Schlagwort: finwe

curufins-smile:

Owl

Part 1 – After Her Death

Finwion lies next to Finwë, his soft baby snores and occasional movements the only thing breaking the silence of his bedchamber, lit by the silvery light of Telperion. Finwë knows he has a bassinet for his son to sleep in at the foot of the bed, but Finwion’s warm little body is such a comfort in his grief that he cannot bear to let him go, even as his tears soak into his soft, downy hair.

He cannot cry forever. His thoughts drift from his ever present sorrow to contemplate the pins and needles plaguing his arm. His son may be small but he is a healthy baby and his arm is in an awkward position beneath him. He shifts in an attempt to get more comfortable. Finwion stirs and emits a wail of discontent at being jostled, but Finwë is quick to stand and gather him up to gently bounce in an attempt to stave off any waterworks. He holds Finwion in one arm as he quietly attempts to get feeling back in the other.

In all honesty, he is glad for the distraction from his own thoughts.

“I’m sorry, Finwion,” he coos quietly, in the hopes that his voice might soothe him, “I did not mean to wake you!”

He takes Finwion over to the window, in the hopes that the silver light which usually fascinates his son will help to calm him. It is futile, and Finwion’s cries only grow louder.

Finwë then tries the mobile above the bassinet, the dangling shapes and mirrors usually able to bring absolute joy from his baby, who loves to try to grasp them with fat fists, but it is no use.

He casts his eyes around the room, and stops when he sees it, lying innocently in Finwion’s cot.

It is a soft, stuffed owl, about as large as his infant son. The owl is stitched from soft fabric, and is slightly worn from Finwion’s clumsy baby love. Finwë knows it very well by now. He watched Míriel stitch it early on in her pregnancy, before she was too tired to lift her needle. They were so happy then, their world filled with nothing but joy at the thought of the bright life they would be bringing into the world. Finwë remembers excitedly pressing his hands to her swollen belly, already able to feel the heat of the tiny spark of fëa within her. Before that tiny spark grew to a roaring flame that consumed her whole.

Finwë holds that flame in his arms now, and the heat of his soul still grows with every passing day. Sometimes Finwë wonders if his son’s fëa will ever stop increasing, or if it will one day reach an inferno that consumes everything it touches like it engulfed Míriel.

He attempts to shake off the morbid thoughts, and turns his attention to his wailing son once more. Picking up the owl, he shifts Finwion to a more comfortable position and presents him with the toy.

The reaction is almost magical. Finwion does not immediately silence, but he latches on to the owl and his sobs begin to quieten. Finwë lies him down on the bed again, and watches Finwion curl against the toy. He cannot help but chuckle as he watches a fluffy wing find its place in Finwion’s mouth for him to gently gum on.

“That’s going to need a wash soon,” he mutters quietly to himself, suddenly exhausted.

Finwë closes the heavy curtains to darken the room once more, then climbs back into bed as carefully as possible, slotting himself around Finwion’s warmth. He is still not yet used to the softness of his bed after the centuries of sleeping on rougher things, first in Cuivienen, then on the Great Journey. But he finds himself drifting off rather quickly, sped by the soft snuffling of his son.

–

Thanks to @alackofghosts as always for inspo stuff, and to @nixiegenesis and @acommonanomaly for reading this over to check for any infant behaviour inaccuracies. @nathair-nimhe this is me finally writing you a fic 🙂

This is going to be part of a series of fics about feanor’s early childhood, set around his stuffed owl.

lendmyboyfriendahand:

You know what I just realized?

It never says that
Ingwë,
Finwë and Elwë

were leaders before Oromë

took them to Valinor.

“Therefore Oromë was sent again to
them, and he chose from among them ambassadors who should go to Valinor
and speak for their people; and these were Ingwë,
Finwë and Elwë, who afterwards were kings.”
Of the Coming of the Elves and the Captivity of Melkor, the Silmarillion

That’s our introduction to them.  The Vanyar, Noldor, and Teleri are described as the “kindred” of 
Ingwë,
Finwë and Elwë

respectively, not their subjects.  They certainly led those who undertook the Great Journey, but there’s no reason to believe they were the chieftains beforehand.

Why then were they the ones chosen as ambassadors? Because everyone else was terrified, and they were the only ones willing to follow the incredibly dangerous strange being, each for their own reason.

Ingwë

went because he saw the light of Aman reflected in
Oromë’s face, and wished to see the light in truth. He recognized the light as Good and Holy, and knew that the Valar would not harm him.

Finwë went in search of knowledge. Here was a being unlike any other known to elves, from a place likewise completely unknown.
Oromë claimed that the Valar would share knowledge with them, but even if that turned out to be false, there would still be much to discover.

Elwe went because he has a huge xeno kink. The presence of actual non-elf sapient beings, that unlike orcs wouldn’t try to kill him, meant that he had to check out Aman.

rose-of-the-bright-sea:

There was a little scrap of paper that Elu Thingol kept in his pocket at all times. If asked, the king would not have been able to explain why. Most days, he forgot that it was there. On occasion, Elu would forget the paper in his sleeping chambers, and he would spend the day twisting on his throne in discomfort. The paper was a welcome weight, different than the sort that came with the crown.

The ink was mostly faded, but Elu could still make out the old drawing. The spiraling star was poorly drawn, like all things drawn by Finwë’s hand, and it made Elu smile to look upon. A simple gift from a cherished friend was nothing to look down upon.

Melian once offered to restore the drawing to its original state, but Elu declined. Even should the ink fade beyond recognition, Elu would have it fade as Finwë’s creation and Finwë’s creation alone.

“A star for a star!” Finwë grinned, even as Elwë doubled over. “Stop laughing! I tried!”

“I could not tell,” Elwë managed.

Elu ran his thumb over the paper and looked up at his banners with a distant smile. They were beautifully crafted, fit for a king, but they still paled in comparison to Finwë’s gift.