Fëanor, Nerdanel & Celebrimbor - Children of Ñolofinwë - Ñolofinwë, Anairë & Grandchildren - Children of Arafinwë - Arafinwë, Eärwen, & Grandchildren - Finwë, Míriel, Indis & Findis, Írimë
HC:
Maedhros: While Maedhros cared much more for braids and jewelry in Valinor I don´t think he ever really stopped caring, still dressing up before that as a fine rich lord, until after the Nirnaeth Arnoediad where all hope seemed lost to him, and his sole goal was to get the Silmarils, thus saving his brothers from being unmade in the void.
Maglor: I think Maglor always wanted as much power as possible, and one of those ways to get it was to stick out, therefor always choosing silver and Mithril over gold even as it was more seen in Beleriand than Valinor it was rare to see on a noldor, thus giving him the attention and ears he wanted. While I think he was far from the pretties of the brothers his words easily made up for it, as well as his talent to talk down a situation, making him look like the calmest and most civil of the brothers even if he wasn´t.
Celegorm: While being seen as the wildest of the brothers I do not doubt that Celegorm enjoyed rishes and wine when possible, showing of as much as possible, not minding heavy jewelry gifted by Curufin, and mixing them with what he got from his fellow hunters, much to his brothers distress.
Caranthir: I think Caranthir was excellent with money and the riches elf at least at some point, and he was never afraid to show it, dressing himself in rich heavy fabrics and jewelry by his brother.
Curufin: Curufin is the most fashionable Feanorian out there - always up with the latest trends one thing he at least shared with Finrod. Curufin admired Celegorm for his independence as a child and saw it as a way to rebel against his own name and the expectations it carried with him. While he always loved Feanor an unhealthy amount I also think he despised his parents and yearned for his own identity, and not a copy of his father, which he could only get by being extreme, therefore early leaning on Celegorm for his own will.
Amras & Amrod: I always like the idea that while Amrod was burned when Feanor set fire to the ships, he never died despite having burnt most of his function in the left side of his body away as well as his speech, making Amras invent a sign langue for him and translate for others, this also meaning they were closer than ever in their time in Beleriand - therefor also HC him as the youngest, despite the later changes. As both twins are called hunters, I believe Amras was the one living most up to it, never caring much for finery, while Amrod himself was a scholar but after the fire chose to join his brother in all, although he still liked jewelry in such.
Other HC: Numenor´s crown is inspired by Maedhros´ cobber circlet, much to Maglor´s irritation he finds it charming non the less even if he would rather it was his own that was used as a reference
Amrod and Amras were known as the ‘hunters’ but the reason they never attempted to get into the Great Hunt is because they love agriculture more.
Both the twins have an impressive green hand and actually served in Tirion’s Farmers’ Guild. Though Amrod had the finer mind for the more profitable side of agriculture.
Maedhros and Caranthir’s genius, one among many, is positioning the twins at Amon Ereb in Beleriand. This way, the Feanorions controlled the biggest arable land for food production and established food monopoly in the south. Amrod and Amras experimented with crop hybrids that were more resistant to weather and pests. They also introduced potatoes and different mushrooms into the diet of the wood-elves.
With the Noldor virtually holding about 50% of food producing land (Nargothrond in the west) in Beleriand, it was easy to pressure Doriath into easing the Quenya Ban. No matter what biased historians had to say.
Celegorm, a teenager: I'm gonna poop in that wheel!
Nerdanel, a tired mother of seven: Turkafinwe, that's disgusting!
Celegorm: Right, so when Ambarussar say it, it's not disgusting.
Nerdanel: Because they're toddlers!
Skills and personal style evolve - sometimes I'm still charmed by my old works, but other times I can definitely notice improvements. I actually have both reactions while watching this (terrible) video about the #Feanorions from 10 or so years ago, and the ones I painted in the past few weeks.
I don't know how to explain, but the new versions feel more... "real" to me (especially #Ambarussa , for some reason)
Anyway, this is a reminder to myself that I can get better - and I thought it would be fun to show the "before" and "now " <;
A/N: This was based on the Arranged Marriage headcanons I wrote for the Fëanorians a while ago. Enjoy!
Warnings: arranged marriage AU, anxiety attack (minor), comfort, fluff
Words: 2.3k
Synopsis: With the recent union of your and Amras’s arranged marriage and thrust into the world of rivalry, you and Amras find yourselves in the comfort of each other’s company.
The palace of Tirion was a marvel, its white walls gleaming under the light of Telperion. Every corner of the grand hall was adorned with ornate decorations—garlands of gold and silver, and chandeliers that glittered like the stars themselves. Your new family knew how to display their wealth and power, and tonight’s gathering was no exception. The grandeur of the event was enough to take one’s breath away, but it also made you feel as if you were drowning in an ocean of expectation.
You had anticipated a certain level of formality when you were informed of your arranged marriage to Amras. The news had come swiftly, with little time to prepare, and you had barely caught your breath before you were thrust into the role of his spouse. The marriage itself had been a quiet affair, a ceremony marked by propriety and duty rather than celebration. You had accepted your fate with as much grace as you could muster, but it did little to calm the nerves that now gnawed at your insides.
This evening was your first official appearance as part of the House of Fëanor, and you were unaccustomed to the grandeur, to the sheer volume of people—nobles from every corner of Valinor, all dressed in their finest silks and jewels. Their eyes had been on you from the moment you entered the hall, assessing, judging. You could feel the weight of their expectations pressing down on you, and you wondered if they could see how out of place you felt.
Amras had been at your side like a quiet reassurance in the midst of the chaos. He was a man of few words, and his quiet demeanour had been a comfort to you in the whirlwind that had followed your marriage. Yet, despite his calming presence, you could not shake the feeling that you were a stranger in this world of rivalry.
The rivalry was heated, an undercurrent that ran through the gathering like a silent storm. Fëanor and his half-brother Fingolfin had long competed in every aspect of their lives, and now it seemed that even the marriages of their children had become another arena for their contest. Each noble family seemed to be evaluating not just you, but the alliance your marriage represented. It was too much—the grandeur, the scrutiny, the sense that you were nothing more than a piece on a chessboard, moved by forces beyond your control.
As the evening wore on, the noise and the crowd began to overwhelm you. Every smile felt forced, every word strained. The music, once beautiful, now felt like an assault on your senses. Your heart raced in your chest, and the walls of the grand hall seemed to close in around you. You needed to escape, to find a place where you could breathe without feeling the weight of so many eyes on you.
Making your excuses as politely as you could, you slipped away from Amras’s side with a murmured promise to return soon. His reply was a simple nod, though, the slight furrow in his brow questioned your decision, nevertheless he had let you go without question. You wound your way through the throng of people, past the servants carrying trays of food and drink, and finally through a side door that led into one of the many corridors of the palace.
The quiet of the corridor was a welcome relief from the noise of the hall, but it did little to calm the storm that raged inside you. Walking quickly, your footsteps echoing against the marble floors as you sought out a place where you could be alone, where you could gather your thoughts and still your racing heart. And it seemed as the corridors twisted and turned, leading you deeper into the palace, you found yourself at the entrance to the gardens.
The scent of jasmine and roses filled the air, mingling with the cool, crisp scent of the night. A soft breeze stirred the leaves of the trees, and the sound of running water from a nearby fountain provided a soothing backdrop to the otherwise still night. The path before you was lined with stone benches and flowering bushes, their petals glowing softly in the light of the stars above. Briskly you followed the path, your feet carrying you deeper into the garden until you reached a secluded corner where the night-blooming jasmine grew thick and fragrant.
Here, at last, you allowed yourself to breathe as you sank down onto one of the stone benches, your hands trembling as you buried your face in them. The tears you had been holding back all evening spilled over, hot and unwelcome, and you felt a sob catch in your throat. It was all too much—too fast, too overwhelming. You had barely had time to process your new life, and now you were expected to be a part of this grand family, to fit into a world that felt completely alien to you.
You knew that Amras was kind, that he would understand if you told him how you felt. But you didn’t want to burden him with your fears, not when he had his own struggles to contend with. He was a quiet man, often overshadowed by his more outspoken brothers, and you wondered if he felt just as out of place in this grand gathering as you did.
Caught in your whirlwind of emotions, a soft rustle of leaves behind you made you freeze, and you hastily wiped the tears from your cheeks, trying to compose yourself. You turned, expecting to see a servant or perhaps one of Amras’s brothers, but instead, you found yourself looking into the concerned eyes of your husband.
“Amras,” you breathed, your voice shaky as you attempted to stand. You hadn’t heard him approach, hadn’t expected him to follow you.
He didn’t say anything at first, simply watching you with those piercing green eyes of his. Then, slowly, he stepped forward and knelt in front of you, halting your actions, his gaze searching your face for answers.
“Please, no need to stand. Are you all right?” he asked softly, his voice full of concern.
You wanted to lie, to tell him that you were fine, that you just needed a moment to yourself. But the words caught in your throat, and all you could do was shake your head as fresh tears welled up in your eyes.
Immediately, his expression softened, and without a word, he reached out to take your hands in his. His touch was warm, grounding you at the moment, and the gentleness of it made your heartache. “It’s all right,” he said quietly, his voice soothing. “You don’t have to explain if you don’t want to.”
You nodded, biting your lip as you tried to hold back the tears that threatened to spill over again. “I–I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I didn’t mean to run off like that…it’s just…everything is so much, and I don’t know how to—”
Amras squeezed your hands gently, cutting off your words. “I know,” he said softly. “It is overwhelming, isn’t it? This is all so new, and…so much has changed so quickly.”
You nodded, biting your lip as you tried to rein in your emotions. “I don’t belong here. I can't fit in…or never,” you whispered. “I don’t know how to…to be what they expect me to be.”
At your whimpers his eyes softened as he reached out to take your hand in his. His touch was warm and reassuring, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles. “You’re not alone in feeling that way,” he admitted. “I’ve lived with my family my entire life, and even I feel out of place sometimes. They can be…a lot.”
You looked up at him, surprised by the honesty in his voice. He was quiet by nature, often overshadowed by his more boisterous brothers, but in this moment, you saw the depth of his understanding and his own struggles.
“It’s just that everything happened so fast,” you continued, your voice trembling. “I barely had time to process the arrangement before we were married, and now…now I’m here, surrounded by all of this, and it’s like I can’t keep up.”
“I feel the same way,” he confessed. “I didn’t expect things to move so quickly either. I thought…I thought we would have more time to get to know each other, to adjust.”
He paused, his gaze searching yours as if trying to find the right words. “I want you to know,” he said slowly, “that I don’t expect anything from you. I don’t want you to feel like you have to be someone you’re not, or that you have to meet anyone’s expectations—least of all my father’s.”
“You don’t truly mean that?” you whispered brokenly.
In response, he offered a genuine smile and a nod of his head. “Oh, but I do.”
You felt a rush of gratitude at his words, and your grip tightened on his hand. “Thank you,” you murmured, your voice thick with emotion. “I—I’m so relieved to hear you say that.” You felt a warmth spread through your chest at his words, and for the first time that evening, you felt like you could breathe. The weight that had been pressing down on you lifted slightly, and you looked at his with newfound gratitude.
Shaking his head, his expression gentle. “Perfection is overrated,” he said softly. “And it’s not what I want from you. I just want us to be able to talk, to get to know each other as we really are—not in feeling out of place. I understand how overwhelming it can be, especially when you’re suddenly thrust into the middle of all this expectation.”
His honesty touched you deeply. You had always admired him for his quiet strength, but hearing him admit his own vulnerabilities made you feel closer to him in a way you hadn’t expected. The idea that you weren’t alone in your feelings, that even someone as composed as Amras could feel out of place, gave you a sense of comfort and camaraderie.
“I’ve always felt like an outsider,” you confessed quietly, turning your gaze to the flowers blooming around you. “Even before all this. I’m not used to being the center of attention, and it feels like I’m constantly under scrutiny now. I’m afraid of making a mistake, of disappointing you or your family.”
While his expression softened, he hesitantly reached out to gently cupped your cheek, turning your face so you could meet his eyes. “You could never disappoint me,” he said with quiet conviction. “And as for my family…they’re a lot to handle, I know. They’re just…well, they’re a passionate lot, and sometimes that passion can be overwhelming. But you don’t have to worry. Take as much time as you need to settle in, I’ll be patient.”
His thumb brushed against your cheek, wiping away a stray tear that had escaped.
For a moment, the two of you sat in comfortable silence, simply holding each other’s gaze. The garden around you seemed to grow even more tranquil, as if the night itself was offering its blessings to your newfound understanding. The gentle rustling of the leaves, the sweet scent of the jasmine, the distant chirp of crickets—it all became a comforting symphony that wrapped around you like a blanket.
As you sat there, you began to notice the little things about Amras that you hadn’t had the chance to before—the way his hair caught the moonlight, the gentle strength in his hands as they held yours, the quiet confidence in his voice that belied his earlier confession of uncertainty. There was a depth to him that you were only just beginning to understand, and it made you want to know more, to explore the facets of the man who had become your husband.
Eventually, Amras broke the silence, his tone lighter as he said, “You know, I was thinking…perhaps we should try to slip out of these gatherings more often. I’m sure my father and uncle would be too busy trying to outdo each other to notice our absence.”
You laughed, the sound bright and genuine, and it felt good to release some of the tension that had been weighing on you all evening. “You’re probably right,” you said, a twinkle in your eyes. “They seem more interested in their competition than in who’s actually present.”
“True,” he said, tilting his head slightly, “and when I was younger, I used to hide out in these gardens whenever family gatherings became too much. My brothers would be off making a spectacle, and I’d sneak away to find some peace.”
You couldn’t help but smile at the image of a young Amras hiding among the flowers, seeking refuge from the chaos of his family. “I suppose it’s no wonder you found me here, then,” you replied, a hint of amusement in your tone.
He chuckled softly, the sound warm and genuine. “Perhaps,” he agreed. “The gardens have always been a place of solace for me. It seems fitting that we’d find some peace here together.”
As the night wore on, you and Amras continued to talk, the conversation flowing easily between you. You spoke of small things at first—your favorite places, your hobbies, the things that brought you joy. And in return, Amras opened up about his own struggles, his feelings of being overshadowed by his brothers, his desire to find his own path.
The more you talked, the more you realised how much you had in common. You both longed for a sense of belonging, for a place where you could be yourselves without the weight of expectations.
As the night grew later and the chill in the air deepened, Amras finally stood and extended his hand to you. “Shall we make our farewells?” he asked softly, sensing that you were ready to leave.
“Sure, why not,” you murmured. “I think it’s high time we returned home.”
Káno, who had been in the middle of playing a dramatic nocturne on the piano, turned to see the Ambarussa behind him—holding a plate of exquisite pastries.
Káno’s mouth watered. He snatched a few scones and stuffed them in his mouth. They were both sweet and soft. He savored every bite.
“Pityo, Telvo, your cooking will never fail to impress me,” Káno exclaimed, licking the crumbs off his fingers. “It surpasses even Ammë’s!”
Pityo grinned. “Thank you, hanno!”
Telvo frowned, glancing at the piano. “When was the last time you ate?”
Káno didn’t answer that.
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"We made some scones!”
Maglor, who had been in the middle of composing another depressing stanza of the Nolodantë, turned to see Elrond and Elros behind him—holding a plate of exquisite pastries.
“These look wonderful, you two!” Maglor said. His eyes narrowed. “We’re on rations. Where did you get sugar?”
“Atto took care of it,” Elros said impatiently. “Come on, just try one!” he exclaimed.
Maglor laughed and took one.
He ate it.
The twins looked at him eagerly.
“Pityo, Telvo, this tastes wonderful!” Káno exclaimed.
