#Finwë's sons are dumb

[dalliansss]

“Arda is vast,” Maglor reasons. “We have other opportunities, surely,”

“Yes, and do you not think Fingon sees this not?” Maedhros trails his gaze over all of his brothers. “Fingolfin might be dumb in certain aspects, but his eldest son is not. We are fortunate enough that Argon perished in Lammoth, for if he survived, Fingon and Argon will be another formidable battle brewing in our horizons, and already we are half-spent trying to outmaneuver Finrod.”

“Not half-spent,” Caranthir corrects. “I’d say a quarter spent. He has the greater gold reserves than us, but economics does not flow and work with gold alone. We still hold the bigger number of craftspeople and tradespeople. We can prevail if push comes to shove, but for the East; all eyes now turn to the wildlands of Eastern Beleriand. Finrod will already be planning as to how he will be the first to push east, this I can guarantee you.”

“Amon Ereb will be the prize,” Maedhros says. “As will be Thargelion, so close to the dwarven kingdoms of Nogrod and Belegost. We have to get there first.”

“Why don’t we just abscond now?” Celegorm speaks. “Take all our people, establish a new Noldorin capital east?”

“Because, you mutt,” says Curufin, in a soft snarl. “We need to anchor Fingolfin down here, make sure he can’t and won’t follow us, and so also keep Fingon rooted here, whether he likes it or not. We can negotiate with Finrod. Nevermind Angrod, that git; whatever prattle he makes, if Finrod doesn’t give a care for his ideas, he will overrule him and that will be the end of it. Aegnor is useless, no brains beneath those curls. Galadriel is shut up and also useless in Doriath. We have to keep Fingon at bay.”

“Nelyo?” Maglor asks, ever indecisive in such great matters.

Maedhros keeps flexing his gold-and-mithril hand. “I will abdicate.”

As he expects, there is outrage. Curufin is the first to stand in anger, going purple in the face. Maglor and Celegorm follow, aghast. The twins also express their shock. Only Caranthir remains calmly seated, looking at him, waiting in silence.

“I will abdicate,” Maedhros says. “Because the moment we landed at Drengist, Haru Finwë’s crown has become nothing but a useless piece of ornamentation and dead weight on whomever bears it. I will abdicate, as a smokescreen, to make a show for the irate majority of the Noldor. With this gesture, I shall also make a show of payment of reparation and damages to all those who crossed the Ice. With this gesture, we shall attempt to heal the quarrels between the factions in the Noldor, or make bridges sturdy enough for economy to flourish, and lay the foundations of our realms and our future strength to besiege Morgoth. I will abdicate, to anchor Fingolfin here in Hithlum, and incapacitate Fingon for as long as he can be incapacitated, and we and our people shall be free to outrace Finrod to the East.”

[the foundations of power / AO3]

[actual-bill-potts]

tell me about trans fingolfin 👀

ok so!!!!!

- finwë and indis have 3 children. their first child they name findis: a living symbol of their love. findis is followed closely by irimë, their laughing middle child, and finally their little arafinwë.

- (fëanáro does not care for his younger siblings. but—the eldest of them follows him with adoring eyes. they none of them look much like finwë, findis and irimë small and willowy in the way of the vanyar and arafinwë with his golden hair. he, fëanáro, is finwë’s eldest and most beloved son. they are no threat. slowly he warms to his new playmates, and soon they all four are rampaging through tirion and beyond, fighting dark shadows on a Great Journey of their own—always led by fëanáro, of course.)

- meanwhile, findis has never felt quite comfortable, always feeling as though something is missing. but it’s a trip to valmar and meeting a little Maia who looks first like a ner, then a nís that changes everything.

- (the maia says, "your name is not findis, i think," and findis realizes with a lurch that—no, not findis.)

- (then who?)

- upon returning, findis goes to indis and says, "i need a new name."

- and indis looks deep into the eyes of her eldest child and says, "you have come early to knowledge of the self." and with the touch of foresight all those of her line possess, she looks beyond and says, "this knowledge is but the beginning of your wisdom." and so she named her son nolofinwë, for she saw that in wisdom he would surpass his father.

- upon learning of this, finwë insists on throwing a party to celebrate his second son and unveil the name his wife had given him.

- fëanáro has long departed tirion, cleaving to nerdanel and leaving behind the crowds who saw in him only his mother long gone. leaving behind the siblings who should not have been. but he doesn’t leave them in anger; the memory of being their leader in play, their beloved older brother, still pierces his heart.

- when he comes back, he sees nolofinwë in richly arrayed robes similar to those fëanáro wore when he was presented at court. he sees his brother named wise finwë, when he himself is only skillful; is his father prouder of nolofinwë than of his eldest? and worse, the worst blow of all: nolofinwë looks like his father. if not for his small stature, nolofinwë could have been a mirror of fëanáro. and this fëanáro cannot bear.

- he storms up to his father, heedless of his audience. "i see that a skillful son was not enough for you; wise your second son may be, but the works of his hands will never surpass mine. why then do you seek to replace me? have you fully forsaken therindë’s memory at last?"

- finwë is struck dumb, bewildered by his eldest’s sudden rage. behind, nolofinwë speaks up: "fëanáro, i love thee and would never seek to replace thee. why do you speak thus, when i have ever loved and followed you?" but he was hurt, to see a much longed-for change greeted by such anger.

- fëanáro is past reaching. he snarls at his brother, "son of finwë you may be, but brother of mine you are not. a half-brother only, and if my father seeks to replace me with a pale imitation then he is welcome to take nolofinwë to make up for his folly."

- from then on, things are tense in tirion.

- and when nolofinwë says, that fateful day, "two sons at least thou hast to honor thy words," fëanáro can barely restrain himself from running his (half)-brother through.

- nevertheless in his grief, the wisest of the children of finwë remembers the young, hurt playmate he had as a child, and swears that he will be a full brother to fëanáro, willing or unwilling.

- in endórë, much goes wrong.

- nolofinwë, thinking bitterly of two sons at least thou hast to honor thy words, names himself for the first time: finwënolofinwë.

- but grief-stricken, he thinks of full brother in heart i will be when he is staring down at the ruined form of maitimo.

- and when maitimo barely recognizes his own form and wants to rip his own skin from his bones—nolofinwë can speak from experience.

- when finwënolofinwë is about to be crushed beneath the heel of morgoth, his last thought is of his mother. ammë, he thinks wryly, am i wise still? what would you say, what would you name me now?

- (but indis was right, and when she someday sees her lovely wise son again, she will tell him so.)

[starlitwinter]

VI

I... changed a lot of things in my fanfic, like the pov. Anyway, enjoy!

Oh, merde merde merde. A dog. Huan. Celegorm. What am I supposed to fucking do? Run? Stay still? Please Huan be alone in those freaking wood. Please!

As the dog growled softly, the fear in Nenlissë’s mind intensified. Her thoughts raced as she desperately hoped that the dog was alone in the woods, and not accompanied by Celegorm. The size of the dog was particularly alarming, its head even towering over the human girl’s shoulder. Despite her shock, she remembered not to stare at the animal, as it could be perceived as a sign of aggression. Slowly backing away, the girl kept the dog in her field of vision, mindful of any sudden movements. With luck, Nenlissë could reach Aclar and escape before the dog’s master arrived, or perhaps she would meet a much grimmer fate.

“Where do you think you’re going, intruder?” A voice said, stopping Nenlissë in her moves.

The shock of hearing a dog speak left Nenlissë frozen in place. She was certain that she had heard the dog’s voice, but the animal’s mouth remained shut. Was it a trick of the mind, or was this dog truly capable of speaking? As she stood there, unsure of what to do, the voice continued to speak. It seemed to be coming from the dog, but how was that even possible? The girl tried to shake off her disbelief and focus on what the dog was saying, hoping that it would provide some clarity or explanation for this surreal moment.

“Are you stupid or just deaf? What are you doing half on the floor?” the voice said again, and Nenlissë realized that no, it was not Huan who was talking but surely his owner. Celegorm.

Ah yes. Youpi. Celegorm. Couldn’t you wait to get here? So, I could get away from here? No? Nenlissë thought, annoyed by Celegorm’s apparition. She got up slowly without meeting Huan’s eyes and looked for the only possible human form in this forest. As she continued to look for Celegorm, a shiver ran through the girl, and she suddenly felt a presence behind her. Before she could turn around, her back was already crashing against the nearest trunk, and she could only look up at the angelic face of Celegorm. Damn it hurts! I am not made of steel shit! She almost said, but swallowed her words, not wanting to upset Celegorm, as he had the upper hand. But Nenlissë still spoke without thinking about her words, which resulted in something like this.

“What’s wrong with throwing people on wood like that? I could have broken something! And then get out of the way stp. Don’t you know about living space? Coronavirus? Ah yes, you didn’t get it here… lucky bastard.”

Celegorm reaction was to put his arm on the girl’s throat and press gently but firmly anyway to warn her that he could crush her breathing voice at any moment. Nenlissë gave him her best hypocritical smile while staring at his face. She was relieved of these perfect elf faces. The fact of seeing the angelic face of her attacker calmed her and she succeeded in countering the wave of stress that was rising in her.

“Speak better intruder, don’t you know who I am?” Celegorm ordered harshly.

Nenlissë rolled her eyes. Of course, I know who you are, espèce de caca! Who do you think I am? She thought while scoffing. But she decided to not say anything because if she told him that she knows him, that she knows his future too, it was like she was offering him reasons on a silver plate to kill her on the spot. She might as well play dumb and survive than try to be Ms. Know-it-all and show it.

“Uh, no? And I should know? All I see here is an arrogant guy.

-Arrogant me? Have you never heard of Celegorm, son of Fëanor, son of Finwë? The best of them all? And who are you anyway? What family do you come from?

-Never heard of a Celegrom or Celegorm. And for your information, know that I am the daughter of a rich and powerful lord.”

Your uncle. But you do not need to know that now.

“Your name? Celegorm then asked.

-Nenlissë.

-What are you doing in these woods?

-I was… walking? Are we not allowed to do that now?”

He raised an eyebrow and despite looking at her suspiciously, he released her from his arm on her throat and walked away from her. Thank you for giving me back my breathing space Celegorm. Now adieu. As she tried to run away, Celegorm took her arm, bringing her close to his chest.

“Where do you think you’re going? You are on my uncle’s land and so you must be taken to his dwelling so I can know if you are telling the truth.”

-What? I refuse-

-Oh, it would be such a shame if I unintentionally allowed Huan to eat your arm. Or your leg. After all, he has not eaten anything and must be hungry.”

Celegorm placed a hand on the top of his doggie’s head. Huan decided to show Nenlissë his fangs which only made Nenlissë want to run away more. Seriously Huan! I thought you were nice and all. It is just for Luthien but not me being nice. Thanks!

“Listen, I don’t want to argue with you about the usefulness of arresting me for almost nothing so I’m going to come in very nicely and you won’t have to threaten me with anything okay?” Nenlissë said, trying to make peace with Celegorm and save her life.

He did not answer her, but a big smile formed on his lips, and he waved her past him. Nenlissë answered him by rolling her eyes and emitting a small whistle between her teeth. Aclar joined them and Celegorm did not comment on his arrival. The girl took his bridle in her hands and turned to Celegorm.

“Which way to your uncle’s castle? She asked innocently.

-To not know and live in this area, you must live in a cave all year round…”

He huffed and took the lead but left Huan to close the gap. What were you thinking? I am going to savour my ‘revenge’ when you finally know who I am. Your cousin.

“Follow me.”

~

The journey was quick and quiet and soon they could start to see the front of Arafinwë’s mansion, the few people they passed looked at them strangely but none of them made any comment. Celegorm abruptly opened the door and grabbed Nenlissë’s sleeve to pull her into the dining room where everyone was still there. As he entered, Arafinwë stood up and stopped whatever move he was going to make when he saw the situation his adopted daughter was in. She met his gaze and a wide smile played on his lips, instinctively understanding the situation.

“Good morning my dear nephew, we have been waiting for you. Arafinwë said slyly, but Celegorm didn’t see anything.

-Hello uncle, I am glad to see you and I see my aunt has already arrived. How are you?

-For the best, but… Why does Nenlissë seem to be your prisoner?

-You know this wanderer, Uncle? I caught her on your land, and she had no permission so I thought I should inform you of this.”

Behind Arafinwë, Nenlissë saw Angrod choke on his glass of water and burst out laughing. Celegorm glanced at him in puzzlement but did not seem to question the amused smiles on everyone’s faces. Arafinwë approached his nephew and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Turco, Nenlissë is my daughter. Adoptive, perhaps, but my daughter.”

Celegorm turned to look the girl in the eye. She gave him a contrite smile and shrugged.

“Your daughter? My cousin? Wait, what?”

-Yes. Your cousin.”

Nenlissë moved away from him and wanted to sit at the table, but Arafinwë stopped her.

“Don’t sit down Nenlissë, we had all finished and I had just suggested we go outside to play a little game. "

Oula… a little game with Arafinwë is never a game. She saw Artanis roll her eyes behind her father before coming to take her sister’s hand. How will he make us suffer today? Nenlissë thought while posing a questioning gaze on her father who only responded with an enigmatic smile. When they arrived outside, their horses were waiting for them, along with their bows, and a bag was lying on the ground next to the horses. Nenlissë could feel the shit coming already.

Arafinwë went to his stallion and stroked his muzzle before turning to them.

“This morning when I got up, I learned that my dear nephew, son of Fëanor, was coming. So, I thought it would be a good idea to set us a little challenge to see if my children are stronger, more skilled, and clever than my half-brother’s.”

I have a bad feeling about this… Nenlissë thought while nervously biting her nails.

“So, I’m going to give you a little survival challenge! In teams of two, you will have to spend a whole night in the forest without my men finding you! My sister, Findis, will draw the teams at random.”

Findis approached her brother with a box in her hand and pulled out the first paper.

“Ambo and… Artanis!” She exclaimed.

Disappointed not to be with her dear Galadriel, Nenlissë signed while her brother and sister exchanged a knowing look, an omen of bad things. Maybe being with Finrod will be beneficial and I will have less chance to die… Angrod can be an excellent choice too. Anything but Celegorm because I want to stay alive a little longer. The girl thought, judging her chances to win.

Findis put her hand back in the box and Nenlissë crossed her fingers, praying that someone would answer her call and not put her with Celegorm.

“Nenlissë and…”

Each second seemed like hours, the girl saw Findis’ hand move in slow motion… Nah I am kidding. The rest happened at normal speed.

“Celegorm!”

Damn it! Eru fuck you!

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Night like this

Okay @sorisooyaa, it's your turn.

Special thanks to @medusas-hairband for the reading and the support ❤️ This would not be out there, for better or for worse, without your love.

Here goes my big leap; this is a love letter to the authors having seen my name pop up in their notifs in the last few weeks, a love letter to their imagination and to the beauty of their words.

It's also a humble offering to the people who have been kind and gentle to me in the SWG and the TRSB server. Thank you for your patience and for building a poor wretch like me up...

Words: 2 230

Warnings: It's a slightly incestuous pairing! There will be innuendo (and not just a little) but no explicit stuff...It's also a wild blend of tropes and HCs I've fallen in love with as a reader

Pairing: Maedhros/Fingon, Maglor/Finrod (?) (all of them? Read it as you want)

Summary: A dance in full sight of the assembled high society of Tirion and a lot of unanswered questions

“I need you! Now!”

Maitimo tried to shake off his brother’s insistent hand – long fingers closing like vices around his shoulder – as he gave his uncle an apologetic shrug.

“I mean it, come on!” 

“Good evening to you too Kanafinwë,” Ñolofinwë greeted, eyebrow cocked in indulgent interrogation, “whatever is so urgent? Is one of my nephews on fire?”

“Not this time!” His half-brother’s son smirked mischievously before brandishing a harp as if it was a sword, and suddenly, he understood what ailed the young artist so.

With a mellow wave of his elegant hand, he dismissed Fëanáro’s eldest son and – as soon as they had left – a much put-upon Maitimo being all but dragged across the room by his insistent younger brother, his own slid up next to him.

“Dear Fëanáro has overindulged those boys,” Arafinwë whispered, but his voice was gentle and devoid of the acid that – at times – simmered in his mouth like poison.

“Do you truly believe ours to be exempt? If Maitimo has been abducted, I will bet my best robe on Findekáno already having stormed out to pre-empt them.” Ñolofinwë chuckled under his breath at the thought; their progeny was hardy and brave, but discretion was yet amongst the skills they would had to hone, in long hours, at court meetings.

“I cannot see my son,” Arafinwë grunted after a second of intent scanning the room and its occupants, “and that is a bad sign when Kanafinwë is in one of his moods.”

“Did I hear my son’s name?” Fëanáro popped out of nowhere like the snake in the grass he was, “What has he done now?”

“He’s abducted everyone,” Arafinwë replied, clenching his jaw when he heard how pathetic that sounded, an impression only reinforced by the sidelong glance his brothers shot at him.

“Ah!” Fëanáro looked startled and that – in and of itself – was a pleasant surprise, and lightly unamused, which, on the contrary, was nothing new.

“Well,” Ñolofinwë sighed, “then the good people of Tirion will have to content themselves with Finwë’s own scandalous sons, robbed of their first-borns by whatever fancy has taken them tonight. Cheer up, brother, and give them one of those smiles they once have all been so enamoured with.”

“That was a long time ago,” the other replied glumly, “and we’ve long been overshadowed by the shockingly disloyal rogues we’ve sired.”

“Brother mine, this better be good,” Maitimo hissed as he threw himself against Makalaurë at the last moment to avoid the swinging doors, leading out onto a secluded terrace, that would otherwise have hit him in the head rather forcefully.

“Dance for me, oh well-shaped one,” Makalaurë grinned provocatively, “I have a new composition and I need to see someone move to it to feel it.”

“And you could not have found a better dancer?” 

“No, it had to be you.” The grin softened into something deep and seductive; since their earliest childhood, he had practised and perfected the expression of pleading innocence that now washed over his handsome face like a patina of pure light, putting even the trees’ glory to shame.

“That’s what he told me,” Findekáno laughed good-humouredly as he stepped out from behind a column, throwing a pensive glance at the huge windows that separated them from the rest of the party. 

He was not entirely sure that it was appropriate to have their own private gathering – out of earshot but well within view of their parents and relatives – when they were expected to make the rounds and dole out pleasantries and sweet smiles. 

“Oh, I am to make a fool of myself with my cousin to amuse the gallery? Are you so eager to usurp my place?” Maitimo stared down his insolent sibling and the wicked gleam in those storm-coloured eyes told him that something devious was afoot indeed.

“I am not going to indulge you if your goal is to embarrass or humiliate him,” their cousin agreed, his voice ringing like a bell of righteous indignation; he was loyal to a fault and fearless in his determination to stand up for what he believed to be right. Would that unselfish bravery make him dance?

Shaking his head, Makalaurë pretended to be mortally wounded by their lack of faith in him, effectively getting them to move closer to one another in devoted resignation.

Those two, he knew, he could always count upon to rise to the occasion, and he was almost sorry that – at least tonight – his plan was not to make them monkey around.

“Take Finno’s hand and get ready,” he instructed his brother – tall and straight as the trees Yavanna had coaxed from seed to blossom – and bit down on his smile as he saw the deepening of colour on his cousin’s cheeks and the dusting of pink creep up Maitimo’s throat.

They were so predictable; they were so precious.

“Good evening, cousin Findekáno,” Maitimo whispered, struggling not to inadvertently crush the other’s hand in his eagerness to feel that warm, smooth palm melt into his own.

“Good evening to you too, most adored of kinsmen!” The reply was barely above a breath infused with meaning, but it fell like hail – battering and bruising – onto their skin and sunk into their veins to whip their blood into a frenzy.

If they had expected a jig or even a bawdy, lewd tavern song, they were sorely disappointed though for the melody conjured up by Makalaurë’s incomparable skill and borne into the still night sky on the wings of his enchanting voice was slow and sweet at first.

Maitimo’s head jerked around, his pupils blown wide with shock and longing.

This was a love song, twisting and wringing the torturous yearning of forbidden affection into something hard and enduring enough to build a ladder from it.

Every note was a rung, every word a step.

Sensual and writhing now, it wound invisible bonds around their limbs to pull them ever closer into an embrace that would have been shocking even without them being in full view of the high and mighty elite of the city.

Suddenly, Maitimo realised how foolish they must have looked, standing there – chest to chest, hand in hand – completely motionless while the heart-breaking melody was drowned out by the raucous brouhaha of the festivities for whoever might happen to look out from inside the ballroom. 

“I was promised this dance,” Findekáno reminded him in that melting, warm voice that drove shivers down Maitimo’s spine every time he used it.

Despite their better knowledge and painful awareness of the potential consequences, they started moving, rotating slowly – much too slowly – in the silver light turning them into a painting too full of unspoken emotion to be static.

Makalaurë smiled to himself, his words dripping with honey and venom now, as he watched them forget about the world.

His brother’s hand had dropped indecently low on his cousin’s back and was still slipping until it rested – up to the middle finger – on the curve of Findekáno’s ass and it seemed that the space between them grew ever smaller, but he could not say if it was their whole bodies or only parts of them that strained to espouse the other.

Time stood still and accelerated simultaneously, contracting and expanding with every shivering breath shared between those two he loved so deeply that it tore at his skin from the inside.

From where he sat, he could appreciate the shadows chasing their own tails over Maitimo’s noble face as he inclined his head just a fraction while his half-cousin’s hand disappeared under his flaming hair, no doubt caressing the soft skin nobody ever got to see let alone touch; he seemed frozen mid-movement, a single breath away from pressing that stern, often forbidding mouth to the silken skin – perfumed by the ghost of the flowers Findekáno had been standing under – just outside of his reach. 

They had always been like this, too close for comfort or decency, yet eternally a hand apart, and – in the name of familial affection and morbid curiosity – Makalaurë had decided to make them breach that seal of well-meant restraint to drink deep from the well of fulfilment. 

If his mouth had not been as dry as the sun-warmed cliffs, Findaráto might have produced a flute or joined his cousin in song, but, as it was, he stayed where he was.

Pressed against the corner of the wall, he watched that siren sing about illicit longing and a yearning so violent it tossed a soul around like a vessel lost at sea; he understood every word, not only because the thick panes muffled the insufferable noise droning from inside the stifling banquet, but also because he had felt like that before. If he had been forced to be honest – and nights like this one were made for the truth – he would have confessed that the exact sensations wrapped in such delicate beauty were sinking their voracious fangs into his tender flesh in this very moment as he gazed upon the powerful, enchantingly beautiful throat of his cousin as it stretched appealingly to give birth to spells unparalleled.

Kanafinwë – loved by his parents and spoiled by Maitimo – was a creature so dangerously deceiving in the charm he put into his every word and action; when it came down to it, his wrath was no less dangerous than any of his brothers’ and he’d stab you while granting you the most gracious and enthralling of smiles.

Findaráto had witnessed many a time how he could command an assembly by the pristine perfection of his voice, and he didn’t doubt the inherent, destructive power, whistling like an arrow in flight, of this musical talent for a single second.

This was different though, he concluded as the expected effect – soothing or adrenalizing – failed to hit his blood; instead of uttering pretty, flawless notes effortlessly, Makalaurë whipped his blood into a frothing tempest now with the breathy, slightly scratchy, and definitely throaty quality of his singing.

Neither a calming lullaby nor an invigorating battle-cry, this new opus of his seemed to be made up of sighs and moans that conjured up images of his delightfully skilled mouth agape in inarticulate extasy.

Disgusted by his own weakness, Findaráto averted his gaze to the dancers to regain some measure of composed self-control while his fingers trembled, thrumming too high on his own thighs against his quivering flesh to even pretend that he was unaffected by the wings this situation had given to his overzealous imagination.

This new focus did nothing to ease his suffering though for there was of course Maitimo himself, who surpassed everyone in beauty, strength, and discipline; he was as hard on the surface as cousin Finno was seemingly soft, but – spying on them now – it was impossible for the wretchedly miserable cousin of theirs to ignore the fire of bravery and love they shared. 

He himself was easy, easy to approach, easy to befriend, and easy to leave behind.

Where the others had been given hypnotising intensity, faith-inducing honesty, or captivating charm, he had been granted a pleasant smile and a truly frightening capacity for love. 

He admired them so, he had never been given a choice; Maitimo intimidated people into joining him by his calm and convincing confidence, Findekáno’s warm but cutting smile let you know that it was as safe to be on his side as it was lethal not to be, and Makalaurë had yet to meet a person inured to the overwhelming intensity of his charm. Each one of them had been granted gifts that cut through someone like him as a hot blade slid through butter, and he had stopped struggling against his need to belong – to them or anyone else – many a cycle of the trees ago.

The music broke off suddenly and then someone spoke his name.

“Join us, Ingo,” Makalaurë called, laughter weaving golden threads into his tone like the ones adorning righteous, valiant Findekáno’s hair. 

“The night is young yet,” he went on when Findaráto balked, cursing his hair for giving him away in the ambient gloom, “and our fathers look distraught; we may have to take this elsewhere.”

“Go and interrupt our sons,” Ñolofinwë griped, “this is indecent.”

He had been watching his oldest child cling to the broad shoulder and shapely hand of his half-brother’s son for what felt like ages, and he was both embarrassed and intrigued by the intensity shimmering so shamelessly in his upturned face.

“You go,” Fëanáro retorted; he had refused to spare the undignified scene so much as a single glance. As they could not hear the music – and knowing that this was Kanafinwë’s doing, there was no doubt about there being a secret melody – they could but look on helplessly as the two potential crown-princes swayed gently, holding each other’s gaze in what looked more like passion than challenge.

“I won’t go either,” Arafinwë interjected, “I don’t care for finding my own son crumpled up around whatever secrets he hides behind a smile.”

Huffing as they realised that they had manoeuvred themselves – once more – into one of the inevitable stalemates of stubborn intransigeance that had made their youth a living hell, the three fathers glared at each other, praying that their sons would realise soon how inappropriate their behaviour really was.

None of them were holding their breath though.

I am - humbly - begging you not to be cruel to me!

It was a try, it was born out of love and good intentions; I did not seek to offend or hurt anyone!

Lots of love from me...

@eunoiaastralwings you're the only person other than Shalini and Medusas-hairband I can think of who'd read this...maybe...🙈

Ah, @mismaeve maybe?

Song that inspired this ludicrous piece of writing:

[tolkien-feels]

On this fine day I am thinking of this

Then Aulë answered: 'I did not desire such lordship. I desired things other than I am, to love and to teach them, so that they too might perceive the beauty of Eä, which thou hast caused to be. For it seemed to me that there is great room in Arda for many things that might rejoice in it, yet it is for the most part empty still, and dumb. And in my impatience I have fallen into folly. Yet the making of thing is in my heart from my own making by thee; and the child of little understanding that makes a play of the deeds of his father may do so without thought of mockery, but because he is the son of his father. But what shall I do now, so that thou be not angry with me for ever? As a child to his father, I offer to thee these things, the work of the hands which thou hast made. Do with them what thou wilt. But should I not rather destroy the work of my presumption?'

Then Aulë took up a great hammer to smite the Dwarves; and he wept.

And this

Then Manwë spoke and said: 'Hearest thou, Fëanor son of Finwë, the words of Yavanna? Wilt thou grant what she would ask?'

There was long silence, but Fëanor answered no word. Then Tulkas cried: 'Speak, O Noldo, yea or nay! But who shall deny Yavanna? And did not the light of the Silmarils come from her work in the beginning?'

But Aulë the Maker said: 'Be not hasty! We ask a greater thing than thou knowest. Let him have peace yet awhile.'

But Fëanor spoke then, and cried bitterly: 'For the less even as for the greater there is some deed that he may accomplish but once only; and in that deed his heart shall rest. It may be that I can unlock my jewels, but never again shall I make their like; and if I must break them, I shall break my heart, and I shall be slain; first of all the Eldar in Aman.'

[feanorianethicsdepartment]

19 for the Silm ask!

[those silm asks as are doing the rounds]

19. you get to save one character from dying. what would they do instead?

the way i see it, there are three possible directions i could take this question

THE STRATEGIC OPTION - finwë. if finwë doesn’t die at minute one, that cuts off about 90% of the early noldorin drama and probably prevents the oath from being a thing? he’s probably the only guy in the universe who could get fëanor to shut up at this point, and is also a big non-controversial boss noldo who ain’t gonna start any civil wars. there’d probably still be trouble with the valar, on account of they have super broken the protect-you-from-melkor deal, but i do think finwë would handle that better than his dipshit sons. also both olwë and thingol will probably be willing to negotiate with him. there’d probably still be shenanigans, morgoth’s done a lot to drive a wedge between the noldor, but with finwë at the helm there’ll probably be much less collateral damage. besides, i am of the firm conviction that finwë was an absolute lunatic who if given the slightest chance to go as turbo as his grandkids went in canon would be perfectly capable of soloing morgoth

(how am i saving him, anyway? is there, like, an extradimensional portal i pull him through and we wait until ungoliant is gone? because if i am, i’d probably use the time to brief him on the upcoming situation. i know maybe ten words of quenya, but i feel like we could work around that. maybe with diagrams...)

THE INTERESTING COUNTERFACTUAL OPTION - denethor, the first one. if he survives the initial morgoth fight - not only do we have a nandorin power base in east beleriand, which sounds like it’d do all sorts of fun things to continental politics, but i half-remember reading that it was partially because of denethor’s death that thingol went full isolationist? so if he survives, we potentially have a much more active doriath, with a thingol at least willing to hold his own. that sounds like it’d affect the arc of the first age a lot, maybe not leaving all the enemy-fighting to the noldorin armies? i’m not really a butterfly-effect alternate-mythohistory fëanorian stan, but denethor living and holding the green-elves together sounds like it’d affect the course of events in interesting ways, if not necessarily better ones

THE CHAOS OPTION - fëanor, under the specific stipulation that when he inevitably gets his dumb ass killed i get to save him all over again. fëanor is the kind of character i like to watch just to see what crazy thing they’ll do next and how big the ensuing blast radius is. it would be terrible, for everyone, but from a safe distance seeing what fëanor does to beleriand will be an absolute spectacle. the explosions! the mecha! the inevitable fëanor-vs-every-single-other-person-on-the-continent war! i would watch this religiously and take bets on how fast he’ll burn beleriand down. there is a risk that he’ll figure out how my save-from-death portals work and subsequently invade the real world, but hey, this is the chaos option

[sunflowersupremes]

Heyyy! We usually chat on ao3 but I've an ask. What are your thoughts on Female!Maglor? How much would that change everything? <del>How much would it change Maglor's relationships, especially with Maedhros and Fingon, and Finrod, and Fëanor and Nerdanel, and Fingolfin and Arafinwë, and Elrond and Elros, and Eönwë, and the rest of Maglor's brothers?</del>

BUDDY I’M SO GLAD YOU HAVE A TUMBLR.

I don’t think it would change much tbh. Like, I guarantee if Nerdanel popped out a girl Fëanor would still be like ‘I can teach this thing to smith and it will be GOOD at smithing.’ Like yeah there’s a certain level of sexism in Elvish society (-squints at Nature of Middle Earth and the weird ‘women withdraw from society for years’ bullshit-), but Fëanor himself doesn’t strike me as the type who would care.

If anything, Fëanor would relish in having a daughter that would break the social norms, because Fëanor is a menace to society. A female Makalaurë would be raised exactly the same way and be just as much of a slut, lmao.

I’m just imagining someone picking on Maglor like ‘awww, are you gonna run to your brothers?’ and Maglor just says ‘nope’ and beats them over the head with her flute. Like yeah, Mag’s brothers would kill to defend her, but thats not because Mags is a girl, its just because they’re siblings. Mags would also kill to defend her brothers.

Like, bless Finarfin and Arafinwë, but if Maglor is the oldest granddaughter of Finwë, lets be honest and say they would need some time to adjust. Because they’re used to Indis and Findis who are… feminine. For the moment we are ignoring the abolition terror that is Lalwen. Vanyar in general are a lot more delicate than Noldor so at first Finwë’s sons would probably treat a female Mags with kid gloves. Then Maglor beats the shit out of someone and they’re like ‘oh. Okay. Thats a thing.’

Eönwë… look. I love Bird Boi. I do. But someone would have to sit him down and explain that just because people say that women are delicate doesn’t mean Makalaurë is. The Laws and Customs of the Eldar is basically the elvish equivalent of those sexist Christian propaganda books we were all force fed as kids, but Eönwë takes them to be gospel because he’s dumb and doesn’t know better. So yeah, Eönwë would try to make himself Mag’s knight in shining armor only to realize that’s completely unnecessary.

Finrod would think fem Maglor is great because that means he just gets a living, breathing doll he can dress up in fancy clothes. Finrod also dresses up in women’s clothes and together they terrorize Tirion.

Honestly a female Maglor would probably terrify the twins even MORE because they’re used to women who fit a more traditional elvish female mold, and then Mags shows up with a sword and starts killing people. Like… they might not even realize Mags is a woman at first, because she’s wearing armor and like seven feet tall. It would make it easier for the twins to pick names to call their foster parents, since Maedhros can just be dad and Mags can be mum.

It would potentially make any of my AUs where Maglor gets Captured by Sauron even worse. Remember the AU you proposed where Gil-Galad is Maglor and Sauron’s kid?

[absynthe--minded]

for the ship questions: all the odd numbers for russingon??? please and thank you

all the odd numbers!!

okay I am answering this one First but there are some other asks I technically got first so I’m going to exclude a few for the sake of answering all of them! I hope that’s okay. Below the cut for length and some quasi-NSFW discussion.

PRE-RELATIONSHIP:

1. How did they first meet?

this is actually the plot of one of my fics! Finno goes to a party with his parents, wanders off to get drunk and enjoy the free food, and winds up getting very drunk and then seeing Maitimo and assuming he’s a Maia because of how hot he is. he is in fact so very drunk that he straight up forgets that “Curufinwë” and “Fëanáro” are the same person and doesn’t understand why Maitimo is like “what the fuck why are you talking to me oh shit you’re hot”. (Maitimo ditches his date to the party to climb a tree, drink wine, and deal with the fact that he’s suddenly interested in a boy.)

5. Did either of them try to resist their feelings?

Maitimo tried so fucking hard to resist his feelings. He basically tried to be like. Gay But By Telperion’s Light Only. he’d write poetry and burn it, he’d stare into the stars and the silver light and be Dreamy and Distant. (Finno leapt into having feelings with his whole self and everyone knew he was pining after someone. He kept trying to play it off as nothing serious, but everyone around him knew. Everyone.)

7. What would their lives be like if they had never met?

Maitimo would be married to the daughter of one of Fëanáro’s first and most loyal allies in the Tirion court. Her name was Cirissë, she was chosen for him by Fëanáro (with the clear caveat of “if you’d rather marry someone else please give me the name and I’ll arrange it”) and the expectation was that they’d have at least one child named Cantëafinwë. As the eldest of his House and since he didn’t have any great works or passions of his own, his “job” was to carry on Míriel Þerindë’s legacy. If he had objected to this or found something else to do with his life, Fëanáro would have given way, but Maitimo prior to meeting Findekáno was okay with having an arranged marriage. This wasn’t a decision made in spite of his feelings - he’d never said he wasn’t all right with it.

Findekáno would probably be drifting through life without really any sense of purpose - I’m going to assume that history goes very differently if they don’t meet, because not meeting implies that even the Darkening doesn’t quite go as planned - and I think he’d have settled for the single life, floating from party to party and social event to social event without ever really being rooted in something.

GENERAL:

1. Who initiated the relationship, and how did it go?

Findekáno was the one who insisted they become proper friends and start spending time together, and who introduced Maitimo to the joys of fucking around in the meadows outside Tirion on their free days. He was bold, and intense, and bright, and constantly smiling. But it was Maitimo who confessed his feelings. They went out one day - it was Finno’s begetting day, and Maitimo had gotten him a falcon (they took up falconry as an excuse to be out and about and alone for days, but they’d been using Finwë’s mews and Finwë’s birds) and they were with their horses and their birds, and Maitimo very shyly admitted that what he felt was more than friendship.

Finno kissed him, and he almost fell out of his saddle and off his mare.

5. What’s their height difference? Age difference?

Their height difference is a little ridiculous. Maitimo is eight and a half feet tall, which is Very Tall by elvish standards. Finno is seven feet tall, which is on the taller side of “average” - his mother Anairë is taller than he is, and Artanís is like 7′9″. He comes up to about his husband’s sternum. Maitimo isn’t really built, though? He’s actually quite delicate and slender when you look at him on his own, but compared to quite a lot of other elves he’s buff as hell just by virtue of needing to be muscular to move all those bones around. Their age difference is actually something that’s kind of hard to calculate but I’ve worked it out - Maitimo is 90 solar years older than Finno, he was about the human equivalent of eighteen when his husband was born. They met for the first time when Maitimo was 190 solar years old and Finno was 100 solar years old - they were both adults, in the same stage of life.

7. Who takes the lead in social situations?

It depends on the social situation tbh! Findekáno tends to take the lead in most things that involve being a bright and shiny polite happy public figure, because he’s charismatic and intuitive and good at that kind of thing, but Maitimo will lead if it’s one of his few areas of expertise or if his husband is floundering. He does have a flair for the dramatic and it’s a very natural thing for him.

9. Who whispers inappropriate things in the other’s ear?

They both do, because they’re fortunate enough to have a telepathic bond that lets them communicate silently in a room full of other people. It made for some fascinating council meetings the few times they wound up sharing a space in that way.

LOVE:

3. Who uses cheesy pick-up lines?

Elves don’t really have cheesy pick-up lines, but they’ve both fallen victim to sappy poetry. Maitimo probably holds the record there for sheer number of dumb things he’s said solely for the purposes of getting Finno’s attention, though. There are. A Lot of those.

5. Who initiates kisses?

Maitimo. Always, constantly. His primary method of affection and of emotional expression is “Kiss Husband” and he does it all the time.

7. What are their favorite things to do together?

I’m excluding sex from this because the answer to that question is “sex”, honestly. They like cooking (Maitimo cooks and Finno watches him), and going riding, and one time Maitimo climbed the side of a cliff and Finno went along with it solely to stare at his ass. Finno is terrible at archery and at the harp but he’ll do both of those things because they make his husband happy. They like reading, and discussing what they’ve read, and if they’d had the chance they would have enjoyed the theater.

9. Who’s more protective?

see this is sort of a weird question because like

Maitimo is Obviously Protective. He glowers, and he glowers protectively, and he does things like plant spies in Nolofinwë’s household so he can keep an eye on his husband’s movements. He considers himself Findekáno’s guard, and he’s very very paranoid so he’s very very good at guarding. (The one time he saves Findekáno from orcs and from Sauron he has several mental breakdowns all at once.) Maitimo is the obvious answer here.

But Finno will cross a room in half a second and vault over like sixteen tables to smack you with his riding glove and demand you duel him if he’s all the way on the other side of the hall and thinks he heard you considering insulting Maitimo.

It goes both ways tbh.

11. What are some songs that apply to their relationship, in-universe or otherwise?

The in-universe songs that apply to their relationship are basically all written about them, lol. I tend to headcanon that the song Findekáno sang is preserved through the ages to some extent and its ultimate form is the song that Sam sings in the tower of Cirith Ungol? So take that as you will.

Out of universe... well, I have a shitton of playlists, but I’ll leave you with the song that inspired my Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang fic, “Last Train Home” by Ryan Star.

13. Who remembers the little things?

It depends on the little things. Maitimo remembers every detail of every military operation he ever devised, but Findekáno remembers what day of the week it is.

DOMESTIC LIFE:

3. How many kids do they have, if any? What are they like?

Gil-galad would have been their kid in a happier world. He’s the biological son of Lalwendë Finwiel and Gildor Inglorion of the House of Finrod, sent to Barad Eithel when his mother and father were missing-presumed-dead after the Dagor Bragollach, and Findekáno adopted him as his ward and heir but didn’t keep him in Hithlum due to the danger.

(They do, however, have three additional children that they don’t find out about until Valinor, because Sauron is a mad scientist and he had unrestricted access to Maitimo for sixty years, and because Findekáno bled all over the Thangorodrim cliff-face when he slammed face-first into it. Those children are Autamar Autahala, whom I’ve mentioned before (he’s their eldest and the only one who’s descended from both of them), and Alya and Ailinwë, twins who are descended solely from Maitimo. Their three kids show up at their house one day, the same ages as they were when they all died, and that’s a fun time for everyone.)

Gil-galad is brave and fair and just and all that good shit you need to be a king. Autamar is kind of terrifying because growing up in Angband and being groomed to be a puppet ruler will do that to you, but he’s very smart and very dry-witted. Alya and Ailinwë died when they were quite young, but they’re very bright, and Alya is as fond of horses as Maitimo is. She also likes knives.

5. Who’s the stricter parent?

Maitimo. He’s got more experience parenting, as opposed to Finno who died and then suddenly found out that his ward had claimed him as a father - Maitimo basically raised his four youngest siblings, and Elrond and Elros, and he’s very good at being the strict dad. It’s the one thing he’s actually strict about outside his military work. But he’s actually a giant marshmallow underneath his stern exterior and he really wants to be a good father.

7. Who kills the bugs in the house?

This is a non-answer but they don’t kill bugs as a rule they’ll either let them outside or allow predator bugs to live in their spaces - lots of spider neighbors who pay rent by eating gnats. But as a rule Maitimo will do the gross or unseemly things just because he wants them done. Finno is a bit more of an obvious coward when it comes to those things.

9. Who’s more likely to convince the other to come back to sleep in the morning?

Maitimo doesn’t sleep as often as Findekáno does, but Findekáno can usually entice him into coming back to bed.

11. Who likes to dance?

Maitimo is the one who really truly loves partnered dancing. He leads. Findekáno can and will dance alone, but it’s only after he marries that he truly becomes enchanted by the high romance of a good querië.

[feanor]

nerdanel takes a page out of finwë’s book: 2.0 because i had a really good idea

god okay this is going to be super short and really dumb but

let’s rewind from the first version of this, to when Man is about to say his vows

fëanor sneaks into the crowd behind his sons and fingolfin

and right around then, Man announces that he is going to serenade nerdanel

romantic, right? no.

1. Man cant sing

2. he picks the WORST song. think ‘what’s new pussycat’ because that is the song that inspired this

so he’s singing

nerdanel is... stunned, for lack of a better word

fingolfin and his nephews are killing themselves trying not to laugh (it is a losing battle. their mouths are all covered)

fëanor, behind them, is absolutely losing his mind

he doesn’t even try holding back his laughter

nerdanel hears his laugh and looks over, but he drops to the ground to remaind hidden until the Perfect Moment

curufin starts laughing in an effort to cover for his dad

and it works! they are very similar

but curufin and fëanor’s laughing sets off fingolfin, and maglor, and celegorm and caranthir amrod amras maedhros

so Man is trying to serenade his almost-wife and being laughed at by his in laws

anyways the song gets to a ‘whoa-o-oh’ part and fëanor decides he’s going to help Man out

and everyone joins him, in the midst of their laughter

picture this. a chorus of asshole in-laws singing the ‘whoa-oh-oh’ part of what’s new pussycat at a wedding

anyway the song ends

nerdanel herself is laughing

and do you remember the Perfect Moment?

fëanor decides this is it.

he stands up. makes eye contact with nerdanel. doesn’t say anything.

starts slow clapping.

everyone joins in.

nerdanel looks at him like ‘really?’

fëanor mouths back ‘whoa-oh-oh’ at her, very dramatically.

she chucks her bouquet at him.

he laughs and walks over and kisses her.

the end.

[curufins-smile]

Owl

Part 5

“My friend! It has been far too long!” Ingwë cries, rising from his seat to enfold Finwë in a strong hug.

“Technically, you saw me at the feasting last night,” Finwë says, smiling, “but we were barely able to speak so I’ll allow it.”

“Pedantic as always,” Ingwë replies, but there is no bite to his words. Finwë lets Ingwë usher him to a chair where a glass of the sharp white wine the Vanyar favour is waiting. They are in Ingwë’s solar, which has spectacular views of Taniquetil from the large windows.

“What would you prefer, Finwë?” Ingwë asks, motioning to the wines laid out on a nearby table. “I had these prepared for us so that we would not be interrupted.”

Finwë is grateful for his forethought. It is so rare that they spend time together these days, unburdened by ceremony or duty. He’s been very much looking forward to catching up with one of his oldest friends.

“I would enjoy that red, I believe,” Finwë says, and Ingwë pours him a glass.

“So!” Ingwë says brightly, when he finally sits down, “it feels like an age since I’ve seen you!”

“It was the celebration of the birth of Olwë’s daughter, I believe,” Finwë replies.

“That long? It’s a wonder I didn’t forget what you looked like!” Ingwë laughs, and Finwë finds his joy infectious.

It is an easy camaraderie that the pair share, and Finwë really has missed it. They fall back quickly to their old friendship of light banter and warm conversation. Even small talk is not a chore with Ingwë.

Ingwë is just finishing a very amusing anecdote about Ingwion’s first attempts at the harp (“Honestly, Finwë, I thought his tutor was going to rupture something!”) when there is a noise at the door.

“Atya!!” cries a voice.

They both turn to look as the handle rattles a little, then turns, and the door opens to reveal Finwion, who has clearly jumped to reach the handle. He wanders into the room clutching Owl by one ear, its plush body trailing on the floor behind him. He is followed by a harried aide.

“I’m so sorry, your majesties! I tried to keep him from leaving the nursery, but he’s like a wraith at vanishing and escaping!”

Finwë waves off the apologies and stands to scoop up a smug Finwion. “It is fine, you can leave him with me.”

As the aide departs, Finwë sits back down and deposits Finwion in his lap. “Sorry about this, Ingwë,” he says, “he’s got terrible separation anxiety at present. He keeps interrupting me in court and council meetings so much that I’ve just started to bring him with me.”

Ingwë laughs. “It’s fine, I recall that Ingwion was similar with his mother at this sort of age. And it’s lovely to see Finwion anyway!”

Another child might have hid their face shyly against Finwë at this point, but Finwion meets Ingwë’s gaze head-on. “Your son is dumb.”

Finwë stares at his rude, rude son. “Finwion! You cannot say that- Ingwë I am so sorry-“ but Ingwë is choking on peals of laughter.

“And what,” Ingwë asks, once he has calmed himself, “has Ingwion done to cause such offence?”

“All he wants to do is play a dumb board game and he says Owl is a little kid’s toy and also he says that his atya is better than mine which is wrong so he’s dumb,” states Finwion.

“A grave list of offences,” Ingwë agrees. “Finwë, I don’t mind him staying of course! We may talk over his head a little though.”

Finwë sighs. “Thankyou for being understanding. I’ll flag down someone to get his drawing supplies, that should keep him entertained.”

In short order, Finwion is drawing busily, still sat in Finwë’s lap, and Ingwë and Finwë are free to speak once more.

“An owl?” asks Ingwë.

“Yes, Míriel made it for him,” says Finwë. They both know what Ingwë isn’t mentioning, the inherent symbol Finwion carries with him.

Owls were special in Cuivienen. Not worshipped, but revered as powerful and wily night hunters. They were celebrated along with many other creatures as animals to be imitated to bring home a successful hunt in the blackness of the treeless East. When Oromë arrived, many of the elves had immediately stopped anything to do with these practices, but a lot had still held on. Míriel especially had been one of them.

“He looks a lot like her, doesn’t he?” Ingwë says abruptly. “He has her smile.”

Finwë feels Finwion stiffen in his lap, and moves his hand to stroke his son’s hair comfortingly. “He shares both her features and mine, and I am most grateful for it.” If there is any wavering in his voice, Ingwë is kind enough not to comment.

“No, more than that,” Ingwë continues. “He has her fëa.”

Finwë swallows down the lump in his throat. Ingwë always has been perceptive. They have never spoken of this before, but perhaps they should have. Míriel was Ingwë’s friend too, after all. “She named him for it.”

Finwë can sense the incredible curiosity emanating from both Finwion and Ingwë. Finwion’s hand is still as he listens closely.

“You didn’t mention his mother-name before,” Ingwë presses gently. Finwë cannot be angry at him for this, it has been bottled up inside him for far too long. But he wishes Finwion were not here. He does not want to cry in front of him.

“Fëanáro,” Finwë finally says, hoarsely. “The spirit of fire.”

Ingwë seems to remember himself, and sees he has crossed a line. “Finwë, I am sorry-“

“No need!” Finwë says, as firmly as he can. “I needed to speak of it at some point.” He stands suddenly, arms moving to hold a silent Finwion to his chest. “If you will excuse me-“

“Go, Finwë, I will see you later,” Ingwë says, standing too. “I’m sorry for bringing it up.”

“It’s fine!” Finwë says, as brightly as he is able, juggling Finwion to one arm so he can pick up Owl with the other. “I’m fine!” Then, he leaves as quickly as he can.

The walk back to their quarters is a blur, but Finwë mercifully makes it to privacy without losing it. He sets Finwion on the bed before sitting heavily next to him. Then, the dam bursts and he is crying into his hands with big, ugly sobs.

A little hand taps him on the arm and he looks up to Finwion’s concerned face. “Do you want Owl? Owl makes me feel better.”

Finwë tries to compose himself a little, but he can still hear his traitorous voice wavering. “Thankyou, Finwion, that’s very kind of you. But if it’s alright, I’d rather hug you than Owl.”

Finwion obligingly climbs back into Finwë’s lap and allows Finwë to bury his face in his hair. They sit like this for a while. The warmth Finwion gives off is a comfort as always.

After some time, and Finwë’s tears have begun to dry, Finwion speaks.

“You never talk about Ammë,” he says, “but I know it makes you sad. We go see her in Lórien but it just makes you sadder so I don’t ask.” His words are measured, with a maturity beyond his years.

Finwë starts. “I’m sorry Finwion, I-“

“Fëanáro,” Finwion interrupts. He pushes back from Finwë’s chest to look at him. “I want to be called Fëanáro. That’s the name Ammë gave me, right?”

Finwë stares at him. “You... want to be called Fëanáro?”

Finwion nods. “It feels right.”

Finwë cannot help himself, and taps Finwion on the nose to dispel his serious expression. “If that’s what you wish, I’d be happy to. But you’ll have to allow me some slip-ups while I grow used to it, Fëanáro.”

Saying the name is less painful the more he does it. And Fin- no, Fëanáro is correct. It feels right, somehow, as though he is honouring a piece of Míriel.

“I will allow some mistakes,” says Fëanáro magnanimously.

“Oh, thankyou, my liege,” Finwë says, reaching for spot in which he knows Fëanáro is most ticklish. The resulting shrieks are enough to completely dispel any lingering bad mood.

[gurguliare]

more LaCE bullshit

despite my miriel tunnel vision last time, LaCE is actually as or more notable to me for the indis characterization, since we get a ton of miriel detail elsewhere but for a sustained camera on indis this is pretty much as good as it gets (I THINK? let me know if i’m missing any other scraps)

anyway, typing it out here because i ...like it

When, therefore, ten years had passed, [Finwë] spoke to Manwë, saying: ‘Lord, behold! I am bereaved and solitary. Alone among the Eldar I have no wife, and must hope for no sons save one, and no daughter. Must I remain ever thus? For my heart warns me that Míriel will not return again from the house of Vairë while Arda lasts. Is there not healing of grief in Aman?’

Then Manwë took pity upon Finwë, and he considered his plea, and when Mandos had spoken his doom as has been recorded, Manwë called Finwë to him, and said: ‘Thou has heard the doom that has been declared. If Míriel, thy wife, will not return and releases thee, your union is dissolved, and thou hast leave to take another wife.’

It is said that Míriel answered Mandos, saying: ‘I came hither to escape from the body, and I do not desire ever to return to it. My life is gone out into Feänáro, my son. This gift I have given to him whom I loved, and I can give no more. Beyond Arda this may be healed, but not within it.’

Then Mandos adjudged her innocent, deeming that she had died under a necessity too great for her to withstand. Therefore her choice was permitted, and she was left in peace; and after ten years the doom of disunion was spoken. And after three years more Finwë took as second spouse Indis the fair; and she was in all ways unlike Míriel. She was not of the Noldor, but of the Vanyar, sister of Ingwë; and she was golden-haired, and tall, and exceedingly swift of foot. She laboured not with her hands, but sang and made music, and there was ever light and mirth about her while the bliss of Aman endured. She loved Finwë dearly, for her heart had turned to him long before, while the people of Ingwë dwelt still with the Noldor in Túna. In those days she had looked upon the Lord of the Noldor, dark-haired and white-browed, eager of face and thoughtful-eyed, and he seemed to her the fairest and noblest among the Eldar, and his voice and mastery of words delighted her. Therefore she remained unwedded, when her people departed to Valinor, and she walked often alone in the fields and friths of the Valar, [turning her thought to things that grow untended > ] filling them with music. But it came to pass that Ingwë, hearing of the strange grief of Finwë, and desiring to lift up his heart and withdraw him from vain mourning in Lorien, sent messages bidding him to leave Túna for a while and the reminders of his loss, and to come and dwell in the light of the Trees. This message Finwë did not answer, until after the doom of Mandos was spoken; but then deeming that he must seek to build his life anew and that the bidding of Ingwë was wise, he arose and went to the house of Ingwë upon the west of Mount Oiolossë. His coming was unlooked for, but welcome; and when Indis saw Finwë climbing the paths of the mountain (and the light of Laurelin was behind him as a glory) without forethought she sang suddenly in great joy, and her voice went up as the song of a lark in the sky. And when Finwë heard that song falling from above he looked up and saw Indis in the golden light, and he knew in that moment that she loved him and had long done so. Then his heart turned at last to her, and he believed that this chance, as it seemed had been granted for the comfort of them both. ‘Behold!’ he said. ‘There is indeed healing of grief in Aman!’

I like the timeline here a lot better than in the Shibboleth, where Finwë falls in love with Indis and then asks for a divorce, because I think the shit that goes down between him and Miriel really makes most sense as a struggle of wills between him and Miriel; my favorite unattractive Finwë character trait is that he felt her death as a betrayal and ... doesn’t seem to have been above retaliating, honestly. That’s one emotional strand of a bundle, but like, “this message Finwë did not answer, until after the doom of Mandos was spoken”---the fact that he waits to see if his gamble went through, if they’ll actually ban his wife from returning to life and “free” him, makes it feel very much like it... like it wasn’t real to him until the Statute was made; like he was experimenting to see what acknowledgment he could wring out of them. The vibe I get from Finwë is of someone very angry, with a lot but not all of that anger self-directed, and with some of his son’s ability to channel or process that anger through disarming lateral moves---punishing the world around him along with himself---which is kiiiind of my thing I guess.

...And for that reason I love Indis having been in love with him for years, because boy, it’s vulnerable. Like. “without forethought she sang suddenly” gives me this intense picture of 1) how much power he has over her in a pure beloved-object way---Indis and Finwë actually feel a little gender-flipped to me, dynamic-wise, if only in because Tolkien’s women so rarely go from “pining” to “romantic success!” 2) how Indis has clearly, prior to this, had to put a lot of forethought and self-control into how she acts around Finwë: she may not have realized how much, until he surprises her on the mountain.

I don’t think that Finwë’s reaction to her love is at all insincere, or really calculated, despite his incredible rationalization. I do think it’s complicated; there’s something unavoidably messy about a person like Finwë, wound up in his own grief and with nothing but a new set of laws to show for it, choosing to take the back door out---to say, actually, what matters most here is someone else’s pain, and how do I help them. Which is why I prefer him to meet Indis after he’s gotten the dispensation; if he seeks the Statute “for her sake” as well as his own it feels like a kind of willful entanglement of her in his and Miriel’s bullshit, whereas the LaCE version has him making a real attempt at a kind of... archetypally kingly escape, out on errantry. (Not to suggest that Finwë’s love for her is out of pity or fucked-up gallantry, because it’s obvs not. Finwë has this very conscious moment of choice, where he’s allowing himself to look upward, but once he recognizes the truth he has way less control over his response, I think. He’s flattered, curious, infected by delight from across a pretty difficult distance---he wants to take this ‘opportunity’ for a whole mess of reasons---but he’s also just. There. He has an intellectual framework that he sets his feelings into---healing in Arda marred!---which later events don’t really bear out; and the feelings remain. It kills me that, of the three of them, Miriel is straight up the one who heals, and the other two... I mean, I don’t think for Indis it’s a wound that she never recovers from, or I think it changes in nature and becomes, eventually, her pain to keep or discard---but jeez, what an injury.)

...

TURNING HER THOUGHT TO THINGS THAT GROW UNTENDED. I was going to talk about other Shibboleth stuff here but this already got super long?? fuck. why am I like this. Okay, wait, just the one more thing, because the Shibboleth gives such a detailed account of Miriel’s (surprisingly mild-mannered) surface personality and THEN hits us with the “Indis was in all ways unlike her” line, I’m pretending that he meant Indis to be a short-tempered, blunt* sometimes, impatient person, though obviously goodhumored/happy in the main. AND I particularly like thinking about how those qualities might go together with a lack of (personal) pride, piety, a real uncertainty and resignation to chance---someone for whom piety must have seemed urgent, if she didn’t always feel equal to the tasks/duties she perceived as falling to her, which it would never occur to her to reject. Basically: Fingolfin’s mom.

*not that I think she was INCAPABLE of diplomacy and, indeed, despite what I’m claiming as her ‘natural’ proclivities she must have gotten really good at it, both in Tirion as Finwë’s queen and earlier, also in Tirion, as... someone hopelessly crushing on him. that was probably one of the things that gave her confidence in her ability to continue as queen of the Noldor,** even after Fëanor made his position clear. now I’m sad.

**REREADING THIS it sounds like I think Indis’s life and diplomatic abilities were inevitably defined by her crush on Finwë which... I don’t think is inevitable at all, it’s more that everything about the Vanyar seems totally incompatible with the Noldorin approach to politics/the public sphere, so I see her interest in Finwë kind of leading her to explore that mode of controlled self-presentation and ceremony more... but idk. Maybe that’s still sexist and dumb?? puts face in hands

[kettlequills]

OK This is gonna be a bit. Morgoth(originally Melkor,) is a valar, made by Eru, the one. He and 13 other Valar came to earth after Morgoth tired of singing choir, and wanted to do rock--which made earth. So Manwë, and the good Valar, they are all trying to prepare the planet for the coming of the children of Eru, aka Immortal Butts, and Mortal Sods, dwarves came about because that Vala that's Sauron' father figure wanted to create life BUT when Eru said no, he went to destroy them. Part 1

Long ask under the readmore.

But then Eru’s all like,well you can keep them here I’ll give them souls since you didn’t mean toactually do this thing. During all this Melkor was destroying anything made byhis sibs, and making really tall MTs. So Sauron’s father figure Alue, makes thesetwo lamps to light the world one gold one silver. This is when Melkor may ormay not have given Sauron’(originally Mairon) sex to join the dark side. Part 2.

So Marion joins Melkorand destroys the lamps, sending the planet into darkness and rearranging thecontent in like, dozens instead of one huge one. The Valar move to Valinor,which they plant the Two Trees, and also ban mortal sods from entering—onlyelves yo. Skip forward a few bazillion years, Oromë, the hunter finds the elvesthey get split up on their long ass trek to Valinor and Finwë is crowned kingof the noldor, (there r other elven kings btw,) part 3?

Well Melkor I guess isbasically given free reign coz his twin is literally that dumb, and in Melkor’stravels in Valinor he finds this horrific elderich abomination, spider thingfrom the Void, named Ungoliant. She eats everything but Light is her fave. SoFeanor bugs his niece for a lock of her hair to make something she says no ucreepy uncle. He then makes the Silmarils anyway. Melkor sees these and wantsthem. Like, a sex deprived immortal Zeus that bad.

And Melkor goes toUngoliant and says, hey, baby there’s two trees that give off lots of light foru to eat. Ungoliant is like hell yeah, I’m in. So Ungoliant attacks the trees,eatting the light and the SAP, and killing the trees. This makes the elves allpanic as the light goes out. Melkor goes to Feanor’s house, where it’s supposedto be empty coz of panic and stuff and the Valar called a meeting to btw, BUTFINWË IS THERE. Melkor kills him. Part 6?

And after crushingFinwë’s body to a bloody pulp, (literally Melkor’s weapon of choice is aWarhammer.) Melkor takes the Silmarils. And then runs back to hislieutenant/lover?? No one’s quite sure… Ungoliant tries to eat Melkor beforerunning off to populate the planet with her offspring. Feanor and Sons returnhome to find dad/grandad dead and basically everything looted. Nolofinwë(Feanor’s bro) is equally upset, only Arafinwe (the YOUNGEST bro and leastliked parent wise,) is eh.

And This, when Feanorand Sons return to the dead trees does everything come into motion. FeanorRenames Melkor into Morgoth, AKA BLACK FOE OF THE WORLD, and Mairon is renamedSauron which means THE ABHORRED. The OATH OF FEANOR IS SPOKEN, a lot of the Noldorleave coz they r upset and stuff. And Namo curses them all to painful ends.This is basically chapters 1-3 I think? But yeah.

Thank you for your summary! I knew about the creation of Middle Earth, Eru, the Ainur, and the Valar, and the proceedings forthwith. But I hadn’t quite got to Ungoliant yet.To relate to your original question, I’m not entirely sure that the Diamonds would even need the Silmarils. White Diamond herself, uncorrupted and pure, is not a force to be sneezed at. And Pink Diamond had a lot of potential to match her strength. All four of them fused together would create a being of ridiculous power, quite aside from the rest of the armies. Still, I stand by my original statement. Just, no.

[gurguliare]

overnight replies

berrysphase replied to your post “@garden-ghoul reading the lay is making me reread the lay, and, random...”

This is such a great observation. I have had fun with the idea that Curufin has deliberately been playing up this deference as Celegorm's due in order to help foster his (Celegorm's) discontent -- as I tend to see Curufin as the principal agitator against Maedhros' policies -- but that's all pure speculation and I love these reads too!

I CAN DEFS SEE THAT and like of course Curufin is still taking most of the initiative, here, Curufin is the ideas guy, it’s just notable to me how... unironic/offhand his flattery is---not Iago, Rosencrantz. So playing up I believe, but there must have been some precedent for it, unless Celegorm is really dumb. which is also possible.

vardasvapors replied to your post “vardasvapors replied to your post:@garden-ghoul reading the lay is...”

yeah the auxiliary parents thing makes a lot of sense! I was also having like, half a thought about like, why DO c&c pull all this stuff that they surely know M&M wouldn't be down with.....? and like, if maglor might also have been more forceful against maedhros nearer to the end if he was more like '6th oldest brother of 7' instead of seeming like 'the younger brother of a group of 2'...

YEAH... maybe. it’s interesting. I mean, I kind of suspect 1) that Maedhros's authority was (harmfully) unimpeachable above and beyond any other internal power shifts, and, like, so habitual that they all thought of it as a Maedhros thing, as much as a ‘firstborn’ thing, even though it super was a firstborn thing; 2) that maglor wouldn’t have been able to sustain that sixth oldest line once the others were dead, regardless of whether he had some of that before. Still, it’s definitely not the only dynamic that could have formed---‘what would that story be like if Maedhros and Maglor were just less close’ is also a weird one to entertain.

As for C&C, I guess I’m (perhaps uncharitably?) not convinced that they knew Maedhros wouldn’t be down---or rather, I can sort of see how they would think the fait accompli of “we have Nargothrond” would outweigh the sketchy disposal of Finrod, since Maedhros is first and foremost a pragmatist and Finrod did in fact insist on going up against Morgoth (and since the people of Nargothrond are still pretty much free actors here, hypnotism aside). Like, I can imagine them trying to sell it to him as a very in-character failure of diplomacy on their part, rather than a success of another kind. I also wonder if Maedhros took a different tone when alone with his more aggressive brothers than he did anywhere else: we see a bit of it in his line about Thingol---"Therefore in Doriath let him reign, and be glad that he has the sons of Finwë for his neighbours, not the Orcs of Morgoth that we found. Elsewhere it shall go as seems good to us."---and it would make sense if he played up the ‘we’re biding our time and ignoring the h8ers!!’ element for their benefit, which meant keeping their trust but losing some influence over their behavior. “We’re playing the same game and have the same goals” gives C&C implied permission to follow their own judgment, when he’s not right there to explain that this isn’t the sportsmanship he had in mind.