Fanworks Tagged with Finarfin

Don't You Ever Look Away by Elrond's Library

“They can’t just assume we’ll let them leave us behind.”
“But they are, and they will. Our fathers are the Heads of their Houses. Fëanáro is king. Defiance would be treason, beloved.”
“I am his firstborn.”
“You are his only daughter.”
“I have done everything to be the son he wished me to be.”
“And yet, you are not.”

Findekánë and Maitindë do not go to Beleriand with their fathers. This changes very little, and yet so much.
For Scribbles and Drabbles 2025 SFW Slide 213 Two Queens

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carnimánta by Elrond's Library

Dye Days are uncomfortable. The newly arrived party from Imladris makes it even more uncomfortable.

Written for S&D 2025, Slide 18 Blood On Their Hands by Zhie

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everywhere the ceremony of innocence is drowned by Elrond's Library

The falcon joined her on the second day of watching. And stayed with her, watching her … Galadriel would say surreptitiously, if birds could do more than blankly stare. It was unnerving. The falcon preened its dark feathers occasionally, but otherwise watched the disembarking Elves with the same keen gaze as Galadriel.
Under the moonlight of the third night the falcon shivered, stretched, and shifted to become one who had been thought lost.

Elwing reunites with Galadriel before the War of Wrath.

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Of Ships and Sealing Wax by Grundy

Finarfin in a thoughtful moment on the way to the War of Wrath.

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all the songs and kings of old by queerofthedagger

In the war camps of Beleriand, Finarfin assembles the missing pieces of his family’s history; assembles the bits and pieces that make not-regret calcify into something jagged and uncomfortable, where it makes a home beneath his breastbone.

He meets men whose ancestors used to march beneath his son’s banner. Most of their house, too, is decimated now, a strange, hollow kinship that Finarfin wants to flinch from, and that they weather as they bend their knees to him, seeing someone other than Finarfin. He meets victims of his nephews’ terror; meets those who are left of Fingolfin’s people, of Fingon’s, of Turgon’s. Learns how they passed, each of them falling to blazing heroics and bristling despair, and wonders how any of them are ever meant to return from this. How these serrated, brittle remains of a devastated land are meant to be spit out into Aman’s idle serenity, and not break the world all over.

Finarfin, the War of Wrath, and the price it demands.

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A Man Who Flies From His Fear May Find He Has Only Taken A Shortcut To Meet It by LadySternchen

For this month’s ‘The Only Thing To Fear’-challenge, I tried something a little different- which was to write short ficlets for as many prompts as possible. (Admittedly, I wanted them to be drabbles at first, but I just couldn’t manage).

Some of these turned more into PTSD-stories than phobias, but I think it still fits the challenge.

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at the end of all things by Elrond's Library

Finarfin wishes for a simple end

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names of heat and names of light by atlantablack

"You would be better off on your knees doing something useful with your mouth than using it to criticize me," Finarfin snaps, eyes hard as he watches Fëanor. "I have ruled Tirion far longer than you ever did. I do not want nor need your advice."

Fëanor stops pacing, raising an eyebrow and refusing to let his shock at the statement show. Of all the crass things he might have expected to come from Finarfin's mouth, that would never have been one of them. "Bold words," he says after a moment, tilting his head in consideration. "Whatever must the guards think of you saying such a thing to your own brother?"

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don't go blindly into the dark by atlantablack

“He is my brother,” Ñolofinwë says once more, willing her to understand. “He is half of me. What is a fëa worth if half of itself is gone?”

Ñolofinwë is scared that if he takes all that his brother is, and unravels the braid, takes out all of the love, winds what’s left back together — he is so terribly afraid that it will turn into a bitter hatred so dark and violent it may finally rival his brother’s.

He cannot risk that. He cannot. Better to die with love in his heart than live and become an angry, bitter version of himself.

Or: Ñolofinwë begins coughing up flowers and Fëanáro learns that hatred does not erase the duties of a brother.

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Strawberry Daiquiri by Artano

Finarfin makes it a rule for his life to stay as far from Tirion and the mess that is his brothers, but during an important festival the house of Finwë gathers to celebrate together. As he tries to cope with the resulting headache, he helps Finrod make a new friend.

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A Hundred Miles Through the Desert by StarSpray

“Come on.” Maedhros grabbed his hand and pulled him along down the path, both of them quickening their pace now, until the trees opened up into a wide meadow filled with flowers, bright yellow celandine and dandelions and sweet-scented pale chamomile mingling with cornflowers and irises. On the other side of it was a larger party than Maglor had ever seen in Lórien—five figures sitting in the grass. Huan barked again, and they all looked up. “It seems everyone has come to fetch us home,” Maedhros said, laughing, as all their brothers scrambled to their feet.

After years in Lórien, Maglor and Maedhros are ready to return to their family and to make something new with their lives--but to move forward, all of Fëanor's sons must decide how, or if, they can ever reconcile with their father.

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Set in Stone by silmalope

An artisan can never forget what she has made, for a part of her soul goes into the making. (Nerdanel character study/ficlet in six parts.)

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Finarfin Moodboard by Artano

Moodboard focused on Finarfin before and near the beginning of the War of Wrath

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Heavy is the Crown by Artano

Finarfin struggles with the weight of his authority during the War of Wrath

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Ruins by StarSpray

Finarfin comes to Nargothrond during the War of Wrath

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hold onto me / i'm a little unsteady by atlantablack

The whispers that circulate through Tirion afterwards, throughout all of Aman, will be cruel. She had gotten overconfident, they say, she should have known that Finwë’s line was cursed. She should have been content with three children! The whispers never stop circulating but everyone learns very quickly that no matter how Prince Fëanáro had felt about Queen Indis to say such a thing within earshot of him was to earn his everlasting ire.

It goes like this —

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you're in the wind, i'm in the water by atlantablack

Fingolfin feels like part of him is still stuck in Beleriand, blood on his teeth and an all-consuming anger splintering out of control. Like he'll blink and once again see Morgoth's foot coming down. He wants. What does he want? He does not wish to be dead. He is, he supposes, grateful for this chance to fix things as much as they can be fixed. But he wants.

He wants for Fëanor to know him. Wants to work through all the ugly words and acts of violence that had divided them and come out the other side better for it. He cannot throw all the scathing anger in his chest at a brother who does not understand. Cannot scream at this Fëanor for burning the boats, for leaving them to the ice, for Elenwë, for Arakáno, for the countless others who had followed him and paid for it. And so what is he meant to do with the anger? He cannot swallow it all down forever and also salvage his relationship with Fëanor in this new song.

He wants, he thinks, watching a potter unmake a bowl that was marred, to un-sing himself as well.

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