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doot-boi · 2 months

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"But Finrod walks with Finarfin his father beneath the trees in Eldamar"

I think it's no surprise to my followers who pay attention to my silm posting that I love Finrod Felagund's character, but this is the line that sticks with me heavily. Within the Quenta Silmarillion, it is told that all of those Ñoldor caught within the Doom of Mandos and of the Silmarils will "yearn for [their] bodies, and find little pity", which is often taken to mean that none of those who left Valinor would be granted the possibility of returning to physical form, to live in the bliss of Aman (though arguments can clearly be made that only those who participated in the kinslaying were under such a doom, but I choose to ignore that). That's what makes this line so much more impactful to me, along with a more important facet; it's placement in the chapter.

Just 2 pages earlier, at his death, Finrod says it will be long before he is seen again amongst his people, perhaps believing he will not be granted a bodily form until such a time as the rest of the Ñoldor would be. He dies in the darkness of his corrupted tower, and is mourned at length by Beren until Lúthien his love arrives and rouses him, and together their hope is kindled again as the sun rises (a very common theme in Tolkien's works). They honour and bury Finrod atop the island, a tomb to be unchanged until the War of Wrath caused upheaval in all of Beleriand

It's here that this line comes in. His tomb is inviolate until all the land is, but he himself walks with his father, the only of Finwë's sons to remain in Valinor, and that says so many things.

He is one of few, or perhaps the only, Ñoldorin exile to be gifted bodily rebirth. He surpassed the Doom of Mandos (see my 2nd link in paragraph 1)

His father welcomes him home and forgives his leaving

No matter the state of his grave, Felagund is himself unmarred

No timeline is given for Finrod's bodily resurrection, but I choose to believe it is before the end of the First Age (and the fandom wiki agrees, tolkien gateway being more vague), for no other reason than Eärendil. It is because of Finrod, his assistance of and sacrifice for Beren, that the man of Bëor lives long enough to be united with Lúthien in the Quest, and they, along with Huan, are able to retrieve the Silmaril that Eärendil brings to Aman. I consider that Finrod is likely unaware of the success of the Quest, given it seems the rest of Valinor was (or at least they waited for a plea from Middle-Earth before acting on anything). Imagine his wonder, his pride, and his joy, at seeing that not only was the quest successful, but here, 80 years after he died, he sees Beren and Lúthien's grandson-in-law bearing the jewel. I wonder what he would have said to Amarië his love, if he would have remarked in joyous tears that the horrors and the death that led him back into Aman were not faced in vain. I wonder if, taking up his weapon to participate in the War of Wrath, he either sat a moment in sorrow, or in hope, or in some other emotion, considering what lay ahead of him, and as he came home afterwards with many of his kinsfolk, what he felt as he came to the bliss that would last until the changing of the world.

No matter his feelings on the Wars, what his experiences are and what he goes through after his resurrection, we know this:

Finrod walks with Finarfin his father beneath the trees of Eldamar

#silmarillion #tolkien #finrod felagund #finrod #findarato #findaráto #beren erchamion #beren #luthien tinuviel #luthien #lúthien #finarfin #eärendil #earendil #amarië #one day I will own the lays of beleriand and be even further enamoured with his tale

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maellor · 1 year

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So i was rereading The Duel of Finrod and Sauron and i noticed something:

"... Then the gloom gathered: darkness growing

in Valinor, the red blood flowing

beside the sea, where the Gnomes slew

the Foamriders, and stealing drew

their white ships with their white sails

from lamplit havens..."

- Lay of Leithian

Calling the Falmari "foamriders" instead of "mariners" or something along those lines makes me think that, perhaps, they weren't only great shipwrights, mariners, fisherpeople etc.

They were surfers.

And then i can't help but imagine Finrod and his brothers surfing during their visits at Alqualonde. Perhaps the Arafinwians once dragged their cousins to Alqualonde to teach them how to surf (and to show off their own exquisite skills in it).

#the Teleri are surfers #Ulmo sends them his best waves #Feanor being angry that Finarfin's children can do something that his sons can't but still refusing to let the Arafinwians teach them #even if the Feanorians had learned surfing crossing the sea with surf boards would be impossible so kinslaying it is #had to actually stop thinking about the kinslaying to notice the wording in the lay #no idea if this had been said before because i'm new here #the Duel of Finrod and Sauron #Lay of Leithian #Finrod Felagund #Arafinwians #Teleri #Falmari #my first post

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waitingforsecretsouls · 6 months

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While the primary view of Maedhros fathername seems to be that it's a dig at Fingolfin, this ignores how the succession is very much not in question until the Valar get involved to banish the heir and the current king goes with him into exile (not to mention that it's exactly this position of Fëanor's which motivates Fingolfin's side of the jealousy). It's not spite to name Maedhros after his legitimate place in the succession. What's more, I find it very likely that, like Fëanor, his fathername might have initially been simply Finwë-the same as Finwë and Fëanor's own fathername ere it was modified later, making "Finwë third" an explicit acknowledgment of the threadline between Finwë, Fëanor and Maedhros that often gets reserved for the Fëanor-Curufin-Celebrimbor triumvirate-and only later changed to Nelyafinwë. But regardless it's still primary a connection to Fëanor's initial fathername and Finwë's name and the commonality between them (the line of succession as well as, I dare say, love and respect).

#silm #maedhros #i know I'm likely not the first to say this but it does irk me #not to start on the same old rant again but not everything the Fëeanorians do is about the Nolofinwëans actually #it's a cute name showing both Fëanor's love for his father as well as pride in the family lineage #the first grandchild and 3rd generation Finwëan!#the Fëanorians as a whole are cute with names #getting the only canonical nicknames (aside from the concept of epessë depending on how you view it)#(given that they otherwise preferred their mn's it's difficult to see another reason for shortforms of their fn's to exist)#and mockingly giving Finrod his famous Felagund (“Mr. badger”) moniker #They DO have that elvish tralala~ factor they DO! Even if it can be a bit mean-spirited...#also speaking to the strength of their friendship with the Dwarves that their nickname got transmitted over them #meaning they definitely used it to talk about Finrod behind his back lol

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arafinweanappreciation · 2 years

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I've seen a few posts of the last couple of days that got me thinking about the First kinslaying and how devastating that must have been, specifically for the Arafinweans. Because not only was that their mother's family, their uncles and aunts and cousins, being killed. They were being killed by the Nolofinweans. The cousins they were so close to that they were practically siblings. Galadriel was there during the fighting and defended her mother's people, but Finrod wouldn't have gotten there until afterwards, being one of the last to leave. I'm not sure where Aegnor and Angrod were, exactly, but it must have been just as horrifying for them nonetheless. How long did it take before they could speak to each other or look each other in the eyes again??? What kind of damage was done to their trust and relationships with each other? I've always thought that one of the reasons Sauron could use the Kinslaying so effectively against Finrod was because not only did the Arafinweans lose so many people, but also because it literally tore their family apart.

#i also have a lot of thoughts about what that put finrod and turgon's relationship through #i think there might have been a time when finrod couldn't even talk to him #and it took turgon losing elenwe on the helcaraxe for them to even begin repairing their relationship #silmarillion #finrod #finrod felagund #silm #arafinweans #nolofinweans #aegnor #angrod #galadriel #first kinslaying

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nin-varisse · 4 months

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How do people assume that Finrod is the E-Girl of the Silm when Orodreth is right there???

#orodreth erasure once again #he's the og discord kitten #what am I even saying #orodreth #finrod #finrod felagund #silm #nin's thoughts #mumblings

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anipologist · 2 years

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NEREB AND DUNGALEF....

(I do feel like I should give him points for messing with the spelling to make it flow better though, Dnugalef just doesn't have the same ring).

And nothing says "I am desperately trying to trick one of the people who helped sing the world into existence" like let me make sure my fake name which is actually one of my real names backwards sounds good. Actually Finrod is definitely related to Feanor after all.

#jrr tolkien #the silmarillion #finrod felagund #Beren #tolkien elves #the quest of the silmaril #beren and luthien #silmarillion #tolkien #finrod #I just can't stop laughing about this #Nôm over here is using Dungalef as his alias #At least he didn't try nôm backwards...#but seriously its the whole thing...Beren doesn't do any better #Sauron...freaking Wolflord...future ringlord....annatar who can wrap even Feanorians around his little finger just doesn't get it #Its almost so stupid that it is actually smart #I don't think Otaredinf or Odlogni or Ednifatra would have been better but its not like he doesn't have a wacking great number of options #if only because i cant imagine trying to pronounce them #I mean Turin's names sound ominous to the point that if some lovely elvish looking human shows up calling himself ill-luck its time to run #But at least he doesn't introduce himself as Nirut...

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sadlybeans · 1 year

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Findo

who still pretends he’s not behind the worst mischief in the family

✨appearance headcanons: ✨

Hair’s so straight any kind of braid, ponytail and up-do just disappears after a while.

Both sides of his head are shaved because he wanted to be cool. Frustratingly, he pulls it off really good.

Upturned ears like his mother.

Pale af BUT he tans after enough time under the sun.

Average noldo height.

✨Miscellaneous headcanons: ✨

Is -roughly- the same age as Finno and Káno, therefore forming the unholy trinity that terrorised the family for years to come.

Lead troublemaker.

Memorably, had the grandiose idea of throwing the three of them down a hill in a cart, crashing down in the middle of the market. (Broken bones were the last of their problems that day).

Always stirring up shit and provoking drama.

Particularly, loves openly teasing Nelyo and Finno because he has a death wish.

Became more responsible as he grew up (aka, learnt to sneak around better).

Is Very Disliked by Náro for stealing his baby (Káno).

They don’t actually court openly but everybody just knows.

they never had the chance to voice their love

they didn’t speak for centuries before he died

he still waited

but Káno never came home

Closest to Artanis out of all his siblings.

Never wanted to let go of his baby sister.

Spoiled her to death and bragged to everyone about her.

Loves composing music.

Whenever he wants to get back at someone he writes them songs and makes sure they become really popular.

Singing voice is baritone, though speaking he sounds more like a tenor.

Preferred instrument is the flute.

aaaand one more random cute fact to compensate for the angst i sprinkled in:

Pretends to not know how to play the harp to get exclusive lessons from the family’s expert.

#silmarillion #silmarillion fanart #silmarillion headcanons #house of finwe #house of finarfin #finrod #finrod felagund #mentions of finrod/maglor #idk what the ship is called if it even has a name #a little bit of angst #but mostly fluff #sorry i couldnt resist #i am a mean person

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that-angry-noldo · 2 years

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When Stars are Close (The Home is Far Away)

[my take on a StarWars!Finrod, inspired by @arafinweanappreciation post]

The Holocron activates with a single touch. It's Force signature is hesistant, but it's longing and curious. A person appears; their gender is hard to tell, but under further inspection it's possible to conclude that he's a male from unknown species, similar to humans. He has pointy ears, his expression is frowning.

So... I just. Start talking. Right. That's it?

He exhales.

It's weird. Guys, I could have simply wrote a book. Instead I'm staring at my own self. But blue. Like - like a mirror.

So- um. The council told me to just start talking. It's... supposed to help me? Help them. Understand me.

So, uh. Name's Finrod. Or Nom. Finrod Findarato Artafinde Ingoldo Nom Felagund, from the Third House of Noldor. Uh- king of Nargothrond, if we're going with titles. Or- wait, am I king if I kind of un-kinged myself? That's- that's a story for another day, I suppose.

Uh, oh, right, that doesn't really matter because it's not like there's another Nargothrond or something. Sorry for, um, wasting your time on that nonsense. Right, so I'm an Elda. Or Elf. As long as I know, this galaxy doesn't... have... any? Oh Eru, it's really weird, saying "this galaxy", isn't it. Yeah, right, to the point.

I'm... kind of... not from here.

The place i'm from is... wait, how you'd call it? Underdeveloped? Man, that's rude. We're pretty developed. The only reason we're not building skie- skyscrapers or space... ships is because we mind our business inside of Arda. So yeah, we don't have tech... nology... man, Feanor would have so much fun with this words... But like, we're good. Uh, and I'm pretty sure our Arda is flat. Shut. It is. I literally had no idea what horizon means until I came here. Man, round planets are so weird?

Anyways, to how I came here.

I, um... died.

There's a pause.

So... yeah, sorry, it's not the prettiest memory I have. But, like, it's fine. Dying. In Arda. If you're an elf. We, just kind of, ressurect. I had a friend who fell of the horse and broke his neck and died. Came back in like, ten days. I'm- I'm pretty sure he had a good time? Namo gave him cookies. My theory is that since he was a child, he didn't have a sorrow to heal from. Just general confusion.

Finrod frowns.

Don't... don't think he had the same luck the second time, though. Since... kinslaying and doom and all that... stuff.

So- yeah, technically speaking. I should be dead. Even though my elven nature allows me to ressurect. I- my kin- Noldor- we- uh- oh Eru-

Man, it's complicated. To simplify, the Big Bad in my world stole three gems my uncle was really... obsessed with, killed the source of light in the world, killed my grandpa and. Ran. Then my uncle - half-uncle - kind of went mad and... um... stole ships. Killing their owners first. Which was... a big deal since we didn't have wars back then. Plus, the owners were my relatives. So, uh, yes, he was preparing to sail in them but then the god of doom appeared and said that we're doomed, pun intended. Basically, anyone who goes with him will experience sorrow and pain and death. And won't ressurect. He sailed either way, but there wasn't enough ships so we were waiting on the shore but then boom. He burned them. Oh man, you don't really need such details, do you?

Anyways, onto the next point? The Jedi say I'm open to Force. Force being magic. Oh come on, Mace, it flows in everything that's alive. That's basically our Great Song. Back in Arda you can master it, if you happen to be an Elf or a Dwarf. It... we use it when forging or smithing or singing or speaking. We have... spells? I guess? It takes time to master, but it's not like elves suffer from the lack of it, really. (Chuckles.) Um... we don't divide it into dark or light side, though.

You see, using the Dark side... uh. Our analogy is the Dissonance. It's a part of the Great Song, though; when creating the World - Arda - Ea - the Big Bad - oh my, I'm calling Moringotto "the Big Bad" next time I see him - the Big Bad decided to create its own Song, so that's where all the evil stuff originates from.

Yeah, we don't divide magic into "Light" and "Dark" because we don't use Dissonance. But, like... if we're going with Jedi teachings, there's a Dark inside our Light.

Yep. (Smiles. The smile is nothing but friendly.) Uh, for example, the Songs of Power. It's... it's heavily based on emotions and manipulating. Of course, there's more to it, don't worry! But-

When I was singing-

Man, I- I really had to go into that, didn't I.

Anyways, the Song is more to that: you can make people warm with it; you can heal; you can charm people; but... when it comes to the Battle of Wills- the Battle of the Songs-

There's very little holding you. Every emotion is a spare bit of Power. Every memory is a source of the Song. It's... You have to weave your Song carefully, though.

I... I didn't.

Cost me greatly, didn't it. (Shrugs.) I... built it on the wrong thing.

But, like... I'm pretty sure I culd've been considered a Dark user in that moment. Or no! (Laughs.) If somebody saw me, I'd be appearing as a beacon of light compared to the thing- power- person I was fighting.

Sauron's kind of a stinky guy. (Laughs louder.) He would probably be considered a Sith. A Dark Lord, even.

Um- is a person still considered Jedi or Sith if they were basically the Power of the World? Oh, you don't have those? Um. Pretty sure he's a Dark Lord, then.

Pause. Then, under his breath:

The Dark Lord sounds cool, though. I wanna be a Dark Lord.

Oh my- I was joking. I was literally killed by the man, I want nothing but to kill him in return.

Oh- that's a bad thing? Op, yep, revenge, sorry, just slipped. Still wanna kill him, but whatever. A bunch of dudes in the robes who are also two millenias yonger then me won't let me. Sure, sure, let the kids play adults.

Oh my God, Mace, I am joking. But you know what, let me get a Dark Lord to kill you so I can talk to you in the afterlife.

Brothers and sisters in Song, don't speak to me of revenge if you didn't get yourself killed. I'm proclaiming it a touchy subject. I'll get all sad and upset if you try to talk me out of it.

Oh, yeah! Forgot to mention, I'm immortal, if another Dark Lord doesn't decide that I'm a delicious breakfast for his werewolves.

Um- guys. It's alright. Traumatic experience, but I'm alive, am I not? Yoda, you tell them.

Oh- Yoda, for Morgoth's sake. It's fine. I killed that werewolf, too. It's not like it's eaten me whole, I was exaggerating. That was a pretty badass moment, actually! I kind of broke my chains and saved my friend and-

... oh. Now I'm sad and stuff. I have no idea if I saved him or if I just gave him a few hours of spare time.

Another reason to figure out how to get me back faster, right?..

The next recording starts with Finrod being silent for a minute. Then, he takes a sharp breath. He was crying.

I- I miss them.

There's... Council isn't listening on this one, but they said I can use it, so-

I miss them so much it hurts.

I- I miss Father. Atya. He... he was smart. Wise. I- I miss him, gods, why do I miss him so damn much- and... mother, my dear mother, oh-

He stops. A silenced cries can be heard.

I- I had two brothers. They... they died, they... burned to crisps- I- I identified Aegnor's body because Andreth was layng beside him, she... didn't... didn't burn all the way- and Angrod- he- he had a sword in his chest and- his hair- there was only face left- oh- I- I wasn't in time- I-

A pause.

I... still have Artanis and Orodreth- or- had. Oh, I miss them. I want. I want to see them. I want to say Orodreth that he'll manage. Want to bicker with Artanis one more time. Oh, Eru- gods- Force- am I asking for too much?!

I... I wonder. I wonder if he's alive. If Beren's alive. If my death didn't go in vain. It-

Edrahil. Gods, I miss you, Edrahil, please- Force, if you want to syphon someone else- let it be him, please, I need- he always-

And Amarie, my Amarie, my gold, my lady, my-

Why are attachments considered bad?

Does attachment equal love?

I- I love them. I love them.

I love them, I love them, I love them-

Same words continue in broken whispers. Eventually, the recording dies out.

I love them.

I don't know why, but it matters.

They call me, Yoda.

Finrod's face looks as if it's carved from stone.

Every day.

It starts with Father. He calls me. He wants me back.

Then there's Artanis.

And Turgon.

They all call me.

Yoda, If I can hear them, it means there's a way out.

The new recording starts. Finrod is looking past the frame.

They are magnificent. Gods - Varda, they are magnificent.

I have never seen stars this close.

Oh... It's like- they're liquid. Oh, I should've guessed. Liquid! Oh, they're wonderful. Oh my-

Hah, right, Qui, we elves are obsessed with stars, it's just-

Have I ever told you of the Awakening?

It's a beautiful story. I heard it from Grandfather. He was one of the Awaken.

When we first opened our eyes, Qui, the first thing we've seen were stars.

I hear them.

They are close.

In every star. In every string of the Melody.

They call me, and their calls are like a song.

Yes, Qui, I am sentimental. I would like to see you in my shoes.

I am going home.

I swore I'll be back, Qui.

And when I swear, I don't do it lightly.

Thank you.

For stars.

For Force.

I am going home, Qui.

I am going home.

Holocron holds no more recordings.

As long as Qui-Gon knows, Finrod found those who were calling for him.

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actual-bill-potts · 10 months

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"We are nearly there," said Finarfin. He pulled Findaráto - Finrod, he reminded himself, I must remember, Finrod - into a one-armed hug. He could not stop sneaking glances at his son. His son, his grown son! His returned son!

Finrod was quieter within himself than of old, and his smile was a little lopsided; but he was bright and tall, and gentle, and he raised one eyebrow whenever he had a question in the quizzical manner that was Eärwen’s, and sometimes as they walked he tapped one finger upon his cheekbone absent-mindedly in just the way he had done as a child, and Finarfin’s heart ached with loss and joy both.

He opened the little gate and led the way down the familiar winding path. He and Eärwen had decided, long ago, that it was necessary to have a little space from the palace on occasion - both palaces - and so they kept a small house a little outside Tirion. It was to the door of this house that he led Finrod. He and Eärwen had not wanted to have the duties of rule interfering with this first reunion with their son; nor had they thought that the bustle of palace life would be good for one so newly returned. So it was just them, and Hueleni, who were there awaiting Finrod.

They had found, for the Returned, that too many crowds too early could be painful, even alarming. Finarfin had thought with a pang of his gregarious, kind firstborn, and hoped he would not be lonely. Now, feeling his son lean on him, hesitating before the door, he was glad of the decision.

He fumbled for the keys. Behind the door, Hueleni barked.

"Ah!" Finarfin said, smiling. He remembered Finrod’s tiny sticky hands entangled in the ears of their little dog Aranel, an Age and a half past; then Findaráto, tall and princely, abandoning dignity to chase Aranel down the beach of Alqualondë. "Our new dog, Hueleni. You will like her, I am sure -"

He paused. The warm weight of Finrod upon his shoulder had frozen; and when he turned about his son’s face was bone-white.

"Are you alright?" asked Finarfin in alarm. "Is it too hot? We can go inside -"

"No," said Finrod breathlessly. He was backing away, shaking his head. "No, not - inside -"

"What is wrong -" Finarfin began to ask. Then he knew. He remembered the whispers that had spread throughout the refugee camps, the ragged recruits who had come to join the armies of the Valar: the Lord Felagund’s father; what kind of Elda must he be, to have raised such a king; and no wonder he has gone to war, for his son died so terribly - the wolves -

He had been so stupid. So terribly, irredeemably - foolish -

He reached out. Uselessly, stupidly; his son had not taken his hand on that terrible dark day so many years ago, and he would not take it now -

In the next breath his hand was left hanging uselessly; Finrod’s arms were flung about his neck, his son’s head buried in his shoulder, and Finarfin returned the embrace as fiercely as if by doing so he could tear Finrod from chains that had been broken long ago.

#silm fic #minific #finarfin #finrod #my writing #queuenta silmarillion

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fistfuloflightning · 10 months

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Yet my own oath holds; and thus we are all ensnared.

#the silmarillion #curufinrod #curufin #finrod felagund #female curufin #aesthetic #damn it #this was supposed to be a cute little thing for a valinor baby shower fic #but then tate mcrae’s you broke me first came on my playlist and it grew thorns T-T #and DAMN is it hard finding pics of men with long blonde hair that even look vaguely how I envision finrod #so here have some more jack otterstedt as finrod #bc he’s the closest I’ll ever find smh #my art #tolkien art

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demonscantgothere · 1 month

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Beasts of the Hill and Serpents of the Den. Galadriel/Sauron | Halbrand. Explicit. 202.3k | 5.1k chapter [40/150] Ch. 40: A Dutiful Wife

During the First Age, the War of Wrath changes course. On the island of Tol-in-Gaurhoth, the Isle of Werewolves, one of Sauron’s former strongholds—is the seat of the Necromancer’s power. Instead of sending his wolves out to kill Finrod after capturing Felagund in his dungeons, Sauron demands an exchange for his life. Galadriel offers herself.

“Madness,” Halbrand offered softly, the word a mere whisper across his lips. “That is all I have seen. From the day I had defected, and even before that, I saw a wild madness spread from one corner to the next. Extreme lengths on both sides. None willing to listen to reason.” Halbrand paused, his bottom lip trembling as he recalled an old memory, and with its recollection, a glimmer swelled within his eyes. “Reason used to be my best quality, Galadriel. Reason. Can you imagine? Being the only one speaking any sense, and no one willing to listen to you? I was a ghost.”

Gently, she brushed her thumb over his cheek, giving him a slow nod of understanding. “I can imagine,” she whispered back.

“I believe,” Halbrand murmured, his own thumb mirroring her action onto her cheek as well, “that you spoke of reason, too, though no one listened, did they? But you spoke true to what was in your heart, whether they wanted to hear it or not, and you stood your ground.”

“I did,” Galadriel confessed, raising her chin. “My kin, Fëanor, for one.”

“Hmm,” hummed Halbrand, “a mess of an Elf.”

A little laugh, nothing more than a soft chuff of air, escaped Galadriel in a huff of agreement. He was right, of course. “The one who started this mess,” she whispered, a hint of sadness within the words.

Keep Reading

#haladriel #saurondriel #galadriel x halbrand #halbrand x galadriel #galadriel x sauron #sauron x galadriel #my fic #beasts of the hill and serpents of the den

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lamemaster · 4 months

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Love her, not me

Request: Hey I love your writing! Really like your finrod works I love him with an edain reader and I think the potential internal conflict with him about amarie and reader would be so juicy??? "Do I wait for my past elven lover who will be with me for eternity? Or explore this new love with an edain who will leave me eventually." THE DRAMA

Pairing: Finrod x Reader

Genre: Angst and ✨DRAMA✨

AN: This has been coming a long time I am sorry for the delay. I hope you like it anon💕

"Don't be so nice to me, it might get my hopes up." You push away the cup of tea presented in front of you.

Seated next to you Finrod's smile freezes at your words. An awkward but perfectly diplomatic smile settles on his lips. It is unlike the one you have come to love.

The king of Nargothrond clears his throat, his eyes wandering all over the room. Landing anywhere but at you. Perhaps it was too much to even look you in the eye. "It is merely tea between friends. We are still friends are we not?" He asks, his voice meek. It is different from the elf who manages to charm every race on the face of Arda.

"Friends do not cancel meetings to meet up for tea, friends do not insist on meeting alone; devoid of any other company." Your words are sharp. They seem to cut the air laden with tension between you both. "And we Finrod can never just be friends. My heart won't allow that without stringing itself to foolish hope."

This marked your last chanced meeting with the King of Nargothrond.

Falling for Finrod Felagund was foolish but also foolishly easy. It was easy to forget that the world did not revolve around him. He, who was magnificent compared to any other creature to walk on the face of Arda, was not the center of the world. A presence too perfect that it felt as if Eru himself had taken the pain of shaping every inch of him.

So, yes you fell in love with him. It was inevitable. But you never intended it to be anything more than the burden of your own heart. You were afterall too prideful to confess to him like every other stary-eyed Edain.

Your entire time was devoted to transcribing the oral legends of your language to his while keeping your eyes from staring at him for too long. But somehow, your eyes met with his smiling ones. A fragment of the moment that you wished to never have happened.

The sole moment was enough to tug the King of Nargothrond by your side. What started as a conversation about rolling r’s lent itself into debates, evening strolls, sharing books, watching him play a harp, tracing constellations until the stars led your hand into his. And it fit so perfectly. As if it was made to be held by him.

The path from fingertips to the caress of lips was a slippery slope. It felt too right to cradle his face in your palms and feel his lips on yours. His curls slipped into your fingers settling into your palms softly.

You were eager. You wanted it more than anything else. Perhaps it was the eagerness of possessing that kind of love, that blinded you.

But it did not take long for the sweetness of your kiss to turn into the bitterness of the realization. Your love was doomed to perish from its conception. The celebration of Finrod’s reciprocity to your affection was dulled by a growing ache of the truth that he was not yours. You had known it. The King of Nargothrond had a lover waiting back in the blessed lands.

You pulled away from him. Your hands slipped off from his curls. Your heart had protested every single movement that took you away from him. You ached to be closer despite the abyss of truth between you and him.

However, more painfull the look of horror on Finrod’s face or how he had stormed off leaving you alone. It was a rejection that came with the broken hope of acceptance.

For weeks you did not see him. Those felt the heaviest of your mortal life. So, you busied yourself in finishing your work during the days and blacked out drunk at night. But even a glimpse of him seemed to evade you.

Bundling your misery into the fevor of finishing your labor, you stained your hands with ink. There wasn’t much that you could offer him but your absence. Then so be it. Finrod would never have to remember you or the insignificant kiss that centuries could bury into a forgotten memory.

You were ready to give him the present of your absence, until he showed up. Just the sight of him had deluded your mind into thinking perhaps…he too felt something.

But the Finrod who returned was different. He returned with an oblivion to whatever had transpired between you both. As all your heartache was a construct of your own making. For a fleeting moment you believed it.

He greeted you with a warm smile, the same smile that once marked the beginning of your friendship to him. It was as if the pages of time had turned, erasing the chapters of heartache and leaving only the ink of indifference.

"You seem to have been quite occupied in my absence," he remarked, glancing at the scattered parchments and ink-stained hands that bore witness to the agony you had poured into your work.

Your heart, which had dared to hope, now sank like a stone. The weight of his obliviousness pressed upon you, and you realized that the love that had gripped your soul had failed to leave a lasting mark on his memory.

With a forced smile, you replied, "Yes, I've been immersed in my tasks. A distraction, if you will." The bitterness of those words hung in the air, a subtle reminder of the wounds that refused to heal.

He could have fooled you, if not for the foreign distance that loomed between you both. Opting for the seat farthest from you, he did not pour over your work like he always did. He still laughed and rambled passionately about the characters of ancient legends but it was contained. It was King of Nargothrond not Finrod you had to yourself for a second of your life.

You played along the role he assigned you. A friend, a coworker, nothing more. It was better this way.

The distancing should have stirred anger within you, should have humiliated your pride, but instead, it became a silent torment that gnawed at your soul. Nights were spent in solitude, your mind spinning with futile thoughts of how to bridge the gap, how to reclaim the love that had slipped through your fingers.

In the quiet moments, when the world slept, your heart wrestled with the demons of longing. You crafted scenarios in your mind, scenarios where the King of Nargothrond melted away, and Finrod, with the sparkle in his eyes and the warmth in his smile, returned to you.

Perhaps his cruelty would have harderened your heart. Stripped you of irrsupressable longing had the slivers of his own desire not slipped into your meeting with him.

Finrod was subtle in his desperation, a master at concealing the traces of his own desire. A mere mortal might not have detected the nuances, the subtle shifts in his gaze, the hesitation in his voice, or the way his fingers lingered on the pages of your work. But your heart, fueled by its own yearning, became a relentless seeker of any sign, any glimmer of reciprocation.

The unexpected errands, the discussions about tea, the orchestrated crossings of your paths—each encounter with Finrod seemed to hold the promise of something more, yet every meeting left you with the bitter taste of a friendship that refused to evolve.

In a moment of desperate rebellion against the unending cycle of longing and unfulfilled desires, you threw yourself into the arms of a random stranger who happened to approach you during dinner. It was a bold move, driven by the need to sever the invisible threads that bound you to the King of Nargothrond.

You felt his eyes on you, a gaze that had become a constant presence in your life. The decision to embrace the arms of another was not driven by the desire for a new connection but rather a desperate attempt to shake Finrod from his silent yearning. It was a calculated move, a ploy to force him to confront the reality of your actions.

As the stranger engaged you in conversation, you played along, allowing the charade to unfold. Finrod's gaze, once filled with a subtle longing, now bore witness to a scene that shattered the illusion of exclusivity. It was a painful spectacle, a dagger aimed at the heart of a love that had become entangled in a web of unspoken words.

You wrapped your arms around the stranger whose name felt awkward on your tongue. You let the man whisper filth in your ears. Words that could have been loud enough for Finrod to hear. You let his hands roam all over you. And then while you could still feel Finrod’s gaze glaring at you, you led the man to your room.

You spent the night with him breaking all and every chance of ever attaining love you desired the most. Even as the man held your body, kissed your lips, you could not help but wonder how he, the one you love, would have done it.

Finrod would have been more gentle, he would have never degraded you with the speech the man used taking you for an easy catch. He would perhaps have held you hand. But you don’t know. You will never know.

The tears that flow down your face that night are not of pleasure but of sorrow. Even as your body trembles with pleasure, your heart feels nothing but the pain of the hurt you have caused him.

After kicking out the stranger from your room, you lay back down on the sweat soaked sheets that smelled nothing like what you had once hoped for.

You made the choice for him. You have surrendered to the fair elleth who waits for your beloved seas apart. The fates have played as they were set to do. He will be happier next to her, you tell yourself. He had to be.

Someone out of you both had to find joy. It had to be him.

In the final moments of Finrod's breath, his eyes remained fixed on you. There, right beside him, you kissed his wounds with gentle lips, a tender gesture in the face of impending darkness.

"You are one stubborn elf, Nom," you chuckled, your arms wrapping around him. In this moment, nothing held you back from him. In the passing moments of death, you could love him freely, even if only as a figment in his mind.

“I love you,” he whispered aloud, a confession that resonated through the darkness of Angband. Your kisses paused, surprise flickering in your eyes even within the dream. “I love you so much that I cannot stop. I tried,” tears streaked down his cheeks. “I tried not to love you. I stopped Aegnor, but I myself could not resist. I still love you very much.” Ages worth of grievances and confessions spilled from his lips.

You wiped away his tears with hands that still held the fragrance of ink and paper. “I love you, Finrod. There is no other reason for my existence but to love you,” you spoke, tilting his chin to kiss him once more. “All my actions, all my motivations have been for nothing but you.” He knew it better than anyone.

He had known it, and the knowledge cut deeper than any wound. His inability to act on his feelings had led you to make a choice, a choice to bow to a man you never loved.

Bleeding out on the freezing ground, Finrod, the firstborn of Arafinwe, dreamed not of Valinor, his siblings, his parents on nether shores, or of Amarie as you both had wished. His dreams were of you. In those dreams, Finrod leaned into the warmth of your hands, which seemed to numb his pain and replace it with the thrumming pleasure of your touch. In those dreams, he could finally love you without the constraints of the waking world.

#the silmarillion #silmarillion x reader #finrod x reader #finrod felagund #bro angst #unrequited love #oomph

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silver-grasp · 5 months

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Narrative Power in Arda

An embarrassing number of months ago, I alluded to narrative as an in-universe force within the Silmarillion in my tags on a post I have since lost, which I feel merits further elaboration. The short version is that crafting a story carries meaningful weight and power in Arda, which is not much of a reach considering that 1) telling a story in a certain way has power even in the real world, and 2) music is already well-established as an important medium and means of magic in Middle Earth. I think it is relevant to consider this aspect when discussing the nature and weight of words in the Silmarillion, whether it be curses, dooms, oaths, or anything else.

To begin with, it is difficult to tease apart what I will call in-universe narrative from narrative in the sense that a guy called Tolkien wrote this whole story down, on purpose, with various story arcs that come to various narratively satisfying conclusions. The best illustrative example of in-universe narrative, thus, is Finrod’s duel in song against Sauron, because Tolkien could have had the song battle work however he wanted, but he chose to make it about storytelling. We joke about Finrod and Sauron’s rap battle, but their contest really is a battle of narratives – particularly cultural narratives. To quote:

Then sudden Felagund there swaying Sang in answer a song of staying, Resisting, battling against power, Of secrets kept, strength like a tower, And trust unbroken, freedom, escape; […] And all the magic and might be brought Of Elvenesse into his words. […] The sighing of the sea beyond, Beyond the western world on sand, On sand of pearls in Elvenland.

This is arguably the story of the Noldor, as told by Finrod – all the beauty and power of Aman, but brought by the Noldor to Middle Earth in their flight to escape the control of the Valar and avenge their king against Morgoth’s evil. This is his choice of story to wield against Sauron, and it makes sense. It invokes the Noldor’s heroism against Morgoth in maintaining the long siege, as well as their rejection of all the higher powers and his own faithfulness to his oath to Barahir that led him to this point. It’s a good story, but Sauron shatters it with a single invocation, because this narrative Finrod spins of the Flight of the Noldor cannot accommodate the atrocity that was the Kinslaying at Alqualonde.

The outcome of the song battle is not decided based on raw power, or skill in crafting magic or spells, or even singing ability. It is won on the merits of narrative: Finrod’s story doesn’t work; he cannot narratively reconcile the reality of the Kinslaying with “trust unbroken, freedom, escape,” and thus Sauron has the victory (1). Thus, we can conclude that “does the story work” is a legitimate part of how magic functions in Middle Earth.

This should not come as a surprise; Middle Earth (and the world itself) were created/predicted by the Music of the Ainur, which is itself a narrative work of music. It, arguably, puts the story in history (2). The narrative of the Ainulindale, moreover, is disrupted by Morgoth in much the same way Sauron disrupts Finrod’s narrative in their contest. But whereas Finrod’s story collapses under the contradictions introduced by Sauron, Eru incorporates Morgoth’s discord into the Music to create a new, greater theme than the one before. This is not an accident, and it shows that Eru, as God and Creator (read: Author), understands narrative better than Morgoth does: any good story has conflict of one sort or another. That’s what makes them stories, rather than a pleasant but boring account of a series of pleasant but boring events.

This is to say, Tolkien makes the necessity of having a plot arc into part of his theological worldbuilding. There is, frankly, a lot you could say about that, but I am not going to, because it is somewhat off-topic from the point I’m trying to make and also I really don’t know where to begin.

Additionally, while Finrod’s own narrative fails, the overall narrative of Middle Earth picks up where he left off and turns his defeat into a fourth-act crisis point, the abyss which makes way for Luthien’s subsequent victory over both Sauron and Morgoth and triumphant retrieval of the Silmaril. Finrod may not have known how to turn Sauron’s narrative disruption to his own ends, but Eru does.

Returning to the Doom of the Noldor, while Manwe is said to be the closest of the Valar to Eru in thought, I would argue that Namo, as the Vala of fate, is the closest of the God-as-Author aspect of Eru. His domain, fate, is closely linked with the Music. I said earlier that Middle Earth was created/predicted by the Music, and that blurriness between creation and prophecy is important for understanding the nature of Fate in Tolkien’s work - there is a careful tightrope walked between free will and determinism (3). I argue that the Music additionally suggests that fate in Arda is really Narrative at work.

So where does that leave, for instance, the Doom of the Noldor? Is it curse or prophecy? Punishment meted out by the gods or natural consequences of an unprecedented violent attack? Framing it in these binaries is reductive no matter which side you come down on. The Doom is neither a curse nor a prophecy: it is a narrative.

The soon-to-be Exiles, led by Feanor, kick off their narrative in maybe the worst way possible (murder). This is, objectively, a very bad inciting incident – stories that start with murder don’t tend to turn out well for the people doing the murdering. Within the Music, and the fabric of Arda’s fate, the Noldor have narrowed their narrative options significantly. “Slain ye may be, and slain ye shall be,” for have they not already slain their own kin? But it is very difficult to argue for the Doom as purely prophetic. The text itself indicates in multiple places the judgment or wrath of the Valar as something laid upon the house of Feanor and all who follow them, not simply natural consequences. There is a tangible weight to the Doom, and a sense after the War of Wrath that it is something that can be lifted.

Mandos says, you have chosen your story to be a tragedy by opening with a tragedy. But when this is spoken by Narrative himself, it takes on a weight greater than that of a mere prediction. The Doom defines the genre of the story that is to follow: Tears unnumbered ye shall shed. And they did.

The story, of course, is never truly over. But I’ll leave eucatastrophe for another day.

Footnotes: (1) As a side note, I am forever thinking about arrogantemu’s fic “Beyond the Western World,” in which Finrod says “I’d staked everything on an innocence I didn’t have.” Credit where credit is due for influencing my thinking on this subject.

(2) Tolkien as a linguist would undoubtedly be aware that the words come from the same root, and that other modern languages have not in fact separated the meanings of “work of fiction” and “account of real events” into separate words.

(3) To write a proper meta on this subject I would have to dig much deeper into other sources, but from my understanding fate in Tolkien’s works works very similarly to the Anglo-Saxon concept of wyrd – there’s a very interesting line in Beowulf, I believe, about how “for undaunted courage, fate spares the man it has not already marked” (paraphrased). I highly recommend reading more about it for a better understanding of fate in Middle Earth.

#the silmarilion #the doom of the noldor #meta #dear god this has been. a long time in the writing #in my defense I had to move across the country shortly after starting this #and my copy of the silm was in a box. which made research difficult. and then I forgot about it

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