Fanworks Tagged with Incest

"You should tell me to stop," Fëanáro says softly, taking the last step and pressing himself flush against Ñolofinwë.

Ñolofinwë swallows with some difficulty, tilts his head back against the door to meet Fëanáro's eyes. "You are my brother," he says, voice wavering. "We should not."

Fëanáro smiles wryly. "That is not telling me to stop."

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“You said,” Fëanáro says quietly, taking a step forward, “that I shall lead, and you shall follow.”

Ñolofinwë bites down the urge to take a step back as Fëanáro takes another step forward. “I said those words and I meant them. You are my brother and now my king, why should I not follow where you go?”

Fëanáro is regarding him far more seriously than he had that night as they stood in front of Manwë and Ñolofinwë wishes to know what brought this on. “And if I were not your king?” Fëanáro asks. “If I were your half-brother only?”

Or: Fëanáro does not steal away with the ships in the middle of the night, leaving Fingolfin to brave the bitter cold. Whether what he does instead is any better depends on who you ask.

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Fëanor spends more nights than he cares to admit to at Fingolfin’s these days. More time than he cares to admit to thinking about Fingolfin these days. Feels some days though as if Fingolfin is the only bit of this new age that is easy at this point.

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The footsteps come to a stop in front of him and he does not have a moment to wonder at his brother’s intentions before fingers are sliding into his hair and tugging his head back. He glares up at Fëanáro, tears on his cheeks, heart racing like a plea. Fëanáro stares back, expression strangely blank as he studies Ñolofinwë’s face. And despite his thoughts, despite his belief, he still finds himself smiling mirthlessly and asking, “Well, have you come to kill me in truth? Make your exile worth it?”

Something flickers through Fëanáro’s eyes too fast for him to catch and the fingers in his hair tighten painfully. “I would have thought that upon successfully usurping the crown you would be far more pleased,” Fëanáro says darkly, lip curling in disgust.

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Fingolfin does not look up from his book when he hears footsteps approaching and pays no attention to Fëanor walking into the room. What he emphatically does pay attention to is Fëanor going to his knees in front of the chair he is sprawled sideways across and burying his face against Fingolfin’s stomach, both of his hands clenching tight around Fingolfin’s shirt. He blinks down at Fëanor’s head in confusion and runs a hand over his head, dragging his fingers through Fëanor’s hair. “Náro?” he asks quietly. “Has something happened?”

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There was, he thinks slowly, trudging through the grief mired thoughts, gold ribbons coated in blood, a cold bed, a gaping emptiness in his mind where a marriage bond used to hum. There were years and years with only his brothers and even those dwindled with time.

His ears catch on a voice raised high, panicked, and then with terrifying force, the marriage bond snaps back into place, filling an emptiness he’d only just begun to grasp the edges of, and everything goes very sharp and clear.

Fingon, he thinks, feels the answering burst of confusion, fear, hope. “Fingon.”

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Drabbles written in response to Elleth's Femslash & Lyrics board.

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All is not as it seems when Thranduil enters the ancestral Feanorian estate, but he fails to fully comprehend the scale and nature of the risk. If he's very lucky, one day he might even get to leave.

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Elrond made a choice and needed someone to fullfill it.

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After the War of Wrath they were taken again.

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Fëanáro era Rey. Nolofinwë lo había aceptado mucho antes del asesinato de su padre. 

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"They do not touch anymore, not even in violence. Maglor has no need of him. It is his foals, grazing upon his barren spirit, who have brought him back to life."

A messy entanglement, from four perspectives. 

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A Fëanorian hunter is seriously injured near the Nolofinwëan camp at Lake Mithrim. Though Fingolfin scarcely knew Fëanor's youngest sons, he at once recognises and is drawn to his nephew, whose presence offers him a semblance of closure to the irreparable relationship with his dead half-brother. After taking on the role of Amrod's healer himself, he discovers that their wounds, and their need for each other, run far deeper than he thought.

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Maedhros' decision to cede his claim to the High Kingship drives a rift between him and the brother who held the crown for him through his captivity. Through their reconciliation, Maedhros grapples with shame over the feelings that Maglor's devotion awakens in him, before he at last accepts the balm for loss and failure that Maglor offers.

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Nolofinwë did not want to be here.

If he could have been anywhere else in the world, he would have fled there at this moment.

~

Fingolfin and Feanor's complicated relationship in four scenes.

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Maedhros watches on as Maglor & Fingon try to settle a debate over whose harp is better. | Years of the Trees, Quenya Names Used

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When Maedhros and Maglor attempt to steal the Silmarils after the War of Wrath, they are seized and taken as prisoners back to Valinor. As it turns out, a pardon has been negotiated on their behalf - but no one bothered to tell them this, or the unique conditions on which they have been released from their oath. They have simply been tied up and dumped in two different remote locations: Maglor outside a white tower near the borders of the Sundering Seas, and Maedhros on a dock at the rim of the world.

[Maedhros and Maglor are Eärendil and Elwing's war prizes and everyone has sex.]

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Curufin & Aredhel indulge in some spring wine. 

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Maedhros is one of the last of his family to return to life, welcomed joyfully by his brothers.

Now that Fingolfin has his wife back, is he still going to welcome him in his bed -- and should Maedhros even ask?

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After his rebirth Nolofinwe knows he can't lie to Anaire any longer, even if the chance of Maedhros to ever be reborn is slim.

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The joy of that feast was long remembered in later days of sorrow; and it was called Mereth Aderthad, the Feast of Reuniting -- The Silmarillion

Fingolfin invites all the elves of Beleriand to a feast. It is a very good excuse to see Maedhros again.

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On their last day in Aman, Findekáno and Maitimo disappear into the Garden of Lorien for a moment of private devotion before the trials ahead. A handfasting is had, in private. 

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Findekáno brings Maitimo home, but nothing is like it was between Nolofinwe and Maedhros after his imprisonment in Angband. Maedhros feels tainted and unworthy, but Nolofinwe is not going to give up on him.

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After millennia of being a self-imposed bachelor, Glorfindel reencounters the only person from his past capable of turning his world upside-down.

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He should have seen it coming, Nolofinwe thought while Maitimo’s lips descended on his, hot and demanding. His nephew had stolen away to talk with him almost every time he visited Findekáno and it hadn’t escaped Nolofinwe how he looked at him – and he couldn’t deny that Maitimo was proving a hard trial for his self-control.

After Maitimo recognises Nolofinwe at a place for people of special tastes, they share a common secret. But is this a chance to have this kind of relationship with someone they care about or should they forget about it because of their close kinship?

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