#finarfin scenario

[doodle-pops]

Tales of the Heart

Finarfin x mortal!reader

Request: Boyah!!! ♥️♥️ So happy requests re open!! ♥️ Could I please request Finarfin x human!reader? Perhaps after the final battle, he decides to see ME with his own eyes :') but he is a bit lost, the change it too much ! So the reader finds him and helps him thru his stay :") and sun fluffy romance!! 🤲♥️ — @noldorinpainter

A/N: When I say that I enjoyed writing this, I most absolutely did! This was my first official Finarfin request and it was so fluffy and sweet! Thank you for the request. I got to write a soft and flirty Finarfin and I was squealing. Thank you for increasing Finarfin content.

Warnings: none, nothing but absolute fluff and a flirty Finarfin shooting his shot

Words: 2.8k

Synopsis: As the War of Wrath came to an end, Finarfin decided to explore the beauty of Middle Earth. Instead, he discovered another form of beauty, becoming enthralled.

Part 1 | Part 2 |

The sound of streams rushing vigorously echoed to his right as his foot crossed a maple vine. Animals were scurrying across the forest floor the further he wandered into the forest. Though it was creepier than what he remembered during his childhood days in Valinor, it appeared much livelier now that the war was over, and the majority of the evil had fled.

The squawking and singing of birds overhead and in the canopy and buzzing of insects filled his head with safe sounds compared to the reoccurring sound of metal clashing. The melody was sweeter than the memories of the horrors of the great war. His said reason for escaping the confinements of the camp during nightfall left him to wander until the sun raised on him.

Anor’s rays were caught in his mess of golden ringlets which was designed into a messy bun with tresses still falling out—something to keep the humidity under control. Worrying about his troupes and the others was the least of his concerns; he wanted to explore the lands his father originated. The stories of fighting wild beasts—well that part was already explored—and travelling the distant lands, over the mountain and yonder filled his heart with exhilaration.

Making turns at all different angles and parts, following blinding trails and the forest beasts to wherever they may lead him, having a guide in this new land simply slipped the High King’s mind. His heart contained too much anticipation to learn what was around the river bend or above the canopy of the tallest tree. For a moment, he felt like his little boy when he was in his youthful years. Dragging and tugging at his arms to show him a mud puddle or spider forming its webs. Now he understood who and where Finrod's the enthusiasm resonated from.

Wandering for over twenty minutes, pushing himself deeper into the woods, the idea of handing his hand on the hilt of his sword was faint. All the evil was pushed back to the outer skirts of the land, surely he couldn’t have covered grounds that rapidly. However, he found his left hand sliding up his thigh to comfortably settle on the hilt of his sword. His grip was loose, easy to tighten in a flash if required, positive that the looming eerie sensation was no danger, but rather…uncommon. A concoction of excitement and curiosity overtook his body and urged him to walk forward, overstepping the squirrels that scurried about his feet.

What lay before him was an image he believed to only exist in a land like Araman, nowhere else had the capacity to withhold a beautiful sight. The freshness and holiness of the atmosphere were light and enchanting as if it was untouched by the creatures of the land, save for the animals. It was there his eyes landed on the stream his ears had the fortunate pleasure of listening to. The bubbles of happiness the running water echoed flooded through the roots of a maple tree whose roots formed an archway over the stream. Its roots were planted deeply, and its foundation was firm for the smaller creatures to gather in unity and live. Currently, its leaves were still green, signalling that autumn was far away from stealing its youth.

The exhilarating sensation was still bubbling in his chest when his foot landed in the enclosure and touched the grass. He felt like it was a crime to enter the area clad in his boots. Toes melting into the grass, he sighed blissfully at the warmth the earth provided. Middle Earth isn’t as terrible as I believed it to be after all! At this point, the dangers that could present themselves during this moment were long forgotten as his eyes took in the serenity the land offered.

Laughter had bubbled up his throat and slipped past his lips when a pair of blue jay swooped down from their nest and fluttered around him, singing their morning song. Anor’s rays were still scattered throughout the trees, yet to peak the canopy. Lifting his hand for the birds to land as he assumed it was their intention, the sound of another bird breaks his concentration.

“They seem to like you, well, of course, they would. You’re an elf, all animals tend to flock to your kind with ease.” You were sitting on the opposite side of the maple tree, hidden from his eyes, but audible to his ears. They cocked in the direction your voice echoed and his head automatically craned to view the owner of the voice with curious eyes.

The birds perched on his arm were long forgotten. You had taken the stoplight and captured his attention. Were you a fellow elf or perhaps half-elven as he had come to learn existed. He had met the Edains…who were highly indifferent to his kind. Many qualities were noticeable to differentiate elves from men, so surely, you were on the elven side. But…of course, they would. You’re an elf, an elf wouldn’t make such a statement. You were mortal.

“…Would you be so kind as to reveal yourself, that way I can know who I am about to host a conversation with?” He attempted to hide his commanding nature and royal assertiveness, not wanting to scare you or propose the assumption that you were being forced. Though, he wanted to be a bit commanding, desperate to meet the face of this cheerful voice.

The sound of a book shutting, and clothes crumpling resonated behind the tree and prompted him to shuffle his bare feet across the grass the view you before you could present yourself. What, or as a matter of fact, who he saw, surprised him. Mortals weren’t known for their exquisite form of beauty, but for certain, you surely must have been. The way your hair moved with you as you arose, swishing and curling with your body and wind, was enthralling. Your much smaller figure still held grace and agility that was comparable to the elves. Even your voice reflected the beauty that the elves were known for displaying. Mortal or not, there had to be a trace of elven blood somewhere.

Finarfin gawked, unconsciously, while you ushered yourself off the ground and encircled the tree to prevent stepping over the larger and more complicated roots. More to avoid embarrassment before an otherworldly creature. The corners of his lips were upturned, and his eyes softened as you bounded over to his taller figure without an ounce of fear. That brought some sense of relief to his erratic heart.

“Greetings My Lord, may a star shine upon our meeting.” You greeted him formally with the extension of your hand from your heart to him. His eyes widened unexpectedly and his lips parted to inhale. While the High King received the greeting from the other Edains upon meeting them for their war meetings, there was something different about yours. He couldn’t place his finger on it, but it provided some volume of pleasure.

Being in a distant land for what was considered a few years, his interest in learning the mortal tongue fluctuated due to their ability to communicate in his. While he knew their tongue, the memories of the language were hidden away at the back of his mind. Finarfin’s turmoil began the longer he stood there gawking at you, blue jays already flown away and hand limp at his side, dying to respond. For a moment, he forgot all knowledge of the proper sequence of hosting a conversation, but that was not the reason for his hindrance.

His heart thumped like a hummingbird as warmth filled his skin. He knew it was not the sun, it was still at its 8 o’clock angle. The increase of air in his lungs, the rush of blood flowing under his skin, the lightness of his body, the chorus his fёa sang, Finarfin knew exactly what it meant. It was the last thing on his mind he would ever expect to re-experience again, let alone, here in a foreign land. Loneliness was forgotten and had never felt so foreign and unnerving now that he stood face-to-face in your presence.

What would the Valar say if he offered to return home with you? Did you even feel what he felt?

“Apologies for my…silence…uhh. Might I know your name?” He quickly asked to prevent you from being swayed by his lack of response. When was the last time I had ever attempted to swoon someone? Ah yes, since then…

The memory wasn’t merry to remember. It stung him twice.

“Y/N, My Lord! My name is Y/N,” you exclaimed. “Might I have to honour of knowing yours?”

A name so unusual and unheard off was the epitome of a rare jewel; his mind could never comprehend or imagine such a beauty. Though, he could see the way you peered up at his majestic figure, enthralled the moment you were caught by his welcoming smile and softened electric blue eyes. Knowing the effect of his beauty on others became normality, but when it was you who was affected, his composure was slowly chipping away behind the sole of his feet. Being bare feet on the grass was probably a terrible idea, any moment he could lose his barring and fall harder.

“Arafinwe, my dear,” he politely answered, struggling to keep his the frequency of his voice stable. The hand that once gripped the hilt of his sword reached out and lifted your dainty fingers, over your head, to meet his soft lips (he hoped they were soft enough) and enthral you more.

His ears picked up the faint gasp and his fingers detected the skip in your pulse at the contact. He still had it in him to place his effective charming spell over you.

“Y-Your name…it is unusual to my ears. Very different from the Sindar and the Noldor. Are you perhaps a Moriquendi?” Your question would have offended another whose natural instincts were to shun the rejected race and prideful boost of theirs, but Finarfin knew there were no negative intents behind your curiosity. Like any charmed person, he would enlighten you.

“No, my dear. Noldorin I am, and from across the sea, I came to like those you know. However, my name remains unchanged and dwells in the language of the High Elves, Quenya,” he spoke. A voice like honey, rich and heavy, luring you in with positive intentions to savour more. A taste unlike any other you had ever sampled. Your folks told tales of the Edain who fell for the elf-maiden, fairest of all them all in face and voice, and you wanted to protest against that saying. He was the fairest of them all. Never had a voice like his make butterflies erupt.

“Ah, well that would explain your…accent, it is different from those who speak my tongue,” you stated.

Humming in a sing-song manner, he beamed. “Indeed it is. I have not developed the proper speech technique? …no, forgive me, phonetics of your language. I recently arrived.” He was still holding your hand in his, knowing that he needed to return it, but refusing to part from your touch. Finarfin was like a moth drawn to a flame.

“Then that means you are the elves who came to assist us in battle?! It is you, along with the King, from across the sea who won us the war and brought peace to our land?!”

“The stories have already spread? It has only been a month since the war ended,” he laughed enthusiastically and was intrigued to learn what you might have heard about him. “What have they said about the King?”

“Oh!” you exclaimed at the sudden pique in his interest. “Well, they said that it was he who won the war and defeated the great Dark Lord, driving him and his foul creatures from the land. He fought valiantly and fiercely, with the heart and strength of a lion.”

His heart fluttered at the impression the folks had on him, yet, he wanted to know what you thought of him.

Dropping his hand while maintaining his grip around your fragile fingers as he had come to understand about the Edain. Such delicate creatures you were, much need of care and protection would be required.

“And…what do you think of the King?” he peered, desperate to flutter his heart at your opinion of him. A start to understanding how you saw him through your eyes. A start to rekindle the fire in his heart.

“Well, My Lord…” you pondered. “I cannot say what I think of him for I have never met nor seen him. But I can say that he must be kind, strong and fierce to have led his troupes into battle and win.”

The smile on his face grew from your modesty. You were remarkably wonderful in the short moment he grew to know you. His ego was flaring up at the praises you threw innocently at him. Anyone else who praised him, and it would have been common knowledge from then, but you made a repetitive compliment sound like a prize. What other words could he successfully pry from your honeyed lips?

Turning his head up to the sky, the sun had already peaked and cast its noonday shadows. When did time fly this quickly? Did you cast and enchanting spell upon me? I surely do not mind. His troupes would be out searching for him, an interruption he refused to accept. If he stayed here, they would find him in a matter of hours, but of course, there were ways to evade unwanted interruptions.

“And what if I revealed to you that I am the Noldóran, the King, you speak of, will you continue to keep me company?” he teased. It was long since he felt the need to tease anyone. Not even his nephews he reunited with and he used to playfully tease as children could he attempt to taunt.

His heart was yearning for company…companionship, and you were giving him a sense of hope. Yet to truly understand and grasp the untold truth of the Edains, or perhaps like every other elf before him who did, he ignored it to fill the empty gap in his heart. When the time was right, what pain and suffering he had to experience, he would deal with it as such.

Appalled by his boldness, you stuttered, stunned, “T-The King? You are the King, Arafinwe…your Majesty? Why would you be out here conversing with me and not in the safety of your people?”

Chuckling while lifting his other hand to encompass the one holding yours, he held it between you both. Despite the great height difference between you two, looking down lacked discomfort. There was more mirth and dynamism the longer he locked his gaze with yours. He could see the way your cheeks became swollen and lifted to present your bashfulness and enthrallment to him. It was endearing to learn that he still had the effects he once possessed.

“The beauty of the land was calling to me, and I could not resist. So I came looking, and I was entranced when I discovered that it was you, beckoning to me,” he whispered delicately as though he was citing a soliloquy. “I do not wish to part from you so soon, I still have much to learn, and your company would be splendid.”

Falling speechless at his poetry, none which you ever heard from the elves, dwarves and men have ever sounded as sophisticated and eloquent as his. He was purposefully melting your insides a caramel. Looking up at his marvellously heightened figure, he appeared taller than most of the elves you witnessed. His aura was radiant and compelling.

“My King…surely you do not mean that. I am mortal and you, an elf. It is unlikely between us.”

“If it is unlikely, then why is my heart racing this instant as we speak?” His heart sped up and then clenched at the partial rejection. Never before had Finarfin felt the dire urge to act so direct. Affairs of the heart were always a dangerous situation to be caught in, and this was different from any he had experienced. “But, if that is what you wish, then I would respectfully understand and part ways, but if not, I will pursue no matter what they say.” But my heart would ache and cry for you.

Even you felt a pang in your heart at his sullen state of dejection. “…It is not every day you meet an elf who wishes to fancy you. Mayhaps we become a successful story to the others before us?” you breathed. “So how might I, a mortal, keep His Majesty company if he wishes it?”

“Ay, we can indeed,” he replied with little to no knowledge of the tragedies that couples like him and you faced, but eager was his heart and fëa to love again. He would put his affections and courage to the test to love you. “Arafinwe, my dear. And a tour of the area would be pleasing; that way I can find you easily when I wish to reunite with you again,” he smirked.

Shyly nodding and biting your lip, you hid your growing flustered state and mumbled, “Then I would be honoured to give you a tour to meet again…soon, Arafinwe.”

Masterlist

Taglist: @eunoiaastralwings @noldorinpainter @ranhanabi777 @spidergirla5 @lilmelily @someoneinthestars @mysticmoomin @aconstructofamind @singleteapot @the-phantom-of-arda @rain-on-my-umbrella @wandererindreams @asianbutnotjapanese @ilu-stripes @justellie17 @justjane @silverose365 @bunson-burner

#finarfin x reader #finarfin imagine #finarfin scenario #finarfin fluff #finarfin #silmarillion x reader #silmarillion imagine #silmarillion fluff #silmarillion scenario #silmarillion fic #middle earth x reader #middle earth imagine #middle earth fluff #middle earth fic #house of finarfin #arafinwë #arafinwe #arafinweans #house of finwe #x reader fluff #x reader insert #tooth rotting fluff #silmarillion #doodlepops writings ✨

[actuallyfingolfin]

Heyy! For the ask game, could you do 3 with Feanor, Fingolfin and Finarfin? Lots of love!

fight aliens with: feanor! originally i was going to say fingolfin before deciding feanor would with all the Inventor Smarts would make some gadgets that'd be absolutely insane but work REALLY well and look REALLY cool. [also feanor’s reactions to the aliens would be extremely entertaining, i think.]

fight zombies with: fingolfin because fire is a valid weakness on zombies and he probably wouldn't go overboard with the arson unlike some smiths we all know. [also he's fought morgoth. zombies are nothing.]

fight capitalism with: finarfin! from having dealt with all the bureaucratic bs the noldor surely kept throwing at him during the first & second ages, he definitely needs a good stress outlet :) he would also probably tolerate me the most out of the three of them

#ahh thank you! <3 #amypihcs #ask games #nolo replies #honestly out of these three scenarios i think the one with finarfin has the potential to be the Most Chaotic...

[tinnictheguardian]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#feanor #finwe #house of finwe #house of feanor #tolkien #silmarillion #russingon #what if #maedhros #fingon #alternate universe

[imakemywings]

Summary: Anaire forgives Fingolfin in pieces.

Length: 4.7k

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

AO3 | Pillowfort | SWG

Photo credit to Dainis Graveris on Unsplash.

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

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

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

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

Anairë made him sleep on the sofa.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I need you,” he whispered at last.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

            “Anairë…” he began again.

            “Yes?” she asked, more softly.

            “Do you want this?”

            She blinked at him.

            “Have I given another impression?” she asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

            Anairë stared him down.

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

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

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

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

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

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

            “Is this what you want?” he murmured.

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

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

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

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

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

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

            It didn’t happen.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

            “I missed you too,” she answered quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

            “Do you remember—”

            They both stopped.

            “Were you thinking of Findekáno?” she asked.

            “Arakáno,” he replied.

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

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

            “You may stay, if you wish.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#anaire #fingolfin #anaire x fingolfin #the silmarillion #tolkien tag #fanfiction #tolkien fanfiction #silmsmutweek #rocky writes

[sallysavestheday]

For the love your fandom asks: 3,5 and 7?

Thanks for the ask! I'm having fun with this list.

3. A character that fandom has helped you appreciate. Finarfin! I have become very fond of him as a complex and conflicted youngest, faced with picking up and moving forward everything his elder siblings have cast off. He has a very particular kind of courage, and an unexpected, slowly-building, absolutely overwhelming rage that finally, finally Gets the Job Done. What's not to like?

5. Something you see in fics a lot and love. Shades of grey. Tolkien's work quietly highlights the difficulty of knowing good from evil, the challenge of clearly articulating who is right and who is wrong, and the complexity of "heroism." I appreciate that the fandom has continued to play that out across familiar canon scenarios and with characters and in moments that Tolkien barely touched on. There are lovely contemplative people in this fandom.

7. Your favorite tropes to read/write/draw. Not tropes, per se, but let's call some of them 1) unintended consequences of desperate acts; 2) hush, I love you; 3) varieties of healing; 4) my animals and I are some sort of metaphor; 5) oh, yes, you can definitely tell I am the eldest; 6) I am not the eldest and it sucks.

:)

#asks and answers

[nyarnamaitar]

💖

Thanks for the ask, Anon! 🩵

I’ll take this opportunity to talk a bit more about some of my less-discussed Manwë rarepairs, because a) I love him and b) I want him to be loved.

Aside from Manwë x the usual suspects (Varda, Melkor, Ulmo, Ingwë), one of my favourite Manwë ships is Manwë x Fëanor, especially in a Post-Dagor Dagorath scenario. I know they seem like an odd match, but I genuinely believe they are more compatible than most people think. A relationship between them would never be easy, but they both enjoy a challenge and I feel they would learn a great deal from each other, if given the chance. This ship also allows me to chew on topics I really enjoy thinking about, such as Valar-Eldar relationships and Fëanor’s relationship to divinity (and how it can heal). Also, Manwë’s type very much seems to be fierce, fiery, dark-haired beauties, which Fëanor fits to the T. 😂

I also enjoy Manwë x Finarfin, both platonic and in a more romantic light. They must have spent a lot of time together in the aftermath of the Darkening and the Exile of the Noldor, and given their similar personalities and situations (both inherit a throne they never asked for; both carry its weight uncomplainingly), I think they would come to care greatly for each other. I haven’t thought about this ship as much as I have about some of my other Manwë ships, but I’d love to explore it more.

Funnily enough, a Manwë ship I’m a bit on the fence about is Manwë x Eönwë, mostly because I HC Eönwë as aroace. Still, I don’t mind more romantic interpretations of their relationship, because I do see them as very close and I firmly believe that they would sacrifice themselves if it meant protecting the other.

As for non-Manwë rarepairs, I love Indis x Míriel, Nerdanel x Yavanna, and Nienna x Varda. I’m also quite fond of Fëanor x Finarfin.

#manwë #manwe #manwë x fëanor #manwë x finarfin #tolkien

[marta-bee]

It’s been quite a while since I’ve read the Unfinished Tales bits, but as I recall there’s quite a lot made about the rift between Celeborn and Celebrimbor. It came down to the fact that Celebrimbor was making magical jewelry and also Feanor’s grandson and that didn’t work out so well for Beleriand back in the First Age, so maybe he could just Not? Certainly that’s the reading we get in fanfic.

What fascinates me is, we always talk about this as a Noldor vs. Sindar thing, and never as a Feanorian vs. child of (I think- I do suck at family trees) Finarfin thing. Certainly a Feanorian vs. Noldorin-but-not-Feanorian thing. And I’m sure Galadriel’s uncles and brothers and so on would have a word or two to say about her accepting magical jewelry from a descendant of Feanor if any of them had survived round one of more or less precisely that scenario. I realize this is the Second Age and all those distinctions between different types of elves were less important just because there were so much less of them, but you’d think this would have come up. Just a bit, perhaps?

Also, for Celeborn in particular to be upset about elves owning magical jewelry and get upset in particular about the Feanorian connection seems a bit convenient. Not like his own side of the family tree is entirely in the clear on that point....

#tolkien #the silmarillion #marta blathers #i'm talking about thingol if that last bit wasn't clear

[that-angry-noldo]

*happily digs through the werewolf AU tag* this is EXCELLENT.

So like, how and when exactly do Maedhros and Maglor realize that the fluffy oddly unmurdery murder machine is Finrod? (I can't imagine this revelation goes particularly WELL tbh because, well, how would it)

And looking forward, does Doriath ever fall? Like, the second kinslaying never happens, but does Morgoth take it eventually along with Gondolin? Does Gondolin fall the same way, with the same reasons?

With refugees going to Sirion as in the original story or-

(fervently hoping Elwing and Earendil exist, and Elrond and Elros)

And like, did Earwen come with Arafinwe, bc Finrod is her son too? (Her other kids also being motivation I'm sure)

hehe i'm so glad you liked it

I. Have not yet decided how exactly the big reveal goes, I have few versions

In the first one he just relaxes as a werewolf (Fingon comes to visit, Maedhros and Maglor are there, everything feels peaceful) and. kind of slips into his normal form while sleeping in the same bed as fingon and maedhros (they had a sleepover because who knows when will they meet next time). cut to an absolute horrified maedhros who went to sleep with one person and a wolf and woke up with two people in his bed, with the other one being thin and shaking and malnourished

In the other it's a constant struggle for him to keep his mind present in a wolf form, to fight for every thought, to try and grasp control. Maedhros sees something's wrong with his (were)wolf, and wrong in a bad kind of way, wrong in a "will my action of housing sauron's werewolf finally provoke consequences ah shit this is bad isn't it" way. He... he doesn't want to do this, but he also doesn't want any of his *people* to get hurt, so he locks werefinrod in a cell. which. only forces finrod to fight harder because he can't have the only person who cared for him give up on him

maedhros is TERRIFIED when finrod starts transforming because it's bloody and messy and horrible and really it's a miracle no swords get involved - maedhros forgot his in his room and maglor is too far and by the time he arrives yelling "I F-CKING TOLD YOU" finrod's already unconscious and brothers are horrified. fingon is too i guess (i just need fingon to be there)

now that i wrote it down i lean towards the second option tbf

Concerning Doriath - sorry I really have no idea. I *do* want all the canon characters to be born so elrond and elros are going to happen somehow

Same goes for Gondolin. I really need to sit and thing through all the possible scenarios, with the whole post-nirnaeth timeline and finarfin arriving early

Eärwen - i. i think she does. She either arrives at the same time with Arafinwe (in that case she stays in the back lines - that was Olwe's asking) or later with Ingwion and Elulindo. I'm personally leaning towards the latter option. Amarie however goes with Finarfin in any case

also yeah their other kids are the priority of course hjhkhj it's just my bias towards finrod showing sorry. they get their (remaining) family reunion don't worry

Thank you for the ask!! Feel free to ask more i'm always happy to talk about this au

(P.S. "fluffy oddly unmurdery murder machine" is an official werefinrod description now thank you)

#werewolf au #finrod #finarfin #tolkien

[symphonyofsilence]

Recently I'm not in the mood to write fix-it fics,(& even though I know fix-it fics are not necessarily due to the authors not liking the actual ending but sometimes just an alternative, happier ending, I love the bittersweet endings of Tolkien too much to write fix-it fics. there's nothing I'd like to change about it. they’re perfect, & I'm content to think that Maglor became a myth like one of his ballads & "some can still hear his voice on the shores singing songs of regret" & Maedhros, in time (a really, really long time) began to heal in the Halls of Mandos but never got rembodied.) but if I were, they would go like this:

Scenario 1: the peredhel twins somehow realize what an utterly stupid plan the Fëanorian brothers have. They overhear it or Elrond foresees it or something. So they get themselves to the camp of Eönwë when the Fëanorians get there. The Perehel twins, as the heirs of Dior, Elwing & Eärendil claim the Silmarils as their weregild. Then they look Maglor & Maedhros in the eyes, with a look of "trust me." in their eyes. Maglor immediately accepts. But it really comes down to the lord of the House. Maedhros holds eye contact with a bit of uncertainty in his eyes for a bit longer. But eventually, he assents to it. Eönwë accepts. The twins get the Silmarils & when they're asked if now everything is good between the houses of Fëanor & Eärendil they answer: everything is perfect. In fact, I'm going to give the rocks to the Lord Celebrimbor in token of how perfect everything is now between our houses!

So, the Fëanorian brothers are released from their oath. They thank the Peredhel twins. Maglor gives Elrond his harp. The Peredhel twins tell them to now go to their mom in peace & wish them a safe journey. Elrond says that one day, he will see them again. Elros just grins and jokingly tells them that when they got to Valinor, as a sign to them that they've reached the white shores safely, burn the ships. Somehow the Fëanorian brothers know why he didn't say that he'll see them again. They've somehow known it deep in their hearts since they heard about the choice the twins were given. So their farewell to him is more final & their looks more lingering. But eventually, they say their farewells & get abroad to go to their mom in peace.

Scenario 2: they're not complete idiots. Maglor wins that final argument with Maedhros. They assent to what Eonwe said. They get to Valinor. Then, when they're about to be judged, Nerdanel steps in. She claims the Silmarils as her inheritance of her late husband. She has the right. So the brothers can shut up about their Erudamn oath. Just like the previous scenario the brothers do face judgment but their life is eternal so...(I think it would be better if they have to do social service. All of the Fëanorians are so talented & beneficial to society ... Carl Marx will haunt my dreams for the previous sentence.)

Scenario 3: Finarfin who is on the camp of Eonwe hears of his nephew's request, he also overhears them talking so reluctantly about the Silmarils as though the only thing urging them to regain them is their oath. Finarfin knows his brother's family & knows what will happen & doesn't want more bloodshed. Also, he's kind & these two eldest sons had always really looked like such kind kids & even in Beleriand, he's heard great tales of them. It was a pity to see them in such a state. Maybe it wasn't so late for their redemption. They should have been given a chance. So the next day as the King of the Noldor he claims the Silmarils as their Cultural Heritage. & Finarfin, as Fëanor's brother, is Fëanor's kin.

what is important to consider in these scenarios is that I don’t think the sons of Feanor personally wanted anything to do with the Silmarils (it’s said numerous times that they went after it with reluctance. Maglor doesn’t seem the least bit bothered when he sees the Silmaril in the sky. and the jewels took everything from them: their grandfather, their father, their brothers, their home, their mother, even the people they themselves used to be.) And what I understood from their laat conversation was that the oath was thr only thing keeping them from going back to Valinor. and also I don’t think the oath would really do anything to them had it remained unfulfilled. as I explained here in the last long-ass section of that long-ass post.

Scenario 4: well this wouldn't really be that much of a fix-it fic since it's set after the 4th age, except for that: 1. Canonically Fëanor stays in the halls of Mandos until the breaking of the world. And the other Noldor were threatened that they won't be forgiven, too. I'm not sure if Mandos will let the sons of Fëanor out of his creepy basement. 2. Maglor is never seen among people & honestly by the 4th age & with that mental condition I think it's very likely that he has faded. 3. I'm not really sure Maedhros would choose to go to the halls of Mandos.as I've explained what I think of the possibilities after his death again, here in this very long-ass post in the last long-ass bullet point. & in this fix-it fic, I'm going with the "he had a very life/death changing conversation with Elros' ghost" version (the Marvel urge to reference previous works & just expect everyone to get it.)

But anyways this scenario goes like this:

After Arwen's & Aragorn’s death, Elrond & Celebrian obviously go through a long era of depression. one day, when Celebrian comes back home from a long, helpful talk with her mother and sees Elrond sulking alone (Elwing & Earendil do all they can, of course.) she suggests that Elrond finds a way to go after Maedhros & talk to him. Elrond doesn’t usually talk to Celebrian about the Feanorians. because they killed both her paternal & maternal family. he never told her that he’d love to meet them & even though his mind told him that Maglor had faded by now, his heart still made him search for Maglor before he sailed. but Celebrian knew him well, he understood even the things he didn’t say. when Celebrian suggested it, Elrond took the chance,

He's been working under Estë in Lorien since he got there & he's endeared himself to Estë. (but even if he hadn’t, Este “the gentle” was kind enough to help him.) So when he asks her for a favor, which is getting him a meeting with her husband, she grants it. She of course sings his praise for Irmo. I imagine that Irmo would already like him. Since he has the gift of foresight & he uses them for good, & translates people's prophetic dreams for them (which are probably the signs Irmo sends them.), & I imagine that he liked the Fëanorians too because they were "visionary". & I think Irmo must be very kind. So when Elrond asks him to somehow get him to have a mind-to-mind/soul-to-soul conversation with Maedhros, Irmo grants it. (He kinda asks for permission from Namo after he's done what he wanted to do & when Nienna joins him in saying that it's good for both of them, Namo gives up.)

It was just supposed to be a conversation at first. But then when he talked to Maedhros, he realized he can't let him go.

After Aragorn's & Arwen's death, Elrond is so done he doesn't even care who he has to throw hands with anymore. If there is a loved one he can still get back, then by Eru, he is going to get them back. 

Maedhros doesn't want to come back. Even though he told Elrond that he had seen Elros & saw him off & they had a helpful conversation and since then he's started his healing process and is doing better, he still has a long way to go. In addition to that, he believes that he won't have a very nice reception among the Valinorians if he comes back to life, and he believes they have every right to not forgive him. & he doesn't have the right to ask for recorporation and force his presence on them. And what an awful, isolated life it will be for him among them. & even if he seems to jump at any opportunity to roast Fëanor & every time speaks to his father and or looks at him there's venom in his voice and eyes (even if he allows Fëanor to help him heal & prove himself to him again) he insists that he won't be reincarnated if Fëanor is not. His father was not worse than Morgoth & Sauron who got a second chance. His problem with his father is personal but Fëanor is still his father. & especially the Valar, who drove Fëanor to madness & Mandos who doomed all their efforts don't get to have a say in his fate. Fëanor who so far had lost the hope of ever getting back in Maedhros' good graces & thought that Maedhros had no love for him anymore is shocked in the best of ways and warmth spreads through his heart. But he asks him "but what about your mother?" & Maedhros answers that he doesn't think she'll want to see him again. To which Fëanor replies that it's nonsense. "Your mother and I didn't love you for your upstanding morals to refrain from loving you for the assumed lack of it."

But they don't want to be a Finwë to him so they don't insist anymore. But Nerdanel goes to Irmo too, and he grants her wish too, (Mandos has given up), and talks to Maedhros. And boy, did he need to see Nerdanel.

For the longest time, he just cries long-dried tears in his mother's embrace. (& I'd cram in a Fëanor/Nerdanel scene here too, cuz Fëanel 5eva)

And finally, after a while, he decides to come back for Elrond, Nerdanel, Fingon, Mahtan, and his wife(Maedhros' grandmother) (they didn't go to Mandos but when they talked to him he could hear)

He comes back.

And because Eärendil was weary with his travels, and Maedhros didn't and couldn't be among people who weren't his family (or even some of the ones who were) & the Silmarils were his responsibility, he takes Eärendil's burden and Eärendil is allowed to set foot in Middle-earth for a time and come back to Valinor. He travels all around Middle-earth. Sees the land of his descendants and meets his great-grandkids. Then he thinks about Elrond and how much he loved his foster father and how much he has lost and the pure joy on his face when Maedhros got reincarnated after the lengths Elrond went to to get him back. And how if it wouldn't have been for Elrond's efforts in getting Maedhros back, Earendil wouldn't have been free now. And after all, Maglor raised his son and gave him the love he couldn't give-even if Maglor was the reason Eärendil couldn't give them that love. But really, Eärendil wasn't home for his sons even before that. In searching for the parents who went to the sea and left him behind, he became the parent who went to the sea & left his children behind. He could do this one nice thing for Elrond now. And Maglor had done enough penance. Eärendil knew how it felt wandering around the world trapped in your own mind away from people and weary from life.

So, after a lot of searching, he finds Maglor, and after long talks and a bit of much-needed unprofessional therapy from each other that continued in the journey to Valinor and resulted in them becoming unlikely but good friends, Eärendil ends Maglor’s catholic days and takes him to Valinor back to his family. Elwing understands.

Some places were forever empty and some wounds had left marks, but there was healing, there were other loved ones, life was volant, they were living it, days brought new wonders, new chances, and life was good.

#tolkien #jrrt #tolkien tag #The Silmarillion #the silm #LOTR #tolkien fic #silm fic #maedhros #maglor #elrond #Elros #finarfin #earendil #elwing #celebrian #Feanor #Nerdanel #eonwe #celebrimbor #irmo lorien #arafinwe #este the gentle #Elrond Peredhel #elrond half elven #lord elrond #maitimo #makalaure #my two sents #I might actually one day write the last one

[tolkien-feels]

I was reading this post you made, and it just made me think “oh thank god it’s probable that Galadriel at that age never met Andreth because she would put her foot in her mouth and Andreth is not the type to take that lying down.”

Like I think lotr Galadriel would consider Andreth her in law in spirit, but first she Galadriel would have been like “yeah he probably did leave you because your mortal, it’s just practical,” not really thinking about her feelings or even Aegnor really or the complexities of the situation while Finrod just sits there like “😨” like again, don’t think Galadriel doesn’t grow out of this view and by the time of lotr she would utterly cringe at her thought process and think it’s needlessly cringe and like I’d Andreth showed up tomorrow she be fighting Finrod to schedule the wedding but I think first age Galadriel and Andreth would hate each other.

I hope this doesn’t come off as rude or anything. It’s just been a feeling I’ve had for a while. And I do love imaging Andreth with her in-laws. I’d like to think Finarfin would worry he offend her because he’s never interacted much with humans in a domestic setting only a military one. I think he go full “we can’t let them know we SIT” while earwen is like totally not afraid she says as she is like “Finrod what does she like? Does she like these or those? I AM CALM?!” They wanna be the cool in laws so bad.

Oh, look, I don't have to hunt the post because you've already done it for me! Thanks anon! You know exactly how disorganized I am and I appreciate that :D

This isn't a rude ask at all (or at least I don't think it is??) and I think Galadriel is a fascinating character because she grows so much, but almost all of it happens offscreen so we don't know exactly how it happened. So it's always fun to think of scenarios where her reaction would be very different depending on the timeline.

I've thought about Andreth and Galadriel before and the impression I get is that they're equally proud and headstrong, but it outwardly looks very different: Andreth looks fiery while Galadriel looks icy. I don't necessarily headcanon them fighting because I think both of them would know how to avoid each other instead, but I can't imagine them becoming BFFs in the First Age. Even after Arda is remade, I think they'll be the last people to in the family to warm up to each other, simply because they're too similar and not in a way that necessarily invites friendship. I can see them becoming ride or die for each other in time, but they'd need time in order to get there. (Though I also think when they do finally become close friends, they'd be a force to be reckoned with, and ironically, would understand each other better than either of them understands Aegnor.)

I also have a whole headcanon about Galadriel actually growing a lot watching the Aegnor/Andreth story happen (I handwave how she knows about it), and ultimately that plays a huge role in how supportive she is of Aragorn and Arwen.

Now Finarfin and Earwen I keep imagining as getting along with Boromir and his unnamed wife but not quite knowing how to relate to Andreth herself, not even because she's a mortal, but simply because even among elves who love so deeply, Aegnor loves her, and they are so anxious to do everything right that they're treating the whole thing like a test that they have to pass instead of an opportunity to get to know a person

[theoppositeofprofound]

The fundamental difference between Fëanor and Fingolfin is that Fingolfin could and has run a country, whereas Fëanor’s leadership skills max out at a small collegial department or a really militant cult.

#finarfin could run a country but prefers to run bookclubs and letter based lobbying campaigns #feanor is the sort of person who could very well take over a country but would then have no idea what to do with it #leading to mismanagement and a violent counter-revolution #(this is one of nerdanel’s nightmare scenarios) #fingolfin can only really come into power by traditional soft power methods #but once you get him there hes very competent

[doodle-pops]

A Dance Made For Us

Finarfin x reader x Fingolfin

Kinktober 2023: Threesome

A/N: As this is the last fic of the event, I decided to go out with a bang (pun intended) and give you all the most words I've ever written for smut. I was in different moods while writing this, so excuse the long plot (I'm a sucker for plots, you all should know that by now). I had quite a lot of fun writing this and wanted to take my time building the tension to make this work despite being thrown off at numerous turns. Also, since this is a pairing not seen, I wanted to make it worth the read. In the end, I hope you enjoy the final fic!

Warnings: fem!reader, smut with plot, threesome, dom–sub dynamics, cunnilingus, blowjob, handjob, double penetration, anal and vaginal penetration, dirty talking, semi–public groping, flirtation, manhandling, nipple play, impact play (spanking), Finarfin loves titties, praising, body–worshipping, dom!Finarfin, dom!Fingolfin, asphyxiation, Finarfin being a snappy and impatient brat,

Words: 11.4k

Synopsis: As the upcoming ball for the House of Finwe approaches, the two young renowned Princes decide to improve their dancing. Inviting you, a longtime friend, to assist them, things take a fortunate turn when the heat gets turned on as you’re left alone in their hands. Determined to prove how much they have learned, they each take it upon themselves to demonstrate, competitively, their experienced skills.

List of Requests

Heels clopping away on the resplendent dance floor of the empty ballroom, your body was mesmerised by the fluidity of your dance partner and too caught up in the moment to acknowledge anyone else. Cerulean blue eyes were locked on yours as he led you step by step, feeling as though it was more than just dancing and another form of physical intimacy. A simple request from the elder of the two princes turned into a jealous game, switching you back and forth between each other to professionalise their performance for the upcoming Yule ball. You were most content with the impression that they were eager to improve their gracefulness and elegance after the last incident—constantly having your foot stepped on was not promising.

However, had you known there was a fourth person in the opulent and grand room, you would have gladly accepted their offer. The instructor’s presence, constantly hovering like a cautious parent, was irritating. Their presence had already vanished the moment you engaged with either of the princes, twirling you around and placing their hands on your waist. However, their irritating voice consistently broke your concentration, causing you to accidentally step harshly on Fingolfin’s right foot, making him stumble backwards, almost colliding with a pillar.

The scene only fuelled the instructor’s frustration, while you rolled your eyes, thanks to their incessant, annoying voice periodically disrupting your focus. You were already enjoying yourself, dancing around the room freely with Fingolfin—the first time you had ever seen the uptight prince so carefree and relaxed. Perhaps it was because Finarfin was present and not his elder brother, but you were pleased to see him in a leisurely state without being reprimanded for messing up the dance sequence; instead, it was the dance instructor who took on that task.

She finally couldn’t take it any longer and shouted, “Stop, stop, stop, stop. Enough!” With that, the three of you took the opportunity to laugh at her distress, knowing that your antics were working. From the beginning, none of you wanted the instructor to loom around the ballroom due to her history of giving the princes harsh lessons and ruining their fun. The more you stressed her out, the sooner she would give up or call off their lessons. “Your Highness, I implore you, with all due respect, the steps are quick, quick, slow. Not quick, slow, quick.”

As you turned in each other’s arms, you caught Finarfin giggling behind the instructor, his hand covering his mouth as he tried not to get into trouble. It seemed that he was the only one among the three of you who had escaped the instructor’s wrath and was now making it his mission to mock both of you and the instructor’s pressure. Resisting the urge to roll your eyes at his childish antics, you bit your tongue as the instructor came forward and asked you to step aside to demonstrate the proper moves to Fingolfin.

Gently sidestepping, you hurried to stand beside Finarfin, not without giving his arm a playful pinch for his antics. Both of you couldn’t help but shoot Fingolfin a playful pout as he had no choice but to engage in a brief dance session with the instructor to correct his mistake. “Looks like the instructor won’t be giving up on you two anytime soon. How long has it been?” you whispered discreetly to the golden–haired beauty next to you.

“I’d say she’s onto us this time. It’s been two and a half hours. Last time, she gave up after just an hour,” he chuckled, completely carefree, stealing glances at you, who couldn’t help but clutch your stomach from laughing. “But it seems like háno is enjoying his private dance lessons.”

Suppressing another fit of laughter, you turned your head to catch Fingolfin’s desperate plea in his facial expressions. Clinging to Finarfin’s tunic, you doubled over, amused by the way Fingolfin’s face contorted into a plea for help. It had dawned on Fingolfin that inviting you had been a grave mistake, given your apparent lack of concern for him and your tendency to find his reactions amusing. If he had known this would be the outcome of the dance lesson, he might have convinced his brother to leave you out. Nevertheless, watching your unbridled joy was utterly captivating.

“He looks like he’s on the verge of passing out any moment. Save him, Ara, or he’ll spontaneously combust, and we’ll never hear the end of it,” you urged, playfully pushing Finarfin towards his brother to rescue him from embarrassment.

To the disappointment of both his brother and your plea, Finarfin stepped aside, shaking his head in bewilderment. “Are you insane?! Do I look like I want to be devoured by Lady Ancalmaril? When she’s done or grows tired of us, that’s entirely her decision.”

With a playful grimace, you pressed your lips together, watching him retreat to stand behind you. You couldn’t help but shiver slightly at his proximity and the warmth radiating from his tunic–clad body. It wasn’t unusual for either of the brothers to have such an effect on you, but it seemed to be happening more frequently as if they were becoming aware of your reactions. You chose not to dwell on it, not wanting to misinterpret the situation and risk damaging the friendship between the three of you. Instead, you remained focused on the scene before you: Fingolfin being spun by the instructor after his failed attempt at spinning her. However, somewhere during her attempt to spin him, his feet kicked out and unintentionally stomped on hers. This sent her into a fit of winces and eye twitches as she struggled to suppress the growing pain caused by the weight of the overgrown young prince on her poor foot.

“Alright, that’s enough! My prince, you’re too distracted right now. Let your brother have a turn while you take a break,” she commanded, flicking her wrist as her fingers indicated where she wanted you all to move and biting her tongue to not cry out.

Without wasting a moment at the opportunity, Finarfin wrapped his slender arm around your waist, pulling your body close to his newly developed abdominal muscles. He effortlessly led you onto the dance floor. From the sidelines, he could see his brother looking defeated, aware that Finarfin was about to take the lead and win this round—an ongoing, silent bet between the brothers.

As your body glided across the floor without your feet touching it, you felt like you were flying through the air, carried by Finarfin like a doll eager to have his turn with you once again. It had been over an hour since he had last danced with you, while his brother had taken the spotlight, twirling you around the opulent and grand dance floor like a princess.

Laughter rippled through your body as his hands gently cupped your waist and spun you like a top. He was eager to display his skills and show off to his brother, asserting himself as the superior dancer and partner. He threw a smug look in Fingolfin’s direction, silently declaring, “I’ve won,” and led you across the floor with care, diligently repeating the dance steps he had been taught and avoiding the mistakes he had made earlier. Anything to prevent the instructor from separating you two and prematurely ending the session. If that were to happen, you would have no choice but to leave immediately. As an unmarried maiden suitable for courtship, and with your parents being rather strict about chaperoning, discretion was essential, and it became apparently knowledgeable on the instructor’s end.

Catching the younger prince’s eyes, he sent you a flirtatious wink before spinning you around and seamlessly transitioning into another sequence. His hands, at times, felt heavier on your waist, occasionally rising higher on your back or dipping lower just above your backside. You could sense his attempt to maintain dignity as the dance progressed, even as your bodies drew closer, allowing you to feel his muscles and warmth. You couldn’t tell whether it was you or him who was breathing harder as you focused on the intensifying proximity.

The flirty winks persisted, but the palpable look in his eyes, as they roamed your face, made your breath hitch. Your cheeks grew warmer the longer his electric blue eyes locked onto your features, darting from his lips to his eyes and then to his feet when you realized you were caught gazing. The tension between you both intensified, combined with the audience watching, and somewhere in the back of your mind, you feared making a mistake and disrupting the sequence. It was a struggle to maintain your composure while resisting the urge to not combust in his arms like a fool.

This wasn’t the first time such a situation had unfolded. Your initial dance lesson with the princes had been conducted in a similar manner. The closeness and their tantalizing touches always flirted with the edge of something more, their bodies pressing nearer without inhibition as each session continued. You couldn’t help but wonder if this was still a dance session meant to enhance their professionalism on the dance floor or if it had morphed into a courtesan bird dance; like a peacock impressing its lady. The glances exchanged with every twirl and dip, their hands caressing your curves and tracing the contours of your back, left you internally on edge.

“Just where do you think your hands are going?” You attempted to sound playful through your breathless whisper as the heat in your face intensified due to the closeness between you both and the presence of the audience. Instead, your voice shivered and rattled with nerves at the impending knowledge of his touch being seductive. To be honest, if he was endeavouring to kiss you at this moment, you had at least hoped it would be in private, away from his brother and the instructor. There was no denying that the golden–haired prince was breathtakingly gorgeous, and it had been a dream of yours, like many others, to share an intimate moment with him, even if it was just a kiss for the experience.

Sensing your anxiety, there was a playful grin he wore on his lips before glancing over your shoulder and realising that only the three of you remained in the room; Lady Ancalmaril had left to fetch some refreshments and ease her foot during your flawless performance. Taking a moment to lock eyes with his brother, a questioning look was exchanged and silently mouthed, “How long?” Fingolfin responded with, “Hour.”

Maintaining their gaze on his older brother, the two of them shared a moment where their thoughts traversed, having planned such an encounter ages ago. The slight uplift at the corners of their lips, the daring gleam in their eyes, the arched brows, and the biting of their lips—all were signs that left you puzzled as you observed Finarfin’s expressions. His body continued to move with fluidity despite engaging in a heated, silent conversation, surprising him that he could perform so smoothly without getting distracted.

Nodding with a surge of excitement coursing through his veins as their plan finally took shape, he shifted his focus back to you and offered a sweet smile. “My hands are right where they should be, love. We are dancing, after all,” he said with a dazzling smile, giving you a half twirl and pressing your back against his chest. “Or perhaps you’d prefer my hands elsewhere?” You could discern his intentions from his voice. His smile was hypnotic as he gently moved his left hand higher up your sides, pressing you even closer against his chest, eliminating any space between you. Your breath caught, and you swallowed hard as you turned your head to gaze at his enticing demeanour.

As your face came in contact, his head nestled in the junction of your neck, and his tranquil breathing caressed your face. The scent of peppermint from the tea you had both shared earlier still lingered in his breath. His proximity was somewhat overwhelming; his hair and arms enveloped you both, and his cheeks brushed delicately against yours. The two of you gradually slowed your movements into a gentle sway, your front now facing away from Fingolfin and towards the giant vivid canvas adorning the wall, while Finarfin seized the opportunity to strike with even more passion.

His left hand was perched on your waist while the other trailed up your sides, fingers gliding over your dress, leaving behind a frustrating sensation. Not once did his fingers venture past your bustline; instead, they chose to linger around your abdominal area, skimming across your stomach and sides. The unspoken narrative conveyed through his actions marked a turning point and turmoil in your life. Never before had you felt the desire to seize his hands and guide them to where they should be if he intended to tease you like this. The realisation that he was your best friend, and a prince was a fleeting thought when he engaged in such provocative actions without seemingly considering the need for discussion or consent. You could sense that he was wearing his smug expression as his actions continued, savouring the way your muscles clenched and reacted to the sensations he provoked.

Your hands, which had initially held onto his delicate wrists, now clutched the material around his thighs, fingers curling into the silky fabric and struggling to maintain a grip as he continued to tease you. Your heart raced, its thunderous beats echoing in your ears as his fingers persisted in their tantalizing caresses, and an array of butterflies gathered in places they shouldn’t have. You comprehended what was happening, and yet, you didn’t. When had the mischievous golden–haired figure acquired all these seductive tricks?

A mocking laugh echoed beside your right ear, but you were too lost in thought to notice his right hand leaving your waist to cup your chin, gently turning your head to meet his suggestive gaze. A melody as sweet and disconcerting as caramel and cream followed. “Are you alright? Do you need a little...assistance in focusing?”

At this point, you had mixed emotions, contemplating whether you should strangle him on the spot for his absurd, nonsensical question. He certainly had a knack for getting on your nerves with his impeccable charm. His closeness made you queasy as his face inched nearer to yours, causing a swarm of butterflies to assail you. Swallowing hard as he loomed, your pulse quickened as his thumb lifted to trace over your lips, your eyes following its every move. Interestingly, the hand that had been gliding over your clothed skin now splayed its fingers beneath your diaphragm, pulling you closer to his warm body.

“What are you doing?” you asked, your voice thick with intoxication, your head leaning forward, drawn to meet his lips.

Licking his own lips and giving a seductive nibble, he stretched his slightly reddened lips into a cunning smirk. “Dancing,” he coolly commented.

“This isn’t dancing; this isn’t like you at all,” you softly muttered, your eyes locking onto his and searching for the desire you had already discovered swirling in his gaze. You simply wished to confirm that what you were experiencing was not a product of your imagination.

He jerked his head with an inaudible scoff, giving a half roll of his eyes before responding casually. “Of course, we’re dancing...just something a bit different.” Dropping his hands to your waist once more, he spun you sharply, returning you to your original position from the beginning. Hooking your left arm over his shoulder, he placed a kiss against the exposed skin and lifted the other side to wrap around his neck, allowing him to resume his close proximity. “You should know that there are plenty of things you don’t know about me.”

“So, pretending to lack modesty and flirting is one of them?” you teased, your voice catching when he pushed your chest against his so that your faces were intimately close.

Swaying from side to side, but remaining in your fixed position, he regarded your face with a hint of amusement. “Flirting is indeed one of them. As for dignity, I wouldn’t consider this a lack of it; it’s more like me acting on my deep desires.” His face closed the distance to bring his lips against the shell of your ear. The initial coolness, followed by the warmth of his breath, prompted you to close your eyes as he whispered. His lips lightly tickled your earlobe, a delicate touch of his moist lips against your skin that nearly made your knees buckle.

Tightening his grip around your waist in response to the sudden jerk, he bit his lip to stifle his laughter. “Is this how you choose to behave? Engaging in a flirtatious charade before your brother and then claiming to have propriety? The Ara I know would never act in such a manner,” you shakily hissed, suppressing the urge to easily yield to his embrace.

Chuckling softly, he pulled back and locked eyes with you. “Your dear Ara is still here, taking control of the situation and acting according to his own will.” The tension in the room had reached its zenith. Your bodies were no longer swaying; you stood still, yet the absence of space between you both made the heat and desire emanating from your proximity palpable. You wondered if he could sense your erratic heartbeat from the wild look in your eyes as you traced his features.

The presence of Fingolfin in the background faded, thanks to the excellent job Finarfin had done in ensnaring both of you in this private paradise. It was a little bubble where he could openly seduce you to his heart’s desires, having the best of both worlds. You were intrigued by his intentions as he lured you in with every enticing word and brush of his hands. The enchantment was released, and you felt ensnared like a genie in a bottle, here to fulfil his every need.

Your lips brushed against each other, and the desire to close the gap and lose yourselves on the marble floor became overwhelming. You gently nudged his upper lip with a question, “So, what is your desire?”

“To have you; to have you on this very floor, against the wall, the bed, wherever you wish, so long as you cry out my name,” he declared without missing a single beat.

“Ara…” you mumbled in response to his directness, too stunned to formulate a suitable reply as he continued to brush his lips against yours, planting delicate kisses.

Growing impatient with the prolonged teasing and eager to proceed with his plan before the instructor returned to disrupt the tension in the room, he pressed a firm kiss at the corner of your mouth. Receiving a silent yet observant response, he saw it as a challenge and continued, placing another kiss on the opposite corner, closer to your lips, nearly covering most of them. He had been living up to his reputation as a considerable tease since the start of this dance session. “Are you going to grant me the honour? I don’t particularly enjoy indulging impatience in a situation like this.”

To emphasize his point, it became evident why he kept pressing your bodies together. His evident erection pressed against your abdomen through his leggings and robe, feeling solid and vigorous, and you couldn’t even gauge it with your hands.

“Then you’ll have to get used to being patient. You can’t have your way all the time,” you teased, moving your face to temptingly pull your lips away from his, which made him softly whine.

“I concur.” The addition of a third voice broke your concentration, and you opened your eyes, glancing to the right to see Fingolfin standing behind his brother with the same impatient expression. Much darker eyes filled with annoyance that scene unfolding without generously requesting his assistance. Undoubtedly, they were brothers cut from the same cloth; one just happened to wear his impatience more openly than the other. “But if you are serious about committing to this... engagement, shall we continue in private?”

**

Being tugged against firm bodies and having the eager hands of the princes roam your body was astonishing. Since they possessed a fibre in their fragile body to be aggressive and lustful. To be frank, you wouldn’t have expected this behaviour from either brother given their dedication to upholding their dignity. Though, the last person you imagined being rough was Finarfin given his gentle–natured persona; and judging from the firm grip on your waist and the constant tugging into his chest, impatience was becoming his apparel also.

You stood in the middle of an ongoing tug–of–war between two brothers was a heavenly wish that only felt natural to be a dream. There was no difference between their touch as it was equally aggressive and visceral; the weight of their hands and lips, biting and tugging, gave the impression that you were merely a ragdoll. Your purpose was to serve them and their desires, be tossed about however it pleased them, so long as they were satisfied—it would be polite of them to also grant an insurmountable volume of pleasure in return for the service you were willing to provide. Being invited into the house of the King and finding yourself entangled between desirable princes was no ordinary occurrence, this was divine intervention.

With Finarfin at your front and Fingolfin at your back, their hands were busy unlacing your unnecessary complex dress, passionate to have your bare skin to their luxury. As their hands scrambled, one pair of lips was attached to yours and another to your neck. It was an unbelievable sight observing the friendly boyish persona of Finarfin dissipate and turn into a hungry beast. Fingolfin was a bit less expected given the entire stoic demeanour, nevertheless, what he had in store was equally anticipatory as Finarfin’s.

Feeling the heat of their breaths scorch your skin, Finarfin was the first to pull back, offering a cheeky grin as his fingers finally tugged the string out the last loop to loosen your dress. Without question, his hands reached for the tops of your dress and gave it a harsh tug to slide the material over your shoulders and down your arms. It didn’t get far once your arms were raised to cover your slightly exposed chest, conscious of revealing your nudity to your friends. A sense of self–possession had abruptly manifested and echoed remembrances of your relationship with them.

“Do you…Do you want us to stop?” quizzed Finarfin. Evident sadness showed in his eyes as his hands fumbled with the frills on the edges of your dress. Behind you, Fingolfin ceased his ministrations and looked over your shoulder to gauge the situation. Even he was puzzled by the new silence and looming question.

“Is everything alright?” inquired Fingolfin.

Turning your head to catch his pensive stare, you dipped your eyes to meet his chest out of nerves. His gaze was forever intense, no matter if the situation was tender–loving. Nodding your head with an audible hum, your gaze remained focused on his chest while Finarfin’s fingers still toyed with the frills of your dress that gathered on your arms. You gathered the younger experiencing impatience and the older, anticipation while you felt like a puddle in the middle, full of nerves.

Were you truly about to bare your naked body before the princes and in return, have them naked as well? You were about to see each other naked and…sleep with them. Count your blessings and consider yourself the chosen one. You couldn’t help but bite your lip to suppress the growing smile from your thoughts. A bit of a giddy feeling settled in your stomach and pumped through your veins at the recognition of being lucky. All that was necessary was to push the jitters away and carry on; let them care for you how they desired and enjoy the ride.

“It’s alright, I’m just—you know, nervous.” You giggled and lifted your hands to cover your mouth from turning into full–blown laughter. “I still can’t believe all this is happening. I mean, we’re friends and you really want to sleep with me—how are you two normal about this?”

With a subdued chuckle, Fingolfin stepped back and made himself comfortable on the edge of the bed to remove each boot. To him, he took your enthusiastic questioning as a sign that you weren’t against the interaction and motioned to undress himself first; perhaps as a means to calm your jitters and show that he was thrilled to engage with you. “Uh–huh, it’s a bit shameful to note that this was something we planned—”

“Yes, yes! We both planned this entire interaction. Though, it was mostly I who came up with it and háno tagged along until he realised he was losing and showed more effort last minute.” Came the impatient voice of Finarfin who was growing annoyed as the minutes passed and turned what should have been intimate, into an explanation. His visage did a perfect job of mimicking the annoyance he suffered during the entire exchange while sporting an erection, desperately in need of being nurtured. “He obviously lost, but I’m gracious enough to not leave him to suffer.”

Darting a comical appraisal at the nonchalant blond, you poked your cheek with your tongue and mused. “This was a bet?!”

“Yes, and it was quite silly. To basically see who would be considered the better dancer; as you can tell, Ara got more praises and now wishes to…uh,” Fingolfin’s voice trailed off, embarrassed to highlight his brother’s dire urgencies to perform.

“Show you just how skilled of a dancer I am.” The grip he held on your dress was used as leverage to tug you into his chest. One hand snaked around to press against your back and the other gripped both your hands to pry them off your chest. “I haven’t forgotten how much you used to tease me in the beginning, Y/N.”

Feeling the weight of his hands prying yours away from your chest, small peeks of your cleavage became visible to his naughty eyes. A lustful glint flashed at the reveal urging him to act without manners as he dipped his head into the crook of your neck. His teeth clamped down on your skin, leaving a sore bruise before his tongue swiped over the area to soothe the pain. This was just the first act of his performance, the next was his hands reaching for the rest of your dress and tugging it off your arms to pool around your waist.

Being distracted and lost in the pleasure of his delicate lips attaching your neck like some ferocious beast, you were caught off guard when he peeled the rest of your dress off to gather around your waist. Knowing that you would sense your semi–nudity, your arms were hitched around his neck to entangle in his luscious curls while he continued to lavish your neck, switching from side to side and moving lower. With every swipe of his tongue against your clavicle, your fingers curled into his tresses and tugged with anticipation.

Gone were the negative thoughts about sleeping with them and hello to the excitement.

Panting from the hurried movements of Finarfin as he eagerly nipped and kissed your skin, you felt another presence from behind. It was Fingolfin with his hands raised to unbound your braids and remove the hairpins. He was stealthy as he elegantly unloosened your braids and allowed your hair freedom. Once that was completed, his fingers traced your neck, loving the way you shivered and arched into his brother’s mouth, and moved down your spine until he arrived at your dress.

You felt the hesitation as though he was waiting for you to object, it was a split second of a moment before he regained confidence and pushed it off your waist. Falling to the fall like silk, your dress pooled at your feet and bared your naked form to either brother. There was an intake of breath, and you knew it came from Fingolfin since Finarfin was busy kissing around your breast, contemplating which side to indulge first.

“See something you like?” you squeezed out airily, eyes closed and sensing his intense gaze was on your entire body, mentally cherishing the image to use for later purposes.

With a reserved laugh, he stepped forward and placed his hands on your hips, allowing his body to stand closer to yours and letting you feel his heat. He was naked, entirely. The weight of his hands against your hips felt sturdy while the heat radiating was scorching. You felt the entire outline of his physique with only a few inches of spacing between you both; you could only imagine what he would feel like with no crevice. God, you couldn’t imagine what the weight of him on you would be like given his towering and slightly muscular figure. You couldn’t wait to feel both of them naked and pressed against you.

Joining his brother, his lips swiftly returned to your neck to litter and array of wet kisses, creating a curve with them and inching down your spine. “I love everything I’m seeing here,” he whispered into your skin as he positioned himself on his knees.

On the other end, Finarfin took to opportunity to finally break away from your breast, leaving his artwork evident—able to contest with the greatest artists—to undress. His eyes darted from your face contorting into pleasure to witness his brother kneeling behind you, worshipping your form. Had he not been compassionate, he would have denied his brother a chance to share you among them both. Shaking his head at how ravenous Fingolfin appeared, he reached for his robes and shoved them off haphazardly, followed by his tunic, shirt, boots and leggings until he left standing bare. Lifting his hand for the gold hairpin, his tangled curls came unbound and cascaded in a mess.

His sinful gaze returned to your figure. Hands curled around Fingolfin’s wrists on your waists, head tossed back, lips parted and breasts perky, you looked like a five–course meal waiting for him to devour.

“Why don’t we move this to the bed? It’s much more comfortable,” suggested Finarfin. He stood with one hand tossing his hair over his shoulder and the other leading to stroke his leaking cock. 

Snapping your eyes open to gaze at the enchanting figure before you; you weren’t sure if you were able to tear your eyes away. This was the last image you would expect from the youngest to bear, let alone his physique. What the hell was in the water they drank? Were they willing to share some?

It didn’t help when your eyes followed the motion of his hands, knowing he was spitefully goading, to where it met his cock, giving it a few tugs and swiping the precum off to gain friction. You licked your lips. Was it normal to yearn for your best friend in such a manner, especially after seeing his member? Seeing a fair share of them before, his was substantially impressive and lovely to look at. Robust, curved, lengthy and how fortunate you were to bear witness to the rumours. The House of Finwe indeed loved the idea of breeding given the fruitfulness of his…ahem, balls.

It was impossible to not bite and lick your lips at the awareness of him being inside you.

Fainting at the notion was a great idea also since Fingolfin removed himself off his knees and guided you to the bed, giving you a perfect view of his delectable proportions. Seeing was far better sensing his physique. The one thing that made Fingolfin stand out more than his brother was the girth and texture. And now that both brothers stood side by side, towering above your smaller figure, you felt every nerve in your body tingling. Your heart surged to great heights, as did your breathing; lip biting and licking, you squeezed your thighs together as the growing sensation seeped through your fold and stained your inner thighs. There was a waterfall gushing out gallons per second between your legs the longer to stared and made comparisons to induce your light–headedness.

Your toes curled into the carpet, digging away at the plushness underneath your feet at the journey you were about to participate in. Not waiting for motivation, you made the first move to drag your body further up the bed only to be stopped by the gentle hands of the younger tugging you back down to the edge and sliding them higher your thighs, squeezing the flesh as he was enticed by it plumpness before settling on your hips. Fingolfin stepped aside to perch on the bed and settle behind you on his knees, aware of the position his brother would soon have you in. It wasn’t always that Fingolfin gave his brother the opportunity to take the lead in whatever activities they tag–team in, but given the advantages, he was willing to submit just once under his brother’s command.

“Would you be a dear and turn over for me, least you wish I flip you over myself. I haven’t any problem showing off my recently acquired strength,” he sweetly asked, looking up from the newly seated position on being on his knees. It wasn’t odd seeing him like this after the numerous moments he have gotten down to lace your boots, but currently, with the miniature shocks of your pulse radiating in the core of your cunt, you could enjoy this sight more often.

However, your moment of idling and dwelling on the situation led to his ever–impatient nature to react before being a gentleman. Flipped onto your stomach with hands roughly positioning you into his desired spot, you came face to face with the godly sight of Fingolfin on his knees, ebony hair pouring down his chest to end at his waist and pulling back to reveal the spectacle of his highlight. With your body on its knees and braced by your hands, it was easy for you to reach out without any form of permission to trespass and grip the base of his cock to give a patronising stroke all the way to the tip where your thumb swiped the head.

Once his precum was collected, the temptress in you forced your eyes to meet his darkened gaze and licked his arousal off the tip of your finger. The eye contact you held made his knees buckle and his stomach clench. A hand shot out to entwine itself strategically and gave your head a yank closer to his aroused and awaiting cock to be put out of misery.

“Why don’t you be a good girl and put that smart mouth to use, see how much you’re smirking with my cock down your throat.” His words were final as his actions followed, inching your head closer for the tip to collide with the outer shape of your lips. You didn’t know he had such foul and debauching behaviour when he acted with a stick up his ass to grip his cock and trace your lips with his tip. Smearing the remaining precum across the surface, he gave a sharp command to open your mouth and slid his cock against your tongue, hissing.

Both hands now nestled in your head, guided your movements as you bobbed back and forth along his length. It was impossible to take him whole, even fit most of his girth within your mouth. The texture of his veins sliding under your tongue was enough to send him insane. The most you were able to do with him governing his pleasure was leave him to his devices while he worked your mouth like a toy.

On the other, little impatient Finarfin wasn’t waiting another second longer and approached the edge of the bed to run his slender fingers against the back of your thighs. The little jolts and shudders the closer he arrived at your centre thrilled and satisfied him to know that soon your focus would be placed on his tongue. While Fingolfin was known for his more dominant approach, Finarfin’s approach, still dominant, was rather a service towards the pleasure of the body. He preferred to gain his pleasure while being in control but focused on providing service to his partners' pleasure, and he knew just what to do in order to have your attention.

You felt his breath and knew what followed. The motion of his tongue trailing along the outer lips and skin of your cunt, nipping and kissing before arriving at his destination. The first flick upon your clit was light, too gentle to feel anything and to catch you off guard with the rough action of his enter mouth trapping your bud. Vigorously he suckled and sent vibrations through your body, shaking his mop of golden curls as he lavished in the moment and your taste. You had nowhere to run to when his hands snatched your thighs and pinned you in your spot for Eru knew how long.

The best you were able to do was moan on Fingolfin’s cock, prompting the older male to yank your head off and gift you a moment to breathe before resuming the position. On one end you were giving and on the other, you were receiving—what a time to be alive and best friends with the Noldorin Princes. Eru bless your soul for managing to capture their attention from childhood and remaining close or this moment would have never manifested. Whatever you had done to warrant this, even if a manual was being gifted to warn you ahead, you would have flung it out the window and proceeded without caution. There wasn’t any need when the trouble was so deliciously satisfying and blissful.

Naturally, your legs parted and back ached to grant Finarfin better accommodation as his tongue worked on overtime. The fluid flicks of his tongue running over your sweet bundle of nerves before he engulfed the entire bud into his mouth were wicked. He should be charged for such a sinister crime. Nevertheless, the same could be said as Fingolfin’s hips began moving and hands stabilising your head to make way for a clear path. Your mouth was messy and your eyes teary and to him, you looked divine. There wasn’t a better look that suited you more, perhaps having you riding him could challenge the sight.

It was impossible to remain focused as the expertise of either male was challenging one another. The louder your moans became; it was obvious one wished to be the cause of those horrendous sounds escaping. It only urged both males to persist.

“Come on love, I know you sound louder than that,” encouraged Finarfin, eager to be the creator of your latest instrumental. Lifting his left hand off your thigh he brought it down to leave a resounding slap and elicited a choked moan on his brother’s cock. Grinning into your cunt, he hummed pleased at the reaction and continued.

The combination of your choked sobs being emitted and moans all over Fingolfin’s cock was a triumph for the goldened hair youngling. The pleasure was satisfactory for the older but too much at the same time as it forced his balls to clench with forewarning of his orgasm building earlier than expected. With a dreadful yank of your head off his cock, a string of saliva connected the tip to your swollen lips. His urge to just kiss you at the moment was dire and disconnected from your keenness to continue toying with his member.

Right hand out and gripping the base, you caught him off guard and left him unsure of your future sequence. All he could do was stare with a stiffened stomach in anticipation as you shut your eyes attempting to focus while his brother ruined you. At some point when you awoke, you tossed your head to the right and peeked up at him through your lashes once your lips came in contact with his tip once more. Placing what little knowledge you learnt from the rumours, your wrist flicked, and your head bobbed in sync, taking half of him into your mouth.

“You seem to like that, don’t you?” you whispered teasingly before throwing a wink and resuming your ministrations, leaving him without a chance to respond sensibly. His deep groans ricocheted and vibrated in his chest, a sound unlike any other you had heard. You did that, you made the stoic prince crumble under your tongue; something to tease him with for eternity, and should he wish for your silence, there were ways to be treated.

Glancing at the sight of his stomach clenched and beads of perspiration running down his washboard abs was sinful. Thanks to the sight, Finarfin was blessed with the sudden downpour of more arousal trickling into his mouth. The image of this male before you, commanding and unmoving with his presence being diminished to a whimpering state with only the use of your tongue was power unlike any other. The soft whimpering and body arching backwards the more your mouth slid deeper, taking your time to fit as much into your mouth left him weakened.

Topped with the wicked intentions of the youngest plunging his tongue like sword in and out your entrance, swirling and lavishing every inch, it contributed to the vibrations Fingolfin was receiving. No longer did his hands guide your head, but rather made the option to run along your back to add a touch of stimulation. He left you to take control and run your tongue along each of his veins, mapping out the shape and weight of his member with your mouth. You had seemed to be relishing the freedom that he allowed, the most he could do in return was assist in your pleasure while his brother’s golden head was busy at the other end.

Fingernails scraping along your back, you shivered and bowed into the bed against his touch. Something about his actions and his brother’s forced the sensitivity of your skin to heighten tremendously. You felt as though you were in a tumultuous battle, and you were only on the first round.

“Enjoying yourself Ara?” Fingolfin hummed as his fingers reached your ass and rubbed the flesh, enticed by the smoothness and how it moved under his touch. All the while his brother’s response was a focused hum due to his mouth being busy against your heat.

Straightening up to take another look at your mouth, he was lucky to catch another wink from you as you pulled off to stroke him with your hand. Sliding his long fingers upwards until they cradled your head, he rolled it around, running his fingers through your scalp and enjoying the sighs being emitted. “Quite the little worker, aren’t you? Enjoying yourself?” he inquired with inaudible moans.

Hush–hush muttering evaded your lips as you were confused between which to focus on, his fingers in your hair, the hand around his length or the ludicrous sensation of Finarfin’s mouth engulfing your entire clit and turning the nub into a pacifier. Trembling and bucking away from the stimulation, you were still entrapped in Fingolfin’s hold, unable to move an inch away from the onslaughter. Even he was laughing at the crooked position your body fell into in the attempt to shut your legs and curl away. Luckily Finarfin’s hands perched on your thighs were also immobilising you.

“Trying to run away so soon Y/N? I thought you wanted this?” Fingolfin teased and leaned down to nudge your head upwards to meet his lips for a sweet and daring kiss, tasting himself on your tongue. Lips moving out of sync, it was easy for him to still manage to capture your lips and pry them open to slip a tongue in and take your breath away. Suddenly, you felt the inclusion of his hands around your neck, lightly squeezing the sides to make your head spin.

The combination left you intoxicated as his mouth feverishly worked against yours with the same motion of his brother’s mouth on your cunt. In sync like there was some mental link shared, they kissed your lips with passion that left you in a daze. Light squeezed placed on your neck for every whine you made, Finarfin on the opposite end was rewarded with the tension of your walls around his tongue. He couldn’t wait to feel it on his cock soon.

“Please, please, please,” you chanted breaking away from his lip and curling your toes into the pleasure as it built and Finarfin’s mouth refused to stop. “Don’t s–…stop!”

Chuckling against your clit at your begs, he saw no need to refuse your wishes when you eagerly displayed wanting more. Hands digging into your flesh, he pulled you back to rest atop his face without care for his livelihood. He would enjoy nothing better than being suffocated as you came on his face and flooded his mouth with your arousal, which was the endpoint he was attempting to achieve with the feverish motions of his mouth. Suckling away as though he wanted to milk everything out of you, he gave you no moment to recuperate as you twisted and turned against his mouth.

“A–…Ara, f…uck!” stammering away, no longer were your hand gripping Fingolfin’s cock but focused on tearing the bedsheets apart, your back arched and pushed you into his mouth more. “Right there…right—ach!”

The waves of vibration crashing into your body at the speed of light were immeasurable and even so, unspeakable. Your grips against the bed sheet left a loud shred, gone unheard and unnoticed by everyone who were focusing on your body curling into itself. If you could have given a medallion to Finarfin for his enthusiasm you would because he didn’t seem to understand your hypersensitivity the way his mouth refused to take a break from your cunt. Even with his tongue taking leisurely strolls through your fold to collect any arousal, he was hungry with the gesture. Pushing your hands behind you to nudge his head away was the only route to get him to stop.

“Ah,” he sweetly charmed, unphased by the damage caused. “Forgive me, I got a little carried away.” Mouth and cheeks glossed with your arousal, he wore it like a lipstick and treated it like his drug.

“Carried away is too simple of a term brother,” added Fingolfin as he released you and placed his attention on the youngest. “I would say, fascinated or purposefully not wanting to stop.”

Sharing a brotherly moment, laughing away at the mess they turned you into while you lay drenched in sweat on the bed, they also exchanged their following advances. Gentle muttering filled the air with explanations of how they were going to handle you now that the main course was ready to be indulged. While they held their private meeting, you could sense the wandering hands of the obvious, squeezing and massaging the flesh on your thighs and ass. Almost with a child–like wonder, light slaps came down to meet your ass and paused to admire the jiggle. You had no intention of lifting your head to take a peek at the ethereal figure and mischievous devil deciding who would go first or at the same time. All you wanted to do was feel something in you other than Finarfin’s tongue for a while.

“How long though?” Fingolfin’s voice sliced through the air, disrupting the ambience.

“What do you mean, “How long”? We broke classes, there’s no returning,” clarified Finarfin nonchalantly as he rubbed his palm over your ass and gave it squeezes like an orange. He couldn’t help but bite his lips at the gesture, appreciating the sight and gift of being given the opportunity.

“Speak for yourself, brother—”

“Well if you’re so terrified of Lady Ancalmaril and father, return and leave Y/N and I to our fun. Your inconsequential abilities would not be judged, brother…” With his voice dripping with nihilism, Finarfin didn’t stop to throw an egotistical grin at his elder before continuing, “Or you can stay and enjoy the once–in–a–ifetime opportunity to share Y/N with me!”

Scoffing at the absurdity his brother was spouting, he challenged, “Once in a lifetime? What makes you believe there would not be an opportunity spent between Y/N, privately?”

“The fact that you aren’t an excellent dancer and would prefer to run back to our instructor to perfect your moves, tells me that this might be once in a lifetime. Unless…” Finarfin goaded, grinning nihilistic and darting his eyes towards your body, travelling over every curve until he met your eyes that lacked fear, but interest.  

Easily falling for the bait like he did with every argument between him and Feanor, Fingolfin inched forward with his chin raised high and accepted. “Accepted.”

“Splendid!” With his hands clasped before him, Finarfin grinned triumphantly from ear–to–ear and refocused his gaze on you. “The plans have changed due to my brother’s fear of poor performance…and being caught. So now, we have an ongoing competition to decide who’s the more skilful dancer of the two. Would you be so kind to judge us as we take turns?”

Eyes widening at the declaration, unexpectedly, this was the last thing you assumed the outcome of their argument would land you in. “Um, I thought I was taking you both,” your voice dipped and became softer under the enigmatic stare of Finarfin, “at the same time.” Ending your statement, you turned to gaze at Fingolfin who whipped his head to meet your pensive stare and offer a heartwarming smile. His hand reached out to stroke your head, reassuring you that all was well.

“Err,” hissing at the suggestion, from the very start Ara knew that he and his brother wouldn’t be able to share you at the same time given their nature. Already having decided that they would have taken turns, just not with this intention. “Apologies if you had assumed that, but, um…háno and I weren’t originally intending to have you at the same time,” he awkwardly laughed and itched the back of his head.

“Consider it as two extremely different dominant males wanting to share. Yes, I know,” winced Fingolfin, “it’s not the best comparison, but it’s sort of the situation between us. Uncooperative.”

Falling into a seated position, you tucked your legs under and faced perpendicular to both males. “So you two would fight over who gets to…I see. But can you at least try at the same time…for me. I’d be able to judge better, and should it not work out, we can always go again but according to your wishes.”

Finarfin was the first to open his mouth and snap his eyes to his elder for confirmation. Throwing in an uneasy itch to his forehead, he bared his teeth in a cumbersome manner at Fingolfin for him to hurry up with a solution, knowing that the decision was being made according to his taste in intimacy. “Brother.”

For a moment Fingolfin had shut his eyes to concentrate on the words being directed to him and the possible outcome of the situation. Tongue kissing his teeth, he glanced at you first and then back to his brother with an expressive sigh. “As much as I hate the idea of stepping out of my comfort zone, if weren’t going to be judged fairly, might as well take the risk of playing dirty,” he announced, shuffling off the bed and coming to stand at the foot. “I’ll take the end; you take the lead since the bet was yours.”

“Are you—Are you sure about this?” Finarfin whispered as he stepped closer to his brother, shorter by only an inch or two yet equally defined in nature to match the robustness of the elder. “You’ve once expressed your unappealing interest in—”

“Relax,” ushered Fingolfin with a hand to his brother’s arm. “Our focus is this competition, or I’ll be sent back to Lady Ancalmaril for practice. Now take your position or I start without you.”

Accepting his words as a challenge, the fire within his heart was set ablaze and the dedication known within the House of Finwe was pronounced. Smirking at his encouragement, Finarfin turned to shuffle onto the bed and informed you to clamber atop him as he moved to lie on his back. Immediately, his arms encircled your waist and adjusted your legs on either side of his body to his liking. You now sat directly upon his cock, pressing and leaking against your cunt and mixing with your arousal which made him shudder at the sight. Thumbs rubbing soothing circles into your thighs, he flashes his signature smile before reaching down to pull you into a breathtaking kiss.

His lips enthusiastically met yours and sucked you into a deep spell to distract you from the intrusion of something wet being rubbed around your ass. As much as you tried to break the kiss to witness what was happening back there, he kept your head within his hands and lips locked against his so he could slip his tongue in. It was no joke that both brothers were excellent kissers, sucking the air out of your lungs like there was no tomorrow. His kiss was feverish and worked in tune with the frantic motion of his hands running along your spine, arching your breasts into his chest to feel the wonderfulness of your hardened nipples against his cool skin.

Unexpectedly, the minute Finarfin pulled away to break the kiss and travelled to your neck, the intrusion of something sharp with a slight burn happened. You didn’t expect it to feel like you were being split in half, but when you remember what his cock looked and felt like, it all made sense to feel that way. Your breath was caught in your throat the more he slid in, pushing inches of him deeper until he came to an abrupt stop, and you felt a hand gripping you by the throat and yanking you out of Finarfin’s grasp to meet his rock–hard chest. The look of annoyance on his brother’s face was priceless as he visibly sagged.

“I need you to breath for me, Y/N,” he panted laboriously into your ear. “You’re squeezing me here…”

You didn’t expect him to moan so sinfully into your ear, wet lips touching the shell and breathing against it. His hand remained firmly around your neck, giving a gentle squeeze as he waited for you to relax. “Come on love, breath for me. Just like that…good girl,” he commended before easing the rest of the way in until he bottomed out. “You’re doing so well for me.”

Kissing the shell of your ear as he remained still, his lips ran along the length of your neck until he came to the same spot where Finarfin was about to kiss.

“What a killjoy you are, indeed, brother,” Finarfin snapped, clearly irritated and ready to snatch you out of his brother’s hold. “Lift her a bit, please.”

Following the order, Finarfin was able to cease the moment he had been waiting for from the very start of the day and run the tip of his cock through your folds before he was wrapped around your warmth. Golden curls haphazardly lying across the bed, he looked like he was transcended into heaven at the enclosure of your warmth and tightness, even the slight texture of his brother’s cock through the thin barrier added stimulation, but none topped your grip. You were holding to him for dear life as though he would slip out and the fingers digging into your hips were evidence.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! Eru, Y/N! What the hell are you doing to me?!” he shouted with the feeling of his head being squeezed with every passing second. The sounds of his pathetic whines could compete with yours the longer he remained buried in you unmoving. The pressure was immeasurable, and he wasn’t sure if he would be able to hold out as planned to demonstrate his skills and take the win, but he was damn sure he wasn’t going down with making a move.

The paralysing sensation of being trapped in Fingolfin’s sturdy arms while he was panting against your neck as his brother breached and the sudden tightness escalated was hot. You didn’t know a man could sound so sexy when he struggled to compose himself due to the overwhelming pressure. Loving the feel of what your body could do, through the feeling of being stuffed, you managed to clench your muscles for playful intentions and clamped them even tighter than they could imagine. It was then you discovered your playtime was over and you were now in their playing field.

The hand around your neck tightened and a firm tug was given, “You thought that was funny, didn’t you?” he groaned and began gyrating his hips to open you up some more. “You enjoy laughing at us a lot and goading…I would like to see you do that when we’re through with you.”

It was as though a snap was heard at the sound of his words before you were pushed into Finarfin’s hold, still held onto and balancing on your hands, as the sensation of their cocks moving at the same pace occurred. You didn’t understand what was happening at first as the first slide of their robust cock moved in sync, slowly, to induce your cries. Your body trembled and pushed into the motion, wanting more when you could only take so little. Their weight and length combined were too much for your insides to take, but your mind was goading you into being delusional about taking more than you could handle.

The sensation was rippling across your body when they switched up their pace, Fingolfin and Finarfin out, pounding away at your insides and rearranging what little of you was left. You didn’t know if they were attempting to get you under their control, but there wasn’t the need for such dedication when you already were from the first slide in. Your insides were crying from the frantic and fervent thrusting they each delivered, each carrying its own signature. Fingolfin had the power to knock the very wind out of your chest while Finarfin had technique as his gifted curvature of a cock was able to reach that one spot and make you see stars within the first few thrusts.

Scrambling to grip the bedsheets beside his head, careful not to tug on his curls, your back was painfully being arched to properly meet the powerful and sturdy thrusts of the ebony–haired God from behind. His cock bullied your insides, sliding in and out gracefully alongside his devoted brother who made use of your well–formed position to purposefully make you fold into his arms.

“Are you laughing now, Y/N?” the ebony–haired elf behind you asked, fingers curling around your neck to experience your walls squeezing him and his brother so perfectly. “Come on love, make a little sound.”

Heading you with his self–confident grin, the last look you would expect to witness on his face as he enjoyed the sensation of finally being able to shut you up. Much to your wishes, you truly couldn’t say much from all the differences you were experiencing at the same time. Were you supposed to bark, scream, howl, mewl, meow? You didn’t know what sound to make but it surely wasn’t laughter.

Impatient at the length of time you were taking to respond, Fingolfin tugged your head backwards to meet his darkened eyes and ignored the discomforting arch he placed you in. Leaning in to ghost his lips over yours, he irritated, “You have something you want to tell us, darling? Just a little sound, a laugh perhaps, princess.”

At the end of his words there was a dark chuckle falling from the lips of another you wouldn’t expect it from. The sensation of his teasing hands sliding off your waistline and rushing between your bodies latched onto your clit and rolling it between his fingers, earned them the songs they wanted. “That’s more like it,” he praised and continued twirling it around, marvelling at the jolts in your body. “If we’re going to be performing our best, you should give us your best screams.”

Your lungs felt like they were ready to give out from the laborious panting. Your chest heaved like you were catch in a fight for your life. Two ferocious males trapped in your garden of Eden and doing their best to make paradise. Whimpering out his name as he chastised you, your eyes crossed at the random switch up of their dynamics. “Ñ-Ñolo, too d–deep. Slo–...Slow down ughhh!”

It was all fun and games for them as they pushed and pulled against your muscles, loving the natural stimulation your body provided to them whenever they applied pressure the right way. A clench around their cock here and there and the beautiful sight of your lips gripping their cock, never wanting them to leave. To put the cream atop their cake, you ensured that every time Finarfin entered and left, you smeared your cream around his cock, a sight that became visible to his brother and left him eager to make his cock appear the same with his cum.

The turbulent tugging of their cock abusing your insides, battering against your sweet spot and moulding your insides to remember their shape was knocking you off your feet. Your head was swimming in the pool of ecstasy and feeling dumbfounded by their cocks. Such weight and robustness, placing more pressure on the inner walls led them to be held in such vice grips, almost inescapable. For a moment, they could have swore they were being sucked in on their own without making a single thrust. Just the marvelous beauty of what you were capable of—the perfect reason to keep wanting more. Your essence was a drug they got hooked on the deeper they travelled.

You couldn’t believe that you had managed to have two Princes wrapped around your finger like this, desperate to prove who was the best fuck. It was even fortunate to learn that you hadn’t a clue who would win when all you were focused on was the need to cum. Your fingers curling into the sheets, tugging aggressively and adding smaller fissures into the tears already left was noticed by Finarfin. His blue eyes twinkled at the sight of the sheet being torn and laughed at your intensity. When he assumed he was being too much, here you were, demolishing the palace property.

“You’re so needy, Y/N,” he commented. “Look at how desperately you’re behaving over our cocks. Is that any way for a Lady to behave?”

“S–Shut up—ah!” Your eyes rolling into your head at the sudden pinch to your clit was a silent warning to be nice. Following the actions of his brother, Fingolfin dipped his head to your spine and left a trail of kisses along your sweaty skin and mutely laughed at your squirming. Yet, he refused to stop when he enjoyed your reactions. “Too much, Ñolo!”

“Too much? I thought you wanted the both of us, love.” Reaching his other hand afront to grope at your breast and tweak your nipples, he pretended to act innocent as he repeated the same thing to the other side. “Is this too much, or do you want more?” Whining as he pinched and tugged at your nipples, rolling the buds around his fingers, it didn’t help when Finarfin stretched his neck to latch his mouth to the free nipple and gave a harsh suck.

“Ah, fuck, fuck! Come on, come on, come on—ngghh!” You tossed your head backwards and knocked it against Fingolfin’s shoulder at the relentless onslaughter you chose to suffer. Eru. This was a mixture between a massacre and paradise. The urge to push them away but pull them closer was confusing when the pleasure was beyond breathtakingly euphoric. You were being tormented and pleasured at the same time.

Swirling his tongue around your nipple, Finarfin was having a ball of a time driving you insane alongside his brother. Biting and flicking the nub, he moved in sync with his fingers as they rubbed at your bundle of nerves, desperately, to get you off. Both he and Fingolfin could already sense it, your high was close to the increase in your moans and the incomprehensible nonsense you were muttering. Nothing that tumbled from your lips was their tongue or any tongue for a matter of fact. They couldn’t tell if you were here among them or elsewhere, all they knew was that you were close and ready to wrap them in an infinite warmth they couldn’t find anywhere else.

Holding onto you as the pressure increased and your pitch grew, your hands flew from the bedsheets to latch onto Fingolfin’s hair, giving his firm tugs. With immediate response, he removed his hand around your neck and rushed to cup your lower abdomen, pressing his hand against the protruding bump and adding stimulation to your sweet spot.

“Ooooh! Fuck! Right thereee—” whining at the additional touch of stimulation, your body bowed into his chest and away from Finarfin’s lips as a wave of pleasure manifested and rocked your body violently, sending you into another realm and back with a blank expression.

Your body lulled in his arms while still being pleasured by them, though, had it not been for the out–of–body experience, the sounds of groaning being emitted from Finarfin first would not have reached your ears. His hips twitched and spasmed, hands gripping his hips leaving indents of his position as he felt the heat that was pooling in his stomach becoming unbearable. It wasn’t much he could do to hold out before the stillness of his hips and head being flung into the depths of the mattress as he released a mellow groan at the flooding of his cum in your walls. Aware of the aftermath of both you and his brother, Fingolfin took it upon himself to gently withdraw his cock from your body whilst keeping your body within his hold and jerking himself to finish. He wasn’t far behind his brother, only the motion of a few fancy flicks of his wrists and firm squeezes to the base of his cock before a deeper grunt was emitted and the clear signs of his cum sprayed across the base of your spine and your ass.

Allowing you to fall atop Finarfin, Fingolfin was quick to throw his body next to you two as he found himself feeling slightly energetic instead of weary. Glancing over to catch sight of you two, he caught your eyes giving him a hazy look and a lopsided grin while Finarfin was staring at the canopy, out of it. The silent ambience washed over your three, already forgetting that an hour had more than passed and you three were in for it whenever you returned.

A lazy hand from Fingolfin joined his brother’s and rubbed your back in a soothing circle, basking in the aftermath of your bliss. Though he was the first to break the comforting silence. “How are you feeling?”

Your lips stretched into a Cheshire grin, prompting you to lift your head off Finarfin’s chest and laugh. “Honestly, it was better than expected,” you started, watching the brothers’ faces lift into pleased smiles at your compliment, “but I believe I still have enough energy for another round.”

Finarfin’s face was the first to fall into a knowing expression. “Couldn’t choose a winner?”

“Maybe,” you mused and rolled off Finarfin to lie in the middle of both brothers. “But as far as I’m aware, I can’t get enough of either of you.”

Face morphing into a smug expression, Fingolfin bit his lips at the idea of spending more time than he originally planned, to prove himself skilled. “Well, I can’t complain about this route, at least I’ll be showing off my dancing skills I’ll be demonstrating again for the ball.”

“Who knows, perhaps another dance like this might occur on the night. I say let us spend the rest of the day practising,” suggested the Finarfin, rotating his body to inch closer to yours and already placing a hand on your thigh.

“Splendid idea. Let us not waste a second then.”

Masterlist

Taglist: @eunoiaastralwings @lilmelily @koyunsoncizeri @ranhanabi777 @rain-on-my-umbrella @someoneinthestars @mysticmoomin @aconstructofamind @the-phantom-of-arda @wandererindreams @singleteapot @justjane @justellie17 @silverose365 @bunson-burner @ilu-stripes @asianbutnotjapanese @batsyforyou

#mina_kinktober2023 #silm smut #finarfin x reader #finarfin smut #fingolfin x reader #fingolfin smut #finarfin x reader x fingolfin #finarfin imagine #finarfin scenario #fingolfin imagine #fingolfin scenario #silmarillion x reader #silmarillion imagine #silmarillion fic #silmarillion smut #middle earth imagine #middle earth x reader #middle earth smut #middle earth scenario #house of finwe #house of finarfin #house of fingolfin #x reader smut #x reader insert #fingolfin #nolofinwe #finarfin #arafinwe #silmarillion #doodlepops writings ✨

[melestasflight]

Maeglin, High King of the Noldor

Been musing over the idea of Maeglin as High King of the Noldor and the political advantages of his hypothetical lordship. Especially, the potential for stronger diplomatic relationships among all the free peoples of Beleriand after the Nirnaeth.

Without his capture, the possibility of Maeglin becoming High King after Turgon was pretty high:

• The line of succession of the Noldor seems to skip women and it favors father-to-son lineage. Namely, after Finwë's death, we see the kingship in Beleriand go to Feanor-Maedhros-Fingolfin (with the abdication). Finarfin remains to rule Tirion, besides both Indis and his sister Findis being older than him.

• After Fingolfin's death, a most direct descendent of Finwë in Beleriand is actually Lalwen, but the crown goes to Fingon, as Fingolfin's son, and after him to Turgon.

• As such, in the scenario where Turgon dies (and we know this is a likely scenario for High Kings), most probably Idril would be skipped in favor of Maeglin. And even if Turgon lived, Maeglin is still the Crown Prince of the Noldor.

So what? Well, looking at Maeglin's heritage and experiences, this is quite a big deal:

• First and foremost, Maeglin is a Sinda by father and not just a regular dude. The Silmarillion says about Eöl: "Of old he was of the kin of Thingol", and moreover, "of a high kin of the Teleri". Eöl was likely one of those elves that stayed to look for Thingol when he was stuck with Melian in Nan Elmoth. Thus, Maeglin is family with Doriathrin royalty, probably some sort of cousin to Celeborn and Lúthien. He speaks Sindarin since birth and has grown up on Sindarin territory.

• Thingol prohibits Quenya and refuses the Noldor an entrance to Doriath but he does make exceptions for those of half-Telerin kin, like Finrod and all the children of Eärwen. Maeglin is even closer in kin with Thingol, meaning he would have access to both Doriath and the friendship of Thingol. This opens the opportunity for an alliance that neither Fingon nor Maedhros could establish previously.

• Furthermore, Maeglin is great friends with the Dwarves of Nogrod and Belegost. This again has to do with Eöl who is a big friend of the dwarves, we are told that he basically prefers the company of the Naugrim over his own kin. He speaks with them often when they pass close to Nan Elmoth and stays with them as a guest. When Maeglin and Aredhel flee, Eöl is invited for a midsummer feast to Nogrod.

• Maeglin himself spends much time in the Blue Mountains, the Silmarillion says that he often "went with Eöl to the cities of the Dwarves in the east of Ered Lindon, and there he learned eagerly what they would teach". This is very rare, we are told that the Eldar never go to the dwarven realms apart from Maeglin and his dad. This changes with Caranthir and Maedhros, who become allies to the dwarves, and as a result "the gems of the Noldor [the Naugrim] praised above all other wealth".

• This leaves Maeglin in an extremely favorable position with the Dwarves - both sides of his family (Eöl and the Noldor) have good relationships with the Blue Mountains. Maeglin is an apprentice of the Dwarves, has spent much time with them, I would suspect he speaks Khuzdul. Likely alliance #2.

• What of the other Elven lordships? After the Nirnaeth, there's Nargothrond (Finrod was Turgon's best friend, so positive relations), the Falathrim (Círdan was already an ally of Fingon), and the remnants of the Fëanorians (Aredhel was best friends with Celegorm and Curufin, the hotheads of the crew, and Maeglin stayed in Himlad with them when running from Nan Elmoth). Likely alliances #3, #4, and #5.

• The group Maeglin doesn't like? Mortal Men, bummer. However, after the Nirnaeth there's hardly any of the Edain left and the Easterlings are Morgoth's puppets.

• Ok, so the dude is well connected, but would he be good as a diplomat and respected as a leader? Tolkien says yes: Maeglin "prospered and grew great among the Gondolindrim, praised by all, and high in the favour of Turgon". He strengthens the arms of the Gondolindrim with his metals, is wise in council and proves himself in battle at the Nirnaeth. Moreover, we are told that "his voice had a power to move those that heard him and to overthrow those that withstood him". A great orator and diplomat.

• From all of this, Maeglin has the potential to be a powerful ruler. He is of noble origin among both the Noldor and the Sindar, is well connected to all Elven and Dwarven leaders, he is a respected craftsman, brave warrior, and apparently excellent orator and diplomat. He is also cross-culturally competent, bilingual (more likely multilingual), and can keep his temper in check (he is patient and calculated, we see that time and again).

• Thus, Maeglin as High King of the Noldor would be able to forge alliances among all the free peoples of Beleriand and possibly raise armies greater than the Union of Maedhros.

All of this said, it is precisely why Maeglin is such a spectacularly tragic character. He is too powerful of a chess piece not to be brought down by a personal failing or well, torture by literal Lucifer. For the Doom of Mandos to work and the sinking of Beleriand to happen, Maeglin must fail.

So, Tolkien brings him down on the basis of jealousy, frustration from unrequited love, and a curse by his own father. I see why this is narratively necessary, but I have never agreed with the why that the Silmarillion provides. I'm firm of the camp that Maeglin's downfall has much more to do with the political intricacies of Gondolin and the cultural/racial conservatism among the Noldor ratherthan his youthful infatuation with Idril. But that is another debate and I will be exploring it throughout my new series To Love and Die in Gondolin.

Would love to hear people's opinions on this.

#maeglin #lomion #high king #house of finwe #finweans #noldor #turgon #feanorians #sindar #elu thingol #doriath #dwarves #diplomacy in beleriand #union of maedhros #gondolin #tolkien #should I write an AU out of this? #too much rambling #my headcanon

[warrioreowynofrohan]

Silmarillion Ask Game:

@arrivisting : 19! Or 9!

As I’ve done 9 in my previous post, I’ll do 19! Thank you!

19) You get to save one character from dying. What would they do instead?

I thought about this for a bit and didn’t come to any definite conclusions, so I’m going to work through it in real time. There are two possible directions I can come at it from. Option 1, pragmatic: Which character’s survival would act as the greatest roadblock against future tragedies? Option 2, emotional: I like this person and want them to live.

For Option 1, we start at the beginning. Míriel? No - that feels oddly like a violation of free will given that she chose to die - and, to paraphrase Námo, Fingolfin and Finarfin and their kids are awesome. I want them to exist! Next choice - Finwë? That’s an intriguing possibility, for all that I don’t like him - if he goes to Valmar with Fëanor and doesn’t die, how does that affect Fëanor’s actions? Does the Return still happen? I have to think Fëanor would still be angry enough over the theft of the Silmarils (he swore an oath to take vengeance on anyone who had them, not to avenge Finwë, after all; though he may have also thought the former inherently incorporated the latter) that he would want to chase down Morgoth - but would the rest of the Noldor be inclined to go with him?

There are characters who are among my favourites who I definitely wouldn’t choose. Maedhros? Absolutely not - that would be outright cruel - he needs a good long time in the Halls, very badly. (I’ve envisioned a scenario where Elwing says to the Sons of Fëanor, ‘Come unarmed and alone; if you can hold the Silmaril you can keep it, if not we take you prisoner,’ with the strong expectation that they won’t be able to. They aren’t. They’re taken prisoner. Eärendil and Elwing go off on their embassy to Valinor. Better ending for Sirion, a worse one for Maedhros, who is now alive with a heaping amount of guilt and 0 functioning hands. I’m not big on the concept, as I don’t believe that any elven characters concieved of the possibility that the Silmarils could burn elves, and the utter shock of that realization to Maedhros and Maglor is crucial to the story.)

Beren and Lúthien? I can only save one, and neither would want to live without the other, so again, absolutely not.

Finrod? That’s appealing from both perspectives. If he survives, does Nargothrond fight in the Nirnaeth? Dies Nargothrond refrain from listening to Túrin’s bad tactical ideas? Let’s say Lúthien gets to Tol-in-Gaurhoth about a day earlier than she does in canon, and is able to heal Finrod after she defeats Sauron. What happens next? Well, he continues with them on the quest, we have to assume; his oath’s still in effect. (Making him a very awkward third wheel if Beren and Lúthien still spend months lovering around the general Brethil area before heading for Angband.) Maybe he comes up with the Thuringwethil-and-Draugluin disguise idea and disguises himself and the three of them go to Angband. What happens then? Well, in canon the situation with Carcharoth comes about because Lúthien is exhausted and Beren is unarmed; if Finrod’s there we probably get the ‘killed by a massive wolf in defence of Beren’ ending after all, just with a more impressive wolf. And Carcharoth doesn’t go mad, and Beren and Lúthien don’t die…but Beren is still mortal. Would Lúthien follow him into death all the same?

Irrespective of that, I don’t think this scenario can work. I don’t think any of the Noldor can be part of the recovery of a Silmaril. It’s the original sin of their enterprise, killing and straling other people’s treasures to avenge murder and the theft of treasures; even for those who were only accessory after the fact.

Aredhel? Oh, I like that possibility. Eöl misses, or she’s healed of the poison. Can’t quite wrap my brain around what happens to Eöl in this scenario - I can’t see him staying willingly in Gondolin under any circumstances, nor can I see Turgon letting him go. Even if Aredhel lives and he isn’t executed, I think he’d end up getting killed trying to escape. Does Aredhel stay in Gondolin? After her father’s death, and his body being brought to Gondolin, I think from her personality she’d want to go out and fight; and that Tyrgon would be very unwilling to let her leave a second time, after what happened the first one. Let’s say he manages to delay her until the Nirnaeth, and she rides to war then. And still survives. Who knows, maybe Maeglin isn’t as unpleasant or restless, maybe isn’t captured. Maybe Gondolin doesn’t fall. Or maybe Morgoth, learning its general location from Húrin’s wanderings, manages to find it anyway. Point is, I can imagine a scenario where Aredhel survives, where she fughts in the War of Wrath; where, like Galadriel, she chooses to stay in Middle-earth. She gets to explore and have fun adventures, like she wanted in the first place. I like that for her.

Another tempting possibility: Beleg survives. This could head off some of Turin’s recklessness in Nargothrond and prevent its fall; and without the fall of Nargothrond and the Nauglamír, Tjingol doesn’t die and Doriath doesn’t fall. And Túrin’s story doesn’t end so horribly. That’s also appealing.

One last possibility. Possibly the one you were thinking of, given your character preferences. Fingon? This is intriguing to me, but for reasons beyond just not wanting to to die. It raises two crucial questions. First, if Fingon survives - let’s say he makes it south with Turgon’s retreat but doesn’t go to Gondolin and remains in West Beleriand somewhere - does Maedhros still go along with the Second Kinslaying? Secondly, and the point of key interest to me - if Maedhros does, then what does Fingon do? (One of my imagined conversations in the Halls of Mandos has Maedhros and Fingolfin discussing this hypothetical. Fingolfin doesn’t know what the answer to this question would have been, and is extremely unhappy about that; he doesn’t think Fingon would have participated in the Second Kinslaying, but he doesn’t know whether he’d have stayed out of it or fought to stop Maedhros. [Fingon is, in retrospect - in the context of Maedhros’ deeds and death - fully convinced that fighting against Maedhros would have been the best choice for everyone, Maedhros included. But that doesn’t speak to what he’d have done without that information, if he’d been alive at the time.] Fingolfin is extremely angry with Maedhros and entirely convinced, not at all without reason, that he is a corrupting influence and that if Maedhros had the remotest shred of decency he’d never interact with Fingon again.) Anyway, setting aside the parenthetical digression. Would Fingon have tried to talk Maedhros and the other Fëanorians out of the Second Kinslaying? Almost certainly. If he didn’t succeed, would he have been willing to fight Maedhros in defence of Doriath? I don’t know, and that introduces some additional moral complexity.

On the whole? I’m going with Aredhel. She deserved very much better, and I want her to get to survive, and fight in the War of Wrath, and then go have adventures. She feels to me like one of the few Finwëans who loved and wanted Middle-earth for itself, not for a realm or a vengeance quest, and she should have that.

#tolkien #the silmarillion #míriel #finwe #fëanor #finrod #beren #lúthien #aredhel #fingon #beleg #maedhros

[sweetteaanddragons]

I love that list of deaging silm fic ideas you posted and it got me thinking, would there be a scenario where feanor is younger than fingolfin and finarfin but still technically the oldest? Maybe if he dies with miriel in childbirth or somehow when he’s young and then comes back from the halls of mandos

Thank you so much!

A couple of years back, I actually wrote a fic that fits this part of your ask. There's a link to it here. In it, baby Feanor and Miriel both die, and he doesn't come back until after his half-siblings are born.

However, the fic does not fit the second ask you sent me because in the fic linked above, it takes Feanor so long to come back that by the time he does, most of his half-siblings are already in Beleriand.

But it doesn't have to be that way. Hm.

#i love asks #silmarillion #feanor

[lockedloki]

 masterlist✨

(last edited: 25/07/2021)

Rules: X

Tolkien

Elves

maedhros fic learning he’s going to be a dad : X 

maedhros domestic headcanons: X

finrod fic “irises are symbols of hope” : X

dating celegorm would include: X

dating finrod headcanons: X

finarfin proposing and domestic bliss: X

dating fingon would include: X

married life with fingon: X

being married to fingolfin would include: X

elrond and lindir meeting a tiger-skinchanger scenarios: X

dating lindir would include: X

dating elladan headcanons: X

gwindor dating a younger s/o would include: X

dating mablung would include: X

egalmoth with a short s/o - dating headcanons:  X

dating glorfindel: X

glorfindel fic where the reader has a bad head injury: X

being in a poly-relationship with legolas and gimli would include: X

father figure!elrond and dealing with reader’s nightmare: 1

elladan, elrohir and arwen comforting reader after a break-up: X

celeborn, galadriel and cirdan comforting reader with a breakdown/tantrum: X

dating and marriage finrod post-rebirth headcanons: X

celebrimbor general headcanons: X

random headcanons for the house of elrond: X

maedhros, gwindor and maeglin headcanons about s/o rescuing them from Angband: X

domestic life with feanor headcanons: X

aredhel and celegorm goes surfing: X

family headcanons with curufin : X

cirdan and elrond father!headcanons: X

nsft maglor headcanons: X

Ainur

dating mairon would include: X

random 5 eonwe headcanons: X

mairon/sauron/annatar and y/n: the meme-ening

Dwarves

the company wishing you happy birthday and the gifts they’d give you: X

Hobbits

bilbo celebrating your birthday with you would include: X

bilbo asking you very important questions would include: X

Men/Humans

éomer fic where the reader gets hurt sparring: X

boromir and aragorn with a short s/o headcanons : X

#masterlist #lord of the rings x reader #the hobbit x reader #the silmarillion x reader #tolkien x reader #hobbits #dwarves #elves #men #ainur #valar #maiar #loki's lists