#nolofinwe appreciation

[inthehouseoffinwe]

AU where even after death our favourite Finwëions are being stubborn as ever so a new solution is found. Finarfin just wanted to help his grandson in law.

Fëanor and Fingolfin are being stubborn as ever

It’s been three ages, their wounds are healed, they’ve made up and understood most of their deeds

But they cannot for the life of them get along, and everyone, from Mandos to their children and people, know that if they’re released in their current state, things will go right back to how they were

Even if their people are kept in line by their kids, it’s a very explosive situation

And in all honesty, Námo feels like they’ve put poor Finarfin through enough without this addition

He can’t keep them here forever. The halls aren’t meant to be a permanent residence unless it’s by choice, and they’ve started causing chaos in here too

…but speaking of the sons of Finwë

Finarfin himself isn’t doing particularly well right now. He feels great guilt for his inaction over the last two Ages, especially as Tyelpë and Ereinion turned up with their own tales

Then of course little Celebrian

(Doesn’t matter how much everyone tells him they’d genuinely be lost without him and his actions. The Noldor especially would’ve been outcast and alone. They needed a stable ruler, not another revolutionary. And the work he’s done is more impactful than either of his brothers ever managed)

Not to mention he’s still furious at his brothers despite what he’s convinced himself of

…and misses them greatly.

Truth be told, the Valar owe him a lot.

So they offer him a choice.

Ereinion’s skilled with managing all kinds of people and people don’t have a problem with the kid, so for a time he’ll be the High King

Finarfin is overjoyed at the chance to help his granddaughter’s family. Elrond is dear to many across all factions, and his children too.

…He’s less overjoyed at the news his brothers will be joining him if he agrees.

Nevertheless desire to be of use for once wins out and he accepts.

He gets a week or so to say his goodbyes and prepare for the journey. Asking around, particularly asking the third age elves who’ve recently arrived and Celebrian most of all, gets him the clothes and supplies he needs to somewhat blend in.

They’re still his colours (though he has none) and his symbol is carefully hidden under the cloak.

And he heads to the Hall’s Opening.

“For what it’s worth, Arafinwë, I’m sorry for the additional baggage. We’ve asked much of you, but hopefully this at least will benefit us all.”

Námo is kind when he stands and opens the gates.

“I know you’ve missed them too.”

The soft whisper dissipates into the wind with the Vala and now two figures are walking out. Tall. Broad shouldered. Eyes shining with light.

Clad in their usual blue and red, weapons strapped to their backs and hips.

Fëanaro and Nolofinwë have returned at last.

Before he can say anything there’s a whirl of light and the three elves are swept away.

Aragorn did not sign up for this

A bright flash of light all but blinds him, leaving three figures in its wake.

Three very tall. Very Elven. Figures.

And if that’s not enough, they look strangely familiar. Like he should know them from somewhere.

“That damn Vala! He couldn’t have warned us!”

And now they’re speaking Quenya.

“He did. It’s not his fault you don’t listen to anyone but yourself,” the one clad in blue says viciously.

The third elf, the only one with blond hair, groaned and glared at the two others. Aragorn winced at the look, thankful he wasn’t under it, though neither of the others so much as flinched.

“You’ve been back how long?” He scoffed. “And here I thought I missed you.”

To his credit the one in blue showed some regret and bowed his head. Beside him, the red one huffed, but it was much less heated, and his hands clenched into the leaves around him.

“Forgive me, Arafinwë,” the blue one said.

Aragorn’s hand found his blade. It couldn’t be…

“Depends what you want forgiveness for, Nolo,” was the cold reply, tinged with hurt.

No way.

But it was there. The uncanny resemblance to the portraits he’d seen in his books as a young boy learning his history. This was no doubt Fingolfin, and beside him Finarfin. Which only left-

“My feud with Fëanaro has long tainted our relationship, little brother,” the blue elf- *Fingolfin* replied bitterly, glaring at the third elf. “I’d like to start again.”

“Well I’d like you two to shove your issues aside for once and try and get along!” Finarfin hissed back, and his older brother’s eyes widened. “How long will you keep fighting?! How long will you divide your people, your children! How long will you make them suffer for your egos?!”

Aragorn expected Fëanor to scowl, angrily proclaim his youngest half brother had no right to speak that way, but the elf only glared into the floor. Fingolfin stared into the trees and Finarfin turned away, eyes clouding with pain.

Only to stare right at Aragorn.

“Fëanaro, Nolo. Swords up.”

To their credit the elves immediately stood and followed Finarfin’s gaze to Aragorn. The Ranger carefully stepped into the light as the three sons of Finwë stared him down.

“It is not polite to lurk, stranger.” Fingolfin said in the common tongue and Aragorn vaguely wondered if he’d been taught it in the halls. He put his hands up, free of weapons, and lowered his hood.

“Forgive me, my lord Fingolfin. But I had to identify if you were friend of foe. You appeared in a strange manner wearing faces of old, and the enemy is skilled in his deceit.”

“You dare accuse us of being Sauron’s creations?” Fëanor’s eyes lit with a fell fire and Aragorn would have shuddered was he not accustomed to seeing much worse from his own father. Elrond could be… rather terrifying when he decided he’d had enough of his son’s’ shenanigans.

“He was being cautious,” Finarfin retorted. “Something you could learn from considering how your life ended.”

“I didn’t know what Balrogs were!”

“The great Fëanaro admitting to not knowing something, have the end of days come at last?”

“Some would say his presence here is an indicator of that,” Fingolfin muttered as Fëanor scowled at the blond. The scowl turned to him and he met it squarely. “I said what I said.”

The situation was fast unravelling and Aragorn had Nazgul on his tail. For all his training in Elrond’s house, nothing had prepared him for dealing with three Princes - Kings??? - of the Noldor at each others throats. Sending a prayer that this wouldn’t get him skewered, he whistled sharply and the three elves spun his way. He raised his hands in apology.

“Orcs and other fell beasts roam these lands, my lords. I’d advise a quieter argument?” He grimaced at the two stunned faces, wondering when it would turn to explosive anger that ended the line of Elros once and for all.

But Finarfin tilted his head, a small smile playing about his lips.

“It takes great courage to step between the arguments of the House of Finwë. What’s your name, stranger.”

The Ranger bowed his head.

“The trees have ears, my lord, I’d take you to an Elven safehaven before telling you that. But for now, you can call me Strider.”

[sweetteaanddragons]

If Maedhros had died in Morgoth's ambush, do you think Maglor would have given up the kingship?

I think Maglor would - a big gesture is definitely needed to reunite everyone, and I think of Maglor as someone who appreciates the value of a good "big gesture." Additionally, I don't really see him as someone who actually wants to be the big picture guy for the war effort; he's much more comfortable being the second in command.

(Also, if we're going with my personal headcanons here, he's also just lost his wife, so. Definitely not in a great headspace to fight for the kingship.)

But let's explore deeper!

What if . . .

Celegorm is the oldest left standing?

Yeah, absolutely not. I also don't think Fingolfin would bow to High King Celegorm, so I guess we're having another division of the Noldor here.

Caranthir is the oldest left standing?

I - hm. It's not so much that I think he wants the high kingship, exactly, it's that I think he couldn't bear to just give it up. Maybe if there's some sort of deal he can feel like he got the better end of?

Or maybe with Feanor and three of his sons dead Fingolfin feels like it would be in bad taste to angle for it. I'm not sure.

Curufin is the oldest left standing?

He is definitely not giving it up. None of the Nolofinweans ever thought for a second he would.

Everyone is deeply concerned about the death toll the Feanorians have taken.

The Ambarussa, either or collectively, are the oldest left standing?

We have basically no canon characterization for them. My personal view is that it wouldn't occur to them to offer, but that if someone suggested it, they could be talked around.

Nolofinwe arrives and discovers the Feanorians have crowned little Tyelpe king for lack of other options:

He is taking their word for it that Celebrimbor is still alive. The very protective Feanorian army is not currently letting anyone in to see their king, thank you, especially not anyone that might potentially be holding grudges.

His main concern at the moment has very little to do with who gets what title and a whole lot to do with convincing them that he has never in his life considered holding Tyelpe responsible for any of this and that's definitely not going to change now.

But let's not take my word for it! Let's vote:

[silvantransthranduiltrash]

What if Finwe, Ingwe, and Olwe all had secret passages within their castles?

And only they, and the builders/elves that grew up in beriliand knew about it?

They don’t hid it out of malice, or anything, but the valinor born elves don’t appreciate the benefit of having secret escape passages bc they’ve never needed it.

And, low-key, any remnants of when the elves still lived in beriliand pre-orome ends up taking space within these secret passages/rooms, so it’s like it doesn’t even exist for those who don’t know to look for it.

Idk, i think it would be interesting if the beliriand born elves just have dozens of secret tunnels throughout the castles stuffed to the brim with their history in order to keep it safe, only for it to be left forgotten by them, except for when one of these elves wants to remember their times before meeting the valar.

Also, can you imagine finwe one day whipping open one of these secret passages in front of his kids/grandkids and going: and this was Miriel’s sword, and this was my spear, and these were some common clothing items, and this was to bash the face in of any orc that came a bit to close-

Meanwhile feanor, nolofinwe, etc are standing there gapping at all this history and knowledge that they didn’t know existed one measly wall away from where they grew up.

Feanor: what do you mean my mom had a sword?

Finwe: not just a sword; a collection of swords. She was considered the best swords elf of her time.

Feanor: WHAT-

[mothdalf]

Celebrindal

My contribution to the Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang 2020! During which I teamed up with the fantastic FactorialRabbits and she has written a beautiful corresponding fic!

This was my first time participating in the TRSB or anything like it and I can’t wait to do it again! I’m so pleased with the end result and incredibly honoured to have someone inspired enough by my art to write something!

To learn more about our work check out the promo post here!

And to read more fantastic fics inspired by gorgeous art check out @tolkienrsb or the #trsb20

[that-angry-noldo]

You Don't Know My Name - part two

[in which Fingolfin is questioning his life choices (again), Finarfin is still an amnesiac and none of them thinks, "hmm, our names sound kinda similar, wonder what that's about"]

[Part one]

Fingolfin looked at the place where a warrior stood just a moment ago. On a blood stain. On the corpse of an orc. On the flask thrown aside. Fingolfin concluded that he was not, in fact, dreaming. Fingolfin made several notes.

First, never believe Feanor when he boasts that the local roads are the safest in the kingdom and are impeccably guarded.

Second, don't believe idiots (Feanors) who assure you that their escort is top class and eats orcs for breakfast.

He turned, looked around the battlefield. A dozen dead elves. Four more were wounded, the severity of the injuries varying from elf to elf.

His father stood staring at the nearest body. His eyes were wide open.

Fingolfin turned once more to the spot where the boy had been wounded, and bit his tongue to keep from swearing. He cursed the day the heavens decided that Nolofinwe without magic was exactly what this world lacked.

And now a mage, a rather strong mage, is in their forest, which may or may not be infested with orcs. Together with his wounded son, whom - to be honest, Nolo would not have given him more than twelve years.

He cut the distance to his father, who still hadn't recovered from the shock, and took him by the shoulders.

"Are you injured?" he asked quietly. There was no answer.

Nolofinwe took him aside and sat him down on the grass. He threw off his cloak and wrapped it around Finwe's shoulders. 

He lingered for a second, then stood up.

Nolofinwe appreciated his ability to set priorities. At the moment, the priority was to make sure that aid was already on its way and to organize a camp of some kind. He couldn't let himself be caught off guard again.

His people - no, Feanaro's people - had already sent a signal through the Osanwe; help was due in an hour or two, though knowing Fëanor and his love for Finwe, Fingolfin expected to see his half-brother much sooner.

Fingolfin was thinking about the orcs. 

He ordered them to take the bodies of the fallen to the side, to close their eyes, and to cover them with cloaks.

(He tried not to think about how quickly he began to call the elves, who were riding next to him an hour ago, bodies).

Fingolfin was thinking about the orcs. It was alarming how they managed to make their way so deep into the country. The dull rage with which they growled, swinging their swords, was even more unsettling. 

Fingolfin thought that ten of them had fallen. The fact that they were not ready for it. That nothing could have predicted it. That if it wasn't for - 

If it wasn't for the gray-eyed stranger and his son-

He forbade himself to think about "if it wasn'ts".

Be that as it may, Fingolfin was thinking about the orcs. For the first time, he felt relief at the thought that Fëanor would soon be here.

He had only an hour to wait.

"Nolo." 

He turned to his father, bowed his head as usual.

"Where is that man?" The king's voice sounded... quiet. Broken. 

"He disappeared," the prince simply answered, looking impatiently at the road.

"Disappeared," Finwe said dully before falling silent.

Fingolfin tried not to think about the fact that his father had not even asked if his youngest son was all right.

~

Fëanor did arrive quickly, rushing to his father, clutching him in his arms, ignoring the orc corpses.

Nolofinwe closed his eyes, separating himself from everything for a second. He could still catch fragments of his older half-brother's worried babbling, though. 

Something in his heart clenched, and Fingolfin pursed his lips. He once had a brother whom he should not have called a half-brother.

Arafinwe had golden hair and large gray eyes.

He pulled himself out of his thoughts. Arafinwe disappeared decades ago. It's not worth it - he can't start drowning in memories now.

He did not notice how the camp was made, how Fëanor and his father jumped on their horses.

"Find him," ordered Finwe quietly. "I want to thank him." 

You can thank me, too, thought Fingolfin, but remained silent. He approached the healer, took a bag with medicine from her - he remembered that the boy was wounded.

And then Fingolfin was left alone.

Well. That's all there is to know about the value of a Noldor prince's life. He clenched his teeth, holding back a furious scream.

Fingolfin, Prince of the Noldor, son of Finwe - YES, FINWE, I AM STILL YOUR SON - was left alone on the forest road, surrounded by gloomy trees and the bodies of orcs.

He shouted. In despair. In powerlessness. The crows flew into the sky in fright, cawing anxiously.

He wanted to break down, to go away, run into the forest, forget the path, disappear, disappear, no.

It will kill your father.

You remember what happened when Arafinwe disappeared, right?

Fingolfin took a breath, tied his horse to a branch, and went into the forest.

Fingolfin had no magic. He couldn't make the stones glow like Feanaro did. Couldn't calm people down with his sole voice like Findis did. He could not charm the crowd with his singing, as Makalaure could. However, as an un-gifted person, Fingolfin knew about magic. Uh.

A Lot.

It was the product of hours spent in the library trying desperately to figure out what was wrong with him, and the systematic cramming of theory years later. Yes, Fingolfin could confidently say that he knew more about magic than the average mage. Irony of fate, perhaps.

So, Fingolfin knew that targeted teleportation took a long time, while spontaneous teleportation could belong to the category of magical emissions provoked by severe stress and a desperate, uncontrolled desire to get to safety. Such an emission carried the mage a short distance to a place that was the least similar to the association of "danger" in his head.

Therefore, he had to get on the trail of the warrior soon.

He wanted to get on the trail soon.

He doubted that the warrior had the necessary medicine for his son.

~

Finarfin had experience working with wounds. He knew how to stop bleeding, clean cuts, find healing herbs, and apply bandages; he had done it many times on himself and others; sometimes, as Eärwen ran her fingers over his scars, he would smile, thanking the gods for their assistance.

He never thought that prayers for help would pour from his lips, not as thanks, but as a plea. He never thought that his head could hold so many voices at once. He never thought he would panic over a simple injury.

He had never thought that his Finrod might be wounded, that he might lie before him, with a red stain on his shirt, that from his lips would come this cry, this silent cry, that—

The hands worked mechanically, treating the wound, the lips whispered soothing words. Thoughts were begging, begging to do something, begging to hide; his eyes burned, but he could not cry while his son was in danger, while his wound-

He blessed Eru that the wound was not fatal, that it would not leave his son crippled. He cursed himself for not being ready, for relaxing too much, for leaving the health and regeneration potions at home, for not bringing bandages.

He couldn't even heat the water.

A branch cracked.

Finarfin shuddered, his hand twitching for the knife.

It was a dark-haired warrior.

"Back," growled Finarfin, leaning over his son, not taking his eyes off the stranger, putting an order in his voice.

The elf shuddered; for a second his eyes were clouded by the effect of magic, but he frowned, blinked, and bowed his head.

"No." 

"Go away." 

"I want to help." 

Finarfin almost wanted to snarl, saying that he could manage it himself, but hesitated at the last moment. He couldn't even heat water.

He clenched his hands into fists and nodded.

The warrior sighed with relief and got to work.

~

Nolofinwe worked quickly, precisely, and carefully.

Remove any blood from the wound. Uncork the crimson-pink health potion, pour half a glass on the wound; unwind the bandage, bandage the wound with the help of a warrior; make him drink a few drops of regeneration, put a palm on his hot forehead.

The warrior seemed petrified. The only sign that he was alive were the eyes that looked at his son's face with a mixed expression: anxiety, fear, hope...

Nolofinwe put the bottles and the remains of the bandages into a bag.

Now, without Nolofinwe's movements, his low voice, and the goal of saving the boy - an awkward silence reigned between the two warriors.

Which wasn't ideal. Nolofinwe had an order, after all. Bring the warrior to his father.

"You saved my son." 

The warrior's voice sounded tired.

"You saved me," Fingolfin shrugged, his gaze fixed on the boy.

"What is your name?" 

"Nolofinwe." 

"Nolo... finwe," the warrior exhaled. "Mine's Finarfin." 

It was strange that the warrior - Finarfin - used the Sindarin version of his name, but Fingolfin said nothing.

He got up, turned to Finarfin.

He had golden hair and large, tired gray eyes. For a second he  thought-

Nothing. Not now. 

"Your son needs help," he said. "My father has the best healers in the kingdom. Tirion isn't very fat from here. The forest, on the other hand, will be dangerous for you." 

Finarfin looked at him for a few seconds, then stood up and lifted his son in his arms. Fingolfin sighed with relief.

He turned and led them down the path to the road. 

[fuckingfinwions]

A/B/O AU where Feanor and all his sons are alphas

Maglor was certain that his eldest brother was up to something. For one thing, there was that smug look on his face. But also, Maedhros had been asking their brothers for various things. None of the rest had put it to together, but Maglor made a habit of watching his older brother. As the two eldest alphas they were natural rivals, and with Maglor's gift for song and Maedhros's for convincing speech they competed in public opinion as well.

Maedhros had been careful, asking for one or two things at a time. He'd gotten rope that Amrod wove, supposedly for making a new lead for his horse "So nothing that will scrape up my hands if he pulls." He'd asked Maglor if his practice room was really that good at preventing sound from escaping, and Maglor had demonstrated (with Maedhros outside to note the quiet and so he couldn't trap Maglor, Maglor was no idiot.) Amras had a herd of goats that he had caught from the wild himself, and had asked for tips on how to get a dumb animal to relax around you. (Celegorm rather cheated, being able to speak to them.) Maedhros had gotten sturdy leather gloves from Celegorm, and tips on how to tie up a lover without injuring them from Caranthir, and finally a ring gag from Curufin.

The last item was what made the conclusion unavoidable. Maglor had asked Curufin if he had any reluctance over fashioning such a device, but Curufin had shrugged and said, "He gave his word not to use it on me. I suppose it's tough luck for whoever he has his fun with."

Maglor confronted Maedhros the next day, on a terrace where they could be seen but not easily overheard. "You're going to bitch someone."

Maedhros didn't deny it. "I want an omega, and you know there aren't enough."

It was true; born omega males were rare. So much so that some people thought them fake, and anyone claiming to be so was a bitched omega who had run away from his alpha. Most alphas married females, never getting to experience the rut triggered by an omega's heat, or remained alone.

"So you plan to kidnap some poor random elf and keep him in my music room for a month?"

"Don't worry, I have a plan to make it faster. An I already have someone in mind."

"An alpha you'll need to tie up and force his mouth his open?" Maglor wasn't surprised that no one had volunteered to have their body and emotions so thoroughly rewritten, but there were practicalities.

"Yes. He's worth it."

"They're going to miss his absence at court, you know."

"Hardly, he never attends."

"Nolofinwe will still notice his son's absence, and I'm not going to cover for you."

"Nolofinwe - you think I'm planning to bitch Fingon? I've told you a dozen times, we're just friends."

Maglor sighed. "Well, whoever else it is, Father will be happy about that at least."

Maedhros smirked. "He may be afterwards, but not at first. I'll enjoy his reactions very much, though."

Maglor was stunned. "Are you serious - he's our father!"

"He'll be improving the lives of his sons, it's very appropriate. And he appreciates it when all of us work together for one cause, it's very appropriate."

"You getting an omega by tricking the rest of us into giving you supplies isn't very much like cooperation."

"No, which is why we can all share him."

"Does that even work? If you bitch him, he'll be too repulsed by my scent to suck on my knot."

"Omegas hate the scent of strange alphas. If we have seven alphas bitching him, he'll recognize all of us as his mates even if he hates it."

"Curufin will never go along with doing anything against Father."

"Perhaps, but if we show him Father already fucked out and horny, he won't want to be left out."

Maglor hummed as he thought this over. "So, what's our plan?"

Maedhros hid his amusement at how quickly Maglor had gotten on board with the idea. "The two of us and Celegorm the first night - you and I will come up with a reason for Father to go in the music room, and Celegorm will need little convincing. I'll bring Caranthir and the twins the next morning, once he's too worn out to fight as much."

"It would take a lot for Father to be too exhausted to fight."

"True, but with seven of us to keep him busy, he'll have at least one cock knotted in his holes for days straight. That much alpha cum should bitch him within a week, and send him straight into heat as well."

Maglor paused a moment to enjoy the mental image of his father - his future omega - sweaty and covered in cum and still desperate for more. "I suppose as eldest, you're going to demand some special privilege over him?"

"Just that I'm the first one to fuck his new pussy when that opens up. You all can take turns after, and I don't care who sires our father's grandchildren."

[in-the-glow-of-a-silmaril]

Masterlist of My Silmarillion Posts

A few thoughts on Melian, Elros, and aging

The silmarils would have rejected the sons of feanor the whole time they were in Beleriand

Beren and Luthien appreciation

Generational knowledge in Luthien's line

The Tragedy of Dior Eluchil

Feral Dior

More Dior feelings

Dior & Earendil

A brief argument for Dior/Turin (and one for Dior/Nienor in the notes)

Doriath's terrible, no good, very bad year

More crying over Doriath

On Thingol

Thingol's death, a summary and analysis

Thingol loves his grandson

Elros and Elwing

Nimloth

Elrohir and Elladan

The graves of Elros and Elrond

Elrond, Elros, and healing

Elwing's PTSD

Elros and Ulmo

Earendil's silmaril

Earendilyon

Btw Gondolin might have had a secret language 👀

Expeditions on Vingilote

Fave Elwing Post

Thoughts on Finwe: 1 2

The Oath

Feanor perspective flash fic

Feanor characterization regarding conflict with Indis' line

Feanor height hc

Feanor and Gandalf

Feanor/Nerdanel wedding rings

Feanor and the children of Indis

Feanor and Nolofinwe

Feanor, Manwe, and thralldom

Feanor and the impetus for the silmarils

On Feanor's refusal to give up the silmarils

In (further) defense of Feanor: part 1 part 2

Maedhros the tenacious

Maedhros and repentance

Maglor and Nimrodel

Curufin and Dior

Celegorm and Dior

Celegorm’s name

Celegorm and messiness

Celegorm and Ambarussa

Ambarussa: On burning

On Celebrimbor and Trauma

Thoughts on an AU where celebrimbor dies in place of finwe

The Acquisition of Elrond and Elros

A Brief Critique of Nolofinwe

Elven sayings

Elves and the sun

On Melkor

Criticisms of Manwe 1 2 3 4 5

Finwe and Manwe (anti valar)

Valar and elves

Ingwe and Manwe

Celebrimbor never meets Annatar AU fic idea

Celebrimbor and Sauron's meticulous torture of him (no methods of torture are discussed. Non explicit.)

Melkor kidnaps Feanor AU fic idea

The Silmaril is canonically cursed after Beren reclaims it

Eru picking favorites

Character fan mix!

Chaos pairings

Early elven burial rites (check notes!)

List of wips!

Art

Portrait of Caranthir

Queen Berúthiel

Huan and Celebrimbor

Huan and Dior

Saint Celebrimbor

Elros looking to Earendil for guidance

Elurín and Eluréd in watercolor

Portrait of Feanor

Elros, Earendil, and memories

Polls

Celegorm's hair color

How long did Celebrimbor take to be reembodied?

If Dior could shape-shift, what would he turn into?

What happened to Eluréd and Elurín?

Would Feanor ultimately regret his oath?

Did Varda ask permission to hallow the silmarils?

Do elves who have seen the Silmarils have gem-light caught in their eyes?

Fics

Ao3 is Passion_Fruit_Headquarters

Celegorm ×Oromë post canon wip

Dior/Celegorm, a dark fairy tale

Dior&Celegorm time loop fic

[volvaofowls]

Being in relationship with Fingolfin would include

-        As the High king of noldor there is a lot of responsibility on his shoulders, he never expected the mantle of kingship to be passed to him, especially in such a manner, and sometimes it can get too much emotionally. Fingolfin will not pressure you, but he will greatly appreciate your help. As you help him to tackle more duties, he will be very grateful to you. He will present you will a crown similar to his own, as a form of thank you.

-        He is quite protective of you, even though he loves and trusts his people he knows that enemy spies can be nearby. There will be a guard assigned to you. The only times the guard is not there is when you are spending time with Nolofinwe’s children or with him.

-        Fingolfin likes to gift you clothes and to help each other picking outfits, at some point you were afraid that your wardrobe will overflow. The truth behind this is that he is still can sometimes feel the chilling breeze on his skin, as if he is again in the Helcaraxe. He wants to make sure that you will never feel the deadly cold again, making sure that you have enough clothing to keep you warm.

-        Fingolfin doesn’t like arguments. You have disagreements with him, but a full-blown argument is near impossible. He is always calm and collected in these moments. He will try to reach a compromise, not wanting to yield but also not wanting to be in conflict with you. Whatever it is that has come between you he would want to work on it.

-        He has a lot of respect for you and always asks for your input in the matters. He loves to hear your point of view, as you are able to demonstrate the different point of view on the situation. There were a few times when your input helped to gain advantage for him. He is very proud to have you as his s/o, he always makes sure that whenever the door is being opened, the chair pulled, introductions are done – that you are the first person to be acknowledged, thus demonstrating your importance to the whole court.

-        He is an early bird and wakes up very early, despite that he doesn’t like to get fully up without you, he would wait until you are awake with him as well. He will sometimes light a candle and read until you wake up. But usually he would half sit up or be on his side and snuggle you gently into himself. He likes to observe your peaceful features in these moments and to feel your warmth next to him. 

-        Fingolfin doesn’t like to be physically affectionate in public, but he will not shy away from holding your hand. Sometimes, when both of you have few minutes to yourselves in the crowd of people, he will put his hand on your lower back and run small circles into it, re-energising himself in that way. Your touches are very soothing to him.

-        When you are in a more private setting he will be unrestrained. Many times he will read over letter with your feet on his lap, rubbing them and enjoying the physical closeness. He will spontaneously kiss you in private, feeling like he can finally fully relax with you, he doesn’t have to keep up a façade.

-        You bring out a more childish side of him. There were a few times when after love making the two of you laid in bed naked and talked. He will start randomly lightly stroking your sides, making you laugh. All of this is an intentional subtle invitation for a tickle fight. He loves the way you laugh unrestrained in these moments, you will try to get an upper hand, but all attempts are futile against his strength.

[dialux]

bring on the fire, bring on the storm

Written for @aspecardaweek! I meant to put this up for either Day 1 or 2, but time flew past me. This fits into my Findis fic series, and is a very... roundabout exploration of how being aroace can affect your life if your dad’s the only person to have two marriages, I suppose?

...

“They are searching for you, little one.”

“Let them search,” says Findis coldly. 

For all that Findis is young, and that Tirion is at peace, she knows her politics well. Rumil had spoken strenuously against Finwe’s remarriage, and he remains one of Feanaro’s strongest allies. Findis- eldest daughter of Indis, first child to bring two divided people together- is not one of his charges, and never will be if Indis has her way. They both know this.

“Your father,” says Rumil slowly, before heaving a great sigh. “Your father is a great man, but he sees the world through his own eyes.”

“A king cannot choose to be half-blind.”

“And yet he is the king we chose. Envinyasse-” Findis does turn at that, levelling such a look at Rumil that he steps back, “-Findis, then. Findis: he is a good king, and a good father besides.”

“He does not understand me.”

“Have you allowed him to?” 

“I am not Feanaro.”

“Feanaro was very young when he met Nerdanel,” Rumil acknowledges. “But then, so was Finwe when he met Miriel. He only wishes for you to feel that joy as well.”

He sounds like he thinks she needs consolation. But Findis has not wept for her father in many, many centuries.

“My heart is my own,” says Findis. “Go to my father and tell him that I’ve given it to the sea, and shall not return until he learns that I’ve my own thoughts, my own loves, and my own mind.”

“You’re leaving?” asks Rumil, startled.

“I will not stay in a home where I am not heard,” replies Findis, and draws the hood of her cloak over her head, and starts walking.

...

Findis is the eldest child of Indis and Finwe. She is the eldest daughter, and she represents, more than any other, the whole of that truth: it’s an open secret through Tirion that she is meant to bind herself to another high lord of the Noldor, to fall in love with him, to bear him children with shining eyes and starful beauty. To heal the rift caused by Miriel’s death, in the only way that she can.

It’s the greater pity that Findis refuses.

...

How did you know? she asks, once, desperate for advice. 

Feanaro, hot in the throes of his love for Nerdanel, smiles at her. ‘Tis not some difficult tapestry to weave, Nesace. You will find one for yourself, sooner or later.

And if I do not, she thinks, but does not say. If I never find anyone- if I never wish to find anyone- what then?

But she is named Envinyasse for the healing she is meant to bring. She is named Envinyasse for the bridge her father wished her to become, and that bridge is made up of Findis finding someone to love, and she was never asked, not once, whether this is a task she wishes to complete. Whether this is a task she can complete.

...

The sea is cold and silver, and Findis lets her rage run out into its rippling waters. She spends many years there: composing songs, sharpening knives, studying her own fea. Though she is not hiding from her family, she also refuses all her parents’ summons back to Tirion: if she returns, Findis will have to explain why she left, and that will be impossible if she does not have the words for it. 

She explains as much to Lalwen when she comes to fetch her. 

“And so you’ve spent a decade trying to find those words?” asks Lalwen, spearing a mollusk on a knife. Sand wraps around her braids, but she doesn’t seem to be bothered. “That is... pedantic, even for you.”

“I also wanted to yell at Atar,” says Findis. “I didn’t think he’d appreciate that either.”

“Well. He was- beyond- his authority, last time.” Lalwen waggles her eyebrows. “Amme told him so, after Rumil came back and announced that you’d left to the sea.”

“Did she?” asks Findis, startled.

Indis prefers to let them fight their own battles. She always has. For her to rebuke Finwe- to publicly rebuke Finwe- 

“And then Aro and I spent years scouring the beaches for you. You couldn’t have chosen somewhere further south?”

“I was furious,” says Findis plainly. “Do you think I would have calmed in the warm waters of Alqualonde?”

“I don’t think you’re calm now.”

Findis checks herself, and then relaxes the painfully stiff arch of her spine. “I apologize for the trouble I gave you and Arafinwe.”

Lalwen waves it away. “It gave us an excuse to leave Tirion. Though last I heard, Feanaro’s back in the city, and Nolo never left, so...”

“Let’s hope Tirion remains standing, then.”

“Precisely.”

After a long moment, Lalwen casts the mollusk in the flames and turns back to Findis. “You must return,” she says. “Findis. You cannot while your time away here. We need you. Someone needs to talk sense into Feanaro, and keep all those children from burning the palace down, and stop Amme from fretting to death. I tried, you know, for a year? And then I decided I’d rather spend the rest of my life searching for you. They’re all insane, and exasperating, and- and- and Aro’s in love, did you know that? Aro’s in love, and my fourth betrothal fell through, and I cannot bear staying in Tirion without someone tempering them, I cannot!”

Findis stares at her, and then laughs. "It’s been a busy decade, then.”

“Findis-”

“Fine, yes, I’ll come back to our wretched family.” Findis reaches out a hand and tangles it in Lalwen’s own, ignoring the stickiness of the mollusk on Lalwen’s palm. “For you, darling. For you and no other.”

...

She returns, and she never speaks on it to her father again, but it is quite clear that he has been ordered by her mother not to discuss it. It’s a tenuous kind of peace, but Findis’ life has been built on such peaces all her life, and she’ll take what she can get.

...

This is the truth at the end of all things: Finwe does not understand her, and never will. Findis does not hold that wholly against him.

Not wholly.

...

Not until he chooses Feanaro over all of them. Not until he proves himself incapable of even the dregs of understanding that Findis had offered him.

...

Later, Findis does not remember all that she screams. Finwë shouts back to her, though, and they are matched in their fury; they are matched in their ugliness, and their cruelty, and their knowledge of the others’ intimate, tender spots. Findis does not remember all that she screams or all that is screamed at her. But she remembers, well, that Finwë still leaves.

...

The stairs up to Finwe’s study are long and steep. He’d once told Lalwen that he’d constructed it so to cool the tempers of any petitioners who wished to speak to him in haste- and, if nothing else, it would leave them breathless enough for Finwe to offer tea and a kind smile, bleeding off the worst of their rage. Findis remembers that now.

But no stairs shall serve to temper the worst of her fury. Not after all that has happened.

The door is closed. Findis opens it, steps inside.

“Atar,” she says.

Finwe, busy writing a letter- to Nolofinwe; that stamp atop the page is the blue of Nolofinwe’s house- looks up. “Findis,” he says. “Oh, good. I needed someone to send this letter to your brother.”

Findis clenches her jaw, and deliberately misunderstands. “I am not currently in contact with Feanaro.”

“It’s to Nolofinwe, not Feanaro.”

“Why would you need to send a letter to Nolofinwe?” asks Findis coolly. “You shall see him soon enough. It is Feanaro who is banished.”

“I shall be accompanying Feanaro,” says Finwe slowly.

Something cracks- the windows, giving way under the howling pressure of the wind outside. Findis does not snarl, but it is a close thing indeed. Finwe shifts uneasily, and Findis tosses her- loose- hair out of her face, baring her throat: the throat that Feanaro cut.

“To the edge of Tirion?”

“To Formenos,” says Finwe. “Where he shall live, with his sons and his-”

“-and no other,” says Findis harshly. “Because you shall not be going. Let his sons go with him- I will not stop them- but you will not be accompanying him, not when he held a sword to your son’s throat-” when he held a sword to my throat, she thinks furiously, “-and threatened to cut it!”

“He was angry.”

“And now I am angry.”

“Findis.”

“But my anger has ever been the dross to his gold, hasn’t it?” Findis smiles like a snake: toothless, venomful. “None of us shall accompany you. Do you understand that?”

“I understand your rage,” says Finwe calmly. “I shall not ask you to send your followers into banishment. Of course not.”

The smile widens. “My followers? I wasn’t speaking of them- of course I wouldn’t ask them to go. I was speaking of your family. Of Nolofinwe, yes, but also Lalwen, and Arafinwe. I was speaking of your wife.”

“My wife,” echoes Finwe, as if he doesn’t comprehend what she’s saying. Then he does, and his eyes go cold: the first time, in a long time, that he’s truly seen Findis. That he’s paid as much attention to her as he has to his fair, fair, fair eldest son. “Indis has said she will not accompany me?”

“Does it hurt?” asks Findis. “Does it hurt you, to be so misunderstood?”

“I will explain-”

“No. The time for explanations has passed.” Findis smiles, mirthless, at his open mouth. “Is that not what you said to me that day? That day that you told me that you’d rather I were chained to another elf than alone, that day that you told me that a spouseless life akin to another death-”

“-you cannot hold grudges from centuries past-”

“-I’ve never been enough for you,” she says, quietly, coldly, furiously. “But I thought Nolofinwe might have mattered more to you.”

Finwe rocks back, looking like she’s slapped him. “I did not mean- I do not mean-”

But Findis has no desire to hear his justifications. She narrows her eyes and speaks over him.

“You claim to be the beloved of the Valar,” says Findis harshly. “But it was they who mandated that our marriage bonds must remain exclusive. Tell me, Atar, shall you ask for a third wife now? Shall you go to the Valar and ask for an obedient one, who shall follow you into strife as quiet as a shadow, who shall love you as if the Mingling sets upon your shoulders and the stars wheel in their orbits as per your pleasure, who shall bear you more children, faithful children, quiet and dainty and unassuming and stupid as the ones you wish your living children to become!”

She is shouting by the end, unpleasantly loud. Her face is flushed and her hands are trembling. Her eyes are burning.

“I am your father,” says Finwe, but he is angry now: Findis has made him angry now. Feanaro holding a sword to Nolofinwe’s throat had not made him angry. All of Feanaro’s insults and slights to Finwe’s wife and queen had not made him angry. But this- this- has lit a flame in Finwe’s gaze. “You do not speak to me that way.”

The wind is howling outside. Findis reaches for it with her fea, hands whitening on each other until the bones creak.

“I have waited all my life for your love,” Findis forces out. “But all I have received is your disregard. Over, and over, and over again.”

“I have always lo-”

Findis’ hands clench into fists. The windows crack, glass shattering inwards, and the wind howls as it spills into the room. Finwe flinches. But his will is strong too; the wind ruffles through the papers of the room, but it does not throw him end over end.

“These answers cannot be sought by petitioning the Valar,” says Findis. “You cannot resolve this by asking them for aid. This is an elven problem and an elven decision. But then, when have you ever accepted your mistakes, Atar? When have you- ever- once- claimed- responsibility?”

And now the wind is a flood, snatching at Finwe’s clothes, tearing at his hair. 

He stumbles, once, and then he moves, too, a song of silence and stillness and calm from his throat, and Findis is so taken aback by the sheer power of it- she’d forgotten how powerful Finwe could be when he puts his mind to it- that she is thrown into the door from which she entered.

She lands on her knees.

The wind goes silent.

Finwe says, into the yawing silence, “I forgive you for your lapse in judgment. I understand- tempers are running high- but your brother needs me. Just because I go to Formenos does not mean that I do not love you, Findis. Understand that.”

Findis looks up at him, and Finwe pales at her expression.

“There can be no love without understanding,” she says. “There can be no love without effort. Understand that.”

She lifts her hands, rolls her wrists, and her song surges like a river swollen with snowmelt, like the sword had leapt to Feanaro’s hands in a silver blur as he cut her throat.

The shattered shards of window-glass fling themselves at Finwe. He shouts, once, and then strains his song against her own, as if puzzled as to why he cannot overpower her once more. But Findis is more powerful than him- she is trained in the art of using her voice. She is a Songstress, and she is his heir, and she is as full of rage now- full of a lifetime of rage- as ever Feanaro has been towards Nolofinwe, and she will not stop, because she is as the wind, and who has ever heard of stopping the wind?

But then Finwe turns, and they have exchanged places: he is at the door, and Findis is behind his table, and his eyes are large, and there is blood spotting his once-fine robes, and the glass caught in his hair shines like the crown that he has abandoned-

He yanks open the door and flees.

Findis screams. She screams, loud and louder, and anything capable of shattering within the study shatters at it: inkwells, pots of incense, glass cabinets, the last vestiges of the window panes. She slips to her knees.

Findis does not weep.

(Fifty years later, when the world goes dark, she still does not weep. For six thousand years, for six thousand bitter, bitter years, Findis does not weep.)

...

A lifetime later, Finwe comes to her in her forest dwelling. He sits at her feet, and does not speak, not until she has finished whittling a little star-crowned bird for Elwing’s newest child and set it aside.

Then he turns to her, and he touches her wrists, and Findis lets him, heart twisting in her chest.

“Envinyasse,” he says quietly.

“That is not my name.”

“I named you that,” says Finwe. “But I never dreamed you to do- to do this.”

“Atar-”

“There can be no love without effort,” he says, and Findis goes as still as a windless tree. “There can be no love without understanding. I spent too long not understanding you: seeing what I wanted, hearing what I wanted.” He swallows. “Doing what I wanted.”

“And you’re here to fix that?”

He breathes deep, and then releases her hands, and sits back: as a pupil would, before a master. Findis barely allows herself to breathe.

“I,” says Finwe, with the resolution that had led his people to safety once, eyes bright as the stars hanging around them, “am here to listen.”

[procrastinationonvacation]

I loved your post on Caranthir! Would you maybe like to elaborate on the general vibe of the relationships among the House of Finwë? (So, kinda which relationships are most important/prominent and also just how they all kinda get on)? Thank you, I’m loving all your headcanons!

- Captain Anon

Hello!! Yes I would like to! Sorry for being so late, I had my calc ap. (which literally means I just started drawing instead of studying but shh)

The “adults:”

Just for the record, I think Miriel would have gotten on well with Indis. Evidence? Well *someone* raised Feanor, literal hell child incarnate. Meanwhile, Indis, as we’ve discussed, is always 110% down to manipulate legal loopholes.

Actually I’m going to take a moment to tell y’all about Indis. She’s like… the Silmarillion version of Daniel Webster, can and will argue her way out of any problem, perfectly capable of winning a legal debate with the devil. Ok maybe not Morgoth, but certainly Manwe, she’s married to Finwe isn’t she? Anyways if the Noldor in Aman are committing any crimes, it is a sure bet that Indis is orchestrating it, and will never be caught, because Technically speaking those crimes were actually acts of public service.

Finwe… gonna be honest I’m not a huge fan of Finwe… points for effort i guess.

-

The children:

Legit the only valid take on them is nailsinmywall’s. Thanks for coming.

JK! I’ll actually write my opinion one sec:

I think Feanor does legitimately feel like he dislikes the other kids. And thier kids. And Indis. But then like… his nephew’s and nieces are coming over?? and seem decent?? Anyways very aggressive acts of kindness, like “hey I saw your necklace and it was ugly. here is a nicer one I spent a full month making. I hate you. have a nice day.” (the others have just learned that he’s not going to like them much, so they treat him the way one treats an aunt they don’t exactly appreciate but who more or less means well)

Findis was pretty close to Indis, in order to have stayed behind like she did. Also! definitely inherited that hubris. It is time to (mess) shit up. (she wouldn’t swear bc she’s obviously monetized and that kind of thing doesn’t fly) Indis’ lawyer sidekick. While Indis is too busy running everything, Findis steps into the role of family lawyer and bail fund manager.

Nolofinwe is the most outgoing towards Feanor, I think the lack of other brothers meant he was more attached to his half brother, even if he wasn’t always that Nice. He and Findis hang out and all, but they just don’t connect particularly well.

Irime gets on best with Nolo bc I think that’s what we need plot wise? Anyways, you might have noticed this as a recurring theme but Indis’ kids are only sane bc the competition is feanor and it’s so easy to sound sane in comparison to him.

Finarfin is just… ridiculously confident at all times. Finrod takes after him (Everyone is friend shaped) except for Arafinwe it’s because ofcourse everyone would like him. It’s obvious. Anyways, not in an arrogant way, just in the way that some people move through life confident that everyone is?? happy? anyways that never makes sense to me. I think when he turned back it was because he was kinda realizing the murder part of the oath wasn’t metaphorical. Which. Wild.

-

Anways, I hope that’s what you meant by the house of finwe (there are a lot of choices in there Cap) Have an awesome day and thanks so much for the ask! Love ya!

[first-son-of-finwe]

Idea; (say Maedhros snuck the Silmarils out to get some ladies) firstly combine the three Silmarils into a sword. Then gear up Nolofinwe give him the sword, follow behind him and let him grievously wounded morgeth just in time for you to dropping in steel the finishing wound!

“I appreciate the general idea of Simarils in a sword….but why exactly does Nolofinwë have to be involved? Does he really have to follow me everywhere?! I’d rather do the grievous wounding and finishing on my own, or with my sons.”

[madtomedgar]

@thulimo requested something with Fingolfin and his babs for her birbday present. Here is Fingolfin trying to be a good dad (tm) while fingon insists on being the angstiest of teens. i hope you enjoy!

“Why don’t you just make the things?” asked Findekano, after crumpling up yet another attempt at an instructional diagram.

Nolofinwe looked up from measuring the planks of white poplar to be cut. “We are making things, Findekano.”

Looking exasperated as only an adolescent could, Findekano flounced dramatically onto the stool next to his workbench. “You know what I mean! Why don’t you just… make the furniture? Why only make it part way and then leave the rest to someone else? And why make furniture at all? Shouldn’t you be a… jewel smith or something?”

“Like your uncle?” Nolofinwe tucked the pencil he’d been using to mark the plank behind his ear. “Jewel smithing is a noble pursuit. To take what is beautiful and chip away that which hides its full beauty, and then devise a placement worthy of that beauty, or to call forth and harness the nature and power of the elements of the earth holds great challenge and reward.”

“But not for you.”

Nolofinwe smiled fondly at his past and at his son who sat sulking across from him. A mote of wood-dust shimmered in the golden tree-light that spilled through the windows. “It did once. I am not unskilled at it, but I found I had more skill in the appreciation of the work of others than the creation of my own.” The juvenile petulance wafting off of Findekano like a funk hid some deeper and more nebulous feeling that had yet to crystalize, but Nolofinwe could guess well enough at what it would be. “And I found also that I was more skilled in riddles for the hand than most.”

“Is that also a noble pursuit?” Findekano asked, his tone tinged with an edge of sarcasm. Nolofinwe made a private note that he’d have to speak to his oldest nephews about what sort of influence they were having.

“It is. It is alway a noble pursuit to develop your own skill as a jewelsmith would a rough gem. But I found also that the prestige of creating a puzzle box that none of the Noldor have yet succeeded in unlocking held no relish for me.”

“And that’s why you make incomplete furniture?” asked Findekano, gesturing derisively about the workshop. “Because you don’t care to be known for making beautiful things?”

Nolofinwe could have laughed, but as a rule he tried to take his children very seriously. “I do not make incomplete furniture, Findekano. I make a way for elflings to learn structure and reasoning and the rudiments of tools in a way that will get them a good and useful finished product once they solve the riddle of it.” He thought for a moment of adding that it was, in his mind, an improvement on the expectation that all creations by children would be crude and unlovely. He could also add that it was less strenuous than more prestigious crafts, and so left him with energy to help his father run things and spend as much time with his children as possible. But Findekano seemed to have enough to ponder for now.

“I did not realize it was so complex,” Findekano stated, casting a defeated gaze about the workshop.

“What is it that is really troubling you, since we both know it is not the nature of this craft?”

Findekano sighed and kicked the legs of the stool with his heels. “What if I’m not… particularly skilled at anything?”

The question went straight to Nolofinwe’s heart. It was one he’d asked himself as a child, though he never would have gone to his father with it. It was better that Findekano could ask him, he decided, than that he had no doubts at all. “Why do worry about that?”

“I’m… not no good in a forge, but little Curufinwe has already surpassed me. And I’m not… horrible at the lathe or the loom or the wheel, but I’m not particularly good either. And I don’t feel the passion for any of it that I ought, and… and I’m not even good at making incomplete furniture for children. And Maitimo and Makalaure and the rest of the cousins and even Turukano all have things they are so good at and love to do. But I… don’t. Not really.”

Nolofinwe wanted to fold his son up in his arms and tell him how wonderful he was until Findekano squirmed out of his grasp and grumbled about how he wasn’t a child. But he would do more harm than good with that. So he stayed where he was and treated this as a matter of utmost gravity and delicacy, which is exactly what it was for Findekano. “It is common, Findekano, to not light upon a craft until well past your majority, despite the precociousness of your cousins and your brother. Many of the greatest craftspeople in the city showed no more than ordinary promise when they were as young as you. And though, as you say, you show no special aptitude for those areas where your cousins excel, I would say you surpass them in the use of your body, both in feats of strength and speed, and in grace of motion.”

“That’s hardly a noble pursuit,” grumbled Findekano.

It was not impossible that this had been sparked by some casually cruel comment from Feanaro or one of his sons, but knowing the source would hardly address the feelings of inadequacy. “I think with a little more application in the library that you will find you are very much mistaken on that score. But you can fill in the gaps in your knowledge tomorrow. You have 3 more diagrams to complete for today’s work.”

Findekano groaned as if he were dying and slumped as dramatically as any adolescent elf could over his work table.

[senalishia]

B2MeM Prompt, Card and Number:”Feanatics!” - N32: Feanor wasn't nuts (just misunderstood) Format: Double drabble Genre: Angst Rating: General Warnings: Canonical character death Characters: Fëanor Pairings: None Summary: Fëanor finally gets his head straight once it's too late. Fëanáro didn't appreciate the slowness of thought that apparently accompanied one's soul detaching itself from one's body; it was worse than being drunk. But there was a kind of clarity in it, as well. His reasoning had seemed sound at the time, if one accepted certain premises. He’d stolen the ships because he needed to cross the sea to get to Morgoth. He'd burned the ships, because--the logic was a bit fuzzier but he couldn't be fighting Nolofinwe over the kingship when he should be fighting Morgoth. He'd been lying to himself. He'd wanted to believe there was some way to make things right, to regain what he could and have justice for what he couldn't. But Manwë had been right, damn him. He didn't have the power. His sons were still bound by the Oath and would have no way of fulfilling it. He had to impress upon them how dangerous a position they were in. “You swore…” he croaked, but his throat gave out and young Curvo only assured him that they would not fail him. He breathed curses upon his enemy until his lips would no longer move. He prayed his father and mother would welcome him.

[malkuvoitenoldoran]

“I honestly do not know Ara.” Nolo said softly, wrapping his arms a bit more tightly around his brother. It made him uneasy to admit that he didn’t know what he needed. Instead of thinking further he chuckled. “I had Nelya try to convince me to take a break too. If I had realized our nephew would get involved I would have hidden in your room and let your swans deal with them.”

"Ara... could you please not encourage people to make attempted kidnappings to get me to rest?" -Nolo

“I would never encourage random people to do that and anyway I didn’t say anything about kidnapping. I had intended it to be like an outing. Where you relax with someone you like for a day or two. My intentions were good, it just got a little muddled by the time it reached you is all. Are you mad?” 

@malkuvoitenoldoran

[mothdalf]

Inktober day 30: Idril’s ominous dreams of the Fall of Gondolin

[sorrowssinger]

Nolofinwe as dark/evil would be so interesting. Like it would totally be caused by being the ‘unwanted’ son, I mean you have Feanaro who is doted on by Finwe also the Crown Prince and Arafinwe who is the ‘Golden Prince’. Then you have Nolofinwe who is just kind of there, he’d feel like the extra who is only kept around to do things the other two don’t want to and just the wrong words at the wrong time would just send him into a mood that he’s questioning if he matters and then deciding that no he doesn’t not to his family.

Just Nolofinwe crossing the Helcaraxe on his own because he finally doesn’t care enough to stay and there may be someone who got left behind when they left Cuivinen who will welcome him and possibly appreciate him. Then it just spirals down from there, where he’s either welcome but still so very painfully different or he’s not welcome and has to work so hard to stand on his own. Possibly even Mairon finds him and convinces him he’d be welcome in Angband where he stays but subtly undermines everything because he’s sick of the people in charge never appreciating those under them and the last time was once too many.