Hello, Grandfather. Hope you don’t mind company today.

Ooh okay here’s a hard one for you. Birth order of all of Finwë’s kids and grandkids?

Oooh thank you for the ask! This is a fun one :)

The birth order of Finwë’s kids is easy: Fëanor, Fingolfin, Finarfin, and if you include the daughters, then Findis is older than Fingolfin and Irimë is between him and Finarfin. It's so nice of Tolkien to actually tell us this stuff for once (!!!!!!!!!). But I assume you're really asking about the grandkids, and that's definitely a lot harder!

I think it would make sense if Maedhros and Fingon were close in age, with Maedhros of course being slightly older, and then I think it would also make sense if Maglor, Turgon and Finrod were all close in age to one another. Likewise, I think it would make sense if Celegorm and Aredhel were close in age. My reasoning is that Maedhros and Fingon, Finrod and Turgon, and Aredhel and Celegorm are canonically good friends with each other, and people often tend to bond with others who are close to them in age.

So it could look something like this:

Maedhros, Fingon Maglor, Finrod, Turgon Celegorm, Aredhel, Angrod Caranthir, Aegnor Curufin, Galadriel Amrod and Amras

(This would also make sense in terms of Galadriel’s animosity towards Fëanor, because she basically had to grow up alongside Fëanor 2.0 who of course completely hero-worships his own father, and Galadriel’s having none of it. I did say earlier that people often tend to bond with others who are close to them in age, but that isn’t always the case, of course, especially if two people’s personalities are as different as Curufin and Galadriel.)

Edit: I just checked and Morgoth’s Ring actually has birth years for Finrod and Turgon, and it’s the same year, Y.T. 1300! So they are the same age! Hurray! Maybe some part of my brain actually retained that memory from reading HoMe and that’s why I thought they should be the same age. Although it also says that in Y.T. 1362 Aredhel and Galadriel were born, so that doesn’t match up with what I wrote out, but oh well.

Then, as for Finwë’s great-grandchildren... Idril was obviously born in Valinor. Orodeth, who is Angrod’s son (not Finarfin’s son) was also born in Valinor, and I’d say he was probably born after Idril, just because Angrod is younger than Turgon and it would make sense if Turgon got married and had a child first. Also, I think it would make sense if Celebrimbor was born in Beleriand. It strikes me as odd that someone as young (relatively speaking) as Curufin would get married and have a son while the vast majority of Finwë’s grandchildren had not gotten married yet. It’s less strange to me that some of the older or middle ones (Turgon, Angrod) would have had children in Valinor, but not Curufin.

So the birth order of the great-grandchildren could look something like this: Idril (born in Valinor) Orodreth (born in Valinor) Celebrimbor (born in Beleriand, date unclear, but he has to be old enough to make the decision to reject his father after the events at Nargothrond in F.A. 465) Maeglin (has a canonical birth year, F.A. 320) Celebrían (has a canonical birth year in the Second Age)

I was talking with @himboskywalker​ about Tolkien and fandom and fic, because I’m always curious where people’s “area” of the wider Legendarium are at, whether they’re a fan of the Dwarves or the Humans or the Elves or the Valar or what!  (As a surprise to absolutely no one, the Elves are where my heart is at, where I very much love the Noldor, but if you give me a choice I’m going to run over to that Sindar-centric fic every time.) Which got us onto the topic of fic recs, where, yes, I’ve done a LOT of Tolkien fic recs but I tend to read something of a wide variety and this is a list specifically aimed at those who are familiar with the wider Tolkien world, but haven’t really read much fic and want to know where to start! Other Recs First: - If you haven’t gotten further into Tolkien’s work (like say beyond the movies), I’ve done something of a primer here, which includes fic recs and brief explanations and links to videos that help explain some things.  It’s not as hard as it seems to get involved, honest! - Some other fic recs here, as an addition to the above. - My Tolkien blog (which I haven’t been on in awhile, though, I haven’t let it go in my heart yet) has, I’m not kidding, A LOT of fic recs, I did recs regularly for about three years, so it’s almost as massive as my collection of SW recs. If I Could Only Pick Three To Start You With: ✦ And What Happened After by thearrogantemu - This is the fic that took me from enjoying the Silm characters to diving face-first into really loving them, because it wove such an engaging story about the characters sailing to Aman at the end of LOTR, where various characters you wouldn’t think interacting would be as meaningful as they are, but the fic absolutely sells them on it.  Frodo and Feanor having a conversation about language?  Sam and Maglor sharing a boat to the West?  These things are amazing, as this is a fic about healing and what it means to sail into the Undying Lands.  Also, it has a Feanor and Fingolfin reunion that literally put tears in my eyes. ✦ Interrupted Journeys by ellisk - I’m generally not someone who does a lot of rereading of fic just because I have so many new ones to get to, but I’ve read my favorites in this series (parts 3 to 5 are my sweet spot especially) probably four times through now because “Elfling Legolas growing up in Greenwod with a whole cast of characters around him, as the Shadow so very, very slowly creeps towards them” may sound somewhat simple, but the worldbuilding here is off the scale.  The weaving in of how much the First Age and various Elven politics influenced Thranduil’s ruling of a Silvan people is a major theme, but it’s also good parents raising that precious Elfling right and he and his cousins+friends getting into all sorts of mischief, so it’s balanced between humor and drama in the exact amounts I want.  You can skip the first two fics and jump into the third if you like, which is when Legolas is introduced, but I enjoy the whole thing. ✦ Return to Aman OR Quenta Narquelion by bunn - I can’t pick between these two, they’re both incredible.  Return to Aman is basically “Elrond grabs Maglor and drags him to Aman with them” and it breaths such incredible lift into all the characters of Aman, it doesn’t negate the terrible things the Feanorians did, but neither does it negate Elrond’s love for them and his biological family, too.  It’s another fic that’s about healing and forgiveness and it made me glow to read it.  Quenta Narquelion is basically “Feanor refused the call of Mandos after he died and everything started to snowball from there” and it’s an absolutely heartbreaking look at all our Problematic Fave Feanorians and how they were once good people trying to do the best they could, but bit by bit they slipped into the dark.  It’s especially amazing for capturing the complexities of Feanor, as he hovers over his children as a spirit and it really brought me around on his character. The Silmarillion and other First Age Batshit Faves: ✦ The Starlit Sky by Cirth is the fic that really made me get the potential of reading about Maedhros and Maglor raising Elrond and Elros, where it does such a fantastic job of showing that there was genuine affection there, even the midst of all the angst and trauma and pain.  You really get why Elrond could never give up on them, after reading this fic. ✦ In Courts of Living Stone by ncfan - “What if Maeglin never left Nan Elmoth and instead, several decades later, found himself on an errand to Menegroth and developed a relationship with Finduilas instead?” isn’t a fic I expected to capture my heart, but boy did it ever.  Beautiful characterization and beautiful writing, it really captured my imagination, but also gave me ALLLLLL the Maeglin feelings, as well as made me pine that this Finduilas couldn’t have been more common in fandom. ✦ naught but the shores and the sea by ncfan is more of Elrond and Maglor, where it’s an AU that has Elrond finding Maglor after the disastrous attempt to recover the Silmarils and I loved it a lot. ✦ The Crane Wife by Trebia is one that takes an underused character from Tolkien (Lalwen, in this case) and breathes this incredible life into her, gives her personality and joy and sorrow and meaning and, look, any fic that can convince me that Thranduil would marry a Noldo and utterly believe it, you know it’s well-written! The Second Age Is Kind of Quiet in Fandom But I Love It Regardless: ✦ The Art of Long-Distance Grandparenting by Kazaera is a lovely and bittersweet (but mostly lighter in tone) fic about the separation of the Sea between family members and does a wonderful job with Idril’s character, as she tries to stay connected to her grandchildren while being so distant from them and unable to see them, unless they choose to come to Aman.  There’s joy to be found here and it’s a lovely read. ✦ Relativity by French Pony is a lovely look at the final meeting between Elrond and Elros and strikes the right amount of bittersweetness, where it’s awkward and difficult and heartbreaking, but also feels natural and like this was how it was meant to be.  I had many, many Elven Twin feelings during the whole thing.  (I like all their fic, they’re worth checking out their other stuff for, too!) ✦ A Thing or Two About Elrond by Crookneck is a series of fics about Elrond and the various relationships he has--with Celebrian, with his children, with Gil-Galad, etc.--and I remember being really charmed by all of them and how much shit Elrond has seen over the course of his life. The Third Age, Lord of the Rings Version: ✦ Boromir's Return by Osheen Nevoy - This one is sort hard to summarize, but it’s basically “Boromir lives, makes a friend, and slowly changes everything about the LOTR plot”, but it’s so much more than that, where the worldbuilding is phenomenal, the pacing is incredible, it made me fall in love with Boromir as a character all over again, it contains probably the best portrayal of Denethor I’ve ever read in fandom, and I really loved the OC and so on.  It’s utterly engrossing and honestly I cannot recommend it highly enough, even if you’re not usually into this sort of thing. ✦ The River by Indigo Bunting is a fic where Legolas and Sam get separated from the others for a brief time and I love fics that take two characters who don’t interact much, throw them into an intense situation, and sees what happens.  It’s not precisely a light-hearted fic, it’s very intense, but it’ll make you fall in love with the sheer good in both characters and the friendship they develop.  It’s brilliantly written and I cannot recommend it enough. ✦ A Bit of Rope by Aiwendiel is a fic where Gandalf doesn’t fall at Moria and it changes everything--not necessarily for the better.  The slow, creeping sense of things changing, things going just a little bit worse here and there, until you realize how much darker the Fellowship’s journey could have been, was brilliantly done, and one I thought did justice to the idea, it’s not grimdark, there’s still light and hope here, but it makes you feel like, oh, maybe things happened as they did for a reason, even as hard as that seemed sometimes.  Gorgeously plotted and utterly engrossing. The Third Age, Mirkwood Version: ✦ daw the minstrel has an entire series of fics about Legolas growing up in Mirkwood and there’s absolutely a reason why she was one of the most well-known authors in that corner of fandom.  Her ability to create new characters (including two brothers for Legolas) was incredible, I cared so much about the family dynamics and got swept up in the drama (which was in a very loving family, but Legolas was definitely a mischief-seeker) and they’re fantastic.  If you find yourself in something of a stretch with too many OCs and your attention wavers, you can always skip around, they don’t have to be read in order and a lot of the non-canon characters can be skimmed over, imo. ✦ In a Field of Blood and Stone by ScribeofArda is so much better than what The Hobbit movies gave us of the Battle of Five Armies, it does such beautiful justice to the complicated character of Thranduil and Legolas, not sacrificing the warmth there for how difficult these times are and the war they find themselves in the middle of.  This Bard is also really engaging and fun to read--I read pretty much the entire novel’s worth in, like, a day or two because I could not put this one down. ✦ Swordplay and Swimming by cliodna_bright has an incredible meeting where Thranduil comes to visit Rivendell, runs into Elladan and Elrohir, who are young enough that they speak without thinking, and it’s not precisely a humor fic, but I was screaming the entire time because it’s so sharply written and so absolutely delightful, I LOVE IT. ✦ Deep and Crisp and Even by rivlee made me fall in love with how Elves and humans may look very similar, but there’s this sense of otherworldliness to the Elves, as shown through Bard’s eyes when he has a meeting with Thranduil.  Beautifully written and just the right amount of atmospheric. The Fourth Age Where Everything Actually Does Mostly Work Out: ✦ Far Horizons by Bodkin is the Fourth Age fic of my heart, where the various Elves that we came to know in Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit are all in Aman and decide to build their own realm there.  Which is difficult because Elven Politics even just amongst themselves, much less clashing with all the established politics of the other Elven realms in Aman!  But it’s a light-hearted fic (for the most part) that’s about healing and moving forward, balancing their ties to their history versus that Middle-Earth changed them, and I love it for soothing my soul.  (Thranduil sailed, you can’t tell me otherwise!!!)(Bonus moments of Glorfindel being pretty hilarious.)  I like all of bodkin’s work, but this one has a special place with me. ✦ Age of Healing by trollmela is one where Maedhros and Legolas have a conversation in Aman and it’s about the bittersweetness of healing and how difficult it is, taking two characters who would never have met in canon and weaving something entirely engaging and poignant out of it. Collections That Span The Ages: ✦ This Taste of Shadow by Mira_Jade - This is a collection of dozens of various shorter stories (or sometimes 10k “ficlets”) that you can largely skip around in if you have specific characters you like or you can just start at the beginning and read through.  It contains looks at pretty much everyone, from Maedhros to Galadriel to Thranduil to Elrond to Caranthir to Glorfindel to the Valar, etc.  I’ve enjoyed pretty much everything I’ve read in this collection! ✦ Fiondil's Tapestry and Tales from Vairë's Loom by Fiondil are in the same vein and I have really enjoyed everything I’ve read from both of them!  I especially remember that there was one chapter that had a scene between Thranduil and Cirdan and thinking, ahhhh, why has no one ever written that before!? as an example of the neat things it does.  But also lots about Elrond and Glorfindel and the Valar and so on! This probably doesn’t feel like a super extensive list, but those collection series will give you an excellent spanning of Elves, Humans, Dwarves, Hobbits, etc., not just the same central characters, but giving time to a lot of lesser focused ones as well.  Like, I feel I’ve read a fair chunk of Elwing fic, but I couldn’t point you to a specific one in my list of recs, which means I’m pretty sure it was in the collections ones or else she got some good scenes in one of the Aman-based fics, so I swear the above is at least a solid place to start for dipping one’s toe into Tolkien fic. AS ALWAYS, OTHER PEOPLE’S RECS ARE WELCOME, god knows I haven’t read anything in the last two years (and will have missed a lot even before that) and so I always need more recs, too!

grief, in isolation

for anon, who requested “angsty nolofinweans after fingolfins death”

~

Fingon didn’t get to say goodbye.

That was what kept coming back to him: again and again he lost those he loved, never getting the chance to give them a last farewell. His mother hadn’t been able to face him after the Kinslaying; he’d been in the middle of a pointless spat with Arakáno right before he was killed; Turukáno and Írissë and Itarillë had vanished without warning, the better for the secrecy and security of Turno’s kingdom, he said in the letter he left behind.

What a load of horse shit. Secrecy be damned, Fingon missed his family. He didn’t know if they’d made it safely to Ondolindë, what had befallen them there, if Itarillë had gotten up the courage to kiss that girl she’d been so enamoured with before she abandoned her, too—

And now he’d lost his father also. Fingolfin hadn’t even left a note like Turukáno. He’d just...left. Charged into battle with no care for anyone other than himself—no, not even for himself. An eagle had been spied carrying his body away, and if it truly was Thorondor as the rumors said, well. Fingon would have words with him about that. He didn’t even get a body to bury. Why would Thorondor return Fingolfin’s corpse to Hithlum when it would be safer in Ondolindë?

He had Maedhros, at least, to comfort him. Maedhros who had lost his own father centuries before, Maedhros who loved him more than he deserved, Maedhros who Fingon trusted would never, ever leave without a goodbye. Not after the last time.

But aside from Maedhros, Fingon was alone.

~

Turukáno knelt by the cairn he had built with his own hands. Sorontar had watched, solemn and silent, as he had dismissed the watchers and tended to the broken form of his father’s body with his own hands. It was not beneath the King of Ondolindë to honor his father like this, even if Ñolofinwë had not also been High King of the Ñoldor.

He even turned aside Itarillë, urging her to keep Maeglin away from the sight. It was not fair that the lad would never meet his grandfather, but Turukáno did not want Maeglin’s only memory of Ñolofinwë to be the bruised and battered thing he was in death.

Now the work was done, and his hands ached. His robes were stained with dirt, his cheeks with tears, his heart with yet another grief. It was too much, too much. And he was alone—by choice he was alone. He had banished his daughter and his nephew to spare them this misery, shunned his friends and lords when they offered to help. This was something he had to do by himself, no matter how it pained him.

He was so lonely in Ondolindë. This was his glorious kingdom, a living memory of Tirion upon Túna, and he was proud of it, proud of his people—and he was so alone. Elenwë was dead; Írissë was dead; Arakáno was dead; Ñolofinwë was dead. All that remained of his family were Itarillë, sweet Itarillë who he loved more than anything, and Maeglin, the ill-fated child he tried to love in his sister’s place.

And Findekáno, somewhere out there, rising to take the throne. Turukáno should be there, standing beside him, supporting him, and yet—

And yet he had risked everything to create this place of safety. He could not leave, not even for Findekáno’s sake. Not when letting Írissë roam free had led to her misery and death.

At least he had a grave to mourn by. Findekáno did not have even that.

~

Itarillë’s hands shook as she attempted to make her words as smooth and elegant upon the page as they once had been. She breathed deep, and still they trembled. But she pressed on regardless, because she needed to write this letter. She had to let her uncle Findekáno know that his father had been laid to rest.

Her father did not allow communications from the outside world. But Sorontar was here, and Grandfather Ñolofinwë was dead, so surely this would be an exception. Itarillë’s heart broke at the thought of Uncle Finno all alone without any family to comfort him—any family but Maitimo, that was. And though she was not as resentful of her Fëanárion cousins as her father, gone were the days where she smiled and sat on Uncle Maitimo’s lap and read him stories written by her mother. She could not muster hatred for him, but neither could she muster love.

Dearest Uncle Findekáno, she wrote, and then paused. Was it alright to write in Quenya? She knew her uncle went by Fingon now, that with Thingol’s ban upon their tongue everyone outside of Ondolindë had changed their names...but surely an Eagle-borne message would not be scrutinized by the King of the Sindar. Then again, if she ever hoped to leave these walls, she ought to practice her Sindarin.

Dearest Uncle Fingon, she tried again, this time in Sindarin. Yes, this was better; it took more effort to think in this second language, which meant she could not spend so much energy purely upon grief.

I write to you because my father will not. I am certain you know this already, but your father and my grandfather, High King Ñolofinwë Fingolfin, has perished...

Itarillë wrote until her hands cramped and her mind went blank—and then she threw the letter in the fire. How could she write to Uncle Finno now, about her grandfather, when he didn’t even know his sister, too, was dead?

~

Maeglin was used to the stares. He was different, an outsider, the only newcomer to Gondolin since its foundation. At least, the only newcomer who yet lived. Everyone seemed to discount Eöl.

So of course people stared at him. It wasn’t all bad; many of them were just curious. And they got used to him after a time, especially when he started to work in the forge and they came to appreciate him for his craft. And then the king his uncle had declared him a Lord of Gondolin, with all the pomp and circumstance that entailed, and people looked to him as some sort of leader instead of a stranger. He still wasn’t quite used to that.

But these stares—this time they unsettled him.

They weren’t looking at Maeglin, Eöl’s son, the stranger, the half-Avari changeling, the boy who flinched from loud noises and couldn’t stay long out in the sun. They weren’t looking at Lómion, Írissë’s boy, the poor royal orphan, the young man who stuttered through his Quenya and couldn’t make any friends. They weren’t looking at Maeglin the smith or even at Lord Maeglin of the House of the Mole.

No, for the first time, people stared at Prince Maeglin, grandson of Fingolfin, the castaway heir of a broken throne.

Maeglin had never met Fingolfin. Turgon hadn’t even let him see the body. He didn’t know if he resembled his grandfather, if Fingolfin would have loved him or hated him, if he would have been welcomed into the great Ñolofinwëan family as Aredhel’s son. And now even the unrealistic fantasy of meeting those relatives of his who still lived was being crushed.

He only had the one grandfather. Eöl had been one of the Unbegotten, fatherless, woken at Cuiviénen. That had seemed wondrous and exciting when Maeglin was a child, and Eöl had for once been happy to talk about the past, eager to remind his son that he, too, had woken alongside Finwë and made the journey west. Only he was braver and better than any Ñoldo, because he had done it alone.

But Maeglin had loved his mother’s stories more, when it came down to it, though the legends were not as grand when he saw them up close. He didn’t feel like Fingolfin’s grandson, not when he’d never met the ellon. And now he never would.

~

Anairë hadn’t known who to go to when she felt her marriage bond break. Eärwen still had her husband, the Valar had doomed Ñolofinwë to his fate, most of her old friends had left with her husband when he marched away from her. It had been centuries—she had tried to move on—she had closed their bond long ago. She didn’t expect it to hurt so much when he died. She didn’t even expect to know.

In the end there was only one person she could talk to. But drawing Nerdanel out of isolation was not an easy task.

The first years after the Flight of the Ñoldor were hectic and dreadful. Nerdanel, Anairë, and Eärwen had stuck close together for survival, but when things began to settle down... Well, Anairë and Eärwen had always been closer to each other than to Fëanáro’s wife. They loved Nerdanel, of course, but...well. She had distanced herself from the line of Finwë even before her husband’s rebellion. And her husband...

And so they drifted apart. Anairë never felt alone, not with Eärwen, and later, not with Arafinwë, too. How strange that her husband’s little brother would welcome her into his bed! Such a fate was not one she could have predicted when she married Ñolofinwë. She had believed then that they would never be parted, that strangeness of Míriel and Finwë and Indis was unique. She knew better now.

And yet: Eldarin marriage was forever. The bond had broken with Ñolofinwë’s death—she didn’t even know how he had died—but it was still there, just...in pieces. Anairë didn’t know how to start reassembling them, if she even could.

Nerdanel’s house was empty the first time she worked up the courage to visit. The second time, her once-sister turned her away. The third time, however, Nerdanel invited her inside.

It was awkward and painful and confusing. But Nerdanel confirmed what Anairë had guessed: yes, this meant Ñolofinwë was dead. No, it would not be possible to rebuild their bond, not with him still confined to Mandos’ Halls.

“But,” Nerdanel had said bitterly, “your husband was a valiant king. I have faith that he will be released someday.”

Anairë did not need to ask about her opinion on Fëanáro’s fate. She, too, had known the Spirit of Fire.

The visit was worth it, though it did not bring peace to her heart. At least now Anairë knew that she was not alone in her strange grief, supposed to be foreign to the Blessed Realm.

And Ñolofinwë would return to her, someday. She just didn’t know if she would return herself to him.

~

[also available on AO3]

i just read your entire blog from beginning to end. i kept on saying 'ive read enough time to do something productive,' but there was just so much good stuff :) the 'great divorce' analysis of feanor made me grin like a loon and i just never stopped. anyway. i was wondering about your thoughts on fingolfin, he's been my favorite silm character since i first muddled my way through the book ages ago but he gets very little online love and ive often wondered why

Wow! That’s extremely flattering, thank you very much!

My basic reaction to Fingolfin is the typical one of: EPIC. BADASS. The Duel of Fingolfin and Morgoth is one of my favourite passages in The Silmarillion. And there’s wonderful dramatic irony in Fingolfin being the one to fulfull his brother’s boast of Such hurt will I do to this Enemy of the Valar that even the mighty in the Ring of Doom shall wonder to hear of it. [Note to self: future post on Fëanor and his gift for misinterpreted foresight?] If Fëanor were a different kind of person, he’d be pleased by Fingolfin managing to hurt Morgoth, but given his deep resentment for his half-siblings (which could only have gotten stronger when he learned that Fingolfin had become king) it likely only increased his bitterness, as if this accomplishment were yet another thing Fingolfin had taken from him. In contrast, I think Tulkas and Oromë were very impressed, and among the first to congratulate Fingolfin when he returned to life.

Beyond that, Fingolfin strikes me as someone whose life has been very heavily characterized by duty and who has had to put aside his own feelings and desires. During the Return, he doesn’t want to leave Valinor; he ‘marches against his wisdom’, because he has promised to follow where Fëanor leads and because his people need steadier guidance than Fëanor can provide. He has been the de facto king of the Noldor for the last seven years, and that must give him a strong sense of responsibility to his people. He goes even though he’s leaving behind hus wife and, eventually, his younger brother; there’s no choice he can make that won’t involving losing some of his family, since his children are determined to go.

Why doesn’t he turn back after the burning of the ships? In part it’s because he doesn’t want to abandon his children, or to drag them back to face the judgement of the Valar (Fingon and Aredhel are both Kinslayers; given her impulsive, determined personality and her friendships with the Fëanorians I have no doubt that Aredhel fought on their part. I don’t think Fingolfin himself is a Kinslayer, as the Silmarillion never says he was and it would be a rather major omission.) In part it’s pride and rage. It’s one thing to turn back after the Doom, as Finarfin did, out of the knowledge that you’ve done wrong. It’s another thing to have been willing to do wrong, to have wanted to use the stolen ships, and to turn back only because you were denied the opportunity. There’s no morality or conscience in that, only pure humiliation. So he goes on.

And after he arrives in Middle-earth and Fingon rescues Maedhros, Fingolfin has to put aside his anger and the growing rift in his family and choose reconciliation. And he pursues it wholeheartedly, working to build cooperation not only between his followers and the Fëanorians, but between the Noldor and the Sindar (and neither the younger Fëanorians nor Thingol are making that eany easier!).

(Fingolfin knows what it feels like to have your parent choose between children; he had to experience has father responding to Fëanor’s death threats by choosing Fëanor over him. What does it cost him, I wonder, to have to choose between the wishes of his own sons; to have to tell Turgon, I know your wife is dead because of them, but we’re working with them anyway?)

I’ll conclude with some headcanons on Fingolfin in the Halls of Mandos. I think Fingolfin would be very slow to forgive Maedhros after the events of the First Age, if indeed he ever did. Precisely because he did sincerely forgive Maedhros after the rescue from Thangorodrim, and trusted him as they worked together over the later centuries, and had confidence that even after Fingolfin’s death Maedhros would continue to do what was best for Beleriand. The second and third kinslayings must have come as a horrific betrayal of that trust. (In addition to Maedhros getting Fingon killed! Maedhros, Fingolfin and Turgon are all strongly of the opinion that Maedhros is to blame for Fingon’s death; Fingon is equally vehemently of the contrary opinion.) And having give that trust before and found it to be so terribly misplaced, why would Fingolfin ever be inclined to offer it again?

(I have extensive opinions on which characters - family and otherwise - forgive Maedhros and Maglor, and when, and how; it’s a very complex and emotional process and makes up about 90% of my post-Silm headcanons.)

One more Halls headcanon, this one slightly less sad.

I think that after his death, Finwë doesn’t appear to or talk to most of his descendents in the Halls for a long time, largely out of embarassment over his parenting decisions and their consequences. (I’m getting this partly from The Leithian Script and partly from one of his lines after his death indicating that he thinks Indis wouldn’t really want to see him again, given how everything turned out.) He tries to talk to Fëanor, but Fëanor’s wrapped up in his own thoughts and not really percieving anything outside them.

But Finwë loves his grandchildren, and at some point in the Second Age he tries to talk to Aredhel. She’s having a very bad time of it and has been deeply unhappy ever since the Fall of Gondolin and the news of what her son became, and Finwë does know what it’s like to wonder how many of your childrens’ decisions are due to your parenting. So he tries to comfort her.

And Aredhel just explodes at him. AFTER A THOUSAND YEARS OF SILENCE, YOU’RE COMING AND TALKING TO ME? ME?! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MUCH MY FATHER HAS WANTED TO SEE YOU? HOW MUCH TIME HE’S SPENT LOOKING FOR YOU? YOU LEAVE ME ALONE AND GO TALK TO HIM RIGHT. FREAKING. NOW OR SO HELP ME -

Finwë is quite taken aback and stunned enough that he actually does go talk to Fingolfin, and Fingolfin is extremely happy to talk to his father and has some valuable perspective to offer on how, after everything he and his people have seen and done in Middle-earth, sub-par parenting decisions barely even register on the list of things a person could be ashamed of. After you’ve left the bodies of your people scattered across the Ice - after you’ve had to order men into battle - after you’ve had to turn away thralls escaped from Angband because you don’t know if they’re sleeper agents - your perspective on what constitutes a difficult decision starts to shift.

The outburst also does Aredhel good because it’s the first time since the Fall of Gondolin that she’s given any thought to the well-being of anyone other than herself or Maeglin, and is thus a major step forward in reaching outside her own unhappiness and starting to heal.

If you're still taking prompts, could you please do I don’t want an apology, I want you to tell me how you pulled it off, Feanor and Fingolfin, surprise me

Two quick warnings for this one:

One, it contains a darker version of the Valar than I actually think canon points to.

Two, it contains references to suicide and a brief discussion of exactly what qualifies.

That said, here you are!

. . .

There was nothing but silence in the darkness, and Fingolfin wasn’t particularly surprised. After all, he was, as of yet, the only elf to commit this crime, at least according to Mandos, and in this it was Mandos’s vote that counted.

Mandos said it was suicide, and Fingolfin didn’t know how to argue with him. He had, after all, in a fit of despair taken action he knew was likely to lead to his death.

If that was truly all it took, though, he was a bit surprised to find himself truly alone. Surely he was not the first elf who despaired of victory that had chosen to charge into battle anyway.

You’re not here because you charged Morgoth, a doubtful part of himself that sounded suspiciously like Feanor said scornfully. You’re here because you came so close to succeeding. You stabbed a Vala seven times. Did you really think they could stand for that? 

Fingolfin pushed that thought aside. He didn’t believe that. That was just the darkness talking.

And the silence.

And the cold.

. . .

It wasn’t the first time his thoughts had sounded a bit too much like Feanor, but usually he did it on purpose: On the Ice, he’d had whole imaginary conversations that mostly consisted of him shouting at Feanor and receiving wholly unsatisfactory replies.

What did you expect, Finwenolofinwe? That I would take you along? You, who longed to be king?

Or, I’m not sorry.

Or - when the cold bit too deep and exhaustion loomed like death waiting to fall and he needed one warm thought to cling onto - I never thought you would do this, Nolo. I thought you would go home. I wanted you to go home.

It was the kindest he could make his brother sound. He’d tried to make his half-brother apologize, but even in his imagination, the words always felt weak and pale. Feanor wouldn’t apologize. Not to him. Not about this. Not without cold irony ringing through every word.

He’d kept talking to him even after - After he learned what had happened. Especially then. He’d needed closure, and Feanor, of course, had refused to give it to him.

The day after his coronation, he’d tried to imagine what Feanor would have said to him.

So you finally got what you wanted, Nolo. It was the kindest thing he could make himself believe, and the words still echoed bitterly in his mind.

He wondered if Feanor would have believed him if he had turned to his half-brother and said that, in that moment, he’d realized too late he didn’t want it after all.

Not if it meant the Ice claiming so many of his wearied people. Not if it meant his nephew scarred, bloodied, and telling him, as they talked things over, that he didn’t dare trust himself.

Not if it meant his brother turned to ash before the gates that he did not yet dare charge.

. . .

He talked to Feanor more now, even though he still had to imagine the answers.

He talked to lots of people. His voice was the only sound in this place, and he had to think of something to keep from going mad.

He talked to Fingon, imagining a hundred different scenarios his son might be facing now that he was king and advising him how to face them. He talked to Turgon and tried to convince him to leave wherever he was and go help his brother. He talked to Idril and told her how much she’d grown. 

He wondered if she had. He hoped she had.

He tried to talk to Maeglin, but he’d never met his grandson, and so his imagination failed.

But talking to the living was painful because it stirred up all the restless fears he couldn’t soothe. Were they still alive? Were they free? Were they hurt?

Just what had he abandoned them to?

The dead were easier, mostly, but he couldn’t talk to Aredhel without every word turning into, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I couldn’t protect you, I’m so sorry, or Elenwe without wondering, Do you hate me now? Do you wish your husband had been any other man’s son?

He couldn’t imagine talking to his father at all.

Feanor, though - Feanor was easy. He had lots of things he’d never gotten to say to Feanor’s face, and he didn’t have to worry about biting back the worst of it the way he did when he tried to think about talking to his father. He and Feanor had never shied away from shouting terrible things at each other.

And whatever conversation he had, he could always run it through at least three times without getting bored with it because he had to keep editing Feanor’s responses. He had known his brother well, but he’d never gotten any better at predicting him, so he had to stop and think a long time about what would have been likely to come out of Feanor’s mouth next.

When he tried to talk about his mother, Feanor insulted her so badly that Fingolfin refused to speak to him for a week.

When it finally occurred to him just how ridiculous that was, he laughed until it hurt, and he realized that his whole body was shaking with sobs.

Possibly this wasn’t working nearly as well as he’d hoped to keep himself sane.

It’s less boring than the alternative, Feanor said, and for once, Fingolfin couldn’t argue with him.

. . .

He saw things in the darkness sometimes. Glints of color, flashes of light. Just his mind playing tricks on him, he knew, but he appreciated those tricks. Anything was better than the dark.

This faint glow of flames was new, though. They had the warm look of embers, and it made him think of Feanor, who had always burned so fiercely, and whose spirit had burned so strong it had scorched the earth behind it when he died.

“Hello, Feanor,” he said cheerfully, because he might as well address his remarks to this particular trick of his mind for as long as it lasted. 

“Hello,” Feanor answered a bit warily. “You’re happier to see me then I expected.”

Feanor’s voice sounded different than usual, and Fingolfin frowned over it for a moment before pushing it aside.

If he was forgetting what his brother sounded like, it was better not to think of it.

“Is that what we’re talking about today? Why I’m angry at you? I thought we’d worn through all the possibilities on that.”

“There are a few things we never got the chance to talk about,” Feanor’s voice said, and it sounded closer this time, and still so strange. The lights had moved closer with it, perfectly paced. “This, for instance. I never meant to lead you to this, Nolo,” and his voice sounded so -

Fingolfin flinched away from it. No, that wasn’t realistic at all. Feanor reserved that depth of pain in his voice for when he talked about the death of their father. The line might work, but the tone was all wrong.

A hand touched his shoulder.

Fingolfin froze.

The hand pulled back the instant it felt his stiffness. “My apologies,” Feanor said, voice retreating to formality -

Fingolfin lunged forward towards the light and grabbed onto it. Arm, shoulders, back, real, all real, and he clung to the form as tightly as he could. Real or a new depth to imagining, he didn’t care.

He felt warm. For the first time since the darkness, he felt warm.

“Feanor,” he choked out. “You’re real.”

Hesitant arms wrapped around him. “I hadn’t realized the matter was up for debate.”

“You weren’t here before,” he said, and that shouldn’t have really explained anything, but maybe it did, because Feanor held onto him a bit tighter.

“I wasn’t,” he confirmed, but he said it like he meant something else, like he was sorry, well and truly sorry in a way Fingolfin had never heard before.

“Don’t - “ he shook his head, but he didn’t let go. He couldn’t. Not yet. “It doesn’t matter. Not when - How are you here?”

He held on even tighter as he said that as if the action could prevent his mind from realizing it was just another trick and making everything melt away.

“I was in the Halls at first,” Feanor said. “They had to wait and see if I would be forsworn or not.”

“And you were?”

He could feel Feanor shrug. “It’s not settled yet. I made a bit too much of a nuisance of myself,” and there was a story there, something Feanor wasn’t telling him, but he hardly cared at the moment, “so they sent me here. Naturally, I set out to explore the place - “

“Naturally,” Fingolfin echoed.

“And I heard you talking. After everything that’s happened, it seemed a bit petty to avoid you.”

Fingolfin was pretty sure his grip had turned painful, but he didn’t much care. “If you leave me alone in here, I will hunt you down and kill you a second time,” he said, voice steady.

“I’m supposed to be the kinslayer. You’re supposed to be the good son,” Feanor said, and Fingolfin wasn’t even going to try to untangle that below surface level.

“No, that’s Finarfin,” he said.

Feanor actually laughed. “You’ll have to tell him you said that.”

“How?” Fingolfin asked wryly as he finally managed to loosen his grip, just a bit.

“No idea,” Feanor said cheerfully. “But I’ll figure out something eventually, and you might as well come along for the ride.”

“Much obliged,” he said dryly.

He still didn’t let go.