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witchofhimring · 2 months

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To you who is lost

Chapter 1: Duty is the death of love

Chapter synopsis: Your husband leaves for despair and death. Left behinde, you are left at the mercy of others.

Warnings: Angst, abandonment, crying, pregnancy

Note: Usually I save notes for the end but this time I will also put some at the beginning. I am using their Quenya names (ex. Maedhros is called Maitimo).

Emmeril, Airin and llë are my OC's

You would lament thereafter for the lack of foresight. The wise in Arda would mourn their kindred, who had stepped out of bliss and into woe. Nerdanel, Amarië, Anairë, these great women of the Blessed Realm were linked in sorrow to those left behind. You joined this tragic assembly, united in regret. Days would waste away as you asked " What was there to be done?". Anguishing over every time you could have forestalled these harrowing events.

It had been a storm, slowly strengthening until its power was too great to prevail. Deceived, one and all had been taken in. Melkor's repentance had seemed so genuine. Save Tulkas and Curufinwe none had heeded any notion of trickery. Now the dark Vala's laughter rang in Angamando, echoing off the stone walls. In your own halls, you sighed. Brought so low you were a specter of the beautiful young elf maiden whose laughter had lit up Tirion. These days were dark with the Alduya felled.

"Will you come to bed?" Amarië, whose suffering was as great as yours, came forward. Together they cast their gazes to the darkness beyond. All of Arda had been plunged into an impenetrable shadow. Amarië's light was much dimmed, her golden hair hanging forlornly. She had always been pale and thin but her boundless joy had given her strength which many envied. They need envy no longer. Findaráto had sworn to return and Amarië held him to it. She was bound to him, although not formally, and believed he would return. For a time Amarië would remain before departing. She would dwell in her home and wait for Findaráto.

You had been gifted no such reassurance. Cast off, Maitimo had spurned every vow he made. Bitter words were exchanged, things that could not be unsaid. Unlike Amarië's stalwart serenity, you had wept. Your marriage had been waning for some time now. When Curufinwe stormed into exile you followed to Formenos. In Formenos you would lose your husband.

The laws of the Eldar commanded that husband and wife be one in all things. Never had you any cause to doubt these customs. Naturally, a husband and wife must cleave together. Growing up in a big, tightly-knit family, a certain worldview had been formed. There was never any doubt that if you married your husband would always protect you. And how could you not? Your father had always been so devoted to your mother, his desire to make her happy endless.

Your worldview had been, to a degree, changed when you married Maitimo. The house of Finwe had been in turmoil for quite some time. Since Finwe cemented his union Indis despite the protests of his son Feanaro, his progeny had torn at one another. Though to Nolofinwe's credit, the war was pitifully one-sided. Even those who had never encountered either prince heard of the brotherly animosity. A pungent cloud of this great house, many feared for the day a storm would break. Coming from a close family this was something of an anomaly. Your father had quarreled with his brothers, but nothing could sunder their bond. Your mother had her gripes with her sisters, but their love always brought them together again. Being the eldest of your family you had the unenviable job of keeping rambunctious youngers siblings in line. However no matter what troubles came your, love and affection remained. Perhaps this made the end inevitable.

You begged him not to leave that day. The death of High King Finwë plunged all of Arda into grief. Sickening amounts of blood were saturated into the ground. From there after that very spot was stained by Melkor's vile deed. The smell sent your head reeling and burning bile to bubble. You had never seen a dead body before and abhorred the slaughter of animals. They might think you weak for it, but you knew this sight would curdle the blood of even the most austere of elves. Wails of despair took the place of joy. The light had faded and everything became dark. If only it had stopped there, oh by Eru how you wished this was the worst.

It all started on a day filled with joy. Manwë had summoned the Houses Fingolfin and Curufinwë, ordering peace between the two families. Brother took brother in hand and promised peace and friendship. Though how sincere Curufinwë was remained unknown. Many times you had witnessed Curufinwë rage over his younger brother. He howled over the "spawn of Indis" and cursed him. Such festering resentment could not be swept aside by simple sweet words. "I know we should be glad. But I can not help feeling dread." Maitimo simply took your hand in his. "I assure you that nothing bad will happen." His smile reassured you. Oh how wrong he was. When the darkness fell confusion and fear reigned. Finwë was dead, the Silmarills stolen and half of the Edain of Valinor gone. The only respite was Arafinwë returning to take leadership.

All the lights went out. Melkor had drained the trees of all their light, and from there he fled. But there was no running from the darkness. Warmth and light were replaced by darkness and dread. Wails of the bereft took the place of laughter. You who had once been so full of joy had only despair for company. Things had been far from perfect even before the oath. When Curufinwë had been exiled your husband went with him. Of course, you understood his duty as the eldest son. But it didn't make the move from Tirion to Formenos. That day you had to leave behind all those you loved. Try as you might to sway Maitimo to stay, it worked to no avail. In those days you would have done anything for him, and so where he went you followed. You tried not to complain. Even when Curufinwë's temper became unbearable, or your friends stopped sending letters. You could not blame them, living in the court of temporary King Nolofinwë and keeping in touch with you was risky. At least your family was supportive. Your younger sisters and brothers But even in those cold days you still would never have thought Maitimo would leave you. The years had been trying, but he still cared for you in those days. Years later in the dead of night, as you lay awake, you wondered if every "I love you" had been a lie.

"Please, if you have ever loved me you would stay." He did not meet your eyes. He just looked back to the army assembling in the courtyard below. "Have I not followed you all these years? What could I have done for you to cast me aside!" You seized his arm. Gently he pried you off him. "Y/n, you must understand that I have to go. Of course you may follow me-" "I have done nothing but follow you! Maitimo this is suicide!" It was at this point your father in law chose to appear, ascending the steps in a storm of fury. "If you do not choose to follow your husband, as you are sworn to do, then you are no wife!" Temperamental, yes, but now there was the flame of madness dancing in his eyes. Curufinwë had taken leave of his senses. "My vows said that I would follow him as my conscious dictates! As your wife has stayed in Valinor so shall I." The comment was poorly timed. Anger beat so furiously in your chest that you thought not of the consequences. With a roar of unbridled fury, Curufinwë drew his sword. Horrified, both you and Maitimo stepped back. The tip was right at your neck, an inch further would slice the flesh. "Depart, faithless wretch! And do not let me find you lurking in these hall again lest I strike you dead!" Maitimo drew you away and behind him. "You will cease your insults of my wife." You stared up at him in awe. Here he was standing up to his father, possibly the greatest of the Noldor. You had thought at that moment Maitimo had seen sense. He led you off to a room, away from his father and the chaos below.

"Maitimo!" You flung your arms around his shoulders. An elated kiss was placed on his forehead. But his eyes were sad with what you later realized was guilt. Gently he pried you off of him. He was gentle but his actions indicated he wanted to put distance between you and himself. "Do-?" You were unable to finish. Maitimo closed his eyes and whispered something so quietly under his breath you almost missed it. Almost. "Please." "Maitimo?" Your temporary relief was dashed as quickly as it came. "Y/n, I must follow my father." One could hear a pin drop. Your world had been torn apart, fractured almost beyond repair. "My Lord-Maitimo! You must not!" Your body was shaking, horror gripping you like a vice. Your legs seemed unable to hold themselves, such was the agony you felt at that moment. Falling to your knees, you started to beg.

"Husband, if you have any love for me then-" Suddenly Maitimo's could not even meet your eye. "You will not sway me Y/n." His voice was hard, cold, a tone he had recently adopted and that reared its head more and more frequently. You could not believe what you were hearing. Your husband seemed to disregard the bond between man and wife, that they must always stay side by side. And here he was abandoning you at your hour of need. You were scared. Finwë was dead and the rest were in self imposed-exile. The journey ahead scared you. To leave the safe haven of Valinor was suicide. You could understand avenging the King, you had great love and respect for him. And as King he must be avenged. But this was beyond simple revenge. This very act would tear apart the house of Finwë, and all of Valinor. Your family. Curufinwë's heart had turned dark and following him to this end. And there was another, more overriding reason. A shaking hand went to your stomach.

It could be a lie to say that everything had been perfect before the darkening. Hard to admit, but your presence in the family was not welcomed by everyone. Curufinwë and his son who shared the same name looked upon you with disdain. You were to head-in-the-clouds for them to ever like. You tried, only to end in ridicule and failure. The escalation was partly your fault, afraid of causing trouble Maitimo was never told. Looking back, telling Maitimo might have been wiser. Alas, you did not. This was not to say the rest were unkind. Never had there been a great closeness between Tyelkormo, Carinstir and yourself, there was also never ill blood either. Though you were better acquainted with the latter's wife, Ilë. Macalaurë had always been kind but rather unapproachable, him being so proud. You supposed that was what Emmeril liked about him. The twins you were the closest to, out of the lot, Telvo and Pityo. His cousins hailing from the house of Nolofinwë you held a greater preference for. Save Turokáno who thought you rather silly.

There lay a great enmity between the houses Curufinwë and Nolofinwë. Or rather, Curufinwë held a deep mistrust and dislike of his younger brother. The ill sentiment had spread like a poison to all his kin, even the children. During the exile in Formenos you were forced to meet Findecáno and his younger sister, at times with Arakáno. Those years had been hard, especially for those such as Turkafinwë and Maitimo who forged deep bonds with their kin. Curufinwë the younger missed Írissë, despite his attempts to hide it. Those years in Formenos had been horribly lonely, bereft of company. With a family far away and friends forced to stay in Tirion company was limited. Only two friends had accompanied you. But denied company they soon started to despair. Despite what it cost you have them leave. Many tears had been shed that day. The resentment between the various members of Curufinwë started to devour the residents. Anger brewed, bitterness ensued.

"And Indis's brood wander those halls, our halls! What right... what claim does the House of Indis have to my father's throne! The throne of my forefathers!" Around Curufinwë's table everyone sat, save Ilë who pleaded exhaustion. The rest of you were not spared Curufinwë's rage. Sitting next to Maitimo your hands shook, his hand on your knee. The twins sat closest to their father, though Telufinwë not leaning in as close. Turkafinwë's seemed unusually thoughtful, for such a brash elf. Curufinwë the younger's face was obscured from shadow, his silent wife beside him. Morifinwë was leaning in towards Curufinwë with a red flush crawling up his face. Kanafinwë and Emmeril sat on the sidelines, observers of Curufinwë's rant. You would give anything to leave this table.

"What of our Uncle Arafinwë?" Maitimo was far too fond of his half-uncles for Curufinwë's liking. You could see his thin pale lips tighten. His dark blue eyes, bloodshot, narrowed in on Maitimo. "He is his mother's son." Curufinwë's stance was clear. Your thoughts went to Amarië who you had not seen in years. Last you heard Findaráto had pledged to marry her. Wondering if Curufinwë would allow you to attend their wedding, you looked outside. Formenos was cut off from the rest of Valinor. Held up in these mountains it was hard to see anything else. It only served to make you feel more nervous.

"Though, I do wonder if not everyone is paying attention." Curufinwë's tone made it seem he was scolding a child. Except it was you. "My apologies." Quickly covering your mistake, you sat there rigidly. "My wife meant no offense." Maitimo was swift to defend. Curufinwë looked ready to say more but chose to abstain. All you could do was stare at your lap, numb with anxiety.

Maitimo had changed. The bleakness and chill of Formenos had worn on everyone. Exhaustion had settled over the residents like a heavyweight. Loneliness became a constant companion, stalking you like a specter. In the beginning, it was not so bad. You spent time making this place a home. A small garden was built in the courtyard with help from Maitimo. Carefully you tended to the delicate petals, their white petals reflecting light. He would wind them in your hair, cascading down in a waterfall of flowers. They spent much of their time holed up inside their room. It became a safe haven, a world that separated themselves from all the torments outside. Light blue curtains adorned the windows, you had elected for a more simple style. Windows were left open a crack letting fresh air in. At times like these you could forget about everything.

The years passed and the bond between husband and wife started to crumble. A great toll was upheaving this family. Twelve years was but the link of an eyes to elves. For this family however, it dragged on. Every moment served to increase Curufinwë's rage and desire to avenge himself burned within. Like a disease it spread, its symptoms laying low the spirits of his heirs. Maitimo became sullen and the fire within seemed to flicker. The letters hailing from Tirion, where his beloved cousin Findecáno resided, remained unopened for days. When Maitimo finally did dare to gaze upon the contents they were for him only. Afterwards Maitimo would grow sullen once more and would disappear. Behind his back, although it brought guilt, you read its contents. It was the words of a cousin who missed his friend. He talked of times past and expressed joy in those to come. "I hope for further joy, so that all ill will become forgotten." He had written. Letters arrived from your sister as well. Airin was the closest in age to you, being only a few years your junior. Residing in the court of Anairë, Airin would provide information. King Nolofinwë ruled wisely and was much loved. Such tidings brought you no joy. Eru knew what Curufinwë might say. She was not the only one to bring information, Findecáno wrote to you as well, with affection that did little to curb a growing fear. He wished you well, that the days bring peace, but those words soothed not. There lingered an underlying anxiety to his words. Try as he might to cover it up.

"My dear daughter, we are well. But it would truly warm our hearts to know you too are well. Do not forget that all of us (yes, all of us) miss you dreadfully" Those letters remained in a safe wooden box. Sometimes you would read them when lonely. Even your brothers, who were a great many years younger, had written. Sadly, letters were no substitute for true company. Ilë, wife of Carnistir, was a good friend. But as time dragged on Ilë retreated and clung to her husband. Less and less she patrolled the halls, staying with her husband in solitude. Making friends with the other elf maidens, there was still a poignant loneliness. All they did was remind you of those left behind.

"It is merely your father's words, my love. Your uncle would never harm any of us." Your husband's anguish hurt you in turn. As a wife it was agonizing to know his pain and yet have no balm to heal the wound. Another one of Findecáno's letters lay forlornly on the bedside. Instead of bringing joy they served to torment. Maitimo was slumped against his chair by the windows. His bright blue eyes were focused on the mountains beyond. You stood beside him, fingers running through his red hair. For a while you said nothing. Gently you stroked his cheek which was unusually sallow. Leaning forward you kissed the cheek. Slightly, he leaned into your affection. "I know you will do what is right." Had those words strengthened him, or heaped on yet greater pressure onto Maitimo.

Everything changed when that great host left Valinor. You were left alone and exposed with no one to protect you. Everyone was either gone or wanted nothing to do with you. Maitimo had ordered those of his followers who stayed behind to protect you. But would they be able to? And could you, in good conscience, place those who were under your care into great danger? Thank Eru Arafinwë took pity on your condition. You had been barricaded in Formenos for fear when the youngest son of Finwë and his host came upon the fortress. To your surprise, he brought along Indis and Nerdanel. Despite your disgrace, they brought you with them to Tirion.

You sat on a bench with an outlook to the garden below. Despite its glamorous beauty, it brought you no joy. There was no light for the Two Trees had been utterly drained. It felt like divine providence, the trees set and your love as gone. Now it was dark as the hole in your heart. "Y/n, dear, you should no linger in the cold for so long. "Nerdanel stepped out onto the outlook. " Is it dinner already?" You drew your cloak tighter around yourself. Instinctively your hands cradled your ever expanding belly. "Yes. And Indis has prepared your favourite." At one times these temptations would have been rather tempting. But no food could fill you. Not now. "If not yourself then at least for him." "You are so certain?" Coming from Nerdanel the Wise the idea she might already know was not preposterous. Relenting, you got up. The baby was all you had left.

"And are we to forget that this woman chose to go into exile, against all common sense and decency." It was as you expected. Even with the new Lord of the Noldor beside you. It was Arafinwë's first council as leader (would that make him King now?) in the great halls. You remembered that last time you had been here. How Curufinwë unsheathed his sword and pointed it at his own brother. You recalled the horror and revulsion on the audience's face, and now all their eyes were on you. Every important lord and lady of Valinor were judging you. It hurt to know that some of them had once been your friends. Perhaps everything had been a lie. Your husband despised you and the rest of Valinor bore mistrusted.

"You forget, My Lord, that as a Princess and member of her lord husband's household, she was bound to follow him to whatever ends. It was only when it all became too much did Y/n depart from her husband. Her moral convictions won out, and despite their fëas being one she forsook him." Arafinwe's voice held a steely edge you had not yet heard before. The youngest son of Finwë was often misconceived as being shy, timid even. This was a misconception, he was simply quiet. Never should one misconstrue kindness for complacency. But one should never be complacent with the belief that silence means stupidity. Arafinwë stood up, white robes billowing behind him. You felt Nerdanel place a comforting hand on your shoulder. "Have we fallen so far that we would attack a lonely woman? If we are to proceed with revenge in this matter, are we truly worthy to live amongst the Vala and Maia?' Some had the grace to look ashamed. Despite this, there were still some who had misgivings.

"My Lord, if I may speak." Lady Nimlothel served the house of Nolofinwë, more specifically it was his Lady wife she owed her allegiance to. With an elegant stride, she took the floor. "You may." Arafinwë answered, although his eyes looked wary. "The Lady Y/n is not responsible for her husband's ill deeds. Although I would like to add that Lady Nerdanel never fled into exile, a most wise decision. I suggest that the Lady Y/n retire, at least for a time. It would be unwise to allow such a remnant of Curufinwë's treachery to remain here." You felt so cold, so alone. They might not lock you up, but exile was little better. You would hide away, a forgotten remnant in a far off castle. An embarrassing chapter of Arda's history. Arafinwë sat down, troubled. "This council is dismissed. We shall convey at morning tomorrow."

"We may reside by my parent's hearth. They extend this offer to you too." Emmeril had bolted the chest shut. Sitting on a bed you watched Makalaurë's wife hastening departure. She along with Airin, wife of Curufinwë the Younger (your husband's brother) remained in Valinor. Ilë alone had departed, swearing to follow her husband Morifinwë, to whatever end. You prayed to Eru she would be well. Airin had long since departed. Saddened over the loss of husband and son she departed, destination unknown.

"My Lady, is that all?" One of Emmeril's handmaidens entered. "Take these out to the yard, then we depart." Once the handmaiden departed Emmeril turned to you. "What do you hope to accomplish by staying?" The bond between Emmeril and yourself had never been great. It was not personal dislike so much as never truly understanding one another. Emmeril was stern and hard, chafing against your soft and easy nature. But she had never been cruel or given you reason for mistrust. Emmeril's reasoning was wise in this matter. Leaving Tirion could allow you to start anew. You might have done so if it were not for the babe that dwelt within you. What sort of life would your child have? A permanent exile for the rest of their days? Could you even call yourself a mother while condemning a child to such a fate? Emmeril may think you a fool, and perhaps she was right to think so. But you would not reveal this secret to her. Now was not the time and frankly you were not ready.

Emmeril did not stay long, but departed for her family's home. You watched her go until the last of her horses were over the hill. The room suddenly felt colder, more forlorn. A choked sigh bordering on sobs left your mouth. At times like these you would have walked in the garden with Ilë. Only it was pitch black out and Ilë was gone. A soft knock at your door alerted you. Amarië swept in, pink silk trailing behind. "Y/n, Nerdanel wishes to give council." Rising up you followed Amarië. The hallway was obscured with shadows, torches providing ailing light. Even with windows barred shut you could still feel a draft. Even Amarië seemed to feel it, drawing her robe tighter. Every step echoed in these silent halls. Most had either fled Tirion or barricaded themselves in their rooms. Only guards remained patrolling the halls.

Nerdanel had taken quarters next to Queen Indis. Was Indis even still queen? Suspiciously guards regarded your presence. "Lady Nerdanel had sent for Lady Y/n. Queen Indis is aware." They let you in with a look of reluctance on their faces. The swords on their sides glimmered in the torchlight. Only a short time ago none dared to disregard the Valar's ordinance. Now none dared leave their rooms without protection. Such were these sad times. Nerdanel bore her usual attire, baggy brown pants and a white shirt. Her hair, Nerdanel had her back turn to you, was tied in a loose braid. Rubble and tools lay scattered. When Amarië cleared her throat Nerdanel seemed to finally take notice. "Lady Amarië, thank you." Amarië curtsied and made to leave. "Hold-" "I must depart. Lady Nerdanel wishes to speak to you in private." Now it was just Nerdanel and you. Nerdanel lightly kicked a hammer out of the way and picked up a tray. You smelt citrus and a hint of cinnamon. Sitting down you watched Nerdanel pour a cup of tea. "Care for some?" You nodded. You had the feeling this conversation was not simple idle chat.

Nerdanel did not beat around the bush. After a sip, her grey eyes focused on you. The look was not critical, but the one she adopted when an important topic was at hand. "I heard Emmeril offered you a place at her family home. Why did you not go?" She was not being critical, just inquiring. "I have never been close to Emmeril. It would be an intrusion on my part." Nerdanel poured another cup. "Will you remain here indefinitely?" "Nerdanel I do not know what to do. I am lost. In leaving I condemn myself and the baby to exile. In staying ill may come too, for those that support the Houses of Nolofinwë and Arafinwë have no love of Curufinwë's kin." Nerdanel reached out calloused hands, worn by years of her craft. Your own was not so smooth, for years of gardening had hardened the skin. "Fate may be kinder to you. Our king wishes to provide what help he can." The attempt was well made, yet still you remained unsettled. "My fate is solely in the hands of others. If I stay then it is another exile. I banish my freedom. Perhaps I should leave and lessen others' hold on me." Nerdanel's gaze went to your belly. If one was unaware they would not know. But soon it would swell and then what would happen then? Your family would be harboring a potential heir. Arafinwë was good and wise, but the actions others you must look to. Would they see the baby as a contender? If you stayed at court then an alliance could be built and no one could accuse you of hiding.

"Do what you think is best for yourself and the baby Y/n. But do not forget, make sure you stand on your own feet."

Note: This story has been in my drafts since September and was originally meant to be a one shot. A story surrounding the lives of those who stayed in Valinor is something I have been interested in for a while now. I am unsure how long this story will be. I will also be using the Quenya pronunciation for everyone's names unless canonically one is not provided. All the sons of Feanor use their mother-name except for Curufin.

While I use Jodie Comers face in the gifs and aesthetics for this story it is not meant to be a face claim. I simply like to use a certain character/acter's face in each series.

My OC's (the unnamed wives of the sons of Feanor) are my stand ins for the wives in every fanfic going forward. This is unless I write an x-reader involving one of the three married sons. In that case I will simply write them out. But going forward in this story and others they will exist. I intend to make character profiles for them at some point.

If you want to be added to the taglist please let me know!

#the silmarillion x reader #silmarillion x reader #the silm #the silmarillion #silmarillion #to you who is lost #maedhros #maglor #celegorm #celegorm x aredhel #feanor x nerdanel #fingolfin x anaire #finrod x amarie #finarfin x earwen #finarfin #nerdanel #maitimo x reader #maedhros x reader

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animatorweirdo · 1 year

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Imagine trying to enjoy alone time in a tavern, but then ending up as the local therapist for an elf and his relatives.

Imagine trying to simply enjoy some alone time in a tavern, drinking some beverage, and minding your own business till you meet this one elf and became regular chat buddies. Now, the relatives of this elf keep coming to the tavern to talk about their problems with you.

Warnings: reader’s sanity gets tested.

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Day 1

Maedhros: *Walks into the tavern, takes a seat, orders a drink, and slams his head against the table*

You: Now that sounds like someone is done with everyday life.

Maedhros: You have no idea.

You: Which one for you, work or unbearable relatives?

Maedhros: Hmm?

You: Work or unbearable relatives? Sometimes it's the work that tires you out, but sometimes it’s the relatives– who do things that make you tick beyond measure.

Maedhros: Hmm… both. Why would you like to know?

You: Just filling out boredom. Wanna have a drink? I can pay for you because you look like you need it.

Maedhros: Well – that is nice of you. I am Maedhros.

You: (Name)

After a week of meeting with Maedhros to shit talk about family, drink, and send each other off– not to be seen for another week.

Maedhros: And yet again, I have to clean up after my brothers.

You: Man, that sucks.

Maedhros: Indeed. I have to go. It was nice talking to you.

You: Bye.

Maedhros: Farewell.

Maedhros: *Walks out of the tavern after paying the bartender*

You: *Sits in silence, drinking*

Maglor: *Walks in and notices you*

Maglor: Excuse me? Are you (Name)?

You: Uuh – yeah?

Maglor: I heard about you from my brother, Maedhros. He apparently likes to come here to talk and drink with you.

You: And you are?

Maglor: I am Maglor.

You: Ah, the one that sings in the morning and never shuts up.

Maglor: What?

You: Nothing! What do you want?

Maglor: I will be honest. I need to relieve something out of my chest. And since Maedhros likes talking with you. I have been ha — *talks about his problems with his family*

You: *Staring at him, confused.*

You: Wha –?

Week 2

You: *Trying to enjoy peace after having talk sessions with both Maedhros and Maglor for a week.

Caranthir: You!

You: Wah! What!

Caranthir: Are you (Name)?

You: uhm – yes? I’m sorry. Did I do something to piss you off?

Caranthir: No. Why would you think that?

You: You look angry.

Caranthir: Well, I’m not. I am Caranthir. I heard about you from two of my brothers, Maedhros and Maglor.

You: Oh, the grumpy one and the one that hoards all the gold?

Caranthir: What?

You: Nothing! What can I do for you?

Caranthir: I heard talking with you helps relieve stress and resolve problems. So, let me start –

You: And what if I don’t-

Caranthir: I will only talk about this once, so listen carefully. I am so done with my –*talks about his problems with his brothers and relatives and problems managing the money*

You: What?

Week 4

You: *Groaning while lying your head against the table*

Celegorm: You (Name)?!

You: What? Who — who are you two?!

Celegorm & Curufin: *sits on each side of you that you sat between them*

Celegorm: We belong to the same family as the rest of our dear brothers, who seem to like turning their backs on us in our time of need.

You: That – doesn’t tell me anything.

Curufin: His name is Celegorm and I am Curufin.

You: Oh, The unhinged forest goblin and the cheap copy of dad?

Celegorm & Curufin: What?

You: Nothing! I assume you wanna talk and let something out of your chest too?

Celegorm: Excellent! Then there is no need for an explanation. Let me tell you what kind of a rough week we had.

Celegorm: I was planning good things for our people, but they kicked us out because apparently we were evil, and I tried to force myself upon Doriath’s princess. I was only trying to show I would be a better option than that mortal man. She even stole my dog!

Celegorm: Can you believe that? And all people claim we’re the most problematic people in Beleriand.

You: Didn’t you try to kill them, though?

Curufin: And my son doesn’t want to be my son anymore? Apparently, I disgusted him so much that he decided to disown himself.

You: —what?

Week 6

You: *Groaning even harder after exhausting weeks of listening to the feanorians’ problems*

Fingon: Excuse me, are you by any chance (Name)?

You: Please, don’t tell me you’re one of Maedhros’s brothers!

Fingon: Oh no, I’m not.

You: – really?

Fingon: I’m his half-cousin!

You: dammit!

Week 8

Fingolfin: You must be (Name)

You: Huh?

Fingolfin: Okay, let me talk about my kids and those problematic nephews of mine.

You: Sir? Do I know you?

Fingolfin: My kids don’t listen to me, and my half-brother’s kids just do anything they like, causing problems and being a bunch of ruffians.

You: Sir? Sir? SIR?!

Week 14

Maedhros: Hey, (Name). Sorry, I have not been visiting for a while. I have been busy with work.

Maedhros: (Name)?

You: *You sit up, shadows and bags in your eyes, exhausted and looking like you were going to break down at any moment*

Maedhros: (Name)! What happened? You look awful!

You: You – and the rest of your family need to find professional help.

#maedhros x reader #maglor x reader #caranthir x reader #celegorm #curufin #fingon #fingolfin #silmarillion x reader #silmarillion #tolkien #middle earth x reader #middle earth #elf therapy #feanorians x reader #silmarillion imagine #middle earth imagines

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autumnshighlady · 4 months

Text

Tolkien Masterlist

Feanor

Wildest Dreams (ft. Fingolfin)

A Lesson in Language

Maedhros

coming soon

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧

SERIES

The Professor series [WIP]

completed: Nesta, Gavriel, Feanor

coming soon: Rowan, Eris, Dorian, Maedhros, Helion

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annoyinglandmagazine · 1 year

Text

Maedhros (whispering): Fingon,please. We have to be discreet, no one knows we're courting

Caranthir (walking by): Yes we do

#Literally everyone knows #They are not at all discreet #Maglor and Finrod have both written numerous songs about them #Feanor and Fingolfin are the only ones who don’t know #There’s a betting pool for when they’ll figure out everyone knows #Aredhel runs it #silmarillion #incorrect quotes #russingon #maedhros x fingon #maedhros #fingon #caranthir

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lyrainbeleriand · 2 years

Video

youtube

The Silmarillion | Fan-Made Animation of Noldor History | Blood Red Demon Under the Stone

I am posting this beautiful masterpiece on behalf of my friend 施九畹 because we chineses can’t access youtube lol.

Here‘s what she wants to say: "Thanks to all my friends for their hard work through many days and nights in order to accomplish this. We create this out of the shared love for J.R.R.Tolkien and his work the Silmarillion, using this famous track from the Japanese band Sound Horizon. It took us two months to finish this animation, quoting a lot of lines from the Silmarillion itself, but also mixed it with other story versions from the History of Middle Earth, (for example, the death of Amras) with some understanding of the characters of our own. We hope you will enjoy this video. To the Star of Earendil above, all glory goes to the kings of Noldor Elves and J.R.R.Tolkien!"

When watching this please remember to turn on the subtitles for a better understanding of the lyrics!

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i-did-not-mean-to · 1 year

Text

Cursed Cards - Part 3

So, here is the last part of this...

It was an honour and a pleasure to collaborate with @sauroff on this silly slice of pure happiness.

Thank you for all those who were with me on this ride.

-> Part 1 -> Part 2

Fingon's POV ⬇️

Maedhros' POV ⬇️

Cursed Cards - Part 3

Words: 3,2 k

Warnings: Russingon (still half-cousin incest in canon)

Context: Continuation and final instalment of this!

As promised, Maglor organised a merry get-together soon after. His allegiance to his oldest brother, as it turned out, was only too easily undermined by the chance to kill two birds with one stone.

Hence why he sat, smug and trembling with anticipation, on Fingolfin’s very own armchair and waited for the avalanche of haphazard greetings to ebb off. He was particularly proud to have gotten his whole family – minus his indisposed father – to visit Fingon’s in a post-Christmas massacre of warmed-up leftovers and piping hot gossip.

“Oh, mum,” Fingon squeaked upon seeing the picture he had entrusted to his mother in confidence prominently displayed on the dining room table. “Russo won’t like it.”

He was right; Maedhros blanched at the sight and backed away into Caranthir to bar his way and – if possible – his line of sight on the offending cliché.

“But…” Anairë started, seeking Nerdanel’s gaze and then whirling around to stare at Maglor who – in turn – only grinned and shrugged lightly.

Ever the showman, the second-born son of the suspicious mother of seven who was now also narrowing her eyes at him had evidently not been able to resist a dramatic reveal of the photograph he had secured through charm and graceful nagging.

“It’s so nice that you and the children could come,” Anairë chirped; she didn’t comment on Fëanor’s absence though and waved Nerdanel into her living room enthusiastically.

“It was ever so good of you to invite us,” Nerdanel replied in the same cheerful tone. “Few people are willing nowadays to put up with all seven of my bra…erm, sons.” She winked.

“You’re family after all,” the other woman said good-humouredly and handed Nerdanel an elegant glass filled with a bubbly, sweet-smelling cocktail. “My husband’s latest concoction,” she explained with a fond smile thrown at the man standing in a corner as if he was surrounded by rabid dogs.

“What is he up to?” Nerdanel muttered under her breath as her eyes were inexorably drawn back to Maglor; she knew her children well and could always tell when one of them was about to cause a ruckus. “That smile never bodes well.”

“Oh Nelyo, brother mine,” Maglor called in a singsong voice across the room when he realised that he had to act quickly before his mother could somehow foil his great master plan. “Come over here; I have a gift for you, my dearest sibling.”

Maedhros flinched violently; being dubbed Maglor’s favourite brother always meant that one was his next victim. A quick glance at the others only confirmed this: Moryo was backing away slowly while Tyelko drew nearer with a bloodthirsty smile.

“You’re done,” one of the twins hooted and then both went to perch on the armrests of Maglor’s throne to be certain they’d have front-row seats to whatever bloodbath was about to take place.

“What is going on?” Turgon – still hovering by the door as if ready to take off at the drop of a hat – asked warily. “’Rissë?”

“Hey! I’ve got nothing to do with this, I think, do I?” She turned to her mother who merely gave her an encouraging, indulgent smile.

Anairë would not have said so out loud, but she did enjoy the tremulous anticipation in the room.

“Ah, you do me wrong and wound me deeply,” Maglor exclaimed and put the back of his hand to his brow in a gesture of mental torment. “It is a token of my love and respect that I am about to hand over to my esteemed older brother.”

As the last notes of his dramatic speech echoed in the sudden silence, he whipped out a little piece of paper and extended it to Maedhros who was advancing cautiously towards that outstretched hand.

If Maglor had expected amusement or even mockery from him, he was sorely disappointed though for Maedhros’ eyes grew round and glassy with some deep, unspoken emotion.

“What is it?” Fingon stepped up behind him; unlike his boyfriend, he immediately broke into merry chuckles. “Oh yes, I remember that one. Don’t be fooled by the picture, Argon is a biter and my sister is actually having the time of her life.”

Maedhros’ eyes flitted over to Aredhel who had schooled her face into a mien of perfectly innocent maidenhood.

“Finno, my love,” he then whispered, “why did you not try to restrain your siblings? I dare say Turgon was not enjoying himself!”

Fingon’s face scrunched up in concentration as he tried to cast his mind back to the exact moment that picture had been taken; he remembered his mother’s sundress and the smell of the forest as if it had been yesterday, but other details were slower in returning to him.

“I must have seen something,” he muttered, gazing into his own eyes – huge in a face he barely recognised as his – as if to find the truth in their shining febrility.

“It was that boy,” Turgon grunted acidly from his vantage point. “Tallish kid, kept mostly to himself…We all saw you stealing glances at him whenever you got the chance. You are not discreet, Fin.”

A pensive, shrewd light came into his eyes as his own sharp mind raced back through time.

“Wait a minute,” he whispered and stepped closer to the group huddled around a smirking Maglor and looked from Fingon to Maedhros meditatively.

“I don’t remember,” Argon said quickly; he didn’t like the way his two older brothers were staring at each other intensely. Whatever mischief they had buried in the past, he wanted no part in it.

“’Rissë had taken away Argon’s bow and they were fighting,” Fingon started to reconstruct the scene in the picture. “I can hear their laughter and the threatening clacking of their teeth in my mind.”

His mind was piecing together the fragments of memory diluted and washed away in the ocean of time and his brow creased in concentration; this had been an important summer for him, he knew, but the specifics escaped his fumbling brain stubbornly.

“I was elbowed by that creature pretending to be our sister,” Turgon supplied readily, tapping his finger at his own pained face in the photo. “And you were staring at that other kid. I remember thinking that he was a most unfortunate-looking creature on account of his complexion. He was also…”

“Covered in kids,” Fingon finished his sentence in a hiss. “He was a rare sight because he was running after other kids all the time. Did he work there?”

“No,” Maglor cut in with a feline grin. “He was the oldest of 7. His complexion is still deplorable, as is his fashion sense.”

Ever since getting the picture, he had talked to both his own mother and Anairë in search of the reason for Fingon’s obvious distractedness. Moreover, he had stared at it in private as well, trying to remember these children.

The crux of the matter had finally come to him in a dream; he had at least seen Fingon before, usually standing at the edge of his field of vision whenever Maedhros had come to hound him about one thing or the other.

“What?” Fingon exclaimed in alarm and amazement.

“Tall, skinny dude, copper-haired, milk-skinned, always dragging around at least one feral youngster, ring any bells?” Maglor enumerated complacently, ticking off his arguments on his fingers. “The red shirts, the haunted look in his eyes, the overabundance of clinking jewellery he didn’t take care of half as well as he should have? No? Nothing?”

Fingon turned his face up to Maedhros, his eyes huge and wet. “You…YOU? My first real crush? My first heartbreak?”

As his eyes closed in slow-motion, everything rushed back like a deluge of colour and sound.

“Of course,” he croaked. “I had never seen anyone half as beautiful; you were the very picture of poise and consummate grace.”

Maedhros guffawed, thus breaking the spell of Fingon’s tender recollections.

“I remember this day as well,” he admitted. “I was everything but graceful.” He shot a withering stare at his youngest brothers and – touching his fingertips to Fingon’s hip as if to make sure he was really there – he gave a deep, heartfelt sigh of embarrassment.

“Go on, dear,” Anairë prompted; after all the sleuthing she had done with Maglor, she couldn’t deny that she was curious as to how that scene she and her husband had laughed about privately many a time over the years had looked like from the other side. “Tell us!”

Shoulders slumping in defeat, Maedhros banned his brothers from Maglor’s armchair and sat down heavily himself.

“It was family day, as we have established,” he then started narrating in a strained voice, “and I had lost the twins. In my defence, I had managed to get all the others somewhat clean and ready, but the twins were nowhere to be found. Your kind nature deceives you, Finno my love, for I was running around like a headless chicken – sweating, dishevelled, and blotchy with stress – in search of that demon spawn, forgive me, mother.”

He shot a pleading, apologetic look at Nerdanel and passed a pale hand over his gorgeous face at the memory of his helpless turmoil.

“My father even reprimanded me later for looking so badly put together,” Maedhros went on, seeking his mother’s eyes for confirmation.

“We’re sorry, Nelyo,” the twins chimed unisono. “We were still young and thought it was funny.”

“You’d still think it funny,” Maglor murmured under his voice but didn’t interrupt his eldest brother in his reminiscence of the chaotic past.

Fingon’s eyes were wide and open as he took in the man he loved and his wicked brothers arrayed around him like guardian angels or hungry wolf pups.

“No wonder you never noticed me,” he joked in what he wanted to be a light tone, but a sliver of pain still stabbed through the airy cloth of his melodious voice.

“Oh,” Maedhros groaned, “I did.”

“You did?” Fingon almost yelled, elbowing Celegorm out of the way – a perfect imitation of his sister’s childhood crime – to kneel by Maedhros’ feet and look up at him, spellbound by the confessions that might well heal his heart.

“Of course I did,” Maedhros laughed, a little strained. “You hung around a lot, you know? Thrice I wanted to go talk to you.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“The first time, as I had brushed my hair and tucked my shirt into my shorts to look less like the gangly ghost I apparently was, Tyelko decided to throw Moryo’s best clothes into the lake.” Maedhros grimaced.

“Oh…” Fingon could not see why that would have kept Maedhros from pursuing his own plans.

“I was wearing said clothes when they took their fatal dip,” Caranthir supplied in a dangerously flat voice.

Nerdanel sucked her teeth disapprovingly at that; she then nodded at her oldest to go on ratting his brothers out.

“You were bullied a tad that summer, I remember…” Maglor interjected in mellow accents of casual empathy.

“Thank you for reminding me, yes,” Maedhros stage-whispered and jabbed his long, narrow index into his brother’s ribs with punitive force. “I was led to believe that my looks were cause for considerable distress amongst my fellow campers; hence why I endeavoured earnestly to present myself in a soigné fashion. Not that I could hold up that state of neatness for any prolonged period of time, thanks to some people in this very room.”

“The next time,” he then returned resolutely to his tale of woe, “this one screamed bloody murder. Turns out, his harp string had snapped, and he was out of new ones. That was all. I raced across the compound in a blind panic to find that ass lamenting one of five instruments he had brought.” Another vicious poke followed which Maglor accepted magnanimously.

“In the end,” the so-blighted musician then added his own dramatic conclusion to his part in this sordid recounting, “I just played on the strings left to me.”

Fingon was enthralled by the developments and revelations unfurling before him; he barely dared to breathe for fear of disrupting the magic.

“After thus being called names by other campers all summer long,” Maedhros picked up his tale again when Maglor had finished his aside, “I understandably took special pains to look as nice as I could in hopes of making a new friend. And then there was a fire in Curvo’s hall.”

“Good dramatic pacing,” Maglor praised under his breath.

“It was,” Maedhros continued in an imitation of old taletellers’ ominous voices, “Curvo’s fire. He had set his own building aflame.”

“Oh no,” Fingon squeaked.

“What?” Nerdanel expostulated.

“Ooops,” Curufin breathed and immediately started mobilising his puppy eyes to disarm his mother’s ire.

“By the time family day rolled around, I had given up on making new friends,” Maedhros finished and bowed his head to his mother. “I commend you, mother, for I spent that summer dirty, unkempt, and constantly miserable on account of those creatures you claim as your progeny.”

Nerdanel gave a little chuckle and stepped forward to cup his flaming cheek lovingly. “You’ve done well, my beautiful boy,” she whispered as she kissed the top of his head, “and both your father and I are so thankful to you.”

Maedhros’ eyes returned to the photograph in his lap and his tense mien relaxed into boundless fondness.

“I shall cherish this,” he sighed, “thank you Káno for getting it.”

“Auntie and I have done our best.” Maglor crooned, basking in his victory.

“Auntie?” several people exclaimed.

“My brother’s mother-in-law,” Maglor smiled suavely, “is almost my auntie, no?”

“A pleasure, I am sure,” Anairë reassured him, ignoring the choked sputter coming from her husband’s fortification in the far corner. If Fingolfin decided to retreat even further, he’d end up stuck behind the armoire, she was quite sure, but there were too many children in the room for her to worry about her spouse on top of everything.

“I am sorry that we didn’t get to be friends that summer,” Maedhros then said softly to Fingon. “I am now sure that we would have gotten along splendidly.”

He got up and pulled his beloved to his feet as well.

“You were so very handsome too,” he breathed into Fingon’s ear, darkened with embarrassment and emotion. “I quite enjoyed your joyful attire and bright smile. I still do. The crocs are a very nice touch, I dare say!”

Fingon groaned and tried to snatch the picture out of Maedhros’ hands; unfortunately, his own attempts at petty thievery had schooled and honed Maedhros’ skills and he turned around in a flash of copper and red.

Burying his face in that broad, strong back he had seen once too often during that accursed summer, Fingon let the shame wash over him. Not only had Turgon – and probably Aredhel – been aware of his crush, but it had also been revealed tonight that he had inadvertently ended up dating the very same boy he had not even dared approach back then.

"Was I very foolish? Following you around like a lost pup?” he mumbled into the thick, fragrant sweater of his one true love.

“Not at all,” Maedhros swore, his eyes drinking in every detail of the photograph still. “You were tantalisingly out of reach.”

He felt a mix of humility and deep tenderness at the sight of that young boy, staring wistfully into the distance; those expressive eyes and the curve of that sensual mouth – quick to smile and delicious to kiss – were as familiar as his own face to him and yet, this photograph seemed an invaluable treasure, a slice of an irretrievable past, which he’d honour and guard forever.

“I should have known,” Fingon groaned.

“I…did not make the connection either,” Maedhros admitted, “until I saw the picture and it all came back to me.”

Louder then, he called Maglor out for staging a whole production and exposing them to ridicule and familial jeering.

“It would have been less funny if we couldn’t witness the moment the extent of your combined idiocy dawns on you,” Maglor replied, unabashed and not in the least contrite.

“We’re the prisoners of these creatures,” Maedhros sighed. “Until my dying day, I shall keep, defend, and amuse them, it seems.”

“You and me both,” Fingon said gently, slinging his strong arms around Maedhros’ waist and giving him a comforting, strengthening squeeze.

“Actually,” Caranthir said after clearing his throat and exchanging a cold, efficient gaze with Turgon, “we have another Christmas gift for you.”

Wary, Maedhros and Fingon spun around, still holding on to each other tightly, to face the catalysts of chaos and mayhem that were their collective siblings.

“As we have ruined Christmas,” Celegorm jumped in.

“And Summer Camp,” Aredhel chirped.

“Family Day,” Argon muttered.

“Several dates,” Curufin added with a perfect imitation of repentant innocence.

“Most of your carefree days, I admit,” Maglor cut in; he was an accomplished, compelling orator and loved to hear himself sway an audience. “We thought we’d make it up to you.”

“Also, nobody really wants to see you two in shorts ever again,” Turgon commented, sharp-tongued but not without affection.

An envelope was handed to Maedhros who opened it with trembling fingers and gasped.

“Having that many siblings has its perks,” Maglor babbled with uncontained enthusiasm. “It means that we could all chip in and buy you a truly nice holiday to a destination far, far away. A week at the beach, without any of us, doesn’t that sound nice?”

Spluttering, Maedhros burst into laughter as he and Fingon were overwhelmed with frantic hugs and sloppy kisses from their siblings.

“Happy Holidays!”

“You deserve it!”

“Ey,” Aredhel smirked, “we do like you two fools, you know that, right?”

“Don’t miss us too much,” Maglor grinned as he bathed in the light of his brother’s boundless joy. “You’ve done much for us, Nelyo, and we are aware of it. Take this with our compliments; dive into your memories in the privacy of a beach cabana or so.”

“Wear those terrible clothes where nobody can connect you to us,” Caranthir hissed, reaping an approving nod from Turgon.

“That’s incredible, thanks gang!” Fingon was the first to thaw out of his shock; he had never resented his siblings for their natures and needs and so, he was deeply touched by their secret collaboration with his in-laws to come up with such a beautiful gift.

Maedhros’ arms were solid and warm around his shoulders, and he could barely wait to feel them skin-on-skin in the blazing sun of a tropical island while they swam in a deep, blue ocean.

It would be wonderful, he was sure.

“Hmmm, what a surprise,” Maedhros whispered into his ear; he was flushed with wonder and happiness and looked so much more like the boy Fingon only dimly remembered. Past, present, and future blended into a kaleidoscope of red and blue, of copper and black, of marble and ebony and Fingon was afraid he’d burst if he tried to contain the sheer beatitude thrumming in his chest.

“We’ll miss them though, won’t we?” he asked under his breath.

“Just a little,” Maedhros replied and kissed his brow in a rare moment of impulsive tenderness that promptly elicited hoots and groans from the brood of their younger, truly childish siblings.

“Son,” Nerdanel interrupted the brouhaha of thanks and jibes, “send us some pictures, yes? For the next Christmas!”

So, that was that! Thank you for indulging me and make sure to show @sauroff your love and appreciation.

Best wishes for the end of 2022 and - of course - for 2023 as well!

Lots of love!

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maglorslostsilmaril · 10 months

Text

5 Times the House of Finwe Fought + 1 Time They Didn’t (pt2)

The rest of the Ñoldor arrive in Beleriand expecting to find Fëanáro on the throne. Findekáno is not prepared to find Makalaurë instead.

read in on ao3 here!

Of course it was Findekáno’s least favorite Fëanorians who stood guarding the entrance to their main encampment. Guarding, though, was a loose term. Tyelkormo and Atarinkë stood virtually unarmed before them; likely they were more so awaiting the arrival of Nolofinwë and his party than doing any true guarding of anything.

“Aiya, Nolofinwë!” Atarinkë greeted, stepping forward to meet Findekáno’s father. He led their small campaign of himself, Findekáno, Findaráto and Laurefindil, the eldest (or second eldest, in Findekáno’s case) of their houses. “The actions of my father were meant to dissuade you from crossing the sea, but I see they have been in vain. What would you have with the House of Fëanáro?”

Laurefindil was nearly trembling with rage between Findaráto and Findekáno, for his other mother, wife of Findis, was Telerin and Vanya, but Nolofinwë remained calm. “I seek the counsel of my half-brother, High King Fëanáro.” He said. “For though there has been great grief between us in the past, have I not still crossed the ice to aid him in his battle against Morgoth?”

For a moment, a strange look somewhere between anger and sadness passed over the faces of both Fëanorians, but it was gone as quickly as it came, and Atarinkë sniffed haughtily. “I will bring you to the high king,” he told them, “but it is not your decision whether or not he will see you, and I’ll have you know that I would prefer he didn’t . Findekáno rolled his eyes and a wave of annoyance surged through him.

I know it’s all bluster, Findaráto whispered in his mind, but that doesn’t make me want to punch him any less. Findekáno silently agreed as they followed the brothers through the large barriers and into the camp. It was truly desolate compared to the splendor of Tirion; the buildings were small and unassuming, and the fellow ellons they saw as they wound through the camp looked rather tired and sad, so much unlike the eager crowds Fëanáro had roused in the Darkening. Eventually, they reached the largest building of the camp, three stories tall and the only building remotely the size of the ones Findekáno used to see in Tirion.

“This is the residence of the sons of Fëanáro,” Tyelkormo announced, swinging open one of the large oaken doors. “Morifinwë, fourth eldest, will take you to the High King.” Carnistir appeared from the shadows of the building and silently beckoned them inside, face stony. He said nothing as he led them through the dark halls of the makeshift fortress until they reached another pair of doors. Carnistir shot them another glare and then slipped inside. Findekáno could hear muffled speaking from inside, and then Carnistir reappeared and beckoned them into what Findekáno assumed to be the throne room.

It was a room maybe the size of Findekáno’s old bedroom, and around ten times less interesting. There was nothing in it except for a small dias at the far end of the room with a wooden throne atop it and a Fëanorian star carved into the wall above it. On the throne sat Makalaurë, with Ambarto and Ambarussa flanking either side of it. Ambarto was covered in what appeared to be burn scars, and Makalaurë looked deeply exhausted. Nolofinwë blinked, and Findekáno could feel the confusion radiating off of his father and cousins as well as himself. Beside him, Findekáno saw Laurefindil nearly hold Findaráto back as the other blonde fought not to rush up to Makalaurë’s side. Findekáno didn’t blame him; Laurefindil would have had to hold him back too, should Russandol be sitting there in front of him. Speaking of Maitimo…

“Where is Fëanáro?” His father asked. “Or Nelyafinwë? Even if the King is unavailable, I should like to at least speak with the Crown Prince.”

“The high king has been gracious enough to receive you,” Carnistir said blankly. “Whether or not you wish to see him is your choice.” Findekáno shared a look with his cousins, dread slowly replacing confusion as he looked back up at Makalaurë’s tired, grief-stricken face. Even if something happened to his uncle, Maitimo should have been on that throne.

“What do you mean?” Nolofinwë frowned. “Are both Fëanáro and-”

“ Fëanáro is dead. ” Makalaurë whispered, standing shakily from the throne. “My father was killed by valaraukar upon our arrival in Valariandë .” Every member of Nolofinwë’s campaign audibly gasped, sans Laurefindil who stared impassively up at Makalaurë. He felt like he’d been punched in the gut; everything he’d done was fueled by anger at his uncle and his love for Nelyafiwe and his friends in Valariandë , and now…Fëanáro, the everlasting figure who’d shaped his life with his actions for centuries was just…gone. Just like that. Findekáno didn’t even know if he felt sad or not. Fëanáro had been kind to him once, but Morgoth had twisted him, and taken all of the good aspects of him away.

“And…Nelyafinwë?” His father questioned, voice choked. Makalaurë looked away and the twins winced. Findekáno couldn’t tell if Carnistir had flinched or not. The dread was growing, along with preemptive fear for the fate of Nelyo, his Nelyo-

“Crown Prince Nelyafinwë was captured in a parley with Morgoth.” Makalaurë said tightly. “Though his true livelihood is unknown, it is…kinder to assume that he had been killed and resides with our father in the halls. As of right now, I am the high king of the Ñoldor.” Findekáno felt like he had the time Irisse had pulled a rug from underneath his feet; surprised and scared of the impact to come. That and sudden, all-consuming grief mixed with a healthy dose of anger. Anger at Morgoth for taking him, at Nelyafinwë for parley-ing with Morgoth, and at Makalaurë for leaving his brother in the hands of Morgoth!

“ Iluvatar,” Nolofinwë ran a shaking hand down the back of his head and Makalaurë stepped down from the dias to meet them, the twins just behind. “No attempt has been made to return the Crown Prince.” His jaw dropped. They just left him there! Just like that!

Makalaurë shook his head, an unidentifiable emotion on his face. “Not one member of Nelyafinwë’s party returned from Angband. It is too dangerous to go after him, and yet we are powerless to meet his demands for Nelyafinwë’s release. The way across the sea is closed to us. Our hands are tied; we can do nothing but hope Iluvatar will take pity on his fëa.” At Makalaurë’s words, Findekáno’s anger surged forward, overtaking even his overwhelming grief.

“What do you mean you haven’t gone after him!? ” He cried, pushing past his father to face Makalaurë head on. His cousin blanched, and Findekáno vaguely registered his father’s apologies over the roaring in his ears and the stinging tears in his eyes.

“You don’t understand, Findekáno, we don’t have the forces-”

“So Nelyo is only worth the forces it would take to save him?” he protested, jabbing Makalaurë in the chest. His cousins flinched. “He’s the crown prince of the Ñoldor, he’s your brother, he’s my-”

“It’s too dangerous, ” Makalaurë spat, turning back up the dias. “And Nelyo- and Nelyafinwë would agree with me, were he here.” In the corner of Findekáno’s eye his father nodded, and Findaráto stepped up to lay a hand on his shoulder.

“Kanafinwë is right,” his father said, stepping past Findekáno once more after Findaráto gently tugged his eldest back. “Forgive me, Kanafinwë , but this camp is clearly not in a position to withstand another loss, not one that could be prevented. You know that Nelyafinwë would agree, Findekáno; he would want us to grow stronger in the wake of his loss, not lose everything trying to make up for one ellon, no…no matter how much it hurts to leave him.”

“ No! ” he yelled, wrenching himself out of his cousin’s grasp. How could his father say such a thing? He had no doubts the lengths his father would go to had it been Anaire or himself or his siblings in the same situations. “No, you can’t pretend that this is over just like that! What is wrong with you, his family? How could you leave him behind like this?”

“I told you!” Makalaurë hissed, whirling around to face them once more. His brothers shifted uncomfortably, and Findekáno could feel Carnistir’s glare on his back as he trembled with anger. It was running through him like fire no matter what his father and cousin tried to smother it. “Nelyafinwë’s loss is a tragedy, but it is not one we can afford to dwell on, no matter-”

“ Can’t afford to dwell on? ” Findaráto asked. He laid another placating hand on Findekáno’s shoulder, dutifully ignoring how his seething cousin shrugged it off and placing it right back on his shoulder. “Laurë, please, he’s just grieving , and I know you are too. You don’t have to pretend it’s all in the past. Please, Laurë this isn’t a performance, you don’t have to act like you’ve moved on. ” Makalaurë looked pained as he gazed down at his (former?) lover.

“Please, let us focus on the matter at hand, Ingo. Nolofinwë, I assume you had concerns and queries before you knew of our, ah, losses, so maybe we can move on to that?” he deflected. “I assure you, this is for the good of our people-”

“Will you stop talking about moving on? ” Findekáno cried, smacking Findaráto’s hand away again. Anger was roaring through him, hot and burning; he couldn’t extinguish it if he tried. His lover, his Russ, in Angband, and no one was doing anything.

“Findekáno, please.” Nolofinwë warned. “I promise no one has forgotten about Nelyafinwë, but I think Kanafinwë is right, we have thousands of our scared, hungry and confused people a day's ride away and right here in this settlement. Don’t you think Nelyafinwë would want us to put their needs above the needs of one person?”

“Maitimo would help that one person and everyone else! My Russ would never leave anyone behind, he wouldn’t leave any of you behind!” Findekáno exclaimed, stalking up to where Makalaurë stood on the dias. The twins and Carnistir scooted closer as if to protect their older brother, but Makalaurë’s face hardened. “You’re all cowards, all of you, for leaving him behind! Cowards! What makes you think-”

“ Will you shut up!?” Makalaurë shouted, Song ringing through his cry. Findekáno toppled off the dias onto the floor at his father’s feet. He opened and closed his mouth, but not a sound would come out. “Findekáno, he told us not to come for him! He knew Morgoth might kill them, he wasn’t stupid. He knew he might not come back, and he knew that we’d lose even more trying, and so he told us to leave him behind should anything happen. He also told us to keep it a secret so that hate for Morgoth would only grow rather than make people think he led people into a parley for the silmarils knowing they could very well all die.”

“ No ,” Findekáno breathed. His voice was slowly returning as he scrambled up from the floor.

“ Yes!” his cousin exclaimed. “Do you think that I don’t miss my brother? That I don’t feel guilt over leaving him every second of every day, despite doing so on his direct orders, that I don’t care about everyone in this encampment saying the exact same things as you? I miss him every day, Finno, just as much as you! I know, you think it should be me instead, but you can’t change the fact that he’s gone, and I will not disregard the last orders of my brother just because you don’t think I care he’s gone!”

Makalaurë stood on the dias, chest heaving. Nobody spoke as the High King sank to his knees and dissolved into loud, wailing sobs. Findekáno didn’t know what he would say. It was so easy to be angry at Makalaurë, because at least his words would have some sort of effect; he could do nothing against the one who truly took his love, but now he found he couldn’t be angry at his cousin either. The twins rushed over and gently sat their brother back on the throne. Carnistir coughed from the side of the room, shooting Findekáno’s father a glance.

“I…ah…believe that this meeting is over.” Nolofinwë grimaced, pulling him away from the dias. “We can reconvene tomorrow if you please, my king.” Makalaurë sniffed and waved them away, and Findekáno despondently followed his father and cousin from the throne room. His voice had returned from Makalaurë’s command, but now that his anger had gone his grief was so heavy that it took his words from him all over again.

The only reason he’d come to Valariandë was to stay with Nelyafinwë. Thirty years across the ice full of pain, grief and despair later, he’d arrived in Valariandë only to find yet another loved one dead, and this time it was the one Findekáno cared about more than anything.

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