#how fingon and maedhros celebrate anniversaries

[elesianne]

A Silmarillion fanfic, chapter 1

I’ve written a lot of stuff during the last week but this is the first thing I completed, so have a bit of Maedhros/Fingon!

(Also posted on AO3)

Summary: Fingon and Maedhros can't declare their love publicly, but in private they find many ways to celebrate their devotion to each other.

And things like colours and emblems are important for elf lords.

Chapter 1 summary: Two young lovers celebrate their first anniversary, open with their affections behind closed curtains.

Tag-type thingies: rating: Mature audiences; relationships: Maedhros/Fingon; some keywords: romance, secret relationship, some humour, light fluff, making out, implied sexual content

A/N:I had the idea for this fic when making plans for anniversary celebrations with my boyfriend, though we are no Noldor princelings and thus celebrated our anniversary somewhat differently from Maedhros and Fingon.

This fic is fairly light-hearted and humorous, and probably the sexiest thing I've written so far? Still nothing explicit, because if I'm working my way towards writing smut one day, I'm doing it very slowly.

*

Your colours

Tirion on a summer's day during Years of the Trees    

The first kiss of the night is breathless for both Maitimo and Findekáno, if for different reasons. Findekáno is breathless after running across the garden and climbing up a tree and then jumping to Maitimo's window, and Maitimo is breathless just out of anticipation and worry.

'I'm always worried you're going to fall. I know you have been climbing trees all your life, but what if one day your jump is too short?' Maitimo whispers against Findekáno's lips, unwilling to let go of the kiss but also feeling a need to make his concerns known.

Findekáno entwines his hands in Maitimo's hair, long and red and left to flow freely down Maitimo's back just like Findekáno likes. 'Then my screaming while I fall will scare your baby brothers and the unholy racket they will undoubtedly make will allow me to make a swift and undignified exit from your parents' garden, picking out thorns from my backside.'

'I had the rosebush moved away from under my window, there are no thorns there now', Maitimo says distractedly as Findekáno's strong fingers massage his scalp to relax him.

'So you've even taken precautions! All is well.'

Findekáno pulls Maitimo in for another kiss but Maitimo opens his mouth to speak at that very moment, and the kiss turns to spluttering.

'What now?' Findekáno sighs, his patience fraying.

'What if you don't fall on your backside, what if you fall on your head–

'My head has sustained worse than a fall into a soft flowerbed from the second floor. It can withstand a lot, you know that. Just like my backside.' Findekáno wiggles a brow, and Maitimo cannot help but blush and chortle at the terrible innuendo.

'Now, if we are done with your fussing, let's move on to more pleasant matters.' Findekáno bends down to pick up a parcel he dropped in his hurry to kiss Maitimo.

Maitimo wants to protest the word 'fussing' but before he can do so, Findekáno is passing the parcel to him.

'What's this?' Maitimo turns it in his hands. Whatever it is, it is light and soft, wrapped in linen and tied with a golden ribbon like the ones in Findekáno's hair.

'An anniversary gift.' Findekáno's smile is uncharacteristically diffident.

'Anniversary of what?' Maitimo asks, the dread of having forgotten something important creeping in.

'The day you finally let me kiss you.' Findekáno shrugs with a studied nonchalance that fools few, and never Maitimo.

'Oh', is all that Maitimo can think to say.

It had been a rainy day and the drops of water in Findekáno's hair sprayed onto Maitimo's face when Findekáno whirled around and kissed Maitimo after Maitimo admitted in half-choked words that he wanted it as much as Findekáno did. Findekáno had already been turning away from him, about to give up on persuading his cousin that it was all right to act on the feelings they shared.

Now every time it rains, Maitimo remembers that first kiss, the smell of summer rain in the air and the coolness of Findekáno's skin that soon turned to searing heat as they kissed like their hearts would break if they stopped clinging to each other…

But Maitimo hadn't remembered that today is the anniversary of that day, and he feels terrible. 'I'm so sorry, Finno, I don't have anything for you.'

'It's all right, I know you've been absurdly busy lately', Findekáno says, and his smile convinces Maitimo that he means it. 'Your gift to me will be seeing you wearing my gift.'

Brows raised, Maitimo begins to unravel the gold ribbon. Wrapped in the linen is a garment of much finer fabric, finest silk that flows through Maitimo's fingers like water, cool and smooth.

It is a dressing robe, beautiful and luxurious, perfect for lazy summer days – not that Maitimo has much time to laze around – and it is a deep blue, like the sapphires Findekáno's father is fond of, with gold trimming at the sleeves and collar and a golden sash.

'It's in your colours.' Maitimo strokes the fine fabric. Blue for Nolofinwë, and gold for Findekáno himself; these are the colours Findekáno has chosen as his own.

Findekáno nods, his gaze intense. 'Put it on.'

A year has been just about enough to make Maitimo able to strip in front of his lover without getting self-conscious. The way Findekáno looks at him in those moments, or how eager he is to do it himself, makes Maitimo feel more worthy of his mother-name than any amount of praise from others ever could.

This time Findekáno doesn't rush to tear off Maitimo's clothes; he closes the heavy curtains and then leans against a wall and watches, the warm flickering light of candles reflected in his eyes.

It feels like such a waste to put on clothes when he is looking at me like that, Maitimo reflects, but Findekáno asked, so he pulls on the new robe as soon as he has shed his old clothes.

Maitimo glances at the mirror on the far wall. He is not used to seeing himself in this shade of blue, and the contrast between the deep colour and his pale, freckled skin and reddish hair is startling. He ties the sash and considers going to take a closer look at his reflection. But this moment is for Findekáno, not for himself, so he clears his throat and asks, 'Does it look like you thought it would?'

'It looks even better than I imagined.' Finally Findekáno comes to Maitimo and touches him, glides his fingertips across his silk-covered chest. Maitimo shivers when his lover presses his hand over Maitimo's heart; surely Findekáno can feel how it races, and the hardening of a nipple when fingers pass over it caressingly.

'You are very beautiful', Findekáno tells Maitimo.

'Thank you', says Maitimo who has learned that this is the right way to answer; objecting or demurring will only make Findekáno unhappy. 'So is the robe. Thank you for that too, Finno.'

'I'm really glad you like it', Findekáno murmurs and slides his hands down Maitimo's arms now, feeling muscles shift beneath the silk as Maitimo fights to stay still in his excitement.

'It is very short, though', Maitimo observes to distract himself from how marvellous Findekáno's touch feels even through the fabric. He looks down at his knees that the robe leaves bare. 'Shouldn't you have learnt by now how tall I am?'

'Oh, believe me, after a year of standing on my toes to kiss you, I know exactly how tall you are, and I also know how much I like looking at your well-shaped legs.'

Maitimo's lips barely have time to curve into a smile before Findekáno rises up on his toes once again. Maitimo gives up on the smile and gives all of himself to Findekáno instead, stepping closer so their bodies are flush against each other, and he bends his head so Findekáno doesn't have to stretch so much and twines his arms around Findekáno's waist. Findekáno holds him just as tight, his hands again gently twisting in auburn hair, his lips firm and warm and wonderful on Maitimo's.

Their relationship is forbidden and secret, still fairly new too, and sometimes Maitimo fears that it is fragile, but  Findekáno himself is solid and strong, and steady and safe, and Maitimo never doubts a thing when Findekáno holds him.

'I love wearing your colours', he breathes when they finally break the kiss. 'I hate knowing that I will have to keep this beautiful robe hidden most of the time.'

'I know, darling. I hate it too.' Findekáno plays with Maitimo's hair, drawing long locks to flow down the front of the blue robe, enjoying the contrast in colours, and guiding Maitimo towards the bed with gentle nudges at the same time. 'But I think you don't always mind secrecy so much. I'm fairly confident that on a few occasions you have burnt all the hotter for knowing that we might be discovered in a compromising position.'

Aware that Findekáno is trying to raise his spirits, Maitimo makes a show of protesting. 'That is an outrageous accusation, Finno. I really can't remember any such occasions.'

'There was that dinner party in uncle Arafinwë's house where we told everyone that we would go to a tavern together afterwards while our families went home and instead we snuck into a guest bedroom and the lock wouldn't work but you still let me have you on top of that counterpane aunt Eärwen was so proud of embroidering–'

'I didn't want to be discovered; I stuck a chair under the door handle!'

'You didn't choose a very sturdy chair.' Findekáno grins and slides his hands up Maitimo's thighs and under the hem of the robe, a movement made easy by the robe being indecently short. Maitimo's breath catches, and Findekáno drawls, 'Come now, Russandol dear, admit that you burnt hot for me that night.'

'Oh, Valar', replies Maitimo at first, to what Findekáno's hands are doing, and then to his words, 'I always burn for you.'

'Unyielding tonight, are you, unwilling to admit I'm right?  I will persuade you to see things my way.' Findekáno draws his hands up and pushes Maitimo on to the bed.

Maitimo falls back happily and settles on the pleasantly cool sheets. Feeling wanton, he spreads his legs and beckons Findekáno to join him. 'Come here so I can take your clothes off.'

'Quicker if I do it myself', says Findekáno and proceeds to do so while Maitimo laughs, delighting in the mingling of happiness and desire that fills him.

When Findekáno joins him on the bed, kneels between his legs and begins to undo the golden sash of the blue robe, Maitimo draws his hands away.

'I want to have your gift, your colours, on me when you take me', he tells Findekáno and watches his beloved's eyes darken.

'That is more than I dared to hope, and exactly what I meant when I said seeing you wearing this would be your gift to me', Findekáno says hoarsely.

Maitimo takes his hand and pulls him closer, always closer, as close as they can be.

Later, when they are curled up together and the robe is draped over them both like an decadent, impractical blanket, Maitimo whispers, 'I still feel a little bad I didn't get you anything.'

'You do that another time, my love', Findekáno murmurs sleepily and settles his head more comfortably in the crook between Maitimo's neck and shoulder. 'Now I need to sleep off winning this anniversary.'

*

A/N: People who have read a lot of my stuff may have noticed that I'm sort of giving in to spelling the Quenya voiceless velar plosive with a k rather than c in names where k is the convention, because it is the sensible thing to do. But I will never spell Maglor's father-name Canafinwë with a k because I don't want to turn him into a chicken, so I will continue to spell everyone's names with c in fics where he appears.

There will be a second chapter; it is shorter and takes place many years later in Beleriand.

Thank you for reading! I appreciate feedback very much :)

[doodle-pops]

Maedhros Dating Tall! Reader

Request: What about Maedhros reaction to a tall female elf who reaches his shoulder? Plus points if Maedhros brothers call them "walking trees cause they're too tall" - anon

A/N: Tall reader and Maedhros coming right up. Hope you enjoy it.

- So, if you’re an elf and you’re as tall as Maedhros, congratulations, you just found your picture-perfect match.

- Because you’re as tall or the same height as him, Maedhros would be in awe of your most prominent feature. He understands the teasing that goes behind being tall, so he’s always going to be defending you.

- This means that the both of you get to bond over all the teasing that people give to you both. From “How’s the weather up there?” to “What can you see from up there?” to endless nicknames that relate to tall objects.

- “Ah yes, if it isn’t my two favourite trees.” – Celegorm, Amras, Amrod

- As you are tall like Maedhros, you get to wear his clothes without them drowning your form. Most of the clothes would be baggy because you’re probably not as muscular as him.

- It’s a sight that makes him fawn over you even more.

- Despite being tall, you might believe that Maedhros would be intimidated and become self-conscious because of the whole standards that society preaches, “males should be taller than females” but he isn’t.

- He uses the opportunity to spoil you even more since they probably don’t have clothes for such tall females. So, expect every week to have gifts custom made delivered to your door with a loving note attached.

- If anyone insults your height, be prepared to be defended like your life depends on it. He refuses to stand by and allow people to criticize one of the most amazing attributes that make you special in his eyes.

- The benefit to being the same height as it prevents him from having to crane his neck to kiss your forehead or lips and it’s something that he’s mentioned to you on many occasions.

- He still loves to pick you up and twirl you around, allowing you to still experience romantic gestures despite your height. He never allows your height to be a reason to discourage him from dishing out affections.

- Cuddling with him becomes a mess of tangled intertwined long limbs. Legs are just lazily thrown over the other while you both are wrapped up in a loving embrace.

- Being the same height means that you’re saved from breaking your neck to look up at him, likewise for him look down on you.

- His family, mostly his brothers and Fingon, tease you both saying that when you have children, they’ll be like trees.

- Once for an anniversary you were celebrating with him, as an inside joke, you got him a matching necklace with a tree pendant on it to symbolize your height.

Masterlist

Taglist: @spidergirla5 @givemaedhrosahug @whenloveexists @eunoiaastralwings

If anyone wants to be tagged, click the link or request in the asks.

[cerulean-shark]

About the ship ask, russingon and/or angbang?

Thanks for asking! I love both ships so I'll do them both. Since a lot of the asks include modern stuff, I'm going to do modern AU for both the ships. I hope that's all right.

ANGBANG:Who hogs the duvet? Both of them would. It would end poorly.Who texts/rings to check how their day is going? Melkor, he can be kind of clingy. He likes knowing that Mairon is okay.Who’s the most creative when it comes to gifts? Mairon would get super into it, he'd be great at finding or making a gift. Melkor is certainly creative, though I think less in the realm of gift giving and more in the realm of tactics and plans.Who gets up first in the morning? Mairon, he's very diligent with his work. Melkor would be more of a fan of sleeping in.Who suggests new things in bed? Both of them, honestly.Who cries at movies? Neither of them.Who gives unprompted massages? 100% Mairon.Who fusses over the other when they’re sick? Melkor. He'd become extremely clingy and constantly check if Mairon was okay or if he needed anything. Mairon would take the whole situation poorly.Who gets jealous easiest? Both of them, but Melkor is definitely more protective. He doesn't like other people moving in on Mairon.Who has the most embarrassing taste in music? Mairon. He'd like some really niche genre that 90% of people have never heard of.Who collects something unusual? Mairon would hoard shiny objects, kind of like a crow. He’d keep them meticulously organized and labeled. Who takes the longest to get ready? Mairon. He would never be in public without looking his best.Who is the most tidy and organised? Mairon, by far. They'd probably fight over it, since Melkor is lazy about cleaning and organization. Mairon would insist on everything being neat 24/7.Who gets most excited about the holidays? Neither of them would get super into it, but Melkor would like it more than Mairon.Who is the big spoon/little spoon? Melkor is the big spoon. Mairon enjoys being held and having his hair stroked.Who gets most competitive when playing games and/or sports? Both of them are insanely competitive. They work together and are good at coming up with strategies to win.Who starts the most arguments? Mairon would get pissed at Melkor for not keeping his living quarters organized. Who suggests that they buy a pet? Mairon is a dog person in any AU and we all know it.What couple’s traditions they have? I don't see them as super traditional. Celebrating their anniversary is probably as far as they'd go.What TV shows they watch together? They'd like Black Mirror or something of the sort, but occasionally they'd watch something weird (soap opera or cooking competition) and get super into it. Yelling at the TV and everything.What other couple they hang out with? No one comes to mind.How they spend time together as a couple? Working, talking about their day, marathoning horror movies, scheming, visiting museums, stuff like that.Who made the first move? Melkor, though Mairon reciprocated sooner than he let on.Who brings flowers home? I don't feel like they'd be super into flowers. I just can't see it.Who is the best cook? Melkor can cook, but Mairon is probably better.RUSSINGON:Who hogs the duvet? Fingon, he gets cold easily. It's not really an intentional thing, he just does it in his sleep.Who texts/rings to check how their day is going? Both of them would. It's sort of a comfort thing to know that if they need anything they can just call each other.Who’s the most creative when it comes to gifts? Maedhros. He's good at finding exactly what people want.Who gets up first in the morning? Maedhros is a restless sleeper, so he'll either be up at the crack of dawn or he'll sleep in. Fingon gets up at a pretty regular time each day.Who suggests new things in bed? Fingon. Mae is shy.Who cries at movies? Maedhros cries over happy or sad endings. He's kind of emotional over good movies.Who gives unprompted massages? Fingon, he's naturally very caring.Who fusses over the other when they’re sick? Both of them would, they're protective of each other and like helping.Who gets jealous easiest? Neither of them are particularly jealous, but Maedhros is more so than Fingon. He doesn't ever really say anything though.Who has the most embarrassing taste in music? Fingon. I feel like he'd like super weird old-fashioned music.Who collects something unusual? Fingon is the type to collect something like feathers. He'd keep them in a display box and have each of them labeled.Who takes the longest to get ready? Fingon. Those braids have to take awhile.Who is the most tidy and organised? Neither of them are neat freaks, but Maedhros keeps things fairly clean and orderly.Who gets most excited about the holidays? Maedhros loves cold weather, so the holidays would just be an added bonus to his favorite season. Who is the big spoon/little spoon? Maedhros is the big spoon, just because he's so much taller than Fingon.Who gets most competitive when playing games and/or sports? Maedhros. He inherited it from his father, and whole he's more rational, he still gets really into games.Who starts the most arguments? Maedhros. He's more hot-headed and standoffish than Fingon.Who suggests that they buy a pet? Maedhros would probably like a cat or two.What couple traditions do they have? They always host during the holidays and such because they're the only members of their families that get along.What tv shows they watch together? Game of Thrones, Stranger Things, Star Trek, a bit of Doctor Who.What other couple they hang out with? You know, I'm not sure.How they spend time together as a couple? Talking, watching TV or movies, fencing lessons, hiking/exploring, going to concertsWho made the first move? Fingon. Maedhros is shy about his feelings.Who brings flowers home? Both of them, just as a nice surprise. Who is the best cook? Maedhros, he has six younger brothers. He definitely had to do some babysitting growing up.

[heartofoshun]

Only three days of artwork and stories left out of 40!

As early as 1917, a young J.R.R. Tolkien began writing down the myths and stories that comprised his imagined world. A century later, here we are, four decades after the publication of The Silmarillion on 15 September 1977, still enjoying to read those earliest stories. Our love for the archaic language or people with indistinguishable names, for the grim yet majestic nature of the tales, for the quest for the Silmarils and the characters who find themselves swept up in it, has brought us together. Our views of the different characters and events, of Tolkien's style or overall themes may differ - often vastly - but we have all found something in The Silmarillion that captivates and moves us. More, we feel inside us a need to engage with the texts more deeply, writing our own take on its events, filling the gaps, fixing the bits that irk us, or giving a voice to characters previously unheard. Through our fannish activities we continue to breathe life into the "stillborn postscript"1; we are the "other minds and hands, wielding paint and music and drama" that Tolkien once ("absurdly") hoped would continue to contribute to his Legendarium.2

An anniversary is always a good occasion for celebration – a celebration of the book that we love, and a celebration of the community that has grown out of this love. How better to combine the two than by creating a compilation of fanworks that follow the timeline of The Silmarillion? One (sometimes, two) such fanworks will be revealed on this site each day for the next 40 (what else?) days. From the creation of Arda to the creation of the Rings of Power, from glory to tragedy, despair to hope, we are going to re-experience the great tales through the eyes of our fellow fans. Many minds and hands have been hard at work to put this collection together with more than eighty fanworks submitted by three dozen different writers and artists. If you enjoy their work, please consider leaving them a comment!

Table of Contents

Star Kindler

by FeanorusRex

Varda creates the stars. (Artwork)

Subcreation: A Collection

by SWG Authors

Tolkien's theory of subcreation states that it is part of our deepest human nature to create secondary worlds. This collection of drabbles, ficlets, one-shots, and sketches follows the thread of subcreation across the span of the legendarium. (Ficlet Collection)

Young Gods

by Fernstrike

It began in Almaren - when the world was new, and the gods were young, and the World seemed full of possibilities. It began beneath the earth, under great halls, inside a dark mirror. (Short Story)

And She Slept

by LadyBrooke

As Valinor is created, there are those who stay behind in the darkness to wait for those that come. (Ficlet)

Turn All Your Flesh As Gold

by anthropologyarda

Aulë's expertise does not lie in lungs and sinews. Mairon teaches his Master more than he intends. (Short Story)

We were not born in Cuiviénen

by Lyra

Morwë tells Oromë about the origins of his people, contradicting some stories the Vala has heard earlier. (Ficlet)

Paths of Good Intentions

by just_jenni

Melian is bored and travels to Arda to see the Quendi.  She meets Elwe.  His people wonder where he is. (Short Story)

Bewildered

by Dawn Felagund

Not all of the Eldar believed Valinor would be superior to Middle-earth. Having followed the man she loves from the land she loved also, Míriel struggles to cope with a strange life in a strange new land. (Short Story)

Fëanor Makes the Silmarils

by alikuu

Fëanor experiments with the light-retaining properties of Silima in the privacy of his forge. (Artwork)

The Creation of the Silmarils

by amyfortuna

Fëanor's creation of the Silmarils, in the form of a sestina. (Poetry)

Dwarves Come into Beleriand

by Robinka

The Dwarves arrive in Beleriand. (Artwork)

The Fates of Our Kin

by LadyBrooke

It is an ill omen when a Prince of Doriath appears in the tent of a Dwarf without any weapons and lowers himself to sit beneath her while they speak of important matters. (Short Story)

Melkor Stirs Strife among the Noldor

by Nixie Genesis

Melkor weaves his lies, especially between the sons of Finwë. (Artwork)

A King Unkinged (For the Love He Bore Feanor)

by Himring

Finwe arrives in Formenos. (Short Story)

This Time It's Different

by Nixie Genesis

Melkor meets Ungoliant within her lair in order to fulfill his plan. They both converge on Aman and Melkor takes his revenge. (Short Story)

Approaching Darkness

by ryesil

Melkor, Ungoliant and the darkening of Valinor. (Artwork)

The First Kinslaying

by fortunaavversa

The first kinslaying. (Artwork)

Exodus of the Noldor

by Writing Gecko

After the Exile of the Noldor, Arafinwe and Aule reflect on things which can be fixed, and those that cannot. (Ficlet)

The Remnants of a Person

by LadyBrooke

After the battle, too few of Denethor’s people remain to search through all the bodies alone. (Ficlet)

Burning

by feanorusrex

Arien's experience following the death of the Trees. (Poetry)

The Guides

by Hrymfaxe

Arien of Anar and Tilion of Isil. (Artwork, NSFW)

One Last Spring

by anthropologyarda

The world is changing. Strange dreams drive an Avari chieftain to embark on a quest, where he unknowingly stumbles upon his people's doom. (Short Story)

Helcaraxë

by hennethgalad

Fingolfin, his family and friends, confront the ice and the unknown, and are drawn closer together by their feat of endurance. But Fingolfin suffers bitter loneliness and only the great valour of the other Elves gives him the strength to keep moving. (Short Story)

The Grinding Ice

by fortunaavversa

The Grinding Ice. (Artwork)

Mereth Aderthad

by Grundy

"When twenty years of the Sun had passed, Fingolfin King of the Noldor made a great feast; and it was held in the spring near to the pools of Ivrin, whence the swift river Narog arose, for there the lands were green and fair at the feet of the Mountains of Shadow that shielded them from the North. The joy of that feast was long remembered in later days of sorrow; and it was called Mereth Aderthad, the Feast of Reuniting." (Short Story)

Of Linguistic Preferences

by Robinka

Some of the Sindar may have practical reasons to like their king’s edict that banishes Quenya from Doriath. (Drabble)

Eöl and Aredhel

by feanorusrex

And Aredhel strayed from her companions and was lost. (Artwork)

Lady Aredhel's Decision

by Scribe of Mirrormere

The account of Lord Eöl and Lady Aredhel, from the perspective of two of Eöl's smiths. (Short Story)

No One

by Dawn Felagund

Idril sits down to dinner with her cousin Maeglin shortly after the deaths of his parents. What begins as an uneventful meal dominoes into resentment and defensiveness as her own traumatic memories of her mother's death surface. (Short Story)

This Mortal Coil

by hennethgalad

The reflections of Bëor as he is welcomed to Nargothrond. (Short Story)

Darker than Night

by Luxa

While hunting, Amlach and Maedhros are pulled from their excursion by a surprise messenger, who asks them to take on a task great than either of them realize. They should have realized that finding traitors is no small task. (Short Story)

Red Sun Rising

by Amy Fortuna

Fingolfin passes on the crown to Fingon his son and heir. (Short Story)

Through the Morning Mist

by StarSpray

At long last, Emeldir leads her people into the forest of Brethil. (Ficlet)

The Duel

by lightofthetrees

The (in)famous song duel at Tol-in-Gaurhoth, as told by Finrod. (Short Story)

The Dead That Live

by fortunaavversa

Beren and Lúthien win a Silmaril. (Artwork)

Fewer Words, Without Song

by IgnobleBard

The story of Beren and Lúthien told as a fairy tale. (Short Story)

False Spring

by oshun

The story of the Union of Maedhros, the great alliance of Elves, Men and Dwarves organized by Fingon and Maedhros, is the prelude to the Nirnaeth Arnoediad. It is the return of hope for my protagonists and yet the beginning of the end of the struggle of those rash and heroic Noldor whose deeds made me fall in love with The Silmarillion. (Short Story)

Follow Me Home

by Robinka

Beleg meets his doom. (Ficlet)

Dagnir Glaurunga

by Robinka

The dragon and his executioner. A take of the death of Glaurung, but with a twist. (Artwork)

Strife about the Nauglamír

by Robinka

Strife about the Nauglamír. (Artwork)

A Dwarf's Memories

by LadyBrooke

An excerpt from the memoirs of a Dwarf of Belegost, concerning her childhood in Menegroth. (Ficlet)

Too late to go in peace

by mangacrack

Dreams tell Dior to stop the madness, but the young king doesn't listen. (Short Story)

Ravens over Doriath

by Hrymfaxe

In the aftermath of the Second Kinslaying (some gore and horror themes). (Artwork)

Escape

by hennethgalad

Tuor meets the messengers of Círdan and passes through the mountains to the sea. At Vinyamar he comes face to face with Ulmo. (Short Story)

Beyond the Cirith Thoronath

by Robinka

Death of a Golden Flower. (Poetry and Artwork)

A Tyrant Spell Has Bound Me

by Independence1776

After an ambush by Morgoth’s army destroys the Fëanorian camp, the survivors seek refuge in the Havens. Dark AU. (Short Story)

We Will Be Who We Are

by Lotrfan

The Army of Valinor has come to Beleriand. Maedhros and Maglor feel they must join in this battle against Morgoth but are reluctant to bring Elrond and Elros into the conflict. War of Wrath prompt focusing on the relationships between the surviving sons of Fëanor and the sons of Eärendil they are fostering. (Short Story)

There was battle in the air

by Lyra

"But Eärendil came, shining with white flame, and about Vingilot were gathered all the great birds of heaven and Thorondor was their captain, and there was battle in the air all the day and through a dark night of doubt. Before the rising of the sun Eärendil slew Ancalagon the Black, the mightiest of the dragon-host, and cast him from the sky; and he fell upon the towers of Thangorodrim, and they were broken in his ruin." (Artwork)

Bright Star - An Exile into Paradise

by Oshun

Elros is preparing to leave behind the land of his birth, everyone and everything he has known, to become one of the founding settlers and the first king of Númenór. Elrond is not ready to let him go. (Short Story)

Roads Not Taken

by anthropologyarda

With Tar-Ciryatan's crowning, Númenor takes the well-traveled path – but it wasn't the only one. His sister held other dreams. (Short Story)

The City Lights Burn

by Tyelca

Elrond and Gil-Galad discuss Annatar’s presence in Ost-in-Edhil. (Short Story)

Introduction by Lyra.

1 As one disenchanted reviewer called it. 2Humphrey Carpenter, Christopher Tolkien (eds)., The Letters of J.R.R.Tolkien. Letter 131.

[elesianne]

A Silmarillion fanfic, chapter 2/2

I wanted to post this earlier (on Valentine’s Day...) but AO3 kept giving me the 503 error and I wanted to post there at the same time as here, so I’m doing this as the very last thing before going to bed.

(Since AO3 finally co-operated, you can also read this over there.)

Chapter 2 summary: Maedhros proves his talent with words by sending a letter that leaves Fingon quite hot and bothered, and determined to reply in kind.

Story summary: Fingon and Maedhros can’t declare their love publicly, but in private they find many ways to celebrate their devotion to each other.

And things like colours and emblems are important for elf lords.

Tag-type thingies: rating: Mature audiences; relationships: Maedhros/Fingon; some keywords: romance, secret relationship, some humour, light fluff, making out, implied sexual content

*

Your colours

Dor-lómin in the summer of 120 First Age

It is not like Fingon to be in a bad mood but on this cool summer morning, the morning of a day he very much wants to spend celebrating with his beloved but instead has to spend dealing with cropping problems in the north-west, he finds it difficult to remain regal and sedate in front of his subjects. He would much rather sulk and break his fast in his own room with only his sour self for company.

But he knows his duty, so he takes his place at the head of the high table on the dais in his great hall and converses with his commanders and advisors while browsing through the messages that have arrived overnight or soon after dawn.

In addition to a letter from his father and another from Nargothrond, there are two letters addressed to him in a familiar, slightly unsteady handwriting. On one is written in blue ink Prince Fingon, on the other in red ink Findekáno. There is also a package labelled Findekáno.

Fingon smiles a little to himself. Even Maedhros, the most diplomatic of the fiery sons of Fëanor, doesn't completely acquiesce to Thingol's ban on Quenya, and he is fond of using Fingon's forbidden Quenya name to let him know which letters and parcels are meant for the lover rather than the friend, cousin or ally.

Fingon knows to never open the missives thus labelled before he is in the privacy of his own chambers, so he puts that letter and package aside and opens the one Maedhros addressed to Prince Fingon. It is an unbelievably boring report, but Fingon's mood improves while he reads it because he knows that the other letter will be much more… interesting. Maedhros has a gift for the written word that makes living almost at the opposite ends of Beleriand more tolerable.

It is very late in the evening before he can retire to his chambers, send away his servants and settle down to read Maedhros's private letter, but he is certain that it will prove worth the wait.

My beloved Findekáno,

I intend this letter to reach you on the day that is our anniversary, though the change in the counting of years makes it difficult to determine exactly how many years have passed since you first convinced me that kissing you would not be the end of our world. No matter how fervent were your protestations of maturity and experience, we were so young then and so innocent, yet the thought of touching my lips to yours still awakens the same feelings in me.

I lost all sense of time at that dark point between our first years of love and these later ones, but I know you always kept count of years and days, and I know you must be sad that we could not be together today. Be assured that though our duties keep us apart on this day, you will be in my thoughts.

I must confess that some of these thoughts of you will be such that they will distract me from my duties and wreak havoc with my equanimity as I deal with the disagreements that have arisen between my brothers. Are you grinning already in that wonderful, infuriating and heart-warming way of yours? I hope you are; I am always glad to be the cause of your grins, even when they come at the expense of my dignity.

To warm your heart and your lovelier-than-ever body, I send a little anniversary gift. I was greatly insulted by your saying, when last we saw, that you thought I had forgotten the gift you gave me on our very first anniversary. How could I forget the fabric almost as soft as your skin, the forbidden colours that I loved to gaze at when I couldn't gaze at you, and the way your eyes filled with a storm when I told you I wanted to keep on my new gift when you made love to me? I wore it to shreds, as I hope you will wear this.

You should prepare yourself for a visit from the lord of Himring in a few weeks' time, for I will ride west as soon as I get Tyelkormo and Carnistir sorted out, to seek your much better company. Besides the delight and pleasure of seeing you again, I am sorely in need of some time apart from my esteemed brothers and their fraternal fallings-out. I am confident that as always, you will make me forget everything but your touch and the wonderful, filthy sounds you make when our bodies meet.

Until then, you had best keep your gift hidden like I did with mine such a long time ago. My father may be gone but you are still surrounded by people who continue to be somewhat distrustful of my house, and I fear the alliances and good relations I have managed to establish would be too sorely tried if you were seen wearing my colours.

I, on the other hand, cannot wait to see you in red. I am trying to decide whether I want more to strip you of my gift as soon as you've put it on, or for you to keep wearing it when we celebrate seeing each other again…

The letter is signed only with an M, and Fingon knows that he is allowed to interpret it as either Maitimo or Maedhros, whatever pleases him most.

Damn that tease, thinks Fingon when he has to adjust his clothes between putting down the letter and opening the parcel to find the red dressing robe he knew would be inside. Maedhros's letter made no mystery of the gift just as it didn't conceal how much he still wants Fingon, after all these years.

In spite of his current discomfort that he will have to suffer through or relieve by himself, missing Maedhros's touch, Fingon is glad that his beloved writes teasingly and lightly, displaying the easy self-confidence he has discovered in the years after his torment and the recovery from it. No longer in his father's overbearing shadow or burdened by the crown he felt he didn't deserve after Alqualondë and Losgar, Maedhros's spirit burns brighter than it did before the darkness he went through.

Perhaps because of it, Fingon thinks, stroking the lovely robe in his lap. He always doubted his own strength; perhaps surviving and then overcoming something worse than he could ever have imagined made him finally realise the things I've always been telling him about his strength and worth.

It took time, of course, for Maedhros to accept himself as he is now, and to accept that Fingon loves him as he ever did. During those first years in the camp by Lake Mithrim Fingon helped Maedhros banish the shadows of guilt and torment, and though scars remain and youthful joy and innocence can never be regained, the two of them have built something new that is in its own way just as beautiful. Their second love is stronger than their first for having overcome adversity, just as Maedhros is.

Fingon reads through the letter a second time, savouring the words. Maedhros has always said that one of the reasons he loves Fingon is that Fingon makes him laugh, but Maedhros's own brand of dry irreverence mixed with casually stated yet outrageously arousing remarks never fails to make Fingon hot and bothered like nothing else.

This letter of Maedhros's has the usual effect on Fingon, as does holding the robe that is heavy velvet rather than light silk in deference to the cool climate of Dor-lómin, the deep red of it embroidered in the shade of dark green that is Maedhros's own favourite colour. As Fingon runs his fingers on the soft, soft fabric, he notes that there is no eight-rayed star among the embroidered patterns. It is frankly a relief, for he doesn't need to be reminded of Maedhros's father at a moment like this.

Fingon closes his eyes and imagines that it is Maedhros's skin under his fingertips, scarred now but no less wonderful to touch…

He really should reply to Finrod's letter first; there is official business to deal with there, rather than personal pleasure, but pleasure and more-than-cousinly affection is all that is in Fingon's mind right now. Once again he puts the tall red-headed cousin before all others.

He tries to think of something to write that would cause the same emotions and sensations in Maedhros that his letter roused in Fingon. The perfect idea arrives just as he is about to dip his quill in ink, and he puts the quill down.

Then he strips off, pulls on his new robe – oh, it feels just as lovely as he thought it would, its caress on his skin the best substitute he could have for Maedhros's touch – and sits down again to write.

Dearest Maitimo,

(for Fingon can be a rebel too, in private at least)

I thank you for your gift which is almost as beautiful as you are and has brightened my day considerably.

Now, when I tell you that it is the only thing I am wearing as I write these answering words, I know that your cheeks will turn a shade very close to the remarkable colour of your hair. I have not bothered to tie the sash as it would only get in the way later, and I wish you were here to pull the robe off me altogether – or to indeed persuade me to keep it on when I show you how much I have missed you.

I believe I could be persuaded to do whatever you wanted; all you need to do is repeat that thing with your tongue which so impressed me last time…

*

A/N: Ah, writing epistolary fiction is so much fun, and these two are such a great couple.

Feedback is very appreciated!