#fingolfin scenario

[doodle-pops]

Snowflake

Fingolfin x reader

A/N: Finally, some nice and soft Fingolfin content. I wrote this all the back in 2021, and it’s among some of the oldest pieces I have collecting dust.

Warnings: none, fluff and comforting

Words: 1.3k

Synopsis: You convinced your tedious at-work husband to take a break from all his duties.

The snowfall outside the cabin was a sight to behold, its unpredictability adding to the charm of the moment. As you sat snuggled up in blankets by the cosy fireplace, the howling wind outside carried with it a cascade of soft, pristine flakes that painted the world in a tranquil white. The snowflakes danced in the air before settling gently on the ground, muffling the sounds of the forest beyond.

It was as if nature itself had decided to join in on your quest for serenity, providing a serene backdrop for the break your husband had so graciously taken from his demanding role as King. The beauty of the winter scene served as a reminder that sometimes, amidst life’s chaos, it was essential to embrace moments of stillness and tranquillity, and that’s precisely what you were doing in this peaceful cabin retreat.

Sitting beside the cosy fireplace, nestled in a multitude of blankets, you listened to the haunting wail of the wind outside the cabin you and your husband had chosen for your retreat. The snowfall this year had been unpredictable, and despite that, your husband, who usually had a bustling schedule, had decided that it was best for both of you to take some time off for yourselves. It had been a peculiar request at first, given his workaholic tendencies. You couldn’t help but feel a tad nervous, fearing that this idyllic scene might suddenly vanish like a fleeting dream.

In the past few days, you had been waiting for him to abruptly spring up and rush off to work, but it had yet to happen. At this moment, you found yourself wrapped in layers of blankets, your husband peacefully napping by your side. He had been engrossed in reading earlier until your fingers started to caress his hair, luring him into a peaceful slumber. You didn’t attempt to prevent him from drifting off; after all, it was only the second day at the cabin, and he was still recovering from the immense workload he had endured.

As you gently ran your fingers through his hair, he shifted closer to your touch, letting out a contented sigh. It was an unusual sight considering he wasn’t typically one for physical affection. Throughout your courtship and into your marriage, you had been the one to initiate such moments. Watching him lay on your lap, cocooned in blankets, was a rare and beautiful experience.

“Who would have thought that you’d be so exhausted after your demanding duties as King? Perhaps you should have heeded my advice to rest more often,” you gently chided, a mix of scolding and gratitude for him finally taking a break, as you reminisced about your request from a few months ago. You couldn’t help but chuckle at his stubbornness. It felt as though he was awake and listening, for in that moment, he let out a deep sigh and wrinkled his nose as if responding to your query. It wouldn’t have been the first time he had done so, fooling you into thinking he was asleep when he was quite the opposite.

Continuing to gently stroke his hair, you reached for your mug filled with steaming hot tea and brought it to your lips. Much to your delight, the tea remained wonderfully warm, even though more than fifteen minutes had passed since it was made. You let out a satisfied sigh as the comforting warmth spread through your body, adding to the overall cosiness of the moment.

After a few more soothing sips, you carefully placed the cup back on the nearby table. Your hands then shifted to deftly remove the book from his grasp, cradling it in your own. With a smile, you picked up where he had left off, your eyes dancing across the pages as you lost yourself in the captivating world of words and stories.

As you delved deeper into the text, a familiar tune began to escape your lips, a melody that had once been sung to you during the long, cold, and perilous nights while crossing the treacherous Helcaraxё. This hauntingly beautiful melody has always brought you immense comfort, soothing your anxiety during the harshest of times. Now, it had evolved into a cherished ritual, particularly effective in moments like this when you sought solace with him.

His eyes remained closed, his breathing steady, but you knew he was listening, his heart attuned to the melody and your presence. The combination of the enchanting tale in the book and the melody weaving through the air wrapped both of you in a cocoon of serenity, pushing aside the worries of the world and allowing you to savour the peaceful stillness of the moment.

Aroused from his slumber, Fingolfin turned his head slowly, sleep still evident in his eyes, and offered you a sleepy smile as he awaited your response. Shifting from his position on your lap, he sat up at your side, pulling the blankets around his waist and over his legs to keep warm.

“You know,” he began in a gentle tone, “the whole point of taking time off was to reduce our stress, not to invoke it. So why hum that tune?” His sleepy smile persisted as he spoke.

You continued to stroke his dark hair, smoothing out the minor tangles he had acquired during his nap. With a thoughtful expression, you responded, “Well, considering that we’re taking this break because you’ve been feeling stressed and tired, I thought it would be the perfect time to sing it, don’t you think?” You punctuated your statement with another soft hum.

Blinking slowly to shake off the remnants of sleep, Fingolfin leaned in to peck your cheek and then your forehead. He pulled you closer to his chest, wrapping his arms securely around you. Setting your book aside and adjusting the blankets to cover both of you, he arranged them to keep you warm as you settled on top of him on the couch.

“Well then, if that’s the case, I believe it would be a wonderful idea for you to join me for a nap, don’t you think? It might help alleviate some of that stress,” he suggested with a warm smile. Without waiting for your response, he gently pulled you closer, his legs enfolding you in a surprisingly tender manner. This behaviour always caught you off guard during your cuddle sessions; you expected to be the one clinging to him, not the other way around. But it seemed he was determined to ensure you napped together.

“It appears I have little say in the matter, my love,” you playfully remarked, your laughter filling the air as he lowered his head to pepper kisses on your forehead, nose, and eventually your lips. The kiss on your lips lingered, conveying his deep contentment. Breaking away briefly, he met your gaze, an intimate exchange that never failed to make your heart race. Then, he leaned in once more, gently rubbing his nose against yours in the most affectionate and tender manner.

Sighing in response to this sweet gesture, you closed your eyes, allowing yourself to succumb to the euphoria of being enveloped by your beloved on a chilly winter day. Nestling into his chest, you buried your face in the crook of his neck, breathing in the delightful scent of mint and hazelnut. With the soft backdrop of snowfall and the gentle crackling of the firewood, the two of you drifted into a peaceful trance, wrapped in each other’s loving embrace.

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[dfwbwfbbwfbwf]

Things would not have been better if Fëanor hadn't burned the ships.

I'd actually argue that things would've ended up worse.

For one, we know Fingolfin was angling to be High King of the Noldor, hence his adoption of Finwenolofinwë. This wasn't something that he started doing on the Helcaraxë - he started using it after Alqualondë.

Maybe it wasn't intentional on his part, but he also didn't speak out against it, and he would have known his people called him that. Fëanor knew about it.

This power struggle was bad enough in Aman. Can you just imagine how much worse it would've been in Beleriand? Two sects fighting each other as much as they fought Morgoth. It really would have been a disaster. They probably wouldn't have fought each other physically, but they would be weaker together than apart.

One of them had to go.

Happenstance chose Fëanor in canon, but in this scenario, it could go either way.

But even if one of them died or, in a very unlikely scenario, gave up their claim, I doubt the other's people would follow whoever ended up king. Especially if the king they followed died.

It was probably for the best that Fëanor burned the ships tbh.

[ardafanonarch]

Is Fingolfin close in age to Feanor, or is he closer to Maedhros in age?

Ages of Fëanor, Fingolfin, and Maedhros

All we know for sure if that Maedhros is younger than Fingolfin, since he says this when he waives his claim to the kingship of the Noldor:

"If there lay no grievance between us, lord, still the kingship would rightly come to you, the eldest here of the house of Finwë, and not the least wise."

Alas, the Annals of Aman (published in Morgoth's Ring) do not give birth years for any of Fëanor's children.

They do give birth years of Fëanor (YT 1169) and Fingolfin (YT 1190). Only 21 Valian Years apart![1]

[1] Another essay in Morgoth's Ring (XI in 'Myths Transformed') confirms that Elves did age on the timescale of Valian Years, which at this stage in the conceptual evolution of the legendarium was equal to 100 "regular" years. With Elves maturing around age fifty (again, at this stage), Fëanor was still a "minor" when Fingolfin was born.

In LaCE, Elven pregnancies last one year, so the soonest Maedhros could be born is YT 1220, making Fingolfin 30 Valian Years older than Maedhros, and 21 Valian Years younger than Fëanor, i.e. closer in age to Fëanor.

We also know that Fëanor wedded Nerdanel "while still in his early youth" (The Silmarillion). According to Laws and Customs among the Eldar, "children were born within a short space of years after their wedding." Aging scales are complicated in Tolkien's writings (post to come on that, eventually), but, also according to LaCE, Elves married soon after their fiftieth year. If Fëanor was notable for marrying "early", then should we understand that he married before fifty? Could be, but let's say he marries at 50 exactly. That would put his marriage at YT 1219.

If you really wanted to canonically make Fingolfin closer in age to Maedhros than to Fëanor, you would have to push Fëanor's wedding back at least 10 years, to YT 1209, and Maedhros' birth to 1210. We know that Fëanor "grew swiftly" and was generally exceptional in everything, so I don't think that's unreasonable.

This scenario would put 20 years between Maedhros and Fingolfin, and 21 years between Fëanor and Fingolfin. It requires an exceptionally early marriage, exceptionally swift conception, and only results in a one-year difference -- but it is possible.

So, according to the Annals of Aman (the only source we have on the birth years of Fëanor and Fingolfin) and what we are told in the contemporaneous Laws and Customs among the Eldar, it's unlikely, but not impossible, that Fingolfin was closer in age to Maedhros than to Fëanor.

[elvinye]

scenario time

you are a Noldo living in Tirion. you are actively avoiding the worst face any elf in Aman ever has to face: an awkward conversation with your loved ones

suddenly, it goes dark! word comes that the Trees are dead and may Noldor are leaving. you know your super devout family will remain behind. this could be your chance to avoid that awkward conversation you've been dreading!

[ceescedasticity]

Highly specific scenario question for the Teleri royals that I’ve been meaning to ask for a while, because I’ll need it for a fic when I finally get to writing it: What would happen if Finrod actually DID bring the swanships back circa 450 FA, and reported that Fëanor and Fingolfin are getting along in Beleriand and the Noldor have Angband besieged, at a stalemate—at least, that’s how it was when Finrod left; apparently he and all his small navy have been enchanted-asleep for several hundred years, and based on many people’s faint senses of exiled loved ones, there was just a massive battle where many died.

How would assorted Olwëans react? How would they react when Finrod inevitably promptly said, “oh god, I have to go back and help fight; who’s with me?”?

Details that may matter:

It’s as near to ALL the Swanships as can be remotely expected—there was attrition of storms, incompetent sailors, 1 or 2 Falthrim fell in love with specific ships and the ships were content to stay with them; but basically all came home, sailed by a combination of the guiltiest, most homesick, and most competent sailors

Finrod reports that Fëanor is officially High King of the Noldor in exile, but functionally Maedhros is High King of the Noldor and Fingolfin and Finrod (now Angrod) are more or less doing as they please as Kings of East and West respectively. Also, Elwë’s forest kingdom is flourishing with his Maia wife and daughter (he thinks the Noldor are collectively assholes), and Nowë and a bunch of people are doing great on the shore, and there’s etc. Laegrim, and dwarves… [Finrod did sail before Men showed up.]

Finrod & co sailed over 300 years ago, and this delay is very directly due to the Valar not letting them in, even though their goal is basically just to apologize and set things right. (If that eases the Doom and/or gets them more allies, well, it’s not the primary goal.)

Ambarussa also came with the world’s most non-apology apology message for Nerdanel from Fëanor, and a smidge of a hint of offer of alliance to the Valar (ie, the instructions for making silima, which he’d previously kept jealously secret). This won’t affect any initial reactions in Alqualondë because the twins sneak ashore separately to deliver it, but the gist of the messages become publicly known.

Of close relatives, Curufin died in that initial terrible battle; more importantly, Aegnor dies within a year afterward. Not long after Aegnor’s death, the Valar assure everyone—and cross-sea death awarenesses confirm—that the conflict has abated again, though it remains more ongoingly active than it has been for several centuries.

It’s narratively convenient for me that no backup reach Beleriand for another 20 years, though you don’t need to hold to that—I can futz with the timeline. What happens in 20 years is, in short order, Fëanor blows up Thangorodrim and active war resumes, and Lúthien comes to Mandos to plead for Beren.

Hmmm…

The ships not getting destroyed is going to make a significant difference in the mood in Alqualondë — for example, Volue will have spent 400-some years pining and fretting rather than seething, and while he's an extreme case he's not alone.

Not pictured: Luinél spending 300 years getting more and more sure the ships are reachable if people will just let her try and quite possibly trying to take Swan-salt out to the Enchanted Isles to look and getting shooed back to Alqualondë by Ainur. —Possibly more than once. —Probably accompanied by Duimiwen, Duinipen, Nettë, Telperin, and in fact Volue on one or more occasion. —Obviously Olwë disapproves of these unauthorized excursions! but he never put Swan-salt under guard, either.

There is still a lot of anger, and still some people who have decided to make hating Noldor their entire personality, but the ships being intact means there's less, and the ships being returned has a lot of meaning.

—I think the end result is going to be some people are still being assholes, but it isn't hard for Olwë to bring the Lindar around to the idea of "the swan-ships aren't leaving our sight [or the harbor, until they get too restless], BUT we will help you build and sail new ships to return to Beleriand".

(When Olwë says that, he adds 'Valar permitting' on the end. Not everyone else does. The ships really being just out of reach for 300 years for Mysterious Valar Reasons hasn't impressed anyone.)

Olwë would rather the Lindar not start volunteering to go to Middle-earth as more than a taxi service, but suspects it's going to be unavoidable.

The Exiles directly involved in the Kinslaying should still expect to be banned from Alqualondë and Lindarin ships until they have made satisfactory apologies.

And like I said there are still angry people — but the predominant mood is more focused on the ships than the Noldor.

[silvantransthranduiltrash]

Please give me more of the Míriel comes out of the halls, the moment Finwë dies. I’m on my knees begging you!

Have a delightful day.

i imagine that the moment Miriel comes out of the halls, she's simultaniously murderous, but also over whelmed, bc what tf is she supposed to do?

she's like the deadbeat mom (though she was dead so-)

i imagine she'd do 1 of two things

not mention her return to anyone and just... disappear into the background

in this scenario i imagine she makes her way to middle earth ( personally hc that Miriel doens't really like valinor at all). maybe she sneaks into fingolfin's host? i don't think he'd know all the elves that joined him soo.....

or maybe she's mor sensible and, because she's technically not been identified as a noldo (bc she wasn't there during the first massacre and she has silver hair, which is a more teleri like trait and no one suspects MIRIEL THERINDE to be out of the hall)

i don't think she reaches feanaro before he sails away with his host bc i imagine she takes a moment to get her barrings and figure out what she's going to do and then hear's about the massacre, and by the time she arrives she's too late.

like i said before, Miriel doesn't strike me as the kind of elf that's all that bothered by the incident, not because she's heartless but bc she's a cuivienen elf and bc she will always prioritize her family over anyone else.

2. the other thing i can see happening is her (begrudgingly) staying in valinor in order to take controll there. sure, it might not be the nicest move but she's the MOTHERFUCKING QUEEN OF THE NOLDO

YOU REALLY THINK FINWE BECAME KING ON HIS OWN AND SHE'S JUST THE WIFE?!? NO MA'AM.

if anyone has a claim on that throne it's her, thank you.

she's about to make her re-embodiment everyone's problem. (you can see where feanaro get's it from)

now, her taking over the remaining noldo does make things more difficult bc, again, feanaro does not have the best rep atm. but god damnit, no way she's loosing against the third son and fifth child that had no interest in leading.

plus, i refuse to believe that she didn't have her own supporters when she was still alive that stayed in valinor bc they're only gonna respect miriel therinde, or someone who also survived life at the lack, fuck you. they're not following some greenhorn warrior that's to big for his britches to their completely avoidable death, thank you. (sorry feanaro, but you were not made for middle earth. he's a lowkey rich kid that thought he could make it on his own (tbf, most valinor born noldo thought that, hence why they fucked up so many times))

of course in this scenarios, the moment Miriel catches wind of shit going tits up in Berilian, she mobelizes her army (bc Morgoth is out there, fuckers, and you're an idiot if you think that bitch isn't gonna go after valinor the moment he's got ME) and heads to Beriliand. she's got a score to settle with that MotherFucker.

[hongchenzhu]

Saved and too long

Side tracked on my main fic, and the idea of my OC saving Celebrían and her interaction with some of the people of House Elrond. Wrote this for some people to get an understanding of my OC and who she is in my main fic.

side note: there's gonna be some plot holes, cause I haven't finished writing my main fic yet, I'll be rewriting this scenario in the mainfic once I get to it. (OC intro is here)

Hope yalls enjoy it

word count: 1926

(๑ > ᴗ < ๑)

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Hong Chen has been in this world for a very long time, it wasn’t until recently she settled in a town not far from the borders of Rivendell. The town is near the lake which provides great agriculture for its main source of trade and income, with this being said the people of the town are well acquainted with the Elves and Rivendell as they are the main trading routes.

It was during its early settlement when this town was made, from then until now it has been over 2000 years. That’s right I have been the doctor of this town for 2000 years, I have watched the first group of settlers and now I see their descendants grow up and old.

Today is like most other days, I spent time in the yard of my house that leads into right after the front door. My rooms are built around the yard, and this is where I conduct most of my medical examinations the room to the left is my private bedroom, the room to my right is the kitchen/ medical herb storage room the room directly after the yard is my study/further examination room. My yard is also littered with groups of medical herbs ready to be dehydrated, it is either by placing it upside down and leaving it in a drying and dark place or placed in the furnace. Alongside it is a huge osmanthus tree that has been planted since I settled down.  

As I walked around the yard looking at my herbs, I noticed my athelas stash was significantly lower than my others, I signed, this meant I must leave my home and go into the mountains to find more. Shaking my head I grabbed my hat with my veil over it, putting it on I opened my double very solid wooden door (they also weigh a ton) placing a sign out in front telling those who come that I am out collecting more herbs and set out on my little adventure of finding athelas.

After trotting away on my majestic mare from the borders of Rivendell and my town I found a good stash of athelas. Then I felt it, the painful cries of souls, screaming and howling begging to be released accompanying those cries is the sense of foul begins, begins that should be killed to free the tortuous soul from their bodies.

Allowing my horse to roam freely around the area I followed the sense, it did not take long before I came across a clearing near a cave. Outside that cave is littered with a stench, a disgusting orc stench most people by now would’ve gaged but I’m too high on anger to care. Summon my polearm with the star of Fëanor still shining brightly like the day it was made, I marched into the disgusting cave.

The howling and begging got worse, I could hear it echo from the deepest part of the cave. As orcs entered my sight, I saw red. Lifting my polearm high in the air I brought it down with the strength to split the cave apart, right after that orc charged at me left, right and centre. Whipping my polearm left to right I threw them against the wall and stabbed through them, twisting my arm I killed the orcs behind me, bringing my arm forward I killed the ones in front of me. The orcs didn’t stand a chance as my acts were too fast, faster than the day when I was fighting the heavenly officials, faster than the day I fought Melkor head-on saving Fingolfin.

It didn’t take long before all the orcs in the cave were wiped out. I took off my hat, exposing my face, my chest heaved as I started looking around the cave for any other signs of life that weren’t an orc.

Finally, at the corner of the cave, I found it, the only sign of life, an elf, elf maiden who has golden hair that reminded me of Findaráto, throwing my polearm aside I crouched down. Taking the outer layer of my hanfu off I put it around her shoulders, pushing her hair out of her face I looked down at her.

“You’ll be alright dear, I’ll take you to Rivendell,” I said so gently and carefully lifted her up in my arms, one arm under her knees and one behind her back. She fell onto my chest her breathing finally calmed down and I walked out of the cave, seeing my destruction, mutilated orc bodies indiscriminately scattered the cave, like seeds that had been spilt out of a bag.

Once I’m out of the cave my horse came galloping out of the trees.

“Hey girl, look after me for a bit ok” I said to my horse voice still light not wanting to startle the poor Elleth. Very gently I put her onto my horse, who very kindly didn’t move that much as I walked back to the cave picking up my polearm it disapparated in my hand. I kept walking through the cave carefully carrying out every single elf body I could find, bringing them to the main cave. Lining them up, side by side neatly, I pulled out a yellow piece of paper and made a cut on my finger as I wrote with my blood once done, I put it in the middle of the pile and left the cave.

By the time I walked out, the cave shone with a gold shine. What Celebrían could see is a figure with hair darker than night, and a dress? A very long outfit with sleeves just as long walking out of the cave that seems to be glowing, are they a Maiar? They must be in order to have that speed and accuracy. Then she fainted.

I managed to catch the Elleth just as she nearly slipped off my horse, jumping onto it we began riding in the direction of Rivendell. With the Elleth against my chest, I whispered for my mare to go faster, although the Elleth didn’t sustain any severe injuries I don’t know if her mind could take it if I arrived any later. Not happy that the fastest time we could reach Rivendell was around midnight, I caved in, pulled out another black hat with a veil over it put it on and teleported us to right outside of Rivendell.

“I AM IN NEED OF A HEALER” I yelled as I entered the valley, coming off my horse I gently carried the Elleth off as a hoard of elves surrounded me. “I am in need of a healer,” I said again not happy that I was surrounded.

“My lady” shouted a voice above the staircase, a young Ellon called me out. I walked up to him, “Please my lady follow me, and I will take you to the healing wings” I nodded as I followed him.

Once I was there with the Ellon I placed the Elleth on the bed. “Do you hav-” and the door swung open in strutted… Elrond?

The two of us looked at each other, and he spoke “Lindir please leave the room” The young Ellon left the room, and I took my hat off.

“What an unexpected place to meet you, Elrond” I looked down at the Elleth “Check her first, I found her trapped in an orc-infested cave, she didn’t sustain any severe injuries, but I haven’t checked her full body yet.”

Elrond looked down at the Elleth in such heartbreaking eyes, as he began his checkup.

.

.

.

“I have to thank you, ammë, for saving her” Elrond has finished checking up on the Elleth, or should I call her Celebrían.

“No need for thank you, she is lucky I happened to stumble upon that cave or else the worst might happen to her.” Both of us are seated next to Celebrían, watching her pale face finally having some colour returned to it. Pulling a box out of my sleeve I gave it to Elrond, “Here is a box of incense, one that can keep away bed memories and dreams and help people to sleep”

Elrond hasn’t changed much, other than a few streaks of white hair due to stress.

“How long have I been away?” I asked curiously

“For about the entire second age.”

I blinked, shocked but also not so shocked “So, what happened during this age I missed?” Elrond went through most things, Saroun rising again, many wars happened, Celebrimbor’s death and Saroun’s betrayal of Celebrimbor and other matters.

But I stayed on the death of Celebrimbor, oh the sweet child Tyelpë. “He died?” I confirmed with Elrond.

“Oh, poor sweet Tyelpë, I remember meeting him the first time, I could scoop him up in my arms and he would always look so fascinated at the jewels I wore because there were ones he had not seen.” My voice so solemn, “I remember during the first age after I resurrected Fëanor, the three (Fëanor, Curufin and Tyelpë) would spend hours going through my jewellery box asking me all the questions about the jewellery that was in there.”

I closed my eyes and leaned back into my chair. “My poor boy, he didn’t deserve that.” I sniffled and got up, turning away from him “Sorry Elrond, I’m gonna need some time to accept that” Putting my hat back on I walked out of the room slipping right past a set of twins and a golden hair elf.

It was the afternoon by the time I got out of the main house in Rivendell, Lindir was nice enough to lead me to the private gardens of Elrond. I was almost a complete replica of my back garden in my mansion during the first age in the sunken land of Beleriand. The pond filled with waterlilies and pavilions surrounded that garden giving it ultimate serenity. Seating on the railing at one of the pavilions near the pond I took my hat off, the sunset gave the garden a feeling of warmth, but I am still hanging upon the death of Tyelpë. Pulling out a gold hairpin with a spider lily on the end made with gold and reddest of rubies I caressed it, the first gift Tyelpë gave to me as a thank you for allowing him to study my other jewels.

The rubies glimmered under the sun, as I grabbed a section of my hair and pinned it up with the hairpin.  

“Come out” I called to the 3 not so good sneaking elves.

Three black hair elves stepped forward, very neatly next to me in the pavilion. “Has your father not taught you that it is unacceptable to spy on a woman?” I scolded the three.

“We were just curious about who you are and how you rescued ammë” said the one in the middle, all are looking down embarrassed that they were caught.

“Your Elrond’s children”

“Yes”

“Not only is he married but he had kids as well!”

“Yeah” one of them meek. I stood up and studied the three, very intensely like I was going to burn a hole through their face.

“Oh, my you are.” I said I touched the twin's face “You two look just like Elrond and Elros when they were younger.” And turned to the only daughter to the right “and you look just like her.” Dark hair almost as if it's sparkling and grey eyes, oh god she looks so similar to Lúthien.

“Wait would that make me your haruni?”

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and a cliffhanger ( ‘• ω • `) done on purpose.

Hope yall enjoyed this cause I definitely had a whale of a time writing it, here are some reference photos for Hong Chen's house, hanfu, hairpin, garden and the pavilion. (there are image descriptions, do read them, pls)

The first three are Hong Chen hanfu's all have a sorta outer jacket for her to take off and wrapped around Celebrían

The final 4 are what Elrond's personal garden looks like

[polutrope]

For the AU headcanons: Modern Feanor and Fingolfin

I bet they are still as chaotic as their Elven selves but you tell me

Well, instead of inventing a new modern AU scenario for them, I wrote a little snippet of Feanor and Fingolfin (and Nerdanel) in Beleria. This is back in the 80s, though, during their time at Tirion Technical University in Valin.

~

“So…” Nerdanel looked up from under her brows as Fëanor took his seat across the table. She was grinning, red hair tumbling loose from her ponytail to frame her round face. “How come you never told me you have a brother?”

Fëanor fell the rest of the way into his chair. “I…” Fëanor huffed. “Well,” he said, then stopped short. “Where did you hear that?”

“I have a class with him.”

“What? He goes here?” Fëanor blurted, then regretted it upon seeing Nerdanel's expression. Yes, that did look rather bad.

“Uh, yeah.” Nerdanel chuckled. “So wait. We’ve been dating three months, you have a brother you’ve never told me about, and you didn’t even know he went to Tirion Tech?”

“No. Yes. I did. I mean, he would.” Fëanor said, punctuating each equivocation with a tap of his fingertip against the wood table. He was doing some quick calculations to determine which of his father’s other sons (not brothers) was now old enough to be in university. It had to be Fingolfin. Damn.

“What do you mean ‘he would’?” Nerdanel leaned forward, squinting.

“Well, because my father owns the school.”

“You mean his father.”

“Yes,” Fëanor said, irritated. “His father.”

“Huh. Well, I am getting the sense there’s some tension here.” Nerdanel puckered her lips thoughtfully. “Possibly one-sided? He seemed pleased when I invited him to join us—”

“You what?” Fëanor’s knee banged the table leg, and his glass wobbled; would have fallen over if not for Nerdanel’s quick fingers.

“Fëanor.” She said, glaring. “Please don’t make a scene. Yes, I invited him. How was I to know you hated him??”

“I don’t…” Fëanor eyes roved the room, searching for the right response: and landed right on a smiling younger facsimile of Finwë. “Shit.”

Following his gaze, Nerdanel hooked an elbow over the back of her chair. “Oh!” She waved. “We’re over here!”

Fingolfin waved back. His smile faded and he stuffed his hands in his pockets. He looked as uncomfortable being here as Fëanor felt about him being here. What was he trying to pull? Some kind of reconciliation? Oh no… no! Fëanor knew exactly what he was up to. This was about Nerdanel. He thought he could rankle him, make himself look the better man and take his girl. Oh no you won’t!

He leapt up from his chair, throwing his arms wide and baring his teeth (grinning, in theory). “Fingolfin!” he said. “It’s been far too long, b— Fingolfin!” (His mouth refused to form that word.) “Please, come,” he pulled another chair over, “sit, sit.”

Fingolfin’s eyes were wide as two platters, but quickly they narrowed. He laughed. “Fëanor!” Without warning, he threw his arms around him, pulling him into a fierce embrace.

He did not let go. Under his breath, he gritted out, “Fuck you. Been too long? Ten years, Fëanor. It's been ten years." Abruptly, he released him. He smiled mildly, patting Fëanor's shoulder. “So nice to see you, bro.”

Fëanor thought he might vomit.

[valacirya]

Other people still speaking Quenya doesn't mean that the banning of a language is not a form of cultural genocide (you can't recognize the term when applied in the clearest sense in fiction but accuse ofc it's “everybody else” that doesnt know what it means and minimizing it). If you wanna invoke “real life” shit, languages that have been banned are still public knowledge, doesn't mean barring them wasn't an act in the name of eliminating that culture. The lang. survived *despite* his actions, not bc he was so accepting of them. And attempting to monopolize the common tongue or make your own tongue the lingua Franca of a place is still... xenophobic? It's xenophobia.

He wasn't "making" his language the lingua franca of Beleriand. It already was. Thingol was protecting his culture and people from being assimilated into the Noldor, who came with the express intent of establishing their own kingdoms and showed disdain towards the Sindar ("dark elf in his dark caves"). And like I said in the post, the ban was a way to enact some sort of consequence for the Noldor who murdered his brother's people, stole and burned their ships, lied to him about it and also disrespected him and his people. I really don't think he was trying to "eliminate" Noldorin culture. He told Finrod where to build Nargothrond because Finrod valued his input and showed respect and admiration for the Sindar. He honored Hurin and Morwen even though they were vassals of Fingolfin/Fingon. He doesn't prevent Cirdan or the Laiquendi from establishing positive relations with the Noldor, and he takes in Noldorin refugees after Nargothrond's fall, as well as Sindar who worked for the Noldor after Bragollach. The ban was his way of protecting Beleriandic/Sindarin culture, showing his authority, and yes, as a consequence for the Kinslaying.

I expressly did not "invoke real life shit" in my post because I don't feel comfortable using terms like racism to describe fantasy events (unless we're talking about authorial intent like how Tolkien wrote the Haradrim and Easterlings, which was undoubtedly racist). But if you want to go down that path, don't forget that Thingol and the Sindar were native to Beleriand, and the Noldor came to take and rule territory (among other reasons). Again, do not like applying this here and it's not an exact comparison but if we go with a simplified idea of colonizer/colonized, then the Sindar are in the position of the colonized. In a (limited) comparative hypothetical scenario, the ban is like if Mughal emperor Jahangir banned English in the subcontinent and told his subjects to speak only Persian/Hindi-Urdu with the East India Company. I see nothing wrong with that.

Also, not only did Quenya survive and remain accessible, in LotR it was still considered the "High Elven" tongue compared to Sindarin, so the ban didn't even make it taboo or associated with kinslaying.

To each their own though. I'm just defending my opinion, I don't expect you to agree with me.

[tinnictheguardian]

What if Feanor wasn't the born the son of Finwe: AU musing

So I have been thinking a lot about different AU scenarios for the House of Feanor and naturally thought, what if Feanor wasn't born Finwe's son?

It's not even that much of a deviation, Miriel could have fallen for someone else while they all still lived in Cuivienen, and then Finwe could have fallen for Indis during the Great Journey. So they get married once they settle in Valinor. While Miriel goes on to give birth to Feanor with Not-Finwe.

I do think Feanor would be born to Miriel no matter who she married, and I think the results would be the same. He would be the spirit of fire that consumes her. So she goes into the Halls of Mandos with no certainty of ever returning.

It is unlikely that Not-Finwe, not being the High King and thus one of the Valar's chosen, would even think about taking a second wife. Even if Not-Finwe ended up developing feelings for another, I don't think an ordinary elf would consider petitioning the Valar for special dispensations. So it is more likely that Not-Finwe would just take joy in the one child he had and move on with his life.

It is also likely that Miriel would have come out of the Halls of Mandos, I don't know, by the time the Ambarussa are born. Because she did leave pretty soon after Finwe died. To me, this implies that she had been ready to leave but just couldn't because the Valar are against polygamy and don't believe in divorce.

However, would having a father whose love and attention he didn't have to share and his mother's return stop Feanor from rebelling?

No, I don't think so. One of the defining traits of Feanor is his thirst for knowledge: his desire to explore and learn. While the Valar insisted that the elves were free to leave Valinor, there was also no easy way to leave Valinor if you were a Noldo.

The Teleri had ships, but it didn't seem like they were running ferry services. Maybe Feanor could have traded for passage back to Middle-Earth. But it would be a one-way journey, and I can see Feanor being resentful of the fact that he has to leave everything he's built in Valinor just because he wants to see the lands his parents were born in.

In fact, I think Feanor, who is Not-Finwe's son, would resent a lot. He would resent having to pay tribute to Finwe, which I assume is something he might have to do. Especially if he, like I expect, prefers to have a workshop outside of Tirion when he's not the crown prince of the Noldo.

I also think he would still resent the influence of Indis and would still not like Fingolfin because Feanor was a Noldo supremacist in many ways. Finwe's family does become increasingly mixed and sort "all elves" and later "all elves plus men" as time goes on. But House of Feanor was 100% Noldo and largely remained 100% Noldo given that there is no canon evidence that any son of Feanor who was referenced to have a wife, had a non-Noldo wife.

So, I think Feanor would have been annoyed seeing his king get influenced by his Vanya wife. He probably would have been annoyed every time Fingolfin and especially Finarfin, who has a Teleri wife, commissions Feanor, the best elven smith in all of Valinor, for something. Especially since he would probably feel compelled to accept the commission because if he's not the crown prince, he probably doesn't have the same freedom to tell them to GTFO of his workshop.

I also think that Feanor, who is not the son of Finwe, would have actively started to plan to leave Valinor with his sons. Because it always struck me as a weird that Feanor was speaking against the Valar and claiming the elves were thralls of the Valar but seemingly made absolutely no plans to actually leave valinor.

He wasn't stockpiling food and building heaters so he could cross the Helcaraxe. Or learning to build ships from the Teleri or inventing airships (I have been thinking about a Noldo airship AU). It's a bit weird that genius Feanor had no plans on how to leave Valinor when he had been speaking against the elves being in Valinor.

The answer is obviously that as the crown prince of the Noldo, he couldn't openly plan to leave without losing his position. An action that would let Fingolfin win, in his mind, which is clearly something that cannot be allowed.

So I see a Feanor who is not the son of Finwe, actively work towards leaving Valinor and, because he plans to leave, stops contributing to Valinor society beyond what is required to keep both Finwe and Manwe, out of his business. I.e. he would create the Silmarils but would not show them to anyone outside of his sons. In fact, I see him building a lot of things he would never share with the wider Elven community.

Yes, I do see him one day packing up and leaving Valinor with his sons and whatever followers he can gather. Given that Feanor is said to have great power of speech on top of being a great smith, even without being the son of Finwe, I can see him having a large and fanatical following who dares to cross the ice with him because they too want to explore and experience new things beyond Valinor.

Don't get me wrong, he would 100% resent having to leave Valinor forever. As I said, there is a good chance that Tirion was likely filled with things Feanor made. But he was no longer going to be able to enjoy the fruits of his labour. Worse, he was leaving it for elves who were happy being thralls. But I think if he wasn't the crown prince, he wouldn't feel any need to "save the Noldo" as a whole.

I think canon Feanor sincerely believed that taking all the Noldo back to Cuivienen was the right thing to do, and that's why he didn't just build sleighs or ships for his own house and followers and leave. However, Feanor, who is not the Son of Finwe, would not necessarily feel obligations towards the Noldo as a whole and is more likely to look out for just his own.

To be clear, there is a good chance that Feanor would have led his sons and followers straight into actual thralldom because Sauron was waiting in Middle Earth. There is a good chance Melkor would have offered to "help" guide Feanor and his followers. Even if Melkor didn't personally go with them, he was eventually going to return and make a beeline to capture and enthral the Noldo.

Even if we exclude Sauron and Melkor, the fact remains that Elu Thingol was already lord of all Beleriand, not to mention the Avari had their own lords in Morwe and Nurwe. Feanor would consider them lesser to the Noldo, which would not go down well with any of them!

I saw a post wondering why the Edain did not seem to give the Sons of Feanor the same type of loyalty they gave Finrod and others. To be honest, its probably because the majority, if not all, Sons of Feanor came across as condescending. I mean, I don't think they meant to be condescending.

It's like Prince Philip, who was famous for committing racially insensitive gaffes. It's not that he was trying to insult whole cultures, it just so happened that what he thought were innocent remarks often gave offence.

I can see this happening a lot with Sons of Feanor and anyone who is not a Noldo, which translates to them not making as many friends outside of their own ethnicity.

Since this is a defining characteristic of House of Feanor, I don't think this changes in an AU where Feanor is not the son of Finwe. So I don't see Feanor living in harmony with the Sindar, the Avari, the Dwarves and later men.

The best case scenario for Feanor is that he comes to Middle Earth, goes south and finds land that's unsettled, which is still possible before the coming of man, since the elves of Middle Earth weren't numerous enough to be all over the continent, and builds a city where he can rule as he pleases at least until he inevitably ends-up in conflict with someone. Because I just don't see Feanor living in harmony in Arda Marred, whether or not he was the son of Finwe and whether or not his mother returned from the Halls of Mandos while he was still in Valinor.

Finally, since I love Russingon, I think a Maedhros who is not the grandson of Finwe would have an interesting dynamic with Prince Fingon who valiantly and openly pursues him. I think it would be an interesting dynamic because the not-grandson-of-Finwe Maedhros would not be equal to Fingon.

Now elven hierarchy is not always clear cut. But there definitely is one and even Eol is supposed to be a kin of Elu Thingol. I.e. he's not the elven equivalent of a peasant. So even with him, Tolkien didn't have the White Lady of the Noldo marry someone NOT related to an Elven king.

So an AU where Feanor is not the son of Finwe, Russingon can have a hierarchical element that could be interesting to explore. Because it would in many ways be like a Prince pursuing the son of a highly regarded but still not noble Feanor.

Add to that the fact that Maedhros might not feel he can refuse Fingon's advances if only to make sure his father's rebellious intent to go against Finwe and return to Middle Earth is not discovered. We just don't know what Finwe would do if someone for whom he is not blinded by love was the one instigating rebellion against him and the Valar. Even if the rebellion amounted to simply wanting to return to Middle Earth peacefully.

It would still end in absolute tragedy but that is the nature of Arda Marred.

[doodle-pops]

Meeting and Befriending Vampire Reader

A/N: Felt like writing something different for a change. Possibly my start of dipping my toes in the supernatural AU?? And I blame @animatorweirdo, in a good way, for feeding me with their creativity when it comes to their supernatural content *le chef kiss* 🤌

Warnings: (it’s all lightly described) blood-drinking, mentions of being experimented on, lots of comfort, being rescued, happy endings for everyone, platonic relationships

➷ ⋆Feanor

➳❥ So, hypothetically speaking, Feanor does not die the minute he sets foot into Middle Earth and survives all the way through to meet you; an escapee from Angband during the first attack he launched. You stumbled your way a good distance from them, however, seeing that they were newly settling down, you blended in.

➳❥ Having dwelt among them for some time and forcing yourself to suffer cruel punishments of changing your appetite to not be caught and persecuted, you managed to become one of the local elves for years. Chatting and conversing with everyone and working as a healer during the night shifts only (because blood was easier to consume that way).

➳❥ How Feanor stumbled upon you, well it all started with you and Feanor becoming friends from all his late–night trips to the healing wing whenever he injured himself. It developed into a friendship, as he would only demand you treat his wounds. Plus, you never appeared bored or irritated when he prattled your head off about inventing things to blow other things up or reinventing.

➳❥ Somewhere along the lines, conversations always sparked each other’s interest, since he became persistent on spending more time with you due to your knowledge and peculiarities, mostly during the day since he worked at night. Of course, you reject his offer even though you could offer an evening/night session, but preferred the simple friendship you two already had without getting into each other’s personal space.

➳❥ Through constant rejection, which doesn’t sit well with Feanor’s pride, one day he decides to seek you out. Directly heading for the healing wing and learning of the location, he sets out to your house to demand an honest answer, only to discover once he arrives, your house is locked up like a prison cell.

➳❥ Knocking does nothing to bring him a response and your neighbours can’t deliver a suitable response because they never see you during the day, only at night. This doesn’t sit well with Feanor and being the adamant individual he was, he chose to sit guard outside your house until you either came out or showed up.

➳❥ You, on the other hand, were aware of his presence outside your house. It placed you in a dilemma, unsure of whether to walk out and confront him or spend another day indoors, surely he’ll grow tired and defeated. The furthest option he took was begging to at least speak with you to know where your relationship with him sat.

➳❥ Hearing his sorrowful plead, guilt eating at you, there was a split moment where you hesitated before cracking the door open to welcome him in. It was approaching daylight since he waited all night. The minute he entered your house and saw the pitch–black condition, he knew something was wrong with you.

➳❥ A sharp Kingly tone would be spat out, which would make you curl in at the disappointment you were setting yourself up for. At the time, there wasn’t anything suitable enough to spare you from his frustration. So, a quick mumble of you begging him to listen to your story and not judge you would be exchanged.

➳❥ The moment you revealed the truth, you could see his face through the darkness and how his eyes widened as he placed multiple scenarios together to believe you. Feanor doesn’t know how to respond because you never had intentions to hurt him, yet your truth was kept hidden when the enemy was looming about.

➳❥ Millions of questions would realistically fly off the handle wanting to know if you were working for the Dark Lord, and he sent you to spy on him. Of course, not appreciating the comparison to your enemy, you angrily put his claims down, explaining that you were one of the first elves who were hunted and experimented on. His war with the Dark Lord bought you freedom.

➳❥ Feanor doesn’t know where his relationship with you now stands with this new piece of information, however, he makes the most of it by keeping you under lock and key (not literally). He wants to know everything you know and it’s how you prove yourself trustworthy in his eyes when your information aids him in winning another war.

➳❥ Because of your supernatural abilities, he’s baffled by your strength, speed and agility. Heck, he doesn’t need to go through the stress of bending iron when you exist. You are still a part of his Kingdom, and he allows you to continue living as you do but ensure not to kill or harm anyone.

➳❥ He was very grossed out about your blood consumption to survive, yet he was curious to understand how it worked in sustaining your mobility and essence. There were moments he tried experimenting to create other alternatives for you to consume, let’s say it didn’t work.

➳❥ Because there were minimal differences between elf and vampire (minus sunlight and food; and Feanor did make a daylight ring) he was able to overcome the boundaries and maintain a healthy relationship. So long as you didn’t pose as a threat, all was well between you and Feanor.

➷ ⋆Fingolfin

➳❥ Meeting you for the first time would be entirely accidental, perhaps on a walk through the forest to clear his head when he stumbled upon your absolutely still figure, perched on a tree branch.

➳❥ Because there’s no one else in the forest and no settlement for miles, furthermore, given your attire, you must have been from the same Kingdom or his son’s, he would still make his presence known to you before continuing his walk because it was a polite thing to do.

➳❥ It’s when you turn to acknowledge the male figure introducing himself and calling out to you, that he catches a glimpse of your unusual eye colour and stills. You’re aware that he’s aware you’re different from other elves.

➳❥ Fingolfin would have easily picked up on your fëa and hrӧa differing from an elf and would immediately inquire about your identity since he considers you trespassing. His approach would be commanding, using his Kingly aura to have you submit and give in to his wishes.

➳❥ But since you’re not the same as the others who use their abilities for harmful intentions, you’d roll your eyes and casually reveal your name and where you were from before turning around to continue your staring off into God knows where.

➳❥ Not pleased with your curt answer, despite giving him the information he demanded to know, he’d attempt to encroach your tranquillity with more questions on what creature you were.

➳❥ That’s where things take a turn because you’re aware of vampires being destructive and evil forces of nature, so you’re hesitant and cautious the moment you reveal your true nature. However, it’s your lack of aggression and awareness to his astonishment that urges him to continue prodding.

➳❥ You were tempted to snap at his intrusiveness, yet still, you didn’t, keeping in mind that your kind was already a plague to elves. So you needed to keep a level–head for as long as you could before being on your merry way. Unfortunately for you, Fingolfin wasn’t allowing you to disappear anytime soon; not when questions existed.

➳❥ “How are you not evil? Are you evil? Have you ever been? Were you created by the Dark Lord? What do you know of him? Have you come to spy?” His questions to you were generic which gave eye rolls at every one directed at you.

➳❥ Long story short, Fingolfin and you got off on a semi–tranquil and annoying meet but were eventually able to smooth things over after he asked you a million questions and you answered every one as nonchalantly as possible.

➳❥ He keeps you a secret from the rest of the world; your existence is kept by him alone. Through you, he learns secrets about the world he had yet to discover and values your insight on deep philosophical topics. Long, late–night conversations from twilight to daybreak.

➳❥ There are rare days when you would randomly appear on the balcony of his office, mostly during the night, to spend time chatting. He learnt that it was a myth that vampires burnt in sunlight, it was just that you were irritated by it and also didn’t wish to be seen during daylight with your features.

➳❥ What blossomed between you two was an unusual friendship. In the beginning, he was sceptical about having you around more frequently and roaming his lands since you fed off blood—you never gave him details about your hunting activities; however, you reassured him no people were harmed or killed.

➳❥ Sometimes, you provide him assistance given your dislike for the Dark Lord by slipping in and out the cracks of his fortress unseen to spy. He forever warns you about being cautious because he fears that one day, you might never return.

➳❥ You do enjoy scaring the life out of him whenever he steps into the forest in search of your location. Popping out from behind trees or walking behind him the entire time and pretending to be the wind.

➳❥ He once saw you angry and regretted the first time you met because of what could have possibly happened to him.

➷ ⋆Finarfin

➳❥ First time trip to Middle Earth and he came across you during the raiding of Angband. You were trapped in the prison cells in the depths of the mountain along with other foul creatures. To Finarfin’s surprise, he was confused as to why would a normal–looking elf be stuck alongside all those dangerous creatures.

➳❥ Nevertheless, he retrieved and returned you back to his encampment where you were being treated for your wounds. However, due to your lack of hunger and being surrounded by literal food, the healer doesn’t get the chance to properly assess your injuries, because you lunged at one of them for dinner.

➳❥ With the uproar, Finarfin is summoned to the tent where blood is spilt everywhere and a rampant you is being restrained by his best men. However, pity played a great part in his heart when he looked upon your face and saw tears streaming from your eyes. His first thought was literally, “Why would you shed tears for your wrong?”

➳❥ Still cautious of your activities, he’d have you secured aside from everyone and closer to his tent for observations even though his men advised against the idea, wanting to exterminate you immediately. But Finarfin was someone who preferred to be the judge of his own actions.

➳❥ The minute he visited you after your re–captivity, he felt a twinge of sympathy for putting you into chains after you recently came out of them. At first, you were uncooperative due to having a lack of blood in your system, and since he didn’t have any lying about or was going to offer his or his people, he gave orders to the hunters to save the animal blood and deliver it to his tent.

➳❥ You were fussy because the blood of people was tastier than animals, but it was still worth a shot because you were hungry as hell after being chained up and experimented on for years. After stomaching the repulsive blood, you were able to talk, and he learned of how you were once an elf taken from your home and turned into a vampire.

➳❥ The experiments weren’t a complete success since you couldn’t take sunlight, fly or transform. You were able to stay in your elven form while having the basic traits of a vampire. This Finarfin pitied and felt the need to protect and keep you safe.

➳❥ Promising that he would look after you if you promised to control yourself, he had taken you to Valinor and placed you within the Valar care to see how much they could undo the mad scientist’s experimentation. Unfortunately, you were permanently stuck that way until the end of time.

➳❥ Because you had Finarfin at your side who genuinely cared for your existence, he became a familiar face in your life during your healing and learning to control your thirst sessions. You accidentally messed up a few times and attacked because 1) you were being pushed too far, and 2) he had smelt too good.

➳❥ During that moment, it caused a dramatic change in your relationship. Finarfin was slightly terrified when he realised that he was entirely powerless against your strength, even when weakened and found the idea of you feeding from him exhilarating.

➳❥ He didn’t know how to approach you with the latter when he was slightly terrified of your strength and unsure about whether or not he could pull you off him should you be unable to stop. Even so, you had distanced yourself from him after the incident, ashamed of your actions.

➳❥ With some convincing, the best solution was to have you break into the habit of sampling his blood indirectly from the vein, meaning, in a glass. He was amazed at how easily you just drank his blood without a hint of disgust. This would continue over a duration while you consumed animal blood to get a grip on your control. (I’d write about you feeding from the source, but another time maybe).

➳❥ During these moments your friendship with him is built. Late–night conversations, walking through the forest, having midnight picnics under the stars and laughing away. They all assisted with your nerves on how you believed he perceived you.

➳❥ It does sadden him that you could only be out at night, not able to experience all the beauty at came with daylight and you also never be able to see the sun as you were one of the elves stolen before the Great Journey.

➳❥ He would spend all his time describing to you what daylight and sun felt and appeared like, all the birds and flowers, the ocean as it glittered during the sunrise and sunset. All the while he did this, he would consult with one of the Valar, preferably Varda and Aüle to forge a ring you can wear to shield you from the sunlight.

➳❥ During one of your nightly meet–ups, while you’re excitedly informing him about your progress and ability to be around other people without harming them due to the consumption of his blood, he surprises you with the ring.

➳❥ That would be the first time you had ever seen the sun and daylight since your existence. His standards had set him apart from other people you had met along the way, causing him to hold a special place in your heart; for now, you were able to no longer be apart from him whenever he had to separate for his duties. You could follow him anywhere in the world.

Masterlist

Taglist: @lilmelily @ranhanabi777 @rain-on-my-umbrella @mysticmoomin @asianbutnotjapanese @batsyforyou @aconstructofamind @involuntaryspasms @lamemaster @stormchaser819

If you would like to be tagged, click the taglist link.

[dfwbwfbbwfbwf]

Tolkien - My Takes 1

A Bro from Spite AU

A Guide to My Boys and Girls

A Handy Device

A king is he that can hold his own, or else his title is vain.

Aman to Beleriand Travel Time

Athrabeth Finrod Ah Andreth - Marriage in War

Aragorn and Arwen's Relationship

"Art" of the House of Finwë

Avoiding the Kingship at all Cost

Beards and Fëanáro

Beren and Lúthien are Worse than Fëanáro

Beren and Lúthien Didn't Take Down a Dark Lord

Beren and Lúthien = Moringoþo

Best Way to Start A Silm Movie/TV Show

Better Than Ingwë

Birds of a Feather - Dior, Elwing, and the Fëanárions

Bitten by a Smith

Burning the Ships was Best Case Scenario

Cáno⁵

Casaremírë

Celegorm and Curufin Didn't Intend for Finrod to Die

Celegorm the Fair

Celegorm the Horse Girl

Cormahto

Crablor: Hobo Hermit Crab

Crablor: The Molt

Crabs and Spiders are Related

Crack AU: Mahtan the Dwarf

Crack Au: The Teleri are Bad Shipwrights

Crack Theory: Finrod Doesn't Exist

Curvo Makes Bombs

Dagor Dagorath - Fortunate Son

Darkness or Just Trauma?

Deneþor

Doriath Character Rating - Thingollo, Melian, Lúthien, Dior, Eluréd, Elurín, Elwing

Doriath is the British Museum

Ecthelion and Lindir AU

Elrond, Elros, and Their Parent

Elven Aging

Elwë and Finwë (ft. Olwë)

Elwing Forgave Maeðros and Maglor. Eventually. (Bonus Eärendil.)

Eöl and the Poisoned Spear

Eöl Haunts Middle Earth

"Earning" Silmarils

Exploding Elwë

Everlasting Darkness is a Nameless Thing

Everlasting Darkness is a Yeti Crab

Fanboy Gandalf

Favorite Quenyan Words

Fëanárion Glorfindel

Fëanárion Mourning Traditions

Fëanárions Aren't Greedy

Fëanáro and Names (Sons)

Fëanáro and the Atani

Fëanáro in the Silmarilli

Fëanáro is an Elf Mary Tudor

Fëanáro is NOT a Creep

Fëanáro isn't in Mandos

Fëanáro Made Ringil

Fëanáro, Maeglin, and Darkness

Fëanáro Punched a Hole in a Wall

Fëanáro vs Nolofinwë: Best Grandchild

Fëanáro's Adoption Scheme

Fëanáro's Colors

Fingolfin's Corpse

Fíriel

For a Better Poetic Narrative

"For the Greater Good"

Give Galadriel a Decent Character Arc

Give Maeðros a Crossbow

"Give me a hand."

Hide and Seek- Námo and Náro Edition

Hot Eöl Take

House of Finwë's Chomping Children

House of Finwë Timeline

I found Maglor and Daeron

If Tyelco Had Been There

Imladris is the Best

Imladris Learned

It's Always What You Can't Have

Like Father, Like Son

Lúthien the Powerful

Macalaurë and Curufinwë - Images of Their Father

Macalaurë and Tyelcormo Headcanons

Maeðros and Ainur-related Trauma

Maeðros Never Intended to Survive the "Fourth Kinslaying"

Maeðros the Closet Atandil

Maeglin and Anguirel

Maeglin's Begetting Day Gift

Maeglin is Deathly Scared of Heights

Manlings

Marco

Melian the Murdered Maia

Men Confused About Elvish Procreation

Messmer and Fëanáro AU

Messmer and Fëanáro AU: 2

Morgoth Offering Idril to Maeglin

Masterlist

[imakemywings]

Summary: Anaire forgives Fingolfin in pieces.

Length: 4.7k

AN: Anaire/Fingolfin reunion smut for @silmsmutweek (throwing in a tag for @nolofinweanweek too!)

AO3 | Pillowfort | SWG

Photo credit to Dainis Graveris on Unsplash.

It was years gone now that Anairë’s husband had returned, almost hesitantly, from the Halls of Mandos. Years gone since she had first been truly confronted with the notion of what to do with him standing in front of her again; since all those conversations she’d played and replayed in her mind over the centuries were suddenly not just an exercise in fantasy; since there had been another laying down their head in the home she’d grown to think of as hers.

Indis and Finarfin had been kind enough to let her keep the old apartments in the royal palace—she was, they said, still a princess of the Noldor.

When Indis had followed her eldest back to Valmar, and Eärwen had departed for Alqualondë to grieve and offer aid, and Nerdanel had quitted the palace for a home of her own (she didn’t say where, when she left, though Anairë had since figured it out), Anairë had learned just how quiet those apartments could be. When it was just her and Finarfin at dinners that had once held dozens, conversation now sparse and shallow, she understood at last the meaning of the word empty.

Was Fingolfin her responsibility? Only as much as she would be his, in a similar scenario, she reasoned. And where was he to go, otherwise? She doubted he would be welcomed in Valmar, even if Indis and Findis wished to offer him a place. So perhaps it was inevitable that he landed back in the same home he had resided in when he left.

Anairë made him sleep on the sofa.

They had slid a bed into his old study since those early days, for never since his return had Anairë allowed him into the bedchambers which now belonged to her, and he would not overnight in the children’s rooms (although she had caught him lying on Aredhel’s bed one afternoon, fingers clutched around some youthful wood-working project of Turgon's still lingering in his sister's room).

Forgiveness was a fickle thing sometimes, she thought. Eärwen had still not forgiven her children for their leaving and the manner of it, as if all her forgiveness had gone into Finarfin and left none for the children. Finarfin had been nearly delirious with joy at the return of any of his babies and if he had harbored any resentment until then, it had vanished the moment Finrod stepped light-dazzled and wary out of the Halls. What discussions—and there had been many—Indis had had with Fingolfin Anairë couldn’t say, for Fingolfin had not shared much and she had not pried. She knew Finrod had been often in conversation with Olwë since his return, continuing the efforts at healing which Eärwen and Finarfin had been driving at between their peoples since the Kinslaying. Findis had not yet called on Fingolfin, though they had spoken once when she traveled with Indis to and from Tirion.

Anairë knew why Fingolfin had done what he had done. She had resented his departure, particularly after Alqualondë, but at the same time, she could not wholly condemn it, even if she thought it had been the wrong choice (Only once had she pointed out that Finarfin had been willing to return and take his due punishment, and that had been one of their more raw conversations). Still, she took several years to decide that she was going to forgive him. The next question was whether that forgiveness included allowing him to be a part of her life again, and to what extent. That was another several years.

All told, when she invited Fingolfin up to the bedroom that had once been theirs, few could blame him for seizing the chance.

His fingers must have remembered the trick of the lock on the door; he flicked it closed with one hand even as he pressed Anairë back against the wall beside it (the lesson learned in a family as large as Finwë’s was better safe than sorry even if you were quite sure the house was empty). His hands were like a dream as they slid up beneath her pale blue robes, so achingly familiar and yet so distant she had to reach for the memory.

Anairë sighed and leaned back against the wall, her hair pillowed in a black halo around her head; if she shut her eyes with his mouth against her throat, it could almost be one of those things she pictured in her mind late at night, with one hand pressed between her thighs, furious with him him and wanting him, and most of all, missing him.

Fingolfin had been the last of his brothers to wed, though he and she had been courting before Eärwen and Finarfin began. Anairë did nothing in a rush. But all her careful planning and weighing of options and possibilities had left her in no better position than Nerdanel’s hasty nuptials with the shockingly young crown price; in the end, her house had been just as vacant.

Fingolfin’s hand began to travel upwards, but there was a hesitancy there she had never felt in him before, and when she opened her eyes, the realness of the moment shocked her, sending a shudder through her body, a not-unpleasant ache low in her belly.

His topaz eyes were fixed on her face, a slight knit in his brow, a question on his lips as his fingers brushed against her thigh but dared not yet reach for more. Anairë stared back and said nothing, wondering what he would do if she went on saying nothing. But there was something in his eyes that made her remember what the others had told her about how he had died.

How brave was he! the returned Noldor cried to her, nearly clutching at the hems of her robes, How selfless! How noble! What an image of the Noldor! But all that Anairë had heard, when they spoke to her of how Fingolfin had ridden alone to the fortress of Morgoth and bid the dark lord come forth for combat, was the howling song of Fingolfin’s pain and despair. How can they not see! she had vented at one of her few visits to Nerdanel. How can they not see he had no hope? She needed not have been there to know that.

She cupped her hands against his cheeks, her skin dark even against the brown of Fingolfin’s. He had taken very much after Fëanor and Finwë’s looks, to Fëanor’s chagrin: there was no denying their relation (and if Nerdanel hinted that Fëanor was the better-looking of the two, Anairë would only shrug and give her beloved another kiss when she saw him next). She stroked her thumbs along his sharp cheekbones and followed the urging in her chest to lean in and kiss him, long and slow. Something like a whimper came from Fingolfin’s throat and he pressed nearer to her, pushing her against the wall as if to burrow in between her ribs and take shelter there, beside her heart.

Anairë parted her lips and slid her arms around his shoulders, the solid feel of him sweeping back the notion it was all just a fantasy of hers. She let go of him and began to pull at his belt and sash, stripping his robes away from his shoulders and baring him down to the waist. Fingolfin let them fall to the floor and did not move, waiting for Anairë’s lead. Her body ached for his touch.

“Did you not miss me?” she said, holding his gaze. Without troubling to pause for words, Fingolfin grabbed her in another kiss, molding his body against hers, hands holding her waist, and Anairë could not restrain a breathless moan as she felt his arousal against her inner thigh. She arched off the wall and his hands moved down, sliding under her ass to cup and squeeze and she moved her leg to press up against the growing bulge in his trousers.

It had been a learning process for each of them to loosen up in bed, enough that in the beginning, they had been sure they were doing something wrong, for surely this came naturallyto everyone! Now, Anairë felt the ghost of those old barriers half reconstructed in Fingolfin’s absence, and a part of her wished to retreat behind them, to simply exist and let him touch her without taking any part of it herself. Such couplings asked nothing of her, but they were also far less rewarding, and the greater part of her felt she had earned a reward from Fingolfin—if it required her to make herself more vulnerable.

She put one hand over his, and together they guided it between her legs, drawing another low noise of approval from her. Fingolfin felt around in the folds of her clothes until he could slide his hand down the front of her shorts and press his fingers into the thatch of coarse hair there, his breath stuttering when he felt how wet she was.

“Anairë,” he breathed, dragging his fingers maddeningly up and down her slit without pressing deeper.

“Mm…” she responded, one hand on the back of his head, digging into his hair as he nibbled at her neck. “Yes?”

For a moment, his only response was heavy breathing and his fingers finally pushing a bit harder to circle her clit, teasing over the swollen head.

“I need you,” he whispered at last.

“I know,” she answered. “And here I am.”

Fingolfin dropped down to his knees, pulling her shorts down and pushing her robes out of the way to bare her sex. For a moment he only looked, as if he were gazing on some wonder he had expected never to see again, and then he leaned in, mouth open, and dragged his tongue over her lips. Pausing only to pick one short, curly hair off his tongue, he parted her and pressed his eager mouth against the bud of her arousal. Anairë’s head tipped back against the wall and the rush of need that swept over her as Fingolfin buried his face between her legs, lapping, sucking, scraping with his teeth, as if this were where he might truly earn her forgiveness—as if she had put him on his knees for this—was nearly enough to finish her right there, which was far too soon for her mood.

            Still, she could not bring herself to stop him. Another moan tore from her throat and she rocked her hips against his mouth, vaguely aware he was moving just before he shrugged one of her legs over his shoulder so that he could be nearer to her still. Electricity crackled through her body as if she stood on a hilltop in a thunderstorm; she clamped a hand over her mouth, and knew that if she did not stop him soon, her turn on this ride would be over very quickly.

            She raked her fingers back through his thick black hair and pushed his head back, away from her, giving her a view of how his mouth and chin glistened with her slick.

            “Not like this,” she said. “Together.” There was a brief confusion on his face, and she knew he had meant to bring her off here, and likely to ask nothing of her in return. “Bed,” she said, pushing him in that direction. “If I would have you, I would have all of you, Nolofinwë.”

            “Yes,” he agreed senselessly at once, rising to his feet and shuffling towards the bed, dreamlike. “As you wish.” He paused there again, in front of the bed he had not touched since his return, and Anairë reached around from behind him to loosen the ties of his pants.

“If you wish to prove something to me,” she murmured, “prove it.”

            Fingolfin turned more boldly to her and, despite the considerable tent in his trousers, took his time undoing the clasps and ties of her robes to let them fall in a fluttering heap at her feet, eyes widening once again as he swept them over the expanse of smooth, dark skin and soft curves. His fingers brushed lightly at her hips, following the line of her body up over her ribs to her breasts, along the line of her throat to her face, where he cupped her cheeks and drew her into a kiss that made her nearly melt into him.

            I missed you, she thought, but if she lingered too long on that, she might cry. Instead, she broke away from him and dropped her earrings on the bedside table before she laid down, settling herself comfortably back against the pillows to regard her…husband? Former husband? Estranged husband? Lover? Friend?

            Fingolfin stayed where he was, looking at her as if he were one of the university art students being asked to memorize a scene within five minutes to recreate it after. Despite her body’s attempted urging, Anairë did not rush him past this.

            “Anairë…” he began again.

            “Yes?” she asked, more softly.

            “Do you want this?”

            She blinked at him.

            “Have I given another impression?” she asked.

            “You would never, unless you meant to,” he said. “But I…things have been…” Fingolfin was not often at a loss for words, and she could see even then a flash of annoyance in his face at this difficulty. “I would not wish you to feel this was any…obligation of yours,” he said at last, still displeased with this phrasing. “You are not…responsible for me.”

            “Nolofinwë Arakáno,” she said, “if I wished to keep you from my house, I would have done it.” Her face softened. “Think you that the pain of our separation was on your side only?” she asked quietly. “That I have not thought of you since you left? You know that isn’t so.” She had told him. Sitting up, she reached a hand out to him. “I want this,” she said. After a pause, she added, feeling more exposed than she had when he had dropped her robes to the floor: “I want you.”

            Fingolfin hastily stepped out of the remains of his clothes, cast aside his own golden earrings (one of which hit the bedside table and skittered onto the floor), and parted her legs carefully to kneel there. Once more he paused, eyes glazed with thought, and Anairë wondered what he was thinking, being back in their room again after so long. She could not think now of the pleasant times they had passed there before, or she would cry.

            Instead, she wound her arms around his shoulders and drew him into a kiss, sighing in pleasure as his sex rubbed against her own.

            “I want you,” she murmured against his lips. “As before.” What a fantasy, the notion he could love her now as if nothing had happened, as if beyond this door, beyond those windows, the world was all as it had been before the Darkening!

            Fingolfin shivered and pushed her back against the pillows, trailing his kisses over her jaw, down her neck, to her chest, where he nuzzled between her breasts. The ache within her had sharpened now and she squirmed impatiently, something that made him lift his head with a look she knew was his effort not to smile.

            Anairë stared him down.

            “Have you something to say, Nolofinwë?” she asked gravely.

            “Not a thing,” he answered promptly, the corner of his mouth twitching.

            Anairë, as has been noted, was not an impatient person. Therefore, it should not come as an enormous surprise that Fingolfin took an inordinate amount of pride in being able to make her impatient. This time, she could not stop the wave of memories from rolling over her, flooding her mind with past instances of his teasing—the firmness of his thigh between her legs—the thrust of his fingers—the smirk. Rather than allow it to make her maudlin, Anairë savored how these recollections made her throb with need.

            “Did you come here today not to please me?” she asked. His eyes snapped to hers at once, as if he might lose his chance. Before he could grapple for a response, she let a faint smile curve her lips. “Then please me, and let us be pleased together.” Fingolfin relaxed and shifted up to kiss her full lips again. One of his hands brushed over the outside of her thigh, shifting her leg slightly to position himself, and goosebumps broke out across her skin; her stomach twisted and flipped as it hadn’t since quite early in their marriage.

            “Only give me a moment,” he murmured, reaching down to use one hand to ensure the smoothness of their coupling. A whimper rose in Anairë’s chest as, for the first time in thousands of years, she felt Fingolfin press into her core. His breathing had gone all atremble and he could not restrain the wordless noises of throbbing arousal that passed his lips as he, with obvious effort, entered her slowly. When he had sheathed himself to the hilt, he stopped, and looked at her, with a look not unlike the helpless, lost look he had given her when first he had emerged into the daylight of Aman once more. For a moment they were still, absorbed in the sensation of being so connected again.

            Tendered to his vulnerability, Anairë guided his head down to kiss him gently, then with sharper desire, teeth against his lips, her hips twitching up against his.

            “Is this what you want?” he murmured.

            “Yes,” she breathed. “And you?” He nodded hastily.

            “I have thought of—since I left you—I have wished—have dreamed—” Anairë silenced him with another kiss.

            “It is not a dream,” she whispered. She pressed a hand against his chest, feeling the faint beat of his heart. “It is real.” There was a furrow between his brows for just a moment, and Anairë wondered if he was playing an obstacle course with thoughts that would bring tears to his eyes as well, but he smoothed it out and leaned down to kiss her cheek as he drew back and thrust into her at last, chasing away all other thoughts from her mind.

            He began slowly and she guessed he wished to savor their first union since before the sun rose; the problem with that state of affairs was the neither of them was inclined to patience. Anairë had come near to finishing once already, and Fingolfin did not seem likely to outlast her, and as much as they each wished to draw the moment out, they were perhaps more eager still for their final pleasure. It was therefore not long before Fingolfin was fucking her with something near desperation while Anairë arched off the bed, rutting vigorously against him.

            “Anairë,” he gasped, shifting to balance his weight on one forearm so that he could reach his other hand between her legs to thumb her clit, “I can’t—”

            “It’s okay,” she panted, frissons of pleasure washing over her, pulling her closer and closer to her finish, emptying her head of all thought. “It’s okay. I’m nearly there.” But she held on, wanting to feel him go first.

            It didn’t happen.

            Not for lack of effort, but it was not as if they had never engaged in these unions before, where effort was not necessarily enough to bring about a finish. The more difficult thing was that Anairë wanted to, but the growing sensation that something was not right made it feel inappropriate.

            “Nolofinwë,” she said, trying not to gasp out his name as if she was holding herself back from climax, which was precisely what she was doing, although the vigor of his movement from moments earlier had cooled.

            He made some indistinct humming noise and did not stop moving, which was not conducive to their having a coherent conversation, because all Anairë’s body wanted her to focus on was the stretch and thrust of him.

            “Nolofinwë.” Then he paused, and she said: “Is everything o—oh. Oh no.” She had not meant for things to go in this order, and there was a certain indignity in having to wait for her orgasm to finish before she could go on asking him if something was wrong.

            She had grown so accustomed to those she gave herself she had nearly forgotten what it was like to finish with a partner: the waves of pleasure that washed out over her from head to toe, making her cry out and dig her nails into Fingolfin’s back; the intensity of her need to be close to him in that moment, feeling his weight pressed flush against her; the way her muscles relaxed entirely afterwards, leaving her limp on the bed.

            When she came to again, Fingolfin was stroking her cheek delicately, unabashedly watching her, his lips slightly parted in awe.

            “I meant to say,” she tried again, still half out of breath, “is everything okay?”

            “Okay?” Fingolfin echoed. “Okay?” For a puzzling moment, she wasn’t sure if he had somehow failed to understand the question. It was also difficult not to be keenly aware that he was still inside her. “How could I be ‘okay’ when—” She recognized his effort at controlling his feelings, trying to keep his voice steady. “I did not think…I could not…” Once again, words failed him, and he bowed his head over her, the trembling of his shoulders coming shortly after. “I thought I might never see you again,” he said, his voice cracking. “I thought you might never wish to see me again. And yet—to see you now—like this again—and you ask if I am okay—”

            He raised his head and there were tears on his cheeks; he touched her face again, reverently, as if it were she who had called him forth from the Halls, and whispered: “I missed you so much. I missed you so much.”

            Anairë’s throat was tight, and if she thought too much on the tone of his voice, she would cry too. She drew him near and pressed her forehead against his, smoothing her thumb over his cheek.

            “I missed you too,” she answered quietly.

            She did not say I wish I had gone with you; neither did Fingolfin say I wish I had stayed. Perhaps they could live with that, she thought. Each thinking they had made the right choice, even if they had both been pained by it. Perhaps larger differences in thought could be accommodated than either of them had believed when all they had known was the bliss and petty squabbles of the noontide of Valinor.

            It might have been nice to sink into that moment and let it stretch out for hours, but they had gotten themselves into a more pressing situation—resolved now for Anairë, but not for him.

            “Let me—” she began at the same moment he began to pull out of her saying: “I should—”

            For quicker results, Anairë just pressed the heel of her foot against his ass to keep him from moving away.

            “‘Together,’ I said,” she said. “I did mean that. Think you I brought you into this room for the first time since before the sun rose to let you leave unsatisfied?”

            “I am not—” he began very emphatically, but Anairë just shook her head and reached down to grip him in her hand. A few jerks of her wrist silenced him quite effectively—at least as far as words were concerned.

            “Shh,” she murmured against his lips as she kissed him. “Carry on; finish. I want that too.”

            So Fingolfin pushed into her again and she tugged at his hair and nipped as his neck as he moved within her until with delight she felt the tension in him heralding his climax and then the warmth of his seed as he moaned through his finish. When it was done, he slumped on top of her and Anairë ran her hands through his hair, eyes half-shut, and for once, her anxieties about the rest of the world—even about Fingolfin—could not speak loud enough to grab even a fraction of her attention.

            Fingolfin moved off of her and she felt his absence, along with his fluid seeping out against her legs, another dimly, yet deeply, familiar sensation. As they lay beside each other on the expanse of Anairë’s midnight blue sheets, she allowed herself to skim the surface of memories she had been trying to keep at bay.

            On the night of the day that Fingon was born, they had gone to bed in that room—her, exhausted; him, keyed up with excitement—with their precious bundle between them. Despite her weariness, Anairë had not slept until Laurelin’s light was warming the sky; she had lain up all through the night, marveling at Fingon: the perfect swoop of his tiny nose; the outline of his flawlessly-formed little ears tucked beneath his cap; the roundness of his tender brown cheeks. At some point in the night, she had lifted her gaze from the baby to see the light of Fingolfin’s eyes on the other side of the bed—still awake, doing the same thing as her. At that moment, Fingon was the greatest thing either of them had made—and they had made him together.

            “Do you remember—”

            They both stopped.

            “Were you thinking of Findekáno?” she asked.

            “Arakáno,” he replied.

            How could she forget the first night with Argon! The night they had both wanted to sleep, but somehow the baby did not, and had pulled their hair all night until they were snarling at each other—and then realized it was the baby responsible (always a squirming thing—swaddling him effectively had been a nightmare).

            A smile twitched on Fingolfin’s lips, and Anairë couldn’t help returning one in kind. She shifted, pulling the sheets up over herself—it was chillier to be naked in the room when they were no longer moving. She caught Fingolfin’s intention to move just before he did it, and blurted out:

            “You may stay, if you wish.”

            It wasn’t quite the hour for sleep, but it was not uncommon for Elves to nap after such things, given how much energy it took from them.

            He still looked hesitant, so she flicked the sheets out over him as well.

            “Stay,” she said, softer, holding his gaze.

            “Somehow,” said Fingolfin, “I had imagined this moment…differently.” Anairë felt her cheeks warm slightly; married life presented a host of scenarios less than the totally thrilling experiences one might expect after reading a few novels and having a few breathless conversations with other similarly inexperienced individuals—like falling asleep during the act, which had happened to both of them (children took a lot of energy!)—but she could have had her first time back with Fingolfin without such atrocious timing on her part.

            “We are rather out of practice,” she sighed. Fingolfin said nothing. Anairë reached out and wiped some of the tear-tracks away from his cheek. He merely held still and let her touch where she wished. Only when she drew back did he reach out to touch her in turn, skimming his fingers lightly over her shoulder and then no more.

            It was not the first time that Anairë had felt that being with Fingolfin now was like learning to walk all over again.

            “Let us have rest,” she said quietly. She turned over, for if she kept her eyes on him she would not sleep, and pulled the sheet up over her chest as she closed her eyes. For a moment the room was still, and then she felt Fingolfin shift nearer to her back. Still he did not touch her, so she reached back blindly for his hand and pulled his arm over her. Promptly after, he snuggled up against her, fitting the curve of his body to hers as they had once done with such familiarity, so that she liked to imagine she could feel the beat of his heart against her back. She felt him nuzzle briefly into the cloud of her hair, before settling on the pillow. She threaded her fingers through his and held his hand against her chest.

            I missed you, she thought, and this time, she did not feel like crying.

            Neither of them slept, but laid like that until there were other duties that called them up, and when she rose from the bed, Anairë squeezed Fingolfin’s hand, and smiled.

[tanoraqui]

...so, do Celeshwes and Fingon and Maedhros have a recurring sexy roleplay that is, approximately, the music video to Ghengis Khan but they take turns being the jealous one? (Or is that just the superheroes au?)

Ok first I want to note that I described their go-to sexy roleplay scenario last October of my own accord and it DOES overlap with this in vibes.

Superhero au ABSOLUTELY, omg. Celechwes prefers to avoid the sexy melodrama Valiant and Pheonix regularly enact on news camera, because she's not interested in being a subject of gossip the evening news. But in private? Oh hell yes. They switch around who's who. Maedhros still likes being damselled - or rather, Maedhros likes being rescued. Fingon does a surprisingly good villain rant (he's heard a lot.) Celechwes likes taking advantage of her superspeed to knock them both to the floor and kiss them.

In canon, though...I don't think so. A threesome is novel enough; they haven't gotten around to the idea of inventing adultery. Largely because I think Elvish marriage tends to be very...committed. Soulmate-esque. It is For Life and everyone means that. So, cheating does happen between people dating more casually, but once people are married, if they're committed enough to get married, it's basically tautologically impossible that they would look anywhere else.

"But they've already accepted the premise that one person can love 2 different people at a marriage level?" you ask. Listen: logic only gets you so far. Also, frankly, the idea of 1 person leaving their sworn partner for another? It's. Touchy. So they're just not going there.

That said, once Finwë, Miriel and Indis are all all three revived and wed, they will roleplay the Genghis Khan scenario beat for fucking beat, including, of course, the wife's sexy vengeance which descends into a threesome. (Fingolfin walks in on it once on an attempted surprise visit, and is traumatized for his immortal life.)

[first-son-of-finwe]



I didn’t expect the elfnapping option to be the most popular, BUT 😅 it is! So now I want to speculate on a bunch of things. 

Firstly, who leads the Noldor and do they claim any title? The whole notion of ‘High King’ is up in the air here, because technically Finwë’s first in line is still alive. Fingolfin would need to tread very carefully to avoid accusations of opportunistic usurpation while his brother is in a dangerous situation.

Meanwhile, Maedhros can have just as much charisma and crowd persuasion ability as his father. So I can see him taking the de facto leadership role, with Fingolfin being supportive. What happens when the Finweans are all in Beleriand is another question.

Secondly, do the Valar and the Teleri help? In this scenario with an elf’s life at stake, it would seem pretty bad of them not to. However, I can see them both POTENTIALLY taking the “we need to wait, plan, not rush headlong into danger,” etc. stance., which Maedhros & Feanorian supporters wouldn’t be happy with. From there, we have some kinslaying opportunities. Would Maedhros go that far? I don’t know.

Then there’s the question of what Feanor is actually doing in Angband, and what Melkor wants him for. I think the options are, A) he dies relatively quickly because he’s just too much trouble to keep. B) Melkor just stashes him somewhere for hoarding. C) Melkor tries to make him craft more things. The Silmarils are supposedly not even the peak of what he’s capable of, so I can see Melk wanting first dibs on inventions.

Then, does Feanor have enough rationality right now to meticulously plan some escape? Could he iron man his way out, pretending to craft something while secretly building himself an escape device? This is pure wild speculation now, but I just think this scenario is sexy as fuck.

It also opens the door to eventually having every single Finwean in Beleriand, and all the SPICY political tension that could kick off as a result.

[maedhrus]

Please write an essay on the merits of Maglor/Fingolfin. I'm listening.

excellent. you may regret doing so.

maglor and fingolfin share similar positions of being the second son to an important father and have carved out niches for themselves (maglor’s music vs fingolfin’s politics) as a result of this. where this pairing really gets me going, however, is immediately after fingolfin’s host arrives in beleriand. here, fingolfin has just suffered the loss of his (favourite? i choose to believe so) son, has spent 30 years fighting for survival on the helecaraxeë, shouldered the grief of his people and loved ones (because we all know that turgon got mega fucked up by elenwë’s death), is likely still reeling from finwë’s death and the noldor’s subsequent rebellion/exile, and was betrayed and abandoned by the brother he gave up everything to follow. that same brother who is now dead! before he has the chance to air any of this out! and, instead of his eldest nephew ruling in fëanor’s place, he instead meets maglor. maglor who never expected or prepared to be king, has little to no political experience, (is possibly dealing with the death of his youngest brother if we go with the crispy!amrod draft), and has given maedhros up for dead, because what else can he do! imo, this creates a delicious scenario for angsty conflict where fingolfin is both desperate to lash out and duty-bound to protect his people, and maglor is haunted by grief and guilt but will stubbornly hold onto his and his house’s power as long as he can. and then when fingon fucks off to rescue maedhros leaving maglor and fingolfin the heads of a very divided people held together on a string. and i feel like fingolfin would see ruling as more of a calling than maglor does, but maglor’s pride and his love for fëanor prevent him ever ceasing power to fingolfin, despite them both knowing he’s far more equipped for it. they’re both seeking to almost torment the other because they have their own guilt they can’t confront and the more they turn to each other, they build a relationship, and intimacy. and that guilt builds.

i think that a maglor/fingolfin relationship would be a perfect blend of repression, poor coping mechanisms, the confusion of familial and romantic love, seeking comfort in the other, and long debates over the nature of loyalty and duty. i think what began as a form of self-flagellation and punishment to inflict on each other turns to finding comfort in incredibly trying conditions turns to an affair they both hate themselves for but can’t bring themselves to stop. it’s also the perfect relationship to use if you want to pick apart the “saint fingolfin” narrative and get real gritty with them both.

in summary, vote magolfin in this year’s election

(also the potential for maglor/fingolfin to do the rhaenyra/daemon “take me to dragonstone and make me your wife” is incredibly sexy but I understand that it’s a completely personal taste)