#dark!lalwen

[sesamenom]

Gil-galad Variations, featuring all the gil galad theories i've encountered.

[amethysttribble]

Father had personally asked Feanor to stand for this portrait, so he was. Father had quietly suggested that perhaps this could be a painless exercise, which did not actually mean ‘painless’ but rather ‘silent’ for Feanor, but he agreed. Father told him this painting did not symbolize anything but his own desire to have a record of all his available loved ones around him, and Feanor was trying to see it that way- for the sake of his own sanity.

Because his stomach was roiling, and there was a heaviness in his chest, a great emptiness which his heart was pounding against, echoing, echoing, echoing.

Father had one hand on Feanor’s shoulder and the other was upon Indis’s. She was sat in front of them, smiling beautifully, little golden-haired Arafinwe in her lap. Around them, her three dark-haired children were gathered. Findis on Father’s other side, Nolofinwe with her, and Lalwen in front of Feanor.

To the unaware eye, Feanor knew, they must all look like they matched. Like they went together correctly. Like a family.

When the portrait was complete and those dark haired children were gathered around the mother and father, who would guess that one child was out of place? Who might glance at all that paint representing their faces and think anything but-

You could almost be her son, Feanor thought, and then his mind replied, But you’re not.

He was so still and he dared not move, because if he did, he’d never get back in place. If Feanor flinched once, the sharp, jagged pieces of him that never fit right in this puzzle would scratch one of them. They’d be annoyed and that would be it: he’d combust in anger, he’d shatter across the floor, snapping and snarling at everyone unnecessarily until he ruined their perfect little scene. Father said this might be a painless exercise. No, no; this was to be a silent, still exercise.

You could almost be her son. But you’re not.

How good a painter was this person Father hired? How varied his faces? Would he capture that Feanor’s nose resembled that of none of the people here? Could he represent that his frame was already different from his father and little half-brother’s?

Would he lie and throw a pleased smile on Feanor’s face? Not even Father had asked him to smile.

You could almost be her son. But you’re not.

Feanor’s presence made them fit together so symmetrically, maybe that was pleasing enough to hide the wrongness of this scene. Maybe that’s why Father made him come here today, the pretty scene. Why he asked him to suffer, even as the longer he stood here, the more and more Feanor felt like he was about to be sick all over the floor.

A ghost, a ghost, there was a ghost looming over their shoulders ruining this perfectly symmetrical scene. Couldn’t they feel her breathing down their necks, icy chill against sweat? Didn’t their perfectly posed heads feel her long, clever fingers wrapped lovingly around their necks?

You could almost be her son. But you’re not.

Feanor’s gaze slipped down to the back of Indis’s head. Her beautiful golden hair. She didn’t wear a crown, this was a family portrait, and that felt worse. So much worse.

If he let his eyes unfocus and his mind wander, he could try to lie to himself that her hair was much lighter and the faces of the children around them more closely resembled his own. The woman in front of him loved him, and she fussed over his hair before they sat for this portrait, and he’d let her do it.

The worst part was Feanor did know that Indis would help him with the ties of his robes, if only he let her.

You could almost be her son. But you’re not.

She’s not, she’s not, she’s not. It was a simple statement of fact. It was scandal enough that the father replaced the wife, when one at least chose a wife, but what freak replaced his own mother?

What would the people who saw this portrait think? Would they see Finwe’s happy family or would they see Feanor’s blaring, uncomfortable intrusion upon what gods and men declared to be a better order of things? Father wanted him to belong here, but he didn’t.

He just didn’t.

You could almost be her son. But you’re not.

A painless exercise. Painless, painless, painless, for them. Silent, still Feanor, a happy accessory to the triumphant union of Finwe and Indis, a grateful stray dog permitted to drink from the bowls provided by Indis’s family.

This exercise was just meant to capture the image of all Finwe loved, nothing more. Don’t think too hard about it, Feanor. You might make the children unhappy.

You could almost be her son. But you’re not.

You should pretend you are, though. That’ll make them like you.

Because they did so disdain him, most of the time. They disliked how he glared at their mother and started fights at family dinners and ignored them in the hallways. Why shouldn’t they? Feanor would hate a person who did those things to his family, too.

He just couldn’t stop, though. He wanted to, sometimes, when the exhaustion and loneliness caught up, and then he remembered that he wasn’t Indis’s son and never would be, and remembering that made him angry. Wouldn’t it just be so damn convenient for them all if he was almost her son?

But he wasn’t.

He was Miriel’s son. That was her name. He had no portrait with her. He loved her.

He loved Miriel, but it was Indis he posed with and-

When the session was done, Feanor jerked away from his father and shoved his way past Lalwen. As he went, Indis looked up at him, caught his eye, and he couldn’t help the sneer that crossed his face.

He hoped that was painless enough for her.

When he returned to his chamber, he went to the wash room and heaved in the pot there. The gagging and retching made wetness prick his eyes, and the sudden tightness of throat made him choke all the harder. The sickness and heaving stayed long past when there was anything in his stomach to lose.

No one came. Feanor hoped maybe Father would, but really, why would he? Feanor had been mostly good, just a little rudeness wasn’t worth either reprimand or comfort.

No, they were together. Maybe admiring their portrait, happy and pleased, or complaining about his behavior again. Really, why couldnt that Curufinwe just accept nice things?

I need to get out of here, Feanor thought, face and body wet with both sweat and tears. I need to leave this place.

He was a good son, and he could do anything else his father wanted but betray his mother further. No, Feanor couldn’t pose as Indis’s son even a second longer. He would destroy himself, if he had to think one more time-

You could almost be her son. But you’re not.

[thesummerestsolstice]

Hair Headcanons for Finwe and his Kids:

Finwe: as discussed, Finwe's hair is always perfect. He rolls out of bed in the morning and it's immaculately wavy with no tangles or snarls, even if he left jewelry in it (which happens pretty often). It's also very shiny and iridescent, with his black hair lighting up in all the colors of the northern lights depending on the angle and lighting. The originator of the Finwean Hair Magic™️ all his descendants inherited.

Feanor: iridescent hair that shines in the color of raven feathers– a lot like Finwe, but slightly less shiny. Because of Finwean Hair Magic™️, even though his hair is very long, and often not bound very well in the forges, he's never gotten his hair burned or caught on anything. He keeps his hair even longer than most Noldor so he can do the fanciest traditional braiding styles.

Findis: inherited her mother Indis's blond hair, but it's also very shiny, looking more like actual gold than the Vanyar blond hair her mother has. Under Laurelin or sunlight, it often shimmers a more rosy color. Later in the Second Age, she was given the nickname Andune (sunset) because of how beautiful the pink and orange highlights are.

Fingolfin: during the Years of the Trees, he has his father's black hair, but while it is very shiny (and always perfectly styled) it is not iridescent. After the Helcaraxe, his hair is run through with silver and white streaks, which everyone agrees makes him look very regal and kingly. The streaks stay even after he's reembodied, and become something of a fashion statement among others who crossed the Helcaraxe, who bleach parts of their own hair to match.

Lalwen: her hair is dark brown instead of black, but is nearly as iridescent as Finwe's, with all the same colors. She also continues in his footsteps of wearing it partly down dangerous hikes and hunts, and just like Finwe, she never trips on it or gets it caught anywhere. In Beleriand, she often wears her hair in a crown-like updo, because she knows it's more beautiful than any metal.

Finarfin: also got Indis's blond hair, but through the filter of Finwean Hair Magic™️, he's the first member of the family to have the kind of "treelight" hair Galadriel was so famous for. Under Laurelin or Sunlight, it glows a bright, rich gold, and under Telperion or moonlight it glows silver, with the two mixing during the mingling. He wears it almost entirely loose, in Vanyar fashion, and kind of became an artistic muse for Ingwe's court because of it. There are poetry volumes about his hair, and mentioning one of them in his presence is by far the easiest way to make him blush.

[feanoryen]

House of Finwe ranked by how much they look like Finwe

Uncanny resemblance tier:

Lalwen - Literally just her dad but genderbent. Same facial structure and blue-grey eyes and gorgeous raven black hair. Only difference is that her hair is wavy rather than pin straight like Finwe’s.

Fingolfin & Argon - Exact same facial structure and eye color, Fingolfin is almost as tall as Finwe but not quite, Argon is taller than Finwe (& the same exact height as Maedhros). They have a very dark brown shade of hair instead of black however.

Aredhel - 60:40 blend of Fingolfin & Anaire but looks more like Fingolfin and therefore looks a good deal like Finwe. She gets her black hair from Anaire rather than Fingolfin but it still adds to her resemblance with Finwe.

Gil-Galad - Finwe’s genes may have almost skipped Angrod & Orodreth entirely but somehow he ended up 57% Finwe.

Maeglin - Looks mostly like his gorgeous mother except he has Eol’s eyes and somewhat of a sharper bone structure than Aredhel though.

Very similar but still notably different tier:

Aegnor - Looks the most like Finwe out of all the Arafinweans. He has the same smile, a very similar face shape, & the same nose. He’s around 55% Finwe, 40% Earwen, & 5% Indis.

Maglor - 53% Finwe, 40% Nerdanel, 7% Miriel. His body type, his eye color, & his freckles are from Nerdanel. A lot of his facial features are Finwe’s but he has a heart shaped face like Miriel and a similar eye shape.

Finarfin - Exactly 50% Finwe & 50% Indis. Some of his facial features are a lot like Finwe’s except people (including both Finwe & Indis) focus way more on his Vanyarin coloring to realize it. His hair is also loosely curled along with being gold like Indis’s rather than straight.

Finrod - Looks just like Finarfin with Earwen’s eyes.

Curufin - Read Feanor’s and then come back. Unlike Feanor he does get his eyes from Finwe but his are more silvery & sparkly.

Feanor - Barely behind Finarfin in terms of resemblance to Finwe but several people would dispute this and say he looks more like Finwe between the two. He’s 50% Miriel, 47% Finwe, & 3% something original entirely. Neither Finwe nor Miriel have his radiant shining eyes that look like they have shards of pale jewels within them but some argue his eyes are a variation of Finwe’s grey ones. His silky raven hair is undeniably Finwe’s but his is wavy. His stature & body shape are similar to Finwe’s but like Fingolfin he’s still a little shorter. His face is a mixture of Finwe & Miriel’s most beautiful features, but he has a little more of Miriel’s.

Celebrimbor - Almost looks exactly like Feanor except his eyes don’t burn with quite the same intensity. There’s also a little something of his mother in his smile.

Caranthir - Canonically got his hair from Finwe, but also got his complexion from Nerdanel. I see him as as 45% Finwe, 50% Nerdanel, & 5% Miriel.

Fingon - He looks very similar to Aredhel but he’s 60% Anaire and 40% Fingolfin whereas she’s the opposite. He looks more like Anaire but also eerily resembles Maglor in some angles due to specifically inheriting a very similar set of features from Finwe (not sure if this makes his relationship with Maedhros more or less weird depending on your interpretation).

A fair deal of resemblance but also looks quite different tier:

Turgon - 50% Anaire, 30% Fingolfin, 20% Indis. Looks the most Vanyarin out of his family, no wonder why he’s the closest to them. Still looks very clearly Noldorin at the same time though. His hair is still the lightest brown out of his siblings.

Elrond & Elros - 30% Finwe, 10% Earendil, 60% Luthien. Due to genes skipping generations like with Gil-Galad, they look more like Finwe than Idril & Earendil do. If you look closely they kind of resemble Maglor despite how far apartly they’re related to him. Maedhros sees a lot of Fingon in them though.

They have about 1 notable feature in common with him tier:

Galadriel - Same eyes as Finwe, she gets her smile from him too, which she also shares with Feanor. She’s 55% Earwen & 45% Finarfin, but she got more of her dad’s Indis features than his Finwe features.

Maedhros - His diamond face shape & high bridged nose are Finwe’s.

Amrod & Amras - They have his eyes, both the blue-grey color and the shape. Nothing else though.

Findis - She’s almost entirely Indis but she has grey eyes and caramel hair between brown & gold. Her Noldorin heritage shines through due to those 2 things but she doesn’t look her dad particularly.

They just don’t look like him tier:

Celegorm - 95% Miriel, 5% Nerdanel. Almost the spitting image of his grandmother but he gets his height, eye color, & freckles from Nerdanel. His hair is straight so maybe 0.5% of him is Finwe but does it really count?

Idril - Takes a lot after both Elenwe & Anaire but she didn’t get Finwe or Fingolfin’s features.

Earendil - Around 60% his mom, who doesn’t look like Finwe, & 40% his dad, who isn’t related to Finwe.

Angrod - Olwe with Vanyarin hair.

Orodreth - Has grey eyes, but he probably got them from his mother rather than Finwe.

Finduilas - Looks almost like a female version of her grandfather and a golden haired version of Earwen.

[tanoraqui]

Teen and Up Audiences | Graphic [but often poetic and/or supernatural!] Depictions of Violence | Gen

Words: 8,619 | Chapters: 1/1

Relationships: Finarfin & Galadriel, Finarfin & Maedhros

Characters: Finarfin, Morgoth Bauglir | Melkor, Galadriel, Anairë, Maedhros, Eönwë, Maglor, Celebrimbor, Celeborn, Amarië, Irimë |Lalwen

Additional Tags: War of Wrath, I tagged everyone but really it's about Finarfin, kingship, and personal and collective vengeance/justice/trying to kill an unkillable dark god

“I wish you wouldn’t do this,” Lalwen complained in greeting. “Two brothers I have already lost, blindly charging that place. Must you add a third to my tally?”

“Maybe,” Finarfin said bluntly. It was still gentler than the truth on his tongue: It’s my turn.

(Or: in which Finarfin is, after all, the third son in the fairy tale.)

I worry that I’ve hyped this up too much by having it as a WIP for so long, but Here it is at last: Finarfin’s due shot at 1v1-ing Morgoth (more or less), a cornerstone of my personal elaborate tapestry of Arda headcanons! (I regularly forget that the sword isn’t a canonical legendary weapon.)

[searchingforserendipity25]

The Eagle's Share

Tw: hunting and animal sacrifice.

Inspired by the incredible Fingon&Eagles relationship in Not In Vain by @polutrope!

-

In Barad Eithel celebrations were held in the middle of every bitter winter, a proud chasing away of the bitter frost Fingolfin's people so loathed.

There were dances, sparring games, and great hunts. Lalwen lead a masking ritual, a time of portents and heady magics; Fingolfin-king poured the mead and the wine, and passed to every cupped palm their due bold of miruvor he had brewed all summer, to each were given their due words of praise and courage.

He spoke and shone as once he had amidst the spluttering fires, a small animal in the Darkening calling to himself a hard, a pack to weather the long night within greater warmth.

Well-loved he was, Fingolfin of the Noldor; to him none were truer than the eldest of his sons, whose bowl was ever poured last, that it should be known the king favoured not his own blood unduly.

But Fingon went by himself, on the darkest nights before the lengthening of the days: and did not return until he had slain a great elk-of-the-woods, or a mad-eyed bear mother, and left the upon the highest peak for the eagles and falcons and ravens to feast upon.

Afterwards he joined the feasting, singing and harping as he went, at that hour when a grey light started to gleam dully to the East; and the music changed, the drums quickened into lighter reels, treacherous leaping staff-on-staff dances. He wore ribbons of goldcloth embroidered with copper in his hair, and about his neck necklaces with eagle feathers - long and sleek and just as golden.

The Great Eagles came not among the Eldar then, but to involve themselves in rare and dire matters; but some of them begot lesser creatures among their wild kin, and it was from such a strain that Fingon raised, and tended, and trained many a generation of bold hunting kestrels, amber-eyed falcons - even some rare grave and little-tamed eagles.

In the back of his aiming hand he inked an eagle, wings spread and proud. It had been the way of mourning in the Ice, when one died, and the body could not be buried; Fingolfin's grave never was seen by Fingolfin's heir.

Still the blood-price must be paid. Fingon went, and brought down his greatest beast yet, a woollen mammoth thick enough to feed a company for the march.

He left it to the wise birds of the realm. The blood gleamed red and slick on the snow, the viscera steaming enough to make his mouth water. As ever he gave them his thanks, begged their pity, praised the glory of their free flight, their hungering defiance, even as Morgoth made foul and weak so much of the land and the land's beasts.

Alone under the judging stars he wept, as he had not yet; a great grief was on him, and a will for revenge. Above all he denied Morgoth's design, that would wipe clean the skies and the earth, till all creatures were his servants, and no honor or memory of good deeds remained alive.

The birds came to feed. They fought among themselves at times, as was their way; yet they were solemn in their devouring, determined as they bit the meat out of the bone and bared it.

Their many eyes were in the night of nights a light of their own, ancient; and their cawing and their calling was insistent, even after all had fed - insistent for blood and vengeance, fierce and fierce enough to tear the silence in many halves. It made the white hills and the high firs tremble with urgency; Fingon's voice too rose, at last, and joined their defiance.

In the dark before a slow dawn rose, he started making ready for war.

The feasting changed with Fingolfin's end, ever less a celebration, more the smothering thrill that gathered, storm-like, in the hearts of the Eldar before a battle. His vassals came more often and from further, to deepen their counsels of war under the guise of a common visit, the trading of winter-gifts made anew into a deep renewal of vows.

Through great gates they went, marveling at the strength and beauty of the fortifications of the Noldor, and in the king's great chamber they bent over his left hand in greeting, that Fingon might clasp their necks and touch their cheeks in welcome.

But Maedhros of Himring alone kneeled at his feet and kissed the tattoo through the king's hawking gloves, his own cleaved right arm pressed against his heart.

So it was in Barad Eithel, that valiant realm, before the walls were broken, when the wild wings of Beleriand were revered.

[englishlotusflower]

Who Looks Like Who(for Plot and also Angst purposes in some cases, but mostly based off vibes)

Fëanor has Míriel's expressions, her short slight frame, and her elegant nimble hands, but his colouring, his charisma, everything else comes from Finwë

Maedhros looks like Nerdanel, but with a bit of Finwë in him. You can tell from a glance that he's Nerdanel's son, equally so that he's Finwë's grandson. It's much hard to tell that he's Fëanor's son (unless he's in a temper). He has Nerdanel's level head and pragmatism combined with the Finwëan charisma, intensity and general OP-ness, all of which he inherited in spades. It's very dangerous - to others.

Maglor has Nerdanel's nose and eyes, and her vibes of quiet serenity until the breaking point and then quiet pointed fury, but also he looks like Fëanor otherwise. Especially wrt his charisma.

Celegorm looks like Míriel. He has Nerdanel's more solid frame, but otherwise could pass for Míriel's twin. Everyone who knew Míriel is always commenting on how he has her hair, her eyes, her rebelliousness, her restlesness, her temper etc. Part of the reason he spends so much time in the woods is because no one there compares him to a woman who died before he was born.

Caranthir looks like Nerdanel with dark hair, and he has her pragmatism. He does have his father's temper, but he also has A Lot of Indis' mannerisms that he has no idea where they came from Atar. (Indis is a genius with maths, economics, trade - Caranthir learnt everything from her. She isn't proud of much that anyone does in Beleriand, but she is very proud of Caranthir's trade empire.)

Curufin looks exactly like Fëanor, except when he's deep in Crafting Mode - then he looks weirdly like Nerdanel. He has Nerdanel's clear head and her insight, and Fëanor's short temper. He's cruel when he's angry, unlike his dad who rampages indiscriminately, but very much like his mum who always knows how to make it hurt.

Ambarussa are identical, with Nerdanel's colouring and frame, but Fëanor's face. Lightly toasted (or crispy or whatever) has more Fëanor vibes and raw has more Nerdanel vibes. Can't explain it, its just Like That. And also the vibes of Fëanor accidentally toasting the twin more like himself. Delicious

Findis has her mother's golden hair, her father's eyes, and an uncanny likeness to Míriel in her mannerisms that can only come from copying Fëanor. (Does this piss Fëanor off? Absolutely. Will she ever stop? Absolutely not.)

Fingolfin has his mother's eyes and her height, but just like Fëanor his colouring, his charisma, everything comes from Finwë.

Fingon did not inherit his father's height and he will never not be sore about it. He looks more like Anairë than anyone else, but his eyes are indubitably Fingolfin's. His habit of braiding ribbons in his hair comes from Findis - she tends to use bright colours but he prefers only gold.

Turgon DID inherit Fingolfin's height, and just like Fingolfin he will never let his elder brother forget it. HE looks a lot like Indis, if she had Noldorin colouring, and everyone says his more...settled temperament comes from her. It doesn't - Indis is calm and controlled, Turgon has his mother's resting bitch face and icy temper. Everyone just thinks he doesn't because his temper is quiet rather than explosive.

Aredhel also inherited Fingolfin's height. She looks like Anairë if Anairë had the Finwëan dramatic tendencies and charisma. Her idols are Cousin Celegorm and Aunt Lalwen (in that order) and it shows.

Argon is taller than Aredhel. By like...a hair. When he discovers that, it becomes his entire personality for a good week. He is the only one who looks mostly like Fingolfin, but he has Anairë's quiet, deadly iciness rather than the Finwëan over the topness.

Finarfin has his mother's colouring and her calm facade, but in all else he is Finwë writ blond. He also hides a temper under the calm facade, but because he controls it better everyone assumes his dad's temper passed him by.

Finrod has the Telerin chill/friendly factor mixed with the Noldorin dramatic intensity, which leaves him aggressively and pointedly friendly. He looks like his mum if Eärwen were blonde and constantly wore as much jewellery as Fëanor made in a particularly inspired month.

Orodreth got Indis' calm facade, and the Finwëan drama gene skipped him for which he is eternally thankful. He has Eärwen's colouring, and Finwë's bone structure, but everything is softer with Orodreth. He's just very shy and quiet and adorable.

Angrod looks very much like his dad, if his dad had blue eyes. He also got Indis' calm facade, but the difference between him and Orodreth is that for Angrod it is just a facade. He's got stubborness in spades from Finwë, and a backbone of mithril from his mum. She also gave him a healthy dose of common sense. Oh and he got a bunch of mannerisms off Findis that really annoy his uncle Fëanor.

Aegnor...well. People make jokes that he's Fëanor but blond. He's got the charisma, the intensity, the impulsiveness, the propensity for bad life choices, the list goes on. Thankfully, he also has Angrod to keep him from anything too awful.

Galadriel has Indis' height, her strength, her colouring and beauty, and a temper that wouldn't look out of place on Fëanor himself. She also has her mother's competency (which comes from the same place as Lúthien's ability to take down the two biggest bads without breaking a sweat). It's a rather dangerous combination.

Lalwen is...herself. She's got her mother's height, her father's charisma and his colouring, but mostly she's just Lalwen. Bold and laughing and utterly done with her family's drama.

[polutrope]

Why should the Fëanorians get to have all the incest?

Inspired by this post, here are a few fic recs for dark and delicious incest between kin who do not slay* but who are otherwise just as messy. I know there's much more -- please reblog with your additions!

*Unless they are named Fingon.

Against His Wisdom by @melestasflight. Fingolfin/Fingon, Fingon/Maedhros. Poetic, heartbreaking codependence. An especially sensitive treatment of first degree incest.

For Whom His Heart Yearned by me. Aredhel/Turgon. They both loved Elenwë, now they have only each other.

Listen. Leave. by @littlewhitemouseagain. Aredhel/Turgon, Maeglin/Turgon and others. Idril's POV on her father's terrible coping mechanisms through the ages. Disturbing and brilliant, makes too much sense.

A Lamentation Before Their Eyes by LadyBrooke. Fingolfin/Lalwen. Contemplations on forbidden love and the horror of LaCE.

The One You Want by smutcatt. Aredhel/Turgon. Helcaraxë, drabble.

nearest to her heart by spellworth. Finrod/Galadriel. Helcaraxë angst. So much tension and religious guilt, I get twisted up thinking about it.

Sharp as a flame by @ettelene. Aegnor/Finrod. Andreth angst, drabble.

And some canonical incest...

Twice Beloved by iddump. Nienor/Túrin. Dreams of Doom by @camille-lachenille. Nienor/Túrin.

These two fics both capture so beautifully how happy these sibs were with each other, despite how Morgoth tried to twist their love.

[hobbitwrangler]

End of Year Fic Recs

Thank you @emyn-arnens for tagging me, it actually made me remember to leave comments on some fics I've read while on holiday. I haven't read or written many fics this year, particularly not long ones, hence why I've gone with my own sections but here we go!

Fics from 2023

Something of Home by @emyn-arnens (G, Faramir & Finduilas of Dol Amroth, <1k) Heartbreaking, precious portrayal of Faramir's relationship with his mother at the time of her death. It is canon to me now.

Something Burrowed, Something Blue by @scyllas-revenge (G, Took/Fairy Wife, 11k) How the Took ancestor met his wife. Funny, sweet and so hobbit-like, I loved Milo and Beryl, the author writes fairy nature perfectly.

cold be sleep under stone by Feanoriel (Ar-Pharazôn, <1k) Ar-Pharazôn in the Caves of the Forgotten. So many chills reading this, the writing style is so vivid, I could feel the undead misery in the darkness.

On These Hither Shores by @emyn-arnens (G, Boromir & Frodo, 3.2k) Frodo and Boromir discuss their hopes and fears. I keep thinking about this fic, it's one of those stories which follows you around and won't let go, it's a great depiction of Frodo and Boromir and their relationship.

The Last Midwinter by @sallysavestheday (G, Frodo Baggins, Sam Gamgee, other fellowship members, 1.3k) Sam and Rosie devise a plan to lift Frodo's spirits. This filled me with so much joy (of the slightly sad kind) it's so sweet.

Untitled by @i-am-a-lonely-visitor (Elros/Elros's wife) I love the complex relationship that is encapsulated in this snapshot and the unsettling youthfulness of the peredhil.

The Farewell Feast by @searchingforserendipity25 (G, Gandalf & Galadriel, 2.4k) Wonderful exploration of Galadriel's thoughts at the end of the Third Age and her relationship with Gandalf.

what the shadows hid by @swanmaids (T, Luthien/Thuringwethil, <1k) Thuringwethil leaves her mark on Luthien. One of those fics where every line is so expertly crafted, flavoured with my favourite horror undertones.

Untitled by @vidumavi (Vidumavi/Valacar) Not enough fics about these two but this is such a heart-warming snapshot of their relationship.

The Broken Shield by @sotwk (G, Thorin, Frerin, Thranduil, Thranduil's wife, 9.5k) In which both Thorin and Thranduil lose one whom they love. Great depiction of elf-dwarf tensions in the midst of their alliance.

Fics from pre-2023

Nine Fingers by Prackspoor (G, Frodo, Sam, Merry, Pippin, 6.3k) The hobbits encounter a mysterious stranger on their way home. Such well done suspense, I was so nervous reading this and it's such an interesting concept.

Burn Like Cold Iron by @scyllas-revenge (T, Boromir/OFC, 155k) An absolutely elite take on the ninth walker trope. Funny, heartfelt and perfect characterisation, plus a great main character. All relationships, romantic and otherwise, are so thoughtfully written.

Warming Hearts and Hearths by @starspray (G, Gandalf & hobbits, 1.3k) Gandalf encountering hobbits, what more do you want? My heart was certainly warmed.

Queen Under the Mountain by @imakemywings (T, Dís, Dáin, 2.9k) Such a heart-wrenching exploration if Dís's grief and all the complicated emotions surrounding the return to Erebor.

consuming by siraetha (T, Khamûl, Sauron, <1k) A great concept explored so vividly, I could feel the heat and the horror while reading this.

Use Well the Days by @cycas (G, Círdan/Lalwen, 2.7k) Círdan and Lalwen discuss whether they have a future. I am rapidly warming to this ship and really enjoyed how this fic explores tension between the elves.

The Floor Is Molasses by @scyllas-revenge (G, Boromir, Sam Gamgee, Merry Brandybuck, Pippin Took, 2.6k) Hobbit chaos plus Boromir lives and of course absolutely hilarious.

My fics from 2023

Too Burdened to Fly (G, Finduilas of Dol Amroth, 3k) A look at Finduilas' thoughts during her final moments.

A Monster in the Shadows (T, Éowyn & Théoden, 3k) In the aftermath of her parents' death, Éowyn is plagued by fear. Nineteen years later, it returns.

At the Death of a Friend (G, Saruman & Galadriel, 3.4k) Saruman has not heard Galadriel's voice in years. But in the aftermath of Gandalf's death, they speak one last time.

And there we go, just about in time for New Year!

[spiritofwhitefire]

Tidbit Thursday!

Thank you for the tag @melestasflight

This is from my Russingon Fae AU I saw pale kings and princes too

“On the morning of King Fingon’s coronation, they find him barefoot in only a long white tunic, knelt before the ash tree in the castle gardens. His long black curls are unbound, streaming damp with morning dew down his back, and the bottoms of his bare feet are dark with mud.

His aunt Lalwen, his father’s elder sister, best friend, and closest advisor is the only one with enough spine to approach the grieving, young King. When she approaches him, she sees that his ice blue eyes are wide open, staring intently up at the white sprigs of blossom that have begun to appear on the tree early in the Spring.

“Nephew,” she says softly, bending down to lay her hand on Fingon’s shoulder.

“He’s not here,” his voice rasps out in a rush. “I thought his spirit might linger here to see me into the next generation of his own Kingdom but he is not here.””

I will tag @thatfeanorian @last-capy-hupping and @disorganisedautodidact

[sallysavestheday]

I'm fresh out of half-elven inspiration today, so have some Russingon, for a change. And some Lalwen, because there should always be more Lalwen. Also on AO3 (T: 352 words).

********

It is Lalwen who marries them.

Lalwen, whose own heart’s joy had laughed at Mandos, and now melts into the bones of the earth in blistered Dorthonion, returning, as she had ever sought, to the imagination, to the shining, breathing glory of the trees. Sinking down, that the roots may be nourished and the shattered forests rise again.

“Look not for me in the West,” she had said, as the binding caught their hearts, as Lalwen’s breath tracked hers to its source and their bodies wove together, following their minds. “This is all there is. Love, now, and the silence, after, unless it be a song of remembrance, caught in the branches, or the breeze.”

Lalwen had only kissed her again and clung, until the knife came down, and the great woods burned.

She watches Maedhros’ face as they weave their plans for the final battle, remembering Fëanor’s passion, and his bright boys’ following rage. Let the Void take us! And if it does? If there is only silence, and not even a song, where the Darkness reigns?

She is cold. Colder than she ever was in the great crossing; more certain even than then of the long fall, the bleak end. Fingon’s fine eyes catch the light as they did on the Ice, under the stars, only now they are burning.

This is all they will have. Love, now, and the silence, after.

She draws them into the robing room, after the council meeting. Pulls the gold bands from the bases of her braids to use as rings. Wraps their wrists with her sash, lays skin against skin as they stammer and shiver under her fierce, forgiving gaze.

Maedhros tries to demur, to conjure spectres and channel voices of disapproval, but he is already leaning into Fingon; their smiles matching as they ever have; their fingers twining as though carved to fit, knuckle to knuckle, tendon to tendon, bone to bone.

Lalwen blesses them. Kisses them. Sends them to bed, to their true binding.

She sits in the dark, then, for a while, listening to the silence.

To the song.  

[dysfunctional-family-fight]

Round Three

House of Finwë (The Silmarillion) VS The Homunculi (Fullmetal Alchemist)

House of Finwë art by Jenny Dolfen

House of Finwë

Members: Finwë, Míriel, Indis, Findis, Fëanor, Fingolfin, Finarfin, Lalwen, and many others

Propaganda:

"The whole events of the Silmarillion - including a few wars, a dark lord, the destruction of a continent, etc - revolve around this family's drama" "Well míriel died and finwë remarried to indis, and fëanor hated his half siblings, going so far as to threaten fingolfin with a sword. Then after the fëanorians and fingon and maybe others killed a bunch of people, fëanor abandoned fingolfin so he couldn't follow, and when finarfin turned back his kids didn't and they left him. After that it's all feuds and murders and death and treason and such. Greatest hits of that include maeglin betraying turgon and trying to murder idril and eärendil, plus maedhros and maglor kidnapdopting elrond and elros. Also we don't even know who gil-galad's parents are" More propaganda here

The Homunculi

Members: Father, Lust, Gluttony, Envy, Greed, Wrath, Sloth, Pride

Propaganda:

CW: Murder

"All only exist to be their Father's pawns. The eldest (Pride) has been pretending to be his youngest brother's (Wrath) son. Pride is about 400 years old while Wrath is like 60 There have been at least 2 instances where one of the hommunculi ate another. The second time it was on purpose and killed the one eaten. Greed ran away about 100 years before the plot of fma. Wrath killed all of Greed's friends and then captured him. He got submerged in some sort of molten metal but he was fine later. Then he got reabsorbed by his Father and helped to kill him. Greed was not fine this time." More propaganda here

[welcomingdisaster]

would you maybe like to write maglor & fingon? 🥺 they do not interact in canon at all but in my head they're the bestest of friends they braid each other's hair they sing together they hold hands—

also you're very cool and you have correct takes on the silmarillion characters hope you're having a nice day!

heyy anon!! I'm so sorry it took me to long to finish this! <3 thank you for the ask & the wonderful compliment. hopefully you're still hanging around to see this! here is a little scene between them that directly contradicts canon but crawled into my brain after getting this ask and wouldn't leave.

The first thing that strikes him is just how much Makalaurë resembles his father.

Perhaps, on some level, Findekáno simply expects to see his uncle. He had not gone to treat with the Feanorian camp. Though both he and Turno had bid their father send them, speaking over each other in their conflicting haste, he had given leave to Lalwen only. 

It was she, then, who had brought back the news;  the father dead, the eldest son taking, and only the second son upon the throne as regent. Findekáno had scarce believed it then, and even now it feels like a strange, unpleasant dream. 

So part of him, as he ducks inside the main building of the fortified campsite — an unwieldy triangular structure of logs piled against each other, clearly built with haste years ago and decorated only recently — expects to see Fëanáro. 

But it is more than that. Makalaurë has, in Valinor, had not stood so; did not pull his shoulders so far back nor raise his chin proudly. He had worn his long raven hair loose, then, as in the way of poets and bards; now it is bound behind him, pulled back from his face. Findekáno had never before noticed the sharpness of his cheekbones, the severe angles of his face. 

He has colored his eyes with scarlet red; he wears Feanorian colors, the dizzying array of yellow, flame-red, sky-blue so unlike his usual style. His robes, Findekáno can tell, are too large, pulled together tighter at the waist and chest by silver clips. 

It is no mystery who they had once belonged to. 

No stitches to pull back the fabric. No cutting. It is as though he expects his father to return and to wear them.

The men that walk on either side of him are not guards, exactly, but neither are they friendly escorts. Findekáno brings with him only his hunting bow and his lyre — nothing of war. 

And yet one of the Feanorian men has already asked to take his arrows. He offers no explanation, no true justification; they will not have him meet the regent with his quiver, and that is all. 

He does not argue, though some childish part of him wishes to. The sun has risen, but little darkness is lifted from their hearts. 

But he does not bow to Makalaurë, the way he knows is expected of him. There is only so much of this game that he shall play. 

“Cousin,” Makalaurë says, his voice grave, regal; lower in pitch than Findekáno had ever heard it, “what have you come for?” 

Findekáno supposes they are not bothering with the formalities. Easier, then. 

“I need a horse,” he says, “a quick one, that shall bear me from this land and into the east.”

None of the horses their camp had brought survived the journey. He prefers not to think of the fate of those fine beasts. 

Makalaurë’s frown deepens. I have no time for this, it says. “Then have your father send a trade offer. Written.”

“You misunderstand,” Findekáno says, “my father does not know I am here.” 

Makalaurë’s brow furrows. He blinks hard, his eyes darting towards the window, towards the lake on the horizon. 

“What are you doing, cousin?” his voice is softer, higher; there is something melodious to it now.

Findekáno says nothing. 

Makalaurë looks eastward, tilting his head as though listening for something. There is something about the gesture that seems practiced, something of ritual about it; he has been looking eastward for thirty years. 

“Do you—” Findekáno himself has heard nothing. Felt nothing. 

Makalaurë shakes his head, wincing. It is not the apologetic wince of polite conversation; it is sharp, pained. Findekáno feels as though he has accidentally elbowed open a gut wound. 

“Only heartbeat, at times.” He turns away from Findekáno, striding towards the window. Leans heavily on the windowsill and raps his fingers against it, a dull noise of gloved hands against wood. Thump. Thump. Thump. 

Findekáno wills himself not to be jealous of it. It is more than he has heard. 

“I need a horse,” he repeats, “Káno—” 

His cousin does not turn to look at him, but raises a hand, cutting him off. 

“Your brother,” he says, “your sister. Your father, for the sake of all that is holy, Finyo.” 

“I wrote him a letter,” Findekáno says, reaching into the inner pocket of his jacket, where papers lay folded against his heart, and holds it out, “if I do not come back...” 

This has Makalaurë turning towards him again, eyebrows raised, eyes wide. With his hair pulled back from his face as it is, his chin tilted back, it gives him an odd air, as though someone has taken him by the braid and yanked him back. His hands are raised, fingers splayed out. He steps back from the papers, unwilling to touch them.

“You cannot mean to leave that with me!” 

“I do not mean to give you a choice,” Findekáno says, “unless you should like the thought of my poor, bereaved father wondering what has happened to me. Thinking, perhaps, that I was overtaken by the rival camp, that Feanorian line that so wishes to undermine his power—” 

Makalaurë snatches the letter from him with such force the paper crumples. For a moment Findekáno thinks he is about to hit him. 

“Your brother,” he says again, a plea.

“I know,” Findekáno says, though he does not, “I know. I will return.” 

Makalaurë straightens out the paper. Spares it a glance then tucks it into his own pocket, breathing hard. 

“My father, wherever he may dwell now, has no more need for his horse,” he says, his voice returning to the lower pitch, “but she is fine and quick, of such hue that passes easily unnoticed in these forests. I will send word to have her ready for you.” 

“Thank you,” Findekáno says. 

His cousin does not meet his eye. Outside the wind whistles, and Findekáno listens for a heartbeat he does not hear. 

“You may go.” The words of a king, remembered a little too late, ill-fitting in the poet’s mouth.

Findekáno inclines his head forward, a little half-bow. Listens for a heartbeat he does not hear. “Until we meet again, then.” 

He turns to go, takes a two steps forward, and only then Makalaurë comes after him, a quick, half-hopping step forward to close the distance between them. Catches Findekáno’s wrist in his hand, his grip tight. 

Findekáno waits for him to speak. Makalaurë says nothing. His grip loosens, and his hand shifts down; now he holds Findekáno’s hand, his thumb pressing against his palm. 

“Finyo,” he says, and for a moment Findekáno thinks he will abandon it all to follow him, that they will leave together. Again his eyes drift eastward. But he only leans forward and presses his lips against Findekáno’s cheek, smelling of wine and tree-sap. “Goodbye,” he says.

And that is all. 

[that-angry-noldo]

The story of the High King Fingolfin through the many instances of his life: the treacherous darkness of the Flight of the Noldor; the quiet and dangerous Ice of Helcaraxë; the fragile treaty of Mithrim; and the tentative beginning of the Long Peace.

Very excited to finally share my @tolkienrsb project done in partnership with @melkors-defense-attorney :D it was a fun collaboration!!

Title: Thrice he rose

Rating: T

Warnings: Major Character Death, Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Relationships: Fingolfin & House of Ñolofinwë, Fingolfin & Lalwen, Fingolfin & Finarfin, Fingolfin & Fëanor

Characters: Fingolfin, House of Ñolofinwë, Maedhros, Maglor, Lalwen, Finarfin, Fëanor, OFC

Read on AO3 || View the full artwork

Biggest credit to @thelordofgifs for beta-reading this fic! you are amazing and patient and i couldn't have asked for a better beta <3

Special thanks to my beloved mutuals @searchingforserendipity25, @actual-bill-potts, @thelordofgifs, @outofangband and @eilinelsghost for their biggest support during the writing process - thank all of you so much!

Another credit goes to @swanmaids for allowing me to use her helcaraxë headcanons - i love that worldbuilding and the implications so much!

[sweetteaanddragons]

Hi

Huge fan of your writing here. I was wondering if you had any ideas for a sequel to your ‘A Question of Precedence’ AU. No need to answer if you dont feel like just my imagination running wild lol but i was curious about how Feanor meeting Fingolfin, Finarfin, Lalwen and their wives and kids would go down. I imagine it would be strange to meet you brother who died as an infant (something which caused your father a lot of trauma and grief) as an adult with a wife and kid. What was their opinion on Feanor before Finwe was slain and Feanor reborn. Did they ever feel like their father loved them less?Would Feanor + siblings get along better in this AU or just about the same ? What was it like for Finwe to die and meet his son and ex wife only for them to leave to live with Vaire ? What was it like for Findis to raise her famously chaotic brother? Are they close? What’s it like for Indis to lose her husband and have his dead child brought back in his stead and then have said child raised to be king a title which previously belonged to her children. What would the relationship be between the sons of Feanor and their cousins ? how is Feanor viewed by those that stayed in Valinor and those that left especially after he chose to aid his kin in Beleriand.

This got a bit longer than intended so again no need at all to answer i just love your writing ❤️💕

Thank you so much! It took me a minute to remember that AU - it's been a while!

(For those who also don't remember, this was my AU in which Feanor died as an infant when Miriel did. All of his half-siblings except Findis still end up going to fight in Beleriand; Findis stays and ends up raising him when Feanor is released from the Halls. Feanor, for his part, ends up leading the reinforcements to Middle Earth.)

I think meeting Feanor is definitely strange for the siblings that went to Middle Earth, especially because of the circumstances. They are used to thinking of him as a Tragedy™, not a full grown force of nature riding to the rescue.

I do think they'd get along better in this AU; a Feanor raised reasonably well by Findis is not going to be raised to resent his siblings, and the attachment to his father that he was so afraid of the others usurping is going to look very different here. He also isn't worried about competing with the others for the crown; Findis raises him to know that it's his as soon as he's old enough, and the others aren't there to fight for it.

His relationship to Indis is still complicated, I think; she knows Finwe chose to remain dead in order to give him a chance to return, and part of her does resent that, but on the other hand, she's ashamed of resenting a baby for anything, especially that. The issues between her and Findis regarding Indis's perceived abandonment might actually cause as many issues between Feanor and her as the remarriage does.

For a long time, Feanor's sons have no relationship with their cousins, for obvious reasons. This changes with Fingon's resurrection; they are very, very eager to get to know him, and he is very, very eager to encourage them to go fight in Beleriand . . . though he feels a bit guilty about that. Whatever their actual ages, he can't help thinking they're too young to be dragged into this.

Once they get to Beleriand, their surviving cousins have an interesting mix of "Reinforcements! I love you!" and . . . possibly some resentment? Because they've been fighting this war all this time, and here their younger cousins come sweeping in, all shining and golden from Valinor to win the day without the centuries of hopeless warfare. Once they get to know them, some of those relationships improve.

(Some get worse.)

In general, the Noldor in Beleriand see Feanor as a hero and a particularly shining symbol of hope - if even Finwe's long lost son has returned, surely all darkness can be overcome! The ones in Valinor see him as less of a symbol, but he is still their respected king (though there might have been some dissent about showing up as reinforcements.)

[nyarnamaitar]

✨

-@outofangband

Thanks for the ask, @outofangband! <3

Mmm, worldbuilding/background story elements, let's see... I've been thinking a lot about the War of Wrath recently, specifically about the Valar's involvement. We know that none of the Valar participated in the war directly, most likely out of fear that Arda would suffer even more destruction if they did. So they sent their Maiar instead, with Eönwë as their leader. That being said, I HC that the Valar, although physically absent, were involved, albeit on a more abstract level, endowing their Maiar with part of their power, protecting them from afar. (Valar-Maiar relationships are one of my favourite things to ruminate on.) This manifested itself in different ways. When Eönwë spoke, commanding the army, his voice carried the echo of his lord's. When Eönwë charged into battle, the wind was like a living being wrapped around him, making him even deadlier than usual. Ilmarë blinded their enemies with a single glance, her light-filled eyes scorching through Balrog shadow and Orc armour. Ossë drowned the Angband forces in rivers and brooks and creeks, singing songs of the deep, dark seas that his master rules over. And so on.

I also HC that specific Maiar were designated to accompany/protect specific parts of the Elven forces. Eönwë, for example, generally fought alongside Ingwion and Finarfin. Ilmarë paired up with Anairë, Findis, and Lalwen. (I don't think Nerdanel and Eärwen fought in the war, but that's another conversation.)