#and he's in melkor's mantle

[eternal-fear]

Fëanáro in Utumno

Look at this wonderful artwork Ylieke made for me (and the fanfic I'm working on). Please, check them out and show them your love. VK @cgbookworm - Twitter @y_lieke - Instagram

#silmarillion #the silmarillion #feanor #fëanor #fëanáro #implied melkor #how do I call this ship? #firemight #? #fanart #NOT my art #ylieke #fea is reading one very interesting book #and he's in melkor's mantle #why in Utumno? #weeeell #you can learn it after I post my fic #but know this #fea is not having a very good time #but melkor does #look how gorgeous feanor looks #I want to bite him some more #a lot more than I already did #play with fire

[animatorweirdo]

Luthien and Thingol as horses

(This dwells into Thingol's and Luthien's disappearance mystery, so it's a bit different from others, but I finally thought this deserved some attention. I apologize if my writing has downgraded a little. I had a rough holiday. )

Warnings: Some mentions of depression, anger issues, family drama, Thingol going missing, Luthien being energetic, mentions of drugs, Melkor being creepy, spooky mythical things, and an unsolved horse mystery.

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- You wished you knew how it happened. First, Thingol, your beloved horse, goes missing for a whole year, and then you find him and end up caring for the unordinary foal he had sired. 

- You are an experienced cross-country jumper and a teacher at the Doriath’s wood stable, but things began to go south with your personal problems and when your dear horse went missing in the middle of the night. 

- You had Thingol as long as you could remember. He was a sweet giant, and him suddenly going missing did not do well for your already deteriorating mental health. 

- You remember going through the woods thousands of times looking for him, crying and calling out to him in desperate hope. 

- You do not even know how he went missing. He was in his pasture when you were finishing things up at the stable, and when you were about to fetch him inside, he was nowhere to be found. 

- He liked to stay near the stable, so he wasn't the runaway type, but there was also no damage done to any of the fences, so you do not know how he even got out of the pasture. It was like he simply vanished into the thin air. 

- You suspected horse poachers or Melkor since his riding school was near and he was known to trick riders into giving up their horses, but it wasn't him since he allowed you to look around his stable and Thingol wasn't there. So, all you could do was to set missing posters, but even they proved useless. 

- For a whole year, Thingol was missing. You gradually accepted that he was dead. 

- You were a wreck to say the least. You were struggling with your depression and had grown a shorter temper as you would easily snap toward anyone if they annoyed you or made a mistake. It grew so bad that Yavanna forced you to attend therapy and take a break from the stable, which helped you very little.

- Till... the day when Thingol went missing arrived. You were loitering at the fence of the pasture, staring and imagining Thingol standing there, eating grass and trotting over to greet you. The moon was full in the sky, and you could hear the nightingales singing in the forest. 

- You saw something shining in the forest. It was subtle and quick, so you didn't get a good look at it but saw it. It looked like some kind of light. 

- You jerked up when you heard a distant neigh of a horse and saw something moving in the forest.

- Despite the better judgment of never going alone in the woods in the middle of the night, you grabbed a flashlight and went to investigate. 

- You ventured through the woods, watching as the nightingales and other birds were acting weirdly, and flowers were blooming despite it being night. Something spooky was going on, but despite the goosebumps and the creepy feeling of being watched, you continued when you heard a whine. 

- After minutes of walking and searching, you came across your gray stallion. 

- "Thingol!" you exclaimed as you approached him. 

- Your gentle giant stood patiently as you came to him, recognizing you and allowing you to stroke his mane as you took in his state. His mane was mantled, and his hooves were slightly overgrown. His ribs were showing, so it was obvious he had not eaten well in a long time. 

- "Where have you been, boy? I thought you were dead," you questioned as he brushed his head against you. 

- You felt happy to see him, but then shock settled in when you saw something move in a pile of leaves. 

- It was a newborn foal with a coat darker than night. On its forehead, you saw a strange mark that resembled a flower and a star. It was unlike any other forehead markings you had seen. 

-The foal loudly whined, and the birds went crazy above you. 

- You didn't know what to think. You first looked around for a mare, but when you saw nothing. You took out your phone and called for help since the foal was shivering. 

- With the help of a friend, you brought Thingol back to the stable and carried the foal in a large basket. 

- You had Thingol fed and placed the foal in the warmest box possible. You dried the foal with a towel and made some warm bottled milk. 

- The nightingales and some of the birds had strangely followed you inside the stable, watching and chirping as you fed the milk to the foal, which she devoured in a minute while struggling to stand with her shaking legs. 

- The foal was a lovely little filly. Thingol was cautiously observing you and the foal, so you didn't need to guess if it was his. The real question was. Who was the mare? 

- After the night, you had a vet check on Thingol and the filly. Doriath didn't currently have a mare to act as a substitute, so you had to care for the filly and make sure she got the food she needed. 

- You had some people look around the forest in hopes you might find the mare, but it proved pointless as there weren't even hoof prints to follow. It was like the mare just came and disappeared when you found Thingol. 

- You decided to leave it be and focus on getting Thingol back in shape. You got his hooves trimmed and shoes redone as they had fallen off during his time of wandering. His mane was ruined beyond saving, so you had it cut short and let it grow healthy again. You also focused on helping him regain some weight while wondering what to do with his new foal. 

- Oddly, you felt bonded with the little filly. Despite being born two days ago, she was already running around and whining playfully to get either you or Thingol to play with her. And when she was near, you felt peaceful and even filled with joy. It was like the anger that had crippled you from within for the past year had vanished entirely. 

- As your heart was filled with love for her, you decided to name her Luthien for her beauty and that it was a full moon when she was born in the forest. 

- Caring for Luthien proved to be a challenge. She was a dear and ate her food when it was time to feed and never wandered too far from you or her father. However, she had a great love for playing games. It would take hours before she would get tired and odd things started happening around her. 

- The nightingales had stayed around and even played with the energetic filly. It was like they were there to watch her and you. It was a bit unsettling when they would look at you from the trees, but you somehow managed to ignore it. However, the strangest thing was the trail of flowers Luthien would leave behind in the pastures. 

- She would run happily in a straight line, and flowers would grow behind her, attracting butterflies and birds. You first believed that you had accidentally taken horse medicine and started hallucinating, but when you saw the flowers continuously growing behind Luthien and other people took notice. You finally believed you did not accidentally take horse drugs. 

- It was now clear that Luthien had some kind of magical powers. You have never been a believer in magical things till now. 

- "Thingol... I need to ask," you said as you two watched Luthien run around, growing flowers and plants wherever she went. "Was the woman you banged some kind of fairy?" you glanced at him, and your stallion only looked away. 

- You felt worried if letting Thingol be in the same pasture as Luthien would be a good idea, but your concerns vanished when you saw how gentle he was with her. He proved to be a good help, keeping Luthien in sight and calling her back whenever she wandered too far.

- Luthien grew beautifully and was as playful as ever. However, her looks and strange abilities began to attract attention. 

- You had been successful in convincing Yavanna and others to keep her abilities a secret, but her looks gained the attention of those who were willing to buy her. You turned them away as you had no intention to sell her, but when Melkor came to you. Things began to grow even more creepy. 

- Luckily, Luthien seemed to know how to control her abilities, so she seemed like an ordinary horse. However, Melkor appeared like he knew something about her. He tried to be a smooth talker. He congratulated you on finding Thingol before trying to pique your interest in selling Luthien. 

- You were angry as you didn't trust him in the slightest, and despite you wanting to punch him in the face, you continued refusing his offers till he finally left. He did tell you something unnerving, which made you fear for Luthien's safety. 

- Yavanna assured you that Melkor wouldn't dare to do anything despite her assurance. You considered training Luthien some basics, or some enoughts that would help her stay away from Melkor. 

- Luthien was incredibly smart for a horse, and she seemed to know whenever your mood was down, so she did things to cheer you up, like bringing you a flower she either grew or found or nibbling your hair to make you giggle. 

- You couldn't lie that being with her helped you cheer up, and the anger and anxiety vanished in her presence. As time passed, you felt more assured that she would be fine. 

- The mystery of her mare mother was never solved. Some people at the stable tried to come up with theories about the mare, but none really came near to a convincing truth. One particular theory about Luthien's mother being some kind of mythical horse became the number one theory. 

- You called it bullshit, but since Luthien had strange powers, you couldn't help but lean into the theory. 

- Well... your doubts about the theory vanished one night when you were finishing things up at the stable. You had Thingol and Luthien fed and prepared to leave home. 

- You closed the doors and then saw the nightingales you had seen around the stable act weirdly again and fly toward the forest, where you saw the light and something standing at the edge of the forest. 

- It was a horse, and it was glowing with strange light. The nightingales and the birds flocked around it, singing and chirping. You could see vines and flowers growing out of its mane. Its eyes were glowing green, staring at you. 

- You were frozen in your place as you were both enthralled by its beauty and frightened as the creature looked like a ghost. It was standing at the edge of the forest, but you could see the same mark on its forehead. It felt like hours as you couldn’t look away from the beautiful being, but then the horse disappeared, leaving nothing behind as all turned to normal. 

- You found yourself able to move again and you pondered explanations on what you just saw and the possibility if the horse was…Luthien’s mare mother. They both bear the same forehead marking.

- The night being late and being tired yourself, you decided to leave it be and go home to rest.

#silmarillion x reader #middle earth x reader #silmarillion imagines #middle earth imagines #thingol x reader #thingol #horse au #luthien x reader #luthien #silm fic #tolkien #silmarillion #yavanna

[lamemaster]

Dismembered Memory- Chapter 2

Pairing: Iluvatar x Reader

Genre: Mystery , romance and mythology

Summary: Do the Gods love? What is it like to love one? What is it like to be loved by one? Is it a love beyond the shackles of creation and destruction or is it a tragedy bound in the chains of duty and predestination.

AN: A shorter chapter as we dwell into the arc. This is very much a me project so chapter word count will be rather inconsistent.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2| Chapter 3|

The world is woven with the threads of yearning—yearning for creation, yearning for love, yearning for companionship, yearning for beauty or legacy. Reasons as diverse as the stars. It is this relentless desire for anything and everything that catalyzes the very origin of existence.

However, creation necessitates substance—a canvas on which to paint its journey.

Iluvatar's recollection doesn't encompass you. He doesn't possess the fragments of your memories, yet you remain an inseparable fragment of his essence. Analogous to matter, which underpins creation, you are an existence that entwines his thoughts, an ethereal presence encircling his eternal song. Connected to him yet apart, a paradox of unity and division.

He glimpses fragments of you through the eyes of his Ainur, those beings birthed from his own mind. A silent observer, he never truly encounters you, and you, in your existence, never seek him. The weight of your absence gnaws at him ceaselessly, a persistent ache embedded within every living moment.

Time turns into an eternity as Iluvatar mourns the gulf that separates you from him. He replays the fleeting glimpses of your presence, those wisps caught through the eyes of Manwe and Melkor. Perhaps fated, your connection with him remains unknown. However, such a state is destined to change. It evolves, it shifts, and it transforms.

A pivotal moment arrives when the distant creator of the cosmos is irresistibly drawn into his own creation. Iluvatar crosses the threshold into Arda, compelled by an irresistible force—you. He treads upon the earth he formed, a wanderer amidst the very world he sculpted. The trappings of his divinity take a backseat as he pursues an entity he can barely remember. The symphony of creation fades, and the unattainable brilliance of his godhood diminishes. All is surrendered for the sake of finding you.

He journeys endlessly, traversing the landscapes of Arda in search of any traces of you. The loss of his divine status and the adversities of the world pale in significance as the very land of Arda draws him closer to you. You must be here, in some form or another. The architect of the world becomes a wanderer within it, adopting a form akin to that of his own children, in the hope of finding you among them.

No callouses on his feet, no storms, no heatwaves can impede his quest. He presses forward relentlessly, compelled by an unquenchable yearning. He must find you, and nothing can deter him.

For Iluvatar, the loss of his godhood and the trials of Arda itself become inconsequential when the very land he shaped brings him ever closer to you. You, a presence he can barely recollect, but a presence that he cannot relinquish. He walks the world, shedding his divine mantle, forsaking the celestial music that once defined him. All for the sake of you, the missing piece of his existence.

“I will be gone for a while this time.”

Melkor gazes intently at your misty form, his expression a mixture of concern and longing. "Gone where? How long?" The questions escape him, his heart racing in the expanse of the barren void. His mind echoes with an unspoken plea—don't go. Unbearable panic threatens to consume him, the idea of being left alone in this desolate Void unfathomable. Would you, too, leave him like so many before? The thought looms, the talons of the cruel void threatening to seize his very consciousness. Without you, he fears he would be lost.

A soothing sensation envelops him as you crouch before him, your presence a gentle reassurance. Your palms cradle his face with an almost ephemeral touch, and he finds solace in your touch. "I'll be gone for some years, but I'll be back. I promise you." The words carry a weight of sincerity that Melkor can't deny. He knows how well you stay true to your promises.

"Why must you leave?" He voices the question that fills the silence, a sense of shame creeping in as he realizes he wants to stop you, to prevent your departure from his life. The idea of being without you claws at him, a fear he can scarcely admit.

"The song of the world has called me, and I must respond." He observes the faint outlines of your features, your nimble fingers and the glimmer in your eyes that pierce through the mist. "There is someone who looks for me in Arda, and I…" Your words falter, as if grappling for expression. "I must answer their call."

Curiosity intertwines with jealousy within Melkor's heart. Who could be so important that you would leave him behind? "Who is it?" The question slips out before he can fully process it, ages of resentment and bitterness simmering beneath the surface. Who could possibly mean more to you than he does?

“I do not know who it is, but I must meet them. To alter the course they tread," you remain seated, unwavering in your resolve. "I have managed to push the encroaching Void farther this time. It shall maintain its grasp while I am absent, but should challenges arise," your hands take on solidity, cradling a clear glass ball—a marble, a vessel of contained power. "Use this to harness its malevolence. It shall provide aid in times of dire need."

As Melkor's fingers connect with the cool surface of the glass marble, he cannot help but be awed by your form, by the intricate complexity that you embody. "Someone very dear to me once possessed this," you caution, your words laden with warning as you place the artifact in his grasp.

The marble rests in his hands, a tangible token of your existence. Melkor holds it close, a mixture of emotions swirling within him. He closes his eyes, feeling the weight of your presence, even as it begins to wane. "I will await your return," he murmurs, his words carrying a sense of longing.

This time, as your form fades, he can discern the faintest traces of your features—your eyes, your lips, your nose. The cold touch against his forehead lingers as his mind succumbs to a tranquil slumber.

General Cerdic had weathered countless battles for his king, leading campaigns on bloody battlefields and through uncharted territories. His prestige and the respect of his kingdom's people were well-earned and well-deserved.

However, the man of valor did not inhabit sprawling cities or grand palaces like the king's favored. Instead, Cerdic found his abode in an isolated village, a place where his gallant feats were mostly unknown. He rarely ventured beyond the village's bounds. It was here that he had last held his wife, welcoming their only child into the world.

A modest wooden house provided the backdrop for the years he spent raising his daughter. None could have been more inviting than this homely dwelling. Shielded from the clamor of the world, Cerdic raised you in this tranquil village.

The machinations of palaces and the cunning games of power never encroached upon the life of the general's cherished daughter. Both of you found contentment in the simplicity of life. Days were filled with the routine of tending to a humble farm, and nights were spent dining under the serenity of the stars.

But everything changed when he entered your life—a man dressed in tattered clothes, bearing the weight of his hardships in every step he took. You discovered him by the riverside, his body marked by the brutalities of slavery. His matted hair carried the grime of an existence you couldn't fathom.

"What is your name?" you inquired, met with incoherent murmurs. As you knelt to examine the stranger, your attention was drawn to his clenched fist.

Within his grasp lay a delicate cotton flower, untouched by the filth that marred the rest of his form.

#the silmarillion #silmarillion x reader #eru iluvatar #iluvatar x reader #soulmate au #ansgt #fun to write #happy ending ??? maybe

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

I hope you enjoy this @cilil

Pairing: Modern! Eönwë x Modern! Tulkas (This is purely from Eönwë’s POV)

Secondary characters: Oromë | Celegorm

Themes: Soft | Fluff | NSFW

Warnings: Explicit language | Alcohol use |Mutual pining | Kissing

Wordcount: 1.8K

Summary: A secret comes to light when Eönwë spends the holidays with Tulkas and their friends.

Minors DNI | 🔞 | Your are responsible for the media you consume

Divider by @estrelinha-s

They had all gathered in front of the fireplace, enjoying glasses of mulled wine and beer and dessert. Outside, the wind had died down considerably, and only a pleasant snowfall remained.

“You have outdone yourself yet again, my friend.” Tulkas raised his glass to thank his hosts and good friends for inviting them all over to spend the holidays at the family cabin. “And thank you for inviting us and allowing us to barge in on your time with Tyelko.”

Celegorm had already made his excuses and retired for the night, having traveled for most of the day and the night before to reach the cabin. It was only the three of them sitting together and making plans for their holiday while the lights on the Christmas tree twinkled and the fire sputtered away merrily.

“You are always welcomed; you know that.” Oromë raised his own glass in response. “And with the two of you here, we can perhaps squeeze in a bit of ice fishing? The lake is not far from the cabin.”

“Freezing our asses off during the holidays?” Eönwë finished his beer and smiled brightly. “What could be more glorious, eh?”

Wicked humor lit Oromë’s eyes. “It is not so bad,” he replied, rising to his feet and dusting himself off. “But I suppose you are right. All right. I will take myself off to bed as well. Good night, you two. Oh, and Eönwë? Mind this one’s snoring.”

“I heard the stories. Is it really that bad?”

“Think of it as hearing a dozen locomotive trains thundering over the same set of rickety lines.”

“I fucking loathe you,” Tulkas grumbled, more amused than insulted. He and Eönwë had to share the only other bedroom available, though neither minded. The room was quite large, and the beds were big enough for them, and quite comfortable.

“You say that, but deep down, you know you love me.” Oromë grinned again, then came over and clapped Tulkas on the shoulder. “Leave those dishes in the sink. I will take care of them in the morning.”

Despite the invitation to do otherwise, Tulkas and Eönwë set themselves to the task of cleaning up after themselves. It was pleasant, the homely acts of cleaning things up and putting them away. By the time they were done and looked at the antique clock on the mantle, it was close to midnight.

“Thank god we do not have to get up early for anything.” Tulkas added more logs to the fire before he headed over to the sofa. The sigh that followed when he kicked off his socks and shoes seemed to rise from the tips of his toes. “So tell me. How does it feel working for us and Mr. Súlimo?”

Having joined just six months prior as the newest recruit to the security division of Ilúvatar enterprises, Eönwë had a great deal to tell. Tulkas listened with rapt attention, his eyes on his colleague the entire time. Eönwë spoke of meeting the others and how good everyone was to him, even Mr. Ilúvatar himself. He went on to say how excited he was to finally meet Tulkas and Oromë.

“It is not every day one gets to meet the two men who brought down Melkor,” he had gone on to add. “My friends had so many questions when I told them who I would be working with.”

“Just friends?”

“My folks, too.”

“I see.” Tulkas turned away and gazed into the hearth, his face that of one who had only a casual interest in the matter. “No one else? No girlfriend… boyfriend… anyone?”

“None.” Eönwë pretended to be as composed as his companion. Deep within, however, his stomach was a roil. He had worked with Tulkas for nearly half a year. And for the chief of that time, he had pined for no one but him. No one knew, and he had no intention of ever speaking of it to anyone. Tulkas was his colleague, a soldier without peer, one who was always ready with an easy smile, and whose affections were sought after by everyone. Eönwë did not think Tulkas would ever consider him, a wet behind-the-ears recruit fresh out of the army with little to offer in return.

“Interesting.” Tulkas stood up and went back to the kitchen to brew a fresh pot of coffee. "Well, I could introduce you to a few people if you are searching for that special someone, so let me know if you need any help.”

Disappointment of the acutest kind settled in the pit of Eönwë’s belly. I could introduce you to a few people, Tulkas had said, driving home the fact he would never consider dating someone like him.

“I can manage,” Eönwë forced himself to smile, and he hoped his disappointment would not show in any shape or form. “No need to put yourself to such trouble.”

His tone made Tulkas pause. “Tis no trouble at all,” he calmly pointed out, and he returned with two steaming mugs of coffee. He gave one to Eönwë; the other he kept for himself. "Unless, of course, there really is someone else, and you do not want to speak of it.”

A flash of heat crept up Eönwë’s throat. He sipped and looked away. Tulkas grinned.

“There is someone,” he insisted, and he grinned even more. “Come on, tell me all about them.”

“There is no one.” Eönwë hoped and prayed that his tongue would not betray him. He would not be able to live it down if the others found out he had a crush on Tulkas. “I am telling you the truth.”

“Ahh, but your eyes say something else altogether.” Tulkas was relentless, like a dog with a bone. “Come on, spill the beans. I will not speak of this to a soul.”

It was Eönwë’s turn to get up and leave the sofa. “There is no one,” he declared, more than a little flustered. He drank his coffee in a few quick gulps. It was searing hot when it washed down his throat, but the shock was just what he needed to clear his head and walk away. He went to the kitchen to rinse the mug before deciding to say goodnight.

Oh god, he realized, I have to share a bedroom with him.

The next few nights were going to be long and torturous, and Eönwë struggled to prepare himself for being so close to Tulkas.  

“Eönwë,” Tulkas said, setting his mug in the coffee table before him and standing up. “You can talk to me. I will not tell anyone.”

His grin was replaced by something far kinder and warmer, something that brought new light into his startling amber eyes. It nearly made Eönwë forget himself.

“I think the time has come to say goodnight,” he replied coolly, and he turned to leave for the bedroom. If he stayed any longer, he knew he would confess his true feelings, and that was something he could not allow.

Tulkas came after him. He grabbed Eönwë by the arm and turned him around. "Look, man, I am sorry I upset you and…”

Eönwë crashed into him, and kissed him hard on the mouth. When Tulkas grabbed his arm, what meager control he had left shattered into a million little pieces. He kissed him and kissed him and kissed him, twining his arms around broad shoulders and sighing softly when the tip of a warm tongue brushed against his lips and a vise-like hold went around his waist. Then the reality of his actions struck him like a thousand tiny blades, each one as sudden and sharp as the next.

What the fuck am I doing?

He pulled away and took a step back, mortified by what he had just done. Tulkas stood where he was, his eyes wide and uncommonly dark.

“You do fancy someone,” he observed, and he took a step toward Eönwë, closing the gap between them. Eönwë would have fled in the opposite direction and leaped out of the nearest window had his feet not turned into lead. “Me.”

When he refused to answer, Tulkas cupped his chin and lifted it, forcing Eönwë to meet his gaze. “Is it me?” He stressed. “The truth now. That is all I ask of you.”

Eönwë nodded. His sense of deep humiliation only grew and grew the longer Tulkas stood there, studying him keenly and saying nothing in return. Finally, after Eönwë neared the point of wanting to scream, to cry, to do something that would break the wretched silence that had settled between them, everything about Tulkas softened: his eyes, his lips, his very posture. It was as if he had turned into a completely different man.

He said, “Do not be afraid, Eönwë, because the truth of the matter is, I rather like you too.”

“What?” Eönwë sputtered. He could not believe what he just heard.

“Why did you think Oromë invited you to spend the holidays with us?” Tulkas smiled and slipped his arms around Eönwë’s waist again. “He knew I had a crush on you. And he suspected you felt the same when he caught the way you were looking at me several times. Tyelko saw it too. You are not as subtle as you think you were, Eönwë.”

“And the invitation to spend the holidays with the three of you?”

“Part of their grand scheme to get the two of us together.”

“I thought you would never be interested in me.”

“You are wrong. So very wrong.” Tulkas looked up, and smiled like anything. “And I think I should kiss you again to show you that I am very interested in you.”

Eönwë followed his gaze. There was a sprig of mistletoe hanging on a beam high above them. He flushed at the sight of it, and when Tulkas caressed his cheek.

“Do you want me to kiss you again?” He questioned and tilted his head, his eyes still dark. “And then take you on a proper date once we get back to the city?”

How Eönwë ached to say yes! But then there was another matter to consider, one that had to be dealt with now. “What about the bedroom? I… I am not sure if I am ready for anything just yet.”

“Nothing needs to happen tonight. Or any other night. Not until you are ready. But you need to give me an answer, though.”

Eönwë could neither think nor even breathe. He was confused, and elated, and frightened all at once. Should he say yes, and see where the dice fell in the end, or should he say no, and simply walk away? He was still dithering when Tulkas kissed his jaw, his groan vibrating sweetly against his skin.

“Say yes,” Tulkas implored. “I promise you will not regret a minute of it.”

When Eönwë finally gave his answer, it was a barely audible yes, followed by a plea for another kiss.

#whimsy's christmas fics #tulkas #Eönwë #tulkas x eönwë #the valar #the ainur #the silm #twelve days of ficsmas

[dialux]

Finwëans: The Later Generations

7/7

The last of the daughters of the Sons of Finarfin, Finduilas was renowned among her people for her weavings and tapestries. She was golden as the light of the Sun itself, and so greatly admired for her beauty that Gwindor son of Guilin named her Faelivrin, which is the gleam of the sun on the pools of Ivrin. Finduilas loved Gwindor greatly, but her heart was torn and against her will her love was given also to Túrin son of Húrin Thalion; grieved by her own desires, Finduilas wept often and greatly, and was gifted by her people the epessë of Nyenyë, or weeping one. She did not survive the fall of Nargothrond.

High King of the Noldor from the beginning of the War of Wrath ere the end of the Second Age, Gil-galad ruled well and justly for the longest of all High Kings save for Finarfin. Against Aeglos the spear of Gil-galad none could stand; so great was Gil-galad’s wrath when he heard of his cousin Celebrimbor’s death at Sauron’s hands that his people swore he looked akin to his grandfather Fingolfin, who had died in single combat against Morgoth himself. It was by Gil-galad’s valor, vision, and daring that his army, though less than half the strength of Sauron’s forces, defended Eriador until the Númenórean fleet arrived to relieve them and turn the tide of battle. Many centuries later, Gil-galad fought alongside the remnants of Númenor’s forces in the Last Alliance of Elves and Men, beside Elendil; there was Gil-galad slain, though his death was so dearly bought by Sauron that it allowed Isildur son of Elendil to cut the Ruling Ring from the hand of Sauron.

The wisest and greatest of the Fëanorians can be said to be Celebrimbor, son of Curufin the crafty; cunning were his creations, and great indeed was his skill, surpassing even that of the Noldor of Aman in the Years of the Trees. Tall and dark of hair, Celebrimbor resembled his father in all things save his temper and his open heart. With Annatar of Eregion, Celebrimbor crafted the great Rings of Power during the Second Age; the Rings were meant to offer wisdom and knowledge to their bearers, but instead were turned to evil when Annatar revealed himself to be Sauron the Deceiver. Celebrimbor refused to tell the locations of the hidden rings of the Elves, but died at Sauron’s hand for his defiance.

As Maeglin grew to full stature he resembled in face and form rather his kindred of the Noldor, but in mood and mind he was the son of his father. His words were few save in matters that touched him near, and then his voice had a power to move those that heard him and to overthrow those that withstood him. He was tall and black-haired; his eyes were dark, yet bright and keen as the eyes of the Noldor, and his skin was white. Maeglin rose to great heights in the hidden mountain-city of Gondolin, for he was the only heir to his uncle Turgon, but was captured by Morgoth and tortured until he surrendered the location of the city. He died during the fall of Gondolin.

Yet to none were Maeglin’s eyes more often drawn in those early days than to Idril the King’s daughter, who sat beside him; for she was golden as the Vanyar, her mother’s kindred, and she seemed to him as the sun from which all the King’s hall drew its light. Fairer than all the wonders of Gondolin was Idril, she that was called Celebrindal, the Silver-foot, whose hair was as the gold of Laurelin before the coming of Melkor. Though Turgon and many of Idril’s people died during the fall of Gondolin, Idril and her husband and son all survived the journey to the Havens of Sirion. There she took up the mantle of Queen of the Noldor, ruling over the refugees from both Nargothrond and Gondolin, until her cousin Gil-galad was of age to be crowned as High King, after which Idril and her husband Tuor sailed across the Belegaer in an attempt to plead mercy from the Valar. Celebrindal was the first of the Doomed Noldor to set foot once again upon Aman.

Of surpassing beauty was Eärendil, for a light was in his face as the light of heaven, and he had the beauty and the wisdom of the Eldar and the strength and hardihood of the Men of old; and the Sea spoke ever in his ear and heart, even as with Tuor his father. Past the sailing of his mother and father unto the Blessed Realm, bright Eärendil was then lord of the people that dwelt nigh to Sirion’s mouths; and he took to wife Elwing the fair, and she bore to him Elrond and Elros, who are called the Half-elven. Yet Eärendil could not rest, and his voyages about the shores of the Hither Lands eased not his unquiet. Long did he weep when his beloved wife flew to him, borne on wings gifted by Ulmo’s mercy; Eärendil saw now no hope left in the lands of Middle-earth, and he turned again in despair and came not home, but sought back once more to Valinor with Elwing at his side. There they sailed, led by the guiding light of the Silmaril, shining with the old Light of the Trees, and landed upon shore, where Eärendil then spoke of the horrors of the abandoned Beleriand to a host of Ainur; then did Manwe place upon Eärendil the gift of the Silmaril his wife had defended at such great cost, and the burden of arising hope to the world; and even when the host of the Valar was driven back at the release of winged dragons and dreadful monsters from the pits of Angband Eärendil came, shining with white flame, and about Vingilot were gathered all the great birds of heaven and Thorondor was their captain, and there was battle in the air all the day and through a dark night of doubt. Before the rising of the sun Eärendil slew Ancalagon the Black, the mightiest of the dragon-host, and cast him from the sky.

Of Eärendil’s sons, Elrond chose to remain with the Firstborn, and to him the life of the Firstborn was granted. But to Elros, who chose to be a king of Men, still a great span of years was allotted, many times that of the Men of Middle-earth; and all his line, the kings and lords of the royal house, had long life even according to the measure of the Númenóreans. But Elros lived five hundred years, and ruled the Númenóreans four hundred years and ten as Tar-Minyatur, greatest and most noble of the Kings of fair Westernesse.

Alone of his kin to remain in Middle-Earth following the defeat of Morgoth, Elrond Peredhel served as Gil-galad’s herald for many long centuries before founding the river-sanctuary of Imladris, called Rivendell in the Common Tongue. It was there that Elrond first saw Celebrían, named Melbereth by her father for her sweet voice and kind disposition, and loved her though he said no thing of it; they wedded in the early years of the Third Age, in the bliss and joy of the Last Alliance’s successful defeat of Sauron, and had three children: two twins, named Elladan and Elrohir, and a daughter they named Arwen Undómiel, proclaimed by many to be Lúthien’s heir come anew.

Centuries later, Celebrían was waylaid in the Redhorn Pass by a sudden assault of the Orcs and seized. She was pursued and rescued by Elladan and Elrohir, but not before she had suffered torment and had received a poisoned wound. She was brought back to Imladris, and though healed in body by Elrond, lost all delight in Middle-earth, and the next year went to the Havens and passed over the Sea. At the end of the Third Age, following the utter destruction of Mordor and the crowning of Aragorn King of Gondor, Elrond followed her along with their twin sons and dwelled in peace in Aman beside many of his kinsfolk.

#finduilas #gil-galad #maeglin #celebrimbor #idril #earendil #elrond #elros #celebrian #my edits #finwean edits #silmarillion #tolkien ladies #and that is a wrap!!

[onthesandsofdreams]

He Is The King

Character: Maglor Rating: G Summary: Makalaurë stares at the circlet in his hands. Words: 431 Notes: Written for @feanorianweek / Haru - Grandfather / atya - father.

Read @ AO3

Makalaurë stares at the circlet in his hands.

It is the same circlet his haru had worn, the same as his atar, the same Nelyo bore before… He inhales deeply through his nose and exhales slowly. The circlet feels heavy, even when it isn’t. The craftsmanship is excellent – how could it not be, when his atar made it?

But somehow, it feels heavy. And wrong.

He is a second son, a younger brother. Kingship should have never come to him. A flash of anger sparks the fire of his soul and he curses Melkor once more. Everything is wrong and everything is his fault.

Nelyo should be here.

His brother was born to be king. That is something he knew, had always known. The heavy mantle of leadership had always suited Nelyo the best. He was diplomatic and firm when needed. And he? He was a minstrel. He was not made for court intrigue, for a leadership so large.

He isn’t sure he will be able to rule just as well as haru Finwë. And yet, he must. Because Nelyo is gone, because the crown of the noldor lies innocently in the room that Nelyo used. And the circlet is here, in his hands, reminding him of everything he has now lost and the burden he has gained.

And he knows this is something he can either rise to the challenge or be destroyed.

Keeping his brothers in line will be hard, especially Tyelko and Atarinkë. They have been the loudest in their perceived failings of his. Carnistir oscillates, one moment he knows that he can count with Carnistir, the other, he is listening to a tongue lashing. The Ambarussa are quiet, subdued since Nelyo has been gone, but they are firmly on his corner, and for that, he is thankful.

But he knows his decision of not trying to rescue Nelyo is not a popular one. It might even be a terrible one, but he cannot risk their forces and lose yet another brother in what he knows is a futile endeavor.

He is the King.

And he needs to lookout for the well being of his people, over that one elf. Even if that elf is his older brother. 

He closes his eyes and sends an apology into the night air, hoping that wherever Nelyo is, he hears it and knows that he will do his best to fight and keep their people safe and reclaim the silmarils.

The circlet is heavy in his hands, and it will be heavier still in his head. But still, Malakaurë dons it.

#feanorianweek #maglor #the silmarillion #the silmarillion fic #missing scene fic #slice of life fic

[arofili]

the line of elros ♚ royalty of númenor ♚ headcanon disclaimer ♚ inspiration

          Tar-Palantír was the twenty-fourth and penultimate King of Númenor. Though his father Ar-Gimilzôr despised the elves and the Valar, his mother Inzilbêth taught him the ways of the Faithful in secret. Gimilzôr thus would rather have had his second son Gimilkhâd inherit, but he could not change the laws of the kingdom to exclude Inziladûn, nor convince him to cede the crown to his brother.           When Tar-Palantír took the scepter, he returned as best he could to the ways of the Valar, taking his name in Quenya and nurturing the White Tree, for he foresaw that its death would spell the end of the line of kings. Yet the King’s Men were still a powerful force in Númenor, led by Gimilkhâd himself, and this attempt to repent from wickedness was met with great backlash from his people and little sympathy from the Valar. Filled with sorrow, Tar-Palantír began to spend more time in the tower of Tar-Minastir, gazing West in the vain hope of catching a glimpse of Tol Eressëa or an elven ship.           Late in his life, Palantír fell in love with a maiden of his court named Nimirrôth. Though her parents were not of the Faithful, neither were they of the King’s Men, and they loved the old stories of the elves, naming her in their memory. Nimirrôth was flattered by the attention of the king’s heir, but her love was focused ever on his brother Gimilkhâd. Yet Gimilkhâd had already wed the leader of the King’s Women, Zôrzimril, and was indifferent to her.           Nimirrôth thus agreed to be Tar-Palantír’s queen, taking the name Tári-Eldafallië which her husband gave her. Though she still loved Gimilkhâd, she bore Palantír a daughter, Míriel, a year before Gimilkhâd and Zôrzimril had a son, Pharazôn. After her husband was crowned King, Nimirrôth broke down and confessed her feelings to Gimilkhâd, and though he did not love her he saw an opportunity here to manipulate the Queen of Númenor into his favor. They began an affair, and Nimirrôth, who had before cared little for politics, soon became a secret supporter of the King’s Men.           Gimilkhâd died before his plans could come to fruition, but Nimirrôth, Zôrzimril, and Pharazôn would work together in his name to bring down the Faithful once and for all. Pharazôn had gone to Middle-earth as a conqueror and warrior against Sauron, but returned Elenna to take up his father’s mantle as the leader of the King’s Men. When Tar-Palantír died, Míriel should have inherited the scepter and become the fourth Ruling Queen of Númenor, but she found herself betrayed by her mother and forced into marriage with her cousin, who took the throne as Ar-Pharazôn and renamed her Ar-Zimraphêl, using the prefix Ar rather than Arî to emphasize his right to rule as the husband of the last king’s heir.           Ar-Pharazôn soon returned to Middle-earth with a great force to humble Sauron and claim the kingship of all Men. When Sauron perceived that he could not defeat the Númenóreans in battle, he feigned humility and allowed Pharazôn to take him as a servant to Númenor where he quickly became chief advisor to the king, known as Zigûr to the people. He corrupted Pharazôn’s heart even further by encouraging him to worship Melkor, Lord of Darkness.           When Isildur of Andúnië stole a fruit from the White Tree, Pharazôn was angered and at the advice of Zigûr he tore the tree down and burned it in a great temple he had constructed to Melkor. He sacrificed many of the Faithful upon the flames in the hope that Melkor would grant him and his supporters immortality, and this practice spread to Middle-earth. Yet age still crept upon Pharazôn, younger than it had any of his predecessors, and he became ever more desperate to escape death.           Zigûr steered the king toward building a great armament to attack Aman itself, preaching that only after conquering Valinor and defeating the Valar could he achieve his goal. At last Ar-Pharazôn set sail, but upon setting foot in the city of Tirion the Valar called upon Eru Ilúvatar for aid. Seeing the wickedness and pride of the Númenóreans, Eru broke the world and made it round, preventing Men from ever again reaching Valinor. In the destruction, Pharazôn’s fleet was destroyed and buried in the underground Caves of the Forgotten, where he and his soldiers await the Dagor Dagorath where they will face Morgoth in order to repent for their sins.           At this time, Númenor was drowned beneath the sea with all its people save those Faithful who had escaped in nine ships led by Elendil of Andúnië and his sons. Zigûr was consumed by the storm and perished laughing, and though he would return to menace Middle-earth once more, he was diminished ever after and could no longer take a fair form.           As the waves rose, Tar-Míriel ascended the peak of the Meneltarma, the highest point on Elenna, and was thus the last Númenórean to take breath upon its soil before she, too, was drowned in the bosom of the vengeful sea.

#tolkienedit #oneringnet #silmarillion #silmedit #numenor #akallabeth #tar palantir #tar palantir's wife #gimilkhad #gimilkhad's wife #tar miriel #ar pharazon #sauron #my edit #my writing #edit writing #headcanons #tefain nin #line of elros #royalty of numenor #THATS A WRAP FOLKS #on this part of this series at least #up next is the house of andunie!!! #also i considered splitting this one up but fuck it they're thematically connected in my head #long post #also i added sauron in at the last minute bc he is Very Important also Basically A King Of Numenor. rip #also once more shoutout to dialux for inspiring nimirroth's story!!!

[councilofelrond]

Ooh! 36 (Total Control) for the micro stories?

Melkor gives up control like it is a cloak, hanging it up to be put on again at some later date.  Softly, at first, he lets go of the mantle of Dark Lord and slips into the mantle of…something else.  The so-called ‘modern world’ makes him feel confused, and he discovers, as the last to wake up, that he needs help of some kind to understand it.

Fortunately, Sauron is there.  Sauron, who tentatively attempts to reconnect with him, treading carefully so as not to startle him into violence.  And Melkor winced every time he sees those scars on his face because he did that, he broke the trust between them.

But it gets better with time and soon they are as they once were.  The mantle of control passed now to Sauron, who was the first one of them to reawaken.  But things have changed, and so Melkor doesn’t mind needing Sauron’s help or being the only Ainu able to be sick.  At least, most of the time.

Being sick sucks.

-

Probably not what you were expecting but this happened. I wound up with the Námo’s Cafe ‘verse, although this is a bit angsty for that.

…I should really make a post explaining the basics of the AU, shouldn’t I.

#anyway melkor giving up the control he had over the others back in angband is a major part of the storyline #and one i need to talk about more #this was wild it went in a totally unexpected direction lmao #melkor #the silmarillion #namo’s cafe #writing by lee #lee answers #council asks

[dominimalitiae]

(cont’d ;; @emptygoldthrone)

“I know m…I know” Fêls voice was dejected and his face was one of sorrow. “I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go…funny how it lead me back to you” The noldo prince said looking up to the dark valar. Why Fêl was always brought back to Melkor? He didn’t know why.

“Please let me stay…I won’t run this time.”

Melkor was in hiding in Mordor. Outside the dark land no one knew what had befallen the Dark Foe of the World. Mairon had taken on the mantle of Dark Lord although he still treasured his Master’s advice. In a way, the Maia was still at his command.

“I should kill you,” Melkor said simply, as if discussing a futile matter. “Only because you have seen me and you know I am still alive.”

#( lords of malice ;; v1. ) #( mighty arising ;; melkor. ) #emptygoldthrone #since fel is born in the second age #this has to be an au in which melkor is not thrown in the void lol

[notaheronoravillain]

Headcanon for Manwë and his happiness?

-@outofangband

Okay, I will be specific about this topic but here is the summary and conclusion : Basically the Solace and no conflict must be ensured for Manwe to be happy and furthermore, his reputation should be good. If those things are ensured, he is A+okay, cal, reserved and happy in my HC. The detailed version is under there and I devided this since it is very long.

**When you read this, please consider that I am a ‘true neutral’ alignment by some faith of mine and I really try my best not to act upon my emotions in real life but I think I already failed at that when I was writing this. But well I really want you to know that I don’t hate Manwe at all since he is just a character and can’t do no harm to me at all.**

(CW:This thing contains my own lifelong experiences and trauma as an INT- person, when you read ‘the comparison between Manwe and Melkor’, there it is. Please pass it if you are triggered but I can’t explain this properly in short message but : they just tell INT- people to shut up and care for their feelings but they don’t do the same for them. Just demanding them to do so but not giving them in return.) < - Also with a biased view on MBTI stereotypes.

First, I want you to know of my HC for Manwe’s personality to talk about this. Personality takes a big part of the definition of one’s ‘happiness’, so I really needed to tell you this.

I really think Manwe is a stereo typical INFJ so that means he has a big tendency to seek solace and peace. Those people tend to be reaaaaaaaaaaaaaalllllllllllllly sensitive around there environment surrounding them and I can really tell this since one of my closest friend is an INFJ himself. So, basically he needs solace and peace to be reseved self. Since introverts are said to be ‘tend not to express their thoughts or feelings outwardly’ and most INFJ people tend to wear mask very very skillfully not much people will notice if he is shaken or not, but he himself knows that so he will try hard not to lose himself so he will try hard to keep calm, which can mean, he will ‘moderate’ inhabitants of Valinor.

INFJ traits to wear mast masterfully makes him look like an innocent, calm, kind and fair ruler but in fact, those things are mask after all. Mask can resemble one’s true self for some parts and that can be intended but anyways, I don’t think he is the ‘good’ person to be a king because we all know what he did to Feanor. Even if he couldn’t get an idea to solve the problem, it was his responsibility to make things right not just oversee that and cry over Feanor threatening Fingolfin . < Yes, that is the moment what I thought  Manwe tried really hard to gain his good image over all people and he was afraid of his mask being slipped off. After the first kinslaying, Namo cursed the Noldor who had fled to Endor and I think if Manwe was really the good, kind king as he claimed to be, the curse may have been subtler than it should be.

So, secondly, this is why I think he grew up to be like this in my HC : Since the beginning of the time, his older brother, Melkor made a mass every single time he was with his kin and Manwe, the future king needed to clam down those angered by Melkor (Although I don’t think Melkor is evil and he is just a doomed idealist and just an outcast with a big horn effect on his reputation) so he became really sick and tired of his responsibility by the time when Melkor fell down the both of the lamps and Varda, who really does everything to block in Melkor’s way (I love her so much and you know this) keeps on and do Manwe’s work instead of him and that makes her the most revered of the Valar. The mighty Queen, who is able to do everything for her people. Who chose to be the shield against the threat. Yes, Manwe is the King but I think Valinor is a society with constitutional monarchy. The King is the symbol of Eru’s blessing all over Aman, the true ruler is his consort. And I think that can explain why those people in that world calls for Varda more than Manwe. He may be a good advocate for Eru’s will since he is made to be so but the ‘good’ in Tolkien’s world is just an ideal and I think it is not suitable for the politics. (And sadly, politics needs some necessary evil and I think Varda was really good at sugar-coating that with the Dogma. Which Melkor failed miserably due to his Horn effect of his reputation) By this, he can still take his mantle, and do nothing to trouble himself and his name, the blessed and perfect. If someone does nothing, nothing changes and it is peaceful. They can manage to keep their own good reputation as it always was. So I think that was why Manwe tended not to move by himself if compared to Varda and Melkor. His older brother needed move on just to be a king of his own right so he had to fight the world so he will have a big notoriety over his name and since that one is his bro and they resemble each other in their essence it will be much wiser to be like this. If he makes a move and fails to get a nice result, it will ruin his name because of this and this proved to be somewhat right by the Silmarilli-incident.

For more specific about the comparison between the brothers, I think Melkor, who is an INTP in my HC has realllllly bad social interaction with others since they don't mind what other's feel about their words and tend to speak the 'facts' (*but really, feelings never change all those facts I'm not sorry about this as an INTP_INTJ person and those angered ones never care about the feelings of people who told them the facts which annoys me to hell) And as many younger siblings watch them grow as an outcast because of this, the younger ones tend to have a really good social image. They never do that and 'care' for other's feelings so they all called as the 'good' ones. Some may say that can be a part of the leadership but to be a leader it needs much more than that and also, if someone is a thinker they really tend to think over other’s mechanism over feelings (and if they don’t they are not going to survive at the cold, hard reality. I ensure you this since I am that person.) they know that things by head even if they don’t really understand ‘why the hell are those people are angry over my actions’ but ‘to keep myself in better state, I will just shut up and pretend to understand you.’ (but seriously, those angry reactions makes them confused but no one ever cares for them and just tell they are bad and respect others feeling but they NEVER respect them after all and also their actions are likely to merely hurt just temporary ‘feelings’ not cause some big catastrophe over others’ life but yes the others tend to give them a big PTSD because of this and blame them not to respect them.) <That means, yes Melkor may learn the feelings to survive and if you really need to be a ruler you need to be a good strategist youself even if you have some other ones. So I think Melkor was a more of a suitable king who makes a much better politician and in my HC Varda is the best of these things. (+Also I always thing if Melkor was not brainy one himself, he wouldn’t even manage to survive. He really need to be cunning as hell and is really likely to be a good intellect. Otherwise, he won’t be able to manage all those things even if he have other people -including Mairon and Langon- helping him< For Manwe, he has more supporters than his bro and he has Varda, Yavanna and Aule on his side.) <<He really need to be cunning as hell and is really a good intellect in canon.These thing can be summarized like this : if you have a older sibling who is a thinker and an outcast you learn to have a good social image by not replicate the other one and that maybe considered as a part of the leadership but the leadership is not only defined by that and you need to think very hard to be a good king. (Yes I know that tendency to use feelings over the thinking is never about the intelligence but you will need more of a thinking ability to rule over since the politics are not the game of the good wills but more like the game of the desire and power. Basically the SILM is written by the elves and if there are people, there is politics without doubt. Also religion is likely to linked to the kingship in the old days so those to can’t be separated from each other.)

+I think Manwe somewhat resembles Enlil from Sumerian mythology and that means, Melkor really reminds me of Enki (not as pervy as Enki in my HC but still) and if you know the story of the mythology, you will understand why I told so. Stern rulers really needs lots of unfaltering devotion from his people and that really need a nice image and grand authority over them. Manwe is undoubtedly the sacred and his authority is ensured by Eru himself so it is likely to be easy to maintain if there are just Ainur in Aman, but with elves that was not easy at all. I think Manwe never had expected the challenge after he got his brother under himself and he must be frightened to face the situations so he really wanted to avoid it. I think the biggest reason why Feanor and the Noldor left Aman was this. If he is the King, no matter how he is shocked and can’t think how to make things alright he NEED to be calm and strong as the ruler. There is no consideration for this because that is how the responsibility of the kings work. Noldor can be frustrated of his reaction and they may think he can’t save them from Melkor and the threat of darkness. So some of them chose to find freedom and journeyed through the grinding ice : No one can protect them in Aman and that is the same in Endor, but at least there is a freedom in Endor not like in Aman.

Yes, in conclusion, Manwe will be Happy after all these conflicts are over since there is nothing wrong in Aman but I think that is too fragile to maintain. 

#HC #Manwe #I don't have a moral compass #Also plz consider I really like Melkor and Varda #I have a biased view due to my life experiences #so mind that when you read this

[tarmairons]

wreckage | 4487 words | rated T

The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien | Melkor/Sauron | Angst, Grief/Mourning, Post-War of Wrath

When they most needed someone infallible, untouchable, an indestructible leader to take the helm, when they needed someone who did not let emotion poison their mind, their heart, wrap around their soul and crush them to dust, he crumbled.

After the war, Mairon takes up the mantle, forced to become the very person he'd only just lost.

(read on ao3)

[eveningalchemist]

Chapter 35 ~ The Impudence

I... I did it. I updated almost within two weeks of my last... anyways, do enjoy while I walk around in shock...

Summary: Eönwë and Curumo begin their journey to the Lamp Illuin while Mairon steers Ungoliant and Thuringwethil to do the same, albeit with some frustration for both parties... and some revelations.

TAKE ME TO AO3

There were yet places where the light of the Lamps did not reach, where darkness was the land and shadow the path, and all living things, mortal or immortal, were just visitors. The undead and never-born lived their un-lives here in a space both claustrophobic and infinite. Walls were all around, but invisible, like a cave of black glass.

From his turbulent youth, Melkor knew navigation of these tendrils and tubes could be taught, for he had learned himself. This was after wanderings for the secret fire where he scraped his innocence away pushing past shards of space by pure spite. His faith was that Mairon would be more nimble, more clever, more purposeful, carrying his fire inside. Mairon’s faith was that Melkor knew the effort wasn’t entirely futile, for the fire they sought now was real, if both isolated and heavily guarded. If he could find a path to them, as he found the lost Maiar, the Lamps would be theirs, and therefore, no one’s. They would fall.

The process was all less elegant than either imagined, though.

While Mairon loved the thrill of flying, he decided he much preferred to be in control of his motion. Despite his pride he was beginning to get motion sick from Ungoliant’s disorienting route. To where, he did not know. Here, past the edge of shadows, there was no orientation. Here, only Ungoliant seemed to know where to go. With each lurch on her invisible threads they twisted and his coordinates changed again, no up nor down to be found. Head blurry with background nausea, Mairon could not figure out her system, and it was beginning to scare him.

Worse, despite being her new treasure, he felt ignored. Thuringwethil was content to use his knees as a footrest and watch the abstract cosmos go by, but Mairon was getting restless. It made him a bastard of a guest despite his best efforts to play a pretty little trinket.

Dispelling his sickness with a wash of flame down his spine, Mairon called down to the head of the she-spider. “Am I just another jewel for your absent crown? If you find me some material, I could make you a fine mantle.”

She lurched and he was forced to grip her whorls of chitin.

“No material here that you could use,” Ungoliant said so snidely, Mairon could hear her sneer slicing through the non-existent air. “Maia of Aulë.”

That stung harder than the barbs of hers that dug into his ass where he sat. He dug back with sharp nails squeezing, but she seemed not to feel them on her shell. More than ever, he felt a burning determination to shed the last of the Valar’s ways and master the Magic beyond them like no other. If was he was to be wicked, he was to be the most wicked, and the best at it.

MORE

#seduction to destruction #mairon #ungoliant #thuringwethil #my stuff #writing #silm fanfic #tolkien

[crowgremlin]

Mairon and Melkor,  Melkor’s first offer for Mairon to join the Lightless Sect (that xianxia au):

Here is a scene that will probably be in the xianxia au, although it may be altered later on. The Lightless Sect is Melkor’s, Mairon is part of the Valinorian Sect. As Mairon does not know Melkor’s name yet, he is referred to in the narration exclusively as the ‘other’ or the ‘Master of the Lightless Sect’.

“Oh?” Mairon said evenly. He had not been expecting a visitor to come to his austere, small room, although to be fair, it was more a monk’s cell than a room. As the prodigy of Aule’s Myriad Treasure’s Pavilion branch of the Valinorian Sect, he was a nigh-untouchable existence to most, even though he was merely an eighth-stage Qi Condensation Cultivator.

In his doorway was the Master of the Lightless Sect, who Mairon had only seen before in passing, from the stands of an arena a scant few years ago. From Mairon’s single window streamed a beam of moonlight, illuminating a rather handsome face, framed by long, midknight black hair that fell to his waist, arrow-straight. His skin was pale, like white jade, and his eyes were an unearthly pale blue.

Underneath a dark mantle of raven’s feathers, glimmering opalescent in the moonlight, he wore simple black robes.

“What brings such an esteemed cultivator to one such as I?” Mairon asked smoothly. The other shrugged.

“I suppose that I should like to invite you to my sect.” The Master of the Lightless Sect replied. Mairon raised a single brow, before tossing his messy braid across his shoulder, dusk pink strands like a flame in the moonlight. It was an arrogant gesture, only highlighted by the shameless tilt of his head and the disdain burning in his golden eyes.

“No.” Mairon replied, his tone as cold as ever. “I shall have nothing to do with your disgraceful mess of a sect. How in all of Illuvatar’s creation is two idiots and a bigger idiot a sect? What an utter disappointment.”

“Well, I suppose that I shall ask again later.” The other replied. “I suppose that you haven’t quite felt it yet.”

“Felt what?” Mairon asked suspiciously. The Master of the LIghtless Sect sighed.

“The bottleneck of your cultivation, of course.” He said sympathetically, before vanishing in a fine grey mist.

Mairon snorted.

He didn’t feel anything like a bottleneck in his cultivation at all.

Therefore, he disregarded the other’s words.

#snippet #scene #xianxia au in the works #xianxa #mairon #Melkor

[sian22redux]

Rivers of Flame...

 I have just submitted my abstract to the 50th Anniversary Tolkien Society Meeting in August.  Very excited to be going.... For a change I am talking about my academic specialty: Geology.   For those who might be interested, here is my abstract....

Rivers of flame and a great reek rising:  volcanoes and the horror of the sublime in Tolkien’s Legendarium

Dr. Sian Pehrsson

From the moment in ‘The Shadow of the Past’ when Frodo sees wells of flame in the embers of Bag End’s fire to his ultimate struggle at Sammath Naur, Mount Doom looms literally and metaphorically over Tolkien’s epic as a symbol of dread and horror. Modern depictions of volcanism in literature, art and film portray volcanoes as a terrifyingly capricious and unpredictable hazard. Historically they are viewed as the very definition of the sublime: at once vast and beautiful, incomprehensible in their sudden eruption after ages of quietude.  These perspectives endure but it is the earlier world of myth and legend that has most shaped our present instinctual horror. With the dominant influence of Mediterranean mythology on the West, volcanoes become places of punishment, sources of unquenchable power, or passageways to the Underworld.  At times, a Circum-Pacific perspective also creeps in: edifices literally embodied as gods torn by those most intense of human emotions- jealousy, rage and love- to battle and burst forth when uncontainable.

Drawing on his deep understanding of Northern and European myth, Tolkien imbued Arda’s five ‘fiery mountains’ with many of the common elements of volcanic horror: random eruption instigated by capricious gods; forges and seats of power for evil-doers; fell cauldrons into which people or artifacts are flung.  He also successfully used personification to augment terror.  Orodruin is ‘tormented’ by eruption; ‘tongues’ of fire ‘vomit’ and ‘belch’; the landscape is ‘pockmarked’ by ejecta like a disease.  Reeking fume mantles the edifices like a ‘cloak’. Throughout the Legendarium allusions to the geologically sinister or dangerous appear, yet, contrary to Sarjeant’s famous assertion, Tolkien’s volcanoes are not associated inherently with evil.  The stuff of Arda is exploited for its power by Melkor and Sauron: Thangorodrim and the Iron Mountains, Amon Amarth and Dol Guldur, all spout flame or ‘smoke’ under their new masters’ influence.

Symbolically, Tolkien mixed the elements of Eastern and Western myth to shape his volcanoes but he also literally mixed recognizable styles of eruption to animate them. The emergence of modern observational volcanology can be seen across his writings in parallel with a shift in literary mode from the ‘mythological’ to the ‘historical’.  Mt Doom was sketched to look like a lonely Stromboli but it’s eruptive products are not those of Strombolian eruption.  The towering, spreading anvil ash cloud of a Plinian eruption is perfectly described, as is the dense, topography-mantling, horror of a pyroclastic surge, first known from the 1902 eruption of Mount Pelée.  The great snaking rivers of highly fluid lava typical of Hawaiian effusive eruption are beautifully painted in his images of the mountain’s paroxysm, as are the long, fire-fountaining fissures of Iceland.  The latter island is ultimately, perfectly personified in jealous Melkor: appearing “as a mountain that wades in the sea and has its head above the clouds and is clad in ice and crowned with smoke and fire’.  

(apologies: the blog w the image above does not credit its source)..

#tolkien #tolkien society #mount doom #volcanism

[lunacanis99]

Mantle of Flames Proxi

So, let's talk about Althaea. Specifically about her curse/deal I've talked about a few times prior.

When Althaea gave me her background she told me that "Althaea is always on the brink of death, but never dies. This entity won't let her." Now this was a few sessions in and was actually referencing how Althaea had been knocked out in every prior session so she worked it into her background. I believe this is also based on "Over the Garden Wall" but I've never seen it so I don't know how much of a reference this is. Anyways, I decided to name the creature doing this for her a Vassal, which Wikipedia says is "a person or country in a subordinate position to another" (this was the first hint the Vassals weren't acting on their own.) And Well I've never wanted to say no to my players that backstory did present a problem: I could just have there be no repercussion of death for her. So I decided, each time she died she'd loose some of her max health. At first it was just her level in health but after about 3 deaths it became her level and a roll of her hit die. Out of game that was because it wasn't balanced enough to be an actual consequence with threat of death considering she got more max health each level, but in game it was because the Vassals had "noticed her loyalty". Aka Althaea sided with and defended the Vassals and I did not see that coming and had to rewrite a lot of things. As the game went on and I started figuring my big plot out I knew I wanted the Vassals to factor into it and have something to do with the chained gods. And then I realized, they were the angels of the chained gods. See in my world every god has 3 angels to act as messengers soldiers and workers for them. But the Vassals don't look like angels; they're completely black with glowing white eyes, a feather cloak, and antlers, so it wasn't obvious. Canary was actually the first to figure this out (making me have to rewrite again. Thanks) and had to keep it hidden from the group for a while, (mostly cause she wiped her own memory) especially Althaea. The rest of the group slowly followed and had their own opinions and realizations and now they're working to fix it.

But, as interesting and intricate as this is, it's not what I'm here to talk about. No, I'm here to tell you about all of Althaea's deaths so far.

Death 1: Her first death was actually out of game (precampaign) and what started all of this. She had just run away from her abusive home in the faewild and now was lost in the winter on the material plane. She would have starved or frozen to death, but the Vassal appeared to her, offered to help her, then killed her and brought her back, basically resetting her clock so she had enough time to find food and shelter. This was the first of many though...

Death 2: Her next death was facing down the young white dragon Mairon's uncle Melkor sent them to fight. Alistair also died in this fight so she shouldn't feel too bad. I believe she died to the ice breath. Problem was, though everyone saw it out of game the only character that saw it in game was Alistair, who, as previously mentioned, also died. And when he got back his memory was spotty, and we had him roll. He didn't remember.

Death 3: Her third death was also against a dragon, a green dragon this time. See this dragon was one of the big bads of the current storyline and was the queen drow's pet, thus was more intelligent than other beasts. So when everyone kept healing each other and getting back up he decided to fix that. So when he knocked Althaea out next instead of leaving her there he picked her up and dropped her in the deep pool of water to the side. She drowned and reemerged a few rounds later. This time, Alistair saw it. And the group confronted her on it.

Death 4: This death was in the faewild. They'd gone to the faewild to help their friend Carric on his task in return for his God reviving Mairon. (Convoluted I know) They'd gone with him to help take down a corrupted ArchFae. And, after being knocked out in one by a prismatic spray, she failed her death throws and died again.

Death 5: The next death isn't many sessions later, as these deaths start getting more frequent. And, this is an interesting one. Because, after being led on a wild goose chase around town all session looking for 2 kidnapped friends, the group find themselves face to face with a Vassal. Althaea tries to speak for the group and keep them safe, which she manages, in return for her own throats getting slashed.

Death 6: The next death came at the hands of a skyrate. She (once again) got one shot by Captain Hunter's monk first mate Kraven, but this time it was more than 2x her health, so she got one shot killed. However, this time when she died she made a deal with the Vassals for more power when she came back, but now she owes them... something.

Death 7: Death seven, once again was one shot, which seems to be the pattern now. This time by a meteor swarm from a witch.

Death 8: This is the most recent death. And by far the dumbest. After the group went to Canary's farm to ask her adoptive son Tazd to come with them and they ask Canary for permission, Canary threatens them if they touch her son. So you know what Althaea does? Can you guess? Yup. She picked up Tazd and tried to run away. From a Rouge with a gun... it goes about as well as a sneak attack assassinate bullet to the brain can.

So yeah, an eventful time of Althaea's death. Let's see what happens when she dies with 6 health, and thus has no more health to give. And... we'll most likely see this in 3 days. :)

#dungeons and dragons #dnd #MoF #Mantle of flames

[mimikoflamemaker]

OC ask: 1, 15, 16, 26, 27, & 76 For Lithien!

1.What is/are your OC’s nickname(s) and how did itcome about?

Middle-earthhas rich and complicated naming traditions, especially as far as elves areconcerned, so “nicknames” (epesse) are rather popular and something to be proudoff (though I am greatly oversimplifying things here). Lithien does have one,given to her by her fellow wardens (I am squinting at Maethion here and ellonwho is a very close friends of her) and then it moved with her over toRivendell and stuck over there as well. The nickname is Cannith and in sindarinit means (bold sister) which is a very obvious and direct reference to heroverall personality. I would say that Lithien herself likes it more than heractual given name.

I’vealso been playing with an idea for a quenya eppsse for Lithien in light of thatone persistent fanfic idea (a fix it scenario in which Lithien meets… a veryancient elf). That nickname would be given mostly because said person would bea little horrified by the implication of Lithien’s own name (who in their rightmind names their child “daughter of the ashes”) and partly because “your actualname doesn’t fit you. Trust me I am old enough to know” So far the options Iconsidered would be Canye (bold one) or Ranyanis (free woman). But I am stillpondering.

15.What was your OC’s childhood like?

ShouldI plant an ‘Entering Spoilers Territory’ sign up here yet or no? :) Now thismight not be much of a spoiler to some, but Lithien grew up without a mother,who died because of the strain from childbirth (or rather three childbirthswhich was too much for her). Daugion, Lithien’s father didn’t handle thesituation well and in his own grief put most of the blame for it on his newborndaughter. Hence her lovely name. So Lithien grew up mostly in the care ofnannies and teachers. Galaren, who is a lot older than Lithien tried his bestto pick up the father mantle when his duties in the army weren’t keeping himaway. I think Lithien only understood what a true father should be after shecame to live in Rivendell for a time. So her childhood was mostly a lonely one,filled with deep desire to prove herself worthy of her father’s time and attention.That deeply rooted desire to prove herself traps Lithien way into her adultlife and lies as the baseline to many of her decisions, both good and bad.

16. What is your OC’s strongest childhood memory? Whyand how as that impacted him/her?

Lithienlearned at an early age, that good things are hard to find and once you getthem you need to do everything in your power to protect those things and people.Galaren was a first target to this protectiveness. And it all happened because ofthe braids. Galaren was staying home for a bit at the time and one morning shehas asked him to braid her hair before she went out to play with other children.Galaren hardly knew a thing about braiding hair for little girls, but he didn’twant to let her down. So Lithien left the house with a perfect warrior braid.Which for some reason other children found rather funny. And since she wasn’tgoing to allow anyone to laugh at her brother, she threw herself at the boy twoheads taller than herself and quite literally rolled him through the mud. She gotinto a lot of trouble because of that. To this day she is proud of that one.

26. Why does your OC and his/her soulmate work so welltogether?

Firstof all. I am not sure how to apply a soulmate concept to Tolkien elves and tothe complicated thing that is an elven fea. Or maybe this makes a soulmate thingeven easier to pull off, I have no idea. Either way, Lithien’s ‘radar’ iseither skewered or completely, voluntary shut off. She went down that road onetime. It was the most beautiful experience of her life. And when it was torn awayfrom her, it took a piece of herself with it. Lithien doesn’t want anothersoulmate. Or a lover. She doesn’t know if she even can have one and doesn’tseek one too. But sometimes she craves company and someone who would listen toher without judgment. And she found herself a person willing to do that and notgiving shit about people frowning upon what the two of them are doing. Lithiendoesn’t give a fuck either, at least as long as the rumors don’t startbadmouthing Galaren. (Also sorry if this is not very specific, but this is allI can give you if you don’t want spoilers to the story)

27. What are some things your OC admires about his/hersoulmate?

Aboutthe old one? The fact that he accepted her exactly as she was with all hermoods, vices and… defects. And he did so at the moment when she thought herselfunworthy of anybody’s love and attention. And the new one? I think that she isstill waiting to find out (rolling the curtain here too because *spoilers*)

76. What is your OC’s favorite animal?

Wolf.Steadfast loyalty to the pack and the willingness to die in order to protectit? This speaks to her on personal level. They also never back down from thefight even in the face of overwhelming adversity. And they are, quite frankly,a beautiful creatures.

(Yes,I have no idea what was Tolkien aiming at, but to me there are two distinct typesof wolves in Middle-earth. “Wolf” wolves and wargs – the dark skewered beingsbrought to existence by Melkor, though I remember those words being used interchangeablyto describe the latter. You can see in JoO that I am not doing that)

Thank you so much for the ask! *hug* I’m sorry if it gotten a little long ^^’

If anyone wants to, I am still accepting asks

#darkwolf75 #journey of oaths #ask meme #answers answers #thank you! #darkwolf76