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englishlotusflower · 1 year

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Who Looks Like Who(for Plot and also Angst purposes in some cases, but mostly based off vibes)

Fëanor has Míriel's expressions, her short slight frame, and her elegant nimble hands, but his colouring, his charisma, everything else comes from Finwë

Maedhros looks like Nerdanel, but with a bit of Finwë in him. You can tell from a glance that he's Nerdanel's son, equally so that he's Finwë's grandson. It's much hard to tell that he's Fëanor's son (unless he's in a temper). He has Nerdanel's level head and pragmatism combined with the Finwëan charisma, intensity and general OP-ness, all of which he inherited in spades. It's very dangerous - to others.

Maglor has Nerdanel's nose and eyes, and her vibes of quiet serenity until the breaking point and then quiet pointed fury, but also he looks like Fëanor otherwise. Especially wrt his charisma.

Celegorm looks like Míriel. He has Nerdanel's more solid frame, but otherwise could pass for Míriel's twin. Everyone who knew Míriel is always commenting on how he has her hair, her eyes, her rebelliousness, her restlesness, her temper etc. Part of the reason he spends so much time in the woods is because no one there compares him to a woman who died before he was born.

Caranthir looks like Nerdanel with dark hair, and he has her pragmatism. He does have his father's temper, but he also has A Lot of Indis' mannerisms that he has no idea where they came from Atar. (Indis is a genius with maths, economics, trade - Caranthir learnt everything from her. She isn't proud of much that anyone does in Beleriand, but she is very proud of Caranthir's trade empire.)

Curufin looks exactly like Fëanor, except when he's deep in Crafting Mode - then he looks weirdly like Nerdanel. He has Nerdanel's clear head and her insight, and Fëanor's short temper. He's cruel when he's angry, unlike his dad who rampages indiscriminately, but very much like his mum who always knows how to make it hurt.

Ambarussa are identical, with Nerdanel's colouring and frame, but Fëanor's face. Lightly toasted (or crispy or whatever) has more Fëanor vibes and raw has more Nerdanel vibes. Can't explain it, its just Like That. And also the vibes of Fëanor accidentally toasting the twin more like himself. Delicious

Findis has her mother's golden hair, her father's eyes, and an uncanny likeness to Míriel in her mannerisms that can only come from copying Fëanor. (Does this piss Fëanor off? Absolutely. Will she ever stop? Absolutely not.)

Fingolfin has his mother's eyes and her height, but just like Fëanor his colouring, his charisma, everything comes from Finwë.

Fingon did not inherit his father's height and he will never not be sore about it. He looks more like Anairë than anyone else, but his eyes are indubitably Fingolfin's. His habit of braiding ribbons in his hair comes from Findis - she tends to use bright colours but he prefers only gold.

Turgon DID inherit Fingolfin's height, and just like Fingolfin he will never let his elder brother forget it. HE looks a lot like Indis, if she had Noldorin colouring, and everyone says his more...settled temperament comes from her. It doesn't - Indis is calm and controlled, Turgon has his mother's resting bitch face and icy temper. Everyone just thinks he doesn't because his temper is quiet rather than explosive.

Aredhel also inherited Fingolfin's height. She looks like Anairë if Anairë had the Finwëan dramatic tendencies and charisma. Her idols are Cousin Celegorm and Aunt Lalwen (in that order) and it shows.

Argon is taller than Aredhel. By like...a hair. When he discovers that, it becomes his entire personality for a good week. He is the only one who looks mostly like Fingolfin, but he has Anairë's quiet, deadly iciness rather than the Finwëan over the topness.

Finarfin has his mother's colouring and her calm facade, but in all else he is Finwë writ blond. He also hides a temper under the calm facade, but because he controls it better everyone assumes his dad's temper passed him by.

Finrod has the Telerin chill/friendly factor mixed with the Noldorin dramatic intensity, which leaves him aggressively and pointedly friendly. He looks like his mum if Eärwen were blonde and constantly wore as much jewellery as Fëanor made in a particularly inspired month.

Orodreth got Indis' calm facade, and the Finwëan drama gene skipped him for which he is eternally thankful. He has Eärwen's colouring, and Finwë's bone structure, but everything is softer with Orodreth. He's just very shy and quiet and adorable.

Angrod looks very much like his dad, if his dad had blue eyes. He also got Indis' calm facade, but the difference between him and Orodreth is that for Angrod it is just a facade. He's got stubborness in spades from Finwë, and a backbone of mithril from his mum. She also gave him a healthy dose of common sense. Oh and he got a bunch of mannerisms off Findis that really annoy his uncle Fëanor.

Aegnor...well. People make jokes that he's Fëanor but blond. He's got the charisma, the intensity, the impulsiveness, the propensity for bad life choices, the list goes on. Thankfully, he also has Angrod to keep him from anything too awful.

Galadriel has Indis' height, her strength, her colouring and beauty, and a temper that wouldn't look out of place on Fëanor himself. She also has her mother's competency (which comes from the same place as Lúthien's ability to take down the two biggest bads without breaking a sweat). It's a rather dangerous combination.

Lalwen is...herself. She's got her mother's height, her father's charisma and his colouring, but mostly she's just Lalwen. Bold and laughing and utterly done with her family's drama.

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tengwar · 1 year

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Anairë and her youngest son in better times

#.art #the silmarillion #silmarillion #silm art #anairë #anaire #argon #arakano #nolofinweans

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morgancrystal · 2 months

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anairë 11x14 stonehenge graphite and charcoal

#anairë #silmarillion #silmarilion fanart #the women of the house of finwe here i goooooooo

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ayaosguqin · 1 year

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“Family”

And they were content

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cilil · 2 months

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Femslash February

⬡ Prompt: Diamond & candles (sweet bingo) | Nerdanel x Anairë ⬡ Synopsis: A tender moment inside Nerdanel's workshop ⬡ Warnings: Nudity, touching ⬡ Drabble

AN: For @i-did-not-mean-to💚

The inside of the workshop was dimly lit, illuminated only by candles.

A soft, warm glow engulfed Anairë's unclothed hröa like holy fire, and Nerdanel traced her form with her fingertips as if she wanted to commit every inch to memory forever.

"Never will I understand," she whispered, "what others see in jewels and trinkets while you are fairer than gold and more beautiful than diamonds."

"Neither will I," Anairë breathed. "Were you my wife and waiting for me at home, I would never leave; but alas, it was not to be, and thus I shall seek you here instead."

Thanks for reading! ♡

#nerdanel #anaire #anairë #nerdanel x anaire #wlw #drabble #silm fanfic #silmarillion fanfiction #silmarillion #cílil writes #my writing #femslash february

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a-happy-artist · 3 months

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Reunion between Anairë & Aredhel in Valinor

#anairë #anaire #aredhel #aredhel ar feiniel #tolkien fanart #fanart #silmarillion fanart #silmarillion #silm art #tolkien #nolofinwëans #nolofinweans #irisse #irissë #art

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arystarxo · 5 months

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Anairë

The wife of Fingolfin

#anairë #nolofinwëans #fingolfin’s wife #noldor #silm art #silmarillion #ai artwork #tolkien #elves #lotr

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i-did-not-mean-to · 5 months

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Thanksgiving

Thank you, anon, for this prompt. I would never have thought of that one myself.

To all my friends who celebrate: Happy Thanksgiving. I certainly am very grateful for y'all!

Characters: Fingolfin and a slew of others...(and Finrod)

Words: 1 850

Warnings: resentment, regrets, reproaches, a lukewarm bird, and a lot of love (it's not that serious, don't get mad!)

Fingolfin stared at the ominously glistening carving knife in open dismay.

“You can’t tear the bird apart with your bare hands,” Anairë cautioned under her breath. “Please, do not make a scene about blades. Not today. Not with all of them here.”

He nodded ponderously and turned to the assembly, entirely made up of his blessedly numerous descendants.

“Good evening, I welcome you warmly at this unprecedented feast of profound gratitude for the invaluable blessings we have received. Let's rejoice rather than elegize morosely. Anyway, my name is…”

“Eru bless, he’s forgotten his own name,” Aredhel stage-whispered, which earned her a punitive glare from Turgon and a hard jab in the ribs from Fingon.

“Ñolofinwë,” Fingolfin finished his sentence slowly. “Fingolfin? Golfin?”

He sighed deeply. “Call me whatever you want—some of you I have had the honour of meeting, and others I am looking forward to getting to know.”

“The food is getting cold!” Argon complained—he had died young and had not sired any children, so his stomach’s yearnings were of more importance to him than the painfully awkward introductions at their first annual family reunion.

He was not even sure that one could call this a “reunion” when they had never been gathered in this constellation before.

“I agree,” Aredhel piped up, much to the chagrin of her surly, overly quiet son who just gave her a pleading look. Maeglin suffered still under the repercussions of his betrayal, and he felt supremely uncomfortable, sitting motionlessly at the same table as his uncle and cousin.

“’Rissë,” Anairë intervened sharply. “I, for one, am delighted and grateful to see so many generations congregated here.”

“Turno is the best,” Fingon jeered, but his voice was warm and infused with benevolent humour. “He has single-handedly secured a legacy for our family. You’ve won that one, I think--isn't that another thing to be thankful for?”

“You forget my wife,” Elrond reminded him suavely but fell silent instantly as the memory of his brother and daughter welled up like acid in his weary heart. “She begs you to forgive her absence, but her mother…”

“Is absolutely right to wish for her only daughter to be by her side,” Anairë mediated once more with impeccable grace. “As the mother of a wayward daughter myself, I understand that only too well.” “As far as I can see, I sit here with my son as well. Why don’t you hound Fingon, your golden child, or Argon, your precious baby, about their abject failure to produce valiant heirs to join our merry round of traitors and murderers?”

“’Rissë!” Fingolfin thundered with much less parental indulgence than his wife had shown. “Can we please just share a meal and exchange some pleasant stories? I would very much like to hear about the lives of my descendants.”

“You could have been there,” Fingon muttered, “but you had to go and get yourself killed.”

“Says the one who went to the exact same place to save his ginger menace of a…friend?” Turgon commented dryly.

“He could well have been there; he would not have found you anywhere though, would he?” Fingon shot back, fire flaring in his eyes.

“And that’s why I didn’t want any weapons,” Fingolfin sighed, clutching the carving knife to his chest and casting dark looks at his progeny.

“Children,” Anairë cried. “Children! What shall the young ones think of us if we squabble and argue like fishmongers?”

“I’m used to it,” Elenwë declared calmly.

“So am I,” Idril laughed. “Sorry, I have known my very own father for too long not to be used to his sharp tongue,” she added when the others stared at her in shock.

“Grandfather has ever been kind,” Eärendil—who had been dispensed of his duties for the evening—remarked generously, patting his son’s hand. “Worry not, dear, it’s normal.”

Elrond merely shrugged. “I have spent large parts of my life with Lady Galadriel, Gil-Galad, and Celebrimbor, besides the Dwarves, the Hobbits, the meddling wizards, and the many Men who have come and gone. Thus far, I’ve heard nothing that could even scratch the surface of my equanimity!”

Fingolfin rubbed a weary hand over his eyes—when Anairë had announced, an unimaginably long time ago, that she was carrying Fingon, he could never have imagined what profound joy and heartbreaking misery was to follow.

Looking over now at the beautiful, sensible creature he had desperately loved and despicably deserted, he felt his throat tighten with overwhelming emotion.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Anairë laughed. “I can safely claim that this wilful, wicked streak is entirely passed down from your side.”

“Mother has disavowed us, and there is no food,” Argon exclaimed dramatically.

“How do you know?” Maeglin asked in a cautious tone; he was ever eager to see others shift blame because it made him feel less wretched about his own shortcomings.

“I’ve spent a long time in close conference with both Nerdanel and Eärwen,” Anairë explained as she plucked the lethal knife from her husband’s hand and started cutting the festive offering of meat and fruit into thick slices. “We have come to the conclusion that the alarmingly wild and reckless streak in all of our beloved children must surely come from the same source.”

“Again, my mother-in-law and wife are nothing if not measured and wise in their words, actions, and decisions,” Elrond opined calmly.

“So you say,” Aredhel mocked. “I could tell you stories about your cherished mother-in-law that would make your blood curdle.”

“Ha!” Fingolfin cried. “Surely, ‘Rissë’s savagery cannot be laid at my poor father’s feet!” He sought his wife’s sparkling gaze once more.

With a chortle, Anairë strode over and pressed a tender kiss onto his high, chiselled cheek. “They are very much yours,” she hummed. “Taking off in a huff on a petulant, vexed whim, riding into lethal danger with a song and a prayer and doing exactly what they were told not to do seem to be constants in your family. Did not two of three of your father’s sons die in ludicrously brazen and irrational feats of unparalleled heroism?”

Fingolfin grimaced. Anairë, smiling still, meanwhile made the platters of steaming food go around the table—much to the delight of Argon and Aredhel—so their spell-bound guests could at least feast while witnessing the epic showdown between long-estranged spouses.

“Resentful words from you, wife,” Fingolfin muttered dejectedly.

“Oh, but love,” Anairë chuckled soothingly. “They are also faithful, hopeful, and laughably stubborn thanks to your blood. I shall grant you this: I have doubted your sanity but never your love. So, I always knew that this alone would be enough to make sure that you’d be returned to me in time. Nothing can detain your line where it no longer wants to abide, and nobody will ever be able to keep you from pursuing what you earnestly desire.”

“They have your patience,” Fingolfin replied, mollified and touched by her understated confession of enduring love and imperishable admiration. “No doubt, the ability to remain—hidden and watchful—despite their yearnings and duties comes from you. Though I am less rash than my half-brother, I admit that I have never managed to emulate your graceful talent of lying in wait, ready to pounce at the first good opportunity.”

As one, they turned back to gaze lovingly upon the faces of those who had sprung from the source of their long-forgotten, innocent hopefulness.

Discreet munching was halted as the heavy, noble regard of their patriarch fell upon each one, and more than one positively squirmed under the benevolent scrutiny of one so old and allegedly wise.

“I’ve died too early,” Argon then said flippantly. “Maybe Turno wants to tell us about his hidden city?”

“I do not,” Turgon barked around a scalding hot potato—a staple in every household since the arrival of the Hobbits—and glared at his youngest brother. “I built a city, people came, people left, people died. Then Gondolin and my humble self fell. Let’s skip that part.”

Catching Aredhel’s grateful look, he nodded imperceptibly and even tried to smile at Maeglin; what was meant as a gesture of goodwill and forgiveness was marred by the potato grotesquely distending his cheek still, though, and—as was his wont—Turgon simply shrugged it off.

“How about you, my darling?” Elenwë said, addressing Idril. “How have you fared?”

With a small sigh of fatigue—for she had told the story many times before—Idril launched into a tastefully abbreviated recounting of her life after the fall of Gondolin.

When her narration came to an end, Eärendil, eager to speak to others again, took the tale up where his mother had left off.

Soon, all eyes turned on Elrond who had lived a long time and had been a key player in a conflict all of them had missed on account of being detained in Mandos or mending in the gardens of Lórien at that time.

“Well…” Elrond mumbled, unsure where to start and how to explain the circumstances of his youth without reopening old wounds and reawakening grievances and family feuds. “After—”

He fell silent. His father sat right beside him, and he did not seek to make him or his mother feel strange or guilty about the unfortunate incident with the Silmaril at the Havens of Sirion.

Was it even recommendable to bring up the unfortunate stone? How about the ring of Sauron? Did they call him Sauron, or would they know him under another of his many aliases?

He groaned quietly.

“Káno and Russo took you, yes?” Fingon said encouragingly, his eyes feverishly bright, and his lips pale with tension as if he was forcefully holding back a flood of questions.

Elrond exhaled audibly and steepled his fingers against his chin in a bid for more time to find an appropriate answer that would not kick off another slew of recriminations and fighting words.

“AH! We have arrived just in time to listen to our dear cousins being disparaged!” A bright, chiming voice resounded from the doorway, and Finrod strolled in, accompanied by his sister and his niece. “I have taken the liberty of escorting darling Artanis,” he explained.

“You’ve come for the gossip,” Turgon commented dryly, but his eyes lit up at the sight of his old, much-beloved friend. “Have a seat; you are indeed right, and we are about to hear about the parental talents of our Fëanorian kin.”

“Does that make me the worst of all?” Elrond asked dolefully. “Am I the compounded result of all the noxious strains of which Lady Anairë has just spoken?”

“Of course not, my dear,” Galadriel declared decisively. “Whatever good was in any of us, I am certain that you young ones must have harnessed it.”

Her warm, proud gaze shifted to her daughter who merely rolled her eyes at her and went to kiss her husband tenderly.

“Go ahead,” she whispered under her breath. “Tell them about the many people you’ve known and loved. Who knows? You might plant the seeds of forgiveness and renewal on this very night.”

Thank you so much for reading <3

-> Masterlist for November (by @cilil)

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shiroandblack · 1 year

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I actually really wonder how Fingolfin and Anairë got together. Because we get details about Fëanor and Nerdanel, and to me it's a little easier to imagine how Finarfin and Eärwen met.

But Fingolfin and Anairë was just a blind spot for me and I didn't really come up with anything until now.

So basically my headcanon now is that they were competitive debate rivals.

It all starts one day during the finals of a debating competition (because looking at the Noldor, debating seems like something they would enjoy. Also, picking on people's arguments and tearing it down like their hopes and dreams is a craft in itself). I think Fingolfin would prefer being the Opposition, because while his actions are motivated by his own ambition a lot of his actions are also reactions to Fëanor's actions. Opposition of course, have their own arguments to bring it but they also rebuke the Government's arguments (the Government being the team who is arguing for whatever motion is presented).

So Fingolfin feels like he's doing great, he's the first speaker of the Opposition (whereas Anairë is the second speaker of the Government) and he is absolutely ready to tear apart her partner's arguments. So he does what he's good at, destroying people's opinions of something into itty bitty pieces and razing his opponent's confidence until it is just ashes (like Fëanor's corpse when he died).

That is until it's Anairë's turn to speak. And Anairë basically drags his argument through the mud. She destroys the philosophy behind his argument, completely dismissing his stance, and moreover she proves to the jury that Fingolfin's burden of proof is basically 0.

And Fingolfin is just seething. But because he's the king of restraint, he sits there with an amicable expression and hopes that one of Fëanor's inventions will malfunction and blow up in Anairë's face somehow.

He embarrassingly, gets second place.

And it is a fucking embarrassment because Fëanor airs out his loss during the family dinner that week and Fingolfin becomes ever determined to crush Anairë so badly she can never rise from the ashes of her defeat.

So Fingolfin is practicing so hard, he's going through different kinds of motions, different ways to frame his argument better, and ways to ensure his arguments are without any exploitable loopholes.

Enter Fëanor, who is like "I am going to help you because you embarrassed us as a family, the House of Finwë does not ever get second place". Basically, he's trying to help his brother because Nerdanel put him up to it (but she didn't even need to push hard at all) and because he also genuinely believes that whatever mongrel Indis is, his father is the superior creature and Fingolfin being Finwë's son means that he is an extension of that superior creature and must act accordingly.

So Fingolfin and Fëanor plot and practice. Fingolfin actually has a really good time, and Fëanor does too but he'd rather die than admit it.

So the day comes, and Fingolfin's feeling confident.

Only to lose once again.

This time it's Fëanor who's fucking livid, and he tells Fingolfin that during the next competition he will be Fingolfin's partner because obviously Fingolfin's teammate is shit if despite everything Fingolfin couldn't beat Anairë.

So again, the two boys practice. While their practicing, Fëanor decides to do a little background check on Anairë via his friends at Mahtan because she shouldn't be that good. She must be doing some kind of sorcery.

But nope. Anairë comes from a pretty well-off family, she's not common born like Nerdanel but she's also not high nobility. She's somewhere in the middle, with her family being of high enough social status to have access to private galas and balls but not high enough to meet Finwë on the regular. Oh, and her father made a fortune from breeding sheep. In fact, Míriel used to source the raw materials for her yarn from Anairë's family and that Anairë has a pet rabbit called Ball-Snow.

Fingolfin doesn't want to know how Fëanor found out about all that. It's pretty creepy honestly, but he does say yes to finding out how Anairë builds up her cases. And during this time, he starts noticing details about Anairë. Like how her dark hair shines silver under Telperion and how she has dimples when she smiles.

One day the two brothers basically stalk Anairë at the library, and act like fantastic creeps in general. These two are not subtle at all, so Anairë catches them quite early on. Turns out she's with a friend, who is to be her partner for the next competition. Eärwen of Alqualondë. Naturally, Fingolfin and Fëanor can't continue to be creeps around a princess because that would be a diplomatic crisis.

So their stalking amounts to nothing.

Come the debate competition. Fingolfin and Fëanor actually win. Fëanor is pleased, so whatever truce between the two is now broken.

Fingolfin is high on victory when he overhears Anairë talking to Eärwen, and she basically says that she lost on purpose because she could see how it was driving Fingolfin crazy to keep losing and she felt bad. So it was basically condescending pity.

Fingolfin bursts into the conversation. Eärwen, sensing this is gonna be a shitty argument sees Finarfin and is like "Let's climb over a wall" and Finarfin, because his longtime crush is talking to him is like "Sure!".

They argue. For a very long time. Fingolfin says shit like "I don't need your pity" and how he could take Anairë any day, any time. Anairë is like "yeah, you do" because Fingolfin has basically not been sleeping or functioning like a normal elf because he's just so obsessed with beating Anairë.

The argument continues and Fingolfin basically outs himself. He's like "I can't focus because of your stupid smile while I'm presenting my argument" or some cheesy shit like that and Anairë's like "great, because I can't focus whenever I look at your shitty face. I feel like I'm gonna falter"

So the two are left with a dilemma. Hmm.

Naturally, Fingolfin tries to talk to his dad about his crush on his rival and Finwë is just like "I don't know, I just knew that we were meant to be". And Fingolfin is kinda like, what kind of ass-tastic bullshit is that?

So he goes to talk to Fëanor, the only other guy he knows that is married. And Fëanor proves to be equally unhelpful because "Nerdanel was the one who started making moves and I liked it".

So Fingolfin starts sending Anairë gifts out of spite. It's her begetting day? She gets a full collection of Master Rúmil's dissertation on the inherent prey vs predator nature of every living creature. She won another round of debate? She gets a nice bracelet.

Eventually, Anairë sits the dumb guy down and asks if he's seriously considering courting her and lists all the reasons why courting her is the best option possible for someone like him. She basically presents it like it's her thesis defence.

Some years later, there's a wedding and Fëanor is unhappy because Fingolfin married his mortal enemy.

So the moral of the story is this kids: if you can't beat your enemies, marry 'em!

#fingolfin #anairë #the silmarillion #tolkien #sprinkled with fëanor i guess

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