The Memories They Held Till The End...

peaceful valinor days feat. the cousins

Left to right: (curufin, celegorm, aredhel) (fingon, caranthir, maedhros) (turgon, finrod, maglor)

Aredhel, Celegorm and Huan in Valinor.

Celegorm wears his fëanorian red even on the hunt - he says it's camouflage because his horse is also red.

Mix of watercolour and digital painting.

@arafinwean-week 2025 Day 2: Finrod

Suddenly Finrod there a-swaying sang in answer a song of staying, resisting, battling against power, of secrets kept, strength like a tower, and trust unbroken, freedom, escape; of changing and of shifting shape, of snares eluded, broken traps, the prison opening, the chain that snaps.

you ever spend hours thinking about maglor's wanderings and then eventual death on the shores of Middle-Earth? Farther from home than he's ever been before; what is home anymore?

yeah me too

When your husband returns from 3000 years in jail ...

... and you're thirsty af 🥰💖!! Mairon really missed him! Daddy's back on Arda!!!!

GLORFINDEL AND THE BALROG

This is for the dtiys challenge from the amazing and wonderful @silmaspens !!! This was truly a challenge to do, but I had fun testing my limits ^^ I hope I did their artwork justice!!

Fingolfin during Dagor Bragollach also called the Battle of the Sudden Flame. A horrible event that ended the siedge of Angband and resulted in Noldor elves being slaughtered by Morgoth forces by the thousands.

cold morning in Himring

I'm fresh out of half-elven inspiration today, so have some Russingon, for a change. And some Lalwen, because there should always be more Lalwen. Also on AO3 (T: 352 words).

********

It is Lalwen who marries them.

Lalwen, whose own heart’s joy had laughed at Mandos, and now melts into the bones of the earth in blistered Dorthonion, returning, as she had ever sought, to the imagination, to the shining, breathing glory of the trees. Sinking down, that the roots may be nourished and the shattered forests rise again.

“Look not for me in the West,” she had said, as the binding caught their hearts, as Lalwen’s breath tracked hers to its source and their bodies wove together, following their minds. “This is all there is. Love, now, and the silence, after, unless it be a song of remembrance, caught in the branches, or the breeze.”

Lalwen had only kissed her again and clung, until the knife came down, and the great woods burned.

She watches Maedhros’ face as they weave their plans for the final battle, remembering Fëanor’s passion, and his bright boys’ following rage. Let the Void take us! And if it does? If there is only silence, and not even a song, where the Darkness reigns?

She is cold. Colder than she ever was in the great crossing; more certain even than then of the long fall, the bleak end. Fingon’s fine eyes catch the light as they did on the Ice, under the stars, only now they are burning.

This is all they will have. Love, now, and the silence, after.

She draws them into the robing room, after the council meeting. Pulls the gold bands from the bases of her braids to use as rings. Wraps their wrists with her sash, lays skin against skin as they stammer and shiver under her fierce, forgiving gaze.

Maedhros tries to demur, to conjure spectres and channel voices of disapproval, but he is already leaning into Fingon; their smiles matching as they ever have; their fingers twining as though carved to fit, knuckle to knuckle, tendon to tendon, bone to bone.

Lalwen blesses them. Kisses them. Sends them to bed, to their true binding.

She sits in the dark, then, for a while, listening to the silence.

To the song.  

thank you for your russingon art🥺 they are lovely in your style!

Aww thank you 💕 I'm so happy you like them in my style! My obsession with them won't stop any time soon