#userindomiel

some thoughts onÍRIMËLALWEN and her youth

• it’s hard being related to fëanor and then not having some issues. i feel like she’s probably the most similar to fëanor in a way. at least, out of all the children of finwë.
• other elves would whisper that she seemed like an angry child. that she must not be happy in some way. she didn’t cry or throw tantrums though. and she wasn’t sullen and quiet. but there were aspects of her that would make older elves furrow their brows and take a step back from the young lalwen.
• she didn’t stomp around the polished floors of the palace. after all, a lady was taught to float and to seem entirely unbound from the earth on which they stepped. but her footsteps were just disturbing enough to make finwë wince as her paces resounded past his study.
• the scrape of her cutlery on fine plates is jarring to those who sit with her. she opens her a mouth a bit too much when she smiles and laughs a bit too loud. she presents herself as an entirely normal child but there are so many small eerie things that shake those around her.
• she loves her family of course. even if her father is always preoccupied with his duties or he’s always checking in on fëanor and not taking many glances back at findis, nolofinwë or arafinwë. 
• nolofinwë is always kind to her. he always helps her up onto her horse. he lets her sit in his room and browse through his books. he takes her into the city’s markets and lets her choose fine fabrics to her heart’s desire.
• at first, she doesn’t know what to think of arafinwë. he’s younger than her. and he’s born with the same golden hair of findis and their mother. he’s always tripping over and letting out small babbling sounds that babies usually do.
• later, she grows to quite like arafinwë. he’s reasonable and well-mannered. but it always irks her at how little space he seems to take up. her younger brother is perfectly content with following the will of others. he’s placated. the perfect grace and manner for a diplomatic prince. not a hair out of place, a pleasing smile and hands folded over his lap. he doesn’t scream. he doesn’t cry. he doesn’t shout.
• even nolofinwë has had his frustrated moments and lalwen can hear the bang of books being thrown from his room, probably due to frustration from fëanor’s harsh words.
• even findis isn’t a perfect picture. but she’s perfectly poised and a doll in the eyes of their mother and her people, the golden vanyar. she’s all coiffed sunlit hair and thick skirts that brush the floor. lalwen knows that findis can hold her temper. she has never heard findis raise her voice but what findis lacks in volume, she makes up for in her sharp, acidic tongue. lalwen likes how her older sister can quell even the sternest of arguments with a harsh bite and barely concealed frustration that can make elves take a step back.
• but arafinwë just keeps that calm smile on his face and some days it makes lalwen so irrationally angry that she wants to push her perfect, happy little brother down the stairs just so she can see some real emotion from him. but she doesn’t. he’s the baby of the family and it would do no good.
• lalwen hates the strict rules of society. a princess should not yell. she should not venture out beyond the borders of tirion in search of maiar. she should not come home after dark, her skirts snagged on stone and littered with small holes and loose threads. but she can tolerate that.
• what she truly despises is how insignificant she feels in the grand scheme of things. well, she’s a princess. she knows the privilege she has. but what is she? what is she allowed to be, compared to mighty gods who sit in their court on taniquetil? what is she able to be and achieve?
• she likes fëanor because he agrees with her. he allows her into his forges occasionally. her older brother cares little for the thoughts of others. he lets her sit at a murky looking table while he twists some contraption of wire and she talks about how she feels so confined and so angry for some reason. at everything.
• fëanor looks up at her. he asks if its truly anger she’s feeling. what is she angry at? it makes lalwen pause. she doesn’t truly know if its anger. she just feels red-hot and bursting and she burns to move, to conquer, to spit out. it makes her want to put her hands in her silky black hair and tear it out and to wrench her hands into velvet skirts and rip them apart. she wants to ride a horse far away and lay on the earth and feel the heartbeat of the ground beneath her.
• fëanor tells her that she’s fierce and she’s not angry. she shouldn’t punish herself for feeling that way. she’s passionate. and she knows her brother understands her. he has that knowing look in his silver-hot eyes that seem to contain a fire of their own. and lalwen knows her brother understands. they carry a similar flame and it is only after the tragedies that unfold many years later, after the death of their father, that lalwen realises that fëanor’s flame is something else entirely.