#finwe x elwe

[dalliansss]

Hi :3 can you do for thingol/finwe this one “❛ i don't even remember why we started fighting. ❜”? 🥺

- @finwecandoit

&. 𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐬 (𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬?) 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬.

Elmo grew up in the household of his eldest brother Elwë, and his brother's husband, Finwë and their wife Míriel. When Elwë wed, of course, as was then custom in Cuiviénen, he'd moved out to establish his own house, and for a while Olwë and Elmo were left at their father Tinwë's household. Elmo and his brothers had many half-siblings, and since they were considered to be 'of age' to start hauling their weight in providing for the house, they were no longer priority in the rationing of food and supplies, which included charcoal for winter and pelts to turn into coats or blankets. Elmo had been too small to remember this exactly, but it had gotten so bad that Olwë had no choice but to bundle him up and go all the way across Cuiviénen to Elwë's home and ask that they be allowed to live again with their brother.

Finwë and Míriel, Tatyar though they are, were very kind. They allowed Olwë and Elmo into their home, and it is this home that Elmo grew up in. Times were tough of course, and they all went to bed every day with varying degrees of hunger, but their situation was better because they knew Elwë would never let them starve or abandon them.

Míriel, lady of the house, was soft-spoken with fine-skilled hands. She was a weaver and craftswoman of renown, and the works produced by her hand fetched hefty prices at Cuiviénen's marketplace, especially her embroidered kerchiefs and dresses. Even Great Ancestress Iminyë often commissioned her for dresses that took several moons to complete, fine things with even more delicate embroidery that to Elmo looked like a sprinkle of stars on cloth.

Elwë is the tempering presence in the house, Elmo observes. His brother reined in Finwë's more reckless and impulsive tendencies, and where Finwë is happy to forgive and forget, Elwë will respectfully question, point out why he thinks something is wrong and why the wrong should be remedied so it can be fixed up in the future and never be repeated again. Elwë is also the mediator-spouse; able to talk and listen freely to Finwë and Míriel's concerns, and he often made sure Míriel's worries reached Finwë and would not otherwise be ignored.

Finwë is the main provider, a hunter of great skill and respect among the Tatyar. He is also the friendly one, and the coddler -- he loved sparing treats and showering Olwë and Elmo with affection, and it is mainly thanks to him that Elmo grew up with lots of hugs and kisses. He kept the household happy and warm and welcoming and full of hope, Finwë.

They're a wonderful balance, the three. Elmo hopes that, once he grows up or is fortunate enough to, he can establish his own household with the same harmony his brother had with his wife and husband.

But like all households, things aren't always lovey-dovey. Today is a quarreling day, tense. Things had been tense since the being called Oromë was spotted by Finwë by the borders of Cuiviénen, and Elmo knew not all the details, but that this Oromë wanted to offer the Quendi a safer place to live in. Finwë, bless him -- ever malcontent with Cuiviénen and wanting a place where they can all be safe, glommed easily into the idea of this Oromë, much like Ingwë of the Minyar. Elwë wasn't easily convinced.

They quarrel quietly, Finwë and Elwë. They don't shout, but they do exchange curt conversation and replies, and glare at each other across the table. Elmo knows they do this keeping in mind Míriel's delicate state and his and Olwë's presence, but the past two days, the tension had been too great it was almost choking, and Elmo knew Míriel said some words to her husbands.

Elwë is presently by the lakeshore, mending his boat. Elmo stood close, holding rope and hammer and some nails for him as his brother worked in sullen silence.

"Elmo," comes Finwë's voice. "Help your nésa with the cooking, will you?"

Elmo looks up at his brother-in-law, glances at his brother still crouched and hammering away at the side of his boat. Ever the pacifist, Finwë is oft the one reaching first for reconciliation. Elmo nods, hands Finwë the rope and nails, and he goes obediently back to their house to help Míriel.

Finwë fidgets. Elwë stops his hammering and looks at him in silence. He fidgets some more. "I wanted to apologize--" he says. "You're right. You're right, I... I was just so eager to have a chance--. A new home, you know, Elwë? A safer home. For us. Míriel and your brothers...but, but, I know this is a big decision, and I recognize your call for temperance. That the Quendi should sit, think very hard, and discuss about this before we all go gallivanting in the dark, journeying west..."

Elwë pauses his repairwork. He stands. He is a head taller than Finwë, with darker skin decorated with the whorls and dots and spirals so valued by the Nelyar and given only to the most accomplished of their kindred, like warriors and scholars and leaders.

"I don't even remember why we started fighting," Elwë says, his tone matter-of-fact. "But I am glad you are seeing sense. I am not refusing help, Finwë. But i want the Quendi to make sure this 'help' is indeed what it is being offered. Not some trap for our people."

Finwë wrings his hands. His lower lip quivers, and he drops the rope and the nails as he surges forward and hugs Elwë with all his might. Elwë holds him in turn, rubs his back.

"I'm just so sick of death," Finwë whispers. "I want to lead all of us somewhere safe, where we can mind a house undisturbed, and Míriel doesn't stretch herself thin with grief, where she can be content and peaceful that she can finally nurture a child to term, give birth to a living baby--." He chokes on the words and cries. He clings to Elwë closer. He is decidedly the most emotional in the trio, Finwë.

"I know, Finwë. I know," Elwë promises. He kisses Finwë by the forehead, by the eyelids. "And I just want us, all of us, to be careful and sure."

[eloquentsisyphianturmoil]

Headcanon that Miriel and Finwe was a lavender wedding but when Elwe went and got bewitched by Melian Miriel said ‘if we’re gonna do this, let’s do it properly’, did it too properly, died, and left Finwe to marry some preppy straight girl to distract himself from the trauma.

[chaos-of-the-abyss]

someone could write pages and pages and pages and pages on elu thingol's life. he could be the protagonist of like five book trilogies each with 600 words per book. he was born in cuivienen where the first non-divine life awakened; he lived through morgoth's earlier attempts to corrupt the elves and very likely lost people he cared about to them; he witnessed the war of the powers; he was among the first of his people to see valinor, having visited it under the invitation of the deities who helped originate the universe; he was the sole flesh-and-blood being in all!! of!!! history!!!! who met, fell in love with, and married a goddess that was there before creation even existed; he and said goddess were the progenitors of a unique bloodline that produced some of the legendarium's most famous figures; he separated from his brother for a very very long time; he was so loved by his people that they refused paradise if he wasn't there with them; he fought battles against morgoth's forces and saw loss as well as triumph during those battles; he was one of the oldest beings and longest-reigning kings in all of beleriand, not to mention he ruled its most ancient and most mystical, otherworldly kingdom; he was the father of two of the most famous heroes in-verse, whose deeds and stories continued to be told millennia after their deaths; he was again the first!! and!!! only!!!! elf-king in all of history to adopt a human as his own son. and throughout it all, he has a cohesive character arc. he grows to respect a people whom he once distrusted and looked down on; he comes to accept the choices of those he cares about even if he doesn't agree with said choices; he has to learn to let go of his loved ones no matter how much it grieves him. if those five trilogies existed i would be reading and rereading every single one obsessively

[silmarillaure]

I may not like Finwë but he deserves to be so angry that Thingol that he'd genuinely be willing to commit a kinslaying himself.

Honestly, I do think Finwë x Elwë is cute. It really is, but notice how I said Elwë, who wanted to go to Valinor simply because Finwë wanted to go there, even if the reason Finwë wanted to go there was for Míriel (which is painfully ironic, both Finwë & Elwë ended up betraying the person they were initially so devoted to).

Thingol on the other hand clearly isn't Elwë anymore. He rejected that name, he rejected Finwë's family (which might as well have been a rejection of Finwë himself since he died loving Míriel & her descendants more than he loved his own life), and stole the very thing Finwë's favorite son made that Finwë died trying to protect.

He can and WOULD be enraged over how Thingol treated the Fëanorians even before C&C stirred shit up.

Finwë feeling so betrayed by Elwë and despising the person Thingol became so much that he beats Thingol to a bloody pulp and goes to give Fëanor a comforting hug while his hands are still covered in Thingol's blood... is something helps me sleep at night.

[superloves4]

Elwë/Finwë/Miriel moodboard

[silvantransthranduiltrash]

He’s A Simp, Your Honor!

(Before Orome found the elves, after they awakened) years of the trees

Finwe: No! Absolutely not! I’m not going to come and set fire to an orc camp with you! Are you crazy!?!

Olwe: yeah, kinda-

Elwe, slapping his hand over olwe’s mouth: No, but you’re a coward.

Ingwe: actually, i’d argue that he’s using his survival instinct for once.

Finwe: *still ranting on how this is a horrible idea*

Lasgen, to the ingwe: yeah, but i have the magic trick to get him to agree to anything.

Lasgen, to finwe: it’ll impress Miriel.

Finwe: *freezes mid step*

Olwe: is he actually going to fall for it?

Ingwe: you’d think after all the previous times lasgen has used that trick he wouldn’t fall for it again.

Elwe: you forget one vital detail, however. Your honor, that elf is a simp of the highest order.

Finwe, ignoring them: will it really impress her?

Lasgen: *to finwe* of course! *to the others she’s shaking her head and mouthing ‘no’*

Finwe: fine then, let’s go!

[almarealimelosse]

Arwen and Elrond. Arwen‘s fate and Elrond leaving her behind still breaks my heart. I don‘t want to think about how Celebrian must have felt, being forced to leave her children, then the fate of Arwen to never see her again… I always imagine that Elladan and Elrohir choose to be Elves, so that Celebrian can see them (even if it us just 2/3 kids) again🥹🥹

[lamemaster]

Marred Music

Request: @liar-anubiass-blogGood day🫶🏻 I hope you are feeling well, congratulations on the upcoming holidays 🎊 Fingolfin/Maiyar reader Ulmo. Timeline before Nolofinae's courtship of Anaire, everyone was just waiting for it to happen, but there had been some kind of strange pause for a long time. And then at one of the dinners where Finwe's entire family was present, Fingolfin finally takes the floor and informs everyone that he is breaking the agreement and will not court Anaire. He says that his heart and mind belong to another. When Finwe wants to object, Fingolfin says that he has already explained to Anaire that he loves another. Everyone is shocked. And then in the silence, the intrigued Feanor (who is delighted with the prospect of conflict) laughs and asks for whom he is trying so hard. Plus or minus so. I hope you can extract something worthwhile from this😅maybe a little drama? Nolofinwe deserves to get a cool Maiar wife and wipe Feanor's nose with this)))

Genre: Drama & angst

Pairing: Fingolfin x Maia Reader

Summary: When he looked up, however, another pair of golden eyes met his own, your eyes. Bright, sharp, and unblinking, they regarded him with an intensity that made him freeze. Startled, he let out a squeal unbecoming of his dignity and very ungracefully tumbled from the tree.

AN: Thank you for requesting this! I love your ask! And Fingolfin over Feanor any day but this one turned out very different (I'm so sorry). But once I started writing there was no stopping so please expect some more chapter ig. First time writing Fingolfin yee-haw

Chapter 1| Chapter 2|

Reader POV

“It is not your fate to be with the second eldest of Finwe,” Namo declares, his voice cold yet resolute, echoing through the desolate halls of his domain. The restless winds swirl around him.

You lower your gaze to the ground. The rippling waves of the lake lap softly at your feet, their touch tender, almost reverent, as though the waters themselves grieve with you for what cannot be undone.

“I understand,” you whisper, though your voice trembles under the weight of the words. Fragile, hollow, they carry a sorrow that coils deep within you. A void left by something Namo has stripped from your soul.

An act you must obey from the words of your lord. An act that was done for the betterment of Arda. Yet, the pain grasps your heart and flows from your eyes. 

How wretched was such affection that had weakened you to a weeping mess. Why had tales of Melian and Elwe not warned you of such an end? Why had you not looked for the tale of Miriel instead? Then perhaps you would have held your heart closer. Away from this misery. 

In the vast, cold expanse of the valley, the only warmth comes from Namo’s hand as it rests lightly on the top of your head. The touch is solemn, neither cruel nor kind, offering comfort even as it deepens the ache in your chest.

You feel your composure unravel, the fragile mask you wore dissolving into a raw sob. A sound that echoes through the stillness, as acute as any note in Ilúvatar’s song.

You sink to your knees, the waters rising to embrace you. Their cool caress mingles with your tears, which fall freely, carried away into the depths.

“What am I to do? What music is this?” The cry bursts forth, anguished and pleading, your voice breaking against the unyielding silence.

Fingolfin POV

He had been but thirty loar of age when he first met you—an ellon barely beyond the years of growth, still enchanted by the orchards of Ingwe, his maternal uncle who ruled the Vanyar.

It had been during one such visit, a special occasion meant to introduce the newborn Findis to the court of the Vanyar. It was a tradition Indis upheld diligently, just as she had for Nolofinwe, and Lalwen before.

Escaping his sister’s relentless questions, Nolofinwe had wandered off, eventually finding himself climbing a peach tree to marvel at a tiny nest perched on the topmost branch.

The cool winds of Taniquetil whispered through the air, mingling with the waning light of Laurelin. Enthralled, he studied the intricate weave of the sparrows’ nest, snugly cradling two eggs amidst scraps of fabric.

When he looked up, however, another pair of golden eyes met his own, your eyes. Bright, sharp, and unblinking, they regarded him with an intensity that made him freeze. Startled, he let out a squeal unbecoming of his dignity and very ungracefully tumbled from the tree.

The fall might have been disastrous. One that would have left his brother Curufinwe in fits of laughter for weeks, had it not been for you. Swiftly, with a fluidity that reminded him of a hawk diving for prey, you caught him mid-fall, your movements swift and precise.

“Stealing younglings is hardly moral,” you chirped. Your head tilted sharply as you studied him, your movements sudden yet graceful, and your golden eyes narrowing in brief suspicion before softening with curiosity.

Nolofinwe barely registered your words. Now that his feet were on the ground, he could only stare at you in wonder.

You stood tall, radiating the ethereal presence of the Ainur. The golden light of Laurelin seemed drawn to you, pooling around your form. To his awestruck eyes, you were wondrously fair, your back graced by wings of a great eagle, folded neatly yet trembling slightly, as though ready to spread and take flight at any moment.

Your sharp nose and piercing gaze of your features- similar to that of the maiar of Manwe. The curious tilt of your head became more pronounced as you stepped closer, your gaze darting over him with a quick, assessing flicker.

“Second-born of Finwe,” you trilled, as though testing the sound. Then, almost imperceptibly, you ruffled your wings, an instinctive motion that made Nolofinwe flinch as though he were being considered for retribution for disturbing the nest.

A newfound interest lit your eyes, the same fascination with which one might observe a fledgling testing its wings. And then without a word you were gone. As if done assessing that Nolofinwe, indeed did not hold any intention to harm the eggs.

From that day forth, eagles became his most cherished beings. A sudden, fervent love for birds blossomed within him. A devotion his maternal uncle wholeheartedly approved, though he never fully grasped its origin.

Beside his bed, a small basket of peaches always rested, their soft fragrance weaving through his room like a whisper of memory. Each breath carried him back to the moments he could not forget the gentle music of your voice, the warmth of your touch, and the majesty of your wings.

To Indis’s great curiosity, peaches became her son’s most beloved fruit. What had once been a passing taste grew into a quiet obsession.

Even the peach orchards of Valinor, which he had rarely noticed before, became his frequent sanctuary, a place where the scent of the trees and the murmur of the breeze spoke to a longing he could never quite explain.

Reader POV

“How is it that Melian came to love Elwe?” you ask Eonwe, who stands vigilant beside you. Your brother, ever steadfast, serves your Vala, the King of Arda, Manwe Sulimo, as you do.

A gentle breeze stirs the air in the halls, coaxing the wayward vines to release their blooms, which fall like whispers to the ground. You watch their descent, lost in thought, as the question lingers between you.

Eonwe turns his gaze toward you, a hint of puzzlement crossing his features. His attention shifts, now entirely on you. He has little fondness for the songs and tales of the Children of Iluvatar, yet even he cannot deny that this particular tale weighs heavy on the memory of most Maiar.

Melian, the first among your kind to forsake the blessed lands of Aman. Hers was a path followed by many, though few remained in Middle-earth as she did.

“Iluvatar revealed a purpose for Melian,” Eonwe replies at last, his voice steady, though touched with reverence. “Their love is woven into the fate of Arda itself. A union that will bring forth the rest of Iluvatar’s music in the days to come.”

“Does Melian love the Firstborn King as we love our lord?” you ask softly, turning to meet his gaze. “Or is hers a love like that of our Lord and Lady? An eternal love.”

Resting his spear against a column of intricately carved marble, Eonwe exhales, his eyes distant as they wander eastward. “Much sorrow will this love cost her,” he murmurs, his tone heavy with foreknowledge. “Yet joy, too, she will find—this, our lord believes. Love in Arda Marred comes with a price.”

Your thoughts drift unbidden, carried away like the falling petals. You think of the elf from weeks past. The elfling from ages ago who had once climbed a tree to peer into Yellen’s nest. A chance meeting so simple, yet one that lingered through the passing years.

Through letters, through feasts, through fleeting encounters too brief to satisfy, and through the careful delivery of trinkets now hidden away in your room, far from prying eyes.

Nolofinwe. His name sings to you in every moment of Laurelin’s light and Telperion’s shadow.

It is a love distinct from your devotion to your lord. A tenderness set apart from the bond you share with your brother.

You have hidden it well, shielding it from the omnipresent song of Arda, whose marred melody seems to reach for all things pure, twisting them into its discordant strains.

But had you forgotten? Forgotten that he, your beloved, is a part of that same melody? That no matter how you might try, you cannot shield him from the song of which he is an inseparable note?

The mercy Iluvatar bestowed upon Melian to love Elwe was hers alone. It was never yours to claim.

Fingolfin POV

“My mother named me Aracáno,” Nolofinwe explains, his tone thoughtful. “It means ‘the high chieftain.’” He blushes faintly, the memory of childhood teasing surfacing unbidden. “Though as a child, I didn’t think much of it. My brother Feanaro often mocked me, calling me the chieftain of snotty elflings.”

He chuckles softly at the recollection, his hand holding yours in a snug grasp. Hidden away from the rowdy feast of rains, Nolofinwe has finally stolen a moment with you, away from prying eyes and curious ears.

It had been no small feat to slip away, especially with your brother. Eonwe, the mighty Chieftain of the Maiar, ever watchful. For days, Nolofinwe had been haunted by uneasy dreams of spears and falcons, as if even the thought of drawing close to you invited his disapproval. Yet here you were, close enough to touch, and for this moment, all those fears seemed inconsequential.

Clad in the luminous bloom of Telperion’s light, you were a vision he could not bear to miss. And as always, in your presence, the words spilled freely from him, unguarded and sincere, a rarity even among those he trusted.

“And then I let Arafinwe cho—” He falters mid-sentence, his words dissolving into silence as your wing extends, wrapping gently around him. The soft, downy warmth envelops him, and for a moment, Nolofinwe can only look up at you, pleasantly dumbfounded.

You tilt your head slightly, your golden eyes studying him. “Is it too warm?” you ask, already beginning to fold your wing back.

But Nolofinwe shifts closer, leaning into the embrace with a soft sigh. “It is pleasant,” he murmurs, his voice low and content. His hand lifts instinctively to comb through your feathers, his touch reverent and light.

The story he’d been telling fades entirely from his thoughts. All that remains is this quiet moment, the warmth of your wing around him, and the quiet peace he finds in your presence.

Feanor POV

A Maia?

Curufinwe nearly laughs aloud at the sheer absurdity of it. Surely this is some elaborate jest, another one of Nolofinwe’s ill-advised attempts to outshine him.

Beside him, Nerdanel discreetly stomps on his foot, a warning meant to temper his reaction. But it does little to dissuade him. The sight before him is far too amusing to ignore.

Seated beside a straight-backed Maia, with magnificent wings slightly fluffed in what Curufinwe assumes is either nervousness or pride, sits his brother, Nolofinwe.

Feanaro had every intention of interrogating you later about the beads woven into your feathers. How they managed not to hinder your flight was a mystery worth solving but for now, his attention is wholly consumed by the scene before him. A pair indeed. A couple of trolls.

“So… this is your suitor?” he asks, his voice laced with poorly masked amusement. The effort to suppress his laughter is futile; from the glowering look on Nolofinwe’s face, it’s clear he’s failed spectacularly.

You, however, remain utterly unbothered, your posture as straight and vigilant as a guard on duty.

“Yes, I reckon I am indeed the one your brother courts, Crown Prince Curufinwe,” you reply, your tone cool and precise, as though delivering a patrol report.

For a fleeting moment, Curufinwe is struck by the urge to test you—to see if the obedience typical of Manwe’s Maia extends to you. Would you follow his orders with the same unflinching diligence?

The thought alone is nearly enough to make him laugh again, but Nerdanel’s second, more forceful stomp ensures he stays (relatively) composed.

From the prideful look in Nolofinwe’s eyes, Curufinwe can practically see him preening, as if to say, Look at this marvel I’ve claimed.

The Maia beside him, however, seems to be fighting a very different battle. Your gaze flickers just barely toward the chandelier above the table, a glittering temptation. You try valiantly not to let your eyes linger, but the effort is almost painful to watch.

A preening peacock and a gullible eagle. What a pair indeed, Curufinwe muses with a ghastly bout of fondness he absolutely refuses to acknowledge.

[nighttimepatrons]

for the ship grid:

Luthien x Galadriel

or if that's not doing it for you

Finwe x Elwe

It compels me, but only because I don't really like Luthien or Galadriel 💀

I go feral over them especially when I think about dark!Melain >:)

link to og grid

[symphonyofsilence]

Even though Nerdanel & Fëanor's marriage had been over before Fëanor's condemnation & it was entirely Fëanor's own fault & Nerdanel has every right to send him back to Mandos in several matchstick boxes even if he gets reincarnated & the whole thing seems very fair to Nerdanel, it's still sad that Fëanor's marriage officially ended in the exact same way that his parents' marriage ended & left him traumatised all his life & they're the only divorced elves in Arda.

I could go on & on for days about how horrible & wrong & disgusting the handling of Finwë & Míriel's issue was & how even though Fëanor did so much wrong to so many people & started a chain of catastrophic events & should be punished for them, if Melkor & Sauron got a second chance, so should he. (How else is he going to make up for his mistakes? & I think seeing his sons' moral downfalls, struggles, pains, mental issues, deaths & horrible fates & how they unwillingly helped Melkor's cause (whom they swore to destroy) & how in the end they lost their rights to the Silmarils & it was all for nothing & knowing he was the reason & all his loved ones probably blame him too & not being able to do anything is punishment enough. He went through the same thing as Hurin. He probably learnt his lesson. Fair, he shouldn't get reincarnated before the people he wronged, but he should at some point.)

But regardless, what i wanted to point out was that, whether it's Fëanor being a bad husband & ending up in the Halls of Mandos forever, or the sons of Fëanor relentlessly following their father's cause & burning themselves & everyone else with the same destructive fire, or Celebrimbor the smith being decieved by a dark lord in disguise & his best creations leading to his demise, or Elwing choosing the Silmarils over his children & people just like Dior, or Eärendil whose parents left him to go to Valinor going to numerous voyages in search of them & Valinor & leaving his own children behind,

It's a series of children repeating their parents' mistakes & ending up with the same fates.

[dalliansss]

oh!! I am so sorry I didn’t see the tags in the anon who asked for thingol and finwe, and wanted to know the lore around them in your headcanons

I am sending a separate ask, can you tell us all about them?

For proper context: [From Cuiviénen with Love]

First and foremost this is a collab AU with my good friend @skaelds. Special shout-outs to @elentarial and @antares0606

Basic premise is, during the days of Cuiviénen, Finwë is a the most skilled hunter of the Tatyar of his generation. He is an eligible bachelor in a society that's all about providing for family and perpetuating their numbers. He is eyeing to take as wife and husband Míriel, also of his kindren, and Elwë, an equally accomplished elf of his generation from the Nelyar.

Life in Cuiviénen is hard. The elves do not advance much, because their society is beset from all sides by the threat of Morgoth and his creatures, but they do have a way of life already. For one, elves of that time were encouraged to have as many children as they can to keep up their numbers. An elf usually has two or more spouses. An ellon is expected to take two wives first, sire his children, before he can marry whom he likes afterward. Finwë is a bit of a radical in this regard, because he wants to go for Elwë when he has no wife yet and has no children of his own. His Great Ancestor Tata would not have approved, and neither would Enel of the Nelyar.

Anyway-- the elves had large families with many children, but only the strongest survive to adulthood. Disappearances and deaths were very common at that time, and the elves of Cuiviénen were of a different strength that their later, Amanyar counterparts.

Finwë eventually succeeds to have his wish, marrying both Míriel and Elwë. They establish a household of their own near the shores of the great lake, because Elwë is a fisherman by trade. Eventually, Elwë relocates his little brothers Olwë and Elmo to also live with them. Olwë and Elmo grow close to Finwë and Míriel.

Míriel is actually able to achieve three prior pregnancies before Fëanáro, but all these births were either miscarriages or stillbirths. This is one of the strongest motivations of Finwë and Elwë in eventually volunteering as ambassadors of the elves, and eventually leading the Great March from Cuiviénen.

Later, when they reach Beleriand, Elwë urges Finwë and Míriel to take their people and go with Ingwë and his numbers. The Teleri are prone to dawdling because of their whimsical nature and great numbers. Finwë and Míriel reluctantly go ahead with the Noldor.

Melian the maia was sent precisely to delay Elwë, or outright prevent him from reaching Valinor. Because Elwë is the more strongly-opinionated of Finwë's spouses and even before the Quendi set out from Cuiviénen, Elwë was among the strongest and loudest advocates of the elves having the right to retain their old way of life, and that no sudden changes be imposed on their people.

If we go on more canon routes, Melian succeeds. But in this AU, Elwë eventually breaks free from Nan Elmoth, but fifty years has passed. He manages to sail west. Again, the Valar waylay him, this time, sending Ossë. Ossë manages to delay him again for two decades, but Salmar discovers this and helps Elwë escape. Elwë at last reaches Valinor, but he is too late: Míriel has died, Fëanáro is born and grew up with no knowledge of him, and Finwë is wed again to Indis, having previously given up hope that Elwë would come to Valinor.

[dalliansss]

Hiiii <<333 would u tell us more about your thingol and finwe verse? U just made me discover this ship and I’m kinda into it even if Miriel for the win 🤍

Also just thought this would work for them ? ❛ i thought you said you never wanted to see me again. ❜

&. 𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐬 (𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬?) 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬.

In truth, Elwë did what he did out of concern, prompted also by Fëanáro's concern that Finwë had been getting a bit too...wide in the girth these days. Not that Elwë can blame his husband; since arriving in Valinor, the Noldor king had indulged himself in many things, particularly in food, their hard life in Cuiviénen manifesting itself in this way, where Finwë will not, shall not and can not suffer anybody going hungry during his reign, particularly his descendants and his people -- and also, himself.

They had been busy, of course. Setting in Valinor, ordering the realms of the Eldar, choosing their leaders and their noble courts, exploring their new lands. Finwë, upon whom the burden of the leadership of the Noldor fell on, focused more on the administrative side of things, and so his physical activity fell to the wayside. And the food. Food in abundance, rich and sweets -- Finwë was just eager to eat them all. He soon developed habits of stashing snacks: in the cupboards and drawers, in his pockets, in baskets in the councilroom--

But lately, even a little horse riding made Finwë short of breath, and Elwë knew it was time for action. He had been introducing physical activity back into Finwë's days while only slowly reducing his food portions, but Finwë, ever emotional took offense and booted him out of their bedchambers. This despite Elwë explaining he does what he does keeping in mind Finwë's health, just to make sure his combat skills does not fall to the wayside.

Still, Elwë gets exiled. Oh well.

So he takes himself to his seaside house at Alqualondë, and there he busies himself with sailing and fishing every early morning, even before the Mingling of the Lights. He trusts Fëanáro to take up where he can't, and Finwë will find that more difficult, because Fëanáro does not compromise and imposes his discipline with a harder hand that Elwë does. There will be no coaxing from Fëanáro, that is certain. Do or don't.

Elwë has just finished his rounds selling off his catch at Alqualondë's famous seaside markets. He walks home, and is surprised to find Finwë already there, waiting for him, the Noldorin king dressed down to sleeveless tunics fit for the hotter climes of Alqualondë. Finwë sees him approaching, and he stands, beaming-- and then as if he remembers he is the one who exiled Elwë in the first place, his smile falls, and he wrings his bejeweled hands.

Elwë Singollo draws close and quirks an eyebrow as he hangs his fishing net by the rack. "Well? I thought you said you never wanted to see me again."

"You know I don't mean that!" Finwë cries out, anguished. He is the one to close the distance and throw his arms around Elwë in a hug. He whines. "Elwë-- my heart, song of my fëa, come home....please?"

Elwë lets out a long-suffering sigh, but he does wrap his arms around Finwë. Look at that. In years that seem so long ago, he could hug Finwë and feel his ribs. Nowadays, it's all fluff. It's not a bad thing, but Finwë needs to reteach his hröa how to keep moving. It is for his own good.

"Fëanáro got you good, huh?" Elwë snipes, sly. "Alright, how many laps does he make you do before he's satisfied?"

"Twenty every early morning," Finwë complains, pouting. "And I haven't even eaten my scrambled eggs yet! And no coffee yet! No orange juice! Ai, he's so mean, Elwë! And-- and he he also got Nolofinwë joining in! Two of them! They're horrible! Can't leave their old father alone..." Now he pretends to sniffle. Dramatic elf, this one.

"But you exiled me, remember?" Elwë points out.

"No!" Finwë cries out. "I take it back! Go home with me! I rather take the long walks with you and the horse riding with you! At least you let me have breaks and you let me relax and--! Elwë!" Finwë pouts. Lower lip quivering.

Elwë rolls his eyes with such a great, exasperated fondness. He bends to kiss the pout away. "Very well. I will go home with you. But I hope you know the walks and the spars and the horse riding won't stop, nor go away. Understood?"

"Yes, yes, yes. I love you, Elwë!" Finwë hugs into his hold again, happy now.

Elwë shakes his head. Ai, this elf...so silly. The silliest of the lot!

[silvantransthranduiltrash]

Miriel and Thranduil explaining Venomous vs Poisonous

Miriel: if it bites you and you die, it’s venomous. If you bit it and you die, it’s poisonous.

Finwe: what if it bites me and it dies?

Lasgen: that means you’re poisonous. Good gods, finwe, pay attention.

Ingwe: what if it bites itself and i die?

Elwe: that’s voodoo.

Olwe: what if it bites me and sm1 else dies?

Elwe: that’s correlation, not causation.

Finwe: what if we bite each other and neither of us die?

Lasgen: that’s kinky.

Thranduil:...

Thranduil:... ONE breakfast, can we go for ONE BREAKFAST before we dive straight into this bullshit!?!

[dalliansss]

watching movies together under a cozy blanket, surrounded by snacks and the comfort of each others presence

Cuivenien couple? Modern? Pleaaae

𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙖𝙘𝙮 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙢𝙥𝙩𝙨 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙊𝙏𝙋𝙨

Finwë gets to their house earlier tonight, and he has been so exhausted by work at the office he basically ran on autopilot mode as he moved about the house, feeding the dogs and readying supper. Now and then he checks his phone (where he is also watching a recipe on YouTube), but Elwë has not sent a message yet. His husband is probably driving still...

Half an hour later, he hears Elwë's car pull up in the driveway, and Finwë gives out a silent plea of thanks. He always does, whenever Elwë arrives home. He is all smiles when his husband finally strides into view, still in his suit, though his necktie has long been pulled free from his neck.

Elwë is gorgeous: tall, wiry and strong, with ash-gray hair oft pulled into a manbun or a sleek ponytail. Sometimes, Finwë still wonders how such a gorgeous specimen fell for him (not that he was lacking in the looks department, but he is a head shorter than Elwë and softer physique-wise).

"Hey," Elwë greets him, striding forward and giving him a great bearhug. Finwë giggles and has his arms around his husband's neck.

"I made your favorite aglio olio, but disclaimer -- I learned it off of YouTube, so, uh...."

"No matter," Elwë grins, curling low to kiss him. "You cooked for me. How lucky and loved am I."

--

The emptied platter of pasta (they shared from the same large plate) rests on the tea table. Now they're watching one of those action flicks Elwë loves, though Finwë didn't really mind these kinds of movies -- he prefers the fantasy adventure ones like Lord of the Rings and Dungeons and Dragons. But he'll watch movies with Elwë, because Elwë endures his own preferred movies as well. Give and take.

Finwë is half-drowsy, cuddled against Elwë's side under a big, plaid blanket. He feels Elwë's hand still rubbing up and down his back, and this lulls him further into this soft pool of comfortable and warmth. He could sleep right here, he...

Somewhere, Elwë brushes his lips on his forehead. "Hey....sweetheart, why don't we go to bed, hmm? Look how tired you are. Look how sleepy you are."

"Noooo," Finwë slurs. "John Wick is still going after the High Table, right?" He yawns, a big one. He hears Elwë chuckle. The TV is turned off.

"You're falling asleep on me. Let's go upstairs, yes? We can resume it tomorrow."

Finwë rubs his eyes, then turns an apologetic smile to Elwë. "Alright, alright. Sorry about that. Long day Friday today, so..."

"Ssh," Elwë says, leaning forward to kiss his cheeks. "Let's go up."

@skaelds

[silmarillaure]

What you're favorite Silmarillion pairing says about you.

Thingol/Melian - You think you deserve everything good the world has to offer, news flash! You deserve nothing! But you have a serious lucky streak.

Finwe/Miriel - You love Feanor. (You might even be Finwe yourself!)

Finwe/Indis - You hate Feanor.

Feanor/Nerdanel - You've simped for every handsome, fictional, broken, angsty, sad boy ever.

Finarfin/Earwen - You just wanted good things for Finarfin, and honestly, who wouldn't?

Maedhros/Fingon - You absolutely adore doomed relationships.

Celegorm/Orome - You like the functional/disaster dynamic they have. (You probably also ship Cherik from X-Men.)

Celegorm/Aredhel - You watch Game of Thrones (or House of The Dragon).

Aredhel/Eol - You have stockholm syndrome.

Aegnor/Andreth - You live for tragic romance.

Caranthir/Haleth - You either self insert very hard into Caranthir and want an awesome GF or you're just a slut for the goth/jock dynamic.

Beren/Luthien - You're dating someone way out of you're league.

Glorfindel/Ecthelion - You literally have nothing going on in your life that you started shipping two pretty background characters.

Idril/Tuor - You're super vanilla. Sorry, but like why? There are so many better couples. The only thing I can say in you're defence is that Earendil's amazing.

Earendil/Elwing - You absolutely love couples who give a shit about nearly nothing except eachother!

Melkor/Sauron - I don't know what to tell you honestly, but you probably have no idea what love is.

Sauron/Celebrimbor - You have a very controlling partner who exhibits red flags constantly.