#Oromë Maiar

[yandere-ainur-confessions]

would you write a headcanon of how valar and maiar fall for darling and start to be obsessed with them? (did I do it right?? I'm so nervous lol)

❪ ♡ ❫ ── 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑰, 𝒄𝒂𝒏'𝒕 𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒑 - 𝒇𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒏 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖 . . .

  ♡. 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒂𝒕 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝒔𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕

they remember it so vividly. the day that you walked into their life. passing by them in all your perfectness. your beauty, your demeanour, the small little smile that you gave them once you caught their unintentional stare. many would call it just a chance encounter. the gardens, a banquet, a mere passing interaction - but oh, you will scorn their mind for all eternity. did you feel it too? the connection that they felt? the song of your fëa, surely it was singing for them? it will drive them mad and they will be eager to meet you again. when you recognise them, their heart would sore. so you did feel the same? oh, if only you knew what you had gotten yourself into. they'll make it their life's mission to learn every little thing about you. stalking, you say? no, they're just lovingly learning more about their soulmate. now they are convinced that you are meant to be theirs. and it certainly would be unfortunate if you didn't think so too

𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒘𝒆, 𝒕𝒖𝒍𝒌𝒂𝒔, ulmo, vana, 𝒗𝒂𝒓𝒅𝒂, yavanna, 𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒐𝒏, 𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒏, aiwendil, 𝒂𝒎𝒂𝒖𝒓𝒆, luilire

♡. 𝒂𝒏 𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔

you were most likely one of the few people outside of their family to show them true kindness. it felt like they were on air. that day that you aided them with something, or defended their name from others. they remember how fast their heart beat, how their song shifted to a thousand symphonies as they gazed at you with wonder. to think. . . that someone actually cared. from that day they grew hungry for your affection and favour. eager to seek you out and hope that you would continue to show them the kindness and attention that they were greedy for. you made them feel so. . . complete. they've never loved someone so wholeheartedly, so completely, until the day your touch grazed their hand and you smiled at them so warmly. they hope that you feel the same and will do just about anything to gain your attention, even if it's subtly. and should you place your attention elsewhere? you'll regret it.

𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒐, 𝒎𝒆𝒍𝒌𝒐𝒓, aule, nessa, 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒐𝒏, curumo, gothmog, osse, 𝒏𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒏, almion, 𝒓𝒖𝒊𝒏𝒆 

♡. 𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒂 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆

they have known you for the longest time. it feels like they've loved you for even longer. they are one of your closest companions, the person that you turn to when in need of aid. the one that you cry on when you're sad. the one that has been with you through every good and each bad. they boast in such a fact - that they know you so intimately and that they are the person that you rely on. . . but there is a deeper sense of longing within them, a yearning for something more. they feel possessive over you. after all, aren't they your everything like you are to them? why can't you see that the two of you are meant to be together? every time you bring up someone else they feel a bit of their sanity chipping away. they'll make you see how much you need them. how much they love you. after all, if you didn't feel the same, why did you lead them on? you have to take responsibility. they'll make sure of it, make sure that you know who you belong to.

𝒊𝒓𝒎𝒐, orome, 𝒏𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒏𝒂, este, 𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒘𝒆, ilmare, arien, melian, 𝒎𝒆𝒍𝒎𝒆, 𝒗𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆, erulisse, 𝒍𝒖𝒎𝒊𝒓𝒆

#·⊰ ꒰🥀꒱ 𝒌𝒊𝒔𝒔𝒆𝒔 ៸៸ valar ─ ♡. #·⊰ ꒰🥀꒱ 𝒌𝒊𝒔𝒔𝒆𝒔 ៸៸ maiar ─ ♡. #ainur #silm #tolkien #x reader #manwë #melkor #mairon #irmo #eonwe #tilion #varda #oromë #yavanna #tolkien ocs #the silmarilion oc #navëquen #almion #melmë #reader insert #tw yandere #yandere #dark content #tw stalking #tw possessive behavior #stalking #possessive behaviour #imagines

[edensrose]

╰₊ 𝒍𝒆𝒕'𝒔 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒚 𝒂 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒈𝒂𝒎𝒆, 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒚 𝒂 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒈𝒂𝒎𝒆◞ ₊˚:

. ˚◞♡ 𝒕𝒐𝒍𝒌𝒊𝒆𝒏 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔◞ ₊˚﹕how I interpret these characters and write for them in my works.

. ˚◞♡ 𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒘𝒆 𝒔𝒖𝒍𝒊𝒎𝒐◞ ₊˚﹕

˚◞❀˳ long, white hair that looks like clouds around him with how soft it is

˚◞❀˳ his eye colour changes in accordance to the sky's colours, he often does not have irises or pupils

˚◞❀˳ fair skin, pointed ears, white lashes — sometimes he tops it off with white / blue eyeliner and simple, clear gloss 

˚◞❀˳ has large white wings that he can summon at will

˚◞❀˳ tall, very tall. I range him from 8 - 9 feet 

˚◞❀˳ wears white and blue robes, most likely has a feather drop earring and a crown which minics feathers along the sides but joins at a jewel at the centre of his forehead

˚◞❀˳ he is kind-hearted, calm and collected, typically seen with a gentle smile on his face. his voice is generally soft and rarely does he raise it. definitely one of the valar who babies the maiar the most. tries to avoid conflict but that does not mean he’s incapable should conflict arise

˚◞❀˳ in his free time he ventures to a little section of Ilmarin where there are bird baths and feeders, it is there that there are a variety of small birds which he loves to talk to 

˚◞❀˳ a tenor in terms of singing vocals 

˚◞❀˳ naturally, he can control the air and elements of the sky. ranges from manifesting little clouds in his hands to creating roaring winds and storms 

˚◞❀˳ most likely has attachment issues due to melkor. he honestly just wants his brother back the way in which he remembers him 

˚◞❀˳ fights with a sword and most likely has trained some of the maiar in swordsmanship

. ˚◞♡ 𝒎𝒆𝒍𝒌𝒐𝒓◞ ₊˚﹕

˚◞❀˳ long black hair, honestly very hard to maintain but hey, he manages to do so. a bit curly, very very voluminous 

˚◞❀˳ pale violet eyes, sometimes he makes it so that the whites of his eyes are black, other times he has slits for pupils 

˚◞❀˳ warm, tanned skin, pointed ears, black eyeliner around the lids of his eyes, long and sharp dark nails. most likely has some form of elongated tongue which is most likely also black

˚◞❀˳ tall, I range him from 8 - 9 feet 

˚◞❀˳ piercings along his lobe and helix, mostly ring piercings

˚◞❀˳ he has two forms in specific, his ‘normal’ one which includes what I have mentioned above and his more terrifying one in which his form becomes warped and monster-like. he becomes taller and his mouth splits to bear sharper teeth, his eyes become black altogether and there are various dark markings all across his body 

˚◞❀˳ difficult to describe his outfit, so here’s a link of what I imagine him to be in 

˚◞❀˳ as expected, he is cunning and deceptive with a warped, blunt sense of humour. he may not seem to take much seriously but that only adds to the deceptiveness of his character. short-tempered and harsh, yet will somehow still keep that unnerving, smug smirk. reckless, uncaring, but surprisingly calculated when it comes to a lot of his schemes 

˚◞❀˳ spends a lot of time in working out new inventions and devices, especially when it comes to his creations

˚◞❀˳ a bass in terms of singing vocals 

˚◞❀˳ his powers are corrupted versions of the rest of the valar’s

˚◞❀˳ his weapon is a large club, however, he can alternate when it comes to weapons

. ˚◞♡ 𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒐 𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒐𝒔◞ ₊˚﹕

˚◞❀˳ long black hair which is straight and nearly kept. sometimes he’ll throw it up into a high ponytail sometimes with a dark hairpin

˚◞❀˳ viridian eyes

˚◞❀˳ pale skin, slightly pointed ears. black eyeliner around his lower lids and wears black lipstick, however, only on his upper lip 

˚◞❀˳ height of  8'5''

˚◞❀˳ wears rings on his fingers and his nails are dark. sometimes wears a black veil that starts below his eyes, most likely has silver accents. he wears dark robes which are styled after hanfus especially. has standard lobe piercings with tassel-drop earrings but also has piercings on the helix of his right ear 

˚◞❀˳ monotone and blank, even his voice sounds flat. he isn’t one to show emotion often, however, that does not mean that he does not experience emotions. he is straightforward and blunt, having a very firm belief in what is right and wrong. typically, he appears to be rather irritated and it wouldn’t be too far off from the truth. won’t hesitate to debate with someone and most likely has a knack for proving people wrong

˚◞❀˳ reads in his free time

˚◞❀˳ has a soft spot for gorgumoth, who is huge and looks like a man-eating hound, but is honestly just a big puppy around námo

˚◞❀˳ most likely has a kiseru which he sometimes smokes from, depends on just how stressed he is 

˚◞❀˳ baritone in terms of singing vocals 

˚◞❀˳ powers include some level of foresight and aura absorption ( this is temporary and he ensures that it is not harming whatever he took it from ) with this he can make physical manifestations 

˚◞❀˳ associated with crows in particular

. ˚◞♡ 𝒊𝒓𝒎𝒐 𝒍𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏◞ ₊˚﹕

˚◞❀˳ medium-length white hair which is very very floofy and honestly just full of sporadic curls, sometimes he puts his hair in a bun 

˚◞❀˳ bright violet eyes, he alternates between irises and no irises or pupils

˚◞❀˳ fair skin, very pointed ears which bear piercings along them. sometimes wears gloss or white mascara 

˚◞❀˳ height ranges around 7'5" - 7'11"

˚◞❀˳ he has a variety of silver bangles around his wrists along with silver head chains and ring chains on his hands. his outfits consist of layered white robes, typically fashioned after hanfus like his brother, however, his are far more flowy

˚◞❀˳ calm yet cheerful and honestly a little outgoing. he's more on the pacifist side and honestly is such a ball of sunshine when standing next to his brother. such a sweetheart, very compassionate and honestly can even be seen as a little silly at times. however, he takes his duties very seriously and is always ready to lend a helping hand

˚◞❀˳ one of the only people that can read his brother despite námo's blank expression

˚◞❀˳ very emotionally intelligent and is honestly the therapist friend of majority of the ainur 

˚◞❀˳ tenor in terms of singing vocals 

˚◞❀˳ most likely has some sort of pet ferret, or perhaps a mouse, one of the two 

˚◞❀˳ powers included illusion manifestation and manipulation, dream / sleep inducing and can sense the desires of those around him 

˚◞❀˳ carries around hand fans most likely, in fact, they can even double over as weapons

. ˚◞♡ 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒐𝒏◞ ₊˚﹕

˚◞❀˳ medium-length auburn hair that curls at the bottom and honestly looks quite soft from afar

˚◞❀˳ golden eyes, he often doesn't have irises but maintains slitted pupils 

˚◞❀˳ warm skin tone, leaning towards tanned. red eye shadow and eyeliner but also doubles down with black eyeliner as well. depends on his mood but usually he goes for black lipstick which can alternate to red. dark, long nails

˚◞❀˳ height of 7'5" 

˚◞❀˳ I'll link his outfit here as it's a bit difficult to explain for me but couple these with heeled boots

˚◞❀˳ sarcastic but also with some level of bluntness. he has zero patience and honestly looks irritated majority of the time. he seems exasperated with everyone's behaviour. he's a huge perfectionist and sometimes it projects onto others, which only further cements his irritability. he's very intelligent and calculating but is emotionally inept 

˚◞❀˳ another dog dad, he absolutely loves all of his 'puppies' ( aka, werewolves )

˚◞❀˳ overworked most likely, he does a lot around angband and while melkor is very capable, a lot of the planning does go to mairon 

˚◞❀˳ sometimes when he's mad his hair catches on fire 

˚◞❀˳ tenor in terms of singing vocals 

˚◞❀˳ makes little trinkets and inventions in his free time 

˚◞❀˳ power set includes manipulation and manifestation of fire 

˚◞❀˳ he uses his powers mostly in combat but he can settle for close range weapons pretty well

. ˚◞♡ 𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒘𝒆◞ ₊˚﹕

˚◞❀˳ curly white hair that bunches around his shoulders, so much volume 

˚◞❀˳ deep brown eyes that have flakes of gold in them

˚◞❀˳ fair and warm skin tone, he has little wings behind his ears and a large pair of white wings from his back. he wears a few beaded bracelets. has a drop earring on his left ear 

˚◞❀˳ height of 7'5"

˚◞❀˳ white robes with gold accents, they're rather neat and put together as to not get in the way of his training. always carries his sword on him and a few other weapons 

˚◞❀˳ he seems to be very serious and sometimes even unapproachable, but that couldn't be further from the truth. he's actually beyond kind and compassionate. while he does take all of his duties very seriously he can be quite adorable sometimes, akin to a lost puppy in areas where his duties are not needed. he has a lot of patience but a strong sense of justice 

˚◞❀˳ has trained a lot of the maiar when it comes to weapon usage and combat 

˚◞❀˳ during his free time he flies around or hangs out with the birds 

˚◞❀˳ it's difficult for him to just sit back, relax and do nothing. he always has do be doing something, sort of leaning towards a workaholic

˚◞❀˳ baritone in terms of singing vocals

˚◞❀˳ his powers include the manifestation and manipulation of light along with some semblance of control over the air 

˚◞❀˳ naturally, his main weapon of choice would be a sword but he is skilled in various weapons

#˚◞❀˳ 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒆𝒚𝒆𝒔 ﹕ tolkien characterisations ꒱ ₊˚⊹ #tolkien #the silmarillion #silm #manwë #melkor #eönwë #mairon #námo #irmo #oromë #ainur #valar #maiar

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

High Tree Hall, seat of House Archer and Medieval! Lord Oromë

Rules and tag form here | Prompts for requests here.

A/n: Silverwood tree is something I invented purely for this AU.

High Tree Hall is located deep within the ancient forests of Hunter’s Pass. The forests are rarely, if ever, infiltrated by an enemy, as the trees form confusing paths and dead-ends similar to the Labyrinth of Alqualondë. Still, elves and attendants loyal to Lord Oromë carry out regular patrols in and around the forests. Any guests or outsiders visiting High Tree are met on the outskirts of Hunter’s Pass and led down winding paths on horseback while blindfolded.

High Tree Hall and its outer buildings are surrounded by a curtain wall made of stone and mortar. There are two gates, the Hunter’s Gate and the River Gate, and the curtain wall has four bastions facing different directions.

High Tree has its own water supply due to the presence of pools fed by underground springs. Despite this, wells have been dug into the earth in case of necessity.

1.High Tree Hall: High Tree is a long house built around a giant Silverwood tree, and the structure itself is made out of a mixture of roughly hewn stone and mortar and thick wooden bark. The lower branches of the redwood tree spread out beneath the roof.

High Tree has one floor above ground, along with a basement. The floor above ground is partitioned into three separate sections. One corner section is for Oromë’s personal use. This section comprises a bath chamber, a small hall for when Oromë wishes to hold private meetings with his advisors, a little library, Oromë’s bed chamber, and his own armory. The other end is sectioned into small, but well-appointed bed chambers for Oromë’s guests. Each room has its own private bath. 

The center portion of High Tree is called the Great Hall. This hall is used for feasts, dances, and larger meetings. Even on days when there are no planned meetings or festivities, the residents of High Tree would all gather here for their daily meals. Pelts of animals slain during hunts are spread out all over the floor and furnishings, and the skulls are hung on the walls. There are no fireplaces here, only braziers and beeswax candles. The basement comprises a kitchen and cellar. Like all of the Great Houses of Valinor, High Tree has its own ice cellar.

2.The Stables

3.The Kennels

4.The warehouse and stores

5.These buildings are used by Oromë’s warriors, attendants, and their families. Each building comes complete with its own armory.

6.These buildings are used by Oromë’s servants and their families.

7.These buildings are guest manses, and are used to house the retinue of Oromë’s guests.

All buildings listed under 5, 6, and 7 come with their own bathhouse.

8.Smithy

9.Sparring yard

House Shield coat of arms: A mounted archer on a green field

Tags: @asianbutnotjapanese @cilil @edensrose @wandererindreams

#medieval!au #medieval! ainur #medieval! Oromë #Oromë #Oromë imagine #the valar #the ainur #the maiar #the silm #the silm imagine #💫whimsy's plot bunnies #💫whimsy's shenanigans #💫a world of whimsy writes

[urwendii]

Maiar headcanons in my verse:

- slit pupils!!! Ainur wear elven/human raiment, but when in Aman their ainurin features still show through. Their ears are also slightly different but barely. And theyre taller than elves.

- Aulë’s Maiar all have the same golden like eyes he has.

- Valarin is still spoken amongst them when there are no Elves around.

- there's a pub in Valimar called The Two Lamps where Maiar like to hang out after work.

- after Mairon left Valinor, the rest of Aulë’s Maiar secretly traded a lot of his stuff amongst each other. Despite the rumours he has betrayed them for Melkor they were still revering his work and a lot of his possessions end up as secret collectibles. (Curumo was especially obsessed with finding secrets on how to become as skilled as Mairon.)

- after Ossë came back from Melkor, many thought that Uinen could do better (Ossë laughs it off bc frankly he agrees)

- everyone knows Tillion has a huge crush on Arien. Everyone knows Arien had a crush on Mairon. No one mentions it though. All Maiar are a little infatuated with Arien too. (I feel them. *dreamy sigh*)

- After an incident involving the accidental creation of a lake and forest in the middle of Valimar, Maiar are no longer allowed at elvish Karaoke nights. (The lake was later removed by Ulmo and Yavanna relocated the small forest in her pastures.) Material damage included the collapse of 2 buildings (Calaimë swore he saw Ossë aiming at the one where Eönwë lives in on purpose.) And a very confused group of Elves wondering why their bar had suddenly vanished.

- Eönwë's daily duties do bring him to Tirion and Valimar every day and is the main delegate between Manwë and Eldarin governments.

#serie: i falmalinnar imbë met #story: all the fire bright #story: pour your light #the maiar club #calaimë is one of my numerous maiar oc. hes a maia of Oromë #silly little headcanons #i went to bed so early so ofc i woke up at 4 am lol 😆 #anyway i might keep on adding more as time goes on #i have so much little silly worldbuilding ideas for this

[aotearoa20]

To Return - Part Four

// Part One // Part Two // Part Three // Part Four // Part Five // Part Six

Three days ago, his mother and brothers were having supper together. Stew with herbs and vegetables they could never find across the sea, or if they had, never quite tasted the same. The fire roared in the fireplace, casting animated shadows on the twins as they recounted their day. Nerdanel’s laughter rang out in short beautiful peals as they spoke, filling the room with a warmth beyond words.

They had looked so perfectly happy.

Outside watching like a shadow on the window Celegorm’s heart sank. He’d left a little while later, refusing to disturb their peace.

Now he stared down at his hands. No longer dirtied with blood. Those hands lay buried by earth and ocean but they were still his. His arms were pale in the moonlight, he doesn’t know when the candle was snuffed out. He’d lost the inked markings of the Hunt. He supposed he’d never get those back.

There is a knock at the door. He grit his teeth. While he may have no desire to answer but his silence might be taken for invitation. But before he could lift his voice, another called in.

“I will not interrupt your sulking, I simply left a book in there on my last visit.”

A pause.

“It’s not locked.”

The door opened and the soft spoken half-elf stepped inside. He doesn’t look at him walks with careful steps up to the bureau. Celegorm watched him strike a match and light the lamps. The candlelight shimmered over the shards of porcelain still lying upon the ground. He thought not for the first that he ought have picked those up a while ago.

“I was not sulking.”

Elrond chuckled ah he rifled through the bureau but to Celegorm’s surprise he pulled out a bottle of wine and two small glasses. He held it up at Celegorm question, but he was far too perplexed, trying figure out how such crockery was fit into such a small desk. Elrond took his silence as permission, pouring out a glass and offering it to him.

Celegorm watched him with settle on the bed with poorly veiled intrigue. Elwing’s son and Lúthien’s shadow. And something else in his mannner that felt familiar, though he couldn’t quite place it.

“This comes with compliments from the King of Eryn Lasgalen.” Elrond said, looking down on the glass with a sad smile.

“I’ve not heard of him.”

Elromd nodded as though he’d expected as much but asked anyway, “You kept no news in Mandos?”

“Not after,” he sighed and clicked his tongue, “Not after the boys.”

There it was. Finally a reaction if only the slightest twitch of his brows. He looks back up at Celegorm, the light in his eyes just slightly too bright, even for one of the Sindar.

“He is Oropher’s son, Thranduil, his is the last Elven kingdoms in Middle Earth.”

A memory of golden stone halls flits across his mind. The Doriathrim Emisarry with garlands of silver flowers in his hair that trailed all the way down along his arms. He had looked down at them both with expected distain but danced with them late into the night with a joy Celegorm could not touch.

What had happen to the smiling youth’s father? His fingers tapped unsteady rhythms against the glass. More faces flash across his mind, angry, frightend and dead. All of them dead. Had any held reflections of the Sindar Prince? He did not think so, but the uncertainty writhed in his heart.

He thinks of Huan, angry and frightened at the door and takes a long drink.

“Did you think this would be easy?” Elrond asked converstationally, glancing at the broken vase as if he were asking about the weather.

“No,” he replied before he thought better of it and then because it seemed unfinished to say just that, “ I thought… I would be different.”

Elrond hummed in response. The silence he left was comfortable, he pulled up his legs to sit cross legged on the bed in a way that was decidedly Mannish. His smile seemed to cut lose the worry in his chest.

“I had hoped,” Celegorm said suddenly, “with it gone, I would be - it coloured my every thought, all I ever did, I hoped...”

“To return as you were, before,” Elrond paused before shrugging, “before everything.”

Valar, how naïve it sounded out loud. And yet for all the trouble it took to be removed, he’d wanted to be free so badly.

“I woke in Lorien far too much like myself. I suppose in the end I was always the monster.”

He took a breath and pressed his lips together. His head felt heavy and the words seemed to fall out of his mouth with his leave. He narrowed his eyes at the elf before him, or tried - it was difficult focus.

“You are a healer?”

“Yes.”

“You drugged the wine.”

“No, I’m just that good.” He smiled, and leant forward. Celegorm jumped at the sudden proximity but Elrond continued unperturbed, “I grew up with a group of people who were desperate to believe actions meant more than desire. You have certainly done more than the others.”

“I haven’t done anything.”

“What you said to Finrod. What you did. It matters,” he shrugged, “I mean, your brothers left the Halls and disappeared into your mother’s estate. We’ve haven’t seen head nor tail of them since.”

Celegorm tried to wave the thought away, “That’s different, Ambarussa… they were young. They were just doing what they were told.”

“Is that so?” It was the sharpest Celegorm had ever heard him speak. He winced a little, cursing his loose tongue and the strange half elf that could make him forget to whom he was speaking. Elrond must have noticed because he took a breath and continued in a voice low and even, like one recounting a history. “I remember them. When your people came upon Sirion, my brother and I, we were six? With our nursemaid Evranin, trying to find somewhere to hide, and we ended walking down a corridor where there had been fighting. She tried to keep us from looking at the dead but I saw him. Hair, red like blood and shining eyes with no life in them.”

They had asked when Ambarussa arrived if he would like to see the tapestries. He refused them and cursed them for good measure just as he had for the others, just had he would with Maedhros. He’d waited long before he realised Maglor would not be joining them. It brought him no comfort when he did.

“We turned the corner, and there at the far end of the hallway, there he was again. I didn’t know there were two of them. I was terrified, thought your people were wraiths of some sort. My brother and I were told to run and we did. We left her there.”

“Did she…”

“I don’t know, I never saw either of them again.”

His eyes held pain that had been their longer than Celegorm had been alive. The room was far too warm and his head pounded, but with effort he forced himself to speak.

“I’m sorry.”

He shook his head, “It’s not your apology to make.”

“But on behalf of my family — ”

Elrond chuckles, and whatever heavy spell had been paid across the room lifted, he felt he could breathe again. “Oh I’ve had that more than enough times.”

There was something in what he said, he just couldn’t manage to connect one thought to the other. He shook his head but only managed to set the room spinning.

“You did drug the wine,” he mumbled

Elrond laughed again, taking the glass from his hands. Celegorm felt himself being pulled to his feet at dragged to the bed. The hand that laid him down was gentle but felt far away.

“No,” Elrond said again, his voice soft as a stream, “but you were only born yesterday and Silvan wine is strong.”

Celegorm opened his mouth to speak but could not string together any words to say. A soft melody, old and sweet and beautiful, took up root around him. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, his heart knowing something his mind did not grasp, before he faded off into sleep.

*************

The moon was not yet setting when Finrod stepped out to prepare the boat. The air was cold and sharp, cutting cleanly through the tangle of thoughts that were caught somewhere between his head and his chest. He made his peace with his cousins, in a distant convinent sort of way that promised reunion only at the very ends of time.

He sighed. In truth even if Elrond had asked him to go on such a mission he would be reluctant. He had appeared the day before dressed for travel and said only that he ‘felt he ought to be here.’ Finrod far too accustomed to foresight would not deny him but nor would he deny the sense of foreboding that came with those sorts of premonitions. The call to see what had become of the lands in the East had never truly left him but he had things here that anchored his heart to these shores. Could he leave Amarïe to return to an empty house without a word.

The dischordant scratching, like a broken violin pulled him from his thoughts as he hurried onto the white ship. He relaxed when he saw the Maia, staring up at the moon, clawed fingers trailing across the railing.

“Huan my dear friend, this is only my second favorite boat but I’d still appreciate you not stripping it into timbers.”

He turned to him, big brown eyes awash with guilt. Finrod’s heart clenched as he saw the tears that ran down his cheeks. He rushed to his side, running his fingers through the Maia’s hair.

“Are you unhappy?” Huan asked before he could say a word.

“Not… usually,” he said slowly, head tilted to the side.

“I did not want to make you hurt.”

Oh. He almost laughed. He had spent far too much of his ire on Celegorm to remember it was Huan who had sprung him upon him in the first place. He’s surprised the Maia even noticed his error. Perhaps that made it easier to forgive him. He sighed and shook his head.

“A little warning next time would be nice.” he took his face in his hands and wiped away his tears, “Why bring him here to begin with?”

Huan’s brows furrowed and he spoke in soft, planned sentences, “He must travel across the sea. You have many boats.”

Finrod has three boats. One, in truth, is Amarië’s and docked right now in Tol Eressa. One was a gift to them both from Numenor in happier times. His fingers trailed along the white timbers of the deck of this one. He had built it with his mother.

His eyes flick back over to him. Huan is not used to this elven form. He was awkward and clumsy and he always spoke with an odd lilt. Still he was still more discerning in speech than most of the other Ainur he knew.

“Is that all?” he pressed

Huan twitches strangely. He does it often and subtle enough that Finrod doesn’t always catch it. He opens his mouth and closes it a couple of times

“I wanted..” he growls hangs his head. His whole body tenses and Finrod moves his hand, fingers still tangled in his hair to rub circles on his back.

“Take your time,” he whispered.

Huan’s head shot up, his eyes blazing, “I hate him. I hate this form and your stupid words that don’t mean enough. I hate the he’s back and I hate that he keeps telling me to go away!”

There was a crack and Huan pulled his hand back from the spin tiered wood of the railing. He turns to Finrod in a panic but the elf just shook his head. The chances are the boat would be dealt worth damage been here and it’s destination. If it reached it at all. He nudged the Maiar’s shoulder playfully.

“You ought to tell him so.”

“There are no words. It all gets caught in my head.”

“Then let us not speak for now, will you help me ready the ship.”

Huan looked down at him and nodded and so they set to work. Finrod began dragging some supplies onto the boat, for while the journey in distance was not long, they would have to be fight Ossë and his people the whole way. To Huan who truly tended to be more than a hinderance than a help he gave a mess of nets to untangle. The Maia sat in the middle of the deck pulling carefully at the twine while Finrod danced around him putting up the sails.

The sky slowly faded into a paler blue and Finrod realised with grim certainty what he had to do. When all was prepared, he heard the sound of the door opening. Elrond stepped out with a figure cloaked and barely recognisable even to Finrod who knew who it was. he board the ship and walked up to Finrod. It was strange to feel a whisper of Lúthien’s presence after so long. Celegorm stood tall and dark, watching the Morning Star glittering at the edge of the night.

Do you know what it is? He wanted to ask. Do you know it was you that drove it there? Instead though he turns his gaze to the waves and says stiffly, “Amarië returns this afternoon,”

“Your wife,” comes a voice from under the hood, just enough of a question to warrant a nod.

“And our children.”

Celegorm doesn’t give any induction of surprise, his voice is laced with amusement as he says, “Two girls and another on the way.”

Finrod can’t help but shiver at the unwelcome but familiar surprise. Celegorm watches. They both were always watching. He not had any reasons to hide traces of his family but now he wonders if he should have.

“I…” Finrod takes a breath, even now the words catch in his throat. Because he much as it burns him he loves his cousin just a little less than he hates him. And his heart aches with the constant loss of Maglor. He wants to help, truly and yet…

“You are not coming.”

Finrod looked away, “Emeladir - “

“ - Is too small, if something were to happen to you…”

“I just - “

“have built a life, a life too precious to risk.”

Finrod scowled, “Stop that.”

Valar, he can hear him grinning as he turns his head. A fondness he cannot quash rises in his chest and he blinks hard.

“Did you mean what you said yesterday?” he asked and regretted it immediately.

Curufin lies just as easily as breathing. Celegorm always knows just what to say. There’s nothing in him that wanted him to hear the answer. It doesn’t matter how much he longs for it to be otherwise, he can’t trust a word that comes out of his mouth.

But Celegrom doesn’t say anything. Just silence and the sea and then a short nod of the head. Finrod turned and walked across the deck, he refused to cry, not at least until the ship was out of the bay.

“Alright,” he looked down, “Well, look after each other, I’ll keep an eye on the horizon for you,” He called out to Elrond at the wheel. He too was not surprised to here that he wished to remain behind and after a little instruction seemed quite comfortable in manovering the boat.

“Don’t break it if you can manage that.”

Elrond gave a unoptimistic glance to the golden strip of the horizon. He promised to try. They said their farewells and cast off in good time, Finrod waving from the pier. He watched them for a while before turning back to his own home. He made no prayers for fear of alerting unwanted eyes to their presence, save to whoever it was the prompted Elrond to show up at his door.

#my writing #silm fic #celegrom #finrod #elrond #ambarussa #huan as a Maiar of oromë #silmarillion #tolkien #to return

[warrioreowynofrohan]

Silmarillion Daily - Of Menegroth

Today’s Silmarillion Daily contains two events - one is the building/carving of Menegroth and the other, happening around the same time in Valinor, is the births of Turgon and Finrod.

Here’s the part on Menegroth:

Now Melian had much foresight, after the manner of the Maiar; and when the second age of the captivity of Melkor had passed, she counselled Thingol that the Peace of Arda would not last forever. He took thought therefore how he should make for himself a kingly dwelling, and a place that should be strong, if evil were to awake again in Middle-earth; and he sought aid and counsel of the Dwarves of Belegost. They gave it willingly, for they were unwearied in those days and eager for new works; and though the Dwarves ever demanded a price for all that the did, whether with delight or with toil, at this time they held themselves paid. For Melian taught them much that they were eager to learn, and Thingol rewarded them with many fair pearls. These Círdan gave to him, for they were got in great number in the shallow waters about the Isle of Balar; but the Naugrim had not before seen their like, and they held them dear. One there was as great as a dove’s egg, and its sheen was as starlight on the foam of the sea; Nimphelos it is named, and the chieftain of the Dwarves of Belegost prized it above a mountain of wealth.

Therefore the Naugrim laboured long and gladly for Thingol, and devised for him mansions after the fashion of their people, delved deep in the earth. Where the Esgalduin flowed down, and parted Neldoreth from Region, there rose in the midst of the forest a rocky hill, and the river ran at its feet, There they made the gates of the hall of Thingol, and they built a bridge of stone over the river, by which alone the gates could be entered. Beyond the gates wide passages ran down to high halls and chambers far below that were hewn in the living stone, so many and so great that that dwelling was named Menegroth, the Thousand Caves.

But the Elves also had part in that labour, and Elves and Dwarves together, each with their own skill, there wrought out the visions of Melian, images of the wonder and beauty of Valinor beyond the Sea. The pillars of Menegroth were hewn in the lines of the beeches of Oromë, stock, bough, and leaf, and they were lit with lanterns of gold. The nightingales sang there as in the gardens of Lórien; and there were fountains of silver, and basins of marble, and floors of many-coloured stones. Carven figures of beasts and birds there ran upon the walls, or climbed upon the pillars, or peered among the branches entwined with many flowers. And as the years passed Melian and her maidens filled the halls with woven hangings wherein could be read the deeds of the Valar, and many things that had befallen in Arda since its beginning, and shadows of things that were yet to be. That was the fairest dwelling of any king that has ever been east of the Sea.

And when the building of Menegroth was achieved, and there was peace in the realm of Thingol and Melian, the Naugrim yet came ever and anon over the mountains and went in traffic about the lands; but they went seldom to the Falas, for they hated the sound of the sea and feared to look upon it. To Beleriand there came no other rumour or tidings of the world without.

There’s another tidbit about Menegroth in History of Middle-earth (The Peoples of Middle-earth, “The problem of Ros”):

…the great Hall of the Throne of Elwë in the midst of his stronghold of Menegroth…was called the Menelrond [heaven-dome], because by the arts and aid of Melian its high arched roof had been adorned with silver and gems set in the order and figures of the stars in the great Dome of Valmar in Aman, whence Melian came.

The section further states that Elwing named Elrond in memory of this place, and that this was held to be prophetic, as it foreshadowed Elrond choosing the kindred of the Eldar and “carrying on the lineage of King Elwë [Footnote: Also also that of Turgon; though he oreferred that of Elwë, who was not under the ban that was laid on the Exiles.]”, while Elros, named for water, crossed the seas and became King of Númenor.

I feel like Menegroth in the passage above comes about as close as anything else we see to Eru’s ideal for the Ainur and the Eruhíni: dwarves and elves and a Maia all working together in Middle-earth to make something beautiful with their different skills and knowledge. The decision to do it in incited by the awareness of danger, but that leads not to hostility but to cooperation and beauty. It’s not in Valinor, but it recalls much of Valinor and of the Valar: the carvings of trees and woodland creatures recall the forests of Oromë, the nightingales the gardens of Lórien, the tapestries of history (and visions of the future) the halls of Vairë and Mandos. Different peoples get a glimpse of things they don’t fully understand, but are drawn to: the dwarves can’t stand the sea, but they nonetheless love Círdan’s pearls.

This is what makes the way Menegroth ends such an absolute tragedy, and it is what makes Legolas and Gimli in The Lord of the Rings the redress of that tragedy: their visits to Aglarond and Fangorn, each understanding what the other loves, is a kind of echo of the unity of these caverns carved with trees and forest-creatures. They’re putting things right. (As, in a different way, Galadriel is putting Fëanor’s story right, and Elrond is putting Thingol’s specifically right.) Not putting things back exactly as they were, but healing them.

#i feel like this passage gets so overlooked #because “of the sindar” is a big flashback dropped in the middle of the return of the noldor #i like being able to see these sections in their chronological place #silmarillion daily #the silmarillion #tolkien #the lord of the rings #thingol #melian #dwarves #legolas #gimli #doriath

[doodle-pops]

Hi Mina! I was just curious what you think Úmaiar (fallen Maiar) are like depending on what Valar they used to serve? I saw a HC that Succubi/Incubi are Úmaiar who were formerly under Irmo's domain and that makes ALOT of sense. I also HC that Maiar who follow Varda and Oromë are least susceptible to corruption because Varda is the embodiment of the polar opposite of Melkor and Oromë is also heavily against evil. Other than Aulë, whose Maiar do you think are most susceptible to corruption?

Howdy! I had to put a great deal of thought into answering this question because I've never thought about this before. I couldn't answer them based on who I believe would be easily susceptible to corruption, but rather what the Úmaiar of each of the Valar would be like. Forgive me if it doesn't sound 100% right (they're all mushed).

Irmo:

From what I know, the fallen Maiar were mostly Balrogs and other spirits. You mentioned the Incubi and Succubi as Irmo's fallen Maiar and it sounds about right with that one. There could be those who bring an unnecessary amount of nightmares for terrorising purposes and trap people in the dream realm, those who are the spirits of confusion, and trickster spirits.

Námo:

With Námo, he can have spirits who terrorise both the living and dead; hunt the souls of the recently dead and devour them. Some might commit desecration of the recently dead; messing up their burial sights to prevent the souls from properly crossing over.

Yavanna:

This one is from a headcanon I saw on Yavanna (can't find it), but an Úmaiar of Yavanna can be those who create poisonous plants and those like the Venus Fly Trap. I picture the Valar concept of good/safe to be beautiful creations, so imagine when these corrupted spirits create such beautiful plants but they turn out to be harmful to both people and the environment.

Ulmo:

Ulmo might have sirens or the carnivorous version of his regular merfolks who don't follow the rules of the ocean which is to keep sailors safe. These guys hunt for the flesh of men/elves and cause most of the shipwrecks just to devour sailors. There might be other monstrous sea creatures as well.

Nessa:

This one is a wild thought, but I pictured a corrupted Melian for this one. Since it was she who taught the birds how to sing, I can picture a corrupted version of her singing songs of enchantment to lure travellers into the deep forest and steal the essence from their souls to preserve/strengthen herself.

Oromë:

I can picture some of Oromë's Maiar being corrupted, and I enjoy using references from Ossë who is known for being tempered and was easily persuaded by Melkor. A few of Oromë's hunters and Maiar who take the form of beasts could be a few of the beasts Melkor had created. Also this could be the start of Chimeras appearing in Middle Earth.

Stripping their true form and recreating their darker versions, or those who were willingly corrupted, enjoyed the idea of hunting; the thrill, the chase, and joined Melkor because he offered them the opportunity to hunt without restrictions and bask in the thrill. So now you have these 'hunters' who ride out to capture elves and men.

Manwë:

I assume any Maiar of Manwë would simply become dark versions of themselves. Mostly fighting against the Valar the same way Mairon left Aüle, I picture Eönwë doing the same (I imagine his wings turning black). Perhaps some of Manwë's eagles changed their forms to appear more menacing and become spies. I like to picture some of Melkor's first dragons were the corrupted versions of Manwë's eagles who were caught and tortured.

I couldn't think of any for Tulkas, Nienna, and Ëste. Furthermore, as mentioned, Varda Maiar would be the least susceptible to corruption, and we already have two of Aüle's Maiar dancing the lambada, so there you go.

#irmo #namo #yavanna #ulmo #manwe #nessa #orome #silmarillion headcanons #irmo headcanon #namo headcanon #ulmo headcanon #yavanna headcanon #nessa headcanon #orome headcanon #manwe headcanon #character talks .𑁍༊˚

[cilil]

Headcanons: The Day of Love

I felt spontaneously inspired to write down my headcanons (yes, I've thought of this before a few times) for Valentine's Day in Valinor, or, as it's known there, the Day of Love, featuring both Ainur and Elves. Enjoy!

♡ The establishment of a dedicated holiday to celebrate couples and other forms of love and companionship was, as certain people (*cough* Melkor) would snidely remark in later ages, most likely inevitable due to Manwë being a hopeless romantic and Irmo's penchant for playing matchmaker (and subsequently winning bets he made with his wife and siblings).

♡ After Tulkas and Nessa were wed - within the circles of Arda, unlike the other Valar who espoused their partners earlier - Manwë was inspired to take action and create this holiday, as everyone had greatly enjoyed the festivities and many wished to have the opportunity to express their affection for their loved ones in a similar manner, without the pomp of a wedding.

♡ It was decided that the Day of Love would be in spring, as per Vána's suggestion. To this day, there's still some debate among the inhabitants of Valinor whether she simply thought the season was appropriate or whether she was making a thinly veiled mating season joke; the Ever-young, however, has declined to comment on this. It takes place in the month of Súlimë (March), much to the delight of Manwë, usually within the third week since this is (roughly) the beginning of the season, as determined by Yavanna and Vána.

♡ Over the ages, various traditions evolved. Among the first and most notable to this day is Manwë's poetry soirée, where everyone is invited to share their romantic poems and other writings - a special iteration of his regular writing group get-togethers that strives to be as inclusive and affirming as possible. Ever since the first Day of Love was celebrated, Manwë has written a new poem for his beloved queen every single year, and Varda shows her appreciation with breath-taking meteor showers. The event has naturally become important to the Vanyar in particular, especially those who are regulars among Manwë's fellow poetry enjoyers.

♡ Irmo and Estë take great pleasure in hosting a "casual tea time feast" (as described by the Lord of Lórien himself) that welcomes not only couples or friend groups, but also explicitly those who feel lonely on such a day and would like some easy company. While Estë and her Maiar serve herbal teas for health and good spirits and bake lots of delicious cakes and other treats, Irmo prepares his (in)famous punch which so far has never failed to get a party going and distributes special "love candy" that has also come under scrutiny a few times, but is still consumed with great delight by those who dare.

♡ Aside from (more or less) innocent tea party shenanigans, Irmo is wide awake on the Day of Love for different reasons as well, mutating into the kind of entity we know as Cupid. The use of arrows has been forbidden, but that does little to stop the Lord of Dreams and Desire from making his OTPs come true by providing a little bit of "assistance". He gleefully plants courage and inspiration into the hearts and minds of Ainur and Elves alike, so that they may finally confess those feelings they have been carrying around for too long. It has been alleged that he has attempted to play bingo with his brother in regards to these things coming to pass, yet nothing could be proven and Námo, as usual, was silent.

♡ Oromë, being in good spirits as hunting season is drawing near, likes to host a special hunting events where couples (and throuples and so on, naturally) can either compete against each other or team up to hunt and see if their love is strong enough to catch even the greatest prey. While it's all in good fun and the competitive side isn't taken seriously, Oromë and his people do hold the belief that the ability to work together and cooperate, as well as engaging in friendly, playful competitions without hostility or ill will, are important parts of a relationship of any kind and thus can be a good test for couples looking to get married in particular. It is also worth noting that the hunting duels of Aredhel and Celegorm have become particularly infamous and are to this day lauded as a great example.

♡ Tulkas, as always, is looking for a fun little fight and a good laugh, and those sharing his passion are welcome in his mansion for a special kind of celebration. Many Elves and Ainur alike seek to prove themselves in battle against their peers to win the affection and admiration of whoever they wish to court, as well as engage in friendly duels with their friends and loved ones. Making sure that everything is as fair as it can be, Tulkas presides over these fights with glowing pride and invites all participants to attend a great feast after.

♡ Said feast is usually coupled with a special performance by Nessa and her Maiar, as well as others who wish to join them, and afterwards everyone is invited to dance with their partners. It is not unusual for non-martially-inclined couples to spend their day elsewhere but attend Nessa's dance party in the evening, and oftentimes the lord and lady can also be seen on the dance floor together.

♡ For Yavanna and Vána, the Day of Love is yet another instance of their boundless generosity. The two Valier share their gifts and boons freely, providing flowers, fruits and materials for the crafting of presents; sometimes even advice to those who seek it. Year after year, their husbands show their gratitude - as well as vicariously for the rest of Valinor - by crafting and hunting special gifts for them, and it is said that the trees and flowers bloom even more beautifully on that day to celebrate their ladies' joy.

♡ Among the Elves, traditions are varied as well. Particularly famous is the pearl-diving of the Teleri, a test of both courage and skill where young and old lovers alike venture out into the sea and seek to find the most beautiful pearls to bring home to their partners. Ulmo gives his blessings freely to all who attempt such a feat and, together with his Maiar, makes sure that everyone returns home safely; over the years, many a daring Elf had to be fished out of more perilous waters. These pearls - and other treasures that were found - are particularly precious to the Teleri and objects crafted from or with them may even become family heirlooms.

♡ The Noldor, together with Aulë, Vairë and their Maiar, spend a lot of time before the Day of Love crafting wonderful gifts for their loved ones. These creations are a matter of great pride and may hold a lot of different, intricate meanings, often being a key component in courtship. Aside from all sorts of trinkets, couples are often seen exchanging promise jewelry. A particularly noteworthy occurrence over the years was the unveiling of a great Fëanor statue, made by none other than Nerdanel during their courtship, and to this day spectators claim that they have never seen Fëanor this speechless before or after.

♡ The Vanyar, aside from attending the festivities in Ilmarin, are also fond of music and love to sing or otherwise perform for their loved ones. Such performances are often done with special costumes and instruments, and the gifting of instruments is regarded as something especially intimate and meaningful. Those among the Maiar of Manwë and Varda who are not too fond of poetry like to join the Vanyar instead, offering their own songs and arts as entertainment. Eönwë and other avian Ainur are regularly asked for their feathers and even grow special plumage to accommodate these requests.

Thanks for reading! Feel free to take inspiration from these (though as always a little shout-out is appreciated if you create your own stuff based on this post ♡).

#the day of love #headcanons #my headcanons #silmarillion #elves #noldor #teleri #vanyar #ainur #manwe #irmo #este #orome #vana #tulkas #nessa #yavanna #aule #aredhel #celegorm #feanor #nerdanel #ulmo #valinor #valentines day

[swanmaids]

Last line meme, thank you for the tag @deadqueernoldor !

Not quite one line, but:

~

“I want some more of these,” Tyelkormo says around his mouthful of skewered roast songbird, “can you tell one of them,” he gestures with the skewer at a group of vaguely elf-shaped Maiar standing by the banquet table, “to bring me some more of these?”

Oromë smiles against his neck. “You are getting so spoiled, my Tyelko.” He holds him closer to his chest, toys with a bit of hair. “But of course. You can have anything you wish for.” Then he calls to the Maiar with his request.

Lapdog! Makalaurë crows in Tyelkormo’s head. He scowls, and bats his brother’s voice away.

~

First and foremost tagging @meadowlarkx because you know what you’re responsible for 😇 and also @jouissants @welcomingdisaster @imakemywings @polutrope @thelordofgifs @that-angry-noldo @searchingforserendipity25

#tag game

[neldeathstar]

Some Valar and their Maiar..

A while ago I made a series about my favourite Valar and some of their Maiar. I already posted Melkor and his Maiar here sooner, so here are the others :)! Maybe I will continue this series with Mandos and Oromë :D!

Have an amazing Sunday everyone!! ❤️

Manwë and Varda with Eonwë and Olorin

Ulmo with Ossë and Uinen

Yavanna and Aulë with Aiwendil and Curumo (Mairon left them already...and everyone misses him except Aiwendil)

#silmarillion #silmarillion fanart #tolkien #tolkien fanart #ainur #valar #maiar #manwe #aulë #yavanna #ulmo #ossë #uinen #valinor #curumo #olorin #eonwë #radagast #saruman #gandalf #lord of the rings #fantasy #character design #fanart

[edensrose]

For the reactions how would the aniur react to their s/o telling them they didn't like their singing ?

Oh , and I hope you have a lovely day - Flora

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

( ❀ ) ˙ ˖  this just turned into crack lol. hope you're having a lovely day too flora bb!<3

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

"no you.''

ʚ 𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒐𝒏

ʚ gothmog 

ʚ tulkas 

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

*intentionally sings obnoxiously and off-tune*

ʚ 𝒎𝒆𝒍𝒌𝒐𝒓

ʚ 𝒈𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒎𝒐𝒈 

ʚ nessa 

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

"first of all, how dare you?"

ʚ aule 

ʚ 𝒐𝒔𝒔𝒆

ʚ 𝒊𝒍𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒆 

ʚ varda 

ʚ curumo 

ʚ melian

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

*desperately tries to serenade you despite tears in their eyes*

ʚ manwe 

ʚ 𝒊𝒓𝒎𝒐

ʚ 𝒏𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒏𝒂

ʚ vana 

ʚ eönwë

ʚ olorin

ʚ ulmo

ʚ unien

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

"I searched all of arda. travelled to middle-earth, scoured mordor - yet still I couldn't find where I asked for you opinion."

ʚ 𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒐 

ʚ orome 

ʚ yavanna 

*desperately tries to serenade you despite tears in their eyes*

ʚ 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒐𝒏

ʚ 𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

bonus:

''lALALALALALA DO RE MI FA SOOOOOOOO. IS THIS BETTER? ARE YOU HAPPY NOW??''

ʚ 𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒐𝒏

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

#— ꒰🌺꒱ 𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐬 ៸៸ tolkien ❜‧₊ #ainur #valar #maiar #reader insert #manwë #melkor #oromë #mairon #námo #irmo #arien #tilion #ossë #varda #yavanna #nienna #melian #olorin #vana #ulmo #gothmog #unien #the silmarillion #tolkien #reactions

[searchingforserendipity25]

Orion

@feanorianweek | Celegorm

The Hunter rose in the sky every twilight in the wake of Gil-Estel, and faded from the starry fields chasing it still.

Unfaithful, no longer beloved by the Vala of the Hunt, abandoned even by his hound, the Hound of hounds, Celegorm made use of his skills in a wise and reasonable way by invading a ruined city in winter.

The cruellest thing was that - of course, the quarry escaped. He had known it would. It had not made a difference for him that it did; only that there was a hunt to be had. He had sought it out, tormented and leveraged and harnessed his strength until his brothers relented to tread the same track.

They, perhaps, had had some hope. That was not Celegorm’s concern.

He surrendered his flesh to a hundred blows and the wondrous terror of Dior's destruction, left Curufin to haunt his son. And then Celegorm leapt, and kept to the hunt.

He had numbered all his victories against Morgoth, and tallied them highly as debts against the Powers. Oromë, ravager of Morgoth’s Maiar, could not claim to be so high as to account nothing to Kinslayers. Wherever he went Celegorm followed as a hounding wraith, restless and hungry and patient, devotedly patient.

Oromë found some use for him, in time. As Gil-Estel was a promise of hope, so there ought to be a warning against conquering greed. The high skies made for a new hunting ground. Fitting punishment - a hard lesson - what of it? He cared not! The Hunter rose in the sky every twilight in the wake of Gil-Estel, and faded from the starry fields chasing it still.

This much was owed, and demanded of him: the ceaseless hunt and the endless hunting grounds. This much, and nothing more, and nothing less.

Some in Arda claimed the constellation shone brightest on winter nights, when the masterless wolves tilted their necks to howl at the sky.

#celegorm #oromë #my fic #triple drabble #the silmarillion #feanorianweek #feanorian week 2023

[urwendii]

Type of music you can hear in the various Maiar workshops:

house of Manwë: baroque classical

house of Varda: space ambient

house of Aulë: metal (pun intended)

house of Yavanna: indie folk

house of Irmo: psychedelic trance music

house of Estë: chill-lofi

houses of Oromë + Tulkas: epic instrumental soundtracks

house of Námo: white noise + asmr

house of Ulmo: the little mermaid ost + Ossë's heavy metal playlist

house of Nienna: sad love songs

Bonus:

Angband: k-pop

#im making this canon #the silmarillion #ainur #the silm #the maiar club #Ossë has his own playlist he loves to listen loudly during storms (or when visiting Valmar) <- his neighbour is Eönwë #melkor is a kpop fan #i dont make the rules

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Abominations of the flesh

Day 5 Prompt: New companions

For: @feast-of-horns | Requested by MoonLord

Rating: E

Pairing: Celegorm/Curufin/Turgon/Finrod

Themes: NSFW | NSFT

Warnings: Kissing | Incest | Celegorm and Curufin are up to no good

Wordcount: 3.2k words

Summary: Celegorm and Curufin are convinced there is something more than friendship between Turgon and Finrod. Turgon and Finrod think otherwise. Their cousins are determined to show them there is more to their bond than they think.

Minors DNI | 18+

A/n: A big thank you to @cilil and @urwendii for their help with Turgon's pre-Alqualondë personality and the idea that inspired this fic.

This is also available on AO3

The feast was a riotous affair. Many ate and drank their fill. A few ate and drank more than they ought to. Some sang bawdy airs. Others laughed. Many and more prepared themselves for the chase that was to follow. Turukáno was scandalized as he observed everything taking place around him. 

“Do all of the Valar conduct themselves in such a debauched manner during these feasts?” He whispered to his cousin in disbelief. 

“Not just the Valar, cousin.” Findaráto was as taken aback as he was, but his curiosity remained undiminished. “The Maiar and their attendants, and even our fellow elves.” 

Turukáno, his cheeks aflame, touched the crown sitting amidst his hair. Gold horns inlaid with brilliant white enamel gleamed as they rose from a thin gold band full of diamonds. A hunter’s crown, it was, and it was only proper, the others had said, for a high prince of the Noldor to take on the role of a hunter. 

I should not have agreed to this, he thought when he found himself yearning for the comfort of Tirion’s great library and the fragrance from its many tomes and stone tablets. I do not belong here. I should have remained in Tirion.  

He glanced at the others. His sister, Írissë, stayed close to the Great Huntsman and his lady, whispering. Oromë was in a high mood, as was Lady Vána. The Ever-Young was particularly taken with his sister, and on more than one occasion, she uttered something that made Írissë laugh.

“My sister is by herself,” he said, and he drained the last of his wine. “I must see to her.” 

When he tried to rise, Findaráto grabbed his arm by the wrist. “Leave your sister be.” 

“I must tend to her.” 

“Chicks and elflings need tending, cousin. Your sister, on the other hand, does not. Leave Írri be. You will only draw unwelcome attention to yourself and to me if you do not.” 

Turukáno scoffed softly, but he heeded his cousin all the same. He made himself comfortable in his seat and called for more wine. Someone laughed. It was thunderous and carefree at the same time. That laugh came from none other than Tyelkormo. Turukáno dared to look his way. His uncle Fëanáro’s sons were seated at the same table, though not all of them lingered after their plates and goblets were taken away. Nelyafinwë rose to speak with Findekáno, and Makalaurë took his leave of his brothers when Laurefindelë invited him to join him and his companions. Morifinwë kept to himself, brooding as always, and the twins teased each other over their choice of adornments. Then his gaze cut back to Tyelkormo. His cousin had been studying him with a shrewd leer while his brother, Curufinwë, whispered something in his ear.    

“Pray what happens now?” Turukáno—flustered—asked when Tyelkormo winked at him and looked away. 

“Now we must make our way to the gathering field,” Findaráto replied, rising with the others. Lady Vána arose from her place on the dais, to fetch the Valaróma for her lord husband. “It is time for the chase.” 

The chase was as rowdy as the feast, if not more so. Turukáno and Findaráto were hunters; the latter’s circlet of silver horns glinted amidst his golden hair. Findaráto took part because his curiosity would not let him be at peace. Turukáno took part because his kinsman and dear friend convinced him to, and he was not one to go back on his word after he had given it to someone he treasured. Oromë sounded the Valaróma once, and hunters silently chose their prey even as they raced into the forest. Moments passed, and the air around them thickened, feeding the anticipation that had been building since the feast began. 

“Hunters!” Oromë's cry boomed across the field, startling the nearby horses and compelling the great hounds he bred to stand to attention. “Are you ready? 

The roar that followed echoed through the gathering field. Then the Valaróma sounded a second time, and the hunters gave chase. Turukáno caught brief glimpses of many of those who ran alongside him. A few others he saw quite clearly. Varda’s handmaiden ran down a twisting path away from them, her robes a swirl of indigo wisps, her starlit skin and pink and molten silver hair shimmering in the starlight. He heard a sharp gasp, then a lusty laugh. He stopped for a moment to look. Ilmarë was ensnared by none other than the Elder King himself. She squirmed and giggled in his arms while he cooed barely heard words of endearment to her. His queen emerged from a thicket of trees, her dark hair falling around her like a waterfall full of little stars. They embraced each other. Turukáno turned to his cousin, dumbfounded.

“As long as there is no cleaving of the spirit, no ill-will ensues.” Findaráto grasped his hand and led him away. “Come. There is a clearing not far ahead.”

The clearing was full of flowers and new grass and large rocks thick with moss, and little else. No one could be seen. The others preferred the trees and forest floors covered with soft leaves over the open field. Turukáno made himself comfortable on a moss-covered stone and looked at the stars. His cousin sat by his side on the grass.

Turukáno said, “Do you remember the times we made our way to the highest balcony in grandfather’s palace?” 

Findaráto looked at him, smiling. “We would sneak into the kitchens first and fill a basket with little cakes and sweets. Then we made our way to that balcony and tried to name all the stars. The one who could name the most stars won the right to eat most of the cakes.” 

His cousin’s reply was interrupted by another who found them. “Well, well. What do I see before me?” 

The voice that called to them was thunderous and carefree at the same time. They rose to face their intruder, an elf that was well known to them. Tyelkormo stood by the edge of the clearing, garbed only in hunting leathers, with horns of bone and ivory adorning his silver-gold hair and ears and waist and wrists. He held a length of silvery rope weighed down at both ends with smooth, stone balls in his hand. He had another length of rope and a sheathed dagger at his belt. Findaráto swore his cousin looked very much like one of the Valar on the hunt—glorious, savage, and otherworldly at the same time. Then he chided himself for even thinking such a blasphemous thought. His cousin was but an elf, and nothing more than that.  

“So this is where the two of you fled to.” The third son of Fëanáro regarded them with a sly smile spreading its way across his countenance. “And to talk of stars on a festival day such as this, when so many delights await you beyond these trees! I confess, dear cousins, that I am quite disappointed.” 

“Tis not only you who is disappointed, brother mine.” Curufinwë emerged next, dragging a delicate silver net in his right hand. He too had a length of rope and a sheathed dagger at his belt. “We are here at a festival that frees us to be with whomever we desire, and these two prefer to gaze at the sky.” 

“Or perhaps, stargazing is not the reason why they are truly here.” Tyelkormo’s smile was a vicious thing. His shrewd, hunter’s gaze pinned his kinsmen to where they stood like they were nothing more than moths pinned to a board. “Perhaps they came to this place because they wished to do more than just admire the heavens.”

Findaráto understood his cousin’s insinuation well enough. “You assume incorrectly, Tyelko,” he sputtered, mortified. “There is nothing untoward between Turco and myself. We are friends and kinsmen, no more, no less.” 

“Nothing untoward, you say.” Curufinwë’s smile was as calculating and vicious as his brother’s, perhaps even more so. And yet, it did little to mar the finely-formed beauty he inherited from his father. “But, my dear Ingoldo, what else are we supposed to think when the two of you seek only each other for company and when one of you is always coming to the aid of the other, even when there are others more skilled at the task at hand?” 

Turukáno finally understood what his cousins were implying. “Ingoldo and I have never committed abominations of the flesh!” 

Tyelkormo turned to face him. “Truly?” He said. “Why do I struggle to believe it?”

“Peace, brother. Perhaps they speak the truth. Perhaps they have not violated taboos between kinsmen, and what we have observed thus far is wrong,” Curufinwë told him, his crafty eyes shining wickedly in the starlight. “Or perhaps, they do not see what we see.” 

“Perhaps we should help remove the scales from their eyes.” 

“Indeed, brother. Indeed.” 

Their cousins each took a step back, startled. “We have taken on the roles of hunters!” Findaráto cried protest. 

“There is no prohibition against a hunter chasing after another hunter,” Tyelkormo remarked with a casual air. 

“And we are bound by blood!” Cried Turukáno as he prepared himself to flee. His cousin could be as determined as a wolf chasing a hare when the urge to hunt was upon him. He had to be ready to turn on his heels and run as soon as Tyelkormo made a move to come near him.  

“That is of little consequence,” said Curufinwë, his knuckles white against his net. “And no one will ever know, so long as we do not talk to the others. Come, now, Turco. There is no need to be frightened. We merely wish to help; that is all.” 

“We will not consent!” Turukáno snapped at him. 

“Ah!” Cunning gray eyes shone again. “That is where you are mistaken, cousin,” he countered serenely. “You will consent.” 

Tyelkormo loosened his hold on the rope, preparing to throw it as soon as the opportunity to do so presented itself. “Remember what I taught you, brother.”

“I will, brother.” Curufinwë had eagerly listened to all that his brother had to say, for the chase was a first for him, as was the feast. “I will remember all that you told me.”

“Good.” His brother’s voice was as stern and commanding as the Vala he served when he said, “Run.” 

Turukáno took hold of Findaráto’s hand and pulled him along as they ran around the thick trunks of trees that crowded too close together, barely evading twisting, low-hanging branches and gnarled roots that protruded out of the earth. He dared to stop for a moment to look over his shoulder. Tyelkormo and Curufinwë had melted into the surrounding darkness, and nothing but darkened trees and a thin, swirling mist remained in their wake. 

“We must not tarry.” Findaráto tugged gently on his cousin’s arm, urging him forward. “We cannot linger here for too long. They will find us!” 

They ran again, and for how long, neither could say. They ran, and they ran, and they did not halt until they reached another clearing. There was no being to be seen. There was no being to be heard. They had gone further than they had ever gone in the forests of Oromë, and they had to stop. To keep running meant to lose their way, and that was something they could not do, not while rumors of a dark creature dwelling beyond the southern borders of the forests flourished. 

“Have we lost them?” Findaráto asked and stopped near the periphery of the clearing with his back to the trees. All around them stood graceful pines, mighty oaks, and giant sentinels, their leaves and branches rustling in the wind. 

“I do not know,” Turukáno said. He turned and studied the trees behind his cousin, and he saw nothing but dappled starlight flowing through the thick canopy. “There is no sight of them, at least. No sound. Perhaps we did lose—”  

He was interrupted when a whirl of silver flew toward him with such force that it knocked him to the ground. Turukáno could not move his arms. The rope had entangled itself around his torso He turned to his cousin for aid, but his cousin was also writhing against the forest floor in a vain attempt to free himself from the strange silver net that had enveloped him.

“Tyelko!” He called out in anger. “What is the meaning of this?”

Tyelkormo was the first to step out from among the trees; his brother followed him. Their boots fell against the forest floor with barely a sound made. 

“What do you think, cousin?” He helped Turukáno up to a seated position before going down to his haunches to bind his cousin’s legs at the ankles with the other length of rope that he had. “We are going to remove the scales from your eyes.”

Turukáno did not even deign to reply. He knew he could not fight his cousin and win. Tyelkormo may not have had his great stature, but he was as strong as him, and he was the better hunter by many a league. He stole a glimpse of his other cousin. Curufinwë bound Findaráto's hands and legs, and he brought him to where Turukáno sat, his back to an old pine tree. Turukáno could only watch while Tyelkormo rose, satisfied that they could not free themselves. His cousin moved to sit apart after that, regarding them the way he would a fine meal that was ready to be devoured. 

“They make such a pretty picture together.” Curufinwë dusted his hands and moved to sit cross-legged next to his brother, to better admire the sight of their captive kinsmen. 

“They do.” Tyelkormo rested his hand on the small of his brother’s back. Findaráto believed it was merely a protective gesture, and nothing more. “And they believe that there is nothing besides friendship between them. How shall we help them see, brother mine?” 

“With this,” said Curufinwë, before framing his brother’s face firmly in his hands, and pulling him in for a kiss. 

This is not the first time they have indulged in such acts. Turukáno watched, horrified, while Curufinwë and Tyelkormo embraced each other like experienced lovers, when Curufinwë allowed his brother to take liberties with him, when one let the other tangle his hands in his hair, and when one let the other move their hands to the clasp of a belt. He looked away—ashamed at not being able to dampen the arousal he felt growing between his thighs—then turned his attention to them once again when he heard a low moan.   

They look so beautiful together. Findaráto was as stunned as Turukáno by the deviancy of their cousins. Much like Turukáno, he could not look away for long. Tyelkormo and Curufinwë painted a striking image together, all silver and jet and slender, tapered hands moving in perfect rhythm with large, sculpted ones. Tyelkormo was all heat and wildness. Curufinwë was all cool restraint. He closed his eyes and tucked his head against Tyelkormo’s shoulder when he loosened the lacings of his breeches and took his erection to hand.  

“Yes. Like that,” he whispered, his hands clutching desperately at his brother’s broad back. “Ah, brother.” 

They kissed each other savagely, and then Curufinwë opened his eyes. They were dark and wanton, and they settled on his cousins. Turukáno had shame and lust warring with each other in his gaze. As for Findaráto, he had something akin to thirst in his. The firstborn son of Arafinwë turned to look at his cousin, his heart fluttering at the sight of his wide, beautiful eyes, his thick, dark hair, and his fine lips.  

Are Tyelko and Curvo correct? Findaráto pondered to himself. Is there something more than friendship between Turco and myself? Something neither of us has seen before?

At that moment, Turukáno turned to face him. Findaráto smiled bashfully. It made him look achingly beautiful. Turukáno flushed and looked away.  

No. He told himself. It cannot be true. They are wrong. There is nothing beyond friendship between us.  

He regarded his cousin again. Yearning stirred in his belly when he drank in the blue of Findaráto's eyes, the soft curve of his mouth, and the way his chest rose and fell with each breath he took. His head spun. Thoughts of rich, fair hair caught in a spill of bright starlight and a golden voice ringing out while caught in the throes of rapture took the place of all else. Turukáno was amazed; it was as if he was seeing his cousin in another light for the first time.  

Curufinwë smiled. We were right all along, he thought triumphantly. These two truly do share a bond that goes deeper than the bond shared by friends and kinsmen.    

They suspected it for many days now. Findaráto would always seek the opinion of his cousin, Turukáno. Turukáno would do the same in return. If one needed aid, the other would come to them. Hours would be lost when they wove their worlds of dreams together. Lovers in all but name and deed, Tyelkormo had once said, and Curufinwë remarked that perhaps such may indeed be the case. Their plan to expose their cousins' true feelings for each other was born after this, just in time for the Feast. 

“Brother,”Curufinwë groaned. Tyelkormo did something wicked to the tip of his shaft with his thumb. “Brother, I believe our kinsmen can be freed now.” 

Tyelkormo turned to look, albeit reluctantly. His treelit eyes lit up when his brother said something just loud enough for him to hear. 

“I believe you are right, brother,” he said, rising. His cousins braced themselves when he came to them, not knowing what he planned to do with them. Their fears were put to rest when he unsheathed his blade and cut the rope around Findaráto's wrists and ankles. Turukáno was next. Then he sat astride his lap and kissed him. 

Turukáno longed for nothing more than to resist him, to bite back and bloody Tyelkormo’s lips. It was no less than what he deserved, he thought. Then Tyelkormo sighed and kissed him harder. It threw the floodgates wide open, and drowned what little resistance Turukáno had.  He yielded to the wild and insistent demands of his body and returned his cousin’s kiss with equal fire, hoisting himself to his knees and taking his cousin into his arms when the warmth of his mouth continued to flow into his own. 

“Perfect,” Tyelkormo all but purred when he pulled away. He still kept himself firmly seated on his cousin’s lap, his arms draped around his shoulders. Then, he turned to Findaráto. “Join us, Ingoldo,” he said, and he gestured for his brother to join them. Curufinwë took the place he always did: by his brother’s side. “No one besides the four of us needs to know what took place this hour.” 

“Do I have your word on this?” Findaráto was tempted to say yes, but he had to consider the risk of discovery. If the others found out, the shame and disgrace that would surely follow should word of his sharing pleasures with his cousin spread—he and Turukáno would never be able to show their faces in Tirion again.

“You have my word as a son of Fëanáro, and a grandson of our king, Finwë.” Tyelkormo shuddered when his brother’s lips pressed against his shoulder and when his cousin tightened his hold around his waist. “Pray what is your answer?” 

Findaráto took a deep, steadying breath and gripped Turukáno’s chin, tilting it to the side so their lips could meet. 

#feastofhorns #feastofhorns2024 #celegorm #curufin #finrod #turgon #celegorm x curufin #turgon x finrod #celegorm x curugin x turgon x finrod #the silm #the silmarillion #the silm fanfiction

[warrioreowynofrohan]

Silmarillion Daily - Of the Coming of the Eldar to Valinor

It’s very interesting that the Elves, who are so connected with sea-longing from the Second Age onward, and many of whom love the sea long before that, are initially frightened of it. The nature of the sea as something untame and unruled, and likewise uncorrupted, feels to me like it’s important to The Silmarillion as a whole.

…the foremost companies [of the Vanyar and Noldor] passed over the Vale of Sirion and came down to the shores of the Great Sea between Drengist and the Bay of Balar. But when they beheld it great fear came upon them, and many withdrew into the woods and highlands of Beleriand. Then Oromë departed, and returned to Valinor to seek the counsel of Manwë, and left them.

Now Ulmo, by the counsel of the Valar, came to the shores of Middle-earth and spoke with the Eldar who waited there, gazing on the dark waves; and because of his words and the music which he made for them on his horns of shell their fear of the sea was turned rather to desire.

The Isle of Balar off the coast of Beleriand whete the last survivors of the Eldar and Edain take refuge at the end if the First Age being part of the same island as the isle of Eressëa in Valinor where those who return to Valinor live after the First Age is such a great bit of mythology.

Therefore Ulmo uprooted an island which long had stood alone amid the sea, far from either shore, since the tumults of the fall of Illuin; and with the aid of his servants he moved it, as it were a mighty ship, and anchored it in the Bay of Balar, into which Sirion poured his water. Then the Vanyar and the Noldor embarked upon that isle, and were drawn over the sea, and came at last to the long shores beneath the Mountains of Aman; and they entered Valinor and were welcomed to its bliss. But the eastern horn of the island, which was deep-grounded in the shoals off the mouths of Sirion, was broken asunder and remained behind; and that, it is said, was the Isle of Balar, to which afterwards Ossë often came.

The Teleri are, from their arrival in Beleriand onwards, connected more to the Maiar, whereas the Vanyar and Noldor are connected to the Valar. The Teleri are the only ones to do a major stretch of the Great Journey (the Misty Mountains, Eriador, and the Blue Mountains) on their own without Oromë’s guidance; those who stay in Beleriand later have Melian as their queen; and those who love the oceans are first met and befriended by Ossë and Uinen rather than Ulmo.

But the Teleri remained still in Middle-earth, for they dwelt in East Beleriand far from the sea, and they heard not the summons of Ulmo until too late; and many searched still for Elwë their lord, and without him they were unwilling to depart. But when they learned that Ingwë and Finwë and their peoples were gone, then many of the Teleri pressed on to the shores of Beleriand, and dwelt thereafter near the Mouths of Sirion, in longing for their friends that had departed; and they took Olwë, Elwë’s brother, to be their king. Long they remained by the coasts of the western sea, and Ossë and Uinen came to them and befriended them; and Ossë instructed them, sitting upon a rock near to the margin of the land, and of him they learned all manner of sea-lore and sea-music. Thus it came to be that the Teleri, who were from the beginning lovers of water, and the fairest singers of all the Elves, were after enamoured of the seas, and their songs were filled with the sound of waves upon the shore.

The Vanyar and Noldor arrive in Valinor, and at the start both groups live on the green hill of Túna, preferring to see the stars rather than live right next to the Trees all the time. This also represents a slight opening of Valinor to the rest of the world: the passage indicates that both the Calacirya and Túna were made at that time for the specific benefit of the Elves, and didn’t previously exist, and that this represented the first time Tree-light passed beyond the barrier of the Pélori Mountains.

To [the Vanyar and Noldor] the Valar gave a land and a dwelling-place. Even among the radiant flowers of the Tree-lit gardens of Valinor they longed still at times to see the stars; and therefore a gap was made in the great walls of the Pélori, and there in a deep valley that ran down to the sea the Eldar raised a high green hill; Túna it was called. From the west the light of the Trees fell upon it, and its shadow lay ever eastward; and to the east it looked towards the Bay of Elvenhome. Then through the Calacirya, the Pass of Light, the radiance of the Blessed Realm streamed forth, kindling the dark waves to silver and gold.

#tolkien #the silmarillion #valar #eldar #silmarillion daily

[saintsilmarillion]

Our Antlers Tangled

Mairon finds himself alone with Melkor during the Feast of Horns

Chapt 1 of long form angbang fic for @feast-of-horns

The third time he runs the hunt, Mairon grows great curving horns for himself and plays as hunter, waiting for the second sounding of Valaróma to launch after his prey. 

In time the Ainur will come to make plans with their desired partners but it is still early days and disordered revelry. Even so, Mairon has designs on Eönwë, noting the proud maia has draped his wings in golden chains. With the rules against flight he will likely be an easier target and it would be a delight to defeat the herald of Manwë himself and claim his favour. 

Mairon has learned from his past experiences too; those who seek to chase Yavanna’s host will quickly find themselves on the back foot in her own forests. His first Feast of Horns is most memorable for that lesson. 

Oromë sounds his horn again and Mairon takes off with the other hunters, noting the many fire maiar that have chosen this side of the chase. All the better to disorient their quarry. They fly like sparks, blazing into the greenery. 

Mairon burns bright with power to close the gap with the hunted, seeking out pale feathers in the light- rippled undergrowth. 

His fellow hunters slip ever further from view, each of them finding their own path. Tilion glimmers under every patch of light, his horns adorned with great swirls of silver. With all his adornments he is as likely to be confused for the hunted as the hunter. Mairon smiles to think of the kind of trouble he will soon find himself in. 

He is among the hunted now and cries ring out as hiding places are discovered and the chase becomes more intimate, more personal. He cannot see Eönwë anywhere around.

Mairon races on through the forest, scanning for his particular prey. He comes suddenly from shade into the light. 

A clearing, bright sky under the Lamps. Mairon turns his face into the unfiltered light, basking for a moment. Eönwë too would likely gravitate to the open spaces like this, rather than skulk in the cover of the trees. 

Mairon pauses, knowing more than simple speed is needed now. 

Movement flickers at the corner of his vision, and he gets the sense he is being watched. 

Mildly blinded by the brightness of the clearing, he scans the undergrowth. 

There: Three of the hunted slipping from the shadows, delicate chains dangling from their hands. They are poised to lasso and trap. It seems the prey has turned predator.  

‘So the bright smith finally sees fit to leave his forges.’ The first maia steps into the light. He is Yavanna’s creature; all curling vines and copper chains covered in verdigris. 

‘Come, play at a different kind of craft with us,’ Says the other earthen maia, tossing her golden chain to wrap around Mairon’s wrist. He knocks it aside and smiles at her, daring another try. She responds in kind, feinting a teasing strike. 

‘Let us see how admirable you truly are,’ The third croons, a feathered maia- but not the one he seeks this game. 

They circle him. For a moment he entertains the thought of forsaking his quest for Eönwë and finding temporary pleasure with these delightful beings. 

There is a burst of brilliant light as Arien runs, shrieking and laughing, into the clearing. She grins at Mairon in passing, her collar gleaming red horns, her delight infectious. 

He feels invigorated and all the more determined to pursue the herald and satisfy his ambitions. He is far too proud to give up the hunt he has chosen to become another’s captive. 

The maiar are also spurred by Arien’s enthusiasm, crying out to her to join them. Using the distraction to his advantage, Mairon slips away into the forest. 

Mairon draws his fires close, dulling the tell tale shine of his aura. Under the shadows of the lush trees he runs dark and quiet. He is embers, quietly warm, waiting for the right moment to flare. 

Which is why he notices it: a ripple of reflected colour, like oil on water. It shimmers like heat in the air, almost intangible. Mairon draws subtly closer, untrusting of his flickering sight. 

A figure, prowling through the foliage. They wear their hair long, trailing a shifting river of rainbow colours, but darkly, as if seen through a haze of smoke. Crowned with great curving horns, delicate and translucent as crystals, they stalk the edges of the festivities. None of the others seem to notice but now that Mairon sees them he cannot look away. 

He follows, intrigued. 

There is nothing shy in their manner to suggest their behaviour is innocent reticence to partake in the hunt. Neither do they seem to seek any particular prey, lingering to watch often. Who is this being to hold themselves above the others, spying on intimacies while withholding their own?

He follows them deeper into the woods and finds it is growing darker and colder. Great boulders striped with moss and lichen clutter this part of the forest, trees and plants claiming the soil that naturally gathers in their grooves. It is wilder here, shaped by something more chaotic than Yavanna’s careful hand. 

In the thin ravines between the stones, Mairon suddenly loses sight of his quarry. He quickens his pace. The passageway twists and splits into a small clearing walled with jagged stone.

The being he followed is nowhere to be seen. Mairon turns slowly, wary that he has been noticed in turn. 

All is quiet and still. The branching trees above are startlingly distant, filtering the Lamplight and casting great pools of shadow. 

Mairon feels a presence fill the clearing behind him like a held breath. 

Anticipation stretches the moment long. Some fearful part of him whispers that as long as he does not look he will be safe. As though it is not already too late. 

He looks back. 

A sharply beautiful face, harsh and unrelenting, framed with the tousled sweep of that richly colourful hair. He is the afterimage of a lighting strike, too bright and too dark at once. A primal storm barely contained in flesh. 

‘Melkor.’ Mairon realises. His flames flare around him defensively. 

He knows all too well the power of the vala, the raw force of searing heat and numbing cold he can evoke. He has fought against his discord to bring spring to Arda. He has set his song against this enemy to the Ainur. 

‘Why are you here?’ He asks, furious with himself for allowing the trap to close around him. 

Melkor smiles at him, a thin, mocking thing. 

‘Is the revelry not for all to participate in?’ He regards his would-be pursuer with black eyes, gleaming bright from the reflection of Mairon’s fires. 

‘All but you and yours.’

‘Such a disrespectful little thing.’ 

‘My respect is for the High King alone.’ Mairon feels cold, pitted stone against his back. He had not even realised he was backing away as the vala advanced on him. They are as close as before and he can retreat no further. 

Melkor reaches out as if he means to take his face in hand. Disgusted, enraged, Mairon grips his wrist to halt him. They each burn white where their skin touches, fire meeting flame. 

Melkor leans in to the contact, easily forcing Mairon to exert his full strength to hold the vala away. 

He has never felt heat like it before. He knows the warmth of bodies, the forge flames of Aulë, the heat of creation. But Melkor burns hot as destruction, deep to the bone. So hot it feels cold, numb. 

‘You think you can withstand my might alone, little flame?’ He taunts. 

‘Can you stand mine?’ Mairon bites back, refusing to show the strain on his powers. 

Melkor laughs, far too delighted and completely unthreatened. He does not seem to be using even a tenth of his force and that little is enough to almost bring Mairon to his knees. 

Without the aid of the other Ainur, he cannot take the assault for long. He certainly cannot win with sheer force. 

He can call for aid, shame himself before Manwë, but save himself disincorporation. If they could even reach him in time. But then all would know of his disgrace. 

Another idea comes to him in the last desperate seconds before he burns himself out. 

Where he has pushed against Melkor’s arm, he now pulls. The vala is unbalanced by the sudden change, stumbling forward. He crashes into Mairon, who brings their lips together in a desperate, awful kiss. 

Melkor’s dominating power vanishes, his hands falling slack to his sides, leaving Mairon’s hand tingling with the lost sensation. 

Saved with the simple trick of surprise where force failed him. It would be an entertaining story to tell were it not so appalling to admit to. 

But Mairon snares himself in his own trap, lingering in the kiss. He grasps at Melkor now, spinning them to pin the vala against the ravine walls. Parts of his self that have lain dormant and unknown ignite.

A new heat builds between them, slow and intense, coiling, deep and fathomless. Colours and flame bleed between spirits, casting vibrant refractions around them.

Melkor’s hands come up to rest gently against his arms and back, steadying but not caging. There is a tentativeness to his manner even as he parts Mairon’s lips with his tongue, deepening the kiss. 

The fragility of it brings something vicious out in Mairon. Something that wants to tear at the vulnerability just to see how far he can go. He bites down, digs his nails in, draws blood. 

Melkor makes a small sound of pain and it is so rewarding being the one to reduce the most powerful vala to this state. To make this great enemy weak and hold him at his mercy. 

Mairon has not been cruel before. He likes it.

The kiss breaks before they do. 

Neither need to breath and still they cling to each other as their chests heave with heavy breaths. They stare at each other wide-eyed and equal in surprise. 

Mairon recovers himself first. Snatching himself from Melkor’s embrace, he runs. 

He does not look back.

#my writing #foh #feast of horns #our antlers tangled #angbang #silm fanfic #dividers by me #may post them for other people to use if wanted cause i am no fussy