#írimë

[irithyllians]

írimë

[spruceneedles]

Findis and Lalwen (concept)

[syaraan]

What are your headcanons for Maedhros' age vs his aunts' and uncles'?

Personally I tend to think that Maedhros is about the same age but slightly older than Írimë. But if he was close in age or older than Fingolfin it would add another layer to the handing over of kingship.

[bretwalda-lamnguin]

Given that Anairë remained in Valinor, I think Lalwen would have definitely been mistaken for the high queen of the Noldor at the Feast of Reuniting.

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Snippet of American Horror Story AU - Hotel Angband

Characters snippet

Warnings: Illness | Vampirism

VAMPIRES/DHAMPIRS: These are vampires/Dhampirs who moved into the hotel during the 1930s after being told it would be the safest plece for them.

Countess Indis Ingweron: Wealthy noblewoman, Vampiress, maker of Lady Thuringwethil, and mother to Nolofinwë, Findis, Arafinwë and Írimë Ingweron. She moves herself and her brood to Hotel Angband in 1936 after Faeldor told it would be the safest place for them all. It is here she turns Thuringwethil, her lady’s maid, into a vampire, after she contracts tuberculosis from a guest and begs to be saved. She also strikes up a friendship with Míriel Þerindë of the Þerindë family after she approached her for new dresses to be made.

Nolofinwë, Findis, Arafinwë and Írimë Ingweron: The dhampir/demigod children of Countess Indis and Faeldor, her maker. Unlike Fëanáro and his kin, they have always lived lives of great wealth and privilege, and they have a father who loves them. Nevertheless, they go on to form friendships with the Þerindë family. Nolofinwë is the most responsible, while Findis is the most adventurous. Arafinwë is the gentlest of the siblings, while Írimë is the most sadistic. Írimë is also involved in a causal relationship with Makar Tarkil, one of the bodyguards who works for Mr. Bauglir and Mr. Gorthaur.

Thuringwethil: Vampiress and lady’s maid to Countess Indis and her daughters. She knows the secret of the Ingweron family, but she refuses to reveal it as she is loyal and they are very good to her. Thuringwethil turned down multiple offers to be turned until she contracts tuberculosis from a guest in 1937. Then she begs her lady to save her life as she realizes she does not want to die.

[who-needs-words]

In an AU where Lalwen is actually Allowed To Do Things™️ and isn’t immediately forgotten by Tolkien(s), the narrative, and the fandom;

Celebrimbor entrusts one of his rings to his beloved aunt. She survived the wars of the first age and still finds the will to make a joke.

The fiery red of the ruby in Narya compliments the tree light still in her eyes and the passion in her heart. She will give it, in time, to Gandalf but for many years the ring of fire finds a home on the hand of a daughter of finwe

[thelandswemadeofpaper]

Uol! Thats awesome

But I always thought it would be 'Feano-no-no-nor' 🤔

Now, we just need a "We don't talk about Feanor, no, no, no' musical and the Amazon show will be perfect.

[temporarily-your-saint]

Under the Stars

A Rings of Power fic has been brewing inside of my brain but unfortunately Elrond will be going through so much pain... As if he hasn't been through it enough. :') BUT. I really wanted to give him a soft and sweet moment, so here we are. Our sweet summer boy deserves only love. <3

Word count: 3.8k

Warning(s): none, kissing??, some (lil bit) of spice??? more like suggestive spicy?

Themes: Friends to lovers, mutual pining, sort of submissive elrond??? hehehe

Also all translations are at the end!

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Elrond could always be found underneath the golden trees that surrounded Lindon, Írimë could be sure of that.

The elleth watched her dear friend from afar, awestruck by the scene before her. The half-elf seemed to glow underneath the mallorn trees, almost shining while he wrote his poetry and speeches for the king. 

She always admired his passion for the melodic words that danced along the pages and never grew tired watching his quill flick skillfully. After a moment, her legs finally moved through the field and towards the king’s harold.

As she approached, his gaze continued to stay fully enveloped within the binded pages, unaware of her presence. 

“My heart sings to see that not much has changed,” her voice rang, breaking the silence.

Elrond, slightly startled, smiled when he heard the familiar voice. His eyes flickered to her face and then down her body, taking in her figure with a subtle glance.

"Írimë? Is that really you?" He spoke calmly as he stood up from his sitting position atop the tree and stepped forward to approach her. "It's been a while. You haven't changed a single day."

As he grew closer to her, she reached out and placed a hand against his cheek. “Neither have you, mellon nin,” she breathed as her thumb brushed against his skin, tenderly just beneath his eye.

Warmth immediately poured over her as they greeted one another. It had been years since the two had seen one another and by the Valar, she had truly missed his affable smile. While years in the lives of elves passed swiftly and without much notice, she had still ached to lay her eyes upon him once again.

A light blush trickled along Elrond’s cheeks as his eyes danced across her face. “I’ve missed you, my dear friend,” he spoke softly.

She couldn’t help but beam with happiness at his words, a smile never leaving her lips. Her bright blue eyes stared into his gray orbs, not daring to look away.

“And I you,” her voice whispered. The elleth’s heart pumped quickly as her stomach filled with butterflies.

His hands wrapped around her one that had held his cheek and brought it down between them. She could let him hold her there in place for centuries if Eru Ilúvatar allowed it. 

He squeezed her hand gently, feeling the warmth of her touch while his gaze held hers as it shined with merriment and affection.

Gods, had he missed her.

The half-elf studied her features, captivated by the beauty of the elleth. A strange but not unpleasant flutter raised inside his chest. He always thought she was beautiful; any being that roamed Arda could see she was well-favored by the gods, but something felt different now.

“There was not a day that went by when I did not think of you,” he admitted, voice just above a whisper.

His forward words only quickened her pulse more. She wasn’t so sure her heart wouldn’t fully beat out of her chest at this point for she would melt under his gaze if he wasn’t currently keeping her grounded, holding her hand between his two.

“Surely I didn’t cloak your thoughts too much,” she teased him, a smile dancing across her lips.

Elrond let out a soft huff of amusement at Írimë’s teasing. He gave her hand another gentle squeeze and shook his head with an affectionate smile as he spoke, "You know very well that you have always occupied a significant amount of my thoughts," he replied in a teasing tone of his own.

He brought her hand up and pressed a soft, gentle kiss against her palm. It was a small yet intimate gesture.

Elrond had always been fond of the elleth before him. He hadn’t always noticed the peculiar feeling for it only seemed to grow stronger within the past years that had passed. And here she was before him once again. He couldn’t pass up the opportunity this time to tell her.

“Elrond…” she breathed, unable to formulate a witty response. He was being serious.

His lips…His eyes…The way he peered into her soul dizzied her senses. She had noticed Elrond looking at her differently the last time she was in his presence and now…Here he did it once again.

Elrond watched her reaction carefully. He saw the way her breath caught in her throat and he heard the slight tremble in her voice. His heart beat a little faster, his breath catching in return.

His thumb traced idle circles on her palm, the contact between them making his skin tingle. Elrond swallowed tightly, meeting her gaze with a gaze full of sincerity.

"Írimë... I have wanted to tell you... that I..."

His voice trailed off, his words failing him. How could he tell her that he felt for her without sounding foolish?

“Yes…?” Wide eyes stared into his own, searching for answers. Something… anything.

Írimë felt like she was on fire. Blood pumped through her veins that felt like lava—heavy, scolding. Pink lips parted as she licked her lips.

Elrond hesitated, struggling with how to properly articulate the storm of emotions he felt inside. He swallowed again, swallowing his last remaining doubts.

He brought her hand up to his chest, placing it right over his rapidly beating heart. The warmth of her palm pressed against him nearly made him shiver.

"Írimë... I have come to realize...”

Every passing moment made her heart boom louder. Her hand placed over his heart was so intimate, so raw. He wanted her to feel his heartbeat. 

And she did.

Before he could finish, a loud voice came barreling over the hill, running toward them through the grass.

“Írimë! Elrond!”

The voice broke their trance, not allowing Elrond to finish his words. Gods, how she needed him to finish those words.

She stepped back, allowing some space between her and the half-elf before her as she retracted her hand. Her gaze met a familiar figure walking towards them. 

“Vorohil!” She exclaimed, welcoming her old friend.

Elrond's heart felt heavy inside of his chest, the moment stolen from him just as he was about to confess his true feelings. He took a step back as well, his shoulders slightly slumped in defeat.

As Vorohil approached, Elrond looked up, his expression slightly irritated at the interruption. He had been so close to speaking up, so close...But now there was no chance of picking up from where he had left off. The mood between the two souring now that Vorohil had joined them.

"Vorohil," Elrond said in greeting, forcing a small smile.

The ellon acknowledged Elrond with respect and then rested upon the raven-haired elleth. “I heard you just arrived. I have come to fetch you for the feast!”

Írimë grasped her dear friend’s forearm and gave it a light squeeze. “Thank you, my dear friend,” she said softly. Her bright eyes then met Elrond’s gaze, “Shall we join?”

The half-elf let out a soft sigh, his disappointment still evident on his face. However, he offered her a small, reluctant smile and nodded, "Yes, let us be on our way."

As they began walking, Elrond fell into pace beside her, their shoulders brushing slightly. He kept his hands clasped tightly behind his back to stop himself from reaching out to her again. The words that he had wanted to say lingered on the tip of his tongue, yet he held them back once more.

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The feast was a splendid affair. Food was plentiful and wine flowed freely. Music played in the background, filling the air with cheerful, light elvish tunes.

Elrond walked beside Írimë, though his earlier enthusiasm had wilted slightly. He occasionally stole glances at her but made no attempt to resume their earlier conversation. His heart ached with unspoken words, yet he couldn't bring himself to speak them, not with so many peers around.

Írimë made her rounds throughout the evening. It had been many, many moons since she had last seen the trees of Lindon. How she had missed it so…

A familiar gaze lingered on the elleth though she welcomed it. She knew he watched her. Their keen senses made it near impossible to ignore. She found herself biting her lips more than not, swinging her hair, and smiling more than not as Elrond watched. The half-elf had such a peculiar way of affecting her; it was like she was a young elleth once again the way she yearned for his gaze.

And he noticed it all. The way she strode with more confidence and grace, the way she flipped her waves of midnight hair around, the way her smile glowed.

Every movement she made, every gesture, he absorbed them all, devouring them like a sweet dessert. 

His gaze lingered, continuing to watch her closely, trying to memorize every detail. The half-ellon’s fingers squeezed the chalice he held.

The more time passed, the more his heart longed for her, desperate to reach out and touch her, to speak the words that were dying to leave his tongue.

As the feast went on, Elrond eventually found himself able to slip away. He walked outside into the cool night air, his heart still pounding in his chest. He couldn't stay inside anymore, being so close to Írimë yet unable to speak to her; it had become too much to bear.

He ran his fingers through his curly locks, feeling tired and frustrated as he stared off into the night sky. "If I could just have one moment alone with her," he muttered to himself.

“Who is this elleth my dear friend frets over?” The very voice he daydreamed of rang through the air as she approached Elrond. 

He gave a small huff of laughter in response to her question as he turned toward her, "You heard that, did you?"

Her eyes narrowed curiously at him. As he spoke, he wouldn’t meet her eyes, instead talking into the distance as he turned back away from her.

Taking a sip of the wine he held, he sighed, "She is someone I cannot seem to get off my mind, even for a single moment. She occupies my thoughts from dawn to dusk, filling my heart with a melody I have never felt before."

His words cut into her. Was she being farcical? Was this an unknown lover of his? Or…?

She sighed and took a large gulp of wine from her own chalice. The sweet wine from the First Age coated her tongue and warmed her insides. “A lucky elleth,” her voice strained. “You must write poetry about her…” She whispered as her eyes turned down.

Do not shed tears, she thought to herself. 

Her response startled Elrond. It was almost as if she... as if she didn't seem happy for him. Or, perhaps, jealous? But surely not. He shook his head slightly, his heart starting to pound in his chest.

Írimë stood beside him, looking out into the late evening.

Elrond looked over at her, his gaze fixing on hers. He could see the forced smile spread across her lips and he knew that there was something deeper behind her words.

"I have written many poems about her," he admitted, his voice quiet. "She is my muse, my light, my everything."

Her voice hitched in the back of her throat. His everything… His words echoed throughout her very being.

She swallowed hard and met Elrond’s eyes as she tried her best to hold back tears. “This elleth must feel only warmth and sunlight then,” her voice came out as a whisper.

Elrond could hear the hitch in her voice, the barely concealed pain in her words. His heart ached hearing the sadness that coated her tongue.

He took a step closer to her, his voice dropping to a whisper. "You do not sound as if you are happy for me, Írimë. Do my words cut you?"

Their bodies almost touched. Her heart pounded as the tears began to swell over. Tears streamed down her pink cheeks as blue eyes searched Elrond’s. 

A forced smile still strained on her lips as she spoke, “I wish you nothing but happiness, mellon nin.” 

She avoided the question, only wanting to relieve him but the pain was too much. Until it hit her. I love him. The words ran through her mind as realization kicked her in the chest.

The sight of Írimë’s tears broke him. Seeing the pain in her eyes, hearing her voice crack and her forced smile... He couldn't bear it anymore. But he needed to know why. Needed to hear her say it.

"You wish me happiness yet the sight of me talking about another pains you so," he said softly, taking another small step forward.

He reached up, gently brushing away her tears with his thumb. His gaze pierced hers as he spoke, “Tell me, Írimë. Why does this make you grieve?"

His question echoed through her mind. She had to tell him. Needed to. Though she felt foolish to love him if he was already promised to another. How could she do that to such a friend like him?

But what if she never told him? She would have to endure and watch him love another. Could she handle that?

Trembling lips parted as whispered words fell from her lips, “I remember when we were younger. You always wiped away my tears.”

A wavering smile crept upon her lips as she looked up at him. “You have always looked out for me, even knowing that I did not need it. Always tended my wounds. Always filled my heart with nothing but warmth and joy,” her eyes searched his, almost pleading as she spoke. 

Her hand reached up to cover his own that lingered on her cheek as his thumb wiped away the wet remnants.

“When your face fills my dreams, I sigh with comfort and happiness. When your skin meets mine,” she began as she turned her cheek inward toward his hand, placing a soft kiss in the middle of his palm. 

Her eyes met his again. “A current runs through me as if something becomes awakened when we touch. A wildfire that cannot be contained. A light that can never be diminished. You are as bright as daylight and warm as summer, Elrond.”

Elrond's heart pounded in his chest as he listened to her words. Every sentence, every sentiment... It was everything that he had been waiting for. Every bit of validation that he needed, it was in her words. He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

The tear-stained face, the trembling lips, the hand on his... It was so raw, so open, so vulnerable, and yet so beautiful. He ached to say something, anything, but he was frozen in place. He could only stare at her, his face mirroring every emotion that ran through him.

He swallowed hard, his voice barely more than a whisper, "My dear Írimë, I... I never knew...I wanted to…"

His eyes flicked down to her trembling lips, his heart pounding louder and louder in his chest. The hand on her cheek moved down, tenderly cupping her face as his thumb brushed over her lips.

She sucked in a breath at his touch, closing her eyes in the process. A slow exhale left her lips as she slowly looked up at him.

The way she looked up at him was entrancing. Eyes of blue wide, pleading for him yet sad. She had never wanted something so badly in her immortal life. 

His finger brushed against her bottom lip again, softly pulling on it and then brushing it over. An agonizing ache reached below her stomach from the way his eyes bore into hers. He felt her breath hitch at his touch, her eyes closing for a brief moment once more.

“The elleth is you, meleth nîn,” his voice whispered. He placed both hands on either side of her cheeks as she looked up at him.

Everything fell into place at his words. The elleth is you, he had said. 

“Elrond,” her voice squeaked. 

A wave of relief washed over Elrond. Every ounce of tension left him as he heard the relief in her voice, knowing that he hadn't made a terrible mistake. He had never felt so vulnerable yet so complete at the same time. His thumb traced over her cheek gently, feeling the smooth skin beneath his touch.

"Írimë," he whispered back, his eyes roaming her face as if trying to memorize every little fleck of cerulean in her eyes, every curve, and every freckle on her skin.

He bent down and rested his forehead against hers. The two closed their eyes and shared breaths in the silence. She placed her hands over his own, her touch sending yet another shiver through him.

After a moment, she whispered, “Kiss me.”

When Írimë’s whispered words reached his ears, it was like a dam had burst.

The words had barely sunk in before he leaned in and hungrily pressed his lips to hers.

Long, slender fingers gently wove into her hair, holding her in place as he deepened the kiss. Their bodies close, so close that he could feel the heat radiating from her like a fire. All the years of longing, of hidden desires, were suddenly let loose in the kiss. His heart pounded in his chest, feeling as if it had finally found its home.

His other hand slid down, curling around her waist, pulling her in even closer, holding her against his body, as if trying to merge their very beings.

She could almost feel their souls become one as his lips pressed against hers. The hungry kiss released everything she had been feeling for him. Everything she wanted to envelop into words but did not have the ability.

They let their lips speak for them as the kiss deepened and he pulled her tighter into him. She could feel him, feel everything beneath his linens. 

A moan fell from her lips as his tongue danced with her own. She reached up, letting one hand curl into his dark locks. 

“Elrond…” her voice gasped his name. 

He felt every sound that left her lips—every soft gasp, every whisper, every moan. It was like music to him, the most beautiful symphony that his ears and soul had ever composed. Only the welcoming melody to Valinor could compare to this.

His hands wandered over her body as his tongue moved against hers, feeling her every curve, his touch desperate and hungry, yet tender and gentle.

Nothing else mattered in that moment but them. The dark night hid their figures outside, luckily, as their bodies intertwined. 

Her hand slid down through his hair, making its way next to his ear. Her fingers brushed over the pointed tip and she heard him whimper. Finally, she thought. 

The pointed ears of elves were incredibly sensitive, especially when senses were heightened. And they were left only to the touch of those that were promised, only to the most precious of close loved ones.

A jolt of pleasure shot through his body as her fingers glided over his ear. He had never felt something like it before, the sensation so intense, so intimate, that it almost overpowered all judgment. He let out a small gasp against her mouth, his body tensing up briefly before relaxing again.

His mind clouded, his focus entirely on her and the way she touched him. He pulled back from the kiss, breathless, and looked into her eyes, the intensity of his gaze almost dizzying.

"Do that again," he whispered, his voice husky with desire.

She had never heard his voice like this before. It was so gruff yet, he was begging? Or was that a command? She intended to find out.

Darkened eyes stared up into his piercing grays. Her thumb slowly, and barely even touching the tip of his ear, slid across the sensitive skin.

She watched his brows furrow and eyes close. No, she thought.

“Look at me, meleth nin,” her voice commanded, breath against his lips. Her thumb then traced down the outer part of his tapered ear.

Elrond's breath hitched in his throat as she touched him again, his eyes nearly rolling back into his head with the sensation. But the sound of her voice pulled him back into focus, a mixture of command and desire in her tone.

His eyes slowly drifted open, finding hers. He swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest, his lips parted as he let out a shaky breath. His fingers traced along her waist, drawing her as close as he could.

Hearing his song of pleasure spill from his lips rang through her.

His lust-filled gaze peered into her dilated pupils. She had never felt like this before. Her body could not get enough of him; it sang to her as hers sang to him, and she wanted to pluck every note.

Elrond’s breath deepened, his fingers gripping at the fabric of her dress, as if trying to hold himself back. His gaze darkened, the intensity in his eyes burning brighter with need.

He couldn't take it anymore. The fire coursing through his veins demanded something more. He wanted Írimë—needed her. Needed to feel their bodies fuse together, needed to taste her, needed to make her his entirely.

What was this?

Their chests heaved as they exchanged breaths, staring at one another. Desire filled their eyes as heat pooled deep within them.

“Elrond,” she breathed, looking up to him. In the quietness, eyes searched each other.

“We have been gone from the feast for so long,” her voice was unsteady, breath hitched from the shared intimacy.

Hearing her mention the feast reminded him of the festivities that still occurred. The thought of leaving her side to return made him wince, his heart clenching at the idea of being apart from her again.

His fingers flexed against her waist as he held her gaze, his mind and body both fighting against the rational part of him. He knew they needed to return but he didn't want it to end.

"You speak...words of reason," he said, his voice low and uneven.

She reached up, placing her hand against his cheek softly as her eyes peered into his. They both knew they needed to make an appearance once more.

”Meet me under the stars once more tonight…After the feast,” she finished, whispering her words.

His gaze softened as she touched his cheek, the feel of her skin causing his eyes to close for a moment. Elrond then turned to press his face into the palm of her hand, keeping her there for a moment as her words sunk in and he reopened them. 

“Under the stars, melnā,” he murmured, his voice as soft as a whisper against her skin.

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mellon nin: my friend

meleth nîn: my love

melnā: beloved

Írimë: lovely, desirable

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　

[marukoshiasu]

Our girls Findis and Írimë!

I missed @finweanladiesweek 😭

[demonscantgothere]

Beasts of the Hill and Serpents of the Den. Galadriel/Sauron | Halbrand. Explicit. 217.5k | 3.3k chapter [44/150] Ch. 44: As It Comes to Light

During the First Age, the War of Wrath changes course. On the island of Tol-in-Gaurhoth, the Isle of Werewolves and one of Sauron’s former strongholds, is the seat of the Necromancer’s power. Instead of sending his wolves out to kill Finrod after capturing Felagund in his dungeons, Sauron demands an exchange for his life. Galadriel offers herself.

“Where is it?” demanded her clear voice, partially broken by irritation as she spoke—and it was none other than Írimë, pacing the hall with agitation in each step as she strode across the foyer. The cool, calm, and collected exterior she often displayed to them was now split into two down the center, revealing at once all that had been hidden underneath her façade.

A single voice answered her in response.

“Where is what?” called back Halbrand, noncommittal with his reply and seemingly bored with her newfound exhibit of emotion towards him. He had little patience for her outburst, and he did not hesitate to show it. Slowly, he strode across the foyer, stopping to examine objects along the way in between his lingering footfalls, an obvious contrast to Írimë’s rigid stance on the other side of the hall.

“Do not play coy with me,” Írimë warned him, her bright eyes as sharp as the glint of ice on the windows as it grew on the glass outside of the fortress. “What have you done with Master’s most treasured possession in your care?”

Keep Reading

[meluiloth]

Here’s my artwork for @silmarillionepistolary day 4, love and creation!

More time has passed, and Finwë still loves his art, his people, and his growing family. His eldest son, Fëanáro (shown on the top left and right), has grown into an ambitious and genius adult. He is always creating and inventing new things - even a written language! Finwë has spent much time learning the script (a few failed attempts are shown in the top left corner), but he is immensely proud of his son (and his wife, Nerdanel, pictured below him).

Finwë’s ‘other family’, so called by Fëanáro (who doesn’t get along with them at all), has grown over the last several years. Indis is a ray of sunshine in his life, and as strong a woman as she is a Queen - she has borne four children and remains as joyful and sturdy as ever. Nolofinwë is the eldest, followed by Arafinwë, then his two daughters Findis and Írimë. Finwë adores children, and would love to always have them near him forever. (Though his own are swiftly growing up, Nerdanel is already pregnant with her first child, which is very excited about).

Still, though his first wife makes no more appearances in his sketches … she always lingers in the back of his mind, a phantom he could not erase even if he wanted to. And he doesn’t want to, no matter how much guilt he feels about pining over Míriel when his living wife is ever beside him.

Tengwar translations (the language is English transcribed into Tengwar):

[gnomescarfcomics]

None of the commanders are given actual names in the credits. Strange considering several of the other elf extras have names. So as far as I'm concerned, this is who they are until the series corrects me (left to right).

Commander of the South: Írimë daughter of Finwë

Commander of the East: Arminas of the House of Finarfin

Commander of the West: Ornil of Nargothrond

[ceescedasticity]

Of the daughters of Finwë

(Something else for my Absence of Evidence series, if I decide this framing is right.)

Of the daughters of Finwë

(As written by Lady Galadriel as an addendum for the Annals)

(And as described by her to her niece and nephews:)

Finwë and Indis had two daughters, Findis Aranel before Fingolfin and Írimë Lalwendë after, closely enough that they were all children together.

It has been said that though Fëanor was never at peace with Indis's children, he came closest with Findis when she was young, and she grieved his love when it was gone. As they grew Lalwen threw her support wholeheartedly behind Fingolfin, but Findis did not see why she should have to choose between her brothers or their factions. She would prefer to stand apart from either.

"I was told the part about Fëanor by one of my Lindarin uncles, and the rest by my mother. She also said that Fingolfin respected Findis's stance, if only because she was older, Fëanor carried on seeing her as an extension of Indis, and Finwë evidently did not notice."

Findis married late, after both of her younger brothers, to Lávarwë of the Aulenduri. Lávarwë through his father is kin to an ancient noble line, and through his mother is cousin to Anairë wife of Fingolfin. He and Findis were dear friends long before they married.

"Lávarwë is an epessë, for some very lifelike flowers he crafted of gold; he usually prefers to avoid his father-name and patronymic both, because his father is excessively proud of the ancient noble line."

Findis's son is Glorfindel, who joined the Exile and was a Lord of Gondolin; more is written of him elsewhere. He is of similar age to Turgon and Finrod. He was named for his golden hair; both his parents are dark-haired. He was ever a great friend of Turgon's.

"He was never fond of his mother-name so I won't share it."

There was no strife between Findis and her husband, but after Glorfindel came of age, Lávarwë returned to his home with the Aulenduri and Findis did not go with him. They were both content with this. Findis returned to the Palace and left her house in Tirion in Glorfindel's care.

"Poor Glorfindel was not at all sure what to make of the separation, though of course he was old enough to travel between his parents freely. He did take full advantage of having control of the house, as did many of his cousins. —When fed up with the older generation, mostly, but there were also parties."

Lalwen all this time remained unwed and entirely untroubled thereby. She was a fixture in Finwë's court, all were delighted by her company, and if one wished to know something about the court she was the one to ask.

When strife grew among the Noldor, Lalwen set herself to supporting Fingolfin and Findis set herself to supporting Indis; and so it is not surprising the histories of Findis and Lalwen diverge at the Darkening.

Of Lalwen and Nichonnen

Lalwen departed Tirion with the Host of Fingolfin. During the crossing of the Helcaraxë, she adopted a child:

Nichonnen was begotten and born on the Helcaraxë, to the general horror of the host when it came to light at her birth. By then her birth parents were in no state to explain why they had chosen to do such a thing. The father had been giving most of his rations to the mother; neither lived an hour past her birth. Few had any hope of the child living an hour longer. But Lalwen took up the infant, and swore she would bring her safely across.

Lalwen sang milk into her own breast, and strove to give the child all the support that should have been poured into her by mother and father. Most all Lalwen's kin took it in turns to walk by her side and lend their strength also. And all this was not in vain, for Nichonnen lived to see the rising of the Moon and the Sun, and learned to walk and speak in the encampment by Lake Mithrim; and she was small but hale, though her hair turned near white on the Ice.

"Of course she was not called Nichonnen then. Lalwen called her Urucárien to begin with, for the effort her parents had made to bear her. On the Helcaraxë we called her all sorts of nonsense names: strong names like Tulcuissë and Turundë to give the right idea and help her persevere, but also things like Helcelimbë and Niquessë, as if we could trick the Ice into treating her gently. —Although she never was troubled by the cold like most who traversed the Ice, so perhaps there was some sense in it after all. Lalwen settled on Nixënóna, which became Nichonnen. We were never sure how the hair happened."

Nichonnen's birth parents were known to Fingolfin, and she was told of them when she was old enough to understand; but Lalwen called her daughter, and Nichonnen proudly named herself Lalwendiel. For however Doomed the House of Finwë, they had given her life as surely as her parents had, and were the only family she knew.

"She was never quite considered a full member. Lalwen's daughter, yes, definitely; a little cousin to all of us who walked by her on the Ice, yes, definitely; of the House of Finwë, yes, but never quite one of Finwë's heirs. More as if she'd married in."

Lalwen made her home in Barad Eithel with Fingolfin, but often traveled throughout Beleriand. All knew she kept a watch on trade and movement of goods and foodstuffs, and the quartermasters of the Siege sent their requests to her. Not so many knew she served as Barad Eithel's spymaster.

"Lalwen mostly did not travel to Thargelion, because she always ended up debating Caranthir over taxes and tariffs. They both enjoyed the arguments, reportedly, but it would leave Caranthir highly agitated for months afterwards if she won, and Maedhros requested that Fingolfin suggest to Lalwen they should perhaps stick to correspondence."

Nichonnen also dwelt in Barad Eithel and also traveled, but more directly as the High King's messenger or envoy, for she was difficult to read and more difficult to rile.

After the Dagor Bragollach and Fingolfin's death, both Lalwenn and Nichonnen remained with Fingon. Nichonnen still carried messages, trusting in stealth rather than strength, though they were sorry to so risk her. Lalwen took up arms, which she had not before done openly. Her skills were better suited to scouting than fighting in an army, but she was a mighty warrior.

Both Lalwen and Nichonnen labored long to support the Union of Maedhros and its counteroffensive, but neither were on the front lines. They survived the Nirnaeth Arnoediad to withdraw to Barad Eithel. Lalwen bid Nichonnen flee with what others she could rally, but stayed behind. She was one of the few who knew of the long-laid plan should Barad Eithel's fall seem inevitable: To collapse the fortress, depriving the Enemy of a base and perhaps offering some protection to the source of the Sirion below.

"The engineers who designed and built Barad Eithel are deserving of great praise, but I have never heard them named."

Nichonnen led some few others away through the Ered Wethrin. It was a long and bitter journey full of hardship and grief, she brought them all alive and free to Brithombar. But Nichonnen gave much of herself to bring them through privation, and never fully recovered; and when the Falas fell, she fell as well.

Of Findis and Emerwen

"All of this I heard only during the War of Wrath, from my father and others of the Host of the West. I am very sure details have been omitted."

On hearing that Tirion had been deserted by all the descendants of Finwë, Findis left Valmar and returned to the city. She arrived soon after news of the Kinslaying at Alqualondë wrought yet more chaos and took charge. When word came of Finarfin and the others who turned back, she rode out to meet them, and accompanied Finarfin to face the Valar, and then back to Tirion.

"No one said anything to me of how it was decided whether to crown my father or Findis, or even mentioned that crowning Findis had been a possibility. I feel that it must surely have been considered, but we seem unlikely to learn anything more this side of the Sea."

Findis remained at Finarfin's side leading the Noldor in Aman. Lávarwë also returned to Tirion at Findis's request, to lend what authority he had to the task of holding everything together.

Some time after the Sun rose it came to Findis that the Noldor remaining in Aman must be feeling the loss of their future, as symbolized by the departure of all the grandchildren and great-grandchildren of Finwë. She resolved that this might be mended in part if she and Lávarwë had a second child. In time Lávarwë agreed, and Calainë Sanastëa Findisiel was born in the eightieth year of the First Age.

Calainë was educated as befit a Prince of the Noldor. Her grandmother Indis bestowed on her the epessë Emerwen, and she is most often known by it.

"I gathered there were strong feelings from several directions on this, but no one was willing to explain further."

Both Findis and Emerwen traveled to Beleriand to fight in the War of Wrath, although neither remained through the entire campaign.

Of Faniel

Elmendien Faniel was adopted by Indis the dowager queen as her ward early in the First Age, and she is also counted among the daughters of the House of Finwë.

"And that is all anyone would tell me. When I tell you I was tempted to beg pardon solely in order to try to get some answers— But they were very clear about this much, so I feel we should likely include it."

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

“A New Year”

Rating: E

Characters: Írimë, Celegorm (Tyelkormo), Faeldor (OC), Indis, Lungorthin, Makar

Pairings: Írimë & Celegorm (Tyelkormo) | Faeldor/Indis | Faeldor & Írimë, Indis & Írimë | Írimë & Lungorthin | Írimë/Makar

AU: AHS Hotel AU – Hotel Angband

Warnings: Violence | Non-Con | Absinthe use | Captivity | Vampirism | Torture | Blood

Wordcount: 1.8K words

Summary: During a party to celebrate the dawning of a new year, Írimë calls on Makar to see if he has made ready what her mother and father desired to hunt.

Minors DNI | 18+ | This story can also be read on AO3

Everyone stood and raised their glasses as the last stroke of midnight reverberated around the hall.

“Happy New Year!” they all roared, draining their champagne in two or three deep swallows. Some went back to their seats. Others talked to those closest to them, or they went in search of something to eat, or they took to the dance floor, holding their companions close as they swayed to music flowing forth from a grand piano enchanted to play on its own accord. Írimë walked around the throng, her empty glass still in hand. She stopped at the bar and made herself comfortable on a high leather stool.

“Another one, Tyelkormo,” she said, setting her glass on the counter. Her voice was clear and sweet. It also came from another place and another time, a visible sign of her long years as a creature who was never mortal. “If you please.”  

Tyelkormo grinned from the other side and obliged. “How many times must I ask you to call me Tyelko, ma’am?” he teased, selecting a bottle from a tub made of crystal and filled with ice.

“One more time, Tyelkormo, as always,” Írimë advised, her crimson lips curling up at the corners. She watched while the bottle was carefully popped, and a measure of its contents was poured out for her. “Will you not join the others?”

“Later,” Tyelkormo said, pouring another full measure of champagne, “when the good Madame brings on the special entertainment some of us have been waiting for all evening.” He pushed the glasses toward her and picked up a small black towel to wipe his hands. It was not necessary for him to do so, but the habit remained with him from the years he walked the earth as a being of living flesh and blood. “The other one is for the big man,” he added. “He appears to be quite busy elsewhere.”

“He most certainly is,” Írimë admitted, and accepted the proffered drinks. She lifted her own in a toast and said, rising, “To a new year, Tyelkormo.”

“The same to you, ma’am.”

Írimë strode toward the center of the room, occasionally halting to exchange pleasantries with others. Then, she stopped by a table full of rare delicacies, fine wine, and pitchers filled with a thick, red liquid. Her family occupied it. Some of them, at least. She stopped by a chair and leaned down to whisper to a tall, regal woman seated next to a well-dressed and otherworldly-looking man.

“Will you and father be going on your hunt soon, mother?”

Indis looked up at her daughter and smiled warmly. “Yes, daughter,” she returned, “but only after I have slipped into something more appropriate for what your father and I have in mind for later. Míriel outdid herself with this dress. It would be such a shame to ruin it even for the sake of a yearly tradition.”

“Míriel has indeed outdone herself,” Írimë agreed, admiring the gown sewn for her mother. Made of sheer silk, it was studded with little diamonds that had been polished and crafted into beads that glittered whenever the one who wore them moved. And, she admitted to herself, her mother looked a vision in it. Her father plainly thought so also. She could see it in the appreciative glances he sent her mother’s direction. “Very well, mother. I will bring your diversion to the gardens at a quarter to the hour. Will that give you enough time to prepare?”

“It will, to be sure,” Indis said. “And please see to it that she has been bathed and dressed. Makar tends to be remiss about such things.”

“Makar will not fail us,” Faeldor answered. He beamed when Írimë came over to him and dipped her head to press a kiss to his cheek. “Will you be calling on him now, daughter?”

“I will, father,” Írimë said, drawing his attention to what she carried. “He will be wanting his libation after he is finished with his bedmate.”

Indis arched an elegant brow, her eyes alight with barely disguised amusement. “Just his bedmate, daughter mine?”

Her daughter flushed. Presently, she said, “Perhaps his bedmate will be more than his alone, mother,” she admitted. “Now pray excuse me. I cannot stay too long.”

Írimë turned to leave after her mother and father said their farewells. She shouted encouragement to her brothers and sister as they downed yet another serving of vivid green absinthe. Nolofinwë, Findis, and Arafinwë were occupied in a game of drink with a few of the Þerindë brothers and Gothmog and Nári, the guards who protected Melkor and Mairon, the wealthy proprietors of the hotel they all called home. They called back their thanks before turning their attention to the game at hand, paying no heed to the screams spilling out of a little cage in another corner of the room, its walls stained with spatters of blood that would disappear soon. 

Írimë peered into it and observed the two mortals shackled to a table wide enough for two. They thrashed about and shrieked while two men, both with flame-red hair and both identical to each other, cut into their limbs with uncommon precision. Two others, one with hair like spilled ink and the other with hair that oft reminded her of molten gold, watched on approvingly while offering advice now and then. Írimë sniffed at the air as she walked past and made a face. Besides the throw-up and the waste, she smelled opioids, foul and poor in quality, tainting the blood, making it vile and near impossible to savor.

Such a pity, she told herself. Still, she did not let the waste of such blood trouble her as she neared the elevators. A far better offering awaited her a floor above.

Suddenly, an elevator door opened, making her pause. A tall woman dressed all in black and flanked by others in hooded cloaks walked out.

“They are waiting for you all, Madame Ungoliant,” Írimë said, chuckling. “Some more than others.”

Madame Ungoliant laughed. “I have no doubt Tyelkormo is one of those others. Come, everyone. Let us not keep our customers waiting.”

Írimë did not linger. She entered the same elevator and pushed a button with just her thought. After several seconds of being confined to a stainless steel box, she set foot onto a dimly lit corridor when its doors slid open. A man was seated comfortably on a nearby sofa, smoking, and three dogs rested on either side of him. The beasts took no notice of her; they were content to sleep beside their master.  

“Where is he, Lungorthin?” she asked.

Lungorthin took a drag of his cigarette. “Where he always is, princess, when he finds someone to toy with,” he said, but with affection. “Go on. He’s expecting you.”

Írimë crossed to a door at the far end of the corridor. When it swung to the other side, exposing a large but sparsely decorated room, she found herself being greeted by the sounds of deep grunts, muffled sobs, and skin slapping against skin. The grunts roused her. The muffled sobs even more so.

“My mother and father will depart soon to prepare for their hunt, dearest,” she said, taking in the sight of the large and powerful man kneeling on the bed and taking a raven-haired woman from behind. It was her cries that were muffled. Her hands were bound behind her back, and her head was driven into the pillows each time her attacker drew back his hips and pushed back in. Írimë felt no pity for her, only hunger. Her blood smelled intoxicating. “Is her friend ready?”

Makar ceased thrusting and brushed back the hair that had fallen over his eyes. “She’s ready as she will ever be, darling,” he panted, gesturing to the window seat to his right. Another young woman, a friend and traveling companion of the first one, had been placed on it, gagged and with her wrists and legs bound, to stop her from running. She had been bathed and dressed as if she was about to leave for a party. Tears shimmered in her eyes. “Would you like a taste of my one?”

“Upon my return,” Írimë said. She strode in and pressed one glass into Makar’s outstretched hand. Her own, she emptied and set on the bedside table. “And I will not be gone for too long. This one smells so delectable it is almost painful.”

She sat on the edge of the bed, her icy blue eyes never leaving his unusual crimson ones. Makar growled when she pulled down the bound woman’s gag, lifted her head, dipped her own, and kissed her on the mouth.

“Help me,” the woman whimpered when she drew back. “Please, help me.”

“Now, why should I do that?” Írimë parted her lips into a cruel and twisted smile, revealing fangs that shone a pearly white in the light and making the woman quail in fright. She looked at Makar. “Can you wait for me, dearest?”

“I can,” Makar promised, pulling away. He got out of bed, his chest heaving from exertion, to relish his champagne. “Best take the other one and go. Your parents won’t like to wait to begin their hunt.”

“Aye.” Írimë pulled up the gag to silence the captive of her companion and rose. She strode to the window and bent to throw the other woman over her shoulder. Lifting her was no more troubling than lifting a feather. “Struggling is futile, pretty little mortal,” she hissed when her prisoner writhed in a vain attempt to escape her grasp. “And it will not save you from my mother and father.”

No one stopped her along the way. Then again, no one could after she used the stairs to go to the hotel grounds. Írimë merrily hummed a song few others had heard, her voice echoing into the silence as she picked her way down steep steps, through a brightly lit porch, and over a paved path leading to a beautiful garden. She felt no weariness. Only the anticipation of what lay ahead.

“Do not make it harder than it already is for yourself.” Írimë carefully dropped her captive onto the moonlit grass and set herself to the task of removing the bindings around her hands and feet, the gag around her mouth. “Do not yell, and do not try and plead for mercy. Do not try to attack my mother. You will only fail, and you will enrage my father. He will make the last hours left to you hell on earth; I give you my word on this.”

The other woman struggled to stand. She whirled around when she heard branches snapping in the trees around her. It was just an animal, Írimë knew, moving from branch to branch to reach its home in a nearby tree.

“Run,” she commanded. Her mother and father were near. She could smell their scent on the wind. “Run like the devil himself is after you.”

The woman ran, tripping over herself more than once while she did. She did not notice the two figures chasing after her. Írimë knew there was nothing she could do to save herself if she did.   

[innumerable-stars]

Adventures in Middle Earth Promo Post

(Written by @jaz-the-bard)

Summary: Adventures in Middle Earth is a tabletop roleplaying game set in Middle-Earth between the events of The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings. The system is based on Dungeons and Dragons 5th edition, but can also be played in its own system, The One Ring RPG. There are a number of plotlines suggested in the play materials, from helping the princess Írimë sail to Valinor to defeating the Werewolf of Mirkwood (and defeating it again... and again...), but as with any roleplaying game, the possibilities are endless.

Why should I check out this canon? The mechanics of the game are designed particularly for Tolkien's world, giving direct consequences for ill deeds and magical corruption, as well as focusing on travel and journeys, and the characters -- whether from the books or invented for the game -- are a delight. There's nothing more fun than player heroes running into Legolas after being lost in the woods for days! It's also possible to use these rules to homebrew a Silmarillion-set game (ask me how I know) and use the corruption effects to destroy the player characters. The authors of the game are lore-knowledgable, and the settings and stories really feel like Tolkien's world!

Where can I get this? The sourcebooks for AiME are out of print, but the reworked version LotR 5e is available to buy online. However, some sourcebooks can be found on the Internet Archive and other places, and people who own copies are often happy to share!

What fanworks already exist? There are already a handful of fanfictions on Ao3 for this game! Several are writings about adventures that player characters have had. Likewise, fanart for it on Tumblr tends to be of player heroes. I'd heartily recommend checking out those fanworks (and not just because I wrote a bunch of them)! These original-character-heavy, setting-entwined works are a fantastic glimpse into the pieces of Middle-Earth between the pages.