#finweanladiesweek

[forestials]

For @finweanladiesweek day three: Aredhel, the White Lady of the Noldor, the Archer

[swanhild]

Lalwen is one of these mysterious Silm ladies I have an inexplicable fondness for and I'm sad we don't know more about her.

But I do like the fanon that she was the "cool aunt" to her more than a dozen nephews and nieces.

Generally cheerful and quick to laugh, she was always ready to goof around with the kids and would frequently sneak them candy and other treats. (And later, they all came to her when they wanted to discuss their problems and worries with an adult who was not a parent.)

Anyway, here she is with Fingon after she brought him back some cakes from a boring banquet she escaped from.

Not that she plays favourites, Lalwen loves all her nephews and nieces equally, but Fingon, being the firstborn son of her closest sibling might have a special place in her heart. (And I've already drawn Turgon and Finrod, as well as Maedhros and Maglor a little while ago, so Fingon seemed like the obvious choice when I needed an elfling for this one.)

For day 2 of @finweanladiesweek - Lalwen

[riding-with-the-wild-hunt]

"Findis was made by combining the names of her parents. Little is said of her in the Silmarillion. She did not go into exile, but went with her mother after the slaying of Finwë and they abode among the Vanyar in grief until such time as it seemed good to Manwë to restore Finwë to life." - J.R.R. Tolkien, The Peoples of Middle-earth, "The Shibboleth of Fëanor"

@finweanladiesweek day 2 » FINDIS FINWIEL

[ID: a picspam comprised of 12 images in shades of gold, brown, and white.

1: A close-up of Bianca Quiñones, a puerto rican/mexican/irish/scottish woman with brown freckled skin and bleached blond hair. She is looking directly at the viewer with a serious expression and is wearing a gold necklace and a septum ring / 2: An arched hall in a traditional indian style / 3: Desert rose rock formations / 4: gold text outlined in brown reading "findis" and underneath, much smaller, gold text reading "daughter of finwë & indis" on a white background / 5: Several ornate gold spears / 6: A close-up of a jaguar or leopard / 7: A setting or rising sun among clouds / 8: White fabric embellished with gold / 9: Same format as Image 4, but the text reads "finwiel" and "princess of two peoples" / 10: Round seed pods on branches / 11: An ornate golden crown on a black background / 12: Bianca Quiñones, this time with her head tilted and one hand upraised to shade her eyes /End ID]

[brighter-arda]

Day 1 of @finweanladiesweek

Part 26 of toi's indigenous tolkien series

[image description

1: a north African woman wearing a headscarf. The background is grey weaving. Text = MIRIEL who was called Serindë, because of her surpassing skill in weaving and needlework; for her hands were more skilled to fineness than any hands even among the Noldor

2: a east African woman wearing gold. Background has the ruffles of a dancers dress. Text = INDIS laboured not with her hands, but sang and made music, and there was ever light and mirth about her while the bliss of Aman endured.]

[saturn-s-moon]

Finduilas for @finweanladiesweek day 4: later generations

Longing makes girls prettier

–Akogare, Yukiko Okada

[searchingforserendipity25]

@finweanladiesweek. day 4. finduilas & idril

1.

finduilas was never going to get out of this story alive.

it is a hard lesson for a young maiden to learn, but on the burning shores of the sirion she learned it all through the long retreat. the smoke moved like a living creature, and the fire was nothing so much as garthour's will extended. the air smoked of blood, bone-ash, dying grass, groaning stones.

orodreth held the tower as long as he could, but his daughter was sent away with the first refugees. because the way to nargothrond was long and winding, and the pursuit relentless, finduilas' guards took many days to find shelter.

she looked backwards many times, over hill and crag, riding through the aspen country, ever-fearful. it was because she looked back that she saw them. fair and golden, vaster than even the songs had told, the great eagles of manwë crossed the very edge of the horizon.

finduilas' heart leapt, for a moment, high enough that she could taste her own hope. had improbable rescue not come before already to the noldor, at the time of greatest despair? had not the princes of her people been brought to salvation unlooked for? orodreth might live; her people might leave, the tower might be retaken, the crops sown once again, the rot sang out of the land --

the eagles crossed the very edge of the horizon. they took the high roads of the sky, where the wind was fiercest. their great wings cut the sick yellow of the smoke clouds like knifes. they flew past it, and did not look back.

this, then, was the doom of the noldor, as much as the great battlefields, the poisoning cold, the impossibly crowded barracks of melkor's thralls.

this: the rider clad in grey linens and black soot, the lady all lonesome on the crest of the hill. finduilas was never going to get out of this story alive; maidens who look back never do.

2.

they waited as long as they could. the tower faced the sea, was built to enlarge its echoes. tuor could not sleep, now, without that song to lull him, and even his dreams were dark, damp, blue-lit.

silver found its way to his beard, the fur of his chest, the back of his clever hands; then his temples. some days he woke coughing, spitting out mouthfuls of salt.

they waited as long as they could: until idril said, enough. said: we with our backs to the sea are as the hare against the fence. said: i will have you dead of ancient age or a bad plague or morgoth's spears, but not this.

'no hope have we here; westwards i shall go, and make the speeches my father lent his mariners,' idril said.

she stood in the fullness of her height, hair braided for ruling, her bare hands upon the maps laid out on her great table. all the rings she owned were the ones she had worn on the feast that became gondolin's wake; all of them she had passed, one after another, to her son and her son's wife; to her vassals.

they stood also, the last lords of the white city. legolas pressed his palms together in prayer, rog was very still, dangerous contention barely at bay.

her husband looked at her, and the relief in his eyes was dearer to her than all the feasting and treasures lost to the balrogs and the dragons.

her son alone of all the gathered wept. but her son always wept a great deal. at times ulmondil's son seemed to his mother made up of water as much as flesh. for him too idril built the ship, and for the sake of young elwing's fledgling queenship.

tuor embraced all his friends; idril blessed all her servants. their son sang over the tiller, and elwing raised high the farewell pennants.

they went west. the west would not have them.

adrift, their vessel wandered from strange island to strange island. foul fogs trapped them; ossë's whims overtook them, his queer jealousy of ulmo's friends won over only over many a swell and many a quest. becalming days kept them trapped for fortnights with no wind to stir the sails.

and none of it mattered, none of it - for tuor's voice sang salt out of the water, tuor's webs caught fish often, tuor slept well on the berth under the stars, tuor's cough grew even and faded.

tuor's silver hairs shone under the pitiless sun, marvelous to idril's eyes, wondrous under her hands; petulant ossë dragged their ship away from the doldrums whenever they started to enjoy each other's closeness too much, spraying them for their laughter.

longing wounded sharply, fear clogged the hours of uncertain charting. the sea was their friend; but the sea was not an easy friend to have, not constant in its mood or reliable in its boons.

they traded stories, sang together, crafted little things to gift each other, engraved the walls of their cabins and the pantry and the mast, too: chased each other like trapped cats, at times, imprisoned together without relief. old griefs rose; harsh words caught the edge of the wind and cut close to the skin.

it was never long, before they reconciled; but it was never simple to sit down, hold a hand, weep for the pain they shared and the children left behind, their maddening odyssey and its mad estel.

all the same. tuor grew old, not ill. away from shore, caught between worlds, idril did laugh: at night, when the rigging was set, and there were new sun-spots to count on tuor's cheeks, idril did not think of gondolin.

westwards, always. their course was set to hope most necessary, hope most dire, hope unanswered. in urgency they had sought to evade grief and disaster from their kin, and grief and disaster came, on swords raised by their own kin.

idril and tuor know this not. none can say where they sail still; but ëarendil in his far journeys to give guidance to lost sailors peers often downwards into the wide sea, seeking for a glimmer of fair braids, an old man's silver head.

[finweanladiesweek]

Finwëan Ladies Week: September 18-24, 2023

Hello and welcome to Finwëan Ladies Week!

This is a week-long event celebrating the ladies of the line of Finwë! There have been events within the Silmarillion fandom focused on the sons of Finwë and their descendents, and to add to the fun this week was established to give his wives, daughters, and other female descendants their own time to shine.

Finwëan Ladies Week began in 2019 and has run every year since. We are back for more in our fifth year, this time from September 18-24, 2023!

Any content and creations about the ladies of Finwë’s line are welcome! You can create edits, gifs, fanart, fanfic, fanmixes, and more!

Below are some prompts for each day of the week. They are not mandatory, but they are here to inspire you. This page will lead to a detailed explanation for each one.

DAY ONE: Míriel Þerindë and Indis DAY TWO: Findis and Írimë Lalwen DAY THREE: Aredhel and Galadriel DAY FOUR: Later Generations DAY FIVE: Ladies Who Married In DAY SIX: Original Characters DAY SEVEN: Freeform

This event is being organized by mods Anna @arofili and Elle @elesianne. If you have any questions or suggestions, feel free to message this blog or reach out to Anna on their main blog. Anna runs on Pacific Standard Time, and Elle runs on Eastern European Summer Time, so we will be active and modding on those schedules, although you are free to post your content at the time most convenient to you!

For further clarification, check out our about, FAQ, and prompts pages! Happy creating!!

Mobile links are accessible here.



[portablesleep]

I’m a day late lol but little Galadriel for finwean ladies week! (@finweanladiesweek)

[melestasflight]

Without a (conscious) intention, my writing focus recently has turned to Finwëan women. Here are some of the latest takes: To Find a Home in the Twilight (G 8k) - Freshly out of Gondolin, Aredhel meets old friends in Celegorm's lands, makes new ones among mortal people in Estolad, and journeys to Nan Elmoth to seek the Fairy of the Night. She is definitely NOT lost. Written for @toastedbuckwheat's beautiful art.

Red (G 3k) - in which reborn Fingon attempts to save Maedhros again, from Mandos, and himself. He almost fails, if not for Anairë's wisdom. Enriched by this gorgeous painting by @helyannis

Mothers (G 600) - where Nerdanel remembers the song of each of her sons, and Indis helps her heal her old grief. Inspired by @welcomingdisaster's sweet drawing.

Keep my heart warm while I’m gone (M 1,6k) - On the Helcaraxë, Aredhel and Ecthelion find much-needed warmth in each other. Inspired by native Lakota traditions.

Selected Lays of Finrod Felagund: Amarië (G 500) - Finrod returns home to Amarië after centuries of exile. Written as a gift for @cuarthol.

Voices That Were Once Ours (M 5k) - Maglor & Finrod-centered story, where the Noldorin hosts at Mithrim meet for the first time, featuring a diplomat Lalwen who keeps the peace among Finwë's brood. Written as a treat for @themultileggedcreature's art.

Stay, Forever (G 1,3k) - Through remembrance and song, Elrond finally finds the courage to admit his feelings for Celebrían. Written as a gift for @searchingforserendipity25

I hope to break out of my creative block for the last day of @finweanladiesweek but if not, head over to the event's page for more amazing art and writing featuring Finwëan women. Reblog, read, give love to the creators.

[hhimring]

I climbed a mountain

Late submission for @finweanladiesweek for Findis:

This is a drabble written earlier this year but not posted publicly yet.

It is set during the Darkening, after Finwe's death.

‘I am so sorry, Mother, I cannot come to Valmar with you, even now,’ said Findis. They stood on the slopes of Taniquetil. There was no light, of course there was still no light, except for starlight faintly reflecting off patches of snow. Indis could not even see Tuna and the Calacirya, now, where her life and love had ended brutally as if buried in a landslide, merely glimpse the walls of the Pelori as a deeper shadow. ‘I can neither dwell among Vanyar nor in Tirion,’ said Findis, embracing her. ‘Know you take my love down with you, nevertheless.’

This fixed-length drabble features Himring 'verse Findis the hermit, who was introduced elsewhere. This is an uncanonical choice, but I wanted to write her as someone who is committed to Vanyarin religious practice, but is temperamentally distinctly Finwean, giving a different take on that mixed heritage.

The prompt for this was Fleetwood Mac's Landslide.

[forestials]

For @finweanladiesweek day one: Míriel Þerindë, the Weaver

[swanhild]

A slightly mussed up Nerdanel and an exhausted Feanor for Day 2 of @silmsmutweek Well, more like post-smut, but still.

They were watching each other work and then got a little distracted. (Nothing sexier than being a master at your craft, right?)

Also a late submission for @finweanladiesweek since I didn't get around to drawing my other Nerdanel idea back then, but at least I finished this one.

[annoyinglandmagazine]

@finweanladiesweek | Day 3: Galadriel and Aredhel

She had steel against her thigh now, always pressed cold to the smooth and no longer bloodstained or frostbitten skin, and concealed by the fine fabrics surrounding her. Celeborn knew of it, had felt it’s edge against his leg as she’d laid herself down beside him in the sweet smelling grass with the warm sunlight embracing them and seeming to emit from the golden hair strewn over his chest, almost enough to chase the ice from her bones but not quite, as she doubted anything ever would be. The ice was in her very self now, just as the flame always had been, and buried deep under the smooth gold sheen in a much similar manner.

They did not speak of many things, the blade was the least of it. Celeborn could understand that much, at least attempt to for her sake. After all the story of what had happened to the other princess of the Noldor was a subject only spoken of in whispers but had nonetheless carried as such shocks are prone to. Who’s part in it the Sindar saw as shocking didn’t bare thinking of. Whether it had reached the ears of Thingol himself or Melian was unknown, certainly none had broached it with them, after all Eol had been of his kin.

As she’d only dared voice to her husband for fear of how it may be received, she didn’t dismiss her cousin’s race as of little importance to this matter. She’d lived in Doriath for long years and had been permitted to do so as she was not deemed by the king to be ‘tainted’ as her Noldorin blood was so diluted with a certain squint of the eyes he could see her as one of his Sindar and pretend that the part of her that belonged to the people of one he had once loved was insignificant. Many did not provide her the same courtesy, if it could be called such.

Those who didn’t, those whose minds were decided the second they’d first heard her Quenya name, viewed her one of two ways. Either as something to be feared and loathed or something that could be corrected. Some ‘thing’ in both of those remains the crucial matter. She had no trouble imagining that one such as Eol should lust after Noldor women, not for love or admiration but because he lusted after things he would not excuse if done upon a noble Sinda, because he would see no wrongdoing on his part if he did not truly see his ‘wife’ as a person.

If he saw her as being truthfully unworthy of his generosity and himself as doing right by her with his attempts to civilise her and make her worthy. For truly was it not mercy to cure her of what corruption her kin had inflicted on her, it was not in the nature of elleth to be anything but docile and fair so surely he could make her so and did she not owe him for his efforts?

If one who went by Galadriel could see such sentiments, though never more than unvoiced sentiment, it was no stretch to imagine how easily some may justify things in relation to one such as Aredhel, who bore her blades and bow at her belt and across her back rather than concealed, who’s deep black hair was perpetually bound intricately above her head, who’s skilful hands never stilled, who’s brother had slain at Aqualonde. Perhaps it was for the best Feanor had born only sons, the fate of a daughter who had slain kin of her own volition did not bare thinking of.

Yes, there was a particular hate reserved for Noldorin women, but, as she had been told on countless occasions, she was not one. Her home had been among the kin of Olwe with the fresh scented breeze rushing through her and the exhilaration as she glided as one with the crashing waves, the sea spray plastered her golden locks to her cheeks and her fingers felt the ever present friction of ropes rushing through her fingers.

The same fingers that used the talent at managing multiple strands to sit and weave in soothing silence by Caranthir’s side, only broken by exchanging the odd note on interesting gossip or asking for the basket containing spools of thread. That her cousins, one clad in a mud splattered white tunic and the other with a star of Feanor on his neck beside the mark of Oromë, had taught to string a bow and wield a sword. She had accompanied them on occasion, shared in their banter and endeavoured to best them in speed to the draw and on the saddle. She had never found success there but the practice put her a ways ahead of her brothers, something that had been worth many hours toil in such days.

She allowed her thoughts to slip into treacherous territory, shielded from the view of even the Queen for what sort of a Noldor would she be if she permitted others to censor her convictions, of Thingol and Aqualonde, with particular regard to Nolofinwean kin. It was all very well to condemn all who participated in such an event when you have only heard tale of it and never witnessed it for yourself. It was hard even to tell what he wished them to have done, he’d only condemned the Noldor after all but she found it hard to believe he’d actually accept even his beloved Teleri with how the concept seemed to disturb his sensibilities.

Would he truly have stood to the side, counselling others to do the same, as he witnessed that sheer carnage, the blood seeping through the sand and tainting the water, the glint of swords and torches the only light in the sheer animal panic that had set them all on edge for all the leagues of that fateful journey ever since they knew for certain that their home no longer held any safety for them?

He seemed to have few issues closing his eyes and pretending not to see similar destruction outside his borders at present so perhaps he may have. She had no doubts as to what, if she had arrived but an hour sooner that day, she should have done. She would have felt guilt, of course she would have but then did her kin not also? It would have been a matter of kin over kin but she knew with little waver that she would not have stood by while the Teleri fought a losing battle, just as Fingon could not watch on as those he loved were in peril, with a deep conviction that of course they must have been acting in defence. For what might one not do for their kin?

Perhaps then, he was wrong in allowing her to reside here while others were barred. For though she was a proud sea maiden of the Teleri she was every bit the Noldo her cousins were. Her spirit burned with the same flame, the same need for more that had tormented her uncle into the path he’d taken. It threatened to consume her in bitterness at its constraint within the company of others who did not feel it also and its need to conquer over those who could.

It would not be extinguished, this need for greatness, knowledge and above all power that was in all honesty matched only by that of her most detested uncle. Instead she fed it, honed it and tempered it with arts that Feanor had known not and this satisfied her, what would be called magic running through her veins in a way unique among full Eldar. And as she became more assured of her own strength and achieved what could almost be called satisfaction in her own prowess at last she found the peace he never had.

Content finally in herself as she felt the trickling stream beneath the stones her bare feet balanced upon and the starlight reflected in the water crowded about her eagerly as her beloved gazed upon her with adoration, not for or despite her ability but for the peaceful smile breaking out upon her face as her hand stretched out to guide him. The smile that widened as he took it without hesitance and allowed the elleth he knew to be a cunning and ruthless creature well versed in witchcraft take him by the hand among the dense trees with complete trust.

The water crashed upon the rocks and splashed her bare shins but she did not flinch at the coolness as she pulled him to her and steadied him with the laughter of one who has seen as little pain as one such as Luthien dancing among the flowers while they exerted all their elven grace into not slipping off the rock as their damp lips and bodies settled into a steady and familiar rhythm. They had all the time in the world after all.

[riding-with-the-wild-hunt]

“And when she learned of Finwë all that had befallen since her departure (for she had given no heed to it, nor asked tidings, until then) she was greatly moved; and she said to Finwë in her thought: ‘I erred in leaving thee and our son, or at least in not soon returning after brief repose; for had I done so he might have grown wiser. But the children of Indis shall redress his errors and therefore I am glad they should have being, and Indis hath my love. How should I bear grudge against one who received what I rejected and cherish what I abandoned.’“ - J.R.R. Tolkien, Morgoth's Ring, Laws and Customs Among the Eldar

@finweanladiesweek day 1 » INDIS & MÍRIEL THERINDË

[ID: an edit comprised of four posters in dark and light browns accented with gold and silver.

1: Roseline Lawrence, a ugandan-south sudanese model with dark skin and long coily dark hair. She is plus-size, wearing gold makeup and looking over her shoulder with one hand raised. She is framed by a gold rectangle, with gold text at the bottom reading "indis" in all caps. Below that, text in varying yellow shades reads "great; valiant woman," "second wife of finwë," and "“She was a Vanya, close kin of Ingwë the High King, golden-haired and tall, and in all ways unlike Míriel" / 2: A detail from a painting showing golden embroidered cloth draping down from above. Yellowish-orange text in a transparent brown box reads "“...when Indis saw Finwë climbing the paths of the Mountain, and the light of Laurelin was behind him as a glory, without forethought she sang suddenly in great joy, and her voice went up as a song of the lirulin in the sky. Then Finwë heard that song falling from above, and he looked up and saw Indis in the golden light, and he knew in that moment that she loved him and had long done so" / 3: A detail from a painting showing draped white and silver cloth. Silver text in the same format as Image 2 shows the same passage as the caption of the edit / Thando Hopa, a xhosa-sotho south african woman with albinism. She is looking straight at the viewer and is wrapped in a white robe that falls over her head, though she holds it out of her face. Same format as Image 1, but the frame and text are silver, and the text reads "míriel," "jewel-daughter," "first wife of finwë," and "She was a Noldorin Elda of slender and graceful form, and of gentle disposition, though . . .she could show an ultimate obstinacy that counsel or command would only make more obdurate" /End ID]

[brighter-arda]

Eldalotë for day 7 of @finweanladiesweek

[Image description

1: flowers, text = Eldalotë

2: Paola Mathé (a dark skin Haitian woman) in a green field

3: Paola Mathé standing and looking out of frame

4: a background of flowers, text = Elven-flower, of the Noldor

5: Part of a family tree showing Eldalotë, her husband Angrod, his brother Finrod, his parents Eärwen and Finarfin, her son Orodreth, and grand-daughter Finduilas

6: Paola Mathé with flowers on her lap.]

[saturn-s-moon]

Indis & Míriel for @finweanladiesweek day one!!

Is this platonic ? Is this romantic? Who knows :]