House of Finarfin | When You Prank Them By Walking Around Naked
Request: Good Morning! Can I ask for a group headcanon of House Finarfin whos partners walk up to them naked in their house/rooms? (I was inspired by the nakey challenge on tiktok a while back) Like maybe they just took a bath or wanted to distract them? Thank you!!!
A/N: I hope this was what you were referring to and wanted to have written based on your request, anon. I interpreted it like this, and, I had fun. Ugh, finding a good gif was so hard for this post 🥲
Warnings: slightly suggestive, nudity
Synopsis: When you walk around naked to distract them (based on the tik tok naked challenge)
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Finarfin
You watched him from the doorway, a playful grin tugging at your lips. He hadn’t noticed your approach—too absorbed in his work. Perfect. You’d just finished your bath, skin still warm and fragrant from the scented oils. A soft robe hung loosely around your shoulders, but you hadn’t bothered with anything more. The challenge was simple enough. Distraction.
Padding across the room on silent feet, and stopping just behind his chair, he was still oblivious. With a wicked little smirk, you let the robe slip from your shoulders, pooling on the floor in a whisper of fabric.
“Ara,” you murmured sultrily, “are you terribly busy?”
He startled, quill jerking across the parchment, leaving a long, inky streak. Immediately, his gaze snapped to you—then down. You watched as his lips parted, and for a moment, the Prince of the Noldor was utterly speechless.
“...Valar save me,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face as though to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. His gaze flickered back to you, and despite his best efforts, it lingered. “What in Arda are you doing?”
You shrugged, stepping closer. “You’ve been working all day. I thought you could use a break.”
“A break?” Finarfin cleared his throat, struggling to maintain his usual composure. His ears flushed pink, a rare crack in his regal façade. “And you thought…this was the best way to get my attention?”
“It worked, didn’t it?”
He fumbled, lashes fluttering and mouth fidgeting, though a faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I am trying to focus on important matters.”
“Am I not important?” you teased, perching on the edge of his desk, completely unbothered by his flustered state.
Finarfin’s eyes flickered to the door as if half-expecting someone to burst in at any moment. “We have servants. What if—”
“The door is locked.”
“Oh.” He exhaled sharply, shoulders relaxing. Then his gaze softened, taking in your mischievous expression. “You’re being awfully scandalous.”
“And you love me for it.”
“I do not believe I have much of a choice,” he murmured, standing to wrap his arms around you. His hands rested lightly on your waist, his touch hesitant at first, as though unsure where propriety ended, and indulgence began. Then, with an accepting chuckle, he leaned down to kiss your temple. “Next time, perhaps warn me before you—”
“Now where’s the fun in that?”
Finrod
He was lounging in the sitting room, strumming absentmindedly on his harp, humming a tune you didn’t recognise and lost in his own world. His hair, still damp from his earlier swim, curled slightly at the ends, and he wore a loose tunic that had slipped off one shoulder. The sight of him—relaxed, content, utterly beautiful—sparked a mischievous idea. You slipped away to shed your clothes, returning with nothing but a confident smile.
He didn’t notice your approach until you were standing right in front of him, casting a shadow over his harp. It was then, when he glanced up, his fingers still on the strings.
“You’re blocking my light—” he said lightly, but his smile faltered when he took in your appearance. His eyes widened, and his fingers fumbled, producing a discordant twang.
“Did I interrupt?” you asked innocently, taking a step closer.
“Uh—” Finrod cleared his throat, dragging his gaze up to your face with visible effort. “Not…exactly?”
“Good.” You knelt on the cushion next to him, leaning in just enough to invade his space. His scent—salt and pine and something uniquely Finrod—was intoxicating.
Carefully, he set his harp aside, hands lingering on the instrument as though it might have grounded him. “Is there a reason you’ve decided to forgo clothing today?”
You shrugged, pretending to consider. “I thought you’d appreciate the view.”
“I do,” he admitted, strained. His gaze flickered down, then quickly back up, as though afraid he might get caught staring. “Very much.”
You grinned, delighting in his rare moment of awkwardness. “You’re blushing.”
“I am not.”
“You are.”
“Am not.”
“Finrod.”
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Perhaps a little.”
You took the opportunity to lean closer, brushing your lips against his cheek. “I think it’s sweet.”
He chuckled softly, finally relaxing into the moment. His arms looped around your waist, pulling you into his lap with a gentle ease. “You are far too good at distracting me.”
“That’s the idea.”
For a long moment, he simply held you, the world beyond the room fading into irrelevance. His fingers traced lazy patterns along your back, and his voice softened, a playful accent returning.
“You know,” he murmured, “there’s a song in this.”
“Oh?”
“‘The Tale of the Naked Muse.’”
You snorted, burying your face in his shoulder. “Please don’t.”
“No promises.”
Angrod
Angrod stood at the table in your shared room, thoroughly reviewing the latest maps sent from the borders of Dorthonion. His sharp eyes scanned each detail, brow furrowed as he considered potential weak points in the defences. The light from the window cast a golden glow on his hair, making him look like some warrior out of legend, which—let’s be honest—he was.
But he was also your husband, and if you had to sit through another day of him muttering strategies under his breath, you were going to lose your mind. So, after your bath, an idea struck you. Wrapping your robe around yourself, you peeked out of the bathroom, waiting for the perfect moment. When he turned his back to you, you silently discarded the robe and stepped into the room.
He didn’t notice at first. You bit back a laugh at how absorbed he was. Approaching quietly, you draped your arms over his shoulders from behind, pressing your bare chest against his back.
“Hmm?” He glanced at your hands, then froze as he realised you were entirely unclothed. “What are you—?”
“I was lonely,” you murmured, brushing your lips against his ear.
He stiffened for a heartbeat before turning to face you fully, his eyes widening as he took you in. His gaze flickered down, lingering on the curve of your body, then back up to your face, a slow smile spreading across his lips.
“Lonely?” His voice was soft and teasing. “Is that so?”
You nodded, biting your lip to keep from grinning. “Very.”
His hands found your waist, warm and firm. “And your solution was to...stroll in here without a stitch of clothing?”
“It worked, didn’t it?”
He leaned in, brushing his lips over yours before pulling back just enough to speak. “It did. But you are aware that anyone could walk in? My brothers, perhaps?”
You gave him a knowing smile. “Then you had better hurry and lock the door.”
He didn’t need to be told twice. He crossed the room in a few strides, locking the door with a satisfying click before returning to you. There was a rare gleam of amusement in his eyes now—one you didn’t see often, but it always made your heart race when you did.
“You are trouble,” he said, wrapping his arms around you and lifting you effortlessly off the floor.
“And you love me for it,” you teased, laughing as he carried you toward the bed.
He laid you down gently, hovering over you with a soft expression that made your chest ache. “Aye,” he whispered. “I do.”
Aegnor
Sitting by the fireplace in the main room, Aegnor was busy polishing his sword with a cloth. His long golden hair caught the firelight, glowing like molten metal, and his sharp, elegant features were focused in deep concentration.
You stood by the doorway, garmented in your nightwear, watching him for a moment. There was something endearing about how serious he looked—as if polishing a sword was the most important task in the world.
An idea popped into your head. Grinning to yourself, letting your nightwear slip from your shoulders, you stepped into the hall, bare feet making soft sounds against the stone floor.
Aegnor noticed you immediately, his keen eyes flicking up from his task. His hands froze, the cloth stilling against the blade as he took you in—standing there, completely naked, with a playful smirk on your lips.
For a long moment, he said nothing. His blue eyes burned as they swept over you, lingering on every curve, every detail. You saw his throat bob as he swallowed, and the faintest twitch of a smile at the corner of his mouth.
“Is there a reason you’re wandering about unclothed?” His voice was steady, but there was a teasing tone to it.
“I was hot,” you replied casually, stepping closer. “And bored.”
He set the sword and cloth aside, rising gracefully to his feet. “Ah, and you thought you might entertain yourself by...distracting me?”
“Is it working?”
Aegnor’s lips curved into a slow, hungry grin. “Oh, it is most certainly working.”
You closed the distance between you, placing a hand on his chest. His heart beat steadily beneath your palm, but you could see the way his pupils dilated, how his breathing deepened.
“Have I mentioned how much I enjoy distracting you?” you murmured.
“You’ve made it quite clear.” He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before letting his fingers trace down your neck and along your collarbone. His touch was light, but it sent a shiver down your spine.
“You’re bold,” he said, voice soft and approving. “But what if someone were to see you?”
“I locked the doors.”
His brows lifted in mock surprise. “Did you? Thoughtful.”
“Always.”
Taking your hand and leading you toward the fire, he pulled you to sit on his lap. “Well, since you’ve gone through the trouble of ensuring our privacy, it would be rude of me not to appreciate the effort.”
Request: Hi! I love your blog so much🥹Could you please write a Christmas fic where wife!reader and Finarfin cook something together for their children? Something warm and sweet, maybe a little blond elf comes by and makes everybody’s hearts melt. Thank you! And, even if it’s early, Merry Christmas ❤️
A/N: Merry late Christmas to you anon, and a Happy New Year! 😁
Words: 1.7k
Warnings: none, fluff
Synopsis: You, Finarfin and Finrod decided to spend a little quality time in the kitchen for the festive season.
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“Atto,” Finrod slurred, adjusting the apron he wore, which bore more flour than his hands did. “I told you the lemon slices must be symmetrical. If the slices are uneven, the entire aesthetic of the dish will be ruined.”
Finarfin paused in his attempt to zest a lemon, the grater in his hand slipping precariously. “Findarato,” he said with forced patience, “this is not an art exhibition. Your mother will not measure the symmetry of lemons when she tastes the dessert.”
“But I will know,” Finrod replied with a dramatic toss of his golden hair, his tone heavy with youthful self-importance. “Presentation is everything.”
Finarfin sighed, his diplomatic training only just holding back a retort. He placed the grater down carefully and turned his attention to the array of ingredients strewn across the counters. Flour dusted every surface, and bowls teetered precariously at the edges. The once-pristine kitchen was a battlefield of their good intentions, with the remnants of earlier mishaps—eggshells, spilt milk, and a rather unfortunate incident involving melted butter—littering the area.
It was the morning of the celebration of Narvinyë, the festival of new beginnings, a cherished time in Valinor that many in the household affectionately referred to as ‘the Yule.’ The faint scent of pine and cinnamon lingered in the air, left over from the decorations adorning the hallways and the garlands wound around the bannisters.
The kitchen of the grand household was alive with an unexpected buzz of activity. Warm sunlight streamed through the high windows, painting golden patterns on the stone floors and illuminating the chaos unfolding within. Finarfin, Prince of the Noldor, stood amidst the flurry, his normally impeccable robes exchanged for a simple tunic, sleeves hastily rolled up. He was not a man accustomed to culinary endeavours, but the determined set of his jaw spoke of his commitment. Beside him was his young son, Findarato, barely into his teens, golden hair catching the sunlight and barely reaching his father’s chest as he surveyed the kitchen with a mixture of enthusiasm and disdain.
Finrod sniffed disdainfully, glancing at the mess. “Mother would never allow this,” he murmured, more to himself than to his father.
“Well, your mother isn’t here to see it,” Finarfin replied, his tone verging on defensive as he attempted to salvage the situation. “She’s supposed to be resting. Or, at least, that was the plan.”
“She will smell the chaos before she sees it,” Finrod quipped, folding his arms. “And if this is meant to be a surprise, I suggest we proceed with a bit more...order.” He gestured authoritatively at the table. “I shall handle the garnishing. You focus on not burning anything.”
Finarfin narrowed his eyes. “You are dangerously close to losing your privileges to taste the results.”
Finrod smirked but wisely returned to his task, arranging berries and mint leaves with painstaking precision on a platter that held no finished dessert yet. “I’m merely offering guidance, atto. Leadership is in our blood, is it not?”
Finarfin muttered something indecipherable under his breath, though his lips twitched with reluctant amusement. He was about to respond when the distinct sound of footsteps echoed down the hall.
“Ai,” Finrod hissed, his eyes widening. “She’s coming!”
“You don’t know that,” Finarfin replied, though his own movements betrayed a sense of urgency as he hurried to whisk a bowl of batter that was dangerously close to curdling.
“Father, look at this kitchen! She will think we are incompetent!”
“Remove me from the equation please!” Finarfin corrected, though he immediately regretted it when Finrod’s expression turned mock-horrified. “Findárato, less talking, more doing.”
The door creaked open, and both father and son froze, looking up like startled deer. There you stood, framed in the doorway, your expression a mixture of confusion and amusement as you took in the scene before you. Your husband’s tunic was streaked with flour, his hair slightly dishevelled. Your son stood with a handful of berries, his expression comically guilty, as though you’d caught him in some grand act of rebellion.
“I...” You paused, biting back a laugh. “What on Arda is happening here?”
Finarfin cleared his throat, attempting to straighten himself. “We thought you were resting.”
“I was,” you replied, stepping into the room and carefully avoiding a puddle of something suspiciously sticky on the floor. “But the racket coming from here was hardly conducive to rest. What are you two doing?”
Finrod, ever the dramatic one, stepped forward with a flourish, holding out the platter of berries as though it were a masterpiece. “We are creating a surprise for you, ammë. A display of culinary excellence.”
“Culinary excellence?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow as you gestured to the chaos surrounding them.
Finarfin coughed, shooting Finrod a warning glance before stepping forward. “It was meant to be breakfast...or dessert. The exact nature of the dish is still under negotiation.”
You couldn’t help but laugh then, the sound warm and infectious. “Well, it seems I arrived just in time.” You rolled up your sleeves, looking at the two of them with mock sternness. “Step aside, gentlemen. If this is going to be edible, you’ll need a professional touch.”
Finarfin smiled, a mixture of relief and adoration in his eyes as he stepped back to make room for you. Finrod, on the other hand, looked mildly offended. “I am perfectly capable,” he protested, though he quickly followed suit when you gave him a look and came to stand beside you, the top of his mop of golden curls meeting your shoulder.
You took charge, guiding your husband and son with a gentle but commanding hand. Finarfin, to his credit, listened attentively, his movements more deliberate under your watchful eye. Finrod, however, couldn’t resist his flair for theatrics. He appeared far more interested in inspecting his own reflection in the polished surface of a nearby copper kettle.
“Findárato, you do not need to pose while you mix the batter,” you said, trying not to laugh as your son tilted his head just so, his golden hair falling artfully across his forehead.
“But I do,” he replied with utmost seriousness. “How else will it be perfect?”
“Perfection doesn’t require theatrics,” you replied, though your tone was fonder than scolding.
“Tell that to atto,” Finrod muttered, earning himself a sharp look from Finarfin.
“I heard that,” Finarfin said, though his tone lacked any real bite. He turned to you with a sheepish smile. “Is this salvageable?”
You glanced at the bowl in his hands and nodded. “Barely. Add a bit more sugar, and it should be fine.”
At one point, Finrod accidentally knocked over a bag of flour, and the resulting cloud left all three of you covered in a fine dusting of white. The new mess created only earned groans and grumbles about ‘hair’ and ‘clothes being ruined’ while you and Finarfin stood there, shaking your heads with amused expressions while dusting the flour off each other.
“You look like a ghost, atto,” Finrod said, grinning. “Very dignified.”
“And you look like a mischievous imp. Your true nature,” Finarfin shot back, though his tone was full of affection.
At last, the dessert—a simple but delicious fruit tart—was ready. You slid it into the oven, wiping your hands on a cloth as you turned to face your two co-conspirators. The kitchen was still a disaster, but there was a warmth in the air that made it feel less like a chore and more like a cherished memory in the making.
“Thank you,” you said softly, looking at both of them. “For trying so hard. It means a lot.”
Finarfin stepped forward, his hand brushing yours as he smiled down at you. “Anything for you, melda,” he expressed genuinely. “Even if it means braving the kitchen.”
Finrod, not one to be left out, placed a dramatic hand over his heart. “And I, dearest ammë, have sacrificed my dignity and my favourite tunic for this endeavour.”
You laughed, reaching out to ruffle his hair despite his protests and pulling him in for a hug. “You’re both ridiculous,” you stated, though your tone was filled with love. However, within the blink of an eye, your tone flipped, and without missing a beat, you uttered a command. “But clean up the mess you two made and make this kitchen spotless.”
“But—”
“No ‘buts’,” you laughed as you spun on your heel and grabbed the broom, handing it to Finarfin and motioning for him to get started. And just when Finrod thought he was about to be forgotten as he tip-toed out the kitchen, you walked over with a mop and offered it to him. “Make the floors just as golden as the hair on your head.”
Their complaints easily died on their tongue as you sat on the stool in front of the door, but turned into grumbles and mutters with the occasional side-eye as they went about. And as the minutes dwindled, so did their whining once the scent of the tart nearing its end waffled through the air.
The first to stand before the oven was Findárato, complaining about the heat while he watched you remove the tart. His mop was left on the floor, halfway through with cleaning while Finarfin completed his task, which was him cleaning the entire kitchen due to your son whining about his clothes becoming messier. Once the tart was placed on the table, there was no need for plates and extra utensils. Choosing to act with a lack of etiquette, you stuck your fork into the edge and carved out a piece, feeding it to Findárato first. The tart wasn’t perfect—its edges slightly uneven, the berries a little haphazard—but to you, it was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen.
Carving out the second piece for Finarfin, he gingerly took the fork from your fingers and instead, offered you the bite. “Say ‘ah’.”
With a roll of your eyes, you took the piece of fruit tart and hummed in satisfaction at the taste. It was slightly tangy and a bit crunchy, too crunchy to be considered a tart, but it was fairly decent for a group effort.
“Not bad,” Finrod muttered, earning a laugh from you and a mock glare from Finarfin. “For amateurs, that it.”
➳❥ When Finarfin stumbles upon you during his reign as High King, he is stunned. Why was he feeling warm and fuzzy inside when he gazed upon you? He knew this feeling, having experienced it with his spouse the first time they met, so he was confused. Had the Valar pardoned him and decided to grant him another chance at love?
➳❥ He knows second marriages and falling in love a second time is rare and he witnessed what happened with his family, so he’s cautious. As much as he tried to avoid approaching you, his loneliness caused him to make the first move and he felt like young ellon attempting to approach his crush.
➳❥ Here comes Finarfin attempting to swoon you using all his charisma and charm. He’s nervous and sweating bullets because of the potential rejection looming, yet he was willing to accept and understand if you did. However, luck was on his side.
➳❥ So here you are now, married to the High King and known as his second spouse. You’re worried and scared of what people would say and view you because you don’t want another incident to reoccur as history had told the story. But don’t worry, Finarfin is here to ease all your worries and insecurities, informing you that he genuinely loves and wishes to be with you.
➳❥ His lonely heart had never beaten so thunderously before, and it skips a beat whenever you are near. This elf truly adores you. Your treatment as his spouse will never be any less than what a spouse should receive. You have his ear to prattle, shoulder to cry on, arms to hold you, everything of him, and he makes an effort to be there for you and guide you through the etiquette of royalty.
➳❥ Seeing that he had been lonely for years, probably ages, he wastes no time revelling in the bliss of the newlywed honeymoon stage with you. Spending all the time he can in private and spoiling you as his spouse; Finarfin has never felt more alive.
➳❥ The good side to it is that the first of his children you would meet is Finrod, who would not express himself as Feanor, so the interaction is a lot better than what you expected. He would do his best to be polite, but that doesn’t mean he’ll come around immediately. You’re his father’s choice, he can’t do anything about that.
➳❥ At least you don’t have to worry about him complaining that you’re attempting to steal his mother’s place because he learned that his mother chose to leave the family. Finarfin would reassure you that the most you are getting out of his firstborn is his slightly pushy curiosity.
➳❥ Apart from that, your marriage to the King is quite lavish and full of comfort and security. He knows people would talk about the decision that Valar granted him and compare the situation to his father’s second marriage, so he does his best to show the public that it isn’t the case. It’s all done for your ease of mind.
➳❥ Plus, Finrod’s passivity towards your marriage, aids in calming your mind that he wouldn’t turn against you and rage (his other siblings would, but you’re not meeting them anytime soon).
➳❥ For now, your blissful life with Finarfin is peaceful and merry. You have a loving husband who goes out of his way to care for you. Always asks for your opinion on the matter, not wanting to unknowingly disappoint or push you away because of his individual decision. Long talks about your future with him and all that he wishes to accomplish with you at his side.
➳❥ He listens to all your issues, whether it be how the servants are treating you, or someone gave you a horrible side-eye, he wants to know to straighten things out. Even if it’s non-problematic and you want a getaway cottage when life becomes hectic, tell him. He’s getting it done.
➳❥ Finarfin’s major goal is to ensure that you are content with your marriage and life with him and that you don’t feel like a replacement or comparison to his previous wife. You are his new future, his focus and priority. You matter and he would hate to do something to drive away one of the greatest things in his life.
Request: Boyah!!! ♥️♥️ So happy requests re open!! ♥️ Could I please request Finarfin x human!reader? Perhaps after the final battle, he decides to see ME with his own eyes :') but he is a bit lost, the change it too much ! So the reader finds him and helps him thru his stay :") and sun fluffy romance!! 🤲♥️ — @noldorinpainter
A/N: When I say that I enjoyed writing this, I most absolutely did! This was my first official Finarfin request and it was so fluffy and sweet! Thank you for the request. I got to write a soft and flirty Finarfin and I was squealing. Thank you for increasing Finarfin content.
Warnings: none, nothing but absolute fluff and a flirty Finarfin shooting his shot
Words: 2.8k
Synopsis: As the War of Wrath came to an end, Finarfin decided to explore the beauty of Middle Earth. Instead, he discovered another form of beauty, becoming enthralled.
Part 1 | Part 2 |
The sound of streams rushing vigorously echoed to his right as his foot crossed a maple vine. Animals were scurrying across the forest floor the further he wandered into the forest. Though it was creepier than what he remembered during his childhood days in Valinor, it appeared much livelier now that the war was over, and the majority of the evil had fled.
The squawking and singing of birds overhead and in the canopy and buzzing of insects filled his head with safe sounds compared to the reoccurring sound of metal clashing. The melody was sweeter than the memories of the horrors of the great war. His said reason for escaping the confinements of the camp during nightfall left him to wander until the sun raised on him.
Anor’s rays were caught in his mess of golden ringlets which was designed into a messy bun with tresses still falling out—something to keep the humidity under control. Worrying about his troupes and the others was the least of his concerns; he wanted to explore the lands his father originated. The stories of fighting wild beasts—well that part was already explored—and travelling the distant lands, over the mountain and yonder filled his heart with exhilaration.
Making turns at all different angles and parts, following blinding trails and the forest beasts to wherever they may lead him, having a guide in this new land simply slipped the High King’s mind. His heart contained too much anticipation to learn what was around the river bend or above the canopy of the tallest tree. For a moment, he felt like his little boy when he was in his youthful years. Dragging and tugging at his arms to show him a mud puddle or spider forming its webs. Now he understood who and where Finrod's the enthusiasm resonated from.
Wandering for over twenty minutes, pushing himself deeper into the woods, the idea of handing his hand on the hilt of his sword was faint. All the evil was pushed back to the outer skirts of the land, surely he couldn’t have covered grounds that rapidly. However, he found his left hand sliding up his thigh to comfortably settle on the hilt of his sword. His grip was loose, easy to tighten in a flash if required, positive that the looming eerie sensation was no danger, but rather…uncommon. A concoction of excitement and curiosity overtook his body and urged him to walk forward, overstepping the squirrels that scurried about his feet.
What lay before him was an image he believed to only exist in a land like Araman, nowhere else had the capacity to withhold a beautiful sight. The freshness and holiness of the atmosphere were light and enchanting as if it was untouched by the creatures of the land, save for the animals. It was there his eyes landed on the stream his ears had the fortunate pleasure of listening to. The bubbles of happiness the running water echoed flooded through the roots of a maple tree whose roots formed an archway over the stream. Its roots were planted deeply, and its foundation was firm for the smaller creatures to gather in unity and live. Currently, its leaves were still green, signalling that autumn was far away from stealing its youth.
The exhilarating sensation was still bubbling in his chest when his foot landed in the enclosure and touched the grass. He felt like it was a crime to enter the area clad in his boots. Toes melting into the grass, he sighed blissfully at the warmth the earth provided. Middle Earth isn’t as terrible as I believed it to be after all! At this point, the dangers that could present themselves during this moment were long forgotten as his eyes took in the serenity the land offered.
Laughter had bubbled up his throat and slipped past his lips when a pair of blue jay swooped down from their nest and fluttered around him, singing their morning song. Anor’s rays were still scattered throughout the trees, yet to peak the canopy. Lifting his hand for the birds to land as he assumed it was their intention, the sound of another bird breaks his concentration.
“They seem to like you, well, of course, they would. You’re an elf, all animals tend to flock to your kind with ease.” You were sitting on the opposite side of the maple tree, hidden from his eyes, but audible to his ears. They cocked in the direction your voice echoed and his head automatically craned to view the owner of the voice with curious eyes.
The birds perched on his arm were long forgotten. You had taken the stoplight and captured his attention. Were you a fellow elf or perhaps half-elven as he had come to learn existed. He had met the Edains…who were highly indifferent to his kind. Many qualities were noticeable to differentiate elves from men, so surely, you were on the elven side. But…of course, they would. You’re an elf, an elf wouldn’t make such a statement. You were mortal.
“…Would you be so kind as to reveal yourself, that way I can know who I am about to host a conversation with?” He attempted to hide his commanding nature and royal assertiveness, not wanting to scare you or propose the assumption that you were being forced. Though, he wanted to be a bit commanding, desperate to meet the face of this cheerful voice.
The sound of a book shutting, and clothes crumpling resonated behind the tree and prompted him to shuffle his bare feet across the grass the view you before you could present yourself. What, or as a matter of fact, who he saw, surprised him. Mortals weren’t known for their exquisite form of beauty, but for certain, you surely must have been. The way your hair moved with you as you arose, swishing and curling with your body and wind, was enthralling. Your much smaller figure still held grace and agility that was comparable to the elves. Even your voice reflected the beauty that the elves were known for displaying. Mortal or not, there had to be a trace of elven blood somewhere.
Finarfin gawked, unconsciously, while you ushered yourself off the ground and encircled the tree to prevent stepping over the larger and more complicated roots. More to avoid embarrassment before an otherworldly creature. The corners of his lips were upturned, and his eyes softened as you bounded over to his taller figure without an ounce of fear. That brought some sense of relief to his erratic heart.
“Greetings My Lord, may a star shine upon our meeting.” You greeted him formally with the extension of your hand from your heart to him. His eyes widened unexpectedly and his lips parted to inhale. While the High King received the greeting from the other Edains upon meeting them for their war meetings, there was something different about yours. He couldn’t place his finger on it, but it provided some volume of pleasure.
Being in a distant land for what was considered a few years, his interest in learning the mortal tongue fluctuated due to their ability to communicate in his. While he knew their tongue, the memories of the language were hidden away at the back of his mind. Finarfin’s turmoil began the longer he stood there gawking at you, blue jays already flown away and hand limp at his side, dying to respond. For a moment, he forgot all knowledge of the proper sequence of hosting a conversation, but that was not the reason for his hindrance.
His heart thumped like a hummingbird as warmth filled his skin. He knew it was not the sun, it was still at its 8 o’clock angle. The increase of air in his lungs, the rush of blood flowing under his skin, the lightness of his body, the chorus his fёa sang, Finarfin knew exactly what it meant. It was the last thing on his mind he would ever expect to re-experience again, let alone, here in a foreign land. Loneliness was forgotten and had never felt so foreign and unnerving now that he stood face-to-face in your presence.
What would the Valar say if he offered to return home with you? Did you even feel what he felt?
“Apologies for my…silence…uhh. Might I know your name?” He quickly asked to prevent you from being swayed by his lack of response. When was the last time I had ever attempted to swoon someone? Ah yes, since then…
The memory wasn’t merry to remember. It stung him twice.
“Y/N, My Lord! My name is Y/N,” you exclaimed. “Might I have to honour of knowing yours?”
A name so unusual and unheard off was the epitome of a rare jewel; his mind could never comprehend or imagine such a beauty. Though, he could see the way you peered up at his majestic figure, enthralled the moment you were caught by his welcoming smile and softened electric blue eyes. Knowing the effect of his beauty on others became normality, but when it was you who was affected, his composure was slowly chipping away behind the sole of his feet. Being bare feet on the grass was probably a terrible idea, any moment he could lose his barring and fall harder.
“Arafinwe, my dear,” he politely answered, struggling to keep his the frequency of his voice stable. The hand that once gripped the hilt of his sword reached out and lifted your dainty fingers, over your head, to meet his soft lips (he hoped they were soft enough) and enthral you more.
His ears picked up the faint gasp and his fingers detected the skip in your pulse at the contact. He still had it in him to place his effective charming spell over you.
“Y-Your name…it is unusual to my ears. Very different from the Sindar and the Noldor. Are you perhaps a Moriquendi?” Your question would have offended another whose natural instincts were to shun the rejected race and prideful boost of theirs, but Finarfin knew there were no negative intents behind your curiosity. Like any charmed person, he would enlighten you.
“No, my dear. Noldorin I am, and from across the sea, I came to like those you know. However, my name remains unchanged and dwells in the language of the High Elves, Quenya,” he spoke. A voice like honey, rich and heavy, luring you in with positive intentions to savour more. A taste unlike any other you had ever sampled. Your folks told tales of the Edain who fell for the elf-maiden, fairest of all them all in face and voice, and you wanted to protest against that saying. He was the fairest of them all. Never had a voice like his make butterflies erupt.
“Ah, well that would explain your…accent, it is different from those who speak my tongue,” you stated.
Humming in a sing-song manner, he beamed. “Indeed it is. I have not developed the proper speech technique? …no, forgive me, phonetics of your language. I recently arrived.” He was still holding your hand in his, knowing that he needed to return it, but refusing to part from your touch. Finarfin was like a moth drawn to a flame.
“Then that means you are the elves who came to assist us in battle?! It is you, along with the King, from across the sea who won us the war and brought peace to our land?!”
“The stories have already spread? It has only been a month since the war ended,” he laughed enthusiastically and was intrigued to learn what you might have heard about him. “What have they said about the King?”
“Oh!” you exclaimed at the sudden pique in his interest. “Well, they said that it was he who won the war and defeated the great Dark Lord, driving him and his foul creatures from the land. He fought valiantly and fiercely, with the heart and strength of a lion.”
His heart fluttered at the impression the folks had on him, yet, he wanted to know what you thought of him.
Dropping his hand while maintaining his grip around your fragile fingers as he had come to understand about the Edain. Such delicate creatures you were, much need of care and protection would be required.
“And…what do you think of the King?” he peered, desperate to flutter his heart at your opinion of him. A start to understanding how you saw him through your eyes. A start to rekindle the fire in his heart.
“Well, My Lord…” you pondered. “I cannot say what I think of him for I have never met nor seen him. But I can say that he must be kind, strong and fierce to have led his troupes into battle and win.”
The smile on his face grew from your modesty. You were remarkably wonderful in the short moment he grew to know you. His ego was flaring up at the praises you threw innocently at him. Anyone else who praised him, and it would have been common knowledge from then, but you made a repetitive compliment sound like a prize. What other words could he successfully pry from your honeyed lips?
Turning his head up to the sky, the sun had already peaked and cast its noonday shadows. When did time fly this quickly? Did you cast and enchanting spell upon me? I surely do not mind. His troupes would be out searching for him, an interruption he refused to accept. If he stayed here, they would find him in a matter of hours, but of course, there were ways to evade unwanted interruptions.
“And what if I revealed to you that I am the Noldóran, the King, you speak of, will you continue to keep me company?” he teased. It was long since he felt the need to tease anyone. Not even his nephews he reunited with and he used to playfully tease as children could he attempt to taunt.
His heart was yearning for company…companionship, and you were giving him a sense of hope. Yet to truly understand and grasp the untold truth of the Edains, or perhaps like every other elf before him who did, he ignored it to fill the empty gap in his heart. When the time was right, what pain and suffering he had to experience, he would deal with it as such.
Appalled by his boldness, you stuttered, stunned, “T-The King? You are the King, Arafinwe…your Majesty? Why would you be out here conversing with me and not in the safety of your people?”
Chuckling while lifting his other hand to encompass the one holding yours, he held it between you both. Despite the great height difference between you two, looking down lacked discomfort. There was more mirth and dynamism the longer he locked his gaze with yours. He could see the way your cheeks became swollen and lifted to present your bashfulness and enthrallment to him. It was endearing to learn that he still had the effects he once possessed.
“The beauty of the land was calling to me, and I could not resist. So I came looking, and I was entranced when I discovered that it was you, beckoning to me,” he whispered delicately as though he was citing a soliloquy. “I do not wish to part from you so soon, I still have much to learn, and your company would be splendid.”
Falling speechless at his poetry, none which you ever heard from the elves, dwarves and men have ever sounded as sophisticated and eloquent as his. He was purposefully melting your insides a caramel. Looking up at his marvellously heightened figure, he appeared taller than most of the elves you witnessed. His aura was radiant and compelling.
“My King…surely you do not mean that. I am mortal and you, an elf. It is unlikely between us.”
“If it is unlikely, then why is my heart racing this instant as we speak?” His heart sped up and then clenched at the partial rejection. Never before had Finarfin felt the dire urge to act so direct. Affairs of the heart were always a dangerous situation to be caught in, and this was different from any he had experienced. “But, if that is what you wish, then I would respectfully understand and part ways, but if not, I will pursue no matter what they say.” But my heart would ache and cry for you.
Even you felt a pang in your heart at his sullen state of dejection. “…It is not every day you meet an elf who wishes to fancy you. Mayhaps we become a successful story to the others before us?” you breathed. “So how might I, a mortal, keep His Majesty company if he wishes it?”
“Ay, we can indeed,” he replied with little to no knowledge of the tragedies that couples like him and you faced, but eager was his heart and fëa to love again. He would put his affections and courage to the test to love you. “Arafinwe, my dear. And a tour of the area would be pleasing; that way I can find you easily when I wish to reunite with you again,” he smirked.
Shyly nodding and biting your lip, you hid your growing flustered state and mumbled, “Then I would be honoured to give you a tour to meet again…soon, Arafinwe.”
A/N: I couldn't help but continue this request as a self-written piece. Since we know he's already in ME and fell in love, why not place him in a dilemma.
Warnings: mortality contemplation, flashback
Words: 2.3k
Synopsis: Finarfin finds himself contemplating his future now that his love and duties were entangled.
Part 1 | Part 2
Knock, knock, knock. Three taps to your wooden door and the call of your name made your heart leap. He returned to you as promised.
Wasting no time, you dropped your dough half-heartedly into the pan and rushed to the front, tripping over the rug and steps on the way. Halting just a few footsteps away, you tied your hair and swiped the beads of perspiration down your face. Giving a few fans of cool air to your skin, you cleared your throat and ripped the door off its hinges to again greet his charming and fair face. This was the fifth time you were both seeing each other since your first meeting and Finarfin made it his business to ignore some of his unimportant duties that could cry a few days without him to attend to you.
“Hello.” Your greeting was always short and curt whenever you were meeting him; never able to get more than two words out. It was that silly elven effect you heard from many that they possessed. Lucky to know that you were experiencing it the same way for love.
“Greetings my love.” His voice was never above the howling of the wind, but as sweet as the merry tune of a nightingale. Eyes that held yours made you believe you were swimming in an ocean of blue. Lips that stretched into a grin made you stand on your tippy toes to crane your neck for sweet nectar. And a smile so heavenly that washed away all your worries and doubts.
The whispers of being a mortal and loving an elf had already spread throughout the town. Most villagers were eager to place fear and reminder that you would grow old and wrinkled, and he would no longer find beauty in you. How vacillating was mortal life compared to an elf? Your thoughts were plagued many nights with wondering if his love for you was true and he saw beauty, or if he was lying. But that kiss and smile…it melted your fears and filled you with positivity.
“I come baring gifts for you little bird,” he cheered, though his hands were empty, and nothing was present behind his larger figure.
Your eyes peered around him as best as you could glance for any noticeable trace of an object, but none came into sight. The action urged you to frown and pout, leaving the King chuckling at his lover’s sulky expression. It wasn’t every day Finarfin got to experience the array of emotions that mortals, even you, displayed. All he was familiar with were rage, fear, guilt, happiness and despair. The others expressed entirely differently from elves was an eye-opener for him. More the merrier as he would claim it to be.
Stepping backwards and ushering him into your house, you still marvelled today at the difference between him and your doorframe. Bending his poor back to enter a confined spacing, he had never made it his business to complain. You gathered that he understood the differences in living between elves and men.
“What gifts have you come bearing my love? I see no cloth or item in your hand,” you deliberated, roaming your eyes over his figure in case you missed something sticking out. To your disappointment, there was none.
“I believe you would be surprised to learn that your gift…is me!” he exclaimed with a cheeky wink. It felt unnatural for him to display himself so flirtatious when he was reserved and poised in swooning someone. He was never one for the youthful take on courting and showing affection since he was raised to act properly and above what was considered acceptable. All these rule-breaking would make his father and mother cast an eye at him while shouting his name.
You were turning him into a young ellon all over again. That he understood and accepted wholeheartedly.
Rolling your eyes at his antics, you smiled and walked over to him, allowing your smaller figure to become engulfed completely by the cluster of his robes, cloak and body. “You are so very childish at times Arafinwe…I love that about you,” you praised. “Most people spoke about the elves being stern and serious, only a few were described as light and cheerful.”
“Ah, perhaps the latter was my eldest and a few of his closer cousins,” he replied sorrowfully. He still was not over hearing how his family lost their lives all the way down to the last battle. At the same time, he was hesitant to reveal he was married and bore children; not many were willing to accept being with someone who was engaged before. It wasn’t familiar in elven society but heard of among the men.
Pulling away from him, you looked up and gently smiled, noticing the shift in his mood. “Well, your eldest had to get it from someone…like his handsome and cheerful father!”
Walking away and over to the kitchen to refocus on your unattended dough, he followed closely behind, stewing over words to return. A silence had fallen between you both and he used it to bubble over his next words. Glancing at you kneading the dough to the empty fireplace to the troughs that held your kitchen garden, he chewed his bottom lip. Your home was cosy as you fought to make it comfortable. Even though it was sufficient for one bedroom, kitchen, living and dining room and a porch, it was your patch of paradise. He knew that, but would you be willing to leave it behind.
“I am returning home.”
It was over a month since he broke your heart with those words, heartstrings tugging and begging to snap with every reminiscence of the scene. You hadn’t seen him since that day he came to your door and broke the sorrowful news. He stuck around to ensure you were well informed, but even the great King knew how grave his words were and how deep they had cut. You were left with invisible wounds to the human eyes, but open to the one who loved and sang his soul to you the most every night. The joyous look in his eyes, when those words left his lips, was replaced immediately with regret when he witnessed your status figure halting by the counter.
You weren’t pleased.
Finarfin didn’t truly know how to feel after that incident; even his mind haunted him day and night with memories of your teary eyes. Tossing left and right each night in his room he was kindly gifted by the Gil Galad; he would hold his head and wonder if falling in love with you, a mortal, was his mistake for the agony he was causing. The last time he ever loved, his heart was shattered by the actions of family and the crown, and now the crown was repeating the same heartache. The chance to love again beckoned to him like the earth held the moon; he hadn’t the strength to let go of the opportunity the Valar presented to him. A way of them making up for the problem they and his family caused. But it was still an issue and not a simple blessing; how half-hearted of them to cast a blank canvas and have him figure it all out.
He wanted to paint a picture of his future and yet they gave him no paint.
Sitting on the edge of your bed like a silent whisper of night, Finarfin's hands were curled into his lap like a child the longer he observed your peaceful state. The soft rise and fall of your chest, the twitching of your lips and eyes and the flutter of your lashes, how odd were you as a race of beings weaker than his but more fascinating than anything. He loved to observe you in your slumbering state; too many times he had often wondered where you went when you closed your eyes, wanting to follow you into the astral realm. His brows would frown whenever he attempted to evade your mind the moment you shut your eyes and slipped into your sleep.
Now, it was the most beautiful state of peace he has ever witnessed.
Roaming his eyes over your figure once more, he reached out to ghost his fingers over your cheeks and brush your hair out of your eye. The windows were opened to allow small gusts of wind to breathe the midnight ambience into your chambers. It helped his mind to wander the more he gazed at you, contemplating his future. You were a breath of fresh air after years of loneliness, too angelic to slip through his fingers without a fight. The idea of leaving you behind while he returned to Araman while you remained here, alone and with a broken heart, to wither and die without him at your side, made him choke on a sob.
Was he the moth that was drawn to the flame or were it you? He couldn’t live without you any longer.
Faith and destiny were two of the cruellest entities he had ever discovered and had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting. They thrust unwanted burdens into his heart and left him to suffer, a crown for emptiness. Now that the void could be refilled, it was at a time when the crown mattered. But I could do it. Give up the Crown and have the Valar choose Ingwё to govern; he would obey Lord Manwё’s decree without opposition. I could stay here, even if it was fifty years, I could stay. Would they let me return or deem my act as defiance, rebellion even? If it didn’t meet their wishes, everything was a crime in their eyes, but I could also…
His thoughts were abruptly cut at the suddenness of your body rolling to face him. The air in his lungs halted at the sight of the moonlight slipping through the thin sheer curtains and shining on your ethereal form. Finarfin's hands couldn’t help but brush your cheeks while his face grew warmer as you shuffled close to his touch. Your body was familiar with his scent and presence, you were craving him…missing him. The consciousness made his fёa tremble.
The things he’d do for love. They say love is dangerous, love is powerful, love drives the sanest person crazy, love makes you touch the sky and soar the heavens, love makes you do the impossible. Love was making him rethink all his purpose and duties.
The fire you rekindled within him was an imperishable flame now that the beacon was relit. He dared not allow himself to be parted from your side no matter the consequences he could face. Should his flame be doused, his world would crumble, slipping under his feet and plummeting into the abyss. Second chances didn’t come around often, especially when elves loved once, this was a miracle and a sick twisted gameplay he couldn’t afford to lose. What were the chances of snatching you into his arms and boarding his ship to depart to Valinor this instant? You would hate him for taking you away from his family.
“Would you hate me if I begged you to come with me? I am a lonely elf living in a palace like a masquerade,” he breathed wearily. His soul was growing tired from all the constant back-and-forth run-around. “I can do with someone to keep me grounded…you’d be perfect.”
Running the back of his knuckles along your cheeks, he softly smiled when you sighed and nuzzled subconsciously into his warmth. He had been here for years, slowly fading into the regular routine of his fellow elves who adapted to the changes of Middle Earth, no longer under the watchful gazes of the Valar to scold. It felt refreshing to be diverse, with no one to bark at him for any unethical and unprofessional demeanours. He knew if he took you overseas, you would face the harsh end of the stick for poor etiquette, setting you up for discrimination.
You are the High King Arafinwё, you could arrive at a peaceful conclusion.
“But what if I stayed with you…forever. What if I followed like her, the elven maiden who gave her life for her mortal lover, would you still accept me as I am? Mortality,” he brokenly whispered and clutched his chest, “it sounds painful, but I’d get to be with you forever. You’ll never slip through my fingers.” Dragging his eyes away from your face and roaming them around the room, they focused on nothing as they circumnavigated the tight enclosure.
How capricious was mortality? Today you existed, tomorrow you perished and vanished into the world beyond the outer doors. He didn’t want to suffer like his son did or undoubtedly was, but his opportunity was laid before him like a golden road with hundreds of signs. The only obstruction was his path to walk with you. He snickered. It was always he who walked the mystifying paths in life and suffering was all that he was guaranteed to know.
“Would the Valar grant you immortality likewise the opposite for me? They say I am important, but I’ve never felt so until I met you. I’ve only been at their convenience…at everyone’s convenience actually.” Shuffling his position to gracefully lie on his side and face you, he paused to marvel at the love he found. His right hand reached out once more to cup your face and rub his thumb against the softness. As a mortal, you had such remarkable and unfathomable beauty. “I’m sure they can forgive me for the decision I will make, they always do.”
When the sun rose and the ship sailed, his decision would be made.
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