#sons of finwe

[raven-dame]

Sons of Finwë and High Kings of the Noldor

Curifinwe , Nolofinwe and Arafinwe

Heres to one of the most dysfunctional siblings relationship in the whole tolkien legenderium. May the fanarts of them never cease. ╰⁠(⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠´⁠꒳⁠`⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠)⁠╯

This is a redraw! I felt that they needed a good cleaning up and i needed to procrastinate from learning to animate and so i did what any sane person would and redrew it lol

Here's the old one from 2023

Safe to say i learned a thing or two

[maycix]

Feanor wants his father's attention in a way like...this

[thetiredprometheus]

Fëanor’s hand settles on the back of his neck and squeezes, feeling nearly as much a threat as a comfort. “If you were not already grievously injured,” Fëanor says lowly, voice dark and furious, “I would punch you.” “It is a good thing I am grievously injured then.” He leans more of his weight on Fëanor. 

Fanart for chapter 4 of "you're in the wind, i'm in the water" by @atlantablack

If you like Fingolfin, Fëanor and time travel you should definitely check this fic out!

[violecov]

Feanor, Fingolfin and Finarfin after getting back the silmarils.

[ylieke]

Fingolfin during Dagor Bragollach also called the Battle of the Sudden Flame. A horrible event that ended the siedge of Angband and resulted in Noldor elves being slaughtered by Morgoth forces by the thousands.

[tinwe-the-local-assassin]

*In a Council meeting*

Fëanor: Are you drinking alcohol in a meeting?

Fingolfin: Oh, this isn't alcohol. It's a magic potion that makes me like you.

Finarfin:... Double potion please.

*holds out a glass*

[neldeathstar]

The sons of Finwë

✨Young Finarfin and Fingolfin daring a little dance while their proud father Finwë and their big brother Fëanor are watching✨💖

[not-so-legendary-legendarium]

Fëanor's Phone Book

Nerdanel: Wifey ❤ Maedhros: GingerSon Maglor: Eardrum-splitting Celegom: Failure Caranthir: Angry Curufin: Copy-paste Amrod: Red 1 Amras: Red 2

Bonus:

Fingolfin: Usurper Finarfin: Sp*rm-Waste Finwë: Dad ❤

[braxix]

Finwe: I want some peace and quiet!

Feanor: I'll be quiet.

Fingolfin: And I'll be peace.

Finarfin: *Starts giggling*

[olenris]

The Silmarils

And the inner fire of the Silmarils Feanor made of the blended light of the Trees of Valinor, which lives in them yet, though the Trees have long withered and shine no more. Therefore even in the darkness of the deepest treasury the Silmarils of their own radiance shone like the stars of Varda; and yet, as were they indeed living things, they rejoiced in light and received it and gave it back in hues more marvellous than before.

I'm so happy with this art, made 2 versions: with and without Morgoth.

[overlord-of-fantasy]

The first time Feanor got burned

Feanor: I am the maker of the Silmarills and the crown prince of the Noldor! You are nothing!

Fingolfin, gesturing to Feanor's dirty forge clothes: For someone, who is so proud of being a prince and a smith you come off as horribly unemployed!

[elves-as-things-my-friends-said]

Finarfin: so we were debating what water brands were the best.

Fëanor: I don’t think I have an opinion on that...

Fingolfin: and I said aquafina -

Fëanor: you're wrong.

[lovefairymina]

(watching Fingolfin train from behind)

"Goddamn... that a nice ass"

(Fingolfin stop what he's doing and turns around) "🤨"

"I mean uhhh, nice... back?"

With an arched brow, sword still in hand, lips twitching like he was fighting a smirk, he shook his head. “Is that so?” he said, before casually turning back around—just a little slower this time to let you admire his ‘back’.

[aotearoa20]

Feanor: ... and you'll be swimming with the fish!

Feanor: Fish, right? Or is it fishes?

Finarfin: Fish or fishes.

Feanor: Which is it?

Finarfin: Both are correct plural forms of the singular word, "fish"

Feanor: You're very smug, right now, aren't you?

Finarfin: A little bit :)

[ylieke]

Feanor

[aylen-san]

"Fires That Know No Rest"

Their fates are cast in bronze and gold.

Seven sons, bound by an oath of flame,

three — like swords,

four — like sparks carried away by the wind.

And at their center — the Silmarils.

Not stones, but stars, torn from the very veins of Eä.

Finwë — a king in halls of glass and light.

Míriel — a pattern woven of the finest silver.

Fëanor — a spark that split eternity.

Maedhros — a fire bent toward justice.

Maglor — sorrow turned into song.

Caranthir, Amrod, Celegorm, Curufin —

names that ring like strikes on red silver.

Above them — the patterns of the Valinorean dawn,

pearl-gold ornaments of the Trees,

curls of eternity that scatter

like the crack of ice beneath the gods’ feet.

A vision:

the angles of their fates sharp as arrows in Fingolfin’s hand.

The clash of light and shadow — like the quarrel of Ingwë and Fëanor.

Gold, black lacquer, ivory —

they knew no moderation.

“The Oath was finely engraved.

On silver that does not tarnish.

On a voice that will not fall silent.

On blood that will not wash away.”

Age after age, their reflections refract

in the glass of history — fragile and resplendent.

And even in death, they remain icons.