![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ladybrooke posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
b2memB2MeM Prompt: March 5 prompt - picture of a partly open blue door
Format: Short Story
Genre: Character Study
Rating: General
Warnings: N/A
Characters: Nimloth, Fingolfin
Pairings: Anairë/Fingolfin, Anairë/Nimloth, pre-Fingolfin/Nimloth
Creator’s Notes (optional): Part of a series about these three and Dior, important bit to know is that Anairë and Nimloth got together while Fingolfin was still in the Halls.
Summary: Fingolfin decided he would not keep his wife and her lover apart.
He had not expected, though perhaps he should have, that he would fall for Nimloth too.
Fingolfin left Tirion without telling Anairë where he left for, begging Eärwen and Finarfin to distract her. Not because he was ashamed of what he was doing, but because he was unsure of both what exactly he was doing and also how effective it would be. Still, Anairë was upset, and he could hardly allow her to remain so if it was in his borrow to stop.
From Finarfin he had also begged the knowledge of where Nimloth dwelled, and so he found himself facing a blue painted door that was cracked open into a garden growing wild, a cottage tucked away in the middle of it.
He took a breath. Anairë had lived here for years, years they had been separated for. He would not fear that past, not when he could see what had come of his parents from fearing such.
He pushed the door open more, stepping in. He could see why Anairë had liked it here, the roses growing up the wall and the weeping willow shading the pathway.
"Greetings. Do I speak to a Prince or a King now?" The voice came from the oak tree in front of him. He looked up.
He had imagined Nimloth, from the stories he had been told - by Anairë, whispering of the elf willing to tear Valinor apart to help her; by Finarfin, laughing through his grief about the looks their father's old advisors had when she had told them of life in Beleriand; by Curufin and Caranthir in the Halls, speaking of their deaths; by Finrod, the only one to speak to him and know her in both lives, of her distrust of the Valar and Valinor.
She looked nothing like he had been told now. Indeed, if she looked like anything, it was the images he had formed in his youth - not of her specifically, but of the silver haired maidens he had imagined dwelling in the lands his father had left, Olwë's kin left behind seeking their lost king and possibly becoming lost themselves.
He shook his head. He could not lose himself in those thoughts. "A Prince. My younger brother still rules as King."
"A fate Arafinwë loathes, if I am not mistaken," she said, climbing down from the tree until she dropped lightly on her feet before him.
"Doubtless, but I have told him that unless he can convince the Valar to release our father or bro-" He paused, remembering that for all his complicated feelings about Fëanor and his sons, Nimloth was likely to find such a matter incredibly simple.
"Fëanor, you mean," she said. She turned towards the cottage, gesturing for him to follow.
He nodded. "Yes, I apologize -"
"Do not. Doubtless you will hear the stories of the ill we did ere you Noldor arrived in Beleriand, or perhaps not - I do not think your brother's court has quite recovered from the description of starvation and the slaughter of the Petty-dwarves. Olwë and his court may have the luxury of hands that are not stained with blood, but I do not." Before he could think through the implications of that statement, Nimloth opened another door, this one painted a paler blue, and gestured him into the cottage and then into a seat.
He could see the signs that Anairë had lived here still scattered throughout the cottage, books she had loved and the hairpins she wore but always forgot after freeing her hair of them.
Nimloth followed his gaze. "Does she wish her belongings back?"
Without waiting for a reply, she stood, grabbing a half filled box from beside the table and throwing the hairpins in it.
They clanged against one another as they dropped, a hollow sound that rested uncomfortably in his chest. "Nay, she does not know I came here."
Nimloth paused, hand on a book. He recognized it was one he had written for Anairë in their youth, a story of an elf and her lover who always came back.
That knowledge also rested uneasily, especially when Nimloth's eyes turned to face him again and he could see her tears. "Then what do you wish, Prince Nolofinwë? An apology? To take her things back with you before she can even think of them? You may have them."
"Nay," he said. He had not been sure until this moment what he would say, but now that he was, he could not think of anything except how obvious it was. "I wished to tell you that I will not force Anairë to choose between us. If she wishes to share her love with you as well, I would welcome you into our lives."
Nimloth's eyes had widened slightly. So slightly that he would not have noticed, if he had not been so desperately watching.
"As I understand it, you Noldor do not permit multiple living lovers. In fact, your father remains in the Halls because of that."
Fingolfin shrugged. "I did say that I wished for my father's return, as well."
"I do not wish for your pity," Nimloth said. For a moment, she looked as though she was once more a Queen.
"That is good, for I do not offer it. My sympathy, yes, but not that." He met her gaze calmly.
She looked down at the book again, after a moment, caressing the cover. "She told me you wrote this."
"I did."
"Dior was a romantic too," she said. "I suppose he still is, wherever he is."
Fingolfin was quiet at that, unsure of what to say.
"Go back to the city and talk to Anairë. Tell her what you have told me, and if you are both still willing to allow this, I shall be here." Nimloth put the book back where it had been.
"We will be back," Fingolfin said.
It was only halfway down the path, when Nimloth had already shut the door behind him, that he realized he had promised his return too. That was unexpected, but at the same time -
He supposed he would have to speak to Anairë about this too, and then Nimloth, if she would even consider such.
Story on Ao3
Format: Short Story
Genre: Character Study
Rating: General
Warnings: N/A
Characters: Nimloth, Fingolfin
Pairings: Anairë/Fingolfin, Anairë/Nimloth, pre-Fingolfin/Nimloth
Creator’s Notes (optional): Part of a series about these three and Dior, important bit to know is that Anairë and Nimloth got together while Fingolfin was still in the Halls.
Summary: Fingolfin decided he would not keep his wife and her lover apart.
He had not expected, though perhaps he should have, that he would fall for Nimloth too.
Fingolfin left Tirion without telling Anairë where he left for, begging Eärwen and Finarfin to distract her. Not because he was ashamed of what he was doing, but because he was unsure of both what exactly he was doing and also how effective it would be. Still, Anairë was upset, and he could hardly allow her to remain so if it was in his borrow to stop.
From Finarfin he had also begged the knowledge of where Nimloth dwelled, and so he found himself facing a blue painted door that was cracked open into a garden growing wild, a cottage tucked away in the middle of it.
He took a breath. Anairë had lived here for years, years they had been separated for. He would not fear that past, not when he could see what had come of his parents from fearing such.
He pushed the door open more, stepping in. He could see why Anairë had liked it here, the roses growing up the wall and the weeping willow shading the pathway.
"Greetings. Do I speak to a Prince or a King now?" The voice came from the oak tree in front of him. He looked up.
He had imagined Nimloth, from the stories he had been told - by Anairë, whispering of the elf willing to tear Valinor apart to help her; by Finarfin, laughing through his grief about the looks their father's old advisors had when she had told them of life in Beleriand; by Curufin and Caranthir in the Halls, speaking of their deaths; by Finrod, the only one to speak to him and know her in both lives, of her distrust of the Valar and Valinor.
She looked nothing like he had been told now. Indeed, if she looked like anything, it was the images he had formed in his youth - not of her specifically, but of the silver haired maidens he had imagined dwelling in the lands his father had left, Olwë's kin left behind seeking their lost king and possibly becoming lost themselves.
He shook his head. He could not lose himself in those thoughts. "A Prince. My younger brother still rules as King."
"A fate Arafinwë loathes, if I am not mistaken," she said, climbing down from the tree until she dropped lightly on her feet before him.
"Doubtless, but I have told him that unless he can convince the Valar to release our father or bro-" He paused, remembering that for all his complicated feelings about Fëanor and his sons, Nimloth was likely to find such a matter incredibly simple.
"Fëanor, you mean," she said. She turned towards the cottage, gesturing for him to follow.
He nodded. "Yes, I apologize -"
"Do not. Doubtless you will hear the stories of the ill we did ere you Noldor arrived in Beleriand, or perhaps not - I do not think your brother's court has quite recovered from the description of starvation and the slaughter of the Petty-dwarves. Olwë and his court may have the luxury of hands that are not stained with blood, but I do not." Before he could think through the implications of that statement, Nimloth opened another door, this one painted a paler blue, and gestured him into the cottage and then into a seat.
He could see the signs that Anairë had lived here still scattered throughout the cottage, books she had loved and the hairpins she wore but always forgot after freeing her hair of them.
Nimloth followed his gaze. "Does she wish her belongings back?"
Without waiting for a reply, she stood, grabbing a half filled box from beside the table and throwing the hairpins in it.
They clanged against one another as they dropped, a hollow sound that rested uncomfortably in his chest. "Nay, she does not know I came here."
Nimloth paused, hand on a book. He recognized it was one he had written for Anairë in their youth, a story of an elf and her lover who always came back.
That knowledge also rested uneasily, especially when Nimloth's eyes turned to face him again and he could see her tears. "Then what do you wish, Prince Nolofinwë? An apology? To take her things back with you before she can even think of them? You may have them."
"Nay," he said. He had not been sure until this moment what he would say, but now that he was, he could not think of anything except how obvious it was. "I wished to tell you that I will not force Anairë to choose between us. If she wishes to share her love with you as well, I would welcome you into our lives."
Nimloth's eyes had widened slightly. So slightly that he would not have noticed, if he had not been so desperately watching.
"As I understand it, you Noldor do not permit multiple living lovers. In fact, your father remains in the Halls because of that."
Fingolfin shrugged. "I did say that I wished for my father's return, as well."
"I do not wish for your pity," Nimloth said. For a moment, she looked as though she was once more a Queen.
"That is good, for I do not offer it. My sympathy, yes, but not that." He met her gaze calmly.
She looked down at the book again, after a moment, caressing the cover. "She told me you wrote this."
"I did."
"Dior was a romantic too," she said. "I suppose he still is, wherever he is."
Fingolfin was quiet at that, unsure of what to say.
"Go back to the city and talk to Anairë. Tell her what you have told me, and if you are both still willing to allow this, I shall be here." Nimloth put the book back where it had been.
"We will be back," Fingolfin said.
It was only halfway down the path, when Nimloth had already shut the door behind him, that he realized he had promised his return too. That was unexpected, but at the same time -
He supposed he would have to speak to Anairë about this too, and then Nimloth, if she would even consider such.
Story on Ao3
