#in which fëanáro is not wrong

[eleneressea]

🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹

54 sentences, what, do you want an entire fic?

okay :D

Turgon grit his teeth when he saw the red-cloaked guards. He had deliberately not learned the sigils the sons of Fëanáro had chosen for themselves, so he wasn’t sure which of them had claimed the sign of two mountains, but none of the options were good.

“State your name and business,” one of them said, cheerfully. They would have recognized him, by sigil if not face. This could only be for their amusement.

“Turukáno Turondo, King of Ondolindë, here to seek my brother.”

“Do you have any identification to prove this claim?”

“Why would I need identification,” he said, baffled. No city in Aman or Beleriand had ever used identification beyond someone's word.

“Ah, yes, that would be how your city got infiltrated,” one guard said, nodding sagely. “Lack of identification checks.”

“So you acknowledge that I’m the King of Ondolindë—”

“Can’t admit you into Formenos without any paperwork, of course. We can send a messenger for the proper forms to seek identification—really very simple, we would just need you to name three people who can vouch for you, but of course these three would have to be properly identified.”

“Does my brother live here?”

“Which brother would this be?” the other guard said. “We’d hate to give you word of the wrong one.”

“My elder brother, Findekáno Soronindo, the High King of the Noldor.”

“Why would you seek a High King of the Noldor in the city of exile?”

“King Ñolofinwë told me to seek him here. Was he misinformed?”

“No High Kings dwell in Formenos, in accordance the statute of the Valar banishing, at the time, High Prince Fëanáro.” The guard gave him a sunny grin that he did not trust an inch. “We, of course, obey all statutes set forth by lawful authority.”

Turukáno did not want to think about how the followers of Fëanáro defined lawful authority. He had a suspicion that the Valar did not rank among those numbers.

“Where does he dwell, then?”

“Who would this be?”

“My elder brother.” Turukáno did not yell in frustration, because he was an adult and a king and would not give them the satisfaction. “Where is he?”

“We are but humble guards of the gate,” the right-hand guard said. “We would need to speak to our superior, who has the authority to divulge whether or not a given person dwells in Formenos. To do this, she must contact the archivists, who would then diligently search the records for this person. Provided that such a person dwells in Formenos, she would go to the address on record to speak with them and acquire their permission and goodwill to carry news of their location to us, who would then inform you of their wishes. However, if their goodwill is not obtained, or if they cannot be found at any of the addresses on record, or if no person matching the name can be found in the archives, then unfortunately the records of Formenos cannot be of use to you, nor can her guards. Do you have any other questions?”

“How long does this process take?”

“We are always diligent in our searches, to ensure that no mistakes are made. As such it can take up to five decades to process these requests. We can send a messenger provide you with the proper paperwork to fill out if you would like to do so now, otherwise requests can be made in writing to the castle, and the proper paperwork can be delivered by messenger.”

Turukáno was no fool. He narrowed his eyes at the guard. “Send a messenger for this paperwork, then.”

“If you will excuse me for a moment,” the right-hand guard said, stepping inside for a moment before returning. “Do make yourself comfortable, it may be some hours to find the correct forms.”

“I’ll wait here.” These guards were bluffing, and Turukáno would wait them out.

Unfortunately, a few hours later, he was staring at a pile of very real forms. He recognized the handwriting.

Of course it was Carnistir. He should have known. The sons of Fëanáro were all horrible, every last one of them, and somehow Carnistir managed to be the most infuriating of them all. He could practically hear Carnistir laughing at him from the paperwork.

#for the record: none of these things are actually requirements to get into formenos #the guards saw an opportunity to fuck with turgon and took it with all four hands #caranthir is so proud of them. they're going to get raises #he made the forms on the spot

[sillysistersusi]

Slipping through my fingers all the time

Fëanor x Nerdanel

Summary: When Nerdanel woke up and the other side of her bed was cold, she panicked. Or: Nerdanel is afraid to lose the people close to her again.

When Nerdanel woke up and the other side of her bed was cold, she panicked.

Since Fëanor had moved back in with her three weeks ago, her bed had not been cold when she woken up. Instead, she had felt his gentle fingertips on her cheeks, his breath on her neck or she had opened her eyes to his warm smile.

It had taken a long time before Fëanor had dared to speak to Nerdanel again. He had been reembodied months ago, but he had been afraid she would hate him and he had told her he couldn't bear it if she had hated him.

The truth was that Nerdanel had never hated him. She had been angry. Very angry, in fact. But she hadn't hated him.

And now he was back and she had always woken up to his warmth, but this time it was different. Fëanor wasn't there.

Had she perhaps just dreamed it all? Had Fëanor never really returned? Had these dreams only arisen out of her desire to have her beloved husband back?

Panicked, she sat up, slipped out of bed and ran through a house that was far too big for her alone. She had thought all these years that she would drown in the sheer size of the home that once was filled with love, now that the laughter of her sons and the warmth of her husband were gone.

As she turned a corner, she bumped into someone.

"Fëanáro!" she gasped. Fëanor stood in front of her, a cup of steaming tea in his hand.

"Nerdanel? What is wrong dear?" He carelessly placed the cup on the nearest cupboard and turned to her.

"Fëanáro." she whispered, because she was so relieved to see him. She felt so light that she wouldn't have been surprised if she had suddenly been able to fly.

It was only when Fëanáro's fingertips gently touched her cheek to wipe away a tear that she realized she had started to cry.

"I thought- I thought you were gone," she whispered and sniffled.

He frowned worriedly. "But my dear, why should I be gone?"

"I- I was afraid I might have dreamed it all." she whispered softly. "That you had never really returned."

Fëanor placed his hands gently on her cheeks and then leaned forward to kiss her eyelids. "I am here." Then he kissed down the bridge of her nose. "And I will never leave your side again." He pressed his lips to hers and and wrapped his arms around her to pull her tighter against him.

"I am yours forever, Nerdanel," he whispered against her lips. "And I will never leave unless you ask me to."

"I never want to be without you again, my dearest Fëanáro." she breathed and kissed him again. "Why are you up so early?"

He rested his forehead against hers and rubbed their noses together. "I made you some tea to wake you up. You were still fast asleep when I woke up and I thought it would be nice."

"But why so early?" she asked gently.

Fëanor pulled her closer and kissed her again, harder this time, which was exactly what Nerdanel needed, because the feeling of his kiss lingered on her lips after he had already pulled away. It was a reminder that he was there. "We were supposed to visit Maitimo and Findékano today. And they live a bit out in the country, so we have to leave early."

In her panic, Nerdanel had completely forgotten.

"I am sorry," she whispered quietly.

Fëanor shook his head. "My dearest." He kissed the corner of her mouth. "You have done nothing wrong. Never. It touches me deeply that I still mean so much to you after all this. But rest assured, I would never make the mistake of leaving again, because you and our children are what give my life meaning. You are the true treasures I should have fought for, and I know that now."

"Oh Fëanáro." She gently stroked his cheek. "Let us put the past behind us once and for all and be happy that we have each other again. I love you."

"I love you too, Nerdanel." he whispered against her lips before kissing her again.

#cross posted on ao3 #fëanor x nerdanel #fanfic #fanfiction #nerdanel x feanor #feanor #fëanor #nerdanel #feanor x nerdanel #silm #silmarillion #silm fanfic #silmarillion fanfiction

[tanoraqui]

Incomplete list of name origins/motivations of the House of Finwë, according to me (and sometimes canon). Any names not listed were given for normal “parent liked it and it fit the baby (fathername)/young child (mothername) well enough.”

Original Brady Bunch:

Finwë (epessë, "hair/crowned guy") - as discussed here

Miriel - [normal name origins]

Indis (mothername, "bride") - true maternal prophecy. “She’s going to fuck her way into trouble and, if we’re lucky, fuck her way out of it”

Fëanáro (m, "spirit of fire") - not prophecy so much as really really obvious right away Curufinwë [I] (fathername, "clever finwë") - Finwë, proudly watching his son build cities out of blocks: “He’s like me but even more clever!”

Findis (f, [finwë+indis]) - Finwë has the naming instincts of Bella Swan and we should mock him so much more for this

Arakáno [I] (m, "high chieftain") - warning label Fingolfin was a very bossy toddler; Indis thought it was adorable and was sure he’d grow into it (he did)

Lalwen/Irimë - [both normal name origins]

Ingoldo [I] (m, "the noldo") - spite. born 2 months after Nelyafinwë due to total lack of parental coordination. Indis looked Fëanor straight in the eyes while introducing his new, distinctly blond and Vanya-looking baby brother to him. Effectiveness as a warning label is entirely accidental.

Fëanorians:

Nelyafinwë (f, "third finwë") - spite Maitimo (m, "well-shaped") - Nerdanel: Attention, everyone! I have made the PRETTIEST BABY EVER!!;

Makalaurë (m, "golden voice") - Nerdanel, proudly: Yes, his beautiful voice is very loud [functional warning label]

Tyelkormo (m, "hasty riser") - warning label Nerdanel, loving but strained smile: My newest beloved son. Will not. Stay. Asleep. :)

Carnistir (m, "red-faced") - Nerdanel: Lookit how red his little face gets when he cries! Don’t you just want to squish it even more?!

Atarinkë (m, "little father") - Nerdanel, delighted: FËANÀRO, IT’S A BABY YOU!; Curufinwë [II] (f, "clever finwë") - Fëanor, awed whisper: holy shit you’re right, it’s a baby me

Ambarussa & Umbarto Ambarto (m, "red-topped" & "doomed" "up-exalted") - as told in The Shibboleth of Fëanor: Nerdanel, desperately ignoring the growing sense of true maternal prophecy: They’re both redheads! Fëanor: Beloved, you can’t give them both the same name. Nerdanel: Yes I can. Fëanor: No you can’t. Nerdanel: Yes I can. Fëanor: No you can’t. Nerdanel: Fine, his name is Doomed, are you happy! He’s doomed to a terrible fate! He’s going to suffer and die alone! Fëanor: Haha you mean fated to great things, upwardly mobile, right?! Nothing has ever gone wrong when I ignore you, and probably nothing ever never will! Ambarussa, jointly, as soon as they're old enough to speak: We like having the same name actually also, Telúfinwë (f, "last finwë") - Fëanor: "Okay, even I think we should probably stop at 7"

Fingolfinians:

Findekáno (f, "hair[crowned] commander") - a little bit of spite ("Finwë" + "Arakáno"), but mostly Fingolfin liked how it sounded and didn't realize until it was too late that he'd just swapped the syllables in Kanafinwë, and had to pretend real fast that he didn't care

Turukáno (f, "strong chieftain") - Fingolfin decided to lean into the káno root for his kids, and he likes how this name sounds and he doesn't care that it's the same root at Turkafinwë! Not everything is about Fëanor!

Írissë (f, "[something] femine") - Fingolfin, standing on top of a roof, holding baby Aredhel up like Simba: "WE HAD A GIRL!!!" ("Ir" from Anairë)

Arakáno (m, "high chieftain") - Anairë: haha holy shit, Nolo, he's a baby you

Finarfinians:

Findaráto (f, "high/noble finwë") - Finarfin shortly before his first son is born, moving around scraps on paper on which are written root words: "Okay so it has to include 'fin' and a part of one of my names which is not 'fin' (how stupid would two 'finwë's sound in one name!), but it for the sake of individualism it shouldn't be literally my name nor, preferably, Nolofinwë's... Ingoldo (m, "the noldo") - warning label: Eärwen, preventing her son from trying to eat his fourth very child-chokable random gem from the ground today: "Ara, he gets this from your side." (Effectiveness as a warning label for nude werewolf combat is entirely accidental.)

Angrod - [normal name origins]

Aegnor - [normal name origins]

Artanis (f, "noble lady") - Finarfin standing on the opposite roof, holding baby Galadriel up like Simba: "GIRL! GIRL! GIRL!" Nerwen (m, "man maiden") - Men already barely understand Elvish gender, especially as filtered through the Professor. We cannot begin to conceive of what Galadriel was doing with it, nor should be be so hubristic as to try

Grandchildren, birth order according to me:

Orodreth (m, "mountain climber") - warning label: if this child is not given something to climb, he will Find Something to Climb

Celebrimbor (f, "silver-holding/handed") - named after his mother, Maltrinbor ("gold-holding/handed") Curufinwë [III] (m, "clever finwë") - Maltrinbor, proudly watching her son gnaw on jewelry: He's going to be just as crafty as his father and grandfather!

Celebrindal (e, "silverfoot") - I don't care that canonically it's because she went barefoot; it's because she lost both feet to frostbite on the Helcaraxë (when the ice cracked and she fell in frozen water and Elenwë dove in to save her, a task at which Elenwë did succeed at cost of her own life), and shortly after reaching Middle Earth she got silver prosthetics (Curufin made the first model after Maedhros glared at him really hard)

Maeglin/Lómion - [both normal name origins]

Etc:

Finduilas (f, "hair + ?? + leaf"?) - [normal name origins]

Ardamirë (m, "jewel of the world") - true maternal prophecy (more vibes than literal vision, but she knew he'd hold a Silmaril) Eärendil (f, "friend of the sea") - Tuor: [loves Gondolin but wants to show his son the sea so bad]

Elros & Elrond ("star foam" & "star dome") - to both the Noldor and Sindar, a mothername is more intimate and meaningful than a fathername. But for the Noldor, the fathername comes just after birth and the mothername comes later, when the child's personality is more evident. In Sindarin custom, the mothername comes at birth because who knows the child better than the mother who has just been holding its fëa as close as possible for 9 months? and the fathername comes later. Elwing and Eärendil named their children together: Elwing chose to name them both "El-" for her family; and Eärendil named one "-ros", which like "-wing" means "foam/spray"; and the other "-rond", "star-dome" for the sky that is most beloved to admiring Elves and sea-navigators alike.

Celebrian (m, "silver queen") - Galadriel named her first, Sindar fashion, and named her partly after Celeborn because she is in fact a romantic sap. She suspected early that Celebrian would never be a queen in title, but she never wanted to shut down the option

Elladan & Elrohir ("elf man" & "elf rider[mannish root[" - half-blooded children both, Elrond and Celebrian also named their firstborn sons cooperatively - "El-" less for Elrond's family directly than because Celeborn would be so disappointed if they discontinued this tradition which dated back to his king, Elu Thingol; and "-adan" and "-rohir" for the Men of Númenor, lost and saved alike, whom they had both loved

Arwen (m, "noble maiden") - "Ar-" for Artanis and Arafinwë. Celebrian: "I have the weirdest instinct to go stand on the roof and shout about how she's a girl?" Elrond: "So do I! That'd be so weird, though. Anyway, you choose a name entire, for I must have my own for this one..." Undómiel (e f, "evening star") - mirror to Elros's daughter "Tindómiel", "dawn star" - both, of course, being the same star: Gil-Estel

#the silmarillion #feanor and feanor's kin #maybe i should put this in my worldbuilding collection? idk #i'm not tagging everyone

[dalliansss]

or perhaps Finwë with this? 'you're being really moody today, you know?"

the red threads of fortune   by   neon yang

Finwë has discovered one sure-fire way to escape Fëanáro's nuisance of exercise programs every morning. It was very easy, really -- and the idea was given to him by his grandsons Turukáno and Findaráto when the youngsters asked Finwë to join them and baby Curufinwë in their room. So, of course, the first time this was suggested, Finwë immediately found an extra mattress and dragged it over to the room where his three youngest grandsons were sleeping.

Of course, this meant the children joined Finwë on the floor -- but the unexpected perk of it was that Fëanáro would then not dare disturb Finwë at four in the morning for accursed jogging programs around Formenos that lasted until six in the morning and left Finwë redder than chili peppers and panting and huffing and puffing as if he were going to drop dead from exhaustion and exertion within the next five minutes.

Fëanáro was loathe to disturb the children, and Finwë hugged the babies to his fluffy girth to shield himself from his eldest son. And so far, it worked.

(It's comical though, that the King of the Noldor in Aman would use his baby grandsons to shield himself, as it were, from Fëanáro's ill attempts of roping him into fitness programs.)

Today though, there is no exercise program. Instead, Finwë is given charge and care of baby Curufinwë, while everybody else runs around busy in the main keep of Formenos doing various chores or hunting. Chores! Goodness. Finwë could not quite believe how Fëanáro and Nerdanel just let everybody do chores around Formenos -- and they had no servants at all! They had a system in place, supervised by Tyelko. Chores were relegated to a specific person and rotated every week. For example, Findekáno was on kitchen duty for a week, which meant Findekáno was in charge of all meals the entire family would consume for that week. Then next week, he will transfer to laundry duty while Turukáno takes over the kitchen-- and so on, and so forth.

Finwë of course had tried to raise a peep -- his grandbabies are princes, Náro! Why would you make them do laundry?!?!?!?! -- but Fëanáro simply brushed away his father's concerns -- there is no better learning than experiencing things yourself, Atar, look how far they have come. These children will all survive with their bare hands, if the situation called for it.

But! But! But butbutbubtubtu!! BUT!

Baby Curufinwë is not in a good mood today; has not been for the entire morning, since breakfast. He is in Finwë's hold and care, because Turukáno and Findaráto, his usual babysitters, are off with Tyelko to hunt. Curufinwë has been wailing nonstop for half an hour now, and Finwë has tried every trick he could think of: funny faces, offers of cookies, lots of smooches, jiggling cha-cha -- ah! None seems to assuage the terrible sorrow Curufinwë has! Ai!

"You're being really moody today, you know?"

Finwë pouts and stands, and tries jiggling cha-cha for the third time. Baby Curufinwë wails in his hold, turns and twists, and buries his red face into his haru's chest. Jiggle jiggle. Come on, baby, what's wrong?

"Haru?"

Finwë turns. Curufinwë reduced to hiccuping sobs in his arms. Findekáno is there, big curls of dark hair pulled up into a ponytail. No gold ribbons today.

"Do you need help with Curufinwë?" Finno asks with a dimpled smile. The same dimpled smile Finwë has bestowed him through Nolofinwë. "I'm done with folding the laundry, so maybe if you wanted to rest, I can watch Curufinwë for you."

"Ai, no, it's alright, Finno, sweetheart," Finwë laughs. He looks around quickly to see if Fëanáro is anywhere near. Then he winks at his fourth eldest grandson. "If I watch the babies, your Uncle will not make me go through his convoluted exercise programs!"

Finno laughs. "Ah, right. Right. Are you certain you don't want a break, haru?" "I'll be fine, sweetheart, thank you-- oh! Wait!"

They both perk. They hear the barking and baying of Tyelko's hunting hounds. Findekáno and Finwë exchange a look, and they proceed to go to the courtyard, where Tyelko has just dismounted his horse. Findaráto and Turukáno are likewise dismounting, leaves in their hair, their cheeks flushed with the excitement and exertion of the hunt.

About twenty dogs circle Finwë and Curufinwë in a chaotic mass of wagging tails and cold noses. Curufinwë even stopped crying to peek at the happy dogs.

"We're home!" Tyelko announces. "Productive hunt this morning, haru!"

Finwë beams. "I'm proud of you all."

Then baby Curufinwë makes a whiny sound, and extends both arms toward his elder brother. Tyelko beams. "Awwwwww, little elf, you missed me?" Still grinning, Tyelko takes Curufinwë from Finwë's hold and carries his baby brother. "There there. Why're you ugly? Did you cry? I hope you didn't give Haru a hard time!"

"Not at all," Finwë grins. Beside him, Findekáno also smiles.

#silmarillion #my drabs #finwe #fingon #celegorm #curufin #turgon #finrod #marshmallow haru #house of finwe

[waitingforsecretsouls]

I'll always maintain that (Crown Prince!) Fëanáro gave his sons names befitting Princes and future Kings of the Ñoldor, as (King!) Finwë himself did for his sons. They're basically dynastic names and given how his sons are Princes and it's the schema he and his half-brothers were named for as well, it's difficult for me to see anything wrong with that. These people are royalty afterall, which means they're figures of public and to a certain extent political life by matter of birth.

It always seemed to me that father-names are the official names used for the political sphere (honestly something like titles almost), at least among the Finwëans (not least because their fathers tend to be the members of the royal family while their mothers marry in). Something I feel supported by the announcement of it in an official ceremony (Essecarmë), and which makes the contrast between the Fëanorians general tendency to prefer their mother-name and their half-brothers/cousins general preference for father-names very interesting (Obviously you can argue that it's simple personal preference or speculate about parental relationships (such as is canonically the case in at the least Fëanáro's case, though it's also still partly a political statement in its own right), but the point of this post is to go a little more political).

The Fëanorians are heirs to Finwë as the Elder House, but alone out of their wider family they're not primarily or even tangentially associated with one of the royal residencies. Rather, they spend their time travelling Aman to its outermost edges, and when not busy with exploration, are guests in Aulë or Oromë's Halls. They do not seem to have been involved in "politics" at all, prior to the Unrest, much less established in Tirion. In light of the abovementioned hypothesis regarding father-names political associations, the primary use of their mother-names serves to contribute to this air of an already rather casual conduct and presentation (see also Maitimo's comparatively 'casual' epessë (compared to eg. Artanis' or Gil-Galad's) in use specifically among close family, or the Ambarussa's nicknames (Given how they're not described as epessë) of 'First- and Second-Russa', which is not even mentioning the Fëanorians shortened father-names which could be considered potential 'nicknames' as well and even if not certainly imply a certain disregard for formality).

I'd argue that their unique status as not only descendants from someone confirmed to be neither royalty nor nobility nor associated with Tirion in any particular way in Nerdanel (which is not to claim that all Ñoldor of Tirion were career-politicians as a matter of course), but also the general fact of a less official and courtly daily environment and social contacts, e.g. seen in both Fëanáro's and Maitimo's notably close relationship to Nerdanels father Mahtan, both via kinship but moreso shared close relations with Aulë (with whom the Sons of Fëanáro additionally likely would have had closer contact growing up than Finwë, given aforementioned shared close association with Aulë and his halls yet Fëanáro explicitly not associated with Tirion as residency and noted to be living apart from the Finwë and Indis family unit even prior to founding his own family-branch) would have played an additional role in the development of their more informal manner (not that I see them as incapable of courtly manners, mind you (+ given Fëanáro's 'let them sa-si' comment were weaned on linguistic discourse at the very least, so no slouches in the academic department as well (Carnistir becoming economist prime in Beleriand as just one of the more concrete examples)) , they just canonically are very frank and to the point. Something I can see working favourable in the establishment of their many cross-cultural alliances in Beleriand).

I also think Nerdanel's lack of royal status might have played a role in keeping the mother-names she gave comparatively simple for the most part, making reference to their appearance and disposition (or, in Makalaurë's and the Ambarussa's case, prophetic insight, but even in the latter only because Fëanáro insisted on giving them separate names rather than just 'Ambarussa') in a less pompous or high-brow manner (compared to the mother-names given by noble-born Indis or of equally royal lineage Eärwen to their eldest in particular, Obviously this is more of a general tendecy, as we e.g. also get a prophetic name in Aikanáro, but I stand by Nerdanel keeping it notably simple by comparison).

The Ñolofinwëans in contrast are associated primarily with Tirion via Ñolofinwë, who, unlike Arafinwë, isn't mentioned to have had close contacts and frequent visits to Alqualondë, or primarily travel like Fëanáro and sons. Lack of additional crafts also leaves his later political plotting as only point of reference we get on his potential activities prior, making him a likely career-politician (which coheres with his better PR-management choices in the eventual feud and his kingly ambitions). Ñolofinwë married Anairë, who is most likely a Ñoldor of Tirion, given the lack of additional information on her (that mostly tends to get reserved for noteworthy deviations from "the norm", see also descriptions of hair-colour, where only deviations from the standart dark brown get explicit descriptions, or even regarding Finwëan wives, e.g. Indis, aside from the circumstances of her marriage, most noted for being a Vanyar and Eärwen a Falmari, Nerdanel for falling outside the beauty norms expected of the wife of a prince). Given that we do not get her children's mother-names, it's impossible to tell whether she added similarly ambitious/declaratory touches into them as Indis seemingly did for her sons.

The only child of Ñolofinwë singled out of the bunch during life in pre-Unchaining of Melkor Valinor is their daughter Írissë, for often going hunting in the forests with the sons of Fëanáro (to the point the narration sees fit to clarify that no romance was involved). While undoubtedly a free and adventurous spirit, the likely fact that she lived life in Aman primarily in Tirion would also add a neat layer to her readiness to accompany Turukáno (and eventually return) to Gondolin, the Tirion replica par exellence. While less overtly ambitious than her brothers or father I still propose that she was more comfortable in or at the very least used to the more formal environment of politics and appearances than often credited to her. Leaving its history of development aside, the fact that her father-name has a sindarized form (Íreth) which does not correspond to her Sindarin name actual in use (Aredhel) the argument can be made that her father-name wouldn't have been her preferred Quenya name, but rather her afaik unknown mother-name.

Given that we get no additional information on their whereabouts, it therefore also seems likely her brothers would have primarily been active in Tirion, and indeed later emerge as some of their fathers chief political supporters, Findecáno as primary Ñolofinwëan leader in the first half of the exile, and in Turukano's case commanding an eventual large following in his own right (thus fitting the pattern of favouring their more politically loaded names due to primary involvement in said social sphere).

The Arafinwëans are interesting, due to echoing Ñolo- and Arafinwë, descending from two royal lines, in their case both Nõldor (Arafinwë) and Falmari (Eärwen), yet firmly self-identifying as Ñoldor. Which I'd argue their deliberate use of father-name over mother-name signifies or at the least in effect serves to enhance, in addition to general royal gravitas. Given Melkor's warning to Ñolo- and Arafinwë that:

"Beware! Small love has the proud son of Míriel ever had for the children of Indis. Now he has become great, and he has his father in his hand. It will not be long before he drives you forth from Túna!"

, it also seems like, despite his distance from the family feud and marriage into the Falmari of Alqualondë, in whose company he often shared ("[...]he often sought peace among the Teleri, whose language he learned"), Arafinwë and his family still primarily resided in Tirion rather than Alqualondë. We later also see that at least Findaráto and Artanis out of their siblings harbour grand political ambitions such as ruling their own realms in Middle-Earth (mentioned as their motive for participating in the exile), while of Artanis we furthermore get told of a steep and ambitious participation in Ñoldorin academia (As for Arafinwë, given how Eärwen gave his own mother-name (Ingoldo) to their son Findaráto, it feels safe to say it wasn't the one her husband was primarily using. But in his case I'd even argue that his mother-name was the more explicit political statement, so there was no escaping the drama. As eventually happens, with ruling over the remnants of the Ñoldor-in-Aman. Though, funnily enough, it's Arafinwë rather than Findaráto for whom one can argue for a prophetic rather than strictly political nature of said name, even if I myself do not consider it as such).

Basically, I think that keeping in mind the more official nature of the Finwëan father-names adds fun potential additional layers to the world-building and characters in question.

#Silm #Finwëans assemble #“Hehehe silly Finwëans giving too unimaginative names” ENOUGH! That's the POINT they're ROYALS! A DYNASTY! #People are smart enough to realize the pattern but use it basically just to showcase how petty or egotistical Fëanáro or #Ñolofinwë are.. #No Fëanáro and Nolofinwë and Arafinwë didn't just suck at giving names #The royal implications and brand recognition are both deliberate and reasonable to their stations #If everyone's doing it maybe it's not just a funny quirk but purposeful and the norm #Sorry if the Quenya names make me sound insufferable but it's not different in principle than the Melkor v Morgoth usage #that tends to be pretty consistent and wide-spread in fandom from what I've seen #and I felt like exploiting mobile for the easy acess to all the special characters of their Quenya names

[curufiin]

Bitterness Tastes So Sweet

Little Curufinwë knew that his brothers enjoyed picking on him. Now that Fëanáro refused to bend to his every will, he realized that he must take the matter of revenge into his own hands.

gen / 1.8k / also on ao3

It was strange, this feeling, Curvo thought. How it gripped at his chest and made him think horrible thoughts, made his hands tremble and his heart ache, and worst of all, how he seemingly could not do anything about it.

He knew he was upset, and he knew he used to be able to get away with nearly anything he did when he was upset. He could simply scream, cry, fall to the ground and curl up and shriek until Father ran to his side and cradled him in his arms, and ultimately punished whoever had wrong him. That did make him feel better. As he grew older, however, he found that father retained little of his patience when he was younger, still small enough to hold in one arm.

Now, Curvo found he had to take matters into his own hands.

Tyelkormo was first. Not for any specific crime he committed lately, just that his pale haired brother seemed to have a talent of upsetting him. It would take countless hands, many more than the pairs they had in the family, to account for every single time Curvo felt slighted, but he was not here to complain to his brother about how he’d tell on him if he kept up his mischief.

Picking up as big of a bundle of clothes as he could with his little arms, he ran out into the yard. It had just rained the previous night— usually, Curvo despised the mud. Now, he grinned at its sights.

The clothes fell onto the muddy grass, and Curvo made sure to kick it around and even massage it some, even if it meant jeopardizing the cleanliness of his hands and sleeves (he found that they were a bit too big for him, and rolled back down even when he pushed them up). Some distant feeling crept up in the back of his mind, the tiniest morsel of remorse— and Curvo slapped it away like it was some pesky fly that happened to be in his way. Once he deemed the clothes sufficiently muddied up, he ran back inside with the clothing pile, and dropped it back in Tyelko’s room with a great, wet plop.

Then, he changed his clothes, washed his hands, and acted as if nothing had ever happened.

It took some time for anyone to notice, and Curvo could not deny he found the wait difficult to bear. Patience was not his strong suit. Yet, as first the gasp of indignation, then the shriek of rage and the stomping against wood floors that came from their mother reached his ears, he knew the wait was worth it.

“Tyelkormo Turcafinwë, what in Eru’s name did I tell you about leaving muddy clothes in your room!”

Curvo smiled.

***

On an overcast day, while sitting outside doing nothing in particular, Curvo decided Carnistir would be next.

He’d never particularly liked his fourth brother. There was just some quality that prevented them from clicking, and each conversation they held felt more like an attempt by both parties to keep from yelling at the other for as long as possible. Carnistir radiated animosity, and Curvo swore that he always knew to run when his brother neared, because he could smell that animosity from down the hallway.

He did not know why he disliked Carnistir so much. He just knew he disliked him. Not hate, of course. Hate was a strong word, and he doesn’t hate his brothers, not really. Maybe a little, but not a lot.

While Carnistir was away, forced by father to do additional studies, Curvo sneaked into his room. In the corner, stuffed away behind miscellaneous objects as if his brother was trying to hide the fact he had hobbies, was a box. To anyone, it appeared to just be an empty metal box which might’ve once held cookies, but Curvo knew better. Inside were the threads he used for his embroidery projects, alongside the various needles he had.

Well, what use is embroidery? Thought the little Curvo. An art for the sake of art. Seems a bit pointless.

And so he reached for a pair of scissors on the desk, and cut up each bundle of thread until all that remained was a colorful pile of rainbow fuzz on the floor.

Carnistir wailed for the next three days. Curvo found himself enjoying every second of it.

***

“Kanafinwë, your concert was very well received.”

“Oh, yes, dear! We’re so proud of you. I always knew I named you well, despite your father’s protests.”

“Oh, please, Nerdanel… he grew into ‘gold-cleaver’. I’ve always found that ‘strong voiced Finwë’ rang true no matter his age.”

They laughed heartily, and to Curvo, the echoes carried down the hallway felt like the cries of ghosts. He felt no joy at Kanafinwë’s concerts, only some vague sense of spite that he still could not seem to grasp instruments the way that his second eldest brother could. Music was like breathing to Kanafinwë, and if that were true, then Curufinwë was drowning.

His face paled with anger each time his second eldest brother was praised, whether it be from his family or by admirers on the street. Kanafinwë did not lack them, and when he did not fee the need to feign humility, he quite enjoyed the small boost to his ego. Curvo, for all that talk about being Father’s splitting image, how he must’ve also inherited Father’s great will, and whatever nonsense people liked to spout so that Father may gloat, found himself confined to the shadows.

Apparently, Kanafinwë would play with the other top musicians in Tírion for his next concert. It wasn’t saying much, of course not. His brother was the top musician, and not even Findaráto, someone else greatly admired for his mastery of the Song, could quite compare. And, as usual, Curvo was spared no details of the concert, and none of the expectant praise that came with it. His brother would star on the harp, his main instrument. Except this time, he had to come along to the concert.

However, he found that he had quite the terrible idea in mind.

When time came for the concert, Curvo ran back stage, as if he was going to talk to his brother and wish him good luck— which he did. He did not hate his brothers, not really. Not a lot, anyway.

Each time he found that no prying eyes scanned his way, he reached to the tuning pins of the harp, and twisted them this way and that. It took some finesse to act like he was just in awe at the craftsman ship of the instrument, and a few unceremonious plucking of the strings for the helpers to assume it was merely a small child’s curiosity. Then, he ran off, and took a seat in the very front rows.

The concert started magnificently. His brother did not come in until a little later, and by then, it would’ve been too late to simply excuse himself, put the concert on a five minute hold, and retune the harp. He knew Kano would’ve found such a thought equally harrowing, but then he could just go back right into the song as if nothing happened. This would be much, much worse.

And as he predicted, when it came time for Kanafinwë’s entrance solo, instead of the sounds of melting gold that flowed seamlessly from his fingers, the sound was more like a cacophony of discordant twangs, and the look of extruciating humiliation on Kanafinwë’s face was the greatest satisfaction yet.

***

Nelyafinwë had not really done anything to him, Curvo knew that deep down. His eldest brother had long since grown out of childish pranks or petty grudges, and oftentimes he spent as much time as Mother did in trying to keep the peace of the house, with four younger brothers now running around instead of the one or two he was used to.

Even so, he still could not shake this feeling he got every time they passed eachother without so much as a greeting. Nelyafinwë did not often acknowledge him, and when he looked at him it was as if he was looking through him, peering into the depths of his fëa. He was saying something, but Curvo did not know what. He did not want to know what.

Infuriating was a nice way to put it. What he felt was pure, unadulterated rage, and he found that he really would like nothing more than to push Nelyafinwë off a very tall ledge. Curvo did not know why.

Perhaps it was the disapproving glances. Perhaps it was the way his eldest brother always fell silent when he entered the room, as if his very presence brought unspoken aggravation to the other. Or, the way that he sometimes would just sigh, and say ‘okay, Atarinkë’.

He did not much like being called Atarinkë. Not much at all.

Curvo wanted to punch something. There was nothing to punch that wouldn’t also injure himself.

He stumbled into Nelyafinwë’s study, with no other thought in his mind other than ‘why’. Why did he hate him so much? What did he do to earn such scorn from his brother? Why?

Curvo found a stack of papers on the desk. It seemed important.

Why?

He picked them up. Some pages fluttered to the ground.

Why me?

Stumbling back out the door, he struggled to the fireplace. The papers were heavy.

Why does Maitimo hate me?

He dumped them into the fireplace, and what once was a small, flickering fire seemed to grow into a raging inferno within an instant. That feeling gripped at his chest again, and he felt himself dizzy with anger. He did not know what to do— all he knew was he really wanted to curl up on the floor and cry. So he did.

Nelyafinwë looked even more like a ghost at dinner than normal.

***

By now, Curvo knew what the feeling was. Guilt. But how could he ever apologize for what he did, when he hardly knew why he did what he did? He knew, of course. He wanted to get back at his brothers for being so annoying and stupid and awful and because he hated them. But he did not know why he hated them. He wished things would just make sense. Nelyo once told him that when you’re a boy, nothing really makes sense, and Curvo used to think Nelyo was just making fun of him.

Now he saw some merit in those words.

Curvo sat up from his bed with a sigh, and closed his eyes. He heard Mother shouting at Tyelkormo, heard the cries of Carnistir mourning for his stupid threads, the horrified gasps of Father at just how terrible the harp sounded, Nelyafinwë stare of defeat. And he smiled.

#the silmarillion #silm fic #curufin #atarinke #sons of feanor #writing #he has so many problems

[thevalleyisjolly]

what, in your opinion (or the opinion of anyone reading this after you answer) would a Maedhros Hamlet AU require? snappy lines, character parallels, etc... right now I'm thinking the setting is Formenos, with Fëanáro dead and all of the Valar as the people fëanor is encouraging Mae against

First of all, absolutely fantastic ask, thank you!  Formenos is a good place to start, I think my brain went towards Maedhros at Himring, sometime before the Nirnaeth, hearing his soldiers talk about a ghostly apparition on the ramparts that looks like his father. So he goes to investigate, and lo and behold, a spirit that resembles Fëanor appears and reminds him of his (Fëanor's) death and his (Maedhros') Oath.

Now Maedhros is very far from stupid, and does not immediately take the apparition at face value. This could be a trick of Morgoth or his servants, sent to sow terror and discord among the Noldor. Nevertheless, the reminder of the Oath begins to press in upon him...

Noldorin royal politics (aka the usual completely functional Finwëan family dynamics) happen. Perhaps with the memories of old tensions brought up again by the apparition of Fëanor, Maedhros is a little more tense than usual, something which does not go unnoticed by his allies. Old grudges and whispers start to simmer again, of Losgar and the Helcaraxë, even of Alqualondë. 

Meanwhile Celegorm and Curufin, as Rosencrantz and Guildenstern-esque figures, are very transparently pushing to do something about the Silmarils.  Maedhros is onto their game and tells them off for trying to play him like a flute (I just love that line too much) and Maglor (a much less helpful Horatio) plays the flute because of course he does, this is what happens when you have bards in the family.

With all of this happening, Maedhros devises a plan that surely cannot go wrong.  Tensions boiling under the surface and fathers in need of avenging?  Time to stage a show of force and unite against a common enemy!  Fingon (as a sort of Ophelia role) is worried about this sudden aggression from Maedhros, who’s always been the more diplomatic and rational among the whole House of Finwë.  He tries to check in on him, but Maedhros is consumed with his plan and sweeps Fingon along in it, even as the pressure takes its toll and he starts wondering to be or not to be...

(As a side note, the “to be or not to be” monologue translates surprisingly well, especially with the Everlasting Darkness as the undiscover’d country)

The Union takes shape.  The Nirnaeth happens.  Fingon, now taking Polonius’ role, is slain rather than Morgoth.  Maedhros flees the battlefield with Maglor and joins up with his other brothers.  There’s a little bit of wibbly wobbly timey wimey stuff here; pretend Lúthien and Beren has been happening in the background and they’ve recovered a Silmaril.  Maedhros hears of their death; in a terrible place mentally and emotionally after the Nirnaeth and Fingon’s death, he is convinced by Celegorm and Curufin to fulfill their Oath and attack Doriath.  “O, from this time forth/My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth!”

The attack fails in its main objective and they don’t get a Silmaril.  Celegorm and Curufin (and Caranthir too of course, can’t think of a good character equivalent for him) are dead.  Meanwhile, something is rotten in the continent of Beleriand.  It’s not going great for the Noldor!  Nearly everyone is dead, insert graveyard scene here.  This here is where we diverge from the play a little; there is obviously no Claudius or Gertrude or Laertes, but Maedhros-Hamlet still sends his letter to Sirion, portending his arrival.  The Third Kinslaying happens, lots of bodies everywhere but still no Silmaril. 

At this point, Maedhros knows that he has succumbed to the genre, that there is only one way this ends.  The Norwegian army Host of the West arrives and defeats Morgoth, taking the Silmarils; Maedhros prepares to make his last stand despite Maglor’s best efforts to convince him otherwise in a version of the closet scene.  Instead of a poisoned blade in a duel, it is the hallowed light of the Silmaril that seals his fate; he feels its burn and he knows.

He doesn’t fight it.

“O, I die, Makalaurë; The potent jewel quite o’er-crows my spirit: I cannot live to hear the news from Aman; But I do prophesy the Silmaril lights On Eärendil: oh! Middle-earth rejoice; So tell them, with the occurrents, more and less, Which have solicited.  The rest is silence.”

(I know it doesn’t quite scan, shhhh)

And Maglor lives to sing in regret the tragedy of Fëanor and Fëanor’s kin.

Idk, that’s all I got off the top of my head ¯\_(ツ)_/¯  Would love to hear anyone else’s thoughts! 

#thanks so much sad-excited-corvid! #if anyone else has any ideas for maedhros-hamlet; i'd love to hear them! #shakespeare and tolkien are two of my favourite things in literature so i'm mc'loving this #lotr #silmarillion #maedhros

[light-of-the-damned-stars]

https://ficbook.net/readfic/6544987

— Call my sons, — Fëanáro said thickly, looking throw the wall, either at treasures or at the wife quite dispassionately. — All of them. Even Nelyafinwë.

“Even? — his spouse wanted to object. — Even?! That fact your son isn’t like you doesn’t mean that you can ignore him! He is as son of Fëanor as others are! He is… he is even better! My Maitimo takes the best things after family Finwë and family Mahtan! What does this “even” mean?!”

And suddenly lifeless eyes of Fëanáro started to shine. Nerdanel came close to his husband, put her hands on his shoulders, hike her leg over his hip, embraced him.

— Nobody of you don’t remain true to me and to my ideals, — the master pulled away, — So, it doesn’t matter who will see the miracle first.

“I have already seen the miracle, — his wife was overthinking. — My impression is indelible!”

— If I go out of the room, — Nerdanel from last forces said flirtatiously, — you will lock the door again. I’m afraid, you will not let me come in when I knock.

Looking at the spouse, elf-woman thought, that she had given him a good idea, and that he really would hide here and would stay alone among treasures forever. Was that really what he wanted?

— No, — Fëanáro gave very weak laugh with heavy sigh, — I will make a separate container for my creations, here is no place for them. Go, call the sons.

“Thank you for not specifying about firstborn”, — the wife kept silence, gracefully turning in heels.

She came out of the room without hearing the sound of locking the door. Nerdanel thought that she didn’t want to call the sons by Ósanwë. What if they suddenly as their father would reject her too? That would definitely scandal. She wished her spouse had made The palantíri not only for the sons, but one more for her. The seeing-stone would be very useful at hand now.

The palantíri … There were toys for children, which had frightened whole Blessed Aman.

***

It was celebration for the sons organized by Fëanáro. But whole Indis’ family headed by the queen of Noldor weren’t invited here. However, Finwë was invited.

“Do you understand what situation you are putting me in, Curufinwë? — the king asked. Maybe, he did it on purpose with large number of outsiders, including Maia Ilmarë. She, probably, accidentally came in the Tirion palace, accompanied by whispering of flowers and herbals. — I begged Lords of the Valar to allow me to marry a second time. I assured them that it will be only for the benefit of my nation because the unhappy king cannot rule well. And now you make me look like an egoistic foolish man for which marital bed is more important than my elder son’s opinion! If you think so, you should know that you are wrong, Curufinwë! I love you more than other my children! And I am ready to believe in every of your words without checking! Doesn’t my blind love deserve indulgence of you?”

Fëanáro didn’t answer at that time. He only said that he would tell with father later in private. And only Nerdanel knew what the head of the First House of the Noldor thought and felt actually.

“You are excited, Spirit of fire, — The wife whispered hugging the husband and sliding her body against his one, — Your fire may have peaceful uses. Come on, give it to me in our bed! Make bedsheets, feather beds, pillows and me feel your fire. I want you to burn me. To the ground”.

Nerdanel saved Tirion from the anger of the son of Ñoldóran once again. She was sure that the situation had exhausted itself and that the celebration would be usual: it would be funny for some, boring – for others, and for still others it would be reason for jealousy and for rumors. Although, the situation turned out quite differently. That was to be expected because the sons of Tirion prince received as a gift from the father the wonderful things with extremely contentious use.

The seven palantíri were absolute alike black balls. They were heavy for little Ambarussas. However, it was twins, who were interested in the new toys the most — children started to roll the “balls” on the floor. The father gave the funny laughter.

“That is glass, right? — young Carnistir said, changing his face. — They will break!”

“Don’t cry, — Nerdanel told to son quietly looking at Maitimo and Macalaurë from the corner of her eyes. They in seriousness came from to learn how the gifts worked and to explain something Curufinwë, who was distracted always. — If The palantíri were dangerous, they wouldn’t be given to the children”.

“Let me check!” — Morifinwë got angry about something unclear, moved off, grabbed the first floor-chandelier he found, and hit the ball at full strength.

Fëanáro even didn’t move totally ignoring the actions of the fourth son. Morifinwë, it seemed, got angrier because of neglect. Having failed to break his own palantír, Morifinwë took a swing at the ball of Turcafinwë, who was peacefully looking at the inexplicable thing away from all the other brothers. The student of Vala Oromë reacted to aggression immediately, caught the chandelier and started to take away it from the younger but already the same strong brother.

Nerdanel noticed her husband doing nothing. She understood that she had to follow his policy, but it had cost her far too much effort.

“Maitimo”, — the elf-woman turned toward the elder son, who probably was just waiting for this.

In an instant, the eldest of the seven Sons of Fëanor was near to the younger brothers, stood up for Tyelko, and with him had taken away from Carnistir “the weapon”.

“I hate you!” — Carnistir cried, grabbed his palantír, and run away.

“And where is your The seeing-stone?” — Macalaurë asked the father when the dark figure of Caranthir the Dark disappeared behind the door, the chandelier was returned to the place as well as the candles scattered on the floor.

“I have no need it”, — Fëanáro said evasively.

“I imagine, — the second son of Fëanor, minstrel said dreamily, — that I am climbing up the main tower with the palantír, sending it at any point of Aman and seeing everything hidden from me!”

“How many more The seeing-stones do you plan to make?” – Nelyafinwë asked looking at the black glass.

“The Valar will not consent to make such things anymore, — suddenly Maia Curumo came in throw the opened terrace. He was as tall as elf, but his face and beard were more like Vala Aulë’s creatures, left in Middle-earth. — Fëanáro Curufinwë is not the Amanyar, who may be allowed this. The Valar don’t want the head of the First House of the Noldor to begin hounding whole Valinor”.

“Why do The Valar may keep our life under control, while we deprived of this opportunity?” — Fëanáro asked snidely.

At that moment Ñoldóran Finwë appeared in the room. He pretended that he hadn’t asked Lords of the Valar for help, and that Curumo’s emergence here was coincidence. The elf king immediately started to play with Ambarussas, and to avoid eye contact with every adult person, like it wasn’t purposely.

“You have forgotten, on whose land you are living, Curufinwë, — Maia reminded, took the palantír from Nelyafinwë’s hands and looked at it carefully. — I would ask you to give me one of The seeing-stones or to teach me how to make such things, but I know that Vala Aulë disapprove its use, so I wouldn’t”.

“Why haven’t Vala Aulë come and tell that all by himself? — Fëanáro said with interest, took the palantír away from Maia, and gave it to the son. — I don’t believe that he was confused by lack of invitation. After all, there is your land, you can go everywhere you want and at any time you want, and there is no need to invite you for it”.

“He doesn’t want to, — Curumo answered briefly. — I wish we were in this together, Curufinwë. I am sure, your ideas and my skills united, could change Arda beyond recognition. However, you by yourself make everything to be alone against everybody, either weak or strong”.

“I am not alone”, — the head of the First House of the Noldor answered. And the assistant of Vala Aulë kept silent.

***

Many persons opposed the creation of large number of The palantíri. Fëanáro assured it had been with the filing of The Valar. However, Nerdanel wasn’t sure that was true. Most likely, Eldar were afraid of pressure from the neighbor, who had already been too domineering, who didn’t take orders neither from his father king, nor from Vala-teacher.

The wife of Tirion prince thought about those things, but didn’t decide again, who was right. Then she called servants and requested them to invite the sons of Fëanáro Curufinwë in the treasury. And no matter what happened, they were obliged to support their father because he clearly had some rough times now.

Art by @bellabergolts

Thanks for translation Daru Markelova

#fanfic #silmarillion #the silmarillion #elves #jrr tolkien #noldor #digital illustration #feanor #silmarils #nerdanel #bellabergolts

[memorymessage]

since i've cracked the dam of finally talking about my perhaps not-so-publicly-palatable tolkien pairings, well...

finwë/fëanor is indisputably the most excruciatingly and painfully dear to my heart. bonus points for au female fëanor where finwë names her as his heir regardless of gender—defying tradition, the valar, and indis altogether. (definitely not inspired by house of the dragon.) honestly, a bit of redemption for finwë's character, if you ask me.

do i even need to explain why this one is so imbalanced and painful in the published narrative? what can i say, canon fëanor loves daddy (for all the wrong reasons), and daddy is a bit selfish and self-centered, and satisfies his own interests regardless of who it hurts (or condemns to eternal death), but also, hypocritically, loves fëanor just as much as fëanor loves him.

how was i not supposed to latch onto that one? i love pain!

and who among sons, of Elves or of Men, have held their fathers of greater worth?

All his love he gave to his son; for Fëanáro was like his mother in voice and countenance, and Finwë was to him both father and mother, and there was a double bond of love upon their hearts.

on fëanor's banishment:

Thither also came Finwë the King, because of the love that he bore to Fëanor; [...] [...] but Finwë came not, nor any others of the Noldor of Formenos. For said Finwë: ‘While the ban lasts upon Fëanor my son, that he may not go to Tirion, I hold myself unkinged, and I will not meet my people.’

after learning of finwë's death:

Then with a cry he ran from the Ring of Doom and fled into the night, distraught; for his father was dearer to him than the Light of Valinor or the peerless works of his hands: and who among sons, of Elves or of Men, have held their fathers of greater worth? After him Maedros and his brethren went in haste, dismayed, for they had not known that he was present when Maedros spoke; and now they feared that he might slay himself.

celegorm/curufin is a persisting pairing interest i've had since even my early involvement in the silmarillion, because- well... they're quite codependent and scarcely (never?) are they mentioned separately in the published work. i recently wrote about them a bit here. also, bonus points for female curufin in the same au as female feanor (can use pronouns interchangeably throughout this whole post, because the ideas don't change based on genderswap au). the narrative of mirror-image-child should persist, regardless of au. in any case, celegorm/curufin stands the test of time, until they die together at menegroth. this is possibly the most self-explanatory pairing i've got. the book did the heavy lifting.

maedhros/fëanor: i've written about what i think the familial relationship of maedhros and feanor would be, and that still remains true. i like to insert this pairing as a semi-onesided, semi-unrequited dynamic alongside finwë/feanor. i don't think maedhros would approve of their relationship at all, because he recognizes finwë as the largest stressor in fëanor's life.

fëanor would acknowledge and sympathize with maedhros' feelings for him, and though he's loathe to ever withhold something that his sons want, he finds it imperative to do just that due to his own unhealthy experiences with finwë. fëanor is well aware that finwë and his actions are fëanor's main cause of discord and unhappiness, and yet can't help but find validation in finwë's attention anyway, which only grows the unhealthy, desperate attachment between them. and fëanor would never want to contribute in such a harmful dynamic with maedhros.

maedhros argues that it's different and that could never possibly happen to them, because their relationship was never built upon fear of abandonment and replacement, unlike fëanor's with finwë. maedhros always had the assurance of love and support in his upbringing—he argues that this transformed version of love for fëanor is born because of the stability and equality in their relationship, not the lack thereof.

to this, fëanor concedes, but not joyously. he regrets some aspects of their equality, because it led to maedhros' own discontent on fëanor's behalf. if anything, fëanor never wanted to pass down his struggles to his sons—he never wanted his hurt to be so palpable that his family would take on his personal burdens as their own—quite the opposite, he wanted them to never experience such upsets, not even vicariously.

but maedhros contends this, even, with his own free will and autonomy—there is nothing fëanor did to facilitate maedhros developing his own resentment of finwë. it was his own opinion established upon his perception in observing finwë's actions. after all, it is because of finwë that maedhros and his brothers will never meet their grandmother míriel.

to which fëanor concedes again, but says maedhros might have developed misguided feelings for him because of maedhros' strong sense of protection for his family, or because he sees himself as a better alternative to fëanor's predicament-

and maedhros finds this absolutely ridiculous and can't believe his astute father would even propose this argument, completely unlike his usual self-

but fëanor is simply desperate in his attempt to be unlike finwë, who pursued feanor despite knowing the damage he caused to fëanor's life, and how fëanor would never want to damage maedhros similarly-

and then it goes back and forth so on and so forth, and never seems to lead anywhere. is fëanor doing more harm than good in denying maedhros? or is he sparing maedhros from future hurt and regret, like he thinks?

which leads me, deviously, to...

celegorm/maedhros/curufin, because... well, curufin looks like daddy, doesn't he? and maedhros has a certain pining for fëanor that seems like it shall remain agonizingly unresolved, so celegorm and curufin invite him to find temporary relief in joining their trysts.

at first, maedhros has a lot of pride over this invitation, and is spiteful about his feelings being so cleverly dissected by his brothers, which he previously thought to be rather well-kept and hidden.

a lot of forced, contrived insults on maedhros' part, while donning a facade of a disgusted disapproval at celegorm and curufin's relationship. celegorm gets whiplash at this, not expecting maedhros to have such a cold and judgmental character. a rejection, he had anticipated—but a hypercritical confrontation, he had not. he had never suspected maedhros to be of such nature, especially not in being so close to their father.

celegorm is usually quick to anger and even quicker to retaliate, but this time, all he feels is disappointed detachment. defending himself from maedhros, he deems to not even be worth his time.

curufin, however, feels a deep and stark sense of betrayal at maedhros' ruthless criticism and judgement, and is poised to argue and fill in the retaliatory response that celegorm leaves lacking. ultimately, celegorm is the one having to drag curufin away from the fight, reminding his brother that they don't owe an explanation to anyone, and this argument is not worth the energy spent.

and, after all that, maedhros is only left feeling regret. that argument held no conviction, and those weren't his true beliefs. if they had been his beliefs, he would be nothing but the truest form of hypocrite. he had acted superior out of his own insecurity, and says as much to celegorm and curufin, explaining his foolish behavior and asking their forgiveness.

celegorm forgives him well enough that night, stroking maedhros' wild russet curls—maedhros sleeping peacefully with both arms tight around curufin's waist, curufin's head tucked beneath maedhros' chin, while celegorm presses himself to maedhros' back.

as for the other feanorians...

i used to be extremely fond of maedhros/maglor. but, if i'm completely honest, i'm not as passionate for it these days. regardless, i did write a maedhros/maglor fic, and used to write about them quite regularly. i still like it, i'm just not as enthused about it anymore. i honestly couldn't say why. i guess i find maglor too much of a peacekeeper character, which doesn't attract me as much as it used to. i like the fiery spirits. the spirits of fire. the fëanors, one could say. but the coupling of maedhros and maglor within the silmarillion narrative is so frequent it does almost rival that of celegorm and curufin. so it's still an interesting topic to ponder.

...not me now envisioning maedhros/maglor as a stable, supportive, and yet very access-convenient based relationship during their duration together in himring, and then, later, in-walks celegorm and curufin, post-beren and lúthien saga. and maedhros immediately has a guilt-ridden draw to seek out reigniting his time with celegorm and curufin, only to be quietly elated at discovering that there's discontent between the two, meaning he can seek personal time with curufin without celegorm's involvement.

what can i say, i love a bit of an angsty love triangle- or, uhhh, square? pentagon? hexagon? love hexagon? because finwë/fëanor, but also unrequited fëanor/maedhros, which becomes celegorm/maedhros/curufin, but there's already well-established celegorm/curufin, and, later, there's maedhros/maglor, but maedhros really wants that maedhros/curufin, but celegorm also kinda liked the celegorm/maedhros/curufin thing, and maybe if maedhros/curufin happens in himring, there can be a revenge!celegorm/maglor. oho!

couldn't everybody just get along and share? well, yes. but also, no. because that's happy and not painful. and, as we established at the very beginning by my favorite pairing being finwë/fëanor: i like pain. i like conflict.

which brings me to my newest pairing of interest:

turgon/aredhel. which i just extensively wrote about. question no further.

and to think, when i was first discovering my footing with the silmarillion—a lore-lacking, unread whelp—i entertained normie braindead ships like maedhros/fingon and morgoth/sauron.

now i'm enlightened brain meme with my unforgivable amount of fëanorian incest ships.

my apologies to caranthir and amrod and amras, the fëanorians i just...do not care as much about. sorry. not really a surprise, given the text doesn't seem to care about them that much either. and while i do like the fëanorian OT8 thing, i just like the interpersonal 1:1 dynamics that cause emotional pain way more. guess i'm smooth-brained for that one.

however... a musing i have for caranthir that is without ships, is that he is the closest among the siblings to finwë (perhaps even in resemblance, too.) i had a thought that maybe cracks began to show in fëanor's marriage around the time when caranthir was young, and so fëanor would seek more counsel and support from finwë, often times bringing young caranthir with him. this would be an unusual deviation from how the rest of the children were raised.

this idea heavily furthered in the female fëanor au, where she is possibly already pregnant with curufin at this time, and needs even more support due to being pregnant. cue my degenerate 'finwë as a stand-in husband for fëanor and dad for young caranthir' thoughts.

i don't imagine any of the siblings to have outright resentment for finwë like maedhros does, but i don't envision any of them being particularly close to him, or even having a standard grandfather/grandchild bond with him. more so a distant and respectful relationship. kind of a "i see you a few times a year for birthdays and celebrations, and i call you 'my king/my lord' and not 'grandfather'."

caranthir, however, does call him 'grandfather' and even 'grandad' (what are the quenyan equivalencies there). while in the closer proximity of formenos, this might cause a little conflict. what with finwë getting a happy reunion with fëanor and caranthir, and maedhros having to witness it and bear the distaste.

#i'm coming out as deplorable #i was going to post this on my old blog #but i got too scared #also i officially dub my old blog as my tolkien blog now #sometimes i remember just how many people i knew on that blog #and although i never talked about my deplorable ships #i wasn't exactly secretive about it either #what with the kind of fanart i reblogged #but talking about it is still too forward for me - too blatant #and yeah all the friends i had on there are almost all gone now #but lbr it's literally me judging myself for scenarios that will likely never happen #tolkien posting

[burnbrighterthanever]

Arafinwe: The Valar have a plan.

Fëanáro: The Valar have the collective intelligence of a pineapple.

#incorrect silmarillion quotes #incorrect quotes #silmarillion #feanor #fëanáro #arafinwe #finarfin #in which fëanáro is not wrong #source: the mortal instruments #stel speaks

[raointean]

Half-elven week: Day 5 - Legacy

"Eldarion, come with me." Eldarion looked up from his books. His mother stood in his doorway, beckoning him.

"Where are we going, Mother?" He stood to follow her and grabbed her hand.

"We go to see friend of your father's whose child was recently born. It is my belief that the two of you will grow very close and you shall guide them as they grow." Eldarion looked up at her, confused and annoyed.

"But Mother, I am a prince. Why should I be the one to teach the child? I ought to learn from those above me, not waste my time teaching one so far below me." Arwen raised her eyebrows at him incredulously. How could he be so blind as not to see his own hypocrisy? Nevermind, she would address that another time.

"My father always said to me, 'Care for those smaller than yourself, Arwen. Protect them and teach them and they we be your legacy.' I understood not those words at the time, but they are clear to me now and so I pass them to you. Care for those smaller than yourself, Eldarion." Eldarion sighed and rolled his eyes but followed her anyway.

----------------------------------------------

"Ada?"

"Yes Arwen?" Elrond looked up from his book, a novel by an edain author of Rohan, to see his daughter's tiny face peeking and the bushes that obscured him from the rest of the garden.

Arwen clambered up onto the bench to sit beside him. "Why do 'Dan and 'Ro follow me around and coddle me so? I am plenty old enough to wander the house on my own."

Elrond laughed and set his book down. "I think it may have something to do with what I told them. It was a phrase that your... grandfather told me often as a boy."

Arwen looked up at him curiously. "What did he say?" She had missed his hesitation about her grandfather.

"He said 'Care for those smaller than yourself, Elros.' He often got us mixed up, 'Protect the young ones. Guide them well, for they will be your legacy.'" Elrond’s eyes saddened, thinking of his fathers' fates.

"And that is what you said to 'Dan and 'Ro?" He nodded. Arwen thought for a moment. "Can you un-tell them? Please?"

Elrond snorted. And then he laughed. He drew her close to his side and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I will tell them to give you your space, little one."

----------------------------------------------

"Maedhros?"

Maedhros looked towards the elfling walking his way. "Which one are you?" They had taken the twins months ago and they had finally stopped trying to escape, understanding the the Fëanorians were their best hope for survival. Maedhros could still not tell them apart however.

"I am Elrond." Maedhros turned back to watch the treeline.

"'Tis late. You should be asleep." Elrond looked down ashamedly.

"I could not sleep. Maglor was teaching us of Doriath this afternoon and it left a question that burns at my heart." Maedhros looked at him and, after a moment, gestured for him to sit beside him on the rock.

"What was your question?"

"Why did you search for my uncles? They were lost in the woods and you knew that they did not hold the silmarill. It could not have been your oath that motivated you."

Maedhros looked down upon the child. That was a lot of large words from such a small being. "I searched for them because they were children. They did not deserve to die."

When Elrond sat in silence, he continued. "My father once told me something a very, very long time ago, before everything. The jewels, the oath, even before we left for Middle Earth. He told me 'Care for those younger than yourself, Maitimo.' For that was my name then. Guide them, show them the way for, if nothing else, they will be your legacy.' That is why I tried to save your uncles, and why we took you in. Our legacies are fire and blood and death but, perhaps through the two of you, we may atone for some of what we have done."

Elrond blinked... and blinked again. That was not the answer he had expected. It was much deeper and more complex than he had thought. Maedhros took notice and sent him back to bed.

As he gazed back into the treeline, he could not help but think of his father. All of this had happened because Fëanor could not be satisfied. He had seven sons that he had cared for and taught, but he had not accepted that as his legacy. He wanted more.

----------------------------------------------

"Maitimo, come and see. Your brother has been born!" Maitimo bounded over. Only twenty years old and he was already a big brother!

Fëanáro directed him to sit in a nearby chair and hold his arms like so. Then, he gently set the sleeping babe in his arms. Maitimo wondered at how tiny the child was, his fingers spindley, his nose just a dot, his ears like the shells of a small snail.

"What is his name Atto?"

Fëanáro looked down on the two of them, tears welling in his eyes and love in his heart. "Makalaurë, his name is Makalaurë."

Maitimo looked down at his young brother and suddenly felt a wave of anxiety wash over him. How was he to be a big brother to this tiny, delicate creature? He feared he would crush him by accident.

Fëanáro noticed his son's breathing speed up. "What is it my son? What is wrong?"

Maitimo choked out a sob. "I don't know how to be a big brother. I will break him, I know it!"

Fëanáro chuckled as he took the baby back into his arms. "You will not break him. Soon he will grow and be strong enough to play with you. From there, your job will come naturally to you I think."

Maitimo looked at him, lip trembling and eyes still filling with tears. "But what is my job?"

"Your job comes down to a saying that my atto once told me. 'Care for those younger than yourself. Teach them, guide them, protect them. If your life amounts to nothing else, they will be your legacy.' To put it more simply, teach him what you know. If you can do that, you will be great among elder brothers."

Maitimo smiled and reached his arms out for the baby. Fëanáro set Makalaurë in his arms once again. Maitimo was no longer afraid of crushing him.

----------------------------------------------

"Fëanáro? Come here a moment." Fëanaró rolled his eyes. Ever since his father had married that... woman, he had been trying to get them to bond. Now Indis had gone and reproduced, which meant that Fëanáro would have to "bond" with the whelp as well. Ugh.

"Yes father?" He got up and walked into the room where his father was holding the child.

"Come, meet your brother. I have named him Ñolofinwë." He gave his father a nonplussed look and bent over to look at the beastly creature.

"Greetings, son of my father. Just know, I care nothing for you. Goodbye." He straightened and made to walk away, but Finwë called him back.

"Fëanáro, sit down! You are going to hold your brother so that he may become familiar with you." Fëanáro rolled his eyes again and stomped to a chair and slumped into it, arms crossed.

"It is only half my brother." He muttered under his breath. Finwë rose and passed the baby to him.

He held him a moment and asked his father, "And why am I to care about this?"

Finwë sighed. He would never stop trying to make peace within his family, but he knew already that it was unlikely to ever come to fruition. "You should always care for those younger than yourself Fëanáro. They will be your legacy. Whatever you teach them, wherever you guide them, they will remember. You will always be a part of them."

Fëanáro looked down upon his brother in disdain. Perhaps he could teach it to be like him. Perhaps it would become his loyal servant forever. Perhaps having a brother wouldn't be so bad.

#halfelvenweek #eldarion #arwen #elrond #elladan #elrohir #maedhros #feanor #maglor #finwë #legacy #definitely was not thinking about hamilton while writing this #Fëanor didn’t take his own advice #Fëanor was an angsty teenager

[sillysistersusi]

Be Yourself

Nerdanel × fem!Fëanor

Fandom: the simarillion

Summery: Fëanáro realizes that she likes Nerdanel. But that is wrong, isn't it? Luckily, Mahtan is there to help and make Fëanáro see that there is nothing wrong with her for liking another woman.

Author's note: Let me just say I have a lot of feelings about Nerdanel/fem!fëanor. I really love it! I kept the name Fëanáro, since it only means "spirit of fire" and so it is not really gendered. Anyway, hope you enjoy reading!🥰

Fëanáro had always felt strange when she was in Nerdanel's presence. Because Nerdanel was so beautiful, she was so strong that she could lift Fëanáro and she was even taller than her, which always facinated Fëanáro a lot.

The way Nerdanel's beautiful red hair flowed over her shoulders and the way the corners of her mouth twitched upwards every time she looked at her made sparks fly in Fëanáro's stomach.

She caught herself looking at Nerdanel a little too long or wondering what her lips tasted like. Fëanáro was sure they were either sweet, like the berries Nerdanel always secretly picked from the bushes when Mahtan wasn't looking (although he always noticed and then smiled gently) or they would taste salty, like the sweat that always ran down Nerdanel's face when she was very concentrated on her sculpting.

Fëanáro had sometimes secretly observed Nerdanel biting her lip in concentration while she was thinking or changing something on her sculpture.

Sometimes Fëanáro wondered how many freckles Nerdanel had. Surely she not only had some on her cheeks, but... also on the rest of her body.

Imagining Nerdanel's naked body always made Fëanáro feel an unfamiliar heat that she had never known before.

And then, one day in Mahtan's forge, as she rolled up her parchment scrolls with designs at the end of a long, hard day of work, Nerdanel walked past the forge and winked at her. Fëanáro had felt her blush. A roll of parchment had slipped out of her fibres and her heart had been doing somersaults.

And then it had dawned upon Fëanáro. She was in love with Nerdanel.

But could that be true? Should that be true? Nerdanel was a woman like her, so should she even fall in love with her? That wasn't right, was it? Finwë always told her to marry an ellon because that was the right thing to do. He had never mentioned that such a thing was possible.

Was there something wrong with Fëanáro after all, like everyone said? Had something gone wrong with her? Was she ill? She shouldn't fall in love with an elleth. That was not what she was supposed to do.

Fëanáro sank to the ground as her knees trembled so much that she could no longer stand.

Suddenly she felt a pressure behind her eyes and her vision blurred.

Finwë would be so disappointed in her. Maybe he would even disown her if he knew about Fëanáro's false feelings.

But Fëanáro had no one but him.

She tried in vain to hold on to that wonderful feeling she had always felt when she had looked at Nerdanel, but it was now surpassed by pure sadness, disappointment and anger.

Even if Finwë didn't mind that his eldest daughter was such a freak, Fëanáro didn't even dream that Nerdanel would return her feelings. She would be so disgusted and repulsed. But what would Fëanáro be worth if nobody wanted her anymore? After all, the birth of Findis had shown that even her Atar could replace her if he wanted to.

"Náro, sweetie, what is wrong?"

Fëanáro jumped and looked in complete shock at the face of Mahtan, who had approached unnoticed and crouched down next to her.

She stared at him impassively while her thoughts raced. She didn't know what to say now, because Mahtan knew that this wasn't a problem of her not getting something right with the designs, because he had helped her with them and knew that they were good. Nor could her tears be from injury, as the fire had been cold for a long time. They had only forged in the morning and then moved on to theory lessons only.

Fëanáro realised that Mahtan had never seen her cry before, which probably explained the very worried look on his face. Because no matter how bad a burn was, Fëanáro had never cried. Not because it didn't hurt, but because she usually didn't even notice it as she was too engrossed in her work.

"Not so important." she whispered shakily and cried loudly. She loved Mahtan, he was like family to her and she didn't want to lose him, and surely he would throw her out if he found out that she was in love with his daughter. And then Fëanáro would have to explain it to her Atar and he would throw her out and then-

Mahtan put a hand on her shoulder and whispered: "Náro, you have to breathe."

Only now did she realise that she had started to hyperventilate. She tried to relax her breathing a little, but with her fear it was almost impossible. She didn't know what to do.

"Náro?" Mahtan's voice sounded so worried and it gave Fëanáro a twinge. Not even her father ever spoke to her so gently. Especially not since he had a new family.

That was also the reason why Fëanáro whispered: "Mahtan, I think something is wrong with me." More tears rolled down her already very wet cheeks.

"What could be wrong with you, Náro?" Mahtan asked in a gentle voice. The thumb of the hand on her shoulder massaged light circles into her shoulder. "You seem perfectly normal to me, in your own special and beautiful way."

When Fëanáro didn't reply, Mahtan asked softly, "Is someone harassing you? Has someone told you that you are abnormal? Because then I will have a word with that person. Or even better, I could send Nerdanel to- "

At the name 'Nerdanel', Fëanáro let out a soft whimper.

"Does it have something to do with her?" Mahtan asked patiently. "Should I bring her in?"

But Fëanáro didn't want Nerdanel to know of it. And knowing Mahtan, he wouldn't let her leave until she had told him what was bothering her.

"I am in love." she whispered softly. Her cheeks turned red and her gaze travelled down to the ground.

"But that is great," Mahtan said. "Why do you say it like you are ashamed of it?"

Fëanáro buried her face in her hands so that she didn't have to look Mahtan in the face as she uttered the next words: "I am in love with Nerdanel."

Mahtan's hand travelled from Fëanáro's shoulder to her back and rubbed it gently. "Nerdanel is really great, I cannot deny that- Náro, why are you crying even harder now?" Fëanáro felt him gently place a hand on her hands, which were still covering her face, and gently stroke them. "What is the matter?"

"Well, she is an elleth, I should not be falling in love with her. I should fall in love with an ellon and marry him and have children," sobbed Fëanáro, who couldn't understand why Mahtan was still so calm.

"But you can do the last two things with an elleth too. I have heard a few stories about two ellons or two elleths who got married and the Valar gifted them children. It is a bit different than usual, but that does not mean it is bad or does not work out," Mahtan explained calmly. "Your purpose in life is not just to be a wife or a mother, Náro, it is to be yourself."

"But it is unnatural!" cried Fëanáro desperately, pressing her palms firmly against her eyes as if she could suppress her tears that way. Like a plaster on a wound. "Atar never said there was such a possibility!"

"Well, but there is." Mahtan said softly.

Fëanáro slowly looked up from her hands. Mahtan smiled gently at her and Fëanáro couldn't help but smile back.

"So you do not think I am disgusting?" she asked cautiously.

He shook his head. "Not in the least, Náro. Not in the least."

"Come on." Mahtan said after a while, during which Fëanáro had just stared at him in disbelief. "It is getting dark and I should really start cooking dinner. You can just stay with us this night and if you have any questions, you can always ask me or my beloved wife if you want. We are going to try to answer everything we can."

He pulled himself up and helped Fëanáro to her feet, who was still trembling a little. He gently wrapped his arms around her. "It is all right," he whispered softly. "I think you should talk to your Atar. If he is really against it, there is always a place for you here, do not worry."

~•~

That evening, Fëanáro lay in a small guest room, where she had already often spent the night when she had worked too long on some project, and stared at the ceiling.

Nerdanel had lent her one of her nightgowns and Fëanáro loved the feel of the fabric against her skin. It wasn't made of much different material than her own nightgowns, but the fact that it belonged to Nerdanel made it special. It was almost as if Nerdanel was touching her skin and not the nightgown.

She wasn't quite sure what to think about everything that had happened that day, but she was relieved that Mahtan was still by her side. It was nice to know that someone believed that she was normal and not unnatural.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door.

"Yes?" Fëanáro was a little confused, after all, it was the middle of the night.

Nerdanel stuck her head through the door and Fëanáro's heart skipped a beat.

She slipped quietly into the room and closed the door softly behind her.

"I know that something has happened and I just could not sleep without knowing if you were all right," she said.

This little sentence sparked such a flood of emotions in Fëanáro that she could only shrug her shoulders.

Nerdanel approached Fëanáro and lay down next to her in bed. She had often done this before, but that had been before Fëanáro had known that she was in love with Nerdanel.

"I will stay if you want," she said gently and began stroking Fëanáro's hair. The feeling her fingers left on her scalp was almost magical.

She knew that she wouldn't have been able to sleep that night anyway, so at least she had a good and endearing distraction now. "It would be nice if you stayed, Nerdanel."

Fëanáro really liked saying her name. Nerdanel.

And Nerdanel smiled.

#cross posted on ao3 #female fëanor #fëanor #fëanáro #fanfiction #fanfic #nerdanel #nerdanel x fem!Fëanor #fem!Fëanor #mahtan #mahtan aulendur #silm #silmarillion

[tanoraqui]

this stunning art says it’s time for my long-awaited (to me) extended headcanon breakdown of the kings of the Noldor

Finwe

Finwë was a good king, he really was. He was responsible, inspiring; he dared to trust and to explore; he was probably even pretty good at administration and politics

He led his people through dark lands to light and they loved him for it

He just could NOT apply these skills to family. Perhaps because he loved them all too dearly to put his foot down properly, perhaps because he kept hoping that in the promised land of bliss it would all somehow work out...but his family WAS politics...

And Feanor kinda WAS the favorite, but also the child most obviously in need of care so he got the attention for that too...

Finwe was a good king but a merely alright father, overall

Though he did try

Fëanor

Fêanor would've been, was, a terrible king and Fingolfin was SO right to say so. Fëanáro 'constantly traveling' Curufinwë. Fëanáro 'okay, buckling d- ooh what’s THAT academic/crafting/parental discipline? I bet I can revolutionize it!' Curufinwë (and then he does, of course). Fëanáro “if I sublimate all grief and guilt into victimized rage, I never even have to think about the process” Curufinwë.

This elf had 20 char, 20 int, and 10 wis at best, and alas the char+int made people THINK he'd be a good king when he insisted loudly and eloquently

But they and he were WRONG! 

Fëanor has only ever read and/or signed paperwork out of spite

Fëanor would do much better as that Miles Vorkosigan kind of character, where he’s close to the throne, loved dearly and trusted utterly, but not given any sort of desk job, and instead just kind of aimed at problems sometimes while everyone else sits back and waits for the inevitable, hopefully beneficial explosions

Fingolfin

Fingolfin was a good king. He had a natural knack for responsibility, practicality, foresight, complex problems and politics, and if he wasn't as naturally charismatic as Fëanor (no one was) he was still damn compelling, and he worked at building alliances

Fingolfin studied debate like a craft. Fëanor's speeches could rile a crown but Fingolfin's rhetoric could make you forget you'd walked into this room with a different position. The only one who could out-argue him was Anairë

(Fingolfin may or may not have developed entire rhetorical strategies, ie, honed the ability to be antagonizingly calm and logical, for the primary purpose of pissing off Fëanor. It worked.)

The Noldor would do entirely well with Fingolfin as king forever. He wants the job and he wants to do it well, with intelligence and care, so he would. Whatever natural talents he lacks, he appends himself to acquiring. He would even check and balance himself so as to not lose control like either his father or his...Fëanor

(the Ice was a very good time for asking oneself things like “why am I doing this” and “what could I have done better”, and he carefully maintained the habit in Beleriand, and afterward)

Fingolfin thinks he has the capacity to be calm about things but actually it’s a lie that he tells so well he convinces even himself, until he does something like completely snap, personally challenge Morgoth to a duel, and permanently injure him with his dying blow.

Finarfin

Left out of this art but i'm including him anyway! Finarfin never wanted this goddamn job. 

Finarfin wanted to live on the beach with his beautiful wife and children, and go home to his family for working holidays (working bc extended birth family). Finarfin is the ONLY child of Finwë born with a natural capacity to be Chill and not need to impress everyone he meets. (Possible other exception: Lalwen.)

Nonetheless, Finarfin rose to the challenge when he needed to, and after centuries of experience he's very good at it. He has a knack for finding the best people to delegate to, which is an UNDERVALUED skill especially in his overachieving family

Finarfin is also the only member of his immediate family who unironically enjoys reading reports and signing paperwork. It’s peaceful. Does nobody else appreciate peaceful things? (They do not.)

Also he's secretly simmering with resentment, rage and vengeance and one day i WILL write about him kicking Morgoth's ass personally, with the help of all his few remaining relatives at the end of the First Age (which wins him a few points with the still-hardline Fëanorians when they get out of Mandos)

(That said, most of Finarfin’s reputation for skilled peace-making in tumultuous early Second Age Valinor was based on him sending his eldest son to talk to the most fiercely squabbling factions, because almost every variation of Elven kindred came out of the First age liking or at least grudgingly respecting Finrod)

skipping the obvious next in line for a moment to talk about Fingon

In an ideal world, Fingon would never have been king

Yes, he was swayed by the idea of exploring new lands and ruling them in his own right - but he was also in his elf!mid-20s and still living with his parents or at least firmly under their dominion, and that of his grandfather and the Valar. Of course so many of these people wanted to get away to somewhere more independent, royalty and not! And it’s inescapably noticeable that when he got to Middle Earth, all his notable acts were as his father’s field general, not as Lord of Dor-lomin - a fief later given to Men anyway - and the great alliance formed during his brief tenure as High King was the Union of Maedhros…

Fingon could be a decent king, if he had to be, but only in the unexplored post-story way that often happens to protagonists after they save the kingdom and get the girl, where in your practical heart you know that they wouldn’t really be able to enact all the reforms one might dream of...

Because Fingon’s proper role in a story isn’t kingship - it’s to be a Hero. He climbs the dark mountain and rescues the missing prince, with a song, a knife and a prayer. He leads the defeat of the orc army and he figures out how to fend off the dragon. He is valiant and a loyal friend; all who meet him know it immediately and cannot help but love him for it.

And for both of these features he challenges the Enemy at his door and so dies, and the High Kingship of the Noldor in Beleriand dies with him

Turgon

...because I love Turgon, I do. Turgon’s natural state is to be an upper-middle-class dad, mayor of a medium-sized town whose re-election is never challenged, who often takes afternoons off to take his daughter to doctor appointments or soccer games. Turgon should get to wear the most expensive jackets in the Land’s End catalogue. Turgon, I think, was a much happier, open person before Elenwë died on the Ice, and he never forgave the Fëanorians for her death, not unto the end of Arda itself. Turgon is a cat person but he’s best friends with a dog person (despite...hiccups) (to Finrod being a dog person; not to their best-friendship)

And Turgon was a great ruler of Gondolin! 

But the only reason the Quenta Silmarillion acknowledges him as a High King is that the Quenta Silmarillion was told mostly by a Gondolindrim

Gil-galad

Like Finarfin, Gil-galad spent much of the Second Age trying to pull endlessly fractal factions of elves into a coherently, or at least non-violently, co-habitating community. Finarfin, however, gets to deal with this mostly in continuous drips and drabbles as people re-embody; Gil-galad had this problem ALL AT ONCE from Day One. One day when Gil-galad re-embodies, they’ll amicably debate who had it rougher

Gil-galad also, like Finarfin with Finrod, 100% cheated by sending Elrond to deal with the most fractious factions, because almost every elf left in Middle Earth at the start of the Second Age was vulnerable to Elrond looking authoritatively Disappointed in them. (Gil-galad was vulnerable to Elrond looking Disappointed in him, albeit not so much the ‘authoritative part. Disappointing Elrond was emotionally tantamount to a capital crime.)

Gil-galad was also very good at managing this chaos in his own right, without alienating anyone and even with generally endearing himself to everyone

Despite [checks wordcount] 21k and counting of AU to the contrary, my preferred Gil-galad headcanon is that he was Just Some Guy from Nargothrond who stepped the fuck up after the city fell. He unofficially led and represented the Noldor in Balar and then more officially during the War of Wrath, possibly while deliberately misleading a wide variety of people with a wide variety of implications about his parentage...and afterwards there was a whole public ceremony where Celebrimbor, Elrond, and Galadriel all declared him “king” and “cousin” and the question never really arose again during his reign.

HOWEVER my TRUE Gil-galad belief is expressed in @herenortherenearnorfar’s excellent fic “Five Gil-Galads Walk Into A Bar”, which proposes that no matter what his parentage, Gil-galad would always turn out roughly the same, because the Noldor (and etc. Second Age elves) needed a king and so he became one.

And he was good at it

But when he re-embodies, he content to leave the High Kinging to someone else, and simply take over managing the sub-kingdom of Tol Eressëa (where they welcome him gladly)

(Potential honorable mention: Lalwen

Lalwen, whose characterization is of course based entirely on headcanon, might be Queen of Tol Eressëa for a few thousand years, unless Finrod gets stuck with the job - but I think he more likely centers his life around Tirion, while ofc traveling a great deal? 

Lalwen doesn’t want to be queen of anything, but she’s the only member of the House of Finwë who survived Beleriand while remaining in good standing with the Valar—good enough to come home, at least. She can do admin, or at least, she can competently delegate admin. She can do politics, second only to Fingolfin in the family for it - she’s no rhetorician nor speechifier, but she has very good people skills. She wants to help make her people’s, all people’s, lives better wherever she can, and she gets along alright with most varieties of Beleriand veterans, and she’ll do her duty if her little brother asks it... But she just does not want to be the one In Charge. She’s so happy when Gil-galas re-embodies.)

And at last, the poor little orange meow-meow of the First Age…Maedhros

Maedhros is ideal High King of the Noldor, or at least, he would’ve been. First let me tropily ramble a bit:

Just as Fingon should never have been King, Maedhros should never have been forced into such a protagonist-y role. It broke them both. In a story that wasn’t a tragedy, Maedhros would’ve been the tier-1 supporting character whom the hero rescues in Act 1 and who then has a compelling but not central character arc, and at the end we know we’ve won because we’ve put him on the throne while the hero retires to the country and/or runs off to have more lighthearted adventures with their new spouse (and/or stays and marries him, @Fingon if you must.) He’s the Jonathan of Conte. The Roy Mustang. The Rhy Maresh (Shades of Magic trilogy, V.E. Schwab, strong rec.) And then in the next-generation series, he’s a Reasonable Authority Figure who’s secretly badass.

Unfortunately, of course, The Silmarillion is not that story.

But there is, I swear, a Better Timeline out there somewhere wherein they just had more time before Morgoth Ungoliant struck. A timeline where Fëanor and Fingolfin had the opportunity to test a tentative truce without the worst circumstances in the world forcing it into overdrive and then breaking. A timeline where that went about as well as expected (ie, poorly), and Finwë soon put up his hands and said, “Alright, you know what, oh my beloved sons you are both demoted; I’m going on extended vacation and Maitimo is ruling Tirion in my absence” - and it would’ve worked because Fëanor would’ve been pleased that it was at least his son (Nelyafinwë indeed, ha!) and Fingolfin would’ve been satisfied that a) it wasn’t Fëanor, who is infuriating AND objectively bad at the job, and b) at least Finwë was treating them equaly for once

And moreover it would’ve worked because canonically Maedhros is the chief inheritor of Fëanor’s crowd-rousing fire, and he also shows Fingolfin’s practicality and responsibility (and tendency to suicide in extremis), and Finarfin’s ability to humble himself in the name of peace for his collective people...an ability to build eclectic but solid alliances best otherwise demonstrated by Finrod and maybe Finwë himself...let’s mine the raw headcanon and say Lalwen’s stubborn loyalty and determination to make everyone get along, and Findis’s possession of a firm moral compass...

It’s just that, of course, the loyalty and responsibility got twisted somewhere along the way, until the moral compass was first shoved to the bottom of a bag and then tossed out entirely, while his blazing spirit carried others along with him, and the losses from that meant that when push really came to shove on humbling himself for a greater cause, he couldn’t see a glimmer of hope that it would work, and...

Maedhros vibe as a king IS “beloved, must-respected, distinctly older brother who won’t start fights but will end them”

The difference between Maedhros as king and Fingolfin as king is mostly that Maedhros has a slightly greater natural affinity for it, especially the crowd-rousing - he’s got that Fëanorian 20 Charisma while Fingolfin is rocking a mere 19. Practically, there’s very little difference - way less difference than, say, Fëanor is happy with, in terms of how his eldest son and eldest half-brother do politics and project management. But Fingolfin is just slightly more studied at it; Maedhros has had to practice, of course, but he more does (older brothery) kingly things as an unthinking default

As mentioned in another post, I like to think that being a naturally skilled healer has always gone hand in hand with leadership in Arda, and Maitimo was no exception, but Angband and Thangodrim just Broke something in him and he never used Song nor any particular craft to heal anyone ever again...until, perhaps, after much healing in Mandos.

I think Maedhros’s surrender of the crown was clever politics, but also pure practicality in that he was well enough to snark about Thingol, practice clever politics, etc, but he wasn’t well enough yet in body or spirit to handle the job of High King of the Noldor as all their fractious fractions settled into a new life of siege warfare in a strange land. But he got better, and in the wake of Dagor Agraleb, there was a conversation like,  Fingolfin: You seem very well again, nephew. Maedhros: I am, thank you for noticing, Uncle. Fingolfin: Are we going to have a problem about that? Maedhros:  Fingolfin:  Maedhros:  Maedhros: No.  Maedhros: But, weirdly thank you for asking.

...But if everyone gets re-embodied eventually, changed forever but newly healthy in it, and has until the end of Arda to gravitate toward the personal ideal forms of their lives...well, for entertainment’s sake, I like to think that Maedhros come out of Mandos very determined to be nothing but a responsible older brother, publicly deferential vassal, and world’s best one-handed house-husband...but these people over here could also use some Responsible Older Brothering...and these people over here...and Fingon doesn’t want to sit in this committee but someone sensible ought to...if no one steps up and manages this new bridge project, it’s never going to get done...Uncle, have you tried this to make the bronzesmiths and the pewtersmiths stop fighting...

One day late(?) Fourth Age, Maedhros is trying to pick the perfect jewelry to match today’s court outfit and Arafinwë pokes his head in to be like, “here, try this” and hands him the High King crown. Maedhros says, “Oh, perfect– wait–” Arafinwë is already sprinting away shouting, “No takebacks! Eärwen and I will be on the beach!”

BUT I also think that sometime in the late Second Age, the semi-meritocratic, ever-insquabbling (like infighting but pettier) artisan guilds of the Noldor, + some political philosophers, give rise to the idea of general democratic elections for high office. So it’s probably a little more complicated than that.

#the silmarillion #finwe #feanor #fingolfin #finarfin #fingon #turgon #gil-galad #maedhros #lalwen #feanor and feanor's kin #eldar #headcanon accepted #ficlet #i DID start bullet-pointing more info about noldorin election politics but i think that'll be separate

[ceescedasticity]

I would love to hear more about your Findis plot bunny!!

Okay here goes. This gets increasingly off-the-rails.

Finwë is reasonably attentive with Findis, Nolofinwë, and Irimë when they're children (they're born fairly close together, with Arafinwë a while later).

Fëanáro is not happy about their existence, but he is a grown adult and he makes an effort not to be mean to literal children — he's distant but not openly hostile or disdainful. Mostly he avoids them. (He's a jerk to Indis, but none of the adults want the children to know about it, so they don't.)

All three of them start out idolizing him. Then they grow up and find out he hates them (or hates that they exist). He's not as bad with the girls as he is with the boys, because they're not direct competition, but it's not good.

Findis looks like Indis but with Finwë's coloring. As she grew up this got more obvious and Fëanáro disliked her more.

But it took Findis a while to give up on fixing things. Maybe if she seemed less Vanyarin, less like her mother? More Vanyarin, not competition? Made friends with Nerdanel? Implied solidarity against Vanyarin princes? Poked a little fun at Nolofinwë?

But, no; even if she'd turned on Nolofinwë entirely she was still the child of Indis and Fëanáro couldn't forgive it.

Fine.

But, now that her attention has shifted…

Finwë is also spending a lot of attention on placating Fëanáro.

And he spends time with Nolo and Ara, and dotes on Lalwen even after she grows up, and… Findis feels forgotten.

Okay, perfect princess, starting now.

But as we all know, Finwë is a 'squeaky wheel gets the grease' sort of parent.

Maybe… she's not Noldor enough? Should she pick up more of a craft?

She tries several. More than several. She's all-around competent, but nothing really clicks.

(Findis's skills lie in administration, policy, and logistics.)

All right — what about getting married? Having children?

Findis isn't in love. She's not really interested in love. But she does have a close friend who also isn't really interested in love, and whose father has been harassing him for years to get married, have children, and get into court politics.

He's one of the Aulenduri — makes very fine and detailed metal sculpture.

He goes by the epessë Lávarwë, for the gold flowers he makes that you can practically smell.

The name his father gave him is Aryontamo ("heir-smith") and his father's name is Aratatyo. His father claims straight patrilineal descent from Tata and Tatië, which is also attributed to Finwë but mostly as a polite fiction. His father agreed going to Valinor was a good plan, but is still sulking over not being king.

Lávarwë finds his father mortifying, most of the time, but the man makes a lousy politician and worse demagogue so he's not a threat to anything beyond his family's nerves. But he's hard on those.

On his mother's side he's Anairë's cousin.

It's not so much a marriage of convenience as a marriage of certain purpose.

They're friends. The marriage doesn't get in the way of that. They get closer, and support each other when they need it. The marriage isn't a mistake, even if it doesn't draw Finwë's lasting attention the way she hoped.

Having a child to get Finwë's attention is a mistake.

To Findis's credit she realizes this fairly quickly. Being a daughter Finwë wants is now off the board; all efforts redirected to being the mother little Laurefindel needs.

(He's a blond child of two dark-haired parents; hence the noteworthiness of his hair.)

(Lávarwë's father is horrified by the implication that he might have Minyarin ancestry.)

Findis doesn't do too badly. Laurefindel grows up below the median screwed-up-ness level for Finwë's scions (and far below the mean). He's an adult before anyone tells him his parents had him for the wrong reasons. He's not really thrilled about it when he finds out, though, and starts spending more time with Nolofinwë and Anairë's family.

Lávarwë goes back to the Halls of Aulë.

New goal: Be the daughter Indis needs.

Fëanáro has been getting more difficult, and his rivalry with Nolofinwë has become the most obvious trouble spot. There's no shortage of people taking Nolofinwë's side.

But he's not any better towards Indis than he was before. Indis needs someone who will side with her before Nolofinwë. Findis can do that.

The "daughter Indis needs" period includes the entire adult lives up through the Darkening of most of her nephews and both nieces.

But as things get bad, Indis needs things Findis can't give. Well, that's always been true, but it's getting more obvious.

Findis is in Valmar with Indis when Finwë is killed. She can do nothing.

Findis is in Valmar with Indis when the Noldor rebel.

When she hears the entire rest of the House of Finwë has left (down to the children), she goes back to Tirion alone.

Her reception is a little lukewarm. She wasn't there.

But she's there now.

Lávarwë joins her. Like most of the Aulenduri he stayed faithful.

Arafinwë comes back. The group that comes back with him is equal in size to the group that never left.

Possibly Findis should focus on getting the returners settled, but instead she leaves Lávarwë in charge and rides with Arafinwë as he goes onwards to Taniquetil to beg for pardon. She says she wants to know everything. He tells her what he knows.

Findis waits outside the Ring of Doom, prepared to go in and appeal if the Valar don't offer the pardon they implicitly promised, but they deliver.

They also declare Arafinwë king of the Noldor. Which stings a bit. All right more than a bit. But if the people who never left resent that she was away, she expects those who left and came back would be even harder to win over. And she is not about to have a fight with her baby brother over a title.

Findis and Arafinwë try to put the Noldor together again.

It's a slow process. They're really just treading water for a long time. And what do they have to look forward to?

After Arafinwë and Eärwen start exchanging letters, Findis asks Arafinwë if the two of them might consider having another child, after they're formally reconciled. Something to give the Noldor a future. Arafinwë says absolutely not.

She doesn't push him. She brings up the idea of another child with Lávarwë, instead. He doesn't agree immediately, but he comes around to the idea.

Is this the best possible reason to have a child? No. But they did okay with Laurefindel, and giving hope to the Noldor is more important than getting Finwë's attention anyway.

Calainë Sanastëa has her mother's coloring — Finwë's coloring — and her father's more classically Noldorin face shape. Perfect, for a future deputy and vice-king.

Findis is not thinking about this as replacing people so much as filling vacancies. But it can kinda come across as replacing people.

Arafinwë swallows his objections and his feelings. He doesn't feel like he's in a very good position to gainsay her. And she's not wrong, that the House of Finwë is very short on people right now, and someone has to look forward. He can't let go of the hope of getting his children and brother back, but really that just means they're more in need of a backup — what if he gets in trouble.

Indis does not swallow her objections. She is not willing to write off half her children and all but one of her grandchildren, and she's furious that Findis apparently is.

Findis is hurt that Indis doesn't have faith in her after all that time she spent trying to help her. She doesn't try to explain that that's not what she's doing, just the job needs to be done.

So that's the first problem.

The second problem is weirder.

Míriel Serindë is reembodied, but abides in the house of Vairë. Indis visits her there, from time to time, sometimes for long stretches.

Indis returns to Tirion with a very young girl she introduces as her ward, Elmendien Faniel.

It's a week before anyone works up the nerve to challenge her on it. Who are Elmendien's parents? Why does she look so much like Míriel Serindë? Why does she have Finwë's eye color? What is going on?

Indis explains: A miracle occurred and Míriel returned to life bearing a child. Indis has been helping with her, but the house of Vairë is no place for a child to grow up, so now she has brought her to Tirion. —Her real mother-name is "Fëawestë", but "Faniel" should attract less attention.

Findis is furious.

Is this the ideal Findis was always failing to live up to — Míriel's possible daughter?

Why should Finwë and Míriel get a miracle, when their last miracle led the Noldor to ruin and Finwë let it happen?

How could Indis introduce this confusion at a time like this? Has she no consideration for what Findis and Arafinwë are dealing with, and how much worse a child of Míriel might make it?

(Ohnonononononono, Arafinwë says. He is staying neutral in this.)

Findis invents a cover story:

"Before Finwë left with Fëanáro, Indis the Queen went to plead with him not to forsake her and their children. Finwë pledged again his love for her, and they begot a fifth child. But in the morning despite Indis's pleas Finwë left indeed for a place where she was not welcome. Grieved and fearful, Indis withdrew to her family in Valmar, hoping they might support her through her husband's neglect.

"Alone in Valmar Indis bore her daughter Faniel. She survived the birth, but the child was desperately small and weak, and Finwë would not leave Fëanáro's side. Only years later, near a hundred years after the rising of the Sun, was Faniel strong enough that Indis dared bring her to Tirion, and her remaining children."

That way, Findis says, Faniel can receive the birthright she deserves, they can avoid Míriel complications, and the primary blame for this goes where it belongs: Finwë. Indis is not pleased.

Possibly not coincidentally, Sanastëa gets nicknamed "Emerwen" for "herding people around". She likes the nickname, but Findis is less happy.

Arafinwë still refuses to pick a side.

(The kids need there to be a neutral party.)

Edit to add:

Eärwen and Anairë coming back to Tirion from Alqualondë: ...

Nerdanel when Mahtan shows her Lávarwë's letters: ...

So anyway Faniel is flighty and distractable, very much a spirit of air rather than fire, but suspicions are she'll be brilliant when she actually gets interested in something. Emerwen is excruciatingly responsible and devoted to her studies aaaaaand kinda does want to be in charge of something, she's been trained for it. She doesn't want to like Finrod when he comes back.

#writing babble #Arda etc #the findis thing #a tolkien tag

[galadhremmin]

Maybe Feanor assumed that, just like Finwe kept th in deference to Míriel, he was now changing in deference to his new wife... But honestly, blaming your father's new girlfriend for everything in your household that you don't approve of is irrational, yes, but so common

(ask refers to this post about the Shibboleth) Yes hmm well again... why could he assume? Fëanor was very outspoken about feeling hurt and rejected by Indis ignoring Miriel's wishes. Poor Indis seems to never have corrected his idea that it was her doing, perhaps out of loyalty to Finwë again; maybe she didn't want to feel like she was badmouthing him, and coming between him and his already hurt son. Maybe she thought --well, he dislikes me already anyway. There is no helping that. Let him blame me for it, let his father keep his love. It really would be almost impossible to overlook that this was happening for Finwë. Feanor goes around complaining about it, making his sons say Þ, calling himself Fëanáro Þerindion. He's very open about his dislike for Indis. Finwë could have spoken up at any point, and explained that the Þ would actually be a more natural pronunciation for Indis as a Vanya, but that she was following his wishes. And he doesn't. Anyway I don't think you can apply common divorce dynamics to the Finwë Fëanor situation, for a few simple reasons; 1. it was the first divorce they ever had. And Miriel's passing is more or less blamed on Fëanor's birth in the text, which adds some emotions to it all (Indis' children don't cause their mother to die, there might be some anxiety about the idea of ~unmarred 'replacement' children). 2. Finwë is a king. He is apparently in charge of if changes in language become official. This is his responsibility in more ways than one-- and not taking it ends up harming his son, his new wife, and the political situation. 3. Again you cannot compare this to human divorce dynamics because if your parents divorce one of them is not condemned to the underworld forever. That is a very good reason to be upset, and not petty. 4. I don't think Fëanor blames 'everything' on Indis. I think he blames her for what he thinks is instigating a rejection/insult of his mother when that is apparently actually his father's doing (given that Indis was Miriel's friend, I wonder how she personally felt about it). Then there is the fact that a) the Vanyar are pious b) he feels the Valar have wronged him and his mother deeply c) his father marries a pious Vanya with approval of the Valar (whose children will probably support the Valar to a greater degree, while his birth was affected by 'marring'). That's probably a coincidence, but it's not hard to see how these things connect in his mind. Like again, Feanor was not a subtle person. And Finwe cannot have been that stupid. The only reason why Feanor could 'assume' is because Finwe wasn't saying it, and allowing Indis to take the blame-- when Fëanor already would have had legitimate reasons to object to the marriage without that (like come on, I'd object to a beloved person staying Dead Forever too if there were other options).

#Finwë #feanor #indis #LONG ANSWER because i'm ghfhgfghf trying to distract myself from something for 15 min i'm very very nervous lol. #not about answering this dont get me wrong i love elf bulshitting

[yellow-faerie]

From your writing prompt list: 14 and good bro Fëanor (you can choose which half siblings you want to include)

Why choose one when you can have all four?

From this prompt list.

14 - “It’s three in the morning. What do you want?”

Fëanáro is woken rather unceremoniously by something being blown into his ear.

He doesn’t shriek but he comes close as he flaps his hand vaguely to his right and they come in contact with skin.

“You hit me!” Lalwendë says, her voice high and squeaky and far too loud for so early in the day.

He rolls his eyes, squinting at the clock on his wall. “It’s three in the morning. What do you want?” He asks, turning over in bed to glare.

Only Findis looks anything bordering at all on apologetic.

“It’s Atya’s birthday today,” Ñolofinwë says and Fëanáro nods.

“I know that. And I don’t want to be exhausted for the celebrations, so I would quite like it if you weren’t in my room.”

Ñolofinwë crosses his arms. “We need your help.”

“No.” Fëanáro turns over in bed. “I’m going back to sleep now.”

The bed dips behind him and a small child comes scrambling over the bedsheets to lie over him dramatically.

“Please,” Arafinwë says pleadingly, his eyes going wide. Fëanáro reminds himself that strangling small children isn’t allowed anywhere in law.

“What do you need me for anyway?” He pushes his brother - half-brother - off the bed and onto his carpet.

“There was an accident.”

“An accident?” He sits up in bed and reaches up to fix his braids.

“We dropped Atya’s present down the well.”

“You-” Fëanáro gapes at them. “How did you manage that? Why did you even take it outside?” Findis opens her mouth and Fëanáro decides an explanation would take too long. “You know what? Don’t bother explaining - I spent three weeks helping you with that, I am not letting that time go to waste.”

He tossed his legs over the side of the bed and grabs a robe to pull over his nightclothes. “What are you standing there staring at me for? Lead the way.”

“You’re...really going to help us?”

“I don’t what Atya’s begetting day ruined because you did something stupid. Go!” Fëanáro shoos them forward and they scramble away.

“Down a well,” Fëanáro mutters. “How do you even do that?”

“It was an accident! I swear!”

Fëanáro turns his head sharply to his eldest sister - half-sister - with a scowl. “Was this your fault?”

“No! I told you it was an accident.”

“I tripped and it went out the window,” Ñolofinwë admits, fiddling with the edge of his tunic.

“Oh Eru, you’re all incompetent!”

And so it is that Fëanáro finds himself climbing down a well in the early hours of the morning and then back up it, a very soggy package in his arms.

He drops it rather unceremoniously on the floor as he drags himself over the stone top. He flops onto the ground, throwing an arm over his eyes and panting heavily.

“That better have been worth it,” He warns, growling low in his throat and trying to turn his breathing even again.

Dead silence follows his words.

“What’s wrong?” He peeks under his arm and sees all four children standing around the discarded present, looking almost mournful.

Findis picks it up and presents it slowly to her brother - half-brother.

Fëanáro grimaces at the state it is in: not only is the cloak utterly soaked but he can count three tears in it already and the paper it was wrapped in had gotten to mushy that it had sort of rubbed into the fabric.

“Will we...have time to fix it?” Ñolofinwë asks, trying to sound hopeful.

Fëanáro lies back, contemplating how realistic it would be to become a well monster and not have to deal with any of this anymore.

+

Finwë examines the coronet, a smile growing on his lips. “This is quite spectacular work. Did you get help?”

Finwë does not miss the small look Findis gives Fëanáro nor Fëanáro’s small head shake in return.

“A bit from the smiths for the tricky bits but we did most of it ourselves.”

“Ah. Well thank you very much, it is most beautiful and I shall treasure it greatly.”

With that, he dismisses them to go do something more fun than stand by him all day as more and more people come to give him their well-wishes.

“Curufinwë,” He calls as his eldest turns away. “Thank you.”

“But I forgot to make you anything.”

Finwë smiles. “I am not that naïve yonya. I know that this is your craft.”

Fëanáro turns faintly red and gives an awkward little bow. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” He says and strides away.

Finwë shakes his head fondly and turns his attention back to the celebration.

#I hope this was OK! #Fëanor #Findis #Fingolfin #Lalwen #Finarfin #Finwë #Silmarillion #Tolkien #Fanfiction #Fae's Stuff #Prompt #Prompt List 1 #Ask #rohirra