#arakáno

[doodle-pops]

Honeymoon Sweetheart

Argon x reader

Kinktober 2023: First Time

A/N: This was surprisingly difficult to write, keeping in tune with Argon's personality and not straying.

Warnings: fem!reader, virgin reader and Argon, first time, fingering, soft sex

Words: 6.1k

Synopsis: It's yours and Argon's first night as a married couple.

List of Requests

“Does it feel good?” His voice was delicate, filled with anxiousness and thrill as he looked on. Hands slightly shaking, not from their actions, but from the fear of messing up as he looked at your ethereal form lying on your back, cocooned by messy sheets and discarded pillows lying aimlessly about the bed. The blinds around the bed were halfway opened, providing just a small peak into your personal paradise in your new chapter of life.

The image of long, inky hair, flowing over his broad shoulders and down his semi-nude figure was captivating. Your husband. It was exhilarating to use the term after aeons of courting one another, he was finally here to tie the knot and sail away into forever with you. Your Arakáno, the young princeling of the Noldor was finally yours and entangled in the best positions you could imagine. Fingers buried and nestled deeply within your spongey walls, crooking away at your sweet spot with a feigned innocent look on his face. As much as he attempted to hide his enthusiasm visually, he knew you were able to read his facial expressions.

Curling your fingers into the sheet as he pressed against your sweet spot, your legs jolted and your back arched off the bed at the rise in pressure. Your lids were hooded and staring up at his hovering figure over yours. One hand gripping the pillow under your head while his long torso was covered in a sheen of sweat from the humidity, he batted his lashes at every micro–expression your face conveyed. The ‘O’ formatting of your mouth whenever he pressed against your spot and the biting of your lips to suppress your moans whenever he pumped his finger faster made his trousers uncomfortably tighter. He was sure to have combusted before you two actually engaged.

In his hovering position, he leaned his body lower, already enjoying the feeling of your lips on him from the entire evening, he swallowed them again. The little gasp you let out into his mouth from the abrupt action, combined with his fingers crooking repetitively against your sweet spot, one of your hands immediately shot out to curl in his hair. You were unsure of whether to push him away or pull him closer as kissed you with passion. Kissing him like still was wholesome, and to see him slowly letting loose under comfort was warming.

Digging your heels into the mattress and pushing yourself upwards as the pressure built, you were whispering into the kiss, “Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop, keep going!” wanting for your bliss to wash over you like spring rain. It surprised you that he only asked questions whenever he was confused or unsure, and with his lack of ‘why’ at this moment, you had an inclination that his siblings and cousins bombarded his poor brain with their knowledge—they refused to leave him alone the entire night, so you could only imagine what they stuffed into his head.

“Káno, so close. I–I can feel it, oh God! Keep going please.” Eyes shut and breaking the kiss to whimper, you missed the small victory grin he produced to understand that he was about to accomplish a great feat, doing something right.

Looking down to where his fingers were wedged between your thighs, he was baffled by the glistening effect on his palm and wrist under the peaking moonlight, slithering through the blinds. His eyes left your face to stare awestruck at the work of art you were producing all over him, understanding that you were about to orgasm all over his hand. With nonstop motion, Argon repositioned himself swiftly, without losing stamina, to kneel between your legs, wanting to obtain a better view.

However, finding your squirming to be obscuring his view, a large palm was placed flat against your stomach to keep your still while his fingers pumped and curled according to your earlier commands. Little gushes of your arousal could be seen trickling out as his fingers thrust vigorously while he felt the increasing tightness of your walls around his fingers as though you were sucking him back in with every pump. An awe–like laugh slipped out at his amazement.

“You're so perfect,” he whispered, his eyes locked on your arousal, aware that you were on the brink. Your body thrashed on the bed, legs clamping around his hand, back arching off the mattress, and your hands gripping the sheets without concern for tearing them apart. All that remained was for him to witness the transformation of your angelic state into something even more ethereal and divine.

Panting and squealing as the burning sensation intensified, you shot up, your hands scrambling to hold onto Argon against your sweaty body as you trembled. Your hands slid from his sweaty torso as you shook from the intensity of the buildup. However, you could still feel his fingers slowly pumping, not yet withdrawing but remaining buried to relish the warmth and imagine what it would feel like for his cock. His poor member twitched and strained against his trousers, and if he didn’t remove them soon, he would likely explode before he could relieve himself. Yet, he continued to respect your pace, not wanting to shock you with his completely naked form.

Grinning as your smaller figure clung to him and trembled in the aftermath, he rubbed your back while you buried your face into his torso. The hot breaths escaping your mouth added to the heat of the moment, making his anticipation nearly unbearable. He tossed his head upwards to gaze at the canopy above, mumbling a silent ‘Fuck’ before returning his loving gaze to you. It was at that moment he decided to withdraw his fingers from your heat, savouring the sound of the squelch and the sensation of your inner muscles clinging to him like a secure blanket.

You looked up at him through hooded eyes, meeting his boyish smile with a giggle as you tilted your head upwards, silently demanding a kiss. Complying with your request, he met your lips in a tender embrace, two mouths coming together to savour the softness of your post-coital glow. Your fluttering giggles were like music to his ears, washing away his nerves as you prepared to embark on the next stage of your journey together.

Pecking his lips repeatedly, on the seventh kiss, you pulled away “Are we still…you know, continuing?” you asked with a hint of nervousness.

Blinking out of the trance you placed him under, he hesitantly nodded. “Only if you want to,” he said while sporting the hardest erection in his trousers. If anyone were to touch him, he’d explode. But of course, being raised with manners, he would have surely disappeared into the bathroom while you were resting and relieved himself.

“Uh–huh, of course, I want to continue,” you reacted, shuffling to your knees before him. “I’ve waited long for this moment Káno…” Sucking a deep breath after you spoke, you looked away from his piercing eyes to rake your eyes down his abdomen to meet his bulge.

Swallowing, you cast another glance at him before extending your hand to meet the ties of his trousers. He didn’t flinch or move, remaining still as he sucked in his breath, watching as you undressed him. Your nimble fingers slowly untied his trousers, almost as if you were waiting for him to halt the sequence of actions. However, you continued until the strings were undone. All that remained was to remove the material from his body, baring himself naked to you, just as you had done.

Gathering enough courage, your finger gripped the edges of the waistband to tug when his larger hands engulfed them. “Wait,” he began, “let me remove them. I still have to come off the bed.” There was the attempt to fit in a joke to ease the tension that settled throughout the room.

With a reassuring smile sent his way, you folded your legs sideways on the bed as he got off the stand at the foot. His tall and slightly muscular stature loomed over you, bearing remnants of scars from his tumultuous battles during his youth. The most prominent scar, an angry pink and jagged one, ran from his right shoulder to his left hip—a reminder of the blow that nearly took his life when he was an impetuous youth. Multiple times since the night had begun and he had revealed his shirtless form to you, your fingers and lips had traced those scars as if etching them into your memory.

His inky hair cascaded over his shoulder, most of it flowing down his back, with loose strands gracing his chest. With taut muscles and a proud posture, he gripped the flaps of his waistband and tugged the material down his hips, letting it slide down his legs. Throughout the entire process, his eyes never met yours, as they remained fixed on the carpeted floor. Strangely, embarrassment painted his face and body language, which surprised you once the trousers were completely off, and he returned to his full height. To you, there seemed to be no reason for him to be ashamed, especially when he had encouraged you to embrace your own nudity before him.

“Arakáno?” you called out, noticing his fists were clenched at his sides. You weren’t sure if the action was based on his awkwardness or the hard–on he was sporting. It appeared painfully angry with the leaking precum. From the looks of it, you were definitely baffled by the size and blushed a little at the idea of all that being inside you very soon. Would it fit? You hope it did.

He lifted his eyes to meet your gentle gaze, feeling your doe-eyed gaze penetrate the barriers he had erected. From where you were, your sweet voice called out to him, urging him to come closer. His footsteps dragged hesitantly across the carpet until his leg bumped against the foot of the bed. His head still hung low, his fingers fidgeted at his sides, and his toes tapped nervously against the floor.

“Káno, my sweet, sweet Káno,” you called again, this time, shuffling closer to the edge of the bed and rising to your knees. Your head reached his torso, still a great distance from his neck or lips—where you wanted to be. With your right hand outstretched, your cupped his nap, indicating you wanted a kiss.

Eager and willing to comply, he had relished the taste of your lips ever since that moment at the altar when he first kissed you. He tilted his head to meet you halfway, his enthusiasm nearly threatening to unbalance you from your kneeling position. However, you were saved by his strong arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you closer to him. To help ease his tension, you ran your other hand through his hair, tugging and scraping your nails against his tender scalp. You loved the way his body became more relaxed and pliant under your touch. He fell deeper into the kiss, his knees momentarily buckling before he steadied himself with you as support.

Your laughter escaped the kiss, causing him to accidentally kiss your teeth, eliciting a soft whine from him. Eager to return to your lips, his arms travelled up your back to grip your head, keeping you focused and in front of him so his lips could capture yours once more. With a touch of ferocity, Argon treated your lips as if they were a delectable dessert, biting and tugging at them, savouring every moment as though honey had been drizzled upon them. Each time your lips parted for breath, your hands would wander down his body, scraping your nails against his washboard abs, and you couldn’t help but grin as he groaned or trembled.

As you teased your fingers lower, his kiss slowed, moving from your lips to the junction of your neck. Once your hands reached his pelvis, you felt him freeze against you, awaiting your next move. To say you weren’t nervous about attempting the next step would be an understatement; you were riddled with jitters. What if you made a mistake, and he didn’t like how you were touching him? What if he felt too embarrassed to say anything about it? What if he decided to end the entire encounter and called it a night?

“Are you alright?” he murmured into your neck. “Do you want to stop?”

“No, no, I’m fine. Just…” your voice trailed off hoping he would catch the tone of what you were implying.

Not wanting to leave the session hanging and feeling a teaspoon of confidence, mostly to deal with his aching cock and put it out of its misery, Argon's right hand released the nape of your neck and found your hand. He didn’t look down to observe his actions but kept his face buried in the crook of your neck while your hand continued its ministrations. Guiding you to meet his cock, he felt your hesitation when your finger brushed against the tip, and in response, he hissed at the sensation.  

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s alright; it just felt good,” he replied.

Amazed at how his cock had twitched in response to your touch, you extended your hand to meet him again, this time wrapping your fingers around his middle. He released a sigh of relief the moment your hands closed around him, his own hand gripping your wrist tightly before sliding down to encompass your fingers around his cock. There was a pregnant pause that hung in the air, neither of you making a sound before his hand guided yours in a slow, deliberate motion up and down his length. As you parted your lips at the sight, you were caught off guard by Argon's whimpering in the crook of your neck.

His breathing quickened as his hand continued to guide yours, helping you to twist and apply the right amount of pressure to provide pleasure. The way his abdomen clenched and became taut, flexing as he found relief, was mesmerizing. Unbeknownst to you, this reaction wasn’t solely due to his release; it was also a response to your delicate touch on such a sensitive part of him. Feeling you hold him so tenderly in your hands sent his heart fluttering and pulsing excitement through his cock.

Pushing more of his head into your neck, he panted and groaned, finally dropping his hand to let you work. “You can…You can—the head, swipe for friction…”

Raising your brows as you processed his words and fought off the confusion, your thumb swiped at the beads of precum that had gathered at the head of his cock, and you spread it along his length. As requested, this reduced friction as you tried to apply the same pressure he preferred, squeezing and twisting with both hands. “Is this good?” you asked meekly, turning your head to brush your lips against his hair.

Unable to convey his satisfaction verbally, his hands tightened around your waist, and he pushed his hips into your hands, matching your pace. The more he thrust his hips, the more precum gathered at the head, allowing you to collect and spread it over him. But Argon didn’t want to stop. No, he wanted to cease before he climaxed in your hands prematurely; he desired to finish inside you, marking your union. Yet, he was torn between summoning the strength to pull away and continuing to revel in the bliss. His whines were a clear indication of how much he was enjoying the experience.

As his hips continued their rhythmic movements, he managed to pull his head from your neck and return to his towering height. His lips were parted, eyes closed, and his body was covered in a sheen of sweat. His thighs were tense and trembling, and it was a miracle he hadn’t already reached his peak the moment you touched him. Suddenly, his left hand shot out to grip your wrist, halting your motion.

 “Oh, I–I’m sorry,” you cried out, withdrawing your body from him and returning to a sitting position.

Opening his eyes in response to your frantic reaction, he looked down and furrowed his brow. “No, no,” he reassured in his typical worrisome tone. “It’s just, um, I, uh... It was feeling really... good, but...” He sounded embarrassed, struggling to explain that your actions were making him feel so good, still in the awkward stage of expressing his desires.

“But?” you encouraged him.

As he fumbled with his words, finding it nearly impossible to articulate his desire, it brought back memories of his cousins cornering him and outlining how his night would progress step by step. A subtle blush couldn’t help but rise to his cheeks.

Realization dawned on you, and you couldn’t help but feel a bit silly for not realizing sooner. “Ah, you want us to lie together now,” you mumbled.

Pleased that you had grasped his point without him having to blurt it out and sink further into embarrassment, he let out an exhale of relief and nodded rapidly. “Hmm, yes, yes!”

As you shuffled further up the bed, Argon stepped forward, gingerly climbing onto the mattress. You settled your head against the single pillow and let out a deep breath. The excitement was still there, but now the nerves had taken centre stage as the main event was about to begin. No amount of preparation could truly prepare you for this moment. Your fingers were curled into the bedsheets, and your legs lay straight along the bed, making it difficult for your loving husband to find a comfortable position.

Noticing your nervousness, he remembered his brother’s advice about soothing your nerves by gently massaging your skin, particularly your legs. Still kneeling with your feet brushing against his knees, he reached out and began to slide his hands up your legs, applying gentle pressure and kneading your flesh. He carefully observed your reactions, gradually increasing the force as he moved past your kneecaps and up to your thighs, where you seemed most tense. In addition to his hands, his lips came down to follow, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses over your thighs. Your not-so-subtle moans escaped your lips and met his ears, encouraging him to continue and move higher.

His body caged yours like a predator savouring its prey, exploring and relishing every inch of your body before making its move. His lips and hands worked in harmony to gradually ease you, primarily focusing on your thighs and pelvis. Occasionally, he planted kisses on your lower abdomen, chuckling softly as you sucked in your belly and then shifted his attention to your mound, listening to your reactions. Your responses encouraged him to push past his nerves and fully embrace the idea of making you his one and only. He was growing bolder and more confident with each passing moment, evident in his increasing assertiveness.

Leaving bites and nibbles on specific areas around your pelvis, his lips moved upward, treating each breast with the same tantalizing attention before reaching your lips. He wasted no time in reclaiming your mouth, parting your lips to slip his tongue inside. With your consent and enchantment, your legs were guided apart, wrapping around his waist and allowing his throbbing cock to rest against your heat. He swallowed your gasps and moans, rocking his body to glide his cock through your slick folds, creating delicious friction. The pressure of him nestled against you caused your walls to clench desperately, even though there was nothing to grip onto.

Your hands left the sheets and reached for his back muscles, embedding your nails into his shoulder blades as his rock persisted.

The kiss was hurried and clumsy, causing your nose and foreheads to bump against one another, sometimes your teeth would knock. This made him pull back to catch his breath with a playful grin before diving back in for another attempt. No longer were his movements jagged, but now filled with fluidity and confidence. In his mind, he reminded himself that it was his duty to see this moment through and provide pleasure to his wife.

He giggled into the kiss and pulled away, leaving a string of saliva to connect.

“What’s so funny?” you asked.

With a loud exhale, he gently shook his head, brushing a few loose strands of hair away from your face. “It’s nothing, really,” he began, “I just can’t believe that I’m married, and you’re my wife, and I’m your husband. I love the sound of the word; it makes me so happy,” he whispered against your lips, grinning like a love-struck puppy.

Feeling giddy from his comment, you laughed alongside your husband, showering in the elation of being a married couple. “It makes me happy also, husband. I love you,” you whispered against his lips, giving a peck at the end.

At that moment, he felt like he could lose himself and turn into a blushing tomato at the sweet words you spoke. Your words had the magical power to make him feel soft and tender, and there was nothing he wouldn't do if you asked him to.

Flickering his eyes to meet yours as the laughter between you two subsided, a wave of seriousness settled. As his body shifted to rest his weight on his knees and arms, there was an increased weight pressing upon your heat from the bending of his hips angled towards your sex. Instinctively, your nails curled into his shoulder blades upon the new shift in position and your hips pushed into the weight, enjoying the sensation of having his cock running through your fold and unknowingly teasing your clit.

“Permission to engage My Lady?” His charisma was peaking in this moment, accompanied by his adorable smile.

Your heart faltered at the smile and subconsciously you nodded your head, trusting that he would take care.

With a slip of his hand between your bodies, they recalled their previous route and slithered two fingers past your entrance to test the waters once more. There was a small intake of breath on your end as his fingers scissored and twisted the deeper they travelled producing obscene sounds. He crooked and pumped those long, slender fingers like he previously did, right away pressing against the edge of your sweet spot to get your body ready for what was to come next. You couldn’t believe you were this aroused the entire time and because of him? The awareness turned you on even more and led to audible moans escaping your lips.

You repeatedly muttered his name in an endless chant as his fingers delved deeper, and he too breathed heavily, closely observing the subtle movements of your hips rolling to meet his fingers and the way your stomach contracted. However, he was determined not to spend another moment with his fingers inside you when his cock was yearning for more.

Exercising self-control, he promptly withdrew his fingers and smeared your arousal over his throbbing member before aligning it with your eager entrance. Both of your gazes remained locked on his cock as the tip pressed against your wet slit. You held your breath, your stomach sucked in, and your shoulders tensed from the anticipation, the air heavy with suspense. Time seemed to crawl by as his hips drew nearer, gradually penetrating your passage. Initially, the sensation as he slipped inside was neutral, but as he persisted, a slight discomfort built up, causing you to shift.

Quick to notice your discomfort, Argon paused and gauged your expression, worried that he was hurting you. “Are you…in pain? Do you want me to stop? Just say it.”

“No, no, no. It’s alright, it’s alright. I can handle it,” you panted with your eyes squeezed tightly. “Keep going,” you encouraged.

Putting his trust in your response, he resumed his movements. Gradually inching in, he couldn’t help but shudder at the intense heat surrounding him. Your walls continued to flex and adapt, accommodating the discomfort, which in turn caused his toes to curl from the unrelenting tightness that seemed to suffocate him. Perhaps his cousins had neglected to mention this particular aspect during their discussions. His head spun as he slid deeper, wondering just how long it would take before he was fully engulfed. It felt like an agonizingly slow process, stretching on for what seemed like hours.

However, your agonising wait was over when his panting turned into a long grunt, and he nearly collapsed on top of you. Beads of perspiration rolled down his temple and dripped off his chin, falling on the pillow. His eyes were shut taking the moment to relish that his most anticipated moment was over. “Eru!” he cried and flopped his head beside yours.

But from your perspective, impatience seemed to be your current state. While he could bask in your warmth at another time, right now, you needed him to take action. “Love, please, I need you to move,” you whimpered, your tone filled with pleading urgency.

You didn't have to request it again as his hands swiftly adjusted to secure your hips, preventing any squirming so he could proceed. Initially, his movements were somewhat erratic and uncoordinated as he struggled to find the perfect angle and rhythm. The overwhelming pleasure clouded his thoughts and made it challenging to maintain a steady pace in his thrusts. Fortunately, when your hands ventured down his spine and gripped his buttocks, he paused his movements briefly and took a deep breath.

You rocked your hips upwards, ignoring the fading discomfort and pushed his hips downwards to meet your thrusts. “Move with me Káno, move with me. Just like that,” you instructed.

He found it incredibly arousing that you took charge of the situation, guiding his hips to match your rhythm and setting a new tempo. His breath caught in his throat as the sensations began to build once more. He marvelled at the sight of your hips meeting his, allowing him to penetrate even deeper. The comforting embrace of your velvety walls snuggled around him, pleading for him to stay longer with each withdrawal, was nothing short of sensational. Despite your guidance, he managed to maintain his rhythm, and he found your assertiveness to be incredibly seductive. He hoped for more opportunities to experience your leadership in intimate moments.

Amidst the symphony of your moans and his grunts, only muffled by the curtains that cocooned you in your private world, the bed rocked and creaked beneath your passionate movements. Your hands fumbled to find a secure grip as the heat between you intensified, causing sweat to coat your bodies. This added to the smooth friction of your nipples brushing against his chest, pressed firmly to your body, as you both sought to feel every shudder and ripple. The knowledge that you were both lost in the moment, driven by your sounds and touches, brought a fresh wave of pleasure.

Reaching for the hand that gripped your hips, you guided him to touch your clit with a soft plead as his hips slapped against yours and grew in vigour. “T–Touch me Káno, right there,” you breathed.

With each dip and roll of his hips, perfectly synchronized with his fingers tracing circles on your sensitive nub, your thighs must have taken on a reddened hue due to the intensified tempo, all while they remained ensconced around his slender waist. It was a marvel to behold as he surrendered to your warmth, delving deeper and deeper to alleviate his own yearning and provide you with satisfaction. Despite being a novice, he displayed a newfound roughness now that he had discovered his rhythm. With every forceful thrust, your teeth chattered against each other. Yet, it was sheer bliss; it compelled you to bury your head in the pillow and squeeze your eyes shut to fully savour him.

The sensual undulations of his hips, their rhythmic back-and-forth motion, the substantial and robust glide of his cock within your passage, and the insistent tapping of his tip against your sweet spot all coaxed his name from your lips, a sound he cherished above all else. Your utterance of his name was synonymous with pleasure and served as his motivation to continue his fervent actions, whether you cried out, moaned, whimpered, or squealed. A sharp thrust aimed directly at your sweet spot caused you to scramble in his grasp, your nails digging into his backside and pulling him closer, driving him even deeper into your heat.

With each thrust, your arousal coated his cock, glistening with a delicate ring of moisture at the base. He skillfully adjusted his movements, moulding your insides to fit him perfectly, a constant reminder that he was made for you. The rhythmic motion of his length sliding through your velvety walls, snugly embracing him in warmth, stirred a swarm of eager butterflies in your stomach. They danced around, fluttering downward until they reached your core, intensifying the building sensation. Subconsciously, you tightened around him occasionally, adding to the already pulsating pleasure he experienced.

From his vantage point, he had a clear view of your reactions beneath him—the arching of your neck, which allowed him to kiss you. He wasted no time, starting with gentle nips and grinning at your delighted squeals. His tongue slipped out smoothly to soothe the nibbled areas, gliding over the skin before transitioning to his lips to leave you with additional love bites as if the ones you already had were insufficient. His kisses acted as an enigmatic catalyst, evoking a series of incomprehensible utterances from you, as if you were reciting an enchantment. Your loving husband remained undeterred, only more motivated to work harder to elicit further reactions from you.

“You sound so good sweetheart,” he praised into your neck, dragging his lips upwards to meet your sealed lips and deliver a kiss to them.

Instinctively, you welcomed his entry. This time, the kiss differed from all the others; it carried a touch of tenderness and care, assuring you that he would love and cherish you endlessly. There was no trace of aggressiveness, even as his hair cascaded over his shoulders and onto the pillow, creating a private curtain between you and the outside world. This was your personal little paradise, where both of you could revel in bliss and happiness. It was mesmerizing to discover that throughout your life, you had the ability to bring out the best in him, revealing sides of him that no one else knew existed. This was your Arakáno, your husband.

As you leaned into the kiss, deepening it to convey your emotions, you gasped into his mouth as waves of pleasure reached a familiar peak. The same heights his fingers had achieved earlier were now being revisited through the combination of his skilful thrusts, filled with determination and passion. His fingers traced patterns on your clit, and his body pressed firmly against yours. It was simple yet incredibly effective, a source of profound pleasure that surpassed anything you had experienced with others in your bedroom encounters. Just being entwined with him like this was enough to provide every ounce of satisfaction you desired.

Arching your body into his, your nipples brushed against his chest, and you broke away from the kiss with a whimper. Your eyes darted upwards, giving him a doe-eyed, glossy, and starry look as your sensitivity intensified, making everything feel like it was ablaze. The weight of his cock pressed against you, sending waves of ecstasy rippling through your body. The gentle tug as he withdrew, followed by the smooth re-entry, left you panting, and you hadn’t anticipated how overwhelmingly pleasurable it would be. The sensation was indescribable, and mentally, you savoured each feeling to revisit later when you needed him.

The signs of your impending orgasm were clear, and Argon sensed it too. It was a stark contrast to the sensation of his fingers being clenched by your walls when you tightened around his cock in an intense manner. You refused to let him escape, pulling him in and silently begging for him to stay nestled in the depths of your warmth. Groan after groan escaped from him.

“Ohmygod Káno, I feel something,” you cried into his ear.

Your toes curled, and your back arched off the bed as your legs tightened around his waist. Your heels dug into his back, creating a vice-like grip that left him with no other option but to finish within your walls. He grunted in response to the unbearable squeezing, while your walls clamped down on his cock, massaging every inch of him and pulsating with heat, urging him to climax faster. He couldn’t hold out for long, despite his desire to do so.

You were the first to break through and reach climax, your dams breaking and waves of pleasure washing over your body like spring waters. Your second orgasm felt more soothing and less intense than the first, cooling your body and dissipating the indescribable heat. However, it was interrupted by the welcome sensation of your husband’s release flooding your insides. Your soft moans mixed with his loud groans as his hips jerked and his abdomen clenched before he finally stilled to release himself. The intensity nearly toppled you over, causing the hand that had been rubbing your clit to slide away as you grabbed onto your hips for stability.

Feeling his body heat dissipate, he experienced a profound sense of relief, and he heaved a deep breath in an attempt to calm his racing heart. The erratic pounding of his heart sounded like thunderous hooves drumming in his ears. If he could hear it, he was certain you could feel it too.

Though he wanted to flop onto your body, he instead gingerly lay down, covering your entire form with his own. Lost in the afterglow of ecstasy and coming down from your shared high, you found the situation comical and couldn’t help but burst into laughter. Your smaller frame quivered beneath his, sending tiny vibrations coursing through his body. Despite the fatigue creeping over him, he stole a glance at your giggles, wearing a confused expression. What had he done now?

“What seems to be the cause of your humour now?” he quizzically inquired, rising of your body to withdrawn himself.

The sensation of him pulling out was unsettling and foreign, and it didn't help when you felt his release follow afterwards. Your toes wiggled uncomfortably, and your face contorted with discomfort—a bath would be a welcome relief to wash away the uneasiness.

Shaking your head, you grinned at him comically, wearing an expression of exhaustion. It warmed his heart to see you looking so tired and dazed. “Nothing really. It’s just how you flopped on top of me like a blanket. Sometimes I forget how big you are,” you chuckled. “But, um, do you mind if we also freshen up?”

Resting on his haunches and gazing down at your languid body, he offered a wry smile. “You forget how big I am,” he smugly whispered. Lowering his head to conceal a restrained chuckle, you watched with amusement at his reactions. “Don’t worry, I’ll be careful not to crush you with my big self.”

“Arakáno!” you exclaimed, lifting yourself off the bed to sit upright and lightly tapping his arm. “Don’t tease me like that!”

Clutching his stomach as laughter bubbled up, he threw his head back and let out a hearty laugh. “I don’t think I’ll ever tire of teasing you; I adore your reactions,” he teased once more.

Rolling your eyes, you playfully pouted until you felt a finger hooking under your chin and tilting it upward. His eyes sparkled differently than they had at the start of the night. There was more life in them, a hint of mirth and a sense of home. “I love you.”

There you went again with those three words that made his heart soar to the heavens. Were you trying to give him a heart attack during such a romantic moment? The blush rising to his cheeks betrayed his response to your heartfelt words. Everything felt different, imbued with more meaning.

“Why don’t we freshen up first, and then we can express our love for each other some more?”

“Agreed.”

Masterlist

Taglist: @lilmelily @eunoiaastralwings @koyunsoncizeri @ranhanabi777 @someoneinthestars @mysticmoomin @aconstructofamind @rain-on-my-umbrella @the-phantom-of-arda @singleteapot @wandererindreams @asianbutnotjapanese @ilu-stripes @justellie17 @justjane @silverose365 @bunson-burner @batsyforyou

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Argon was not only the tallest and the most impetuous of his siblings, but he also had the biggest, kindest heart.

[elficially-done-with-life]

Forever Together

Pairing: Argon x Reader

Summary: You and Argon share a quiet moment together while travelling over the Helcaraxë.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

You felt like your skin was on fire as Argon's warm hands stroked over your exposed skin. It seemed so long ago since you had last felt his warmth.

It had been a long time. You had set out on the ice several weeks ago, but you had rarely rested, and when you had, Fingolfin had assigned your husband some sort of task. Of course you understood that this was important for your survival, but you still felt cold and abandoned sometimes.

Argon seemed to notice that. While you continued to fight your way through the snow during the day, Argon, who always walked in front next to his father, fell further back to take your hand for a moment. His fingers clasped yours and the ice no longer seemed so cold to you.

After a while, Fingolfin had decided that you would have to take a longer rest, as all of you were getting slower and slower due to your exhaustion, making you even more vulnerable on the open road than you already were.

So you put up some tents to protect you from the cold and you tried to get some sleep.

When you fell asleep you were freezing, but when you woke up you could smell Argon's familiar scent and feel his hands gently rubbing every bit of skin they could find to keep you warm.

You kept your eyes closed for a moment. You had missed his gentle touch so much.

The warm days in Valinor when you had picnicked or gone swimming in the lake together seemed centuries ago.

"I know you are awake," he whispered and kissed you gently on the forehead. You could hear the smile in his voice. He pulled his hands away and let himself slide under the covers behind you.

You whimpered softly and snuggled back against Argon. "Please do not stop."

He laughed softly. "Do not worry, my love, I will prevent you from freezing to death." He wrapped his strong arms around you and turned you round so that the tips of your noses were touching.

His warm breath brushed over your face and drove away any feeling of cold. "Do not worry, Melda." Argon whispered and kissed you softly. His hands gently stroked down your body, from your cheeks to your hips, where he pulled you even tighter against him. "Tonight I am all yours."

He winked.

"Arakáno!Turukáno, Elenwë and Itarillë are right in the tent next to us. So we won't be doing anything like that." you said, but you had to smile.

When Argon saw your smile, he let out a pleasant sigh. One of his hands travelled back up to your face and gently stroked your lips to trace your smile.

Then he leant forward and kissed you again. At first his lips brushed only lightly over yours, but soon his kisses became firmer and more passionate. He pushed himself off the ground a little and carefully rolled onto you.

Your hands stroked through his hair and soon found their way to his cheeks.

You let out a surprised noise. "Arakáno?" You broke away from him. "Oh, why are you crying."

His cheeks were full of tears.

Argon's fingers gently stroked your cheek as he looked down at you.

"Because you are only here because of me. You deserve better than a tiny tent in the cold, wet snow. I am so sorry that I cannot give you more."

"Oh Arakáno." You gently took his face into your hands and began to brush away his tears with your thumbs. "Do not blame yourself."

"But it is true." His other hand found its way to your hair and stroked softly over it.

"Yes," you said softly, "I am here because of you. I am here because I love you and because I cannot bear to live apart from you. I would make that decision again if it meant having you by my side. Because Valinor would be colder than the Helcaraxë without you, Arakáno."

He looked at you from his gentle eyes as more tears ran down his cheeks. "Thank you," Argon finally said, "Thank you for being by my side."

"Let us always stay together, no matter where we go," you said softly, wrapping your arms around him.

Argon lowered his head onto your chest, a position you don't normally lie in as he was so huge, while you gently stroked his hair.

"It will be all right, my dearest Arakáno."

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

[lovefairymina]

"Arakano, can you lower your body down please? You are too tall and I can't even kiss you properly," y/n pout as she complained while looking up to his eyes.

“Hmm, I don’t know about that. Have you tried jumping or climbing on a table to kiss me? You tend to appear twice as adorable when you attempt to jump,” he laughed before his face morphed into panic the moment he realised you were about to kick him in his shin. “Alright, alright, you win. I’ll get on my knees for you, love. Cute.”

[riding-with-the-wild-hunt]

“Arakáno was the tallest of the brothers and the most impetuous, but his name was never changed to Sindarin form, for he perished in the first battle of Fingolfin’s host with the Orcs, the Battle of the Lammoth (but the Sindarin form Argon was often later given as a name by the Noldor and Sindar in memory of his valour.”

-JRR Tolkien, The Peoples of Middle-Earth, “The Shibboleth of Fëanor”

[ID: A picspam consisting of twelve images in various shades of blue.

1: A rocky seashore in the mist / 2: Blue spears of different shapes on a black background / 3: A folded tunic with a high collar / 4: Text on a blue background reading “arakáno” and “high commander” / 5: A watercolor painting of leaves and stems / 6: A dark-skinned person wearing teal eye makeup / 7: Leather armor with a studded blue top and a buckle / 8: A glacier forming an archway over water / 9: Text on a blue background reading “argon” and “noble lord” / 10: Dark blue cloth patterned with silvery stars / 11: Sculpted faces arranged in rows with pieces missing / 12: Four people silhouetted walking together on a beach /End ID]

[missrosiewolf]

“Can I have that book on painting techniques?” Arakáno asked, startling Maitimo. The young man pointed to the book in question, one that is far out of his reach but eye level with his much taller cousin.

Maitimo looked at him, looked at the book. Back at his cousin and maintaining eye contact, placed it on a higher shelf. Arakáno gave him a glare that made Maitimo glad that looks could not literally kill.

[teaandspite]

Propaganda/Who's-who below:

Finwë Brought the Ñoldor to Valinor. Good at ruling, bad at family harmony. Famously killed by Morgoth.

Fëanor, son of Finwë and Míriel Þerindë Everyone knows this guy. Made some pretty cool gems. Should probably be kept away from fire, oaths, and important decisions.

Fingolfin, son of Finwë and Indis Had to walk across the ice because SOMEONE burned all the boats. Stabbed Morgoth seven times after calling him a bitch.

Finarfin, son of Finwë and Indis Stayed home, apologized, didn’t die. By far the most sensible person on this list. Showed up to fight Morgoth five centuries late with Starbucks (the Valar).

Fingon, son of Fingolfin and Anairë Great at rescues. Went out fighting two balrogs at once.

Turgon, son of Fingolfin and Anairë Bit of a shut-in, but at least he wasn’t the most dickish ruler of a hidden Elvish kingdom.

Gil-galad, son of Plothole Is his dad Fingon? Orodreth? Is he just some guy? Nobody wants to ask, because he’s very good at his job. Died fighting Sauron with Isildur and the rest.

[aipilosse]

Height:

Thingol in the Silmarillion: "for fair and noble as he had been, now he appeared as it were a lord of the Maiar, his hair as grey silver, tallest of all the Children of Ilúvatar."

Turgon in Of Tuor and His Coming to Gondolin: "Now Turgon himself would appear, 'tallest of all the Children of the World, save Thingol.'"

Argon in the Shibboleth of Feanor: "Arakáno was the tallest of the brothers and the most impetuous."

Maedhros. Just given the epithet 'The Tall' like many other characters. Not 'The Tallest'. and yet I see people constantly making him taller than Turgon; even if he's not a listed character in a fic, I must endure mentions about how he's taller than everyone else. Truly, a burden for me personally.

Beauty:

Lúthien in the Silmarillion: "And of the love of Thingol and Melian there came into the world the fairest of all the Children of Ilúvatar that was or shall ever be."

Feanor in the Silmarillion: "Feanor was made the mightiest in all parts of body and mind, in valour, in endurance, in beauty..."

Finarfin in the Silmarillion: "Finarfin was the fairest, and the most wise of heart."

Finrod in the Silmarillion: "Finrod Finarfin's son, fairest of all the princes of the Elves.

Galadriel in the Silmarillion: "Galadriel, most beautiful of all the house of Finwe."

Finwe in Morgoth's Ring: "fairest and noblest of the Eldar"

Maedhros. His mom thought he was pretty. HIS MOM. Yet whomst do I see (again, in places where he's really not relevant) being referenced all over the place as the most beautiful elf who ever elfed in all of history? Maedhros.

😑😑😑

[echo-bleu]

your veins are empty of dust

Nerdanel stays behind and sculpts. Also on AO3. Title from The Amazing Devil's King.

1.

There is no need for statues to remember, in a world that doesn’t forget.

Nerdanel likes to carve birds and rabbits and flowers and leaves. Transitory wonders. When she is commissioned to sculpt people, she shapes new features, never before seen, or she captures the ever-changing fánas of barely-there Maiar.

She has hanged painted portraits and sketches of her children at various stages of growing all over the house, but no marble likeness.

They are right here to look at, after all.

2.

After Alqualondë, Nerdanel retreats from the world.

The darkness and the absence permeate everything. Elves discover the grief of impermanence. In Tirion, there is no court left to appear at, no councils to lead, no strolls to take at the end of the day to admire the Mingling. No news from the ones who have left.

Anairë finds her late one day in her workshop, surrounded by slabs of stone larger than her. She is hammering forcefully at one of them, the barest hints of an elven shape already taking form in the marble. Bitter, stinging tears run down her cheeks and into her collar, and her arms ache with exhaustion.

The body is only barely sketched, but the face is already chiselled, smooth curves and angular cheekbones.

Fëanáro emerges out of the marble, looking like he’s about to take life.

(Across the sea, her sons lead a funeral.)

3.

It’s Anairë again who comes to her, when Arien first sails across the sky. Nerdanel is rearranging her workshop to take advantage of the new light. The windows were designed for the glowing of the Trees.

Anairë nearly collapses as soon as she passes the door.

“Who?” Nerdanel asks her, supporting her to a chair. It’s covered in white stone dust, but neither of them cares.

Fëanáro’s finished statue looms in a corner of the workshop, just out of the light. He looks like he did when she first met him, young and passionate and determined, before the world shrunk around them and suffocated him.

“Arakáno,” her friend weeps.

“Oh, Anairë,” Nerdanel murmurs. “Your youngest.”

“Would you—”

Nerdanel had no intention of ever doing it again. “Of course,” she says.

It was overly optimistic of her, she supposes.

Arakáno looks painfully young and hopeful under her chisel’s tip.

4.

For centuries, there are no news. Nerdanel’s art escapes toward the abstract, great shapes of wind and water and fire coming out of the stone in ways they never had before. Arafinwë crowns himself king, and Anairë busies herself with the day-to-day workings of the court and the administration.

Nerdanel doesn’t think about her sons across the water. She doesn’t wonder how Maitimo looks with a crown on his head. She doesn’t wonder which new instrument Makalaurë has taken up. She doesn’t wonder what new animal languages Tyelkormo has learned. She doesn’t wonder if Carnistir still wants to write his book, or if Atarinke is coming close to the skill of his father, or what little Tyelpë has grown into. She doesn’t imagine Ambarussa running into danger with every new day, so far away from her.

(Except on the days when she can’t think about anything else.)

Somehow, against all of her instincts, life goes on.

There is no twinge from the bonds in her fëa, no sign of any change. She’s almost ready to think them safe, over there, maybe even thriving.

And then Anairë comes back.

5.

Little Irissë used to follow Tyelkormo around everywhere. Fëanáro would watch her childish infatuation with much more indulgence than he ever afforded Findekáno and his friendship with Maitimo, perhaps because neither of them were their fathers’ heirs.

Where is Tyelkormo now, with his little shadow gone? Is Maitimo free to live his love for all to see? Have any of her sons married? Atarinke’s wife didn’t go into exile either, though she wants nothing to do with Nerdanel. The others left unpledged to anyone but that oath they all took.

To the everlasting darkness.

What if they fail?

Nerdanel has never truly wondered what will happen then, too busy missing them and cursing Fëanáro for it all.

Irissë’s marble figure looks back at her accusingly. All the arrows in her quiver are fletched with Tyelkormo’s special technique.

6.

It’s fifty more years before she carves another face, but the question haunts her.

(Ñolofinwë looks grander and colder in stone than he ever did in life.)

7.

Eärwen didn’t come to her when she lost Angaráto and Aikanáro. Nerdanel heard it through Anairë and mourned, but she can’t blame her. Eärwen never forgave the murder of her brothers – how could she – and she avoids Nerdanel if she can help it. She has only recently moved back to Tirion and rejoined her husband.

Arafinwë doesn’t publicize the death of his sons. He could call for city-wide mourning, but he keeps their grief private and personal. Few can see the bags under his eyes as he holds court as normal in the wake of his loss.

But a few weeks after Findaráto’s death, Nerdanel finds Eärwen at the door of her workshop.

8.

The news come with rumours of a great battle, of spouses and parents and children all over Tirion feeling the loss. Anairë’s shoulders are hunched over with the weight of grief.

The white marble makes Findekáno’s skin seem almost transparent, compared to the warm brown of her memories.

She grieves for Maitimo as much as she grieves for Anairë. Her son could never hide from her his devotion for Findekáno, the depth of his feelings. Did Findekáno ever forgive him for the burning of the ships? Did they find some happiness together?

She will never know.

9.

She tried, long ago, at Fëanáro’s bequest, to sculpt Míriel’s likeness from the body resting in the Garden of Lórien. She could never make her look alive.

Arafinwë waited years to commission a statue of Finwë. He put it in his throne room. Nerdanel hasn’t stepped foot in it since.

10.

She feels the bounds snap, snap, snap, only minutes apart. She collapses in the street, and the paint buckets in her hands spill around her, yellow and blue flowing into her red hair like a painting.

She comes back to herself on a couch in Anairë’s bower. For days, she only has the strength to weep until she makes herself sick.

Tyelkormo. Carnistir. Atarinke.

She locks herself inside her workshop. It is no refuge, only pain aggrandized, only grief carved into her soul. She can’t stand it. She keeps going.

When she finally emerges, after her father, worried, has come himself to find her, there are three new statues at the back of her atelier.

It doesn’t feel like it’s enough. It never has.

She doesn’t step inside the workshop again for several years.

11.

When she does, it’s for Anairë, who has now lost everything.

12.

She sculpts her twins together, in each other’s arms, inseparable even in eternal stillness.

(She can barely stand to look at them.)

13.

She knows now what her sons did over the sea. From the young Sinda girl and her strange husband, she has heard how they died. She has wept for their deeds as she wept for their deaths, and she weeps still for the two who live now on borrowed time, hunted and haunted by their own hand and the terrible Oath her husband had them swear.

Arafinwë has gone to war. Nerdanel wonders if Eärwen will come to her, when he doesn’t come back.

14.

Maitimo is beautiful, towering over her, his half-braided hair cascading down his shoulder. She can almost see the colours in the white marble veins, her own bright red reflected in his, the delicate tones of his skin.

Like her husband, he burned bright until the fire engulfed him entirely.

She falls to her knees at his feet. She has no tears left to weep.

15.

“He didn’t look like this, any more.”

Nerdanel turns sharply, to find Findaráto leaning against the door of the workshop.

He doesn’t look like he did under the light of the Trees, either. His face is a study of scars and new lines that didn’t fade in Mandos, and his gaze is heavy with pain. Nerdanel wonders what Eärwen did with his statue.

“He lost his right hand during his rescue from Angband,” Findaráto says, nodding at Maitimo’s likeness. “And he was heavily scarred.”

Nerdanel swallows around the lump in her throat, and runs a dusty hand through her hair. Does she want to keep her son unmarred in memory, as he no longer is?

She takes a breath and hold out her chisel. “Show me.”

16.

There are six statues at the back of her atelier. It is now clear of anything else, clean and aired and unused, her chisels and hammers put away in their racks.

Between the second and the third statue, there is an empty space. And in the middle of the workshop, a single slab of stone, waiting.

17.

It stays untouched.

18.

“Ammë,” her son murmurs as he collapses into her arms, fresh off the ship that brings him over the sea, after two ages of wandering.

He looks nothing like she remembers. He’s so thin that he hardly weighs in her embrace, half-faded, his face marked with age as no elf’s should be. He barely has a grip on where he is on a good day, and he is lost in time more often than not.

She doesn’t care.

And if she finds him in her workshop sometimes, talking to the statues of his father and his brothers as if they are alive, well. People have said that her likenesses look more real than real people.

(Makalaurë, standing still in the empty space that long awaited him, makes a better marble than live body.)

19.

One day, maybe, they will come back to her from Mandos, alive and safe. One day, maybe, Makalaurë will live again in the present more than he is in the past. One day, maybe, she will no longer be surrounded by faces of stones, and she will be able to stop grieving.

For now, she will bask in the presence of her last son and her grandsons – Tyelpë, all grown and only just re-embodied, and Elrond, who brought her Makalaurë back.

And she will wait.

[carmisse]

Of new news.

Celegorm : Well, I do have news!

Amras : me too.

Amras : I didn't want to say anything until we were all together but, Arakáno and I reconciled.

Amras, showing a ring : and he asked me to marry him!

Amrod : Oh Eru!

Celegorm : Congratulations!

Maedhros: That's great!

Maglor : Look at that ring!

Amras : I know, he had it made based on the one Ñolofinwë gave Anairë.

Curufin : Wow, that's really cool.

Caranthir : even more fabulous than your first one.

Amras : so Tyelko, what was your news?

Celegorm : Ah, Oromë broke up with me with a post-it.

[doodle-pops]

I Don’t Care

Argon x reader

Warnings: nothing at all

Words: 600

Synopsis: Argon learns the hard way not to mess with you.

Staring at Argon, his eyes wide with disbelief and filled with a potent mixture of betrayal and bewilderment, you stood your ground with an unyielding resolve. This situation had spiralled into an unexpected battleground, and it left both of you grappling with questions. Why were you attacking him, the person you cared for most? What had transpired to warrant this sudden culinary combat? The answer, though apparent, weighed heavily on the atmosphere—it was him, he was the root cause of it all.

Originally, your intention had been nothing more than a warm and inviting one. You had lovingly invited your cherished partner to join you in baking treats for the children at the music hall. These young performers had dedicated themselves tirelessly to preparing for their upcoming play, and you had wanted to surprise them with a delightful gesture of appreciation. But what had unfolded was far from a typical baking session.

The initial surprise came when, in response to your simple request for the cup of flour, Argon decided to take matters into his own hands and, quite literally, dump it over your head. Flour dusted your hair and clothes, and you were left stunned by his unexpected attack. In retaliation, you swiftly retaliated, flinging a handful of flour right back at him, marking the beginning of this flour-filled battle.

For ten frenzied minutes, the two of you engaged in an impromptu flour war, the kitchen becoming a chaotic battlefield. It all took a sudden turn when Argon, in the midst of the chaos, slipped on a patch of butter and found himself sprawled on the kitchen floor, his back against the cold tiles.

Now cornered and helpless, Argon’s wide eyes met yours with an expression of sincere remorse and a tinge of desperation. “Please don’t do this, I’m sorry!” he pleaded as you menacingly raised your hand, clutching an egg. His pitiful pleas only seemed to stoke your desire to continue this unconventional skirmish.

“H-how could you do this to m-me?” he stammered, casting you an imploring look with puppy-dog eyes. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at his dramatic display. Argon always had a flair for theatrics.

“You brought this upon yourself,” you retorted, your voice laced with determination and a mischievous smirk.

“I’m sorry. I love you, and I won’t do it again,” he pleaded, his hands clasped together before him, desperation etched into every word.

But your resolve remained unshaken. “Not good enough,” you declared, your voice firm and unyielding.

Argon’s eyes widened further, his desperation reaching new heights. “But I said I love you!”

You leaned in, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper as you brought the egg down with a swift, satisfying motion. “I don’t care.”

There was no time for Argon to react as the egg exploded against his head, splattering egg whites and yolk across his hair and face. With a triumphant twirl, you spun around, your hands plunging into the flour bag. You dumped it on his head, unleashing a cloud of white powder that settled like a gentle snowfall. Without missing a beat, you dashed to the other side of the kitchen, leaving Argon sitting on the floor, defeated and lamenting his fate.

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[iminye]

» In that vast shadow once of yore Fingolfin stood: his shield he bore with field of heaven's blue and star of crystal shining pale afar.

→ High King Fingolfin || Ñolofinwë Arakáno

[ardafanonarch]

Wait, so like, does Fingolfin's son Argon exist or not?

The Argon Element

He does! Christopher Tolkien tells us (though regrettably does not show us) that his name first appeared in a genealogical table of the House of Finwë dating to 1959, which Tolkien was still revising in 1968 when he wrote the 'Shibboleth of Fëanor'.* It is in that essay that Argon's story appears, in the "excursus on the names of the descendants of Finwë":

Arakáno was the tallest of the brothers and the most impetuous, but his name was never changed to Sindarin form, for he perished in the first battle of Fingolfin's host with the Orks, the Battle of the Lammoth (but the Sindarin form Argon was often later given as a name by Noldor and Sindar in memory of his valour).

A footnote on this passage reveals more about him. (This is also the only mention in Tolkien's published writings of the Battle of Lammoth.)

When the onset of the Orks caught the host at unawares as they marched southwards and the ranks of the Eldar were giving way, [Argon] sprang forward and hewed a path through the foes, daunted by his stature and the terrible light of his eyes, till he came to the Ork-captain and felled him. Then though he himself was surrounded and slain, the Orks were dismayed, and the Noldor pursued them with slaughter.

But his death at Lammoth was not the only fate Tolkien considered for this short-lived (on multiple levels) character. Christopher Tolkien comments (note 38):

[The third son of Fingolfin, Arakáno (Argon), emerged in the course of the making of the genealogies. A pencilled note on the last of the four tables says that he fell in the fighting at Alqualondë; this was struck out, and my father noted that a preferable story was that he perished in the Ice. It is curious that this third son, of whom there had never before been any mention, entered (as it seems) without a story, and the manner of his death was twice changed before the remarkable appearance here of 'the first battle of Fingolfin's host with the Orks, the Battle of the Lammoth', in which he fell. In the account in the Grey Annals (XI.30) Fingolfin, after the passage of the Helkaraxë, 'marched from the North unopposed through the fastness of the realm of Morgoth, and he passed over Dor-Daedeloth, and his foes hid beneath the earth'; whereas in the present note his host was attacked in Lammoth 'at unawares as they marched southwards'.]

Confusingly, in the same essay Arakáno ('high chieftain') is said to be the mothername given by Indis to Fingolfin. It's not clear if Tolkien intended for Fingolfin and his youngest child to share a name or if he was simply throwing names at the wall to see what would stick.

What are you thoughts on Argon? Did he exist? How do his existence and tragic fate change how you think about the characters closest to him? Any wild Argon headcanons? And most importantly, how do you feel about him being taller than Turgon?

*The 'Shibboleth' is published in The History of Middle-earth Vol. 12: The Peoples of Middle-earth.

[lovefairymina]

To my dearest Argon,

I heard you ate my last slice of pumpkin pie. Know that I would like to have a decent conversation with you when you return home, PROMPTLY. Lots of LOVE.

Yours Truly,

Y/N

“Please don’t get mad at me! I didn’t eat your pie. It was your dog!” he yelled and pointed at your innocent puppy watching him running around the dining table to avoid your hands as you chased him about with a spatula. “Believe me please, love!”

[fistfuloflightning]

Arakáno | the high chieftain

Day 2: Exile - Arrival to Beleriand | Fingon | Argon | Elenwë for @nolofinweanweek

[missrosiewolf]

anyway. I’m slowly getting back to my Tolkien bs so have a random head canon ft. the Nolofinweans (and the grandkids):

rinses grapes in a bowl and strains them: Fingolfin, Finbor, Idril, Turgon

Rinses them in the bag: Fingon, Anairë, Maeglin, Gil-Galad, Argon

Just eats them: Aredhel

hates Grapes: Erien