#posterity of finarfin

[thesummerestsolstice]

My Headcanon Crafts for the House of Feanor:

Nerdanel: a sculptor; about the best in all of Valinor. Many of her early sculptures were praised, but also seen as a bit strange because they looked so real, but no one could identify any model they'd been based off of. Later, it would be recognized that she'd sculpted several of her own children, long before they were born.

Maedhros: an actor. Back in Valinor, he often played romantic leads in comedies and tragedies alike. He was very dramatic back in the years of trees, but got more subdued in Middle-Earth for... obvious reasons. A few of the posters for plays he was in made their way to Middle-Earth and got passed around Himring like contraband.

Maglor: a bard. While he often composed his own songs, he was also one of those charged with memorizing the old oral history of the Quendi– the elven equivalent of like, being able to memorize and recite the Iliad. Much of this early Elvish history was almost lost by the end of the First Age, and Maglor attempted to preserve it by writing it down. Eventually, those books ended up saved in Rivendell's library.

Celegorm: a hunter in Orome's train. Was famous for his ability to hit quickly moving targets through the thick forests of Valinor, even when mounted. He also enjoyed making various things out of the pelts, teeth, claws, and antlers of his kills. He's made very nice fur coats for several of his siblings and cousins.

Caranthir: a fiber artist; mostly focusing on weaving and embroidery. He's not sure whether to feel flattered or vaguely worried by all the Miriel comparisons. He insisted on making most of his family's formal clothing because all of Feanor's kids can get at least a little craft-related hubris. As a treat.

Curufin: a smith. His father was most famous for his jewelry, but Curufin would come to be known mostly for his weapons. They were so reliable that many of them lasted until the Third Age. There are rumors he poured some of his soul into the weapons he made for his brothers. But those are only rumors.

Amras & Amrod: painters. They specialized in incredibly detailed landscape paintings. I say "they" because all their works were done together; Amrod would make the sketch and darker linework and Amras would add the colors and shading. Their work was often very nostalgic and peaceful, with bright watercolors and gentle shadows.

Bonus! Feanor saved a lot of his kids' work from when they were really young and just starting their crafts. It's all what you'd expect from a small child's art, but Feanor still acts like they're masterpieces. His kids all think it's super embarrassing but he's really proud of them.

Headcanons for Finwe and his Children, the House of Fingolfin, the House of Finarfin, and the rest of the House of Finwe. Thanks for asking about Finwe's grandkids @hyperlexia-1 :)

[riding-with-the-wild-hunt]

fëanorian week day 4 ✷ caranthir

“But Caranthir, who loved not the sons of Finarfin, and was the harshest of the brothers and the most quick to anger, cried aloud: “Yea more! Let not the sons of Finarfin run hither and thither with their tales to this Dark Elf in his caves! Who made them our spokesmen to deal with him? And though they be come indeed to Beleriand, let them not so swiftly forget that their father is a lord of the Noldor, though their mother be of other kin.”

-JRR Tolkien, The Silmarillion, “Of the Return of the Noldor”

[ID: An edit comprised of four greyscale posters with dark red framing and text.

1: The model Tre Samuels sitting by a pond. He has dark curly hair, light brown skin, and is wearing a coat with a large fur collar. His head is tilted back and his eyes are closed. The image has a red frame with ornate corners decorated with Fëanorian stars. Red glowing script reads “morifinwë” / 2: A lake surrounded by evergreen trees with a translucent red frame. Text in a circle around a Fëanorian star reads “the dark” / 3: Books on a shelf. Same formatting and text as Image 2. / 4: Tre Samuels, this time in a suit jacket, looking to the right with a serious expression. Same text and formatting as Image 1. /End ID]

[that-angry-noldo]

join finarfin nation today! we got posters slogans and all! vote arafinwë!

(@thelordofgifs <3)

[aragornsrockcollection]

Honestly every option on this poll seems like a bullshit stretch (especially Aredhel, if that’s your read on her your take is bad and you should feel bad). Apparently in my mind every Finwean is ready to strip and chomp on a werewolf’s neck at any given moment.

[elesianne]

First lines

Thank you @grundyscribbling for tagging me! It was an interesting exercise to look up the first lines of my ten most recent fics (even if some of them are from over three years ago...) and see if I can spot any patterns.

Most recent: Nameless Caranthir ficlet from New Year's

Caranthir steps out of his fortress as dusk gives way to night and walk to the ramparts, to the ones that face the frozen, snow-covered dark waters of Lake Helevorn.

A very small matter after all

Elenwë loves almost everything about her new husband but she doesn't love his height.

Unchoreographed

Findis can't help sighing as she looks over the scene in her father's great hall.

Family gathering

'I cannot believe we chose to make the journey here to your –' Curufin gestures extensively around himself at Caranthir's great hall, ' – mountainside ice-box at this time of year.'

Wild things

There is a child under the table, Tyelkormo notices.

On your feet, sword in hand

As Elros's sword goes flying from his hand in a neat arc, Maedhros sighs heavily.

On light feet

It is not always easy for Netyarë, the process of becoming part of Curufinwë's large and tight-knit and proud family.

Posterity of Finarfin

'Come, come!' Little Gil-galad takes his hand and tugs, and of course Finrod follows.

Warming up

'What horrid weather. I don't mind the snow but the wind made it truly unpleasant', Fingon grumbles, striding to the fireplace as soon as he steps into Maedhros's bedchamber.

Fruitcake

'Here comes Tyelpë's cake!' Curufinwë beams as proud as can be as he carries the massive fruit cake into the dining room, at his side his wife with an equally grinning Tyelperinquar in her arms.

Patterns: hmm. Many of these first lines are rather action-y, which is surprising considering how introspecting and lacking in action many of my fics are.

Four out of ten are dialogue - I suppose that that, as well as describing a character doing something, are (in my view at least) a good way to get some momentum right from the start, as well as establishing characters that are involved.

Three out of then have references to winter which is not surprising considering that many of them are Secret Santa advent calendar fics, and the most recent was inspired by my midwinter ponderings on New Year's eve.

And of course all of the fics are about Finwëans, and most are about Fëanorians...

I'm not tagging anyone as I feel like most active writers in the Silm fandom have already been tagged. If you are one, and see this, and would like to look up and analyse your most recent opening lines, please do! :)

[miriel-therindes]

the swan-maiden and the noldor prince  ♦️ earwen x finarfin

For @lesbianhaleth ⭐

[iminye]

Finduilas Faelivrin · Princess of Nargothrond

colour palette challenge · #12 radio waves → requested by @yellow-feathered-faerie · I hope you like it <3

[imakemywings]

A Favor for the Prince

Fandom: Tolkien

Characters: Feanor, Nerdanel

Pairing: Feanor/Nerdanel

Summary: Feanor has a proposal for Nerdanel.

AN: It’s pegging. It’s also PWP. Answering my own prompt on the Silm kink meme.

AO3 | Pillowfort

____________________________________________________

The phallus was sitting on the bed when Nerdanel came in to clean and change after work. It stood out against the pale blue comforter of the four-poster, catching her eye as she shuffled in, raking loose hair back from her face.

It appeared to be a glass base, wrapped in supple, soft leather, save for the tip, which was exposed to show a dark ruby just beneath the glass surface. It was a decent length and thickness (Nerdanel wrapped her thumb and forefinger around it to test), and very erect.

“A surprise for me?” she asked herself aloud with a confused little laugh, finding herself rather funny. That was when she spotted the pile of straps on the dresser by the windows. Setting the fake penis aside, she went to examine those, and, lifting them, realized it was not a haphazard pile of straps, but a harness. It seemed to come together around a central ring, which was rather large. Her eyes flicked back to the phallus on the bed, and unable to resist her curiosity, she tested it. It fit right through the ring, but hung back snugly so it could only be inserted or removed one way. “A surprise for someone else?”

Or a joke? Though it wasn’t really in keeping with Fëanor’s sense of humor, what of it existed. She couldn’t think of anyone else in the house who would bother leaving such a tawdry thing in their bedroom.

Finding no other answers, nor questions, she put both mysteries aside and went to the washbasin to rinse her face and neck of the dust of the studio and change into something she could wear to dinner.

***

From her and Fëanor’s apartments she passed through one of the larger courtyards, headed to the main hall, and saw Finarfin sitting on the edge of a fountain, swinging his feet and dragging a stick through the clear water, a book propped open beside him.

“Arafinwë, have you seen Fëanáro?” she asked.

“No, Lady Nerdanel, not today,” he replied, turning those big, sober blue doe-eyes on her. Finarfin was a child who seemed more like a old Elf trapped in an adolescent’s body, which was a bit jarring following Fëanor, Fingolfin, and Lalwen. She saw him studying with masters of literature, science, and history more often than she saw him playing with others his age. “I heard him going to the forge this morning; he was up very early today. But I have not heard him since.”

“Mm.” Not unusual; it only meant she’d have to track him down. Whether or not they dined with Finwë and his family usually depended on whether or not Fëanor had quarreled with one of them that day, which made it very difficult to plan.

Alas for the difficulties of the royal family!

***

“So, are you responsible for the phallus on the bed?” she asked as they meandered back to their apartments through an open walkway along the outside of the palace. Dinner with the high king and queen had included duck, always a favorite of Nerdanel’s, and Finwë had asked her many questions about her latest commission, something which always put Fëanor in a good mood. He enjoyed boasting about Nerdanel’s exploits to his father, and many times would interrupt her to add details where he felt she had left out something relevant.

“Nerdanel!” Fëanor exclaimed. “You might at least wait until we were inside!”

“But you did leave it there,” she said.

“Did you imagine someone else was breaking into our apartments to leave phalluses lying around?” he asked. She shrugged. She almost wished they had, just so she could see how red Indis would go at the sheer impropriety when Fëanor demanded to know who had been leaving dicks in his apartments.

Fëanor pulled open the door and as they shed the shoes and shawls they had worn to dinner, he said:

“It’s meant for you.”

“For me?” she echoed. “It’s a fine piece of craftsmanship, but I have something better already,” she said, letting her gaze drop pointedly below Fëanor’s waist.

“Not like that,” he said, and despite the low light and Fëanor’s darker skin, Nerdanel was abruptly sure he was blushing. “It’s—for you to use, but not on yourself.”

Fëanor always dressed elegantly for dinner with the family, unless he was annoyed with Finwë or Indis, but not so annoyed as to skip dinner entirely (or in such instances as he had been dragged, nails digging into the floorboards, from the forge after being reminded he really did need to eat something). Bedecked in jewels and delicately-embroidered robes, with black pearls on his slippers and golden ornamental sticks pierced through the small bun he wore (dinner had been only a family affair, and so he had not minded wearing his hair mostly down), he looked like a historian’s vision of what the prince of the Noldor should look like.

“Findis, then? She could use it.” Fëanor choked in a way that Nerdanel was unsure was more amusement or disgust; perhaps it was equally both.

“It’s for me!” Nerdanel curled her hands over the back of the sofa and grinned at him through the half-light of the parlor.

“You wish for me to fuck you, Fëanáro?” His eyes traced over her arms, which rippled with muscle when she stretched, toned from hauling around chunks of marble and stone. He lifted his chin, with that look that was so Fëanor, that refusal to back down or be ashamed or cowed out of what he wanted. His pride was truly phenomenal, but Nerdanel was lying if she said it never made her hot. “Well, who am I to deny the crown prince?” she said. She strolled over to him and hooked her fingers over the sash he wore about his hips to tug him back towards their bedroom.

“Now?” he said.

“Please, as if you would let me make you wait until tomorrow,” she said, and Fëanor followed her lead, and at the threshold gathered her into his arms to kiss her in a way that made her sure he had been named perfectly by Miriel. Spirit of fire indeed! She melted in his embrace and let him burn her up from the inside out.

They took turns pulling things off each other, lips and teeth and tongues in a perpetual slow-motion collision, Fëanor’s hands on her shoulders her breasts her hips her ass, as if he could never have enough of her. It baffled her still, how one such as Fëanor—with either his looks or his station or his talent alone—could have had probably anyone in Tirion, and yet he desired her. She had stopped questioning it a long time ago, though—she didn’t disbelieve that he felt the way he did, only the sense of his taste.

Neither of them moved to take off any of Fëanor’s jewelry, though Nerdanel gladly tossed aside the few pieces she had worn. She might be a Noldo, but she preferred seeing jewels on others to wearing them herself, and Fëanor easily wore enough for both of them.

When he had her down to her undershorts, and Fëanor in his pants, she pushed him off and turned her attention to this new thing he had brought into their bedroom.

“Did you make it?” she asked, grabbing the phallus of the bed where she’d left it before dinner.

“Of course. Do you think I would trust someone else with this?” he asked. Nerdanel snorted.

“Fëanáro, I’m not certain you trust anyone with anything.”

“I trust you,” he murmured against her ear, sending a pleased shiver up her spine. She leaned back against him, feeling the warmth of his strong chest against her back. “I trust you with this.” His mouth was at the juncture of her neck and her freckled shoulder and Nerdanel let out an almost imperceptible sigh.

“How long did it take you to make?” she asked. She felt Fëanor’s muscles tense with a shrug.

“A few weeks?” he said. “I had been fitting it in around other things. I threw out the first three; that ate up time.” Now that sounded like Fëanor. She would accuse him of perfectionism, but she feared he might just hold up a mirror.

“Is that a ruby in there?”

“I didn’t see a reason it shouldn’t be comely,” he said.

“Maybe I should put jewelry on you,” she suggested. Fëanor was nuzzling at her neck, and one of his hands was rucking up the leg of her undershorts, the bulge of his bicep fitted against the slight dip of her waist.

“Do you want to?” he asked lowly, brushing his nose against the blade of her ear. Fëanor had a beautiful voice, smooth like honey when he spoke quietly and resounding with power when he raised it. It was equal parts wonderful and irritating that he need only murmur a few words by her ear to make the heat begin to spark between her legs. (It was worse when listening to him debate made her stir; at least this was more understandable, though the other one did sometimes lead to flash fire encounters in the back rooms of the university.) She made a quick, impatient noise and swatted his hand away from her leg, trying to breathe her heart back to a normal rate.

“You distract me,” she said, which, as usual, only made Fëanor grin impishly at her, his eyes sparkling. “Now, how am I supposed to…” Nerdanel held the harness up, turning it about. It had been easier to figure out how to fit the phallus into it than to fit herself into it.

“Take these off first,” Fëanor said, tugging at her undershorts.

“It won’t fit over them?” she asked.

“Of course it will,” he said. “But you should take them off.” With a pleased purse of her lips, Nerdanel stepped out of her last piece of clothing. At her back, Fëanor reached around to help her turn the harness right-side-up, and held it in place for her. Her eyes raked over his well-shaped forearms and the smell of his perfume enveloped her, a woody scent underlined with something spicy—cardamom? Against her ass, she could feel his excitement, and she leaned back more than strictly necessary to step into the harness, delighting in the way she felt Fëanor shiver. “How does this feel?” he asked quietly, tugging at the straps. “Not too tight?”

“No,” she said, bouncing a little to test the hold and stifling a snicker at the way the phallus bobbed along with her movement.

“If it chaffs, you can loosen it,” he said.

“I believe I shall survive,” she said. She turned to him as Fëanor opened his mouth—doubtless to insist on adjusting the harness if it wasn’t completely comfortable—and stroked his hair; halfway through a caress, she sank her fingers into his glossy black tresses and forced him down to his knees. “You, though…I can’t promise anything there,” she said. Fëanor’s eyes were fixed on her with singular focus, making her heart pound in her chest; being the object of his whole attention had always sent shivers up her back.

“Lick it,” she said on impulse. With his dark eyes still on her face, Fëanor leaned in and ran his tongue up the phallus. “More,” she said. Fëanor held her eyes a moment more before lowering his gaze. He leaned in took the tip of the thing into his mouth, and Nerdanel suddenly ached, watching his sweet red lips wrap around the cock she wore.

How had she never considered this idea before?

She reached her hand for his hair again, but he wasn’t halfway down the toy before he gagged and drew back.

“That is unpleasant,” he said, rubbing his throat.

“You big baby,” Nerdanel said. Fëanor scowled.

“That’s different.”

“Hardly,” she said. “You learn to like it.” But she wouldn’t make him learn it all in one night; she’d rather have his loud mouth on flesh and blood, anyway. And there was plenty else to do with this thing. “Go lie down, then.”

Fëanor stretched out with anticipation on their bed, watching her keenly, his pants tented around his arousal. Nerdanel followed, kneeling against the edge, to yank the pants off and toss them aside, making him twitch as they dragged over his groin.

“You’re focused tonight,” she murmured, lowering her head to press her lips against the softness of his inner thigh.

“Am I?” He didn’t sound focused; he sounded like he might be about to pass out.

“You say nothing about what you did at the forge today,” she explained, flicking her tongue against his skin; she felt a tiny, sharp gasp escape him.

“I…did nothing of particular interest…”

“And that’s not a story itself?” she asked, moving upwards; Fëanor squirmed and Nerdanel bit down on a grin. “Come on, tell me,” she coaxed. “What did you work on today?”

“The lamps,” he said tightly. “The blueprints are…I don’t know what I was thinking; they’re useless. I’ve thrown them out; I must start again. The entire design was bland, and poorly-conceived, and—” Fëanor cut himself off with an intake of breath as Nerdanel leaned up to kiss his chest, dragging his tongue around his nipple, pressing the cock between his shapely legs. “Nerdanel,” he whined, wriggling as if it wasn’t every other time they were in bed he couldn’t keep his mouth shut (even sitting on his face, Nerdanel had found, did not necessarily shut him up).

“And?” she said.

“Nerdanel!”

“Oh, hush,” she said, sealing her mouth over his and grinding her hips against his. Fëanor’s hips bucked against hers and he grabbed at her waist, pulling her more firmly down against him. Taking advantage of her new appendage, she rutted against the tent in Fëanor’s shorts, feeling an ache low in her gut at his clear desire.

“Nerdanel,” Fëanor breathed wetly against her mouth. “Please…”

“There’s my sweet-tongued prince,” she teased, kissing at his throat. Fëanor rolled his hips up against her, his nails digging into her back. “Wouldn’t you be disappointed if I made it easy for you? You never like anything that isn’t difficult.”

“That’s…not true,” he panted, tensing his legs on either side of her, drawing his knees up. “You make me sound very unpleasant.”

“Of course it is,” she said. “Anything which is easy bores you. I do not intend to ever bore you, Fëanáro.” She nipped at his neck and trailed her fingers over his ribs, feeling the goosebumps break out over his skin. Fëanor moaned, and she felt his hips jerk ever more desperately up against her. Deciding she had teased him enough, she reached down and pulled his shorts off, exposing his flushed cock with a soft gasp of relief from her husband. She spread his legs.

“Wait!” he cried, shifting back on the bed. He leaned over to the end table on his side and withdrew a small vial of fluid. Nerdanel examined it once Fëanor had passed it to her and realized it was oil.

“Ah. Yes, probably a good idea,” she agreed. She slicked the toy down and gave the bottle back to Fëanor to set aside. “On your knees,” she said. With a flickering look of his dark eyes, he complied and Nerdanel pressed close to him, sliding the cock between his legs, little jerks of her hips moving the toy back and forth between his thighs. “If you change your mind…” she began.

“No,” Fëanor interrupted. “Go ahead.” Rolling her eyes faintly, she drew back to examine the situation. Eru forbid she suggest he’d gotten in over his head.

“As you wish; just give me a moment…” She lined herself up properly and hesitated once more. “You’re sure—”

“Do it!”

Aulë’s anvil, one would think she was seeking to deprive him of something.

She pressed the tip of the cock into Fëanor and he gasped and shuddered and she stopped immediately.

“Fëanáro, is—”

“I haven’t asked you to stop!” Nerdanel looked up at the canopy as if the stars embroidered there could grant her patience.

“I’m only going slow,” she said, which sounded better than ‘I panicked.’ “This is our first time with such a thing. I don’t wish to hurt you,” she emphasized. Sometimes stating what ought to be obvious was the only way to combat Fëanor’s predilection for assuming the worst of anyone’s intentions, always. She heard Fëanor take a deep breath.

“It can’t possibly be worse than being burned on hot iron.”

“How I do love hearing you compare our sex life to your forge-related injuries!”

“Are you going to proceed, or should I have fucked myself with it instead?” Fëanor asked. “It begins to feel that would have been quicker.”

“Oh, hush,” Nerdanel said. “I’ve already begun.” She continued sliding the cock into him and feeling somewhat reassured she wasn’t causing him pain, she could just enjoy the way he collapsed down on the bed in a series of garbled moans and clanking bracelets, managing through that to keep his pert ass in the air for her to fuck.

What a good boy.

“How’s this?” she asked gently, stroking one hand along his thigh. Fëanor made some incomprehensible noise. “With words, Fëanáro, please.” Delightful as his senseless groaning was, she wanted to be sure of this.

“Good,” he said hoarsely.

Giving him a moment to get accustomed to the feeling of having something inside him, Nerdanel leaned over and pressed little kisses against the warm expanse of his back, drawing her hand up slowly to tease at his cock and balls until he whined and she felt his hips twitch against her hand.

“Are you ready?” she asked.

“Yes, yes, I’m ready!”

With slow care, Nerdanel drew out of him and then pressed back in, pulling a low moan from Fëanor; she saw his pretty hands fist in the sheets and something in her core went molten. Fëanor wanted her to fuck him? Then please him she would!

“Is that to your liking?” she asked.

“Yes,” he answered, breathing heavily.

“Do you want more?”

“Nerdanel!”

With a quiet laugh, she repeated the movement and Fëanor seemed to sink lower on the bed.

“Nerdanel, faster, please,” he implored her after the third time, shifting about with impatience. Nerdanel obliged, picking up the pace, thrusting in and out of him with her cock, until she could hear Fëanor’s earrings rattle with the force of her fucking, the gold decorations on his hair sticks swaying.

“Oh, Nerdanel, fuck,” he moaned, his knuckles gone white against the sheets. The sound of his lovely voice in the throes of such aching desire nearly made Nerdanel’s mouth water. She slammed into him once more, forcing a choked gasp out of him, and then stopped.

“Turn over,” she said. Fëanor was panting.

“Nerdanel,” he said.

“Turn over, Curufinwë.” With a whine, Fëanor pulled himself off the cock and fell onto his back. He gazed up at her, bright eyes framed with thick lashes, his lush black hair fanning out beneath him, the candlelight shining off the jewels at his forehead, his throat, his ears: red and white and green against the cool brown of his skin. Nerdanel sent a silent prayer of thanks she had wed the most beautiful Elf in Valinor. “Look at you,” she said. “Just look at you!” She leaned down and kissed Fëanor, parting her mouth against his, and his arms went around her, holding her tightly to him. “Fëanáro,” she murmured against his lips. “Fëanáro, I’m going to fuck you so good.”

“Yes, please,” he breathed.

She spread his legs further apart and slid the toy back into him all at once, feeling more confident about it this time. It helped how Fëanor writhed as if he could not get it back into himself fast enough.

“Do you see how thoughtful I am, not remarking at all on how impatient you are?”

“Remind me to give you an award later,” Fëanor said sarcastically, a quick intake of breath coming at the end of his snark as Nerdanel sheathed the toy fully into him. Fucking him from behind had excellent results, but fucking him on his back meant she got to see each and every expression that crossed his face as she began again with a slow pace: how his eyebrows knit together in impatience, how he bit at his full lower lip when she hit him at the right angle, how his rosy flush spread from his face down his neck to his chest.

It also meant she could kiss him, though doing that while also managing the toy was going to take her more getting used to. Fëanor arched up against her as she kissed him, like he was trying to drive the toy deeper into himself, and his achingly hard cock pressed against her stomach. His hands found her breasts and as he massaged them, his thighs squeezing against her hips, she had to keep herself from climbing onto his lap. She had a job to do and she was going to do it!

            She had to draw back from kissing him to focus on fucking him, which, if the arching of his back off the mattress was any sign, was alright with him. The tension in his body told her he was getting close, but when she reached for him, he knocked her hand away.

            “No,” he panted. “No, just…just the toy. I just want that.” So she focused on quick, sharp thrusts of her hips, making Fëanor turn his head to the side, biting his lip and desperately wriggling his body against her. “Nerdanel,” he said, his voice almost a plea. His cock was dripping and there was a tremor in his thighs and Nerdanel wanted to swallow him whole, her beautiful, prideful princeling.

            “You look good with a cock in you, Fëanáro,” she said, driving into him, trusting him to tell her if she was going too hard. He opened his mouth to reply, but all that came out was a gasping moan, his hands grabbing frantically at the sheets, his bracelets clinking against each other with his movement.

            “Nerdanel, I—!”

            “You’re so close, I know,” she said. “Won’t you cum for me, Fëanáro? I want to see you cum.” Fëanor whined, rutting his hips up against her and she would’ve touched him then, if he hadn’t told her not to, but instead she braced her hands against the mattress and picked up her pace, shoving that cock in and out of him as quickly as she could (and thankful that all her time hauling rock kept her fit enough to manage) “Come on Fëanáro,” she panted. “Let me see, let me see your bliss.”

            “Nerdanel,” he gasped, but whatever else he was gone to say broke off in a loud moan as he finally climaxed, his seed splattering against her stomach. Nerdanel came to a stop and Fëanor, limp on the bed, made a sound near a whimper as she pulled out of him. Surveying her work, she nodded with approval. Fëanor hadn’t been wrong about the idea—seeing him splayed out sweaty and flushed and speechless convinced her of that.

            There was just the matter now of how fucking wet she was.

            Catching her own breath, she flopped down on her back beside him.

            “You were right,” she said, always a dangerous thing to say to Fëanor. “I can’t believe we did not think to try this sooner.”

            “I always have good ideas,” said Fëanor.

            “I’m giving you this one,” she said. “Now help me get out of this thing.” With a quiet groan, Fëanor peeled himself off the bed and set to undoing the straps of the harness. Nerdanel’s contribution was lifting her ass off the bed so he could slide the whole thing off of her. When he got off the bed, though, she pulled her attention back to focus. “Where are you going?” she asked.

            “It should be cleaned,” he said.

            “Now?” Fëanor was looking at her, and Nerdanel knew it was going to bother him if she made him put it down and come back, so she waved him off and let her head fall back against the mattress. Let Fëanor clean up if he wanted; she was going to lay right there. “Be quick,” she added. She closed her eyes, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips when she thought of what a mess she’d made of Fëanor. Lazily, she dipped a hand between her legs, sliding a finger in a slow circle around her whining clit as she replayed in her mind the sound of his needy moaning.

            “Hey, now.” Fëanor’s voice came softly, but much closer than she had expected; her eyes opened to see him easing onto the bed. One of his necklaces hung crookedly, caught against the sweaty stickiness of his chest. The shade of brown in his eyes seemed to shift in the light when he moved his head. “That’s my job,” he said, taking her hand and kissing it, sucking on the tip of her finger to lick the taste of her off. She had seen Fëanor bend bars of metal one-handed, but when he took her fingers his touch was as gentle as if he were handling blown glass.

            “Well, then, Prince Fëanáro,” she said. “I await your efforts.” He smiled and sank down between her legs, turning his face to press kisses against her pale thigh.

            “For you, my dear, it’s no effort at all.”

[warrioreowynofrohan]

With curiosity spurred by some of the appendix references from Today in Tolkien, I felt like doing some light research on which First Age characters have prominent Men of the Third Age named after them, and what that might suggest about relations between groups and how certain characters are remembered. (None of the Númenoreans kings and queens are named directly after First Age characters, though two of Elros’ children are named in honour of Manwë and Varda. Parenthetically, I’d like to comment that the use of Quenya for names of rulers in Númenor is sometimes regarded as implying something about Elros’ sentimenrs towards Maedhros and Maglor, but it seems far more likely that the use of Quenya is because the Númenoreans are, from the start, interacting with Eressëan Noldor and thereby have considerable at least indirect contact with Valinorean Noldor - Finarfin’s people - who would still speak Quenya. Indeed, the Akallabêth practically states this outright by saying that loremasters in Númenor learned “the High Eldarin tongue of the Blessed Realm”.)

Moving on to the LOTR Appendix A! In Arnor we have only a few with First Age names: Beleg (T.A. 1029) and Celebrindor (T.A. 1272; not exactly the same, but very interesting in its resemblance!) and Tarondar (at least resembles Thorondor).

Among the king of Gondor we have Eärendil (T.A. 324), Turambar (T.A. 667), and another Tarondor.

The Stewards are descended from Húrin of Emyn Arnen, and include many more First Age names. For those named after First Age Men, we have two more Húrins, two Túrins, Beren, Hador, Barahir, and Dior. For those named after Elves we have two Denethors (the one from LOTR is Denthor II) - Denethor was the first and last last king of the Green-elves or Laiquendi or Ossiriand, who was killed in the First Battle of Beleriand - along with Turgon, two Ecthelions, and an Egalmoth. And possibly another named after an eagle, Thorondir.

So what we can gather from this is that, firstly, Húrin and Túrin are remembered much more positively than some might expect from the Silmarillion. I attribute this partly to the unremitting defiance of Morgoth displayed by both, and as a continued act of defiance of the part of posterity - to remember the good and great things they achieved despite Morgoth’s campaign of hatred against them - as well as regard for Túrin’s status as the first dragon-slayer. Secondly, the people of Gondor in particular are very proud of their heritage, and the Stewards in particular - perhaps in reaction to the very fact that they are not descended from the kingly line of Elendil - are eager to refer back to the distant ancestors of Elros’ line: Barahir, Beren, Dior, Turgon, Eärendil. And thirdly, that the remainder of the names come mainly from those associated with the first two points - Beleg, from the tale of Túrin, and lords of Gondolin, from their association with distant ancestor Turgon. Denethor, who died before the first Men existed, is the interesting exception to this trend, and may be an indication of relations with the Sindar and related cultural groups.

[child-of-hurin]

kareenvorbarra replied to your post: "general bashing tag" is fine. Also I'm sorry that...

I BET IT’S ME

Mine Own Wive....

[beyond-far-horizons]

Concerning the 'Adar' character in the new Rings of Power adaptation, im worried that some of the new photos point to him being Aegnor...

Possible spoilers for the series based on rumours and spoilers for The Silmarillion and Morgoth's Ring.

Fan poster FellowshipofFans (find on Twitter and Reddit), who is usually very reliable with their exclusives and leaks posted a while back that Adar - the new villain who looks to be a leader of the orcs like the Witchking will be in the 3rd Age (they claim the mace picture is him and not Sauron) - is actually one of Galadriel's brothers. Later FellowshipofFans said Adar was NOT Finrod but the implication was that Adar was like those elves that had been captured and tormented into service of Morgoth or (as in earlier legends) had been changed into orcs themselves. Adar's reveal would therefore increase the ire between Galadriel and Sauron.

Leaving aside how soap opera this is if true and that Galadriel needs no more personal beef with Sauron himself, given the fact he was directly responsible for the death of her favourite brother Finrod as well as being Morgoth's right hand Maia, this leaves Angrod, Aegnor and possibly Orodreth as candidates - all killed in the War of the Jewels against Morgoth in the 1st Age.

Little is known about Angrod so they could potentially mess with him more but there's less drama there than say with Orodreth who could in one version of the tales be Gil-galad's father too. However Aegnor has an added tragic element that could fit nicely in the showrunners' minds with the 2nd Age's themes of mortality and longing for immortality and that of course is his tragic romance with mortal wise woman Andreth (great aunt to Beren who did actually marry his elven love Luthien later on).

As many of us know, Aegnor and Andreth fell in love but Aegnor felt (in my mind was persuaded by Finrod) that he couldnt be with Andreth because he couldn't abandon his duty as one of the frontline commanders in the War and also didn't want Andreth to suffer pity and scorn as she aged while he remained young and beautiful. (Why he doesn't bother telling her this or giving her a choice in the matter, leaving her to feel rejected and embittered until his bro has to tell her the truth years later I don't know!) Anyway he also has foreknowledge he will die before her when Morgoth breaks the Siege which happens. Both Angrod and Aegnor are on the front lines and perish. Aegnor however decides he will not be reborn back into the Blessed Realm after his time in the Halls of Waiting are up, because he doesn't wish to live in a world without Andreth, who will pass from the world and him on her death (cries). So basically he endures supposedly forever away from his family and Aman, dwelling on the few pure memories he has of Andreth. So beautiful and tragic. At this point in the Legendarium, as Finrod points out to Andreth in Morgoth's ring, no elf and mortal have ever been wed and in his view as one of wise and most concern with mortals, such unions are rare, fraught and a matter of fate. We see this with Beren and Luthien, Idril and Tuor and Aragon and Arwen later (Finrod of course helping Beren this time).

So apart from this potential why do I suspect Adar more likely to be Aegnor if the rumours are true?

1) He's supposed to be truely terrifying in battle - a fell flame and at the end according to Finrod this wrath has increased due to Aegnor wanted to take revenge on Morgoth for the hurt that he perceives the fallen Vala has done to Andreth's people alongside his own. I don't think Aegnor or any of the House of Finarfin would fall so low as to willingly or unwillingly work for the Shadow but the showrunners might not agree and use this aspect of his character to justify it.

2) This is the big one - Aegnor and Andreth are the only pairing of a male elf and a mortal woman in the Legendarium...until now. The show announced via the new Vanity Fair article that there is a 'forbidden love' between mortal herdgather Bronwyn and Silvan elf Arondir (never mind that she has a kid and therefore to elves she is married and they never remarry aside from special circumstances like Finwe and Indis but I digress...). Bronwyn's village is rumoured to be attacked by orcs who would likely be under the command of Adar. Having Aegnor be Adar in ruined form would give another bond/source of conflict between another set of characters other than just Galadriel. It would also give them a chance to tell the Aegnor/Andreth story which alot of fans dont know about because it's not even in the published Silmarillion.

We get the Superbowl trailer later today so we'll see...

Part of me loathes what I see as the corruption and bad fanfic potential of Aegnor or any of the brothers as Adar, esp in light of Aegnor's noble character and his pure love,but also it would be good more people knowing about Aegnor and especially Andreth who is one of my favourite characters.

What do you think?

[z-h-i-e]

Spring Into Arda Wrap-up

Spring Into Arda has come to a close for the year. Thanks to all those who participated!

Back to Middle-earth Month had 12 works posted to the collection on AO3. These can be found at https://archiveofourown.org/collections/B2MEM2021

Remember, you can add works to the collection late, so if you started something and haven't finished it yet, feel free to tuck it in when you finish.

Mini Spring Bang has 9 works posted to the AO3 collection. Under the cut, you'll find a list of all of the works posted for both parts of the spring event.

Look for more information in 2022 for B2MEM, when the theme will be... School Daze, a school-and-education-themed set of prompts and events. And of course, the Mini Spring Bang will be back for year two!

And if you can't wait that long... keep watching this space for info on a new autumn event, Scribbles & Drabbles, under the Fall for Tolkien banner! This artist-and-author event caters to those who write short works, from drabbles on up, and for artists who sometimes prefer to leave things up to the viewer's imagination.

And now, for some stories and art from the Spring. Enjoy!

Aurora Borealis by Tethys_resort

The Grinding Ice was miserable and dangerous. And beautiful. A story from the March across the Ice.

Blossoms of Gold by senalishia

Aredhel is reborn in Valinor. She no longer has anything to fear, but she feels like something is holding her back. She meets Erehwin, a cantankerous Sinda goldsmith who is helping Turgon to build a new city on the plains of Valinor. Can these two women help each other move past the pains of their previous lives and into a new future together?

Brothers in Arms by Zhie

Years of the Trees. At a Family Reunion party, Feanor's children take it upon themselves to set up a competition between him and his brother, Fingolfin. Finarfin tries to be helpful. Tries is the operative word. Happy ending fluff. Bunniverse compatible standalone story. Written for B2MEM 2021.

Building trust by Unlos

Aredhel/Original Elf Character

Downfall by lferion

Beleriand falls

The Eagle by hennethgalad

Olwë witnesses Estë soothing an injured eagle.

even so, i must admire your skill: you are so gracefully insane by 2Nienna2 & Dialux

In which Galadriel screams, Lalwen slays, Maglor shouts, and Celebrimbor survives. In that order.

Four Seasons in One Day by Himring

Although the Noldor have been in Middle-earth for a while, things are still very new to them: Aredhel, Amrod and Amras resuming old habits and exploring a new environment together.

Graven on Stone by hennethgalad

Daeron devises the Cirth.

Greetings, O Favored One by Aipilosse & AeonDelirium

Celebrimbor and the perils and blessings of the Holy Ones favor.

Hope at 9.8 m/s^2 by Tethys_resort

Elwing jumped and flew away. Gil-galad and Cirdan hang on as Beleriand falls.

"I do my own stunts and my own saving" : a Finduilas as Gil-Galad Playlist by 2Nienna2

A playlist for Dialux’s fic “this most ancient of sufferings at last grows fruitful”.

Just Look at Me, I'm Limited by senalishia & tehhumi

Elrond has arrived in Valinor at long last; Maglor will follow soon. Elrond reaches out to the Sons of Feanor as to what reception he can expect, and finds that the Valar's judgement is stronger, and stranger, than he had believed.

Pies and Presents by StarSpray

One year Bilbo has a particularly special present for Frodo on their birthday.

Posters From The War by AwfulLoneliness & Narvaeril

Two posters to keep the morale up during the War against Morgoth, one from the beginning and one from the end

Rules of the Soul by starlightwalking

An examination of bonds, brotherhood, and betrothal through the stories of the first Kings of the Eldar and those they love.

Seas the Day by jamcake_muses & Zhie

Drinking with Gil-galad can be hazardous to health, as Ecthelion and Glorfindel discover. Sometimes, it's the Elf-lords who need rescuing.

A Star Shines On The Hour Of Our Meeting by Ysilme

Maglor wanders. Elrond dreams of Maglor and goes on a search.

Sundry prompts for B2MEM2021 by TheTremulousHand

These are some prompts filled for the Back to Middle Earth March 2021 Challenge. Be forewarned that I am extremely bad at prompts, and often end up writing something that only relates to the prompt if you turn around three times, stand on your head and squint. May have spanking in later chapters.

Take me home with you tonight by starlightwalking

Maeglin is captured by the Enemy and shipped off to Angband - only to be rescued by the unlikeliest of Atani, wielding the twin of his father's lightsaber.

this most ancient of sufferings at last grows fruitful by Dialux

In which Idril, Elwing and Finduilas plot to make a proper High King. It all goes awry, but when has Finduilas' life ever been straightforward?

[diversetolkien]

Thranduil is a better feminist that Galadriel or Idril or whoever. From all the male characters, only Finarfin comes close to how he adopts his wife's culture but in the end his kids are all identified as Noldor bc of the patriarchal influences. They're only referred to as their mother's kids when it's a negative (Caranthir's comment to Angrod). But, Legolas literally only identifies w/ his mother's culture and so does Thranduil.

Hmm...I kinda have to disagree. I think feminism at it’s core is about women (of course it extends to other groups, etc.), and in relation to Thranduil and Galadriel I don’t consider him more of a feminist than her. 

I think it really depends on perspective and who’s reading what? Galadriel is going to be feminist because she’s seen as empowering to women for her position and her power, whereas others will see her as someone who subjugates people due to her whiteness. 

Thranduil may have assimilated into his culture, but as I discussed on twitter, his story is very much the ‘white man’s burden’ and ‘white savior’ kinda story. If we’re talking about this in terms of colonization with Galadriel vs. Thranduil, Thranduil certainly does better. But he’s not perfect.

But feminism? I think Galadriel’s character is incredibly layered, and there is a great deal of feminism that does go into her writing. Albeit incredibly white feminism for like 99.9 % of her writing, but there are some parts that exist apart from white feminism. 

Ie: her being able to be the only one to face Sauron in the hobbit, Galadriel fighting and not succumbing to the ring, Galadriel being compared to a witch but plot twist--she’s good (because writing about women and magic is incredibly sexist). 

Galadriel isn’t perfect at all, and her character if full of racisms. But Thranduil too is layered. His narrative is filled with sexism, racism just as Galadriel’s narrative is. It’s just different. 

And while he does considerably better in SOME instances, I don’t see him doing anything substantial that makes him more “feminist” than Galadriel. 

I think the implications that he fully endowed himself in his wife’s culture is important, but at the same time we know so little of her. So while the implications of him adopting her culture exists, for him to be “more feminist” than Galadriel he would need to put her on equal footing. Yet all we know of his wife is his son.

It’s very patriarchal. This is why I enjoyed the Hobbit due to Tauriel, and the implications that she was on equal footing as legolas or at least a surrogate daughter of Thranduil. But those hopes were dashed lmao. 

I won’t even touch up on Idril (or Tuor)  as I despise her with my entire being, she’s the poster child for anti-blackness. We don’t speak of her on this blog XD 

[elesianne]

A Silmarillion fanfic for @officialtolkiensecretsanta​

Summary: Finrod arrives in Dorthonion with the first snows to spend time with little Gil-galad and speak of the future with Orodreth. He does not quite manage not to bring the shadows of past and future alike with him.

Length: ~1,500 words; Rating: General audiences; Some keywords: Family, (angsty) foresight, First Age, not a kidfic

A/N: This fic takes place between Dagor Aglareb, the Glorious Battle, and the completion of Nargothrond. For this fic, I've written Gil-galad as the son of Orodreth son of Angrod, and as having been born by this time. For more info about canon, see end notes.

AO3 link

*

Posterity of Finarfin

'Come, come!' Little Gil-galad takes his hand and tugs, and of course Finrod follows. When the boy starts slipping on the ice ground in his haste and his father, walking by Finrod's side, starts looking worried, Finrod scoops Gil-galad up in his arms.

'Tell me where to go', he says, and the boy tells him eagerly, eyes shining bright. His mother did well to name him for them.

They end up at the little lake just outside the walls of Angrod and Aegnor's keep. Finrod has been here once before, swimming with Aegnor on a balmy but rainy summer's day. It tends to rain in Dorthonion.

Now it snows only lightly, and it is the easiest thing for Finrod to pretend at delighted surprise when Gil-galad points at the blades with straps that Orodreth has been carrying. An excited child is enough to hold at bay Finrod's distaste for snow and ice, and indeed it is seeing how Gil-galad has grown that made Finrod ride to the uplands with the same wind that brought the year's first snows.

'We're going skating', Gil-galad declares, and boasts of being very good at it, inquiring whether Finrod knows how to skate.

'Not well', Finrod lies to his great-nephew that he is growing as fond of as he is of his nephew. 'Will you show me how?' he asks.

Gil-galad is more than happy to, and shows all the turns and stops and the speed that he has learned, taking more than one tumble in the process. Orodreth is ready with a comforting word whenever needed, patient and indulging in his son and uncle's merriment.

Eventually Gil-galad tires himself out while the short winter day's light dies around them. When he skates straight into a snowbank and stays lying there, face half in the snow, giggling, Orodreth comes to pick him up.

'I think it is time for some warm drinks in the hall', he says with dry amusement as he detaches the blades from Gil-galad's boots. 'And perhaps a nap for the smaller skaters.'

Gil-galad protests but soon nods off when they are settled in the large chairs in front of the fire in the great hall of the keep.

Finrod sips at his warm, spiced wine and looks at the little boy dozing in his father's lap, his cheeks red and dark-golden curls messy.

'Rodnor Gil-galad, posterity of the house of wise, gentle Finarfin', Finrod says quietly to Orodreth. That last name, one that his father never spoke, one of which Finrod is still not sure Finarfin himself would approve, still feels strange on his tongue. He wonders how many more decades of the new years of the Sun it will take for it not to.

Orodreth smooths Gil-galad's messy locks with sure fingers and ever-so-content expression. Finrod tamps down a tendril of yearning and jealousy that threatens to rise within him –

(He knows that if he lets, it will bring with it dreams of another, never-existing child with golden hair in the arms of its golden-haired mother, and Finrod has neither of them, and he must not  allow himself to –)

And he tries to let himself fill instead with gladness for his nephew, dear to him always, for he is glad that he found what Finrod did not know how to hold on to.

'My new stronghold will soon be finished', he says to Orodreth. 'Next summer, or autumn at the latest, said the leader of the works when I rode away.'

'Rode to here.' Orodreth smiles. 'To the place with the worst winter weather in all of Beleriand, save for Maedhros's bare hill, perhaps.'

'To my family.'

'You are always welcome here.'

'As are you in Minas Tirith, and in Nargothrond as well, as soon as it is finished. But it is Minas Tirith that I want you to come to as soon as the roads are safer to travel and your lady can let you travel without worry. I want you to decide what changes you will make.'

Orodreth raises his eyebrows in reply.

'Come now, nephew', says Finrod. 'You must know I have considered you my heir ever since – ever since it became apparent that I have need for such a thing. I intend to move to Nargothrond and rule my realm from there, and I want you to come to Minas Tirith and keep the watch on Sirion for me.'

In the firelight, Finrod watches emotions shift in Orodreth's eyes. 'Thank you for the honour, my lord', he says at length. 'I will keep it well for you. For you, and for Gil-galad should I fall while Tol Sirion is in my keeping.'

Finrod gives a nod of acknowledgement, turning the green-stoned ring on his finger. He says, 'And should I fall, you shall be the heir to all my lands if your father and uncle still hold their own.'

Orodreth looks conflicted again. 'I do not know whether to remind you that you could marry, or to thank you, or to say that I hope I will never wear your crown. For your sake, and my father's and uncle Aegnor's.'

'You need not do any of those. In any case, it has been obvious if not official for years. There will be no other heir, no matter what you or others might say – indeed, your father reminded me of the same when I talked with him of this many winters ago – nor do you need to thank me. Who knows, perhaps your inheritance will be a thankless one in the end.'

After a moment of staring into the fire, patting Gil-galad's back with gentle hands, Orodreth says, 'Let us not think of such dark possibilities on this day; it is a distant prospect after all. Let us instead decide what we will do tomorrow. No doubt Gil-galad will want to spend it with his great-uncle Finrod. Just your presence is a great gift to him at this age.'

'And his to me.' Finrod grins. 'Aegnor mentioned yesterday that some young warriors of his have made a hill perfect for sledding down. That sounds like something that your brave lad would enjoy.'

'They have indeed, one that is far too steep for children! But Aegnor and his men will be happy to see you make a fool of yourself tumbling down that hill as soon as they return from their patrol.'

'Then I shall have to see whether I have time for that in between my plans with Gil-galad. How is he with his wooden sword these days? Ready to spar with his great-uncle?'

Orodreth grins, a proud father. 'Willing to spar, certainly. Able to do it without falling over in his enthusiasm? Not so certainly.'

'I dare say we will cope.' Finrod smiles, wistful but not too sad, for it has been a glad day. He is always glad of days with his family. He says, 'It feels like it has been three blinks of an eye since I was sparring with you with wooden swords.'

'Yet it was in another world.'

'Indeed. And we hardly knew what we were doing.' They had been untested by battle, unbloodied, not even knowing what battle they were preparing for, only that they should. They – the adults of the family – had forged swords and had just about learned to wield them when they made wooden ones to start teaching the children.

All out of nebulous fears that they'd wished wouldn't realise; but somewhere deep in those places where foresight lives, quiet but for its rare unbidden words, Finrod and his father and sister had known that the swords would be wielded on fields of battle, not only in training matches within the high walls of lush gardens.

He is wondering whether he should explain some of this to Orodreth – why they ended his childhood with their formless fears; somehow there has never been time before, but now they have had decades of relative peace, the hurry of building defences and watchtowers eventually giving space for reflection – when the great doors of the hall open and in pours a flurry of snow, and Orodreth's lady Faeleth.

Orodreth's face lights up at the sight of his wife.

'Will you hold him?' he asks, handing Finrod his still-slumbering son without waiting for reply.

He hurries to his wife, making a fuss over her. Finrod turns away from looking at him take off her snowy cloak, feeling as if he is intruding on something private in the middle of the great hall bustling with people.

As Orodreth lingers with Faeleth, Finrod stands up and stands as close to the fire as he dares with Gil-galad in his arms.

'May you never be king', Finrod says quietly to the sleeping child, small and dear. 'May you not become another link in a chain of broken kings, for that is what you would have to be. May you never wear my crown.'

*

A/N: Notes on canon:

Tolkien does not indicate when this version of Gil-galad, the final one that he conceived of but didn’t have time to consolidate into much of his writings, was born.

The canon about him is in The Peoples of Middle-Earth, pages 350-351 in my copy. His mother is left unnamed – she is only described as ‘a Sindarin lady of the North’ – so I gave her the name Faeleth.

Thank you for reading! Reblogs and likes are cherished, as are kudos and comments on AO3.

[aowyn]

i’d love to join the fandom family if you’ll have me! My favourite Tolkien characters are Finarfin, Eönwë and Maglor, and I choose a poster set :) have a wonderful day!

hi there! i’ve added you as finarfin. you can find your poster set here