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theworldisquietheretooquiet · 9 months

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A Lesson in Doors, Dresses, and Daggers

A mostly sweet meet-cute since I’ve been writing a lot of angst lately! Inspired by @fellowshipofthefics' great AU-gust mashup prompts :)

17. Locked in a room & S. ‘I’m sorry I took so long.’

AO3 2401 words

Nienor and Finduilas meet for the first time, get locked in a room together, and flirt through fashion advice.

"I'm sorry I took so long."

Nienor slips in the room and stops short.

“This is not the king’s office.”

The Elf who stands with her back to her, bent over a table cluttered with broken weapons turns around.

“And you aren’t Orodreth.”

The stranger laughs and flips her blonde braid over her shoulder. “His hair is longer than mine.”

Nienor reddens and starts forward to offer an apology and an introduction, pushing the door open wider. Why must Nargothrond have so many blasted rooms?

Before she can take more than a step though, the Elf cries out and gestures for her to stop.

She freezes in confusion and the heavy wooden door swings shut behind her.

“Oh no, you shouldn’t have let it close! The lock is broken, it won’t open from the inside now.” The elleth places down the rusted dagger in her hands and goes over to the door. She brushes past Nienor as she does so, smelling of polishing oil and flowers.

She pulls on the handle a few times to demonstrate the situation and sighs, frustration lining her face.

Nienor bites her lip and tries to think of what to say. There is still too much blood in her cheeks, but it is not all there because of embarrassment anymore. This Elf-maiden has no right to be angry at her; how was she meant to know?

But the elleth’s annoyance seems to be passing, she sighs again then offers Nienor a rueful smile and comes to stand before her.

“Well, no matter, someone will find us soon enough, I am sure.” She peers down at Nienor’s face, and her eyes brighten.

“And perhaps this is good fortune disguised as bad! I have wanted to make your acquaintance for days now. Lady Nienor, it is lovely to meet you.”

Nienor finds herself returning her smile and she takes a few deep breaths. Her heart had not yet slowed down since she had run all the way from her chambers, after realising she was late.

The Elf wanders back over to the pile of weapons. There are many more on shelves around the room, rusted and tarnished. This is probably some old storage closet; it is very small. Nienor wonders what this elleth is doing here.

“You were meeting with the king?”

Nienor awkwardly leans against the door and nods, before realising the maiden is back focused on her task, turned away from her.

“Yes, we had an appointment at six bells. However, I got terribly distracted writing a letter to my mother, and in my rush, I must have lost my way. It is taking me a little while to gain familiarity with all these stairs and levels and corridors.”

The Elf’s voice sounds amused as she answers. “Then you are forgiven for your interruption and its consequences. And do not worry –” She turns briefly and gives Nienor a quick grin.

“The king is famously late himself, so I’m sure you have caused him no trouble.”

Nienor is startled by the words. That had been her major concern and she is relieved to hear so, but this must be a high lady of the court to speak so familiarly of Orodreth. What bad luck to blunder on her first meeting with someone clearly important.

“I – I hope I have not, my lady. It was not a matter of great importance, which I wished to ask him about.”

“Oh?” The elleth drops a broadsword with a broken blade on the pile and the metal clang rings in Nienor’s ears.

“Perhaps I could offer to assist you with it? It seems wise to fully draw on the hours we’re stuck here so they’re not wasted.” She smiles at Nienor as she leans back against the table.

Nienor’s fingers twist in her skirt and she glances at the firmly shut door. But she nods and gives a strained smile. “Thank you, my lady, that is kind of you.”

The Elf waves her hand dismissively. Nienor sees two fine rings on her fingers, one she thinks might have a crest on it, and another set with a blue jewel, on her fourth finger. Is she betrothed?

“It is my pleasure! So, what is it you wished to ask the king about?”

“Well – it is the Midsummer feast in a half months’ time, and I am not sure what to wear. King Thingol’s court had certain traditions, but so far clothes seem to be different here, so…”

The Elf-maiden opens her mouth to speak but Nienor quickly continues. “I know it is hardly a matter for a king. But I had quite an enjoyable discussion with him about Iathrim fashion at my welcome banquet, and he said to always come to him with queries.” Her voice trails off.

“No, you are right, it is just the sort of thing he would take joy in dealing with. But he is always exceptionally busy these days.” The elleth clears her throat. “Anyhow I would love to help you with it.”

Nienor looks at her and sees her grinning, easy and happy, and her stomach twists.

“So, the simplest element to remember is the colours.” The Elf gestures to her own gown. “All shades of blue, especially when adorned with silver are favoured, throughout the season somewhat but especially at the feast.”

“Ah yes, that is similar in Doriath.” Nienor smiles, more than a little relieved that some customs are the same.

Her companion inclines her head. “Yes, it is one of the oldest traditions, from the days before this kingdom, and before my father’s people ever returned to these shores. Blue and silver catch starlight the best, you see.”

Ah, so she is half Noldorin at least, Nienor thinks, as she nods to indicate she understands.

“For the celebration itself it is popular to have small bells sewn into the edges of sleeves and hems.”

She frowns, wondering what the story behind that is. And what her mother would think if she returned in a dress that jangled every time she moved.

The Elf must see her curiosity because she laughs lightly and says, “For many in Nargothrond, summer returns their minds to The Dancer of the West. She who is called Nessa in the old tongue and who, they tell us, danced on the ever-green lawns of that land.”

The forbidden language makes Nienor’s face twitch, her years in Doriath pulling taut inside her, but she does her best to hide it. “Ah, so the bells are to pay homage to her and her skill?”

Shrugging, the Elf says, “I believe that is how the idea of the thing started. But mostly we keep doing it as it is a festival for dancing, and it’s a glorious thing when all our feet sing together.”

Then she winks. “It also makes it most fun when couples attempt to sneak away and, ah, do things best suited for the shadows.”

Nienor feels her whole face go crimson and hot. She does not know where to look.

The elleth laughs, but it is empty of mockery, and thankfully continues speaking.

“The key elements to remember for the garment itself is that your overdress should have a lower and sharper neckline, to better display your underlayer. And at the wrist your sleeve should fall and become wider.” She indicates her own flared sleeves, the cuffs embroidered with small white birds.

“Oh, and,” she smoothly closes the distance between them in two steps. “Dresses and tunics in Nargothrond have been fitting tighter than this since Fingolfin was king. May I?”

Nienor realises the Elf’s hand is hovering over her body. Swallowing, she nods her permission and cannot help tensing as the elleth reaches out and runs her fingers over the material at Nienor’s ribs and waist.

“Yes, it will need to be much tighter than this. A closer fit will suit you better too, Lady Nienor.”

She feels as if the walls have marched in two feet in the last few seconds. Her face is on fire and still the Elf-maiden’s hand lingers.

Breathing quickly, Nienor darts her eyes up to the elleth’s face. For once the bright smile is absent and it is a mask, her eyes calm but intense as they focus on Nienor.

Her heartbeat is even quicker than before, pounding in her chest.

But just as she can’t bear it any longer, she will have to say or do something, the Elf abruptly steps back, dropping her hand.

Nienor exhales, long and low. She watches in disbelief as the elleth returns to sorting through the mound of weapons, humming quietly to herself.

She can still feel the ghost of fingers on her ribs and allows herself one fast glance down to check they are truly gone.

The close space and lack of an escape settle heavier in Nienor’s mind, and she clenches her teeth. Inhale. Deep breath out. She presses her hands hard against her legs.

Nienor leans against the solid door again, letting it take her weight.

She will show this bold Elf-maiden that not all of the Edain fall at Elvish feet with the slightest pressure.

“Thank you for the advice, my lady, I will keep it in mind.” The elleth does not turn around and simply inclines her head. Nienor frowns and watches as she examines a dagger with rubies set in the handle and – are those teeth marks on the blade? The Elf places it in the larger pile on her right.

“You have not yet said why you are in here. I presume you knew this wasn’t the king’s office.”

Nienor winces at her own joke and is not surprised when the answering laugh rings a little hollow.

“Ah no. I am, um –” She turns and studies Nienor’s face for a long moment in silence, then says “I am looking for a weapon, a dagger, that belonged to my – to someone important. A truly foolish servant assumed it was to be gotten rid of.” She sighs and shakes her head. “Apparently it is common to keep unwanted items at the back of your wardrobe, in old, locked chests.”

Nienor bites her cheek, unsure how to respond. It was a far more personal answer than she’d been expecting, and she is aware of the colour that has risen in the elleth’s cheeks and the way her hands have curled into fists.

But despite this, she steps closer and meets her eyes, pushing down any hesitancy. Their colour brings to mind the way the sunlight hit the floor of her bedroom in Dor-lómin.

“I am sorry you have lost something of value to you. I do not mean to say I know how you feel, but I have felt further away from my lost loved ones since leaving my home in Hithlum. It is irrational, they are no closer than they have ever been. But the comfort of simply being near something they touched is never to be understated.”

“Yes,” the Elf-maiden murmurs, her eyes intense on Nienor’s but her posture relaxed and calmer now. “That is exactly it. I have more things of hers but the possibility of being deprived of even one is… very hard.”

Nienor thinks of Morwen, the look on her face when they arrived in Menegroth and were told Túrin was gone. “You cannot bear to lose them in any more ways.”

The elleth nods wordlessly and something passes between the two of them, a sharp second of understanding that reverberates in Nienor’s chest and lodges in her heart.

The following quiet is not uncomfortable but after it has drawn on a while, Nienor breaks it, saying softly, “Would you like me to help you look?”

“Oh, thank you,” the Elf smiles at her, smaller and sadder than before. “But I think I ought to give it up. I had searched most of the room before you arrived and this was one of the final places in the city for it to be, anyway.”

“Well, I am sorry.” Nienor returns her smile. “I will help you hunt down the servant if you like. Make them go and test every dagger in Nargothrond on themselves, just to make sure.”

A short, surprised laugh pushes past the elleth’s lips. “Who knew Men were so bloodthirsty? Again, I thank you Nienor, but no, it was not really his fault. It was a mistake without malice.”

You are kinder than I am, Nienor thinks and does not say.

The Elf-maiden walks over to her. “And, about before, I –”

The door swings open with a bang and they both jump.

An Elf with long dark braids stands on the threshold.

“Finduilas, there you are! I was wondering –” The elleth stops, seeing Nienor, eyes going round with surprise.

“Lady Nienor! I did not expect you to be – here. Princess, I apologise for interrupting. I thought you were alone.”

Nienor steps away from the Elf – from Princess Finduilas. Her mind moves sluggishly, refusing to adjust to this new information.

The princess glances at her quickly and then smiles brightly at her friend. “Egleriadis, you are our valiant rescuer, thank you! Lady Nienor lost her way, and I failed to tell her in time that this door is broken, and will not open from the inside if closed, so we became trapped.”

Egleriadis’ wide brown eyes go to the door, then to Nienor, then back to Finduilas.

“What a piece of bad luck, Princess! I hope you weren’t stuck for too long?”

“No, no, not at all, and it was very pleasant finally getting to know our new guest.” She smiles at Nienor, who cannot quite feel her face it has gone so red.

Egleriadis opens her mouth to say something more, but Finduilas grabs her arm, props the door open with an old shield, and manoeuvres her out the room in one fluid motion.

“Come along El, let us leave Lady Nienor to make her appointment with my father, as was her original intention.”

As the two Elves turn away, Finduilas looks back a final time.

“It really was a joy meeting you, even in this way, Nienor.” And then, so quickly that if Nienor was not staring, eyes still wide and stunned she might have missed it, the princess mouths I’m sorry, flashes an apologetic smile – and winks.

She stays standing there, open-mouthed and processing for a long time.

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maglorslostsilmaril · 26 days

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hate people who have only read the lord of the rings and the hobbit and love to bitch about tolkien barely having any strong female characters

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tolkienosaurus · 2 months

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The Corrupting Fëanor part includes all of the terrible deeds done by Morgoth to the Noldor after they arrive in Middle-Earthc.

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velvet4510 · 12 days

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thelien-art · 11 months

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🏳️‍🌈 Finduilas/Nienor?

They´re beginning to grow on me ngl

🏳️‍🌈CELEBRATE PRIDE WITH ME🏳️‍🌈 - send in a character or a ship with a pride flag and I´ll draw it

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imakemywings · 10 months

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A lot of femslash fics are bite-sized. And those are fun! But sometimes you want a fic to really sink your teeth into. So here are a handful of Tolkien femslash fics that are at least 4k words in length.

Come Home to Chaos (Get a Crush On a Queen) by ncfan - 8.5k - Arwen/Firiel of Gondor - Arwen came home to Imladris at the end of winter, and found her home in chaos.

Do I Hurt To Hold? by Anonymous - 5.2k - Galadriel/Melian - Melian makes her a promise: “I will train you. For one year, you will be mine. Your power—your body, mind, and spirit—will be mine. And by the end of that year, you will be stronger than you could possibly imagine.”

It's the Secret That We Keep by Loriand_Lost - 17.7k - Galadriel/Luthien - In Doriath, Galadriel meets the love of her life. She also meets another of her great loves - the Princess Luthien, daughter of Melian the enchantress and skilled in her own right.

Little Tenderness by batshape - 4.1k - f!Feanor/Nerdanel - Istarnië, she had said, and again and again. Istarnië, Istarnië. I can beg.

The Nameless Black of a Name by Ias - 8.1k - Finduilas/Nienor - The body which lies beneath the Haudh-en-Elleth does not have a name. Finduilas wanders the wilderness in its stead, and there meets someone as lost as she is.

need a bad girl ('cause the bad boys just don't cut it) (series) by @swanmaids - 5k - Curufin’s wife/Luthien - a prisoner, her jailer, and a knife.

of all the stars, the fairest by whatiwouldnotgive - 7.2k - Arwen/Eowyn - And with that, the pieces of this fanciful puzzle they’ve been creating fall into place. It’s the turning of a page, the changing of a season. Eowyn could laugh, giddily, at how foolish they’ve both been.

Quicksilver by clothono - 26.4k - Indis/Miriel - "Míriel has recovered herself," Indis said. "She has rested long and well in the Halls of Mandos, and misses now the craft of her hands, the light of the Trees—have I guessed right?"

Scraps of dark in a starstrewn night by Solanaceae - 5.2k - Luthien/Thuringwethil - Thuringwethil sees the outline of the hook and rises still to the bait, unable to resist the provocation. “Prove yourself worthy of my help." // Luthien tells a story to earn Thuringwethil's aid.

What the Waver Gave Me by me! - 27k - Finduilas/Nienor - Finduilas had never thought she had been saved for a reason, until she found the woman in the river.

Happy reading! ♪(´▽｀)

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serregon · 3 months

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hm narn hair headcanons

Túrin: raven black, thick and curly in texture. wears his hair partially tied back to make his round human ears visible. very pretty, when he actually takes care of his hair. out in the fields his hair is a tangled mess. he runs his hands through his hair when he’s stressed, leading to a lot of breakage. but like it makes him more handsome in a wildman of the woods sort of way. of course, he can clean up nicely when he wants. Beleg braids flowers and wooden beads into his hair. he doesn’t like it when people touch his hair, so it’s a major sign of trust to let Beleg braid his hair.

Beleg: a light silvery gray, silky and slightly wavy in texture. being an archer, his hair is almost always tied up in some way to keep it out of the way. his go-to is a ponytail decorated with several smaller braids, both pretty and practical. he crafts his own little wooden beads to decorate those small braids. he doesn’t wear his hair up too tight, and he often has a lot of loose strands. in a more casual setting, he will typically wear a loose braid or he’ll let his hair down with some small side braid.

Niënor: honey blonde, curly and fluffy and thick in texture. she has fluffy bangs. her go-to style is two low twin braids tied with blue ribbons. in her teen years her hair is a mess and a half due to her insistence that she could cut her hair by herself, and it’s still kind of uneven. during her time in Doriath she learned how to braid her hair in an Iathrim style. though Níniel lost her memory, her muscle memory remained, and she didn’t know why she often defaulted to braiding her hair in this way

Mablung: dark brown, straight yet thick in texture. shaved on the sides, a Sindarin warrior style. his hair is almost always held up in a braid or ponytail. in the three years he spent searching for Nienor, he did not have the time to maintain the side shave style, and his hair started growing in these uneven layers. and he wears Beleg’s beads sometimes, he holds onto them after Beleg dies.

Orodreth: pale gold, wispy and slightly wavy in texture. also very shiny and glittery, actual l’oréal model. his hair care routine is like 10 hours long. he loves braids and he often tucks his hair into a crown, but just loose enough to free his heart shaped curls.

Finduilas: pale gold waves. her go-to hairstyle is to put half her hair in a crown braid with the rest falling in loose curls. she has these little curly ringlets on the sides. following Fingon’s style she braids pink or light purple ribbons in her hair. I also imagine her with some different late medieval/renaissance hairstyles with those pearl nets.

Gwindor: before Angband, his hair was long and slightly wavy, a glossy hue of midnight black. in Angband, his hair was cut short as part of a humiliation/demoralization tactic, and it slowly grew out to chin length when he returned to Nargothrond. the effects of torture on his hröa turned his hair a dull shade of charcoal, and it became brittle in texture

#narnposting #túrin #beleg #nienor #mablung #finduilas #gwindor #orodreth

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who-needs-words · 5 months

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Listen listen. You’ve probably heard of Finduilas/Nienor and maybe you’ve heard of Nellas/Nienor. I’m proud to introduce Finduilas/Nienor/Nellas.

Timelines don’t matter when you have two immortal elves. They [spins wheel] save Elurín and Eluréd and raise them before [spins wheel] Finduilas becomes Gil-galad.

This is coherent and definitely not me throwing darts at a board labeled ‘fun silm AUs’

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warrioreowynofrohan · 9 months

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Because today was the last day for the first round of the first two sections of the Favourite Female Tolkien Character Poll (Noldor and First Age Edain), here are some fic recs for characters in the poll. I don’t have ones for every character, put please feel free to add your own!

Míriel/Indis: Quicksliver by @clothonono

Nerdanel:

Findis:

Findis & Lalwen:

Idril: The Fine Art of Being Prepared by @avantegarda

Finduilas & Nienor:

Eärwen and Anairë: to gather in a flourishing way by chestnut_pod

Amarië (among many, many others):

Haleth:

Morwen & Aerin: All of @outofangband’s metas and fics

#favourite female tolkien character poll #fic recs #miriel #indis #amarie #anaire #earwen #idri #finduilas #nienor #morwen #findis #lalwen #tolkien #the silmarillion

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yletylyf · 6 months

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My fic for Innumerable Stars!

With a Chance of Grace

Finduilas leaves Nargothrond to seek help before it falls. She will not get much help from Thingol in Doriath, but what she finds instead might be even better.

Nienor/Finduilas, because they deserve each other instead of whatever canon did to them. Rated general audiences, 1.7k.

#about my fic #tolkien #tolkien femslash #nienor #finduilas #no turin to be found here

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polutrope · 11 months

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Thoughts on Ninduilas?

This has the same bittersweet sort-of-fix-it thematically-flawless flavour as daemags to me and therefore I love it.

Single-handedly sold to me by you.

#asks #finduilas x nienor

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theworldisquietheretooquiet · 11 months

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Brushstrokes

AO3

2118 words

“Ugh!” Nienor drops her brush, and it hits the table with a clatter, rolling off and under the desk.

She stares at the easel, her brows drawn together tightly in frustration. She cannot get the princess’s portrait right. This time she swears the eyes are too far apart, and no matter how hard she tries the gold of her hair is never vivid enough.

As she walks over and bends down, trying to reach her runaway brush, the door opens. Nienor hurriedly clambers to her feet and comes face to face with the subject of her painting.

“Princess Finduilas!” Nienor quickly brushes the dust and dirt off the front of her dress and attempts to wipe away the worst of the paint smudges on her face. “Good day to you.”

Finduilas smiles widely at her. “Good day, Lady Nienor. I am glad to find you here! I had hoped to come and ask you something. Is now a good time?”

Nienor walks back over to her stool and stares at the ground. “Is it about your portrait?” She says quietly. “I am trying to get it finished as swiftly as possible, my lady.”

Finduilas sounds surprised. “Oh, no, it isn’t about that at all. Although you have reminded me how excited I am for it! I saw the one you did for Lady Egleriadis, and I am sure it will be just as beautiful.”

Nienor feels herself becoming angry, but she isn’t sure at what. “Well, I am sorry, but it likely won’t be.”

There is a pause. “Should I be insulted?” Finduilas laughs. “Is my face difficult to render pleasantly?”

Nienor does not return her good humour. “You are too lovely, Princess.” She exclaims in annoyance. “Even the paints of the Noldor cannot sufficiently capture the radiance of your hair or the brightness of your eyes. Every time I try, the imitation seems insulting!”

There is a long silence, and the air seems hotter. Nienor feels embarrassed and stifled, and looks determinedly at anything but Finduilas. She should not have said that.

“I beg your pardon, my lady. I am not sure what came over me. Do not worry, your portrait will be completed promptly.” She leaves the room and half runs down the stairs, without giving Finduilas a chance to reply.

Nienor stares out at the plains around Nargothrond and lets the rush of the river fill her ears. The weather is fair today and a fresh breeze is coming from the west. But the season will change soon and before that she must return to Doriath. She sighs heavily and rubs at her eyes. She does not know why she dislikes the idea so, after all she does very much want to see her mother.

Well, that is not quite true. If she is honest with herself, she can make a good guess at why she longs to stay in Nargothrond.

“Hello, Nienor. Do you mind if I intrude on your peace?”

She turns, surprised, and there is Finduilas, smiling at her hesitantly, the sun picking out the whitest strands of her hair.

“No, I do not mind at all. And I think I owe you an apology.”

Finduilas draws up next to her and shakes her head. “I cannot imagine what for, my lady. All I heard was the true compliment of one who has an eye for beauty.”

Nienor glances at her sideways and smiles. “Thank you. Like all craftspeople, when I cannot replicate the image I see in my mind’s eye, I become a little frustrated.”

The princess nods. “That is fair, and a trait not uncommon among my people.” She turns to face Nienor. “When you are stressed, do you often seek the open air? I had assumed as one who resided mostly in Menegroth, you would have little trouble with the caverns of Nargothrond.”

Nienor sighs and looks away from her, towards the horizon in the north. They are not entirely alone; the guards who accompanied her out the Gate stand a little way away, joined by Finduilas’. But she feels secure in the safety of the princess’s confidence, and she wants to tell her.

“I am thankful for the beauty and protection of both kingdoms. But where I grew up, our freedom was heavily restricted. I could not go outside when I wished, and even crying too loudly was dangerous.” She smiles bitterly. “I learnt early on the benefit of screaming into a pillow.”

Finduilas is quiet. Nienor digs the heel of her shoe into the soft, mossy earth.

“So yes, when I feel my temper rising, open skies often do calm me, and I take joy in my easy access to them.”

“I am sorry you had to suffer such confinement. One so fair being cruelly contained is a great wrong.”

The princess’s words are kind and understanding, and Nienor feels warmer for them. But she detects an undercurrent in them as well, and when she turns to Finduilas, she is staring unseeing, ahead.

Nienor moves slightly closer to her, so their shoulders are brushing. “I believe you had something you desired to ask me?”

“Oh, yes!” Finduilas bestows her golden smile on her. “I am aware the time of your departure is no longer far off and that the plan had been you return to Doriath before the end of autumn.”

Nienor nods.

“Well, I wanted to ask that you do not leave until spring instead. I know your mother and friends must miss you dearly, but I thought to selfishly have you here over winter.” Nienor notices the princess’s cheeks have gone slightly pink.

“I have so enjoyed your company these months and conversing with you on many matters. Oh, and we have such a lovely celebration for Yestarë! I had planned to teach you some Noldorin dances.”

Finduilas falls quiet and smiles hopefully at her. Nienor thinks she is probably grinning back, but she can’t be sure as she feels rather lightheaded and distracted by joy.

“That would be… that would –” She shakes her head, laughs, then tries again. “I am so happy you ask this of me, which I will fulfil with delight. Yes, my lady, I will stay here for as long as the maiden of Nargothrond will have me.”

The princess reaches out and entwines their fingers. “That brings me great happiness, Nienor, thank you.”

Nienor smiles and squeezes her hand in answer.

“Of course,” says Finduilas after a moment. “It is only so you can finish my portrait.”

The princess’s eyes are bright with mirth, and Nienor wishes she had her paint and easel, so she could capture that face, as it is right now, forever.

She laughs. “Yes, of course. I can think of no other reason.”

The hour is late and Nienor knows the dinner bell will be ringing soon but she must finish this section. She had been so sure that once she blended the shadows on Finduilas’ neck, it would fix its length, but she is beginning to have serious doubts.

“I can hear you getting frustrated from all the way over here.”

Nienor glances across the room to where Finduilas sits, working on some embroidery. Without looking up the princess continues, “I thought it was going better?”

Nienor sighs and then looks at the half-finished painting. This time around it had seemed so promising but now… She lets out a string of Taliska curses.

“Bëor only said those when he dropped something heavy on his foot.”

Finduilas’ expression is amused, but when she is met with brooding silence, she sighs and says, “You must be aware it isn’t as bad as you think it is. The artist is their own worst critic.”

Nienor scowls. She knows she is being contrary, but she can’t help it. It feels as if she has been working on this portrait for an eternity. Last time she went outside the leaves had turned to deep reds and ambers.

“I think Morgoth has cursed it.”

“That is not funny.” Finduilas replies seriously, but Nienor sees her lips are twitching.

“Come here,” the princess says, and Nienor walks over and slides in next to her on the divan. She curls up close, leans her head on Finduilas’ shoulder and sighs.

After a few moments of quiet and Finduilas gently massaging her tired hands, she says, “I do not even know why Elves have portraits. You will always look the same.”

Finduilas laughs and pokes her shoulder. “Well, I am not sure why Men do! You will look different in a year anyhow. I am surprised your people don’t spend their days painting.”

“I would have said we might be happier if we did, but now I’m not so sure.”

She can feel Finduilas’ soft chuckle where their bodies touch and the tight knot of annoyance in her chest loosens a little. Nienor watches the fire. The change of the seasons is not felt in some ways, in the deep of Nargothrond. But it is colder now than when she arrived.

After a while, just as Nienor feels herself becoming drowsy, Finduilas speaks. “Perhaps I am glad you are struggling with my picture so. What would you think if I told you that?”

She twists so she can see the princess’s face and raises her brows. “I would wonder if I had done something to upset you.”

“You have not.” Finduilas frowns and she automatically reaches out to smooth the lines away, but the princess catches her hand and holds it tightly. “You were right when you said the Eldar stay like our portraits forever. Yet I am thankful, for it means you have forever to keep trying. Then if you keep failing, Nienor dearest, it makes me dream that perhaps you will stay here, forever with the subject.”

Nienor does not know how to respond and there is a lump in her throat.

After a few silent seconds she says, rather helplessly, “You believe it will take me until the breaking of the world to complete one picture?”

That had been an attempt at humour, Nienor thinks. But as she speaks the words and sees the flicker of grief in Finduilas’ eyes, the effect is lost even on her. She exhales and tries to work out how best to communicate what she wishes to say.

“Because I do not have the same forever as you, beloved. If it takes me until the end of my time in Arda to finish your portrait, it matters not. For there will come a day when you and it remain exactly the same, and even my bones are dust.”

Finduilas’ eyes are shining, and she attempts to pull her hand away. But Nienor holds on and presses it to her lips.

“And that image feels me with bittersweet joy! It makes my heart ache, but it is joy, nonetheless. The idea of my love for you lingering on, here and beyond the edges of the world, where I will take it. That is forever, enough, for me.”

Finduilas’ voice comes out a little choked as she says, “I would not need a portrait to remember the artist. There are not ages of this world long enough for me to forget her.”

Nienor smiles. “Good. And it means a great deal to me that you wish me to stay. I am happy beyond words about it, beloved, please do not let my morbidity confuse you!”

The princess chuckles wetly and Nienor pulls her into an embrace.

After a few moments of playing absentmindedly with Finduilas’ escaped hair, Nienor starts to grin.

“Darling! Perhaps you gave me luck with all your talk of taking forever. For I have thought of an excellent way for me to work towards improving my painting.”

“Oh?” Finduilas pulls back and looks at her shrewdly, eyes narrowed.

Nienor bites her lip hard to keep from laughing and nods seriously. “You see, although you have been generously modelling for me, even skilled artists like myself, often feel unfulfilled by a still, fixed subject.”

“Do they?” Finduilas raises an eyebrow.

“Yes! For it does not tell us so much of what is important. The feel of features, textures, how they look in certain positions, and it is very hard to get close enough…”

The princess laughs. “Oh my, Nienor! You are awful.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” she protests. “Perhaps it is all this time spent with the Noldor. I will do anything to elevate my craft.”

“And pray tell, what sacrifice did you have in mind in this case?”

“Well…” Nienor leans in and presses her lips to Finduilas’. She feels the princess smile and deepens the kiss, pressing her into the cushions.

#I wanted to write my faves being loving and cute #(and dwelling on their impending eternal sundering)#the very vague idea behind this is that Túrin never came to Nargothrond so it's still going strong #but Nienor was able to get to Doriath anyway #and Thingol and Melian have sent her to visit Orodreth and practise her court and art skills #finduilas #nienor #finduilas/nienor #finduilas x nienor #nargothrond #fanfic #my post #children of hurin #silmarillion

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