RP blog for Finarfin, son of Finwë of Tolkien’s The Silmarillion
Mun is 21+
| Sideblog | By Heather | carrd
@celevrian from [X]
—- There was a loneliness which followed her so closely, rested now in a land of bliss, yet unable to assuage how much she missed the ones she left behind. She yearned for home, for her mother, for the boys, for Arwen—feeling very much a stranger in this land of perfection and beauty. Many here she knew by name alone, by deeds: an uncle whose fame was legend, cousins by armloads, so many bound by blood. But none she could yet say she felt at full ease with. On nights she missed Elrond most, heart aching for his soothing, and on those nights she cried, curled in her empty bed with no one but herself.
This night she had taken to her grandfather’s gardens to soothe her sorrows, and through her thought had somehow only made them worse. That was how he’d found her, weeping in moonlight, but so desperate for warmth and affection she could not help but bury herself like a child in her grandfathers chest. Gentle fingers carded through her hair in a way she recognized, so similar to her mother’s touch. Soothing, loving, she could feel that. Perhaps her mother had learned it from him, that touch that even she had employed with her own little ones.
But she relaxed a little, and her sobs eased as she clung still, unwilling to let go lest she be brought back to the brokenness that remained. For in this she found comfort.
It was something of home.
Her arrival had not been entirely unexpected. For the weeks before her ship had found safe harbour in Tol Eressëa, he had been troubled by visions of grief and parting – the weeping face of Elrond, his own daughter’s private tears, the stoic faces of twin sons. And her face, clear as the moon, pained and conflicted.
There had been no question about offering her his hospitality, for while he had not had the privilege of knowing most of his grandchildren in their youth, in their new lives he cared for them all as tenderly as a father. He did not try and guess how she felt, he did not need to: he knew leaving your loved ones behind for what you believed was right for you was always hard.
Which is why it was only grief, not surprise, when he found her weeping amidst the flowers. Arvo said nothing as he took her into his arms. What words would ease her heart?
Gently he stroked her hair, his embrace warm against the coolness of the night. Though her sadness threatened to move him to tears himself, he held them back. This moment was for her alone.
After he felt her relax a little, he spoke, his voice soft; familiar, perhaps, in some distant way.
“You are homesick.”
crown of blood.
first-son-of-finwe asked
gxldenfinwe replied
crown of blood. sender stands before the receiver to be judged for their crimes.
“Fëanor.”
Beneath the crown his brow is furrowed, and Arafinwë sits straight and uncomfortable on their father’s throne. Regal, proud, and pained.
“You are bold to come back here and claim you wish for judgement - judgement has already been given, many times over, by those more worthy than I, in hearts and minds and history.”
He sighed.
“Why should I bestow upon you anything but punishment, brother?”
↹
tidalhaired asked
gxldenfinwe replied
Send ↹ for a starter where our muses swap bodies for a day.
Arafinwë noticed at once that he was not in his own bed, not the grand bed in the king’s chamber in Tirion, not the familiar guest beds in Alqualondë, not even his long-cold marital bed in the villa where he had raised his children. This was decidedly unusual. He sat up, taking in the unfamiliar room, and an unfamiliar reflection.
He groaned, pressing his face into his hands. Why could he not just have a normal day?
* ☔ : action prompts inspired by FANTASY, NOBILITY, ETC. some prompts are usfw. add reversed for the muse receiving the meme to perform the action instead. ( adjust scenarios or specify details as needed. )
- crown of dawn. sender swears their fealty to the receiver.
- crown of silver. sender congratulates the receiver on their political engagement, hiding their true affection for the receiver.
- crown of midnight. sender dances with the receiver at a masquerade.
- crown of glass. sender meets the receiver while their true identity is concealed.
- crown of shadows. sender controls the receiver through magic or blackmail, making them their pawn so they can rule from the background.
- crown of ink. sender meets the receiver for the first time after they are joined in an arranged marriage.
- crown of starlight. sender kneels before the receiver to receive a boon.
- crown of rot. sender accuses the receiver of failing their people.
- crown of sorrow. sender tells the receiver they are the new lord/queen/etc. as those ahead of them in the line of succession have died.
- crown of blood. sender stands before the receiver to be judged for their crimes.
- crown of lies. sender accuses the receiver of not being the true heir.
- crown of thorns. sender crowns the receiver after killing the previous ruler.
- crown of nightshade. sender consumes a poisoned drink meant for the receiver.
Send ↹ for a starter where our muses swap bodies for a day.
anonymously send me { ✾ } + an AU idea!
She blinked up at him in awe. First time seeing a Noldor that was not bloodthirsty.
"You're really handsome."
elnareofutumnorealm asked
gxldenfinwe replied
He laughed warmly.
“Well, thank you, my lady. That is very kind of you.”
i wish i was a cishet guy so that i could start a podcast and go to the gym and allow that to fulfill me spiritually. but instead i have these visions
Anonymous asked
gxldenfinwe replied
Nívëien’s grin grew wider when Arvo gave his permission for her to help paint her new room, she couldn’t resist the urge to hug him. She held onto him tightly, soaking in the happiness and affection.
“Together,” the elfling promised, her ears perking up and out of her mass of curls.
“I like dolls,” she confirmed, her voice muffled from where she pressed her face into his tummy as she clung to him. “And stuffed animals, I like having tea parties with them and dressing them up.”
He was surprised that such a simple promise could invoke such affection, but perhaps he shouldn’t have been, given what she had already revealed. Arvo smiled and stroked her hair.
“Then I will get you plenty of dolls and animals to dress up. And I will come to your tea parties now and then, if I am welcome.”
❝ mine. ❞ from elfling Niveien in the age regression au ( @niveien-hloirelos )
kenna-feanoriel asked
gxldenfinwe replied
The reassurance did help to soothe some of Nívëien’s worries, although it didn’t stop it entirely. Only time could help with that. She wound her little arms around Arvo’s neck to hug him, feeling safe with him.
“I wish you were my dad,” she mumbled, barely audiable. She wished her dad was as nice as Arvo, he didn’t shout at her or leave her with someone else or complain about looking after her, and he let her have her room painted pink without complaining about it costing money. He was better than her dad or her mum, for that matter.
“Will they make fun of me for being strange?” Nívëien asked, peering over Arvo’s shoulder to look at his nieces and nephews, wary but a little curious what they might be like. She didn’t want to bother trying to make friends if they would just make fun of her, she’d rather be alone or with her Arvo instead.
“They won’t.” he promised, sure of it. “You know, when I was in Alqualondë, I was a strange little child too. I didn’t have many friends in Tirion. But here, everyone was so nice to me, and they did not make fun of me for being strange, or different.”
He smiled, tinged with sadness that she had had such sorrow in her short little life.
“You do not need me to be your father. I am your uncle already.” Cousin, technically, he supposed, but the difference was not a big deal. He gently ruffled her hair. “And I would look after you even if I was not.”
Little Nívëien's lip wobbled as jealousy and panic hit her, she was scared Arvo might love another child more than her, like how her mother loved her sister more than her. What if he wanted another child, surely his own would be better for him than her? Or if he wanted to look after one of them, would he replace her with them?
"But..." the elfling protested, her ears were pressed low against her skull in her distress as she babbled her fears and worries to Arvo. "I don't want them to replace me, I love living with you! There's no yelling and screaming, no-one is making fun of how I look or promising me something and telling me it was a joke later on, no-one spanks or scratches me, or breaks my things or, or, or that I cost too much money."
“No one is going to replace you, dear one.” Arvo knelt to her height, his hand’s gentle on her little shoulders. “They have their own atya and ammë, they do not need me to be theirs.”
He hoped he was being reassuring. “I just want you to have friends your own age. They are all very sweet children. And I will be here too. None of those things are going to happen. I promise.”
The reassurance did help to soothe some of Nívëien's worries, although it didn't stop it entirely. Only time could help with that. She wound her little arms around Arvo's neck to hug him, feeling safe with him.
"I wish you were my dad," she mumbled, barely audiable. She wished her dad was as nice as Arvo, he didn't shout at her or leave her with someone else or complain about looking after her, and he let her have her room painted pink without complaining about it costing money. He was better than her dad or her mum, for that matter.
"Will they make fun of me for being strange?" Nívëien asked, peering over Arvo's shoulder to look at his nieces and nephews, wary but a little curious what they might be like. She didn't want to bother trying to make friends if they would just make fun of her, she'd rather be alone or with her Arvo instead.