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A Faerie Slashy Advent Calendar by Naledi Mature
A round-robin advent calendar. Elrohir is pursued by orcs to the eaves of Mirkwood. What happens next is anyone's guess.
Beast by Nuredhel Mature
Bard Bowman is working as a police investigator, when the serial killer he is chasing proves to have a very long history...
Child of Dying Embers by arafinwean Mature
"We are not the same, child of Melian, you were born of love and trust and I? I was born of hate and envy."She is not supposed...
Change by arafinwean Mature
Fingon takes Maedhros from Thangorodrim, but the journey isn't pleasant, nor is all forgiven.Maedhros is released from Thangorodrim...
Even the Birds Are Chained to the Sky by cheekybeak Teen
The story of Legolas, Elrohir and Maewen in Valinor. A Silvan child runs free and safe in Valinor but how free is he? A mother...
Oss's Gift by elfscribe Mature
On a sea voyage from Umbar, Erestor becomes enmeshed in intrigue while fighting his secret feelings for his irritating and...
Senses Over Time by NelyafinweFeanorion Teen
A Gift fic for Cheekybeak based on the characters in her story Fire Dancing Upon Our Souls. Set in that same timeframe, as...

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12/14/17 01:06 am
I'm going to be working hard on my chapter for tomorrow with all these amazing plot twists you all left me!
12/14/17 12:46 am
Don't mind Narya- Saturday is fine if you want Friday- probably easier for me to be honest.
12/12/17 11:12 pm
Oh, ziggy, btw, are you happy with Friday or is Saturday easier for you? I can do either.
12/12/17 03:27 pm
Great pair of chapters, ziggy and cheeky! I'm so excited to see what happens next.
12/12/17 02:12 pm
Ok Ziggy Thursday it is for me!
12/12/17 10:28 am
I managed it :-) and even got the next chapter up early! Not my best, but it was a busy day. That's my excuse.
12/12/17 07:26 am
@Cheekybeak- Haha! Serves you right for the last curved ball:D Nelya- yes, fine. You do Thursday, I'll find it easier doing Friday anyway.
12/12/17 01:14 am
Ziggy do you have Thursday too? If not I can do Thursday instead of Friday if someone else wants to pick up Friday? Let me know!
12/12/17 01:05 am
Oh, seriously, Ziggy?? What are you doing to me?! How do I follow that???
12/12/17 12:58 am
Shout Archive

and the light streams out by arafinwean

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Chapter notes:
Anyway I found the lack of Fingolfin/Feanor/Finarfin fics disheartening so I made my own? This first chapter is just about Feanor and Finarfin though Fingolfin is mentioned.

Also, a warning, my Finarfin tends to differ from common interpretations of him so, yeah, beware.
Fanro does not think much of Arafinw. He does not think much of his too kind half-brother who offers him a smile even as Fanro scorns him. Does not think that Arafinw is half as interesting as Nolofinw, who Fanro can provoke with words barely coated in the honey required of the two of them in court.

No, Fanro thinks, watching Arafinw smile and charm a group of Teleri who are visiting Tirion on business, his youngest half-brother is nothing more than a pretty face. There is no fire to him.

He doesn’t think of Arafinw again until the next time he attends a festival held in the Tirion’s city square. Strands of silver light up the sky and Fanro is captivated by it, has lusted for light since he was a child and clinging to the faint memories of his mother’s hair.

He wants to do more than replicate light, he wants to create his own. Wants to create something that will be known far and wide and he wants what he creates to mean something.

A hand on his shoulder, and Fanro turns to find Nelyafinw staring at him, quirking his brow in a way that tells Fanro his oldest son is amused.

It’s odd to find that his oldest has outgrown him, but Fanro still feels a rush of pride at how his son can charm lords and ladies almost as well as his uncle.

“Nelyafinw,” Fanro says, “Is something the matter?”

“You should enjoy yourself father,” his lips quirked in amusement even as he says this, “None of us are children anymore, you don’t have to keep chasing us.”

Fanro almost laughs.

“I’ll be chasing you seven as long as I live,” Fanro informs his son. His eyes leaving his eldest’s face for a moment to trace the path of light that reflects off the various pieces of crystal and glass scattered throughout the square.

Nelyafinw catches Fanro’s distraction and smiles.

“Perhaps we should be the ones chasing you,” he says, and Fanro opens his mouth to respond when-

It’s as though a bolt of lightning struck the square because suddenly there’s a light in his mind's eye. A mix of gold and silver and bright enough to put stars to shame, it’s firm and angry and just as quickly as it comes it’s gone.

Fanro blinks, coming back to himself, and is reminded of Arafinw’s heterochromic eyes.

His left was gold.

His right, silver. The same two colors that had appeared just a moment ago.

Fanro watches his son take his hand off his shoulder and leave, calling for Arafinw as he does so.

Fanro had known his son and Arafinw were friends, being so close in age they were bound to bond no matter how much Fanro disapproved. Which meant that if Nelyafinw was calling out his uncle’s name then-

Well, it seemed like Arafinw might be more interesting than Fanro had thought.


He does not seek Arafinw out right away. He will let the fire in his half-brother cool before he tries to rouse it again.

It turns out that display at the festival was Arafinw, that someone had insulted one of his children and implied that they were not fit to be apart of the royal family and Arafinw, calm, collected, boring, Arafinw had lashed out.

(Arafinw might be a master of masks, but Fanro has always been good at breaking them.)


Fanro finds Arafinw after his half-brothers wife and children had left Tirion for the sand and sea again.

He picks the lock to Arafinw’s house, slides in through the front door and stops when he sees that the nothing in the house is lit. The only light is coming in through the window.

For a moment, Fanro wonders if he’s miscalculated and that Arafinw has gone out to the market or something equally dull. Then there’s a crash below him and he almost laughs.

What would Arafinw be doing in the basement?

Raising an eyebrow, Fanro reaches out with his mind and is surprised to find that he can sense his half-brothers fire through the walls. Something must have made him angry enough to draw out that delicious light that Arafinw does such a splendid job of hiding.

He descends the stairs to the basement, and has to blink to reassure himself that what he’s seeing is real.

All along the hallway leading to the room that he can sense Arafinw in he can see murals, fresco’s of bloody battles and death. As he continues down the hallway he can see that some depict the death of one person, others the death of multiple people, finally he sees one that makes him stop.

There are seven figures surrounding a burning skeleton.

Fanro knows what it is.

He does not want to think about leaving his children behind. He knows the pain of losing a parent far too well. He reaches out to stroke the figures of his sons.

He will not leave them.

He is sure of it.

Fanro does not believe in prophecy, he believes in taking fate into his own hands and crafting it as he will.

He will not leave his sons fatherless.

“Yes you will,” a voice says, as if reading his thoughts.

Fanro would not be surprised if they had been read.

“And how do you know?” Fanro challenges his half-brother, “Because you saw it?”

“Because the path you’re on can lead to no other destination,” the voice says, oddly devoid of emotion, “Because you’ve already decided to make them, and father will always go with you.”

“What happens to him?” Fanro’s voice is sharp, heavy and demanding. It would cause lesser men to cower.

Arafinw does not cower.

He simply shakes his head.

“I cannot tell you.”

“Even if it can be avoided?”

“It cannot be avoided,” Arafinw’s voice sounds pained, “He loves you beyond all reason. He will follow wherever you go,” Arafinw chuckles, “Just as you would do anything for him he will do anything for you. He loves you more than anything.”

“Does that bother you?”

“It used to.”

“And now?”

“Now I would rather none love me in such a way.”

“Why?” Fanro cannot imagine hiding the full extent of his love beneath layers of masks as Arafinw seems to do.

Arafinw is now standing shoulder to shoulder with Fanro, both of them gazing upon his death scene.

“My wife has told me that our family loves in such a way it is terrifying,” Arafinw says, “That our family will turn love into a weapon and make you bleed with it,” a moment of silence, “I have felt that love for my wife and children, but I refuse to turn it into a weapon against them.”

“Are you scared of someone turning it into a weapon against you?”


Fanro turns his head and finally looks at his half-brother. Arafinw looks tired, has the same weariness about him Fanro has seen in Irmo’s seers. His golden hair is coming loose from the ponytail that Arafinw seemed to have hastily put in and he has a smear of red paint across his cheek.

Like blood, Fanro thinks, and wipes it away with his thumb.

Like fire.

Fanro lets his hand fall away.

Arafinw blinks, as if startled. His mismatched eyes seeming to glow as they come to focus on Fanro.

Fanro wants to take the light in those eyes and turn it into gems. Wants to horde Arafinw’s light away like the Teleri horde pearls. He wants to string every reaction he possibly can from Arafinw until his half-brother is always on fire.

“That’s always the risk with love Arafinw,” Fanro says, and thinks that Arafinw is terribly attractive disheveled, “Are you unwilling to take risks?” A challenge.

“I am unwilling to let my family get hurt in the aftermath.”

Fanro laughs.

“You care more than you should.”

Arafinw meets his eyes.

“And you don’t?” A challenge that Fanro ignores in favor of answering a question that has been bugging him since he discovered the murals.

“Should you not be with Irmo? Certainly a seer of your talents would be treated well by the Valar.”

Fanro does not expect the room to darken with Arafinw’s mood. He is not disappointed when it does and suddenly the smoldering flame that had led Fanro to Arafinw burns brighter.

“No.” Sharp as a red hot knife, the single word cuts through the air and would have left no room for more questions if Arafinw had discussed it with someone other than Fanro.

“Why not? Certainly you would enjoy it there.” Fanro presses.

“I will not be their spy,” Arafinw says, anger evident in his voice, “I will not allow them to use me to shape the future.”

If Fanro weren’t Fanro he would have tried to hide the sudden anger he feels at the implication of Arafinw’s words. That the Valar could have a hand in his fate, in the fate of his family, does not sit well with him.

Fanro ignores the first part because he doesn’t want to think of the Valar pitting his own people against each other.

(For some reason, it would not surprise him if they did.)

“What do you mean?” Fanro knows what Arafinw meant, but he wants confirmation of it.

Arafinw barks out a laugh and for a moment Fanro is reminded of a wolf.

When Arafinw smiles, it isn’t a nice smile.

“Oh Fanro,” Arafinw says, his voice dripping with fake pity, “Did you really ever think we were free?”

Fanro never did, but to hear what he thinks come out of the mouth of one member of the family that everyone thinks is tame makes him laugh.

We will only be free when we are separated from the Ainur, Fanro thinks, and makes sure Arafinw hears it.

From the look in his eyes, Arafinw hears him and agrees.
Chapter end notes:
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