#arafinwe

HIGH KING ARAFINWË

A commission I’ve been working on for some weeks now (as you can probably tell by the amount of detailing in this), featuring High King of the Noldor and the complete opposite of a busybody, Finarfin.

I was allowed entire creative direction here, which I of course took as an opportunity to shill my primary Finarfin headcanon, which is that he looks incredibly young. Like straight up twenty-year-old boy-king level young, even though he’s actually whatever thousand years old. To the point Celebrían, who has grown up and lived entirely around Beleriand veterans and survivors, is just like ‘???’ when she takes her first look at him after sailing. When asked why on earth her grandpa looks younger than her son and whether he blended up Silmaril-debris for his facemasks, Finarfin explains that it has nothing to do with Treelight and that the greatest skincare routine in Arda is known as ‘staying out of shit’.

I used this amazing pattern by the fantastic @peasant-player for his clothing today, overlayed over hand drawn gold embroidery because you can ignore ‘never wear gold with silver’ if you’re the High King — thank you very much and I am greatly appreciative, it worked exactly like I was hoping!

The War of Wrath or Eärendil's Return

He's dead. Forever stuck in the Halls of Mandos if not the very Void itself, which they don't really know what it means but sounds bad™. He's not coming back, they're never hearing a snarky remark of his again, never seeing a beautiful creation of his again, never hearing his voice or seeing his smile ever again.

Is it really fine? They hate him anyway, don't they? He didn't like them, he never did. He tolerated them on a good day, but in the final years, after Melkor's release, good days seemed like fairytales. He had also led them to ruin, to grief and suffering, to separation and unnumbered tears, to death and a life completely different from what could've been, from what was meant to be. Maybe it was because of an inner pain of his they couldn't understand back then, but even that isn't a justification, let alone an apology (they can never even receive one because - see paragraph above).

But, even then, he was their big brother, as much as he didn't want to be. The super cool guy that was handsome and smart and could do everything. The one everyone praised. They must've looked up to him at least once, at some point. Maybe in hope for a change of heart, for him to realise that all the hate he felt was simply grief biting him and making him bite in response, that loving them wouldn't mean loving his mother any less, that nothing could ever bring her back, so why not? Why not mend his heart by extending an olive branch? Why not hold out a hand instead of waiting for conversations that'll never come, and that would be too late anyway?

Not that it matters. It feels like Fëanáro doesn't exist anymore, some days it feels like he never did at all. Yes, because there came a point, in the ages, where they didn't constantly think about what had happened anymore. You can only hold onto pain for so long before you go insane, before it burns you up from inside. And so entire days and weeks and months and, maybe, eventually, even years and decades if not centuries, go by without Ñolofinwë nor Arafinwë thinking about Fëanáro.

Then it hits them, suddenly and out of nowhere. They're writing something and they're using tengwar, of course they're using tengwar, but their breath itches and they feel a weird weight in their chest that they can't really define: oh, right, it was he who invented it. And, for half a second, they don't see a paranoid and sorrow-driven beast waiving his sword against the sky, cursing fate and the gods (but mostly just himself). The fire they see is of a different kind, now long forgotten by most and even themselves, but still: the one they see is beaming proudly while showing off a beautiful jewel, is playing with children, is laughing loud and warm, is sneaking them candy and is the greatest being in the whole universe that could maybe be their friend one day if things go well enough if he can't be their brother (they'll ignore the heavy feeling that seemed to cloud his eyes, and all the words and tears he'd shed in what he thought secret may be lost to time, for no one needs them anymore). It lasts for a few seconds, and it's mostly a passive thought, really, a flashing blurry image, then it vanishes if not crumbles: any dream, any hope, any memory, leaves as it came and threatens a headache if thought about too much or for too long.

Sons of Finwë and High Kings of the Noldor

Curifinwe , Nolofinwe and Arafinwe

Heres to one of the most dysfunctional siblings relationship in the whole tolkien legenderium. May the fanarts of them never cease. ╰⁠(⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠´⁠꒳⁠`⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠)⁠╯

This is a redraw! I felt that they needed a good cleaning up and i needed to procrastinate from learning to animate and so i did what any sane person would and redrew it lol

Here's the old one from 2023