#artaresto

[awawawwa0]

Artaresto, a Prince of the House of Finarfin

[thelien-art]

Arafinwë, Eärwen, & Grandchildren

-and great grandchildren

Latest portaits

Sons of Fëanáro - Fëanor, Nerdanel & Celebrimbor - Children of Ñolofinwë - Ñolofinwë, Anairë & Grandchildren - Children of Arafinwë

Now for Finwë and wives!! And daughters!

HC:

Finarfin: I like to think he was sent to Olwë´s court when young and also sees Olwë´s own sons as brothers, and that he befriended them before meeting Eärwen. Finarfin is said to be the wisest and fairest of Finwë´s sons, which I think is because of the rivalry between Feanor and Fingolfin. As all of Valinor´s eyes were turned to Feanor and Fingolfin, with Melkor pulling strings too, Finarfin had the possibility to look at everything from above, after all he is the third son, there is no possibility he should ever become king, why would anyone suck up to him in the hope of winning his favor when he becomes king, or try to tear him away from his people? This also made him able to just not care if someone says something to him he finds hard to believe, instead of wondering over it and letting it grow, he will simply shrug it off, also after becoming king. I think Finarfin cared deeply for both his brothers. Still, when they set off to follow Melkor, with Finarfin´s own children, he already knew how this would end, as he had already seen everything in Valinor, and therefore knew it was doomed with no hope. However, this was also what made him fight at the War of Wrath, his love for his brothers and family, only to be shattered in the destruction before him.

Normally his hair would look something like this

Eärwen: After the doom of Mandos and Finarfin leaving for Tirion to become high king I think Eärwen left for Alqualondë for at least a good age where Anairë later joins her before they both decide to move back to Tirion and Eärwen then gets crowned as queen, although she never really bent for Noldo modesty even if some of the people would have liked it.

Orodreth: I HC Orodrth´s mother as Noldo, and while I think he took a lot after his father Angrod in his quite nature I also think that when meeting his wife he slowly begins leening more over to the Sinda side, meaning while he still braids his hair he slowly begins braiding it under Noldorin customs, which also weakens his hold on his people in some way, which makes it even easier for Celegorm and Curufin when they come. I don´t think he´s weak, he was just used to being a counselor and then suddenly his father dies, and his uncle leaves him to take care of a kingdom, we all know how that went, and before he knows it his daughter is standing side by side with a human who have grown up in Thingol´s court, survived the wilderness, and who´s own father is taking captive by Morgoth, and Finduilas trusts him, so why shouldn´t he? After all, Túrin can understand some of what he feels.

Finduilas: As she is born her father already leans more into Sinda culture so I don´t think she ever really tasted a Noldo upbringing, except when with Finrod, who I think first really entered her life when she was close to an adult as he was busy traveling with the Edain. I do think she was in love with Gwindor until the end, and she cared for him when he returned, although when she meets Túrin she sees everything Gwindor was before his capture, mixed with hate and despair that is easy enough to look over. I think she stands as a symbolic pillar of hope for all the free people of Beleriand up to her death, which also made her extremely sheltered as she was meant to survive, she was meant to be protected, so when she falls a lot of hope falls too.

Celebrian: I think Celebrian had a peaceful life, she was only young when Celebrimbor died, and while she was a child when Annatar was present and she was undoubtedly sorrowful of the fall she never saw it, so all she had was stories from the first really. While Elrond loved her in secret in many years, I think she was quite loud herself about her interest in him, even if it took very long to pick up on it. She cared for her children deeply and did a lot to spend as much time with them as possible and show them all of their mixed heritage as well as she could, she also taught them how to hunt, although she was never a master at it, it was just something she did for fun, in the later years a lot with Glorfindel, and soon enough Elladan and Elrohir outdid her in it. I do think she tried to stay as much as long as possible after her capture but at the end had to accept her only choice was to sail unless she would rather fade slowly. In appearance, she takes most after Celeborn, only inheriting her mother´s curls and lips.

[art-of-firefly]

Preview - 3rd part of the Arafinweans

I'll post them every Saturday, starting with Orodreth

House of Finwë

[dalliansss]

💖/🕊 Celebrimbor?

Unusual Headcanons Ask Game!

💖 - Romantic relationships or ships. (This could be as simple as sharing a rareship you enjoy, or an unusual interpretation of a popular/canon ship!)

Narvi - I headcanon that Narvi was actually the first partnership-relationship Tyelpe entered into, not that he wasn't aware that in Valinor and during the First Age he did attract the attention of people. He was just a workaholic and preferred to research, nerd and make things than turn his eyes and look for a potential romantic partner.

Tyelpe was also averse from romantic relationships for such a long time because he saw Curufin and Helwe's relationship deteriorate as he was growing up. Also, Tyelpe didn't quite like the idea of marrying someone, because he knows the burden of a marriage to Eldar, having seen his parents be trapped into an unhappy and loveless union and unable to free themselves from it.

Finrod - in my non-CuruFinrod verses, I also think of Tyelpe having a tremendous one-sided love for Finrod. This was a youthful thing though, developed during their stay at Nargothrond, simply because it's impossible not to like Finrod -- gold, beautiful, and kind. Tyelpe thinks he is being discreet with his very obvious preference for blondes (which will be detrimental for him later on), and Finrod does not act on it.

Annatar - oh, he loved that strange elf. He loved how their minds and spirits seemed to in sync, but you had to hand it to Tyelpe because even if he was so in love, he was still able to clearly perceive red flags in the relationship and was even strong enough to initiate the break-up, even if it cost him his life.

But out of all of these three, Tyelpe considers Annatar the would-have-been love of his life.

🕊️ - Platonic relationships (friends, enemies, etc).

He was particularly friendly and close to Idril and Orodreth growing up. They had some sort of 'gang wars' as children; Idril and her girl friends against him, Orodreth and their friends where they tried to ambush each group with paint balls at every weekend after school and lessons. They were oblivious to the building quarrels and tensions of the family when they were children and genuinely enjoyed each other's company. Idril turned to them to 'fathom how boys acted like so,' and in turn Idril was their source of knowledge on girls.

Tyelpe mourned the deterioration of their friendships when the family got estranged from each other. Tyelpe loved and craved close friendships as he was an only child.

[thegreatstrongbow]

can you talk about Beleg and Orodreth for me? I'm completely normal about them really

Me too Anon I'm so normal and hinged.

They're cute. Sweet. Orodreth is pretty and shiny and new to Doriath, and Beleg is a player charmer, so of course he immediately starts flirting.

Orodreth deserves a nice strong Sinda to protect him and treat him how he deserves (it helps that Beleg, once enamoured, will basically do anything he's asked). Beleg enjoys thinking of himself as a Knight in shining armour.

It's a bit of a tragic tale, alas - war and the Girdle and time separates them. For all his promises to visit Nargothrond, I don't think Beleg ever gets around to it.

They do both get death via Túrin, though. Please imagine them thoroughly discussing the virtues of Edain men in Mandos together. It's actually a happy ending.

[first-son-of-finwe]

✎ either for Orodreth or Celegorm, whichever you feel haha

Dear wisest and most beautiful Orodreth,

I hope you are not too overwhelmed running the kingdom without me. But I know you are not - you have the strength of your father and grandfather, and I am certain my sons are doing everything in their power to assist you.

I am looking to return within seven days, but I have a small request to make. A sizeable group of loyal Ñoldor will be with me, along with their horses, weapons and armour. I trust that you will make space and find suitable accommodations for them within your walls. I know from experience what a wonderfully kind and gracious host you are, and spare soldiers guarding your gates will never go amiss in these troubled times.

I look forward to returning very soon.

Yours faithfully,

Fëanáro

[admirableringmaker]

"Naurondil, would you come to my rooms within the hour, I have something I need an opinion on?" Orodreth requested his companion as nonchalantly as he could, the question garnished with a polite smile.

---

Later, when the prince had retired and got himself ready, he perched elegantly on fine silks and satins, wearing delicate golden chains and jewellery across his skin, his bare body otherwise naked and covered scarcely by anything else. He shimmered softly with his golden glow in the room, and when his friend entered his bright gaze fluttered over to him. "Do you like it?"

When Naurondil had been invited to the Warden's chambers, he had not thought much of it. He had spent the last few weeks sinking his claws into both the tower and the Warden, making himself simply indispensable as an advisor. There must be an important matter Orodreth wished to discuss in private.

So he only had a fraction of a second to hide his shock as he entered the room. This was not what he had been expecting - he had not even been trying to seduce the Warden. Of course, even in this form, he considered himself so charming and beautiful, it really should not have been a surprise. It was more surprising that he did not have the whole tower crawling at his feet.

"My lord!" he allowed himself to blush, feigning modesty and innocent even as his eyes roamed over the Warden. Even Gorthaur the Cruel was not opposed to a few workplace indulgences. "I... you are... you are naked. Oh my."

[sashaofravenlock]

🍇

Send 🍇 to handfeed my muse

@artaresto

Coarse rope bound her hands behind her back, the maiden clumsily sat on the couch, having no time to straightened her posture before Celegorm was back with a plate of food. Despite her running, he was going to offer her food again and this time she knew well enough to take it. She spoke through gritted teeth as he dangled a strip of meat before her face, not bothering to hide the anger in her eyes,

"Thank you, husband."

[gxldenfinwe]

📔:)

send “📔” to read an entry from my muse’s diary about your muse

Angaráto brought little Artaresto today. He is growing so fast, he is talking already. Anga says he likes ponies - must write to Nolo to send some toy ones from Tirion. We played with the seashell collection - I think he will grow to love jewellery as much as Finda, he was quite fascinated by the shiny ones.

[actual-bill-potts]

Let's try Orodreth with "weary and content" so maybe your poor lil guy can have a nice time for a change 😭

lsdjkfskldf a nearly impossible prompt. but i have done my best

There was a timid tap-tap-tap outside his door.

Arafinwë groaned inwardly, and wished it would go away. He had been awake for days on end in Tirion, helping Nolofinwë to soothe Fëanáro's latest political mess. This was his first night at home, and he had hoped to sleep.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Perhaps if he stayed still and silent, his son would give up. Eärwen beside him had not yet stirred.

He heard light footsteps enter his room hesitantly, and then a tugging on his sleeve.

Silently offering a prayer to Varda for patience, Arafinwë sighed and opened his eyes into Artaresto's enormous brown ones.

"Atya," whispered Artaresto, loudly. "Atya!"

Arafinwë sighed again. "Yes, Artaresto?"

"I had a bad dream," said Artaresto. "I cannot sleep."

Eärwen pushed herself up on one elbow beside him. "Artaresto," she said, "you must go to bed. Come, I will tuck you in."

Artaresto's lip trembled threateningly. "No!" he said. "Want Atya!"

"Atya is tired," said Eärwen reasonably.

"But he has been gone," said Artaresto. "I missed him! And I cannot sleep," he added petulantly. "I do not want to be tucked in!"

Arafinwë sighed for a third time, but rolled out of bed and tucked his feet into slippers. "It is all right," he said, smiling a little at Eärwen. "Artaresto and I will go to the kitchen and have something to drink, and then he will go back to bed. Won't you, hinya?" he added, turning to Artaresto.

"Yes," said Artaresto, nodding vigorously, eyes lighting up. "May I have yullas, Atya?"

"You may," said Arafinwë, taking Artaresto's small hand in his own and leading him out of the room. Artaresto padded beside him, seeming quite content, and Arafinwë's tired exasperation quickly abated at the little fingers clutching his own tightly.

"I missed you, Atya," said Artaresto again, as they entered the kitchen.

Arafinwë felt a little pang. He begrudged even the short days spent away from his children; they were growing up so quickly! Artafindë was already grown, and often wandered far from home. Soon Artaresto would follow him, no doubt; he idolized his older brother.

"I missed you too, hinya," he said, smiling down at his son. "Now, what sort of yullas would you like best?"

Artaresto's eyes lit up. "Oh! I would like ornemalin!"

"Very well," Arafinwë said, putting water on to boil.

Artaresto sat down at the table, snuggling further into his night-shirt. "I am cold, Atya," he said.

You could go back to bed, Arafinwë almost muttered; but he refrained, shrugging out of his outer robe. He draped it around Artaresto's small shoulders.

"There," he said, "are you warm enough?"

"Yes!" said Artaresto. He sniffed at the robe. "It smells nice," he said. "It smells of the Sea!"

"Yes," said Arafinwë. "Ammë Sung such into the weaving."

"Could she do that for me?" asked Artaresto eagerly.

"Perhaps," said Arafinwë. "Or perhaps she could teach you how to do it yourself."

"I would like that," said Artaresto, swinging his small legs.

Arafinwë sat down beside him and put an arm about his son. "Would you like to talk about the bad dream?" he asked. Where Artafindë would confide his troubles without prompting, Arafinwë had found already that Artaresto was shy about his innermost heart. If he was not asked, he would keep his troubles buried deep until they burst forth in upset that had festered.

Artaresto shuddered, a movement that seemed almost too big for his small body. "There was a lizard," he said. "Like the ones that like to sun themselves on the rocks by the palace, but much bigger. So big it blotted out the whole sky. And I could not see the light of the Trees! Then it looked at me and laughed, and I felt as if - as if I had done something terribly naughty. Then I woke up."

Arafinwë wanted to laugh - a huge lizard? - but refrained, for Artaresto's eyes had filled with tears. He tightened his arm about his son's shoulders. "That sounds frightening," he said.

"It was," admitted Artaresto, trembling again.

"Well," said Arafinwë, "there is no chance of a giant lizard coming to attack us here. Tulkas and Oromë would hunt it down before it gave us any trouble; and in any case I doubt Yavanna would create such a thing. It was just a dream."

"But -" said Artaresto. Then he hesitated.

"Yes?" said Arafinwë.

"What if -" said Artaresto, in a very small voice, "what if it was a true seeing? It felt so - so real. I have not had a dream like that before."

Arafinwë felt a chill. Foresight did run in their family. And Artafindë too sometimes had terrible dreams.

What was Vairë weaving for them, his gentle and shining children? Why could he not see it?

He shook it off. There was no reason to alarm Artaresto without need. "It may," he admitted aloud, "or it may not. There is no way to know unless it comes true - and I cannot think of a way that would come true! So let us put away worries for tonight."

"But what if," said Artaresto again, "what if the huge lizard fights its way past Tulkas and Oromë, and rips our house down? With us inside?"

"It will not," said Arafinwë.

"But if it does?" persisted Artaresto. "What will we do?"

Arafinwë exhaled a sigh. "It will not," he repeated. "But supposing that it did, it would doubtless already be friends with Artafindë. And upon seeing your brother, it would pause and apologize, and they would soon be dining together in great friendship. Though I do not know if your lizard would fit at the table."

Artaresto giggled. "You are silly, Atya!" he said. Then he sobered. "But what if Artafindë was not here?"

"Then I would simply have to tell the lizard very sternly to leave, and of course it would listen. I would use my fiercest, angriest voice!"

"Do you have one of those?" asked Artaresto, smiling.

"I do! But I reserve it for particularly annoying nobles," said Arafinwë, "and lizards who threaten my sons."

"But what if you are not there?" said Artaresto.

"Of course I would be there," said Arafinwë. "You are my son! If you were in danger, I would be there, even if I had to gallop across all Aman to do it."

Artaresto leaned his small head against Arafinwë. "Thank you, Atya," he said; and Arafinwë briefly had to close his eyes against the swell of feeling. The silver hair, so similar to Eärwen's - the little hands clutching at his sleeves - the warm press of his son's body against his own! How he loved his children!

The kettle began to whistle, and Artaresto sprang away from Arafinwë's side. "Yullas!" he exclaimed.

"Yes," said Arafinwë, rising to prepare two mugs. He poured the water over the ornemalin, briefly mesmerized by the swirl of silver light and shadow over the pale-yellow dye of the leaves. Then he turned back to Artaresto, and could not decide whether to laugh or groan.

Artaresto was slumped over the table, fast asleep, chubby hands clutched in his borrowed robe, hair falling over his face.

Love once again swelled in Arafinwë's breast; and fear for a moment clutched at his heart. So small - so defenseless! If the visions were true - !

They could not be. Perhaps in Endórë, where his father had grown up; but here in Valinórë evil could not touch them.

Arafinwë smoothed Artaresto's hair away from his face; then, when his son did not stir, gathered him up in his arms and carried him to bed.

[inthehouseoffinwe]

I sometimes think about Fingolfin being the sole Uncle looking after all his nephews/niece/kids. Like, there’s 16 children. Before taking the Helcaraxë he no doubt promised Finarfin that he would take care of them. And I feel like once he found out about Fëanor, and especially saw the state of Maedhros, he silently promised his half brother he’d do his best to look after them too. Not that he wasn’t going to anyway.

But the burden that must have been, especially with how volatile and independant all these kids are. Oh they might be grown. But he’ll never see them as such. Even now he remembers Nelyo’s birth and how the baby would toddle after him, crying when it was time to leave. Curvo going through all his mechanical devices, Turukano right behind him as Fingolfin explained where each came from and listened to the children tell him all about the workings. Carnistir carefully running little hands over the embroidery of his cloak, Anairë laughing quietly and explaining the techniques that went into it. Ambarussa and all the chaos they caused, enough so that Fëanor and Nerdanel would dump them at his house for days at a time, usually a couple of brothers tagging along. Tyelko and Irissë wrestling in the mud, neither group of parents knowing what to do when they trudged in, a sticky trail behind them.

Findekáno’s duets with Makalaurë, the little musician quietly asking to play before his uncle and cousin to make sure it was perfect before he showed his father. Finno, Nelyo, and Findarato encouraging him with whoops, Fingolfin and Anairë applauding with wide smiles at the end as he was swarmed by his cousins and brother. The four’s ‘secret’ sleepovers whenever they were in the same place. Aikanaro and Angamaitë raiding his kitchens, Fingolfin joining in with a finger on his lips, helping steal pastries in the middle of the night. Artanis insisting she could join in whatever game his boys were playing, Ireth backing her with a scowl until they were let in. Little Orodreth and his own Arakano, friends since birth. The screams of delight whenever they saw each other.

Despite everything, or maybe because of everything, he doesn’t know. All of them are now his children. He couldn’t stop the Fëanorions from taking the most dangerous lands because he had no argument to give. He can’t stop Turno and Ingo from making hidden kingdoms and taking Ireth and Artaresto with them. He couldn’t save little Arakano. He can’t stop Artanis hiding in Doriath, although he’s grateful at least one of his kids is safe… even if that safety comes with disowning the rest of her family.

He can’t even protect little Tyelpë and Itarillë who never asked for any of this.

So when the Dagor Bragollach comes and he hears Aegnor and Angrod are definitely dead, Curufin, Celegorm, and Celebrimbor might as well be for the trail of bodies leading to Doriath and the mass murder at the Girdle, Maglor’s land has been burned so far beyond recognition, they can’t even *find* bodies, Turgon, Idril, and Aredhel he wouldn’t even know if they were killed, and he hasn’t heard from Finrod in months-

He can’t.

So he makes a last ditch attempt because maybe, just maybe, he can make their battle the slightest bit easier. Give his kids if any of them survive a weakness to exploit. A slight advantage to turn the tables…

A stab to the foot does the trick. Morgoth will be limping on that one for millennia.

He hopes his brothers can forgive him.

[emyn-arnens]

Like the Birds of the Shore

Eärwen | G | 1k | @arafinwean-week day 1: Eärwen + family | AO3

When word comes from the returning Exiles that her sons have died, Eärwen already knows. For a century, she has felt the splintering in her spirit, and for a century she has denied its meaning.

Were she one of the Noldor, she might pour her grief into a craft. In Tirion, Nerdanel sculpts and Anairë builds. Tirion brims with sculptures and cenotaphs of their sons as they hew their grief from stone, pulling forth veins of sorrow and regret.

Eärwen is neither a sculptor nor a builder. She is a lace-maker and a weaver, and even then her craft is a shadow of Míriel’s, unrefined and coarse by the standards of the Noldor. She has never woven lace for mastery, though, only for the enjoyment of doing so.

But she has not turned to the craft since Nerwen left, since she found that her hands do not follow the thoughts of her mind and her fingers do not flit among the threads as they once did, when she and Nerwen bent their heads together and laughed at the travails of the Noldorin court.

It is just as well that she cannot set her hand to lace-weaving, for lace is too delicate a vessel for the raw grief that pours forth from her. There is no thread she could weave that is dark enough to tell the tale of her sorrow. 

And so Eärwen sets foot upon the shoreline where her people were slain, and she casts her gaze over the pale stretch of sand, seeking. Like the shorebirds, she hunts among the sands, turning over rocks and shells, peering into pools, searching beneath tangles of seaweed.

She collects. She constructs. She consecrates.

She gathers pale stones from the shoreline and places them into piles, facing east, and builds. Like the little castles in the sand she once built with her children—Finrod, who delighted in building castles of both beauty and mathematical precision; Angrod and Aegnor who liked rather to build an impenetrable fortress and see how long it could outlast the waves; and Galadriel who sat stubbornly apart, working single-mindedly upon her own castle—she places memories of her sons and their families upon the shoreline.

For Angamaitë, her iron-fisted son, she stacks the stones closely together, so that there is not a gap between them, just as he built the fortress that became his tomb. She sets upon the top of the cairn a coronet of round stones and tucks swan feathers in between them, the one touch of beauty she will allow, to mark him as the son of the Swan-maiden.

For Aikanáro, the fell fire, she gathers flame-colored coral from the shoreline and sails a skiff out onto the bay to gather the red algae that floats in great mats upon the surface and the red dulse that grows in deep forests beneath. When she surfaces, gasping to refill her lungs, the dulse lies like flames in her palm, and she swallows down the bitterness of her foresight. She places the coral about the base of the cairn and tucks the algae and dulse in the crevices between the stones, where they flutter in the breeze, a memory of fire.

For Eldalótë, the Elven-flower, slain in the same firestorm that took her sons, Eärwen forms a small bowl with the stones and fills it with water. She walks beneath the silver willows of Lórien and gathers lotuses and lilies from the pools and lakes, brimming with blossoms and sunken stars, that spread at their feet. She places her harvest in the bowl of water and weeps for the woman who followed her son across the Ice into death.

For Findaráto, her golden son, she builds a cairn of stones the color of the westering sun and sets within the crevices pearls she has gathered from the Bay of Eldamar, diving deep into its clear waters, and emeralds that Finrod left for her as parting gift, both apology and the farewell he could not bring himself to speak. She cups water in her hands and lets it trickle over the stones, washing them clean as she could not clean and dress her son’s body, bloodied and rent with many wounds. 

For Artaresto, soft-tongued and gentle-hearted, she builds a cairn sculpted of soft sand, ringed in pale stones to guard it from the lapping waves. And for Finduilas, whom she has never met but whom the returned name her great-granddaughter and of whom come tales of surpassing sorrow, she builds a cairn of pure white stones and dresses them in tears-of-the-sea, and she weeps for the great-granddaughter she never knew. 

When she is done, Eärwen stands over the cairns and sings the song of parting known to all sea-folk, casting her voice upon the wind. It heeds her bidding and carries her words over the waves, and the Maiar that dwell in the waters take up her song, murmuring in voices like rippling water.

— — —

When Finarfin leaves, clad in golden armor brighter than the face of the sun, the favor of the Valar shining upon his brow, Eärwen picks her way down to the shoreline, where her cairns stand sheltered under the lee of a sea cliff, and watches the departure of the Host, trembling even as she draws her swan-cloak tighter about her. The words she had not been able to voice, stunned into silence at the sight of her husband garbed as one of the Maiar and heralded by ringing trumpets, are still stuck in her throat. Had she the heart to voice the words, she would have told him to come back to her, for she could not bear the grief of another taken forever by Middle-earth, could not bear to stack a pile of stones for him. 

But she thinks he knows, though he had spoken no words as he pressed his lips to her brow in farewell.

The winds tug at her swan-cloak as she watches the departure of the host, surrounded by her cairns.

In the middle of the line of cairns lies an untouched pile of stones, not yet arranged into a cairn. 

And Eärwen waits for a daughter who has not yet turned her heart to home.

[thegreatstrongbow]

a little close

There was a certain joy in sneaking about. A thrill, the idea that they were doing something forbidden. Giggling, Beleg dragged Orodreth into a cupboard, showering him with kisses as they were pushed against each other.

Unbeknownst to Beleg, though, the door locked behind them.

[first-son-of-finwe]

'come back to bed'

Fëanor smiled, wandering back to the bed and leaning over Orodreth. He wasn't dressed properly yet, but that could wait a little longer.

"Should I?" he teased, leaning down and kissing the corner of his lips while his hand brushed through the regent's hair. "It is tempting. But then who will attend to the pressing business of the day?"

[admirableringmaker]

💀

Send 💀 to see how my muse would try and kill yours

"Orodreth? He is too delightfully entertaining to kill." he laughed, "But it would be entertaining to hear him beg - hm, I think I would take him to the roof of my tower, and hold him over the edge - and just when he thinks I will bring him back to safety, let go."

"Now Celegorm - ah, I have plans for him. I would throw him in a pit to fight my wolves until he is exhausted - and then when his fëa flees his body at last, I shall take it and twist it into one of my were-wolves. I almost think he would enjoy it."

[silvercrowned]

“Of course!” Celebrían took the bow with delight, carefully looking it over.

“You made it yourself?” It was clearly made by someone skilled, but not an expert.

"Little cousin", Celegorm greeted her when she entered her bedchambers, once again perched on an open window. There was a slight smile on his lips as he watched her. He thought she looked quite pretty. "I have a gift for you."

Celebrían was unpinning her hair when she walked in, and glanced up at his voice. She was unsurprised to see him - Celebrían had long since grown used to Celegorm’s quirks, (and his propensity for breaking and entering.)

“Oh?” She asked curiously. “What do you have for me?”

@artaresto