at the apex of a swing. Curiously, variants exist wherein Sauron either blinds the Ringmaker, or is shown in the act of removing his eye; in scenes where the eyes are present, even the removed eye remains luminous as a symbol of life. No recorded scenes exist in which the Ringmaker’s eyes, if present, are closed. In many of the disembowelment variants, Sauron touches the Ringmaker’s lungs or heart, including one known depiction in which Sauron is in the act of eating the heart; this work retains the detail of light in the Ringmaker’s eyes, despite what is clearly a mortal wound.

Iconography surrounding the Sauron figure is well known to any student of Elvish art, but even within the Ringmaker scenes it is yet more strictly codified. The symbolic language is so structured and consistent that the figure with these attributes is referred to not as Sauron, but as “Annatar,” a legendary figure considered either a cultural aspect of Sauron within Elvish mythology, or sometimes a regional variant name for the same concept. The Annatar signifiers are a crown, a golden ring, and focus directed toward the Ringmaker figure; any scene in which a figure with the previous attributes is not either looking at or touching the Ringmaker figure is not considered a true Annatar scene. This has been the subject of extensive academic debate, but within recent years scholars have settled on the above.

While Annatar is always shown with a crown and a golden ring, additional jewelry including earrings, necklaces, brooches, and other finger rings are often present. Hair may be any color, but is most frequently red or golden. Shell gold or gold leaf is always present in Annatar depictions, even if only in small amounts, typically in the crown or ring. In many depictions, Annatar holds a knife or a hammer as an instrument of torture, but is equally frequently shown without any weapon in hand, with the implication that the harms inflicted upon the Ringmaker have been achieved without the use of tools; that is, with bare hands alone.

The Ringmaker is always a clear victim of violence: no known depictions exist showing him unbloodied. Wounds to the body are distinct and clear, regardless of kind. The blood is never sourceless, but always from a visible wound. Gashes, stab wounds, slashes, and punctures are the most common, although broken bone piercing the skin or flesh is often portrayed. As noted previously, burns and crushing can also appear within the canon of Ringmaker wound iconography. Although the Ringmaker may have bloody or split lips, he is never rendered unable to speak by a gag or injury to the mouth or tongue.

The Eregion Gilding Master, the name of either an unknown individual or workshop distinguished by exceptional realism and detail in architecture and extensive use of gold leaf in scenes of the Ringmaker, is responsible for some of the most striking and famous scenes of the torture of the Ringmaker. Among works attributed to the Eregion Gilding Master are two of the Ringmaker paintings considered, respectively, the most explicitly erotic, and the most violent.

In the former, the artist pays great detail to physical realism in the figures. Flesh dimples under grasping fingers, skin creases at bent joints. Bruises fade from green to purple, and eyes shine wet with tears. The Ringmaker is stretched on his back along an immense anvil, his hips at the edge and legs hanging down. His unbound hair drapes over the anvil’s edge and coils upon the floor; despite the horizontal position of the body, the Ringmaker’s crown remains in place, although his hair tangles around it. The left arm extends over the head, elongating the line of the body from the knee to the end of the index finger, arching the spine. Annatar, dressed in diaphanous gold robes stained with fresh blood, stands between his spread legs. 

Hair and the depiction thereof is of critical importance in Elvish art; among the Elves of the West, and especially the Noldor, unbraided or undressed hair is considered scandalous, at times even comparable to the impropriety that is the state of nudity. At best, undressed hair may be understood as carelessness with one’s appearance and disregard for social standing, and at worst may be considered uncivilized, or indicative of sexual promiscuity, a proclivity frowned upon and perceived as shocking in Elvish culture. Although not all Elvish societies hold these views, or hold them so strictly, one must not overlook the presentation of hair in Elvish art. 

Among the hallmarks of Eregion Gilding Master is his treatment of Annatar’s hair: it may be more or less restrained, but always present is the same specific arrangement of braids, at times more elaborate than others. Some works depict his hair contained in a jeweled snood, while others show it almost entirely unbound save for the relevant braids. Detailed scholarship has been taken up by some of the finest students of Elvish art, and a consensus has arisen: the braids are well represented in wedding scenes, formal depictions of married couples, and displays of increased wealth through the joining of houses. Furthermore, the style is both old and traditional, even by the measure of Elves, and most commonly associated with depictions of a bride. Such consistent design is tempting to consider a reflection of concrete reality, but the variation within the other physical characteristics of the Annatar figure, such as hair, skin, and eye color, stature, and overall frame within the Eregion Gilding Master’s works indicates otherwise. The presence of marriage braids is, in the Eregion Gilding Master’s workshop, simply another indicator of the Annatar figure canon, along with the crown and golden ring.

The loose hair of both Annatar and the Ringmaker intentionally renders an already intimately-composed scene yet more erotic. Removed from the forge setting and without wounds, Annatar’s pose between the Ringmaker’s legs might simply be that of a lover at play with his lordly beloved. Annatar’s expression is shown as one of delighted interest, without hint of mania nor cruelty, and his gaze meets the Ringmaker’s gaze without challenge. The expression of the Ringmaker is less straightforward; his eyes are lidded but open and fixed upon Annatar, and his lips parted as if in a cry. Despite blood and bruises, his face is flushed and eyes are bright with unshed tears. The Ringmaker’s entirely undressed hair underscores clearly the figure’s nudity and vulnerability, and lends a sense of unpreparedness: nobody of his social standing would be thus unless caught in such a moment of utter defenselessness. 

The extent of the Ringmaker’s wounds in this work is worthy of its own treatise. A brief view begins with the extended left hand: the thumb is broken or out of joint, the nail of the index finger missing, and the phalanges of the middle finger broken. A deep cut crosses the wrist, evidently to sever the tendons, though never deep enough to draw arterial blood. On the Ringmaker’s ribs is a vivid red burn in the shape of a gripping handprint. Several bruises and slashes to the left leg appear in layers, as if to indicate the passing of an extended period of time, though could also possibly bear to remind the viewer of the speed with which Elves are said to heal from physical injury.

Despite the overt eroticism and intimacy of the composition, the scene is not arranged to direct the eye of the viewer to the phallus of either figure; rather, the erections are included in much the same way as the detritus of the workshop itself. The viewer’s eye is more clearly directed to the countenances, or to Annatar’s outstretched hand with the golden ring. Neither figure directs any attention toward his own phallus or that of the other, nor does any of the action of movement appear to be directed toward the use of the relevant organ. Annatar’s robes are parted such that the erection is visible, but the presentation renders the view as inconsequential. The blood on his clothes is not placed such that it would have come from opening them with bloody hands. Indeed, the hand he reaches toward the Ringmaker is clean.

Unlike many instances of early Mannish art, the erect phallus is not an indicator of strength or power or even vitality; the extent and severity of the Ringmaker’s wounds, his unbound hair, and fallen position all make a vulnerable and overcome figure. Any Elvish symbol of power in the Ringmaker is a symbol already inherently overthrown. The implication of physical lust between the two characters of the scene is certainly a nod to some interpretations of the Ringmaker legend; the traditional relationship between Annatar and the Ringmaker is opaque and indirectly described in most sources. Discussion of the relationship between the characters of the scene is, in any event, not the subject at hand, and is better left to scholars of literature.

We turn now to the most violent rendition of the death of the Ringmaker. Also the work of the Eregion Gilding Master, the tone depicted therein is markedly different from its oeuvre. Anatomical details are rigidly realistic and precise, at times to a degree that the Human eye ought not to see from the viewer’s distance. The realism of physical structures brings to mind treatises meant for medical study, or drawings from the anatomist’s laboratory. This scene is set in a workshop, but the tools are scattered and broken as if cast about in violent altercation, laying plain the figure for the viewer’s eye. 

The Ringmaker himself is cast against a wall, and laid open from the suprasternal notch to the pubic bone. The sternum is broken cleanly in half, as if by a surgeon’s saw. Nonetheless, his eyes are luminous, indicating life. His hair is woven around his silver crown and bound in a tight braid. Blood runs from a raw patch of scalp where the hair has been ripped away, although the crown remains in place. Much of the glabrous skin is peeled away and missing from his right arm, showing intact musculature.

Elves, curiously, do not esteem gold more highly than silver, but are known to consider the two metals entirely different substances of comparable worth and desirability. Often, the material of a jewel is considered secondary to its value, but primacy of place is given to the workmanship of the piece altogether. Indeed, Maedhros, the commander of the Elves and the crown prince of the high king, is said to have worn only a copper circlet during his reign; not for any marker of humility, but rather for his own preference toward what he considered its inherent and unparalleled beauty. The significance of the Ringmaker’s crown is not, then, that of an inferior metal or a suggestion of any lower social or political rank. Rather, it may be interpreted as either an expression of personal preference, or perhaps a reference to the presence of the Elvish word for silver in his name.

As in the previous painting, the Ringmaker’s hands are mangled and broken, as are both his feet and ankles. The tendons of the heels are cut so deeply as for the wound to be a third of the depth of the ankle itself. His visible ear, the left, is ragged and torn. Among the scattered pieces on the floor of the workshop are several small pieces of jewelry, still with flesh clinging to them. Despite these grievous wounds, the Ringmaker is alert and focused on his surroundings: with his destroyed hands, he reaches for Annatar’s neck, most likely with intent to choke or strangle. The Ringmaker’s expression is definitely and unambiguously that of fury in the face of insult: lips drawn back from teeth, mouth open as if to shout or, perhaps, in the tradition of Felagund and the wolf, to bite. Blood stains his teeth and lips. His eyes are wide and fixed on Annatar’s face. The Ringmaker’s entire posture, his entire body, bends toward Annatar, heedless or regardless of the destruction. Even what is surely disembowelment does not prevent him from futile struggle against a fate already accomplished.

The presentation of the Annatar figure is distinctly different from the previous painting. Here, he wears a leather smith’s apron, simple boots, and practical clothes. The most extravagant detail of his appearance lies within his hair: as with all the Eregion Gilding Master’s depictions, Annatar has crown-shaped braids associated with marriage. These are far more ornate than in other instances, involving both larger and more numerous braids, as well as gilded and jeweled pins. Unlike the Ringmaker, Annatar’s hair does not appear to hold his gold crown in place. The hair not incorporated into the marriage braids is dressed back in the intricate weave and bead style held together by golden ribbons seen exclusively on figures of significant military accomplishment. This style in particular is agreed, among scholars of Elvish art, to serve to indicate to the viewer that the wearer is not only an accomplished commander, but indeed a conqueror of both territories and peoples.

Rather than recoiling from his attacker, Annatar kneels above him. Both his hands are bloody, although the golden ring on the right is neither dimmed nor obscured by blood. His left hand reaches into the abdominal cavity of the Ringmaker, not to arrest his movement, but to touch. Based upon the detailed realism of this painting, a viewer with a sufficient grasp of anatomy is most likely to conclude that Annatar is touching the Ringmaker’s lungs. Even the most delicate caress to such an organ is known to be exquisitely and extraordinarily painful, as readers of a more priestly vocation are assuredly aware. The activity and focus of the Ringmaker despite the extreme injuries is, of course, more symbolic of the intensity of his spirit and vital force, rather than a realistic depiction of injuries and reflection of behavior witnessed by the artist. No creature could sustain such wounds and still evince such resistance; although Elves are accounted quite as monstrous as orcs, even the hardiest orc could not long survive wounds so brutal.

I treat, at last, of the death of Maedhros Fëanorion, the most infamous of Elvish commanders of atrocity. Called both “the Tall” and “the Red” or “Red-haired,” Maedhros must be depicted with hair any shade of red. Texture and style matter little and may appear in any combination, but any scene involving Elvish suicide by fire without a red-haired subject cannot be considered part of the canon of the death of the third High King of the Elves. The Maedhros figure may be depicted in armor, dressed in fine clothing, or in rags; his bearing may be noble or despairing.

He is traditionally regarded as the first kinslayer, the first to deal a fatal blow to another of his kind, although not necessarily the first Elf to spill or draw the blood of another.

He is also called “Left-handed” or “Onehand,” depicted either with some manner of prosthesis such as a false hand or a hook, or else lacking the right hand entirely. As all Elves are known to favor the right hand, without exception, such aberration is obviously meant to underscore the perversity of murder, and of one willing to murder. Favor of the left hand is not found in Elves as it may be in Men, unless through injury, mutilation, or accident; left-handedness must be acquired or forced upon an Elf under duress, as their children are never born monstrous or with anomalies of form. Even then, such use of the left hand may not be considered true favor as it arises in Men by nature, but rather use due to necessity. Maedhros is said to have lost his right hand during torment in Angband, an event traditionally placed after committing his first kinslaying, and therefore having committed all later murders with his left hand. Being forced to undertake all action through the left hand, an unnatural condition for an Elf, each and every action may be considered inherently corrupt. 

Traditionally accounted the first or eldest of the sons of Fëanor, Maedhros is also the last to die. Only after the death of the rest of the sons of Fëanor is the eldest, who is also accounted the most ruthless of the Fëanorian commanders, does the head of the family die. Having committed the gravest sins of Elvish morality–offenses against the lives of other Elves, offenses against Elvish children, and destruction of beauty–it is suitable that no victim is avenged against Maedhros. Indeed, there is no survivor of his atrocities who might be counted suitable above any other to take vengeance fairly. With no family or followers left to slay him or hold him accountable, it is only possible that he should slay himself. 

One cannot treat of the death of Maedhros without also treating of the death of Fëanor. In the tongue of the Elves, the name Fëanor means “spirit of fire,” and indeed it is said that when Fëanor died, his body was consumed by the strength of his spirit and burned away like wood, leaving neither bone nor ash. Elves do not mark a tomb or cairn for him, nor do they hold any place in specific association with his death. In much the same way, Maedhros is said to have died in fire, but not the fire of his own spirit. Rather, he threw himself to his death in a chasm of fire.

The nature of the chasm of fire is unknown—whether a volcano, or a fissure opened in the earth, or perhaps even a great pyre in a low space such as a ditch. Scenes of the suicide of Maedhros may be set in any of these things, but most often they lack any concrete setting. Most common are depictions of a body falling in a great sea of fire, with no real geographical or other environmental signifiers. 

As said before, the Maedhros figure must have red hair, and he must hold a bright and clear gem in his left hand. The character of the jewel is unknown; at times it is depicted as a great pearl, or a stone either cut or raw, or most frequently as a mass of brilliant and obscuring white light. 

It is well known that Elves bear children rarely, slowly, and with great hardship. Little priority is placed by Elves upon the generation of children, as they are more greatly concerned with their stores of knowledge and lore, their crafts, and the making of war against the power of Darkness. Elves suffer neither disease nor infirmity of age and do not die unless killed by accident or violence. Thus, there is little need for them to practice the getting of children while young and strong, and therefore Elf-children are of great scarcity. Because of their rarity, Elf-children are guarded most jealously and infrequently made known to outsiders. Although the Elves hold murder as one of the greatest crimes, even they have crimes of which they will not speak: no Elvish history admits of the murder of a child. This, of course, is not possible to avoid during any kind of war. As inconceivable as it is to the Elvish mind, it is clearly among Maedhros’ offenses.

When attacking the Elvish city of Doriath, the sons of Fëanor are reputed to have slain every inhabitant, save the princess and her nurse. Only three Elf-children are said to have lived in the kingdom of Doriath: the princess, and her two elder brothers. The princess was secreted away from the city by her nurse and a guard, who fled the slaughter; little heed was given to them, as Elf women do not participate in the making of war, and Elves do not permit their daughters to inherit a throne. It is said that the princes, twins, were taken as hostages. This, of course, cannot be taken as the truth: none in war would be so foolish as to allow the heirs of a recently-slain foe to live after such great destruction. 

It is said that, upon discovering their lord slain, the followers of Celegorm Fëanorion, called the Cruel, were so overcome by grief and fury that they took the princes of Doriath into the forest and abandoned them. This is, of course, propaganda, designed to place blame for a crime upon a figure dead and already reviled. Leaving the fate of two heirs of an enemy to the whim of their homeland, where they might easily be discovered by allies, sympathetic wayfarers, or less malicious parties is an unthinkable error for any company concerned with conquest. Maedhros Fëanorian was never called a poor strategist.

As Elves do not speak of the murder of children, one must understand that such a tale of purported abandonment is metaphorical: as the commander of the attack upon the kingdom of Doriath, Maedhros Fëanorion bears responsibility for the death of the princes. They could not have been slain, having been taken as living hostages, without his leave. The language of intentional abandonment permits the Elves to allude to the death of the children without directly describing and naming the possibility; any hearing such a story would intuitively grasp the metaphor. By sowing a tale of blame on a deceased lesser son of Fëanor, the followers and supporters of Maedhros seek to preserve their lord’s authority and standing. Any accusation of such a literally unspeakable crime would undermine him too much to allow him to continue to lead. Celegorm Fëanorion, however, provides a convenient perpetrator who could be expected to have undertaken such an act. It is, therefore, quite unquestionable that the responsibility for the death of the princes of Doriath rests squarely on the shoulders of Maedhros Fëanorion.  

In all depictions, Maedhros is alone. He neither abandons followers nor escapes pursuers; none try to stay his hand, and none throw him down. His action is entirely and exclusively his own; he does not put himself in the path of danger or give up his life to protect another, as with Felagund and the wolf, neither is he acted upon, his life taken by another, as with the death of the Ringmaker.

The falling body is never shown unmarred: the right hand is always missing, and at least one facial scar is present. Other scarring may appear on the face or neck, and the ears may have notches, shortened tips, or other damage. When visible, the left hand may be scarred or lacking portions of fingers. The nose may be broken and healed poorly.

Unlike the fair and tragic bodies of Felagund and the Ringmaker, depictions of Maedhros’ body are neither sympathetic nor intended to evoke pity. Rather, the damage is a consequence of his own actions, meant to underscore the preventable nature of his choices, rendering all the wounds ultimately self-inflected. Suicide is only the last in a long string of injuries against the self, and the last step of the destruction of not only his own beauty, but that of the jewel.

The destruction of the body of Maedhros holds none of the eroticism of Felagund or the Ringmaker. It is not present, nor is it invited. There is no coy wink from the scene suggesting that the viewer consider the damage to this body anything but horrific and immoral; indeed, Maedhros himself may be considered the embodiment of Elvish sin and failure. Any of his former beauty for which he was named is long gone, cast away and scratched out by his singular focus on war and conquest.

Death in itself, then, is not the fount from which eroticism runs. Neither is it sin which is erotic or may be eroticised; as we have just discussed, Maedhros’ ignoble death holds nothing of the erotic. I suggest that it is rather the conjunction of death and opposition to the traditional Elvish Enemy: the perceived futility of opposition to Darkness, and the choice to do so nonetheless. Eroticism arises from the proximity of, and interaction between, symbols and actors of Darkness and paragons of Elvish virtue: both Felagund and the Ringmaker are traditionally described as good and just kings, accomplished craftsmen, beautiful in face and form, and steadfastly opposed to Darkness. The Ringmaker was an accomplished smith and jeweler, and Felagund an engineer of cave cities.

The constellation of futile opposition to a great Enemy by a virtuous figure who dies as a result of his own beliefs and actions in service of the continued war against the powers of Darkness produces a particular element that appears to fascinate the Elvish mind. It is the circumstances surrounding a violent death, not death in itself. As Elves do not die unless killed by accident or the action of another, it may be said that to all Elves any death must necessarily involve violence and be violent. Yet no drowning, nor death by falling, nor death in fire–even dragonfire–is viewed by the Elvish artistic lens with the same eroticism. Scenes of kinslaying also are not extended the erotic lens, because Elves only rarely believe one another to be agents of Darkness. Nor are scenes of Elvish death at the hands of Men treated so. Rather, the presence of something believed to be an agent of the Enemy must act upon the dying and be the enactor of his destruction. It is the contrast of the embodied virtue of the Elf with the manifestation of Darkness that receives this treatment, the destroyed but nonetheless uncorrupted body that arouses such interest.

Conscious and intentional rejection of beauty in depictions of the suicide of Maedhros is deliberate within Elvish artistic tradition. By refusing to extend that memory of his former beauty to Maedhros, the artist continues to punish and condemn him throughout the lifetime of the artwork. No viewer is able to interact with the scene without participating in the revocation of that beauty. Moreover, the artist and the viewer both deprive Maedhros of the moral attributes of beauty in the Elvish mind. As beauty and the cultivation and enjoyment thereof are moral virtues within the Elvish framework, one cannot be said to be wholly ever capable of goodness or true virtue if barred from it.

Because Maedhros’ death is of his own choice, enacted by his own hand, he cannot be contrasted with Darkness. Any wickedness in the scene of his suicide is already present in the act itself, and in the acts undertaken to arrive at such an end. The viewer is aware, by the isolation and solitude of Maedhros, that his fate is his own and of his own doing: nothing else can be said to bear responsibility for him.

Fortunate are we Men, then, that our virtues are not so shallow as to be defined by something so subjective as beauty! The ugliest Man is quite as capable of courage, loyalty, and honesty as the most beautiful of our daughters. We do not suffer the risk of such blindness as that of Celebrimbor the Ringmaker, nor may we be trapped as Maedhros Fëanorion in his unending suicide, an arch-sinner for all of time. While it may be easy for us to declare something good and virtuous merely because it pleases our senses, this is not always the case for all things. We must look past the fairness of a place or person or people and decide for ourselves whether it is truly good, whether a king is virtuous because of his face rather than his mind. Our lives may be shorter than those of the Elves, but for us the virtue of a father may be passed down to his son and thereby increase generation over generation, rather than having a single great mind scatter no other seeds. Likewise, the sins of a wicked Man may die with him, stymied by his death and his memory forgotten. None among the Elves may claim such a gift as ours, that we may choose which things of virtue to carry forth from one person and which things of ill we may leave behind.

Notes:

this is my second longest Vesari joke to date. find my shorter jokes on seeofreads, or on tumblr, thefearofcod where I talk about elves more.

Some things that didn't make it into this fic:
-I know who the Gilding Master is, where he is, and what happened to him
-I do not know who did the Lindon mural
-the scholar has never seen an elf, doesn't think Beren is a real guy who existed, and believes elf/human marriage is mythic shorthand for close cultural exchange
-he will drown with the rest of the island