Jul 27, 2014
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Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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â a song and accompanying headcanon for despair or high tension.
|| It feels like cheating to put âThe Curse of FĂ«anorâ by Blind Guardian here, since itâs literally FĂ«anor singing after the First Kinslaying. So I will go for:
This is why we fight, The Decemberists
Come the war, come the avariceCome the war, come hellCome attrition, come the reek of bonesCome attrition, come hellThis is why, why we fightWhy we lie awake, and this is whyThis is why we fightWhen we die, we will dieWith our arms unbound
This song may be easily applied to all the sons together, but the sheer recklessness and wild violence of this talks to me about FĂ«anorâs last stand, his ride toward Angband. There was still (also) some hope in the beginning of the journey, but his charge towards the fortress always spoke to me as a consequence of rage and hatred and sense of victory â but I am not even sure that he was certain he was going to win in that charge. Maybe he was, maybe not completely. It is either complete disregard of the risks or distant awareness mixed with a bit of suicidal attitude. Either adamant convinction of the possibility of victory, in spite of whatever evidence confirms that or not (he has just won a battle against all of Morgothâs forces during ten days of fights) or some kind of inner despair that drives him forward.
Either way, I believe that song embodies this sentiment fairly well.
â„?â„
I fell asleep before I managed to reply and say thank you you're wonderful too. c:
strayedintodreams replied to your post âcurufinwefeanaro replied to your post âcurufinwefeanaro replied to...â
//If Miriel does not come back, then they can all go to Beleriand, and Finwe can get happily poly with Thingol and Melian. REUNIONSSSS~
//poly elves.
poly elves errywhere. *v*
strayedintodreams replied to your post
//The tag on my Finwe blog is "a king ever bereaved" just so you know :'D
//OvO i will have to check that out omg.Â
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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strayedintodreams replied to your post â//Sometimes when queuing up pretty dresses for Indis I worry about...â
//finwe's sure as hell not complaining XD (plus he does not care as much about modesty as later-gen Noldor anyway, coming from the Cuivienen lot as he does)
//ehehe I bet he's not. especially when they look as great as these. uvu/
I think she only cares about modesty in Tirion, but everywhere else, nah.
(highkingfinwe) "Are you wearing my clothes�"
The sleeves kept slipping over his hands, too long for his arms, and the hem of the tunic was like a train, despite not being meant to touch the floor at all. FĂ«anĂĄro knew the clothes were not going to fit him, neither the tunic nor the circlet or the gloves, which disappointed him in the first place because of the subsequent need to roll the sleeves up â the clothâs decoration wrinkled and did not appear half as good as it usually did when his father wore the robe. The circlet was resting on his shoulders as a rigid necklace.     FĂ«anĂĄro sat on FinwĂ«âs chair at the council table, resting his elbows on the corner which he barely reached, and pictured the lords at the other chairs as they were when his father held an assembly. He remembered their voices and profiles, and remembered their arguments â when he was also informed concerning the topic and was allowed to enter the room, he amused himself trying to deconstruct their reasonings.     As he reached out to pull some papers closer, the door opened and FĂ«anĂĄro glanced at his right. His father. He did not blink or move and considered that it was useless to deny, thus he only hinted a smile. « They are comfortable. »
(highkingfinwe) "You know it already, and yet it bears repeating; I love you, my son." *hugs Feanor*
FĂ«anĂĄroâs shoulders stiffened, just slightly, as he blinked; a hand lingered in the air, right behind his fatherâs back, and hesitated for slow seconds before placing itself between his shoulder blades. « I know » he confirmed, in a low voice, as if only the reiteration had managed to remind him again, shaking him out of a dazed state of mind. His mind, naturally, was not dazed â it was lucid and so over-analytic that he could find more than one logical way to tear apart that convictionâ that, yes, he was loved.   « What prompted this in particular, father? » he asked then, with the faintest hint of a smile on his lips.