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imakemywings · 11 months

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Fandom: The Silmarillion

Characters: Maedhros, Lalwen, Fingon, Nerdanel

Summary: Maedhros considers the role of sex and romance in his life and receives support from unexpected quarters.

AN: Something for @aspecardaweek! More notes on AO3.

WC: 5,281

AO3 | Pillowfort | SWG

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Maedhros did not yet have Grandfather’s skill for keeping his face neutral. He did have his own parents’ penchant for strong emotions and so the sense of annoyance which permeated his clipped pace down the palace hall was plainly apparent. Even the swish of his robes seemed to speak to an immediate, if mild, irritation.

The heat of Valinor’s soft summer was creeping up over Tirion, which meant most of the palace was out-of-doors, except for Caranthir who was likely tucked away somewhere with a book or a preserved insect, and Maglor, who was either “composing” or languishing artfully on a pile of pillows (these were not always distinct and separate acts), and so perhaps Maedhros was less careful than he might’ve been with the usual palace audience around to provide a bevy of useless commentary. He slid open one of the side doors and slipped out onto the rail-less porch, throwing himself down on the edge with an air of petty temper.

The fresh air almost immediately took the edge off. In the lush palace gardens he could hear the call of birds and the rustle of the fresh green leaves, still tender with new growth. The lychee trees were starting to sway with the weight of fruit and the smell of the flowering plants perfumed the air. Maedhros leaned back against one of the posts supporting the eaves. Curufin and the twins were out with Atar for the day, which meant there was no childish yelling this side of the palace, though if Maedhros listened carefully, he could hear some of his youngest cousins elsewhere on the property.

“You look rather troubled, little one.” The low, smoky voice took him by surprise, partly because he was not often in conversation with his aunt, who bled out of the bushes with a idly curious look. “Who’s put this look on your face?”

“My brother,” Maedhros groused after a pause.

“That still leaves quite a few options,” said Princess Lalwen with a slanting smile, perching on the edge of the porch with one leg tucked beneath her. Her nut-brown skin was already taking on the darker hue of summertime and judging by her dress and the dearth of gems in her hair, he guessed she’d been on an early morning hiking or hunting trip.

“’tis nothing,” Maedhros demurred. No need to go airing family laundry, even if it was the relatively harmless kind. Besides, Aunt Lalwen always looked like she was searching for a secret—to what end, Maedhros couldn’t say.

“If it were nothing, you would not be troubled,” Lalwen said. Maedhros, ever the pragmatist, visibly weighed the pros and cons of sharing—and how much—with Lalwen. Truthfully, he didn’t know her well enough to make much of an estimate. She was often in Tirion, unlike Aunt Findis, but also often in the company of Uncle Fingolfin, which meant not in the company of Atar and Ammë (or their children).

“Kanafinwë is…immature, I think, at times,” said Maedhros at last. “It causes a great deal of trouble for him and for many around him.”

“Little brothers will be that way,” Lalwen said sagely, nodding. Maedhros must have looked skeptical, for then she said: “You doubt it? Arafinwë was a terrible tattle when he was little. Nothing could you tell him if you did not wish to get back to Ammë within the hour. Thank Ilúvatar he grew out of that!” A faint smile crossed her face. “And if you were inclined to ask, it is possible that Arakáno and Findis might have their own stories of me to share.” Maedhros assumed Atar went without saying.

“Kanafinwë is old enough to know better,” said Maedhros with a frown. The antics of a child were one thing—Maglor was a grown adult, if a young one. Lalwen canted her head to the side and her eyes flitted off into the vegetation. She had Fingolfin’s eyes, the same brown that turned gold with just a bit of light, framed in lashes brown where Fingolfin’s were black.

“A little brother is always a little brother with his older sibling,” she said. “At least a little bit.”

“He makes a mess of his own life and then comes to me wailing about his misfortune!” said Maedhros, remembering his annoyance anew. “He never listens to me! Why tell me these things if he refuses to take my advice?”

“What has he done now?” Lalwen asked, and still on the tide of his temper, Maedhros said:

“He does the most foolish things wherever a comely Elf is concerned and he seems to seek the chance to make a mess of things! He can never settle on one thing to want, and as soon as his desire is within his gasp, he loses all interest in it!” A more tempered Maedhros would not have shared, but he was doubly irked because Maglor had recently borrowed several of his favorite hair pins without asking, and had left one of them behind with his tryst, whom he insisted he could not speak to again to get it back. “Already he has a courting companion, yet he has been seeking the company of another!” Now he felt he had to explain the rest.

“For ages did I listen to his laments about trying to win the heart of Culuina, and at last they were courting, and finally they had stopped fighting, and now he tells me he has been seeking the attentions of someone from the actor’s guild! He tells me how this Elf has no interest in him and looks right through him as if he were not even there, and he tells it with a shine in his eyes more than when he ever talks about Culuina anymore! I told him to be happy with Culuina after he spent so long in pursuit of her, but did he listen? Of course not! And rather than end their courtship as might have been honorable, now he chases down some other, like a greedy hunter!”

After this little tirade, Maedhros fell silent, flinty gray eyes narrowed, remembering all over again why he was so cross.

“How can he complain so when he’s done this all to himself? Culuina was happy with him at last, but now he’s ruined it! I don’t understand him at all.”

Lalwen shrugged.

“You know how Kanafinwë is with a pretty face. Arakáno says he’s been that way since he was young,” she said. “How old was he when he told his music teacher he would marry him?” Lalwen smiled indulgently, but Maedhros was not willing to fondly reminisce now (for the record, Maglor had been eight).

“There’s no sense in it!” Maedhros fumed insistently. “He had what he desired! And for what does he tell me these things if he never heeds my advice?”

“Perhaps he seeks only a listening ear,” Lalwen suggested.

“Nay, for he asks my opinion!” Maedhros objected. “But then he pays it no mind!”

“What advice gave you to him?” Lalwen asked.

“That he should be content with what he has!” Maedhros’ jaw clenched. “He sought so ardently after Culuina, how can he set her aside so easily? And for one who cares not for him in the slightest? So what if he has a pretty face? Culuina does as well!”

“You seem rather indignant on her behalf,” Lalwen said with seeming amusement.

“Hardly,” said Maedhros. “I have exchanged not entirely ten words with her. But Kanafinwë is a prince of the Noldor and should behave better.” Lalwen tipped her head from side to side.

“There’s not much sense in it, is there?” she said.

“None!” Maedhros said. “He loses his head entirely about romance; it’s as though he lapses into madness! How is it that so many Elves lack any kind of sense or restraint about these things?”

Lalwen was looking at him then in a way that made Maedhros remember he did not usually speak of family matters to others (even other family). There was something appraising in her look that made him decide he had said too much already and he regretted it at once. Maglor made enough of a fool of the house without him elaborating for others.

“Forgive me though, for taking so much of your time, Aunt,” he said, lowering his head and then rising to his feet, his voice at once level and impassive again. “I should not have troubled you with such trivial matters.”

“No trouble, Nelyafinwë,” she said. “I believed I came from a big family until I saw your parents’ penchant for children.” She chuckled a little. “I cannot imagine having had six brothers! Three was quite enough for me.”

“Most often they trouble me not.” Maedhros murmured out the lie. “I should have less of a temper with him.” Another lie—he believed he had every right to be just as irritated with Maglor as he was. But he should not have shared it outside the house; it did nothing to improve their image.

“What one struggles to understand may often prove an annoyance,” Lalwen posited after a moment. Maedhros gave her a critical look, then bowed his exit and went back inside. Conversations with Lalwen had a way of making him feel he had missed something, and it was not a feeling for which he cared in the slightest.

***

“Maitimo.”

Maedhros refocused his eyes on Ammë, dredging himself up out of his thoughts.

“I did not move,” he said.

“You are making a face,” said Ammë. “Why this air of sullenness?” Falling out of his pose, Maedhros rubbed the heel of his hand between his eyes.

“’tis nothing,” he said. “I’m only tired.”

“Well, if you keep making that face, the sculpture will wear it too,” said Ammë, tapping her pencil pointedly against her sketchpad. “Oh. Sometime has it been since I saw that look.”

“No ‘look’ do I wear,” Maedhros insisted, resentful of the whining note that crept into his voice. Only Ammë could bring it out.

“There is a look,” she said. “So what is it?”

“As I said before, nothing.” Ammë flipped closed her sketchpad.

“I think we shall be done with this for today,” she said. “If you still wish to help, perhaps you can help me cut wood for the kiln.” With a sigh, Maedhros rose in acquiescence and they went out into the yard, where Ammë handed him an axe.

He was still ruminating on his conversation with Lalwen, and the sense that she had seen something in it he had failed to notice, an idea which peeved him to no end. Furthermore, it was bringing to the forefront of his memory the handful of instances in which Maglor, no doubt in an effort at brotherly camaraderie, had attempted to return the favor that Maedhros granted him in listening to his woes by asking Maedhros about his love life, a line of questioning that invariably made Maedhros both queasy and ill-tempered. If he was feeling particularly adventurous, Maglor would probe into Maedhros’ various relationships, seeking some hitherto hidden romantic intention which Maedhros insisted did not exist. Most recently, he had seized on the notion of Maedhros’ friendship with Ingwion as something that might bear fruit, a suggestion which Maedhros had been too embarrassed to even mention to Ingwion, even to have a laugh at Maglor’s efforts.

Ammë set a log down and Maedhros raised the axe. In a sense, there was something calming about the repetition of it.

Whack, whack, whack.

Maedhros hated not to understand things—it was something Grandfather had once said he shared with Atar. And what he didn’t understand now was how he could be the only one with any sense about relationships—how could everyone else be so careless and obsessed? He had even seen Curufin making eyes at other Elflings his age. When Maedhros had been Curufin’s age, the thought of romance hadn’t even entered his head! It had been as alien to him as the notion of childbirth or property taxes. Back then, he had assumed it was something that would simply come with age. Eventually, he told himself he was a late bloomer, and perhaps just needed more time to come into it than others (another idea which unsettled him—he also misliked the thought of being late to anything).

Whack, whack, whack.

Then, when he determined he must be fully matured, he theorized he simply had not met the right person yet. This made perfect sense. Maedhros was discriminating in taste about nearly everything—why should he be less particular about his romantic partners? He needed to give himself time to meet someone who could pass his standards, and then would experience one of those head-over-heels crushes which people waxed poetic about. After all, Grandfather said that Atar had had next to no interest in courtship of any kind until he met Ammë, and then everything had happened rather quickly.

Whack, whack, whack..

He supposed this theory still wasn’t disproven, but there was an uneasy feeling in his gut that he might be waiting for something which would never come. Technically, there was unlikely to be harm in this, but Maedhros did not like things unsettled. He wanted answers, cut and dry. He wanted to know where he stood. But how did one prove an absence of a thing? And what did such an absence mean?

Whack, whack, whack.

“Does this seem enough to you?” Just as Maedhros was pausing with the axe, Ammë spoke. He observed the pile of wood so far and flexed his hand against the shaft of the axe.

“Perhaps a few more,” he suggested. Ammë looked at him rather than the wood and nodded.

“Yes, I agree,” she said, and set down another log. When Maedhros had split the last of them, he felt that some of the tension in his shoulders had dissipated. He rolled them to loosen the muscles. In an uncharacteristic display of gentleness, Ammë placed a hand against the back of his head and pulled him down until she could press a fleeting kiss to his copper crown.

“This will do finely, Maitimo.” She slapped his shoulder as she drew back. “Now go on, I do not believe you shall be any more help to me today, and as I recall, you have your own work which needs doing.”

Maedhros groaned. He really had been overthinking all this if he’d forgotten, even for a moment, about that blasted essay.

***

“Yes, this is much better,” said Professor Lastarion while Maedhros intermittently held his breath as part of an effort not to fidget while sitting in front of the professor’s desk. “You have still some gaps in logic here, but this is much better.” His eyes flicked up to Maedhros’ face. “They are small, but closing them will make for the neatest possible paper. This is quite good on its own, but I will insist you see to these before the compendium’s publication.”

Having his work published would more than make up for all the effort that had gone into it, including the many late nights he had spent working by candlelight. It was something he had yearned for since his first works had gone into the student publication during his years as a pupil of the university. He had been pleased with those then, but now, to be published as an adult scholar—!

“Leading a reader through your argument is like…”

Leading a horse, Maedhros finished silently to himself.

“…leading a horse,” Lastarion finished aloud. “The slightest hole might result in a snapped ankle.” This was where the metaphor tended to fall apart for Maedhros. “You want to take your readers in an unbroken chain from point A to B to C to D…” He waved his hand in a flowing gesture. Maedhros nodded tensely, waiting for any more concrete feedback.

“It’s quite well-reasoned as a whole,” Lastarion went on. “In fact,” he said, meeting Maedhros’ eyes directly, “I believe it will be the centerpiece of the volume.”

“Thank you, professor,” said Maedhros breathlessly, feeling his heart stop for a moment.

“It has the possibility to be truly remarkable, which is why I have nitpicked so many things on it,” he said. “With a few fine-tuning touches, it will be the jewel in the crown, so to speak.” He passed the paper over to Maedhros. “Have a look at my notes. Connect these last few gaps and you will have a final product to be quite proud of, Nelyafinwë.”

“Thank you,” he said again, taking the paper, his heart jumping as if he had run up a flight of stairs. “I will see to it immediately.”

It wasn’t until he was out of the professor’s office that he let the grin spread across his face. Published! There would be something to talk about at the next party!

***

The summer sun was just edging towards too warm against Fingon’s exposed arms and legs as he lay back in the golden grass, tossing his ball up and down. He kept his eyes closed so as not to be dazzled by the brightness of the sky, but he was so familiar with the weight and fall of the ball he did not need to see it to catch it each time it came back down towards him. The thrust and fall of it was relaxing; the repetitive flexing and bunching of his well-trained muscles lulled him into calm. There was a faint breeze rustling the grass, which occasionally blew over him and swept away the worst of the heat, keeping him comfortable. Overhead, birds caroused, wheeling this way and that, occasionally dashing across the tendrils of wispy clouds that were all that marred Valinor’s skies that day. It was entirely peaceful and Fingon let out a deep breath of contentment.

Ah, but Maedhros was still talking.

“Well?” he was saying, and Fingon realized he had let slip by a crucial moment to interject with a sympathetic or disapproving noise (whichever was most appropriate) and now was being asked a question. “Am I wrong?”

He caught his pigskin ball and opened his eyes, turning to look at Maedhros’ pale, vexed face.

“Well of course you’re right,” he said. “If Makalaurë listened to you, he wouldn’t be in half as much trouble.” When he had missed a cue, it was always good to fall back on “you’re right.” That usually calmed Maedhros down.

“I told him this would happen,” he griped, and Fingon debated whether he could inquire into what “this” was without revealing that he didn’t already know.

“You know Makalaurë,” he said with a somewhat indulgent smile. “Foresight is not his gift.”

“Foresight! I would gladly settle for common sense!” He snorted. “The way this city gossips—and he thought Culuina wouldn’t find out about Eteminion?”

“Well…” Fingon began, then trailed off, not sure if Maedhros would appreciate his speculating on the less-than-admirable behavior of his brother.

“Well what?” But Maedhros would not let a thought go unsaid once it had been hinted at.

“Perhaps he wished for her to know.”

“Wished!” Maedhros exclaimed. “Why would he wish for her to know he had been unfaithful to her?” Fingon shrugged.

“Perhaps he wanted their courtship to end and knew that she would do it herself if she knew,” he said. “Or perhaps he wanted her attention.”

“He was courting her,” Maedhros said. “In what way did he not already have her attention?” Fingon shrugged and started tossing his ball again. “Do share your thoughts, Findekáno,” said Maedhros, and Fingon could hear the annoyance in his voice. A smile twitched on Fingon’s lips.

“Perhaps Makalaurë enjoys the turbulence of his relationships,” he said. “Perhaps he thought if he riled Culuina this way, it would inspire her to passion.” Maedhros was looking at him like he had just suggested they test whether the Children of Ilúvatar had the power of flight, an expression at which Fingon couldn’t help but laugh as he sat upright.

“Passionate in her anger with him, perhaps,” Maedhros said. Fingon shrugged. Anger was passion, of a sort. “For what could he ever want such a thing? I think you have been laying in the sun too long.” Fingon laughed again.

“Is it so hard to understand?” he said. “Never have you wished to make another jealous to prove their affection for you?”

“Never!” said Maedhros, looking perfectly appalled. “Have you?”

“Once or twice,” said Fingon, shrugging one shoulder. “Never have I done it thought—it is rather immature, is it not? Although for Eteminion?” He grinned. “He would be worth the effort! Have you seen him on stage? There is an Elf who knows passion!” Maedhros was still looking at him like he’d gone crazy. “No? You find him not attractive?” he said.

“I never thought about it,” said Maedhros. “I do not watch plays to drool over the actors.”

“Are you accusing me of drooling, Russandol!” Fingon laughed. “One can appreciate both the art and also the bodies behind it!” Maedhros’ look had gone sulky, the way it did when they spoke overlong of issues concerning romance. “Perhaps you and Makalaurë simply cannot see eye-to-eye on this,” he suggested.

“I think perhaps we cannot,” said Maedhros quietly, picking at the grass. “It makes no sense to me, Findekáno, not even when you speak of it.”

“What doesn’t?”

“The way people behave when they find another attractive,” said Maedhros. “How do they manage to lose all sense of reason?”

“That is nature of love and sex,” said Fingon with a little smile. “It renders one a little insane…but that isn’t always bad. One may enjoy a touch of madness.” Maedhros was just looking at him, indirectly, still tearing at bits of grass.

“It makes no sense to me,” he repeated, softer still.

It took Fingon a moment to gather that perhaps Maedhros was trying to tell him something. (He was not always very good at picking up on these things, which Turgon had told him.) Sobering, he folded his legs, setting his ball in the space between.

“You know,” he observed after a pause, “I believe Auntie Irimë is that way.”

“What way?”

“I mean, that she agrees with you. She is unwed,” said Fingon. “And I have never known her to express a desire for it.”

“Aunt Findis is unwed also,” said Maedhros.

Fingon shrugged.

“Auntie Findis has always been a bit aloof, has she not?” Maedhros was shredding a long blade of grass between his fingers, a furrow between his eyebrows. Aunt Findis also spent a great deal of time out of Tirion, and was not in general inclined to discuss such things around her nieces and nephews, which made it harder to guess at her stance.

“Russandol,” said Fingon, and when Maedhros was looking at him, he pitched the leather ball right at Maedhros’ face. His nose was spared the unfortunate content by his quick reflexes, and then he glared in a way that would have made their cousins cower (it was rather reminiscent of Uncle Fëanor).

“What was that for?” he demanded.

“You are thinking no longer about your problem, are you?” said Fingon cheerfully. “You’re welcome!” The ball clocked Fingon in the head right before Maedhros tackled him.

***

It pleased the king to host, as frequently as he could, large dinners for the entire extended family. Atar always insisted they were there, to a man, and there was little that could excuse one from the event—academic demands were about the only thing. Grandfather Finwë would throw a celebratory dinner for nearly anything—Princess Findis visiting from Valmar or the start of a new season or a grandchild getting a particularly good grade or Atar finishing a new project—but often he hosted them for no reason at all. That night’s dinner was one of that sort.

The dining hall was bedecked in lanterns alongside the lamps of Atar’s design and the seats around the table had been cleared to allow family and guests to take food and wander at will. Maedhros and his brothers, as always, were dressed to the nines, as Atar would not tolerate them arriving at any event of his father’s smirched in soot or dirt, or dressed unsuitably. The particular headpiece Maedhros had chosen for that night demanded he move with stately grace, or it was going to fall off his head and with the weight of it, probably take out someone’s foot in the process. (It did look very fine though, and he had spent several minutes in front of his mirror admiring the effect.)

Choosing the right time to approach Lalwen meant not accosting her as soon as they arrived, while ensuring she wasn’t able to slip off before Maedhros got to speak with her. It would need to look natural—he was not interested in anyone else thinking he had cause to seek out his aunt. For a few moments he lingered around the wine with Maglor, to reassure him that there was nothing amiss between then despite Maedhros’ earlier annoyance. Maglor was then distracted by one of his many musical rivals and disappeared to go boast under the guise of conversation.

When Maedhros did approach Lalwen at the table, he didn’t get his greeting past his lips before she said: “You took your time.” Then she turned to look at him, seeming amused with his expression. “I will give your subtlety is much improved on that of your brothers, but your eyes have been burning a hole in me since you arrived, Nelyafinwë.”

“You knew,” he said, deciding Lalwen did not need a lead-in. Lalwen shrugged.

“I theorized,” she said.

“But you said nothing of it. Why?” Lalwen added a few more dumplings to her plate and considered.

“You seem to me rather reserved,” she said. “And we have not spoken much. I did not think you would appreciate my theorizing, nor take it to heart. Some conclusions we must reach on our own, in our own time.” Maedhros was somewhat troubled that she had gathered so much about him despite the brevity and infrequency of their interactions.

“And are you?”

“I am,” she said, flicking her eyes up to him.

“How did you know?” She shrugged.

“It is harder to see a lack of a thing, but at some point, it becomes apparent. Anyway, it is not as uncommon as you might think. It is simply not spoken of.”

“And…Aunt Findis is…?” Lalwen let out a burst of laughter.

“Findis? No, not her. She’s only excessively particular—about what is she not particular—and will take only women as long-term partners.”

“Does…do people…know?” he asked.

“About me?” she asked. “Some do. Some may have guessed by now. My siblings know. But,” she added abruptly, holding up a finger, “that was by my choice only. Such things are private, and no one has a right to know what you do not wish to tell. This you should bear in mind, Nelyafinwë. To none do you owe answers or explanations about this. If I may offer counsel, as your aunt, little though I have taken the role—” This being the fault more of Atar than of Lalwen, Maedhros suspected, for she was close with both the children of Fingolfin and of Finarfin, “—let no one pressure you to speak when you would not. Your heart is your own business, and no one else’s.” She turned to go, paused, and glanced back. “There are many kinds of love. An absence of one does not mean an absence of all.”

Then someone was waving her down from the side of the hall and she departed with a last glance at Maedhros over her shoulder. In pensive silence, he took a few pork buns and meandered off out of the way of those trying to reach the table.

Witnessing Elves in the bliss of courtship and wedlock, it was easy to feel cheated. Taking in the countless works of art labored over with such effort and devotion for the sake of romantic love—for a particular paramour, or simply for the notion of it—it was hard not to be frustrated at his own lack of perspective and understanding. Hearing the way others spoke of romance and of marriage—how could he not feel the rest of the world was in a joke he simply didn’t get? Yet Lalwen seemed content.

“Russandol!” He recognized Celegorm’s excited call as he tore himself out of his thoughts. His brother was coming towards him with an ear-to-ear grin that usually spelled Trouble, and even more concerning, with him was Fingon, who rarely spent time in the company of Maedhros’ brothers, less still without him present.

“What are you doing?” he demanded.

“Not what I’m doing,” said Celegorm in a poor pantomime of innocence. “What Findekáno and Irissë are doing.” Maedhros’ eyes snapped over to Fingon, who grinned.

“And what are Findekáno and Irissë doing?”

“Grandfather has some fireworks from your father he has saved for a special occasion,” said Fingon.

“And?” said Maedhros.

“And Irissë and I have decided tonight is a special occasion,” said Fingon.

“And why is that?” Fingon shrugged.

“Because it is!” he said. “Tyelko is coming with us. Are you? When the party begins to wind down?” Maedhros scrutinized the pair, opposed in so many ways, but united over the opportunity to make things explode in pretty colors. They were both grinning at him, pleased as a bird on the wind with the prospect of their stolen pyrotechnics.

“Come on, Russandol!” wheedled Celegorm. “Come with us! It will be such fun!”

“I suppose I shall have to,” Maedhros sighed with feigned resignation. “Someone must make sure you burn nothing down by mistake.” Fingon pumped his fist in triumph.

“I shall come and find you when we’re ready!” he said, hurrying off for more food. Celegorm flashed a double thumbs-up and went to go steal sweets from Caranthir. There were plenty on the table, but he insisted the ones he took from their younger brothers and cousins tasted better.

The Arafinweans were in from Alqualondë for at least the next few weeks, which meant Maedhros could pick out their golden heads among the rest of the dark-haired Elves. Finarfin himself was there with Fingolfin, debating over what to take from the table, while Queen Indis leaned over the table to remark to them both. Finrod was over by a window with Turgon and a friend, where they were all in animated conversation about something, which presently involved Turgon using cheese cubes to make a demonstration (Finrod gave a wave when he saw Maedhros looking in their direction). Aunt Eärwen, warmly tanned after several months in her hometown, had her had bowed by Aunt Anairë’s, speaking lowly as they did when they wanted no one to intrude on their conversation. Atar was crouched beside Grandfather’s seat, listening attentively to whatever was being said, while Finwë observed his guests. Aegnor and Amrod were either playing or squabbling, it was hard to say, and either way it was happening perilously close to a pedestal housing a priceless vase. Lalwen was leaning back against a red column in easy conversation with the friends who had summoned her away from him before.

Something which had been tense in Maedhros for some time relaxed slightly. Ammë had warned him he had a tendency to overthink things and while he privately considered Ammë habitually underthought things, perhaps in this instance, there was truth there. Maybe Lalwen was right—maybe he was too worried about something that did not bear worrying about.

His bigger concern, in all truth, needed to be making sure Fingon did not set those fireworks off around a building.

#aspecardaweek #aspecardaweek2023 #maedhros #fingon #lalwen #lalwende #nerdanel #the silmarillion #tolkien tag #fanfiction #tolkien fanfiction

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that-angry-noldo · 1 year

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ok so @thelordofgifs wanted to hear my thoughts on finarfin and findis and i am sorry for incoherency of this post because it's 23h (00:37 when i'm posting) where i am and someone should probably confiscate my phone BUT ANYWAYS yes them

(please note that we have like one line about findis so most of it are my headcanons)

this turned into a mini fic halfway through so i'm sorry

probably the thing about them is that finarfin and findis are very similar. both of them run from their home as soon as they can - findis to valimar, and finarfin to alqualondë. both avoid conflicts and remove themselves from family drama. both are seen as the wise, cool-headed ones. However, they are also on the opposite sides of the scale - Findis is the eldest (ignoring Feanor) and Finarfin the yongest. Finarfin marries and has children, while Findis remains single and devotes herself to Valar (Varda in particular). Finarfin is in Alqualondë, and Findis is in Valimar. Finarfin loves his father, and Findis - her mother.

When the Unrest breaks, Findis does not follow, and she can't believe so much of the Noldor are going forward. She didn't place high hopes on her family, but all of the Noldor can't be that reckless.

But they are.

She is left alone, in the dark and cold world, with no one but her grieving mother by her side. (Indis didn't take Finwe's death and the Flight of the Noldor well at all. For a long time she was but a thin ghost of herself, and Findis was left to deal with that.) Truly, great is the fall of Finwë, she thought to herself then; those were her darkest hours, and sometimes she's still not sure they're over.

And, the thing about Arafinwë is - he returns. Like a bastard he is. He returns with bowed head, and Findis remembers suddenly that he left too, that he was ready to go, that he abandoned her - no, not her - their mother, he abandoned their mother also: and Indis calls for him so often in her sleep! Ingo! Ingo! How many times did Findis have to say that no, he is not returning - please, mother, wouldn't you eat just a bit?

But there he is, returning from the Valar, with brand new crown upon his brow. Findis shuts her windows when the silent procession inevitably reaches their street. Her mother can't even stand up from her bed; she doesn't even know her youngest son is now crowned king in place of his father and brothers.

Ingoldo, she thinks bitterly. The Noldo.

His name becomes bitter on her lips.

Time passes. Darkness ends, and there are Sun and Moon in the sky now. Ingoldo tries writing to her. She didn't write the answer the first time. The second, she sent the messanger away. Ingoldo didn't try again.

Her mother doesn't need to know, she thinks. Indis is weak, and Findis should arrange her journey to Lorien, but-

Finwë was doomed; Finwë had doomed everyone around him; his first wife lies dead under the silver willows, and what if-

She can take care of Indis herself, she decides. And taking care of Indis includes... not talking about them. Any of them. Indis' favourite Nolo or her precious Lalwen or her brilliant Ingoldo.

Indis loves her daughter, and hates to see her angry or upset - so she doesn't.

Ingoldo, meanwhile, is the King - while his sister and mother live in a random street in Valimar, in Findis' simple apartment, he has the whole palace of Tirion - all to himself. He is slowly going mad.

We do not have enough harvest. Findis turned away from you as you were passing. Not enough working hands - we have to mobilize everything we can. Will she answer the letter? Please, please answer the letter. The lamps. We need more lamps. The streets are dark. I hope they're cared for. I hope Ingwe allowed them to dwell with him.

The crown on his head weighs more than it should've, and his marriage bond is... all but burnt to ash, and Findis doesn't want to hear from him. He decides he deserves that, just as he deserved everything else that happened.

But,

but.

He has nightmares. Of his mother, laying prone; her face pale and fair; her feautures peaceful under the shade of silver trees. It is not his most violent nightmare by far, but he wakes up screaming every time, his face red with tears. (He can't lose her too. She can't leave too. She can't die because of him too.)

And. He gives in. His hands shake. Findis told him not to write; told not to ever contact them. So he writes to Ingwe instead, and that's a headache - he scribbles and rewrites whole night long, until his letter is perfectly composed, without smallest flaw, all to ask - how is my sister? how is my mother?

We don't know, the answer comes. They refused to come under King Ingwe's care.

Finarfin grips at his hair and laughs hysterically, high and swaying. He hates his family, he remembers it now. He wants to grip Findis by her shoulders and shake, shake, shake her violently - your main source of income were your paintings, and you couldn't have possibly be making enough in past years to support yourself and Mother, why would you do this to yourself, why would you do this to her - and he suddenly remembers just how cold her apartments always felt, how small they were, and his mother hated small spaces, hated cold, hated-

He cries. Then, he stops.

He's a King. He has to get himself together. (He's Ingo. He has to understand.)

He rides to Valimar, alone, and arrives in the night. Findis opens the door.

She doesn't let him in. She doesn't let him talk in anything but a hushed whisper - Indis is sleeping upstairs.

"I came to see her," Ingo begs. "Please, only for a moment."

Findis looks at him. His face is pale, curls golden; hair soft, and eyes anxious. This is the man who left you, her brain supplies; the man who left your mother. She feels cold rage building up in her heart.

"Why," she says, "are you only coming now? Did you have enough of your kingly games?"

He's taken aback by her question. He wavers, then regains himself; Findis can nothing but scoff at his "please".

"She doesn't want to see you," she lies, just because she can. (Because Ingoldo doesn't deserve her mother, and her mother doesn't deserve the pain.) "And neither do I."

He startles; Findis feels grim satisfaction. "You don't get to sit on both stools, Arafinwë. You can't be both a King, and a Son. Or a brother, though I hardly consider you such."

He only stares, and Findis waits. She closed the door - the night is chilly, and she doesn't want her mother to be cold.

Ingo blinks, shakes his head. "I do not ask for forgiveness, or for acceptance, but- Findis, Ingwe offered-"

"I know what we need way better than you," she says cooly. "And the last thing Mother needs is a loud palace, or some kingly presence."

His face burns - finally. "This crown wasn't my choice, you know."

"Then drop it. Drop it, and I will think of letting you anywhere near our mother."

Ingoldo never does.

(They never quite get over it. Findis never quite forgives him, and Finarfin never forgets the hurt he felt that night - or the day, years and years later, when his mother embraced him and he understood, looking over her shoulder in his sister's eyes, that none of it was true.

They never told Indis. That was something they agreed upon.)

#the darkening and multiple ways it fcked people over <3 #probably my most controversial relationship #i Love them but also they're so unhealthy. worth noting that these are like. headcanons. and headcanons change with time #hell headcanons change fic to fic #finarfin #findis #silmarillion #silm meta #kinda?#anyways uh. not sure about this one. again it's rambly and differs from my usual headcanons #araposting

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mxmia · 2 years

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lepenya (fifth)

Rating | Warnings; G | No Warnings Apply Relationships; Gen | Findis & Faniel Characters; Findis, Faniel

“I can teach you some games, if you want. I asked uncle Ingwë to teach me the oldest game he could recall.” Findis explained, and Faniel let out an excited squeak. “Yes yes yes!!” She said, and Findis smiled, pulling a chair next to the bed and sitting. “Well, Uncle Ingwë said it was called lepenya…” Findis said, and Faniel nodded, shifting slightly on the bed—not without a hiss of pain—so she could face Findis better. [Or, Findis and Faniel spend the afternoon playing card games.]

Read on AO3!

(or below the cut)

Notes;

For more thoughts/hcs on Faniel, check my post here: The game, lepenya, is a copy of the Spanish game of cards "Cinquillo (Little Five)"; the names of the suits are also copied from that. Here, it's a Vanyarin game that Findis learnt from Ingwë. Quenya Glossary: - Nésaya = (My) sister, sis - Lepenya = Fifth

Findis entered the room and walked towards her sister, who was lying on her bed with a very unamused look on her face. The blankets around her seemed to be perfectly tucked in, so their mother had probably left a few minutes ago. Upon seeing her, however, Faniel’s eyes lit up.

“Findis! Nésaya! I didn’t expect you to come!” Faniel said, and Findis threw her head back with a laugh.

“Ai, you think so lowly of me, Faniel? I wouldn’t miss my sister’s begetting day!” She replied, showing her the box she was holding. Faniel gasped.

“That’s for… me?” She asked, and Findis nodded, giving her the box. She knew Faniel would like her present no matter what—because she was here to give her a present, unlike other years—but she hoped she’d chosen correctly. Faniel tucked a strand of pale-blonde hair behind her ear and opened it, revealing a set of cards. They were quite worn, but Findis knew how much she appreciated historical things with use, and this was exactly the case.

“I can teach you some games, if you want. I asked uncle Ingwë to teach me the oldest game he could recall.” Findis explained, and Faniel let out an excited squeak.

“Yes yes yes!!” She said, and Findis smiled, pulling a chair next to the bed and sitting.

“Well, Uncle Ingwë said it was called lepenya…” Findis said, and Faniel nodded, shifting slightly on the bed—not without a hiss of pain—so she could face Findis better.

“Fifth?”

“Yes. You must put all the cards in order, starting with the Fifth of Coins. The cards are the same as the ones in the Vanyarin deck, the ones we have are just older. From Cuiviénen, actually.” Findis said, before adding, “They somehow survived the Journey!”

“Woah! That is— Amazing, thank you, Findis.” Faniel said, wiping her eyes dry with the back of her sleeve.

“Hey, I’d do everything for my little sister.” Findis said, squeezing Faniel’s hand until the girl smiled.

She cut the deck in half, handing some to Faniel to shuffle and shuffling the other herself until she was satisfied. Then, she shuffled the two halves and dealt half the deck to Faniel, keeping the other to herself.

“The one who has the Five of Coins has to start, then we have to build up by adding the Four or Six or putting another Five.” Findis explained, and at Faniel’s slow nod she continued, “Such as the Five of Cups, or Swords—”

“Or Wands. Alright. What happens when you finish a suit?” She asked, voice more cheerful than Findis had heard since Faniel had come back from Estë’s Gardens with no apparent remedy to her pain. She could only imagine in how much pain her little sister was, but she knew she’d do anything to remedy it.

“Nothing, actually. The one who finished the last one is the one who wins. You can skip turns to mess with people, though.” Findis said, grinning.

Faniel’s eyes lit up mischievously. “Ohhh, I’ll definitely ask Lalwen to play with me next time she comes. Oh, and Ara!” She said, and her smile was incredibly wide.

“But before that you have to learn how to play, little lady! Come on, let’s start.”

#findis #faniel #silmarillion #house of finwe #finweans #tolkien fic #my fic #my writing #fellowshipofthefics #fotfics treasure hunt #+2 points #the silmarillion #silm #lepenya (fifth)#finwëohíni

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hrivetar · 2 years

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Sooo I thought I'd share the next chapter of my fic A Question of Love here... because reasons. If you haven't read the previous chapters then it probably won't make sense, I think I have them posted on malkuvoitenoldoran but if not then it is available on ao3.

"Come on, it's a lovely day." Findis teased playfully, no doubt trying to earn a smile, as she opened the curtains in the room.

Arafinwe stood near the bed holding a deep blue robe for him, but Nolofinwe felt exhausted just thinking about getting up and going anywhere. Even somewhere as mundane as outside seemed excessive. Sighing he shook his head and closed his eyes. Hearing Arafinwe's disappointed sound he opened them again and gave him an apologetic smile.

"You two go if you'd like but I would rather stay here."

"Oh come now, we have a picnic set up and everything. Won't you please come?" Findis asked, she eyed him with concern.

Arafinwe was mirroring the look, as though him refusing was something to worry about. Of course if he had been feeling better it would have been, he'd seldom refused them when they wanted his company outside like this. Sometimes he'd even been the one to try and entice them on a picnic or something.

Regardless the concern both of them looked at him with at that moment was too much, he wanted to yell at them to leave, to stop fussing over him and just go away. It seemed odd that Lalwen was the one who seemed to understand something of how he felt while the rest didn't. He shifted a little and felt her gift press against his leg under the covers, it was a comforting weight to have there.

"Are you bothering my patient?" The healer asked as he stepped into the room. Carefully he picked up one of Nolofinwe's wrists and unwound the bandages so he could check the progress of his healing. "You seem to be recovering well, in a few days we should be able to forgo the bandages entirely."

"Thank you." Nolofinwe said softly. "They have been trying to talk me into going outside. Something about a picnic."

"I see." The healer straightened from where he'd been examining the other wrist and turned to give them a severe look. "He may go out on a balcony if he wishes, but no further. You two, and your siblings, are not to try and make him go further."

"Yes sir." Findis answered, bowing her head in apology.

Satisfied he turned back and began rewrapping Nolofinwe's wrists with fresh bandages.

"Nolo, is there a reason you don't want to go out?"

"I am tired, Arvo. I want to sleep."

He was always tired now. It had been over a week and he still felt tired, sometimes both tired and cold. It likely made the job of the various healers easier since he was content to stay in bed. As his eyes closed he managed to catch a glimpse of the worry on the face of the healer though he thought little of it.

#suicide attempt tw #depression tw #legends for the future || mun's writing #a question of love

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theneverfadinglands · 2 years

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I finally made House of Finwë in Artbreeder. I'm not sure if I will make House of Fingolfin and Finwarfin too, because I don't have strong opinions howthey should look like. I need to think about it for some time.

I start with Finwë. I made him crossbreeding Fëanor. I really like him, he fit my idea very very well.

His first wife Míriel was way harder to make, because I previously stated she look similar to Celegorm I needed to breed her from him, but also make her reasonably look like Fëanor. At the same time I wanted her to look like her own person, not jut blend of Celegorm and Fëanor. I spend several days on her and I'm still not 100% pleased with her looks, something is missing. She look very cold and calculating, it wasn't my intention. Now, when I think about it, mabye Fëanor was so sharp and fierce, because Míriel wasn't any gentle blossom either.

I will put Fëanor here too, because he would object if I don't put him here with his father and mother. I have better things to do than listen to his complains. I already wrote my thoughts about him in my previous post about Fëanorians.

It's time for Indis. I hadn't any idea how she should looks like. I found out it's sometimes better to not have any clear idea, because creating somebody who 100% looks like the person in my head is way harder than jist experimenting and finding out, how the person might look like. I think Indis is gorgeous in her own very different way in comparison with Míriel. I'm not surprised Indis and Míriel have some common facial features - Finwë had a type.

Findis (called Yavanndilë - friend of Yavanna) If I remember correctly we have zero information about Findis characteristics. We know she refused to leave Valinor and she is living in Valimar with her mother. I think she is the most Vanyarish of all the children of Indis and Finwë. I wante her to look reasonably similar to Indis, but my headcanon is Finarfin is the kne who looks like male version of his mother. Findis is second most similar to her. I think Findis is stubborn and strong-willed. She is ruling lady of the House of Ingwë. She is one of the Yavannildi and great friend of Yavanna, who teach her about animals. She take care and breed oliphaunts. Galadriel was apprentice of Findis, who introduced her to Yavanna and teached her the art of lembas making.

I wanted Fingolfin to look most alike Finwë. His similarity to Finwë was reason, his father decided to name him Nolofinwë. "Nolo" of course mean "wise", but it also can be from Ñoldóran.

I just love Fingolfin, his features, his expression just fit so well with how I see him.

Lalwen was hard, because I had her clear image in my head and it was hard to reproduce in Artbreeder. I'm pretty satisfied with her, although she doesn't look exactly like I imagined her. We know she followed Fingolfin to Middle-Earth. My headcanon is she died in Nirnaeth Arnoediad. I also love the idea she is biological mother of Gil-Galad. It's my favorite explanation of his parentage. I think Aredhel look unusually alike her aunt.

Finarfin was easy, because how I previously stated, he looks just like male version of Indis. Like Fingolfin, I love how Finarfin turned out. He is prefect. When I decide how Eärwen looks like, I plan to breed Finrod and Aegnor.

Bonus: Ereinion Gil-Galad

I stated I like the headcanon he is son of Lalwen and Círdan, adopted by Orodreth and Fingon, because of political status. I tried my best at him and I'm quite pleased. He doesn't look like I imagined him at start, but I like him more than his previous apperance. He is supposed to has chin dimple, but I wasn't able to breed it into him. I created him combining Lalwen and various silver-haired elves, I must try to do Círdan too..

#house of finwe #finwe #míriel #indis #feanor #findis #fingolfin #lalwen #finarfin #silmarillion #artbreeder #gil galad #ereinion gil galad #finweans #tolkien #middle earth

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effervescentdragon · 2 years

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Aki. Just answer all the damn question. You want to answer them all and I want go know all of your answers.

I love how you know me so well :D I’ll answer the ones I haven’t covered in the asks before, which is like. Most of them :D :D

2. Favorite Chapter?

The Fall of Gondolin, definitely omfg, you know why, it’s THE chapter for me <3

3. Favorite Character?

ALL OF THEM. But like, canon - Glorfindel, Fingon, Maedhros, TYELPE MY DUMBASS SON <3 Curufin, Feanor, Galadriel, Elrond, Gil-Galad, Cirdan. Fanon - all my fanon of these plus Lalwen my queen, Findis, Elenwe.

5. Elves, Men, or Dwarves?

ALL OF THEM

6. Maiar or Balrogs?

Ugh. I’m indiffferent to Maiar unless it’s Annatar then I love and hate him, and maybe Eonwë, he’s kinda cool, I like heralds. Balrogs killed half my faves (the ones Sauron didn’t) so I don’t know. xD

7. Eagles or Dragons?

DRAGONS!! THE FUCKING EAGLES DIDN’T SAVE THORIN AND YES I KNOW THATS HOBBIT BUT FUCK.

8. OTP?

God. Russingon. (Also Cirdan x Lalwen).

9. What Age of Arda would you like to live in?

First Age, bring on the slaughter baby!

12.You can save one kingdom from destruction, which do you choose?

... fuck idk. Numenor I think. There’s something abt that place.

13. Would you want The Silmarillion to be made into a film or tv series?

NEITHER. FUCK THEM ALL. IT LIVES IN MY HEAD ON A LOOP WITH MY PERFECT CHARACTERS AND ANYTHING MADE WILL JUST RUIN IT BCS IT WOULDN’T BE RIGHT.

15. Post your favorite Ted Nasmith painting.

Oh God. I’m a magpie, or yakno, a dragon. The fucking Nauglamir, definitely.

16. Silmarils or Rings?

I’d fucking burn them all.

17. Are you glad the Last Battle isn't in the published Silmarillion?

I rly wish we could’ve seen how the Professor (re)imagined Ragnarok tbh.

18. What is the hardest name or word for you to pronounce?

Any of the fucking ones that start with “C”. I hate that it’s “K” and not “S” bcs it fucks with all my phonetics, given the translation practices in Slavic languages and just. UGH.

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

I’m cheating :)

I save Tyelpe, my stupidest son and the one I love with the fire of a thousand suns. He spends a month getting drunk about how stupid he was in love, until Elrond and Gil-Galad come to drag him away from Eregion. They dump him with Cirdan, who is a Good Dad, and helps him find his passion again. His passion becomes taking Sauron down. He tricks Sauron, who thinks Tyelpe is still in love with him. Tyelpe wants to seduce him and then kill him. Tyelpe seduces him but doesn’t kill him, bcs HES FUCKING NOT LIKE THAT AND HE DIES AGAIN OMFG TYELPE YOU STUPID FRICK!!!

20. What do you think Tolkien's message is about possession and wanting to possess?

Ugh. This is a smart one, and my brain is stupid atm, and not serious at all.��Okay. Yeah, it doesn’t work. You think you own sth, but earthly posessions are so fucking irrellevant. An excuse to do terrible things. An excuse to sequester yourself, to not think on anything but the past. It fucking doesn’t work, and I’m projecting here, but it’s a fucking illusion. Idk how to elaborate atm, but ask me again at some point.

21. Would you have followed Fëanor from Valinor to Middle-earth?

Yes.

22. What is your opinion of Fëanor?

I wrote a whole post abt Feanaro here. Idk how much of it is still relevant, but at least some of it is I think.

23. Do you have pity for Melkor?

Ugh. No. Sorry, I’m working on being a better person, but it’s a slow process tbh.

25. You get to have a conversation with J.R.R. Tolkien. What would you want to talk about?

As I said before in the other ask, here is how it goes.

Jirt: Hello, my dear. What would you like to talk about?

Me, clenching my fists and gritting my teeth: I have but one question, Oh Great One.

Jirt: Ask, child. I am happy to answer.

Me, grabbing Jirt's collar whilst screaming and crying tears unnumerable: WHO THE FUCK IS EREINION'S DADDY JIRT?!?!?!?!?

THANK YOU FOR READING THIS MONSTROSITY, HERES A PIC OF MY BEDTIME READING FOR THE PAST TWO YEARS <3 (I only cried a little when I got it back)

#akira answers #The Silmarillion #silm ask game #russingon #ereinion WHOS YOUR DADDY #sae i love you #tyelpe you stupid frick

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shiroandblack · 3 years

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Finwë, the Progenitor of the 'Fins'

[Disclaimer: what you are about to read are basically my thoughts and interpretation of Finwë. So if you have different thoughts and opinions that's perfectly fine]

Oh, and I'm totally not doing this because I'm procrastinating on the Fëanor thought-vomit I have going on in my head. Pfft, absolutely not!

Finwë, High King of the Noldor, Daddy to Fëanor, Findis, Fingolfin, Lalwen, and Finarfin (not that kind of daddy, get yer minds out of the gutter), husband to both Míriel and Indis, the Ned Stark of the Silmarillion, (depending on who you ask) the Fin to Elu's Finelwë -

I should stop.

First of all, we have no idea where this guy came from (I think?). He just suddenly popped out as an ambassador who basically went out with his buddies (OG Goldilocks and Tall Boy) to scout Valinor and see if the elves should move there or not. Prior to that, Finwë is not mentioned anywhere. People are generally divided if he was Tata's son as was Ingwë being Imin's son and Elwë being Enel' or if he's Unbegotten. Some also headcanon him as an orphan with his parents gone via Morgoth Kidnapping which was why he was chosen as an ambassador. I mean, magical guy on horse saying he'll take their society somewhere? I wouldn't really send the heirs or chieftains, I'd send someone competent enough to be a diplomat but ultimately no great loss to the tribal society of Cuiviénen (my god did I spell that right) if magical guy does pull a Dark Rider. Personally I do think that if he was indeed an orphan, it would explain some things in particular, like his want for many children and just a big family in general.

Anyways, the three go on their joy trip to Valinor and come back and go like "come, come, there are two pretty trees and no Dark Rider". I personally would have gone because of the no Dark Rider part but hey, if you like shiny, glowing trees and that's your main motivation, no judgement. Right after that, we don't know what happens to Imin, Tata, or Enel. Working on the assumption that the three are different people to the three '-wë's then they could have become Avari since the Avari are Tatyar and Nelyar. Interestingly, the Minyar all go and there is no more mention of Imin despite he was chieftain of all chieftains and then suddenly Ingwë is High King of all Elves? I'm gonna go with @squirrelwrangler's Klingon route here from their story 'Of Ingwë Ingweron' because I think there should be more depth to Ingwë and on a completely irrelevant note I have had a crush on 'the boy who would be Ingwë' since I started reading. You probably didn't need to know that, but now you do :)

(As you can see, I'm being very objective.)

BACK TO THE MAIN POINT. THIS IS A POST ABOUT FINWË. So anyways, the Great Journey happened and for some reason he and Elwë decide to meet up in a forest to do what nobody knows. Anyways, Elwë got skadooshed by Melian and Finwë went to Aman forever regretting the fact that he never got to do Elwë - I MEAN DO WHATEVER HE AND ELWË PLANNED in the woods of Nan Elmoth.

There he got married. Now, this is where I actually stop making fun of Finwë (yeah, no) and give you my interpretations and analysis which none of you have asked for but I'm doing anyways. So right off the bat, even when Míriel is obviously tired from giving birth to the baby who is his own crematorium - sorry, I meant Fëanàro - Finwë goes like "oh he's so pretty, I'm sure our other kids will be just as pretty". Which goes to show us that Finwë likely wanted an armada of kids right from the start. Y'all know what happens next. Point is, Míriel's dead and gone and Finwë is understandably a Sad Boy™.

Now, he also exhibits a certain impatient streak after Míriel dies. Surely he knew that the more he bothered Míriel about "hey, when are you gonna come back?" the more obstinate Míriel would be about not returning. I say he is impatient because he is an elf. He technically has all the time in Arda to wait for Míriel to return, but curiously he doesn't wait. Now, Fëanor was born in YT 1169 and Fingolfin in YT 1190 and since one YT is about 10 solar years (I'm pretty sure it's 9.8 years ish but I suck at maths so please have mercy on me) that means that Fëanor was around 200 years old when Fingolfin was born and we know Findis is elder. 200 years for an elf is not long at all, hell to the elven perception of time Finwë marrying Indis is probably like someone going out dating after 40 days of abstinence after a break up. This means that he married Indis relatively quickly after Míriel died, which shows that he was very eager for the marriage to happen.

Why? Was it because he knew Míriel wouldn't return for a very long time? Or was it because he wanted more kids? Or maybe that impatience is just intrinsic to Finwë's character? I actually don't know what to make of his motivations regarding this, so I'd love to hear anyone's opinions.

Finwë supposedly fell in love with Indis when he was going to visit Ingwë and saw her singing and the light was golden and Indis glowed and yeah. Prior to that, they most likely met in Tirion or even in Cuiviénen as Indis was close kin to Ingwë so I highly doubt that this was their first meeting and Indis was in love with Finwë since the early days of when the Vanyar and Noldor still stayed together in Tirion. This does make me wonder that even when Finwë was married to Míriel, were there seeds of feelings towards Indis? No, I am not saying he had an affair with Indis while married to Míriel, but you can feel attracted to someone even while married to another. But considering Finwë's favouritism towards Fëanor, I don't think this was the case and he probably began falling in love with Indis when he saw her singing and being basked in golden light. I do wonder what would have happened if he saw her picking her nose instead but hey, elves don't pick their noses in the Silm because all the nose dirt is removed by the sheer amount of times they must've cried in the First Age. Snotty crying ftw.

Many people in-universe seem to think that his second marriage was a mistake, but I do not think his marriage per say was a mistake. To me Finwë had the right to move on from Míriel, but what I don't agree with was that the Valar basically locked her up in Mandos for eternity. But this is a point of conflict that I feel I should address in a separate post about the Valar. In any case, what I think was the mistake was Finwë's impactful favouritism of Fëanor and his failure to reconcile Fëanor and his children by Indis. As there are a lot of external factors to him being unable to make his kids get along, I will be focusing more on the negative effects of his favouritism.

Finwë's marriage to Indis seems almost like a spontaneous decision, I don't think he actually sat Fëanor down and explained things to him quite well. After all, in Fëanor's mind Indis is the reason his mother is forever dead which is not really the case. Finwë wanted to marry Indis and Indis wanted to marry Finwë. It takes two to make the relationship work, after all. But despite Indis giving him what he wanted which is more children and a big family in general, Finwë still favoured Fëanor. Now I do get favouritism because everyone has favourites, but Finwë's favouritism only served to create more strife between Fëanor and Fingolfin. With one child, he lavishes praise and attention to the point that it's detrimental to Fëanor's growth as a person and with the other children, Fingolfin felt ignored enough to tailor his entire life into proving that he is more worthy to be Finwë's heir to - for a lack of better word - get his father to look at him the same way Finwë looks at Fëanor.

I don't doubt that Finwë loved his kids. I think he did love both Fëanor and his children by Indis, but the thing is . . . his actions always show that he loved Fëanor more. And I think that must have been devastating for his other children and what was the worst in my opinion is that Finwë doesn't seem to realise this. This could be a form of selective ignorance on Finwë's part or it could simply be that Finwë felt that he was giving equal attention to his children and that Fëanor needed more attention because he didn't have a mother. This is a logical thought process for him, but just because something seems logical it doesn't mean it's the right thing. Personally, I think Finwë's feelings towards Fëanor revolve around love and guilt and that guilt over denying Fëanor a birth mother makes him put Fëanor on a pedestal above his other children.

Now I'm gonna dive in to the circumstances up to his death. Prior to the infamous 'point-a-sword-at-traitorous-half brother' incident, the Noldor already had factions brewing under each of Finwë's sons. Which means that there were different groups supporting different sons (I'm just gonna give this quick glance because Noldorin elf politics and succession matters requires its own post honestly), both Fëanor and Fingolfin's group were advocating for these two princes to be Finwë's heir while Finarfin's most likely stayed neutral as throughout the text Finarfin has shown no real desire for kingship as his brothers (well, little did he know that his mother-name would come true in an arguably sad way). What is very interesting is the fact that Fingolfin thought he could be king after Finwë to begin with, which suggests to me that Finwë hadn't formally declared an heir. Usually it is assumed that the eldest son is heir and there would be no formal declaration needed, but the thing is Finwë had sons by a different queen and what's more is Fingolfin and Finarfin were the children of the ruling queen. Why he didn't do a formal declaration, I do wonder, because while it may have embittered Fingolfin for awhile I do think that if Fëanor had been assured of his position then maybe the two could have had some semblance of a healthy relationship. Maybe he viewed it as causing a greater rift between his children?

Now we finally get on to the sword pulling incident. We all know what happens, so I'll just skip on to the aftermath. Fëanor is exiled by Manwë, Finwë views this as an insult to his authority. I do agree that this can be viewed as that because as a Noldo, Fëanor should answer to the king of the Noldor and Manwë is exiling someone who is not his subject. But the thing is, Finwë probably wasn't going to really punish him and that's why Manwë stepped in. Hell, we have no evidence of a trial going on for what Fëanor did. But the thing is, this isn't just a regular Fëanor and Fingolfin screaming match this was Fëanor actually threatening harm to Fingolfin in front of everyone. The guy literally sashayed into the room, wearing armour and drew a sword. This must have been the equivalent of a bank robber drawing out a loaded gun to the elves.

Anyways, ya know what good ol' Finwë did to protest against Manwë's interference and Fëanor getting exiled -

He incited the Fourth Shinobi War -

No, he just yeeted off with Fëanor. Look guys, I have neutral feelings towards Fingolfin I mean he is no victim (in general) because he has done some pretty presumptuous things (which is what makes him interesting, let's be honest), but I have never ever felt so bad for him before. Hell, this is an even worse 'fuck you' then making him cross the Helcaraxë because Fingolfin's main motivation in life thus far is probably to be equal to Fëanor in Finwë's eyes. I mean, he did leave Fingolfin regent (did he? Oh gosh, I honestly forgot) but still dealt an emotional blow anyways.

Right, so we don't get much of what Finwë did in Formenos but maybe this whole thing was just for him to get a holiday. And then Melkor comes and fucks shit up by killing Finwë. Now, I'm going to talk about Finwë's murder and why it is in my opinion the Inciting Incident™ of the Silm, the Chekhov's gun being fired so to speak, the equivalent of Ned Stark's execution in the Tolkienverse. Everything else, Melkor's lies, the creation of the Silmarils, the drama between the brothers, it was a build up to this moment. And everything after, the exile of the Noldor, the War of the Jewels, it was what happened because of Finwë's murder. Prior to this, there were already factions among the Noldor as previously discussed above but none of these factions actually openly made any moves against each other. Why? Because Finwë was still alive, because Finwë was essentially the lynchpin holding the Noldor together. Now, I'm pretty sure that Morgoth killed Finwë just to fuck Fëanor's shit up even more, but what he did was quite tactically brilliant. He has effectively wrought chaos among the Noldor in one single swoop.

And thus the Quenta Silmarillion happens.

In Mandos, he meets Míriel and tells her about his life. Because maybe it went something like this:

Finwë: so yeah, you know I was with our son all the way through and then I died. What have you been doing?

Míriel: oh, you know the usual things one does when one is condemned to Mandos for eternity.

Anyways, he gives up any opportunity for life for Míriel. Which is admittedly a nice thing to do since the reason Míriel is kinda stuck there is related to him, until you find out Míriel weaves the history of the House of Finwë instead of well, I don't know building the Mírindis ship? Yeah, she probably weaved Fingon getting his head smashed open by Gothmog and getting his corpse trampled. Oh and the 'If I Die, You Die' duel between Celegorm and Dior which probably wasn't as badass as Katniss' "If we burn, you burn with us" line from Mockingjay made it seem but more bloody and violent. Also Maedhros throwing himself off into a fiery chasm. Finrod getting mauled by a werewolf.

Good times, I'm sure.

But hey, at least Fëanor comes within a few seconds after stepping into Beleriand to keep him company.

So, I'm done with teasing my analysis of Finwë. Thank you for your time. Have a nice day.

Just keep procrastinating <3

#the silmarillion #lotr #silm stuff #finwë #fëanor #fingolfin #the ASOIAF and Naruto and Hunger Games references you probably didnt need #house of finwë #look at me trying to form my thoughts into coherent paragraphs #ingwë #because i have a crush on him #elwë #because yeah #tags galore #i should be doing something productive

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yellow-faerie · 3 years

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I would very much like to hear about your head canons for Findis and co! (if you're not busy, no pressure!) have a great day :)

Oh yes! Would love to! Sorry it took so long - I have exams and I had to go back through all my many, many notes I have accumulated over the last six months of headcanons and things and the post kept getting bigger!

OK, so, while I sometimes go by other people as Findis’ wife/husband, my personal favourite is Rilyanixë and together they have four children: two daughters and two sons. Of these children, they have six grandchildren (3 granddaughters and 3 grandsons) and (as far as I know so far) no great-grandchildren.

(I’ll put the full post under the cut)

So Findis is the eldest daughter of Finwë and Indis called Laurinalma by her mother (meaning Golden Flower) and Lintafinwë by her father (meaning Soothing Finwë) (and maybe Finwë is a male name but I believe -wë is a gender neutral name ending and I like the idea of different families keeping a naming tradition of sorts). The name Findis is actually her Cilmessë.

She dislikes Tirion immensely because of their general attitude to remarriage and everything really.

I have this headcanon that the children of Finwë were all very close until they really got into society and rumours and other people’s opinions really tore them apart - Fëanor to Formenos or Aulë’s halls; Lalwen to the wilds where she spends most of her time with her Maia girlfriend/wife (they aren’t sure which); Fingolfin to the isolation of court; and Finarfin to Alqualondë.

And Findis goes to Valmar and the Vanyar.

She takes on a healers apprenticeship there, returning only a few times a year to her family home where tensions are rising between Fëanor and literally everyone else - not yet about anything important, more about really insignificant things. (I think this post sums up my thoughts on Fëanor and the way I see his relationships with his half-family quite well)

And for her graduation, she goes to the Tirion library before returning to Valmar (this is as much to cool down after arguing with Fëanor over something inconsequential as it is to find resources for her theory exam/essay/things) and meets Rilyanixë.

Rilyanixë (a name meaning Sparkling Ice) is the quiet, middle child of the chief archivist of Tirion Archive. His father is a Vanya hunter (because, really, Findis isn’t going to marry someone who isn’t at least a little Vanya) and his older sister takes after him. His younger sister went down to Alqualondë to learn sailing because she refuses to take after either of her parents, but that’s another story.

They meet because he too is looking to get away because his mother - a staunch supporter of the crown and it’s ability to make sound decisions (thus trusting Indis) - threw someone from the archive for making snide comments about the royal family and Rilyanixë rather disliked the raised voices. It is technically his day off but he came here to put books away because that’s what calms him.

So they meet and get on well: Rilyanixë quite likes this slightly scatter-brained healer and Findis likes the quiet librarian with a small smile and brown hair that shines gold when the light hits it just right.

She agrees to meet him again when she returns the books in a month or two when she comes back to town.

And they go out for coffee and learn that they are both half-Ñoldo, half-Vanya. And they sort-of fall into each other, meeting up in Valmar and in Tirion and eventually they are courting and then betrothed and then they are married, three years after first meeting.

(The marriage does cause tensions to rise between Rilyanixë and his Vanya family who see Findis as too Ñoldor and have issues with that so they don’t end up spending much time with them - there’s a reason Rilyanixë’s parents don’t live together anymore)

Now, Rilyanixë married into this family so he is as veritably crazy as all of they are - except no-one notices until he tells Fëanor that his latest creation was ‘passable, he supposes’ because Fëanor insulted Findis and you just don’t do that. Basically, Rilyanixë is very uncrazy unless provoked at which point he will just provoke whoever’s closest, however ill-advised that is (if that makes any sense).

Anyway, they get a house halfway between Tirion and Valmar (because they can’t be completely separate from politics but...they don’t want to be anywhere near it at the same time) and live fairly peacefully, with occasional siblings just appearing or nephews and nieces and the like (from Rilyanixë’s side too it should be noted).

Everyone is beginning to think that they are not going to have children as Arafinwë is already married and with a baby when Findis declares that she is pregnant. A year(ish) later, she gives birth to a girl that Findis calls Findecurë (Tress of Skill - weird name, but I was trying to come up with a translation for Finvain) and Rilyanixë calls Nofernë (Under Beech Tree). Of the two of them, Rilyanixë’s naming is actually a bit more prophetic than his wife’s (because I find it odd that only women have prophetic visions and while I still think that women are almost always the parent (if either parent does have prophetic name-giving), I thought that men must even just a little).

Before Fëanor pulls the sword and everything finally collapses in on itself, they have three more children. A boy who she calls Findelaurë (I’m using this variation on Glorfindel’s Quenya name for the sake of familial consistency) and who Rilyanixë calls Indiltur (Lily Lord). Another girl that Findis calls Fanyanel (Daughter of the Clouds) and Rilyanixë calls Iþilmolótë (Flower of Starlight - and apparently the Vanyar still used the letter thorn? I might be wrong). And finally another son that Findis calls Finróna (Hair of the East) and Rilyanixë calls Aþumolor (Good Companion in Dreams). In order of birth, their Sindarin names (and the names I shall be referring to them by) are Glorfindel, Finvain, Faniel and Finrun.

At the darkening, Glorfindel follows Turgon (with whom he is close), Faniel follows Glorfindel (with whom she is close), Finrun follows his elder siblings and the other Finwean babies (Galadriel, Argon and Ambarussa), and Finvain follows her siblings.

When her children and family leave, Findis disappears into the wilds (very good fic about this here) and Rilyanixë, with no family, returns to his mother’s house in Tirion.

So Glorfindel we all know goes to Gondolin and dies and gets re-embodied, etc. I would like to add a bit to his story to say I am a big Glorestor shipper and they definitely end up married and they adopt Lindir and his sister Lindis (because no-one can stop me).

As of Erestor, he’s an Avar in my mind who ends up with Gondolin because the Avari keep being pushed from their homes and he knows he would be safe there. (He does initially say he’s a Sindar to try and avoid the general distaste everyone seems to have for the Avari and only tells those he really trusts). Also, he would get on so well with Rilyanixë and it’s such a pity that they don’t meet until the fourth age.

Finvain leaves ME because her brothers and sisters are going, not from any particualr desire of hers to go. She is protective at heart - even if she seems very cold - and loves her brothers and sisters a lot. She does a lot of what she does only grudgingly and eventually swears off killing even orcs as her actions at Alqualondë haunt her that much (she acts as a behind the lines medical assistant due to her knowledge of plants and herbs and is killed because of her oath when the camp is overrun).

She loves gardening. If she’s sitting in a patch of flowers, she’s happy (she would really love hobbits if she had lived). She had a garden in her family home between Valmar and Tirion but when she left it got overgrown, despite Finrun’s best attempts to keep it cared for (he’s busy and the garden reminds him too painfully of his absent sister). She can’t keep a garden in ME (she’s a messenger for Fingolfin, moving around a lot) but she does have a habit of planting flowers in odd places wherever she travels.

She does fall in love, if that is what you would call it. She and Morwen (and I have this headcanon that Morwen and Húrin were really good friends who were both hella gay and both really wanted children so got married for that while agreeing that they could see other people) spend time together and it would have developed further if Finvain wasn’t always being called away and she hadn’t died at Nirnaeth.

Finvain holds guilt over her brother’s death as Finrun died at Alqualondë and Finvain saw him die, still confused as to what was actually going on; and Lalaith’s death (who she thought she could save with her medicine but who died anyway).

When she is re-embodied - before her sister but after both her brothers, she returns to her family home - left abandoned by her mother who had vanished soon after the Darkening; her father, who had returned to his mother in Tirion; and her brother, who was now living almost permanently on the outskirts of Alqualondë. She fixes it up the best she can and tends to her garden as slowly, one by one, her family returns.

Faniel is the sort of person who has everyone wrapped around her little finger but doesn’t seem to know. Hella strong, hella kind, hella oblivious - a summary of Faniel’s character.

Faniel and Ecthelion are both bi (when Ecthelion was younger, there was a time he and Glorfindel were courting before they decided they were better as friends). She and Ecthelion have three children: a son, Elemmakil; a daughter, Meleth; and a child, Enerdhil. Meleth ends up as Eärendil’s nurse and marries Elwing’s nurse Evranin which is all I really have for her and I have next to nothing for the other two. But they exist.

Anyway, Faniel fights with a spear and actually lives to escape to the havens but she dies in the Third Kinslaying.

She is the last of her siblings to be reborn and ends up being the one to initiate the search for their mother.

And finally, Finrun. He dies at Alqualondë when he and a few others go into the city to see what the confusion is all about and gets caught up in the crossfire before he can really tell what’s going on. With no blood on his hands and practically no trauma, he gets re-embodied within a few years but everything is really different: all his family has either gone to ME, gone and secluded themselves somewhere, are exceptionally busy or Finrun thinks they hate him. As someone who thrived off of the familial love of his family (being Aro/Ace, this is one of the main forms of love that he experiences), it’s a jarring experience to say the least and ends up with him being really, really lonely.

He decides to deal with this crippling loneliness by throwing himself into his work. The only family who really talks to him is Finarfin but they mainly talk about work and he’s like, if it makes him happy then it’ll make me happy. (It is making neither of them happy, they’re just avoiding the problem). So he ends up in Alqualondë working towards restoring relations. No-one here particularly likes him (Maglor’s wife, Cantasië, does occasionally come and keep him company to be honest to her).

He is here he meets Elwing, singing and miserable who he promptly adopts. (It is not only the Fëanorians with adopting people on the spot issues). The rest of the Teleri are a bit sceptical of this girl however much they like her and she’s uncomfortable in palace having lived nearly her whole life in near poverty despite being a princess. And Eärendil, when he appears, reminds him of his cousins due to being Turgon’s grandson. There’s a bit more nuance to it, I guess, but basically he sees these two children with no family anymore and as he knows how they feel, he decides to give them that family.

It’s at the end of the First Age that Finrun realises that the Valar intend to keep the Ñoldor in Mandos and he basically becomes the advocate for their release. In his house by the sea, he is slowly collecting war orphans who lost parents far too young and came to these shores to try to heal hurts of their souls and Finrun houses them and loves them and tries to get the Valar to release the families they have lost (not realising that in the process he has become part of that family and the loneliness he has been feeling is lessened somewhat - not gone completely because his family is a different entity entirely but lessened).

Eventually, he convinces them and one-by-one, his family and the others trapped in Mandos are released upon their healing, rather than being kept there forever.

(When Glorfindel is reborn, Finrun is not told and meets him on the docks by pure chance before he must go to Middle Earth. And before he can really get over the shock and bundle of emotions, Glorfindel is gone again. Finrun genuinely thinks that this was a hallucination for a long time.)

It is one sunny day soon after Glorfindel has returned to Valinor that Faniel gets them together to go after their mother, who, despite everyone coming back and a tentative happiness and peace beginning, has not returned from wherever she ran to. During their search, they get to catch up for the first time really since they were all reborn.

Findis has just sort of made camp in a cave, not hiding but decided that society sucked and she didn’t want to go back. Her children convince her otherwise and they return and everything is good and happy.

Umm, so yep, these are my vague thoughts on this family. I hope you liked it!

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mothdalf · 4 years

Text

DAY TWO: Findis and Írimë Lalwen

@finweanladiesweek

So this mainly focuses on the relationship between Findis and Fëanor rather than Lalwen but I’ll get to her later in the week.

Pics in order are:

Fëanor and baby Findis, Findis finally snapping at Fëanor, Findis and Lalwendë, and Findis gathering herbs for Estë in the Gardens of Lorien.

I’ve put todays rant under the cut but I’d recommend reading it because it really gives the pictures context.

As mentioned in my previous post Fëanáro is like the equivalent of a pre teen (like 10-12) when Finwë marries Indis, and he elects to travel for his studies rather than living with them full time.

He is a young teen when he gets a letter to tell him that he’s going to be a brother, and to say that he takes it badly is putting it mildly. He’s crushed. He’s been angry that his father is (at least in his mind) trying to replace his mother, but now he’s going to replace him? So he doesn’t send a letter back and throws himself into every distraction because he’s going to make damn sure that he’s better than anyone his father tries to replace him with.

Finwë turns up and half begs half drags him home in time to meet his sister the baby. He doesn’t want to and turns up to the nursery (not his old one) in his traveling clothes before being promptly turned around and told to put on something clean at least.

He plans to give a quick glance into the crib (also not his) and a curt “congratulations” before returning to his room to sulk. But it doesn’t pan out like that.

Because his new sister is perfect. Not that Fëanor has been around many children but he’s sure that she must be the most perfect one ever.

Later he will try and rationalise this to himself by pointing out that she’s so different to him that she could never be a replacement. For one, she’s a girl, he’s still his fathers only son, but even aside from that; she has green eyes and golden hair and long Vanyar ears. Nothing like him. Not a substitute. There can be enough room for them both. That’s why he likes her.

Whatever the reason, she’s beautiful, every tiny detail from her fluffy golden hair to her grasping, miniature fingers. So what he says is more of a strangled “wow” after a long pause.

Indis asks if he would like to hold her and sees a beaming smile on Fëanor’s face that she never thought would be directed at her.

He hesitates at first because he realises he’s faced (for the first time in a long time) with something he doesn’t know how to do. But Indis points him to a chair and places Findis in his arms, hands gentle as she positions them.

He coos to her instinctively and she squirms and wiggles and blinks up at him. That’s the moment Fëanor decides he’s going to have kids of his own someday, as many as possible.

Indis is surprised when he breaks the silence and addresses her “well done,” he says without looking up “she’s wonderful, perfect”

The phrasing is a little strange but Indis understands; he’s complimenting her on craftsmanship, for all their differences he’ll always acknowledge that.

It’s quiet again until someone comes to call him away for supper. Fëanor kisses Findis’ head before passing her back and, almost shyly, asks if he can come back to see her later.

So Findis spends the first few years of her life with an adoring big brother. He sends her gifts from his travels, or things he’s made, and dotes on her when he’s home.

Everything is great for a while, so no one is worried when Finwë and Indis announce they’re expecting their second child, not even Fëanor. But things don’t work out that way.

This post isn’t about Fëanor and Fingolfin though.

Fëanor gets distant. His vitriol for Fingolfin doesn’t extend to Lalwen and Finarfin but neither does his soft spot for Findis.

For her part Findis struggles with the tension. When she’s older her parents explain the situation, her heart aches for her big brother. She loves all of her siblings and she hates the atmosphere so she spends most of the time playing peacekeeper. She thinks it’s ridiculous for someone older than her to have such a problem with a child, especially one she herself loves so much. It’s much better when Fëanor is away, but she misses him.

So like her mother in looks and temper, Findis is composed and calm and shoulders the burden of trying to keep them all happy.

Fëanáro is now a young adult and an apprentice under Mahtan, so he’s not around that much, but when he is the fights are always the same. This time however something he says clicks for Findis.

“So that’s it, the reason you hate him and like me? Because he’s a threat and I’m not? You only like me because you’re glad I wasn’t a boy! I wasn’t important enough to be a problem for you!”

Fëanor being Fëanor it devolves into a screaming match. It ends with Findis swearing to show him how much of a threat she can be. She’s going to be better than him at something one day, just you wait and see.

She tries for a long time to find that something. It’s never going to be any craft with her hands and they’re pretty evenly matched musically, so she tries politics, that should really make her a threat.

Findis reads everything she can from the library, asks her father 100 questions a day, attends councils and meetings. She learns a lot, planning to catch Fëanor out one day, call him out for something in front of the council, actually oppose him. Only that day doesn’t come. Fëanor hasn’t quite gotten to the point that we know he’ll eventually reach, so Findis can’t find anything to actually oppose him on at the moment. Frustrated, and getting more bored by the day, she draws back from politics.

Around this time Indis is planning a trip to visit the Gardens of Lorien (read, Miriel), and asks her eldest to come with her, lightly hinting that it will be good for her to get away.

It’s during this trip that Findis finds exactly what she wants to do. She sees how happy her mother is to be able to be close to Vaire again (see my last post about how Indis is a devotee of Vaire) and starts to seriously consider doing the same. Fëanor would never do that.

But when she sees the Maiar and Elven devotees of Lorien and Este, the (admittedly very few) tired or injured people finding rest and care and peace there, she knows in her heart that this is for her. Findis will be a healer.

She goes to Este immediately to apply to join her followers.

Este denies her. She has no more knowledge or experience of healing than the basic studies of her youth. Yes, the work they do here is usually routine and calm, but before devoting her eternal life to it, Findis should really try to think whether healing is for her. Can she handle injuries? Blood? Has she ever seen someone in pain? Really in pain? Not a younger sibling tripping and grazing their knee, but a hunter thrown by a spooked horse? A smith burned in the forge? Did she watch her mother give birth to her younger siblings? Did she hear the screams?

She hasn’t, Findis acknowledges, but she’s more than willing to learn.

She journeys home to Tirion without her mother to begin her studies. She starts at the bottom, back to reading books she can barely understand, stubbornly pestering the healers guild with letters until she can find a teacher. She attends lectures and eventually demonstrations with other students, usually far younger, in plain clothes, and most politely pretend that they don’t know who she is. She dissects animals and identifies what she sees. Bundles all of her scrolls and papers and books on politics into a cupboard and starts refilling her study with labelled diagrams, notes from lectures, samples of herbs.

The books start to make a lot more sense.

For some time each year she visits Estë again, just as a volunteer. She also visits Valimar and Alqualondë to learn from healers outside of the Noldor.

She starts to practice, assisting more experienced healers, in between lectures.

She joins a healer on a trip to the forest of Oromë; and returns with no fear of blood or broken bones, unbothered by a piercing arrow wound or the black bruises of a kick from Nahar.

There’s a drive in Findis now that was never there for politics, she’s all but forgotten that this started as a way to stand out against her brother. There’s a burning passion and a satisfaction to what she does. Her mother smiles and says that it’s the Noldor blood coming through.

Findis starts to come into her own with herb-lore and medicines. She commandeers an area of the palace gardens for medicinal plants. Writes report after report, learns to administer what and when and how. She’s almost settled on this as her focus when she is asked to assist her current supervisor with the birth of a baby.

She knows the theory. She’s recommended certain herbs and supplements to expecting mothers. She has vague memories of her younger siblings just after they were born. But this is different. This is her focus. So she switches track, asking questions of her tutors and colleagues. Requesting to assist with births wherever she can. She seeks female healers, midwives, and the input of her mother and her friends with children of their own. She makes notes and studies of their experiences.

Findis excels. Eventually becoming a healer in her own right. Only then does she approach Estë again. For something special this time. Yes, she appeals to join Estë’s devotees, but she wants to keep her focus on women, and pregnancy, and birth. She learns even more now, the Noldor passion propping her up as she learns that Vanyar ways of healing song from the Ainur.

Often, she visits the body of (Auntie) Miriel. She asks for stories of her fading from those in Lorien, seeks the insight of Estë, Irmo, and Nienna, and finally questions her parents. Piecing things together, she reaches out to other mothers- those who she attended at birth, her friends, those whose children she’s treated. She asks them about their experiences, asking them to be honest, to fear no judgement and feel no shame. Did they ever feel as Míriel did?

Some did, some didn’t. Either way she assures them that they are not alone. Over years she builds notes and papers and case studies as she works and follows her path in the Gardens of Lorien.

Findis becomes revered and respected for her work.

One day she gets a letter from her brother, he’s heard about her work, inspired by his mother. He asks if he could read it, so she invites him and Nerdanel to Lorien, so that he can read her papers. When they arrive it’s clear why he wants to do this now. Fëanor is afraid that his wife will share his mother’s fate at the birth of their first son.

Before they go home they get a lot of assurance, a list of recommendations, and signs to watch out for, all courtesy of Findis and her research. She promises to be there if they have any questions, and to assist in the birth personally.

Her brother embraces her for a long time before he leaves. He tells her how grateful he is for her help, how much more peacefully he will sleep now. Fëanor has never been happier that his sister out did him at something, and Findis has never felt less competitive. Healing, she thinks, is about always learning and getting better. Smithing, she supposes, is much the same.

#my art #tolkien #the silmarillion #noldor #yott more like yeet #Vanyar #Findis #Fëanor #siblings #listen I had no idea where this was going #but Findis is a magical obgyn #finweanladiesweek #house of finwe

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