imagine being Manwë and Melkor's baby sister and falling for Sauron 👀
Dear anon...I'd rather not imagine that, because that's a very sad thing to imagine haha...
I don't know if you wanted this to be written or just make me think 🙈
If you wanted a ficlet, find 1k of pain under the cut, if not...I think that would be really difficult and problematic...I'm sure it would end in heartbreak to be honest...
If I've misunderstood you, please forgive me ❤️
Words: 1k
Characters: Mairon x OC
Warnings: slight angst
(Also, the lovely people from the SWG server might have inspired me more than was good for either one of us, anon, because they were so sweet and helpful and hence, my original plan of writing some 100 words about this might have...turned into a full ficlet...sorry)
She – her name would by now be lost in the sands of time or the dark crevices of the marring – had seen him first in a world still in becoming and he had defied words and melody by his sheer glory.
In those early days, they had still called him Mairon but – through the ages – he would wear many names like mere robes to be cast off when worn or stained, whereas she would lose the only she had ever claimed as her own; giving up things willingly was in her nature after all.
No-one could escape their destiny and hers was so vague and seemingly inconsequential that being forgotten seemed inevitable; she didn’t mind it though for she knew that everything needed a background and a base to even be visible.
Her function was to be that backbone of patience and belief that held all others aloft and made them shine.
While her brothers – mighty and as beloved as they were feared – had squabbled amongst themselves, she’d wandered around the still young realm, drawn to the creative powers like a moth to a flame.
While everything had still been thriving, there had been very little for her to do as her heart’s desire and only might was unwavering trust in the face of defeat; her brothers’ sisters in strange and unforeseen ways, she had utter faith in both of them and believed that their respective ambitions would come to fruition and complement each other.
Hitherto, the limitations of her own power and influence had been an absence of creation, a mere shadow, a void as passive as she was; it had only been upon meeting this disciple of Aulë and being cowed by the radiance of his presence that she’d understood how regrettably lacking she really was.
Mairon was a masterful being – skilled, organised, and fair – with a sharp smile and a yet sharper mind, and before she had been able to but pursue that thought, blown away by the winds of her brother, she had found herself helplessly enthralled by the pulsating energy and promise emanating from this creature.
By rights, he should have acted reverentially towards her but all she had been able to discern was an indomitable desire to unravel and rethread the natural order of things for them to make sense to him, and, evidently, she couldn’t help relenting and pouring herself into his vision, she never had had the strength for that.
She would follow him around – devoted and hopeful still – in hopes that he’d look upon her and find her adequate; steadfast but blurry around the edges, she would have been raw material for him to twist and mould as it pleased him.
Cutting and slightly haughty smiles were all that she had ever gotten from him though and – in the end – he’d followed her brother, Melkor, without casting any lingering glances into her direction. A genius such as his always needed a source of power – be it chaos to put into order or fury to hammer into a blade – and that was when she’d truly understood how impuissant she was.
Until this moment, she had never resented her brothers for being so formidable; she had been content to live in their shadow and do their bidding if needed but – in that second where all her most cherished dreams had been offered to a seemingly indifferent Melkor – a small flicker of hate had rippled across the still waters of the well of loyalty that was her soul, effectively poisoning it for all the eons to come.
Much later, she sought him out once more, flitting like a wraith across the scarred land she still envisioned healed and hale, while her treacherous brother was confined under the watchful eyes of the other mighty, self-important Powers.
Surely, he would now recognise how wrong he had been in choosing Melkor over her; finally, her patient confidence would be rewarded, and she would be granted what she deserved – it was so very little she asked for, wasn’t it? – and the whole creation would be better for it.
She pleaded, she charmed as well as she could, she gave him her fondest, most brilliant smiles but it was all for naught in the end.
His interest – flaring like a wildfire in those deep eyes – abated almost instantly when he understood that it was selfish longing that brought her all this way rather than a much-awaited message from his master.
He would have treated her with honour had she been a messenger, but – as a supplicant inspired by the need of her own heart – she was cast out of his dark fortress like an unwanted beggar.
“I love you,” she cried in a voice barely above the sigh of the wind or the crunching of feet on fresh-fallen snow, “I have always loved you!”
Gorthaur’s fair brow darkened in confusion before – and this was so much worse – his face smoothed into the gentle, expressionless mien of a butcher about to put the blade to a beast’s throat.
“That’s a pity,” he sighed, “for it means nothing to me. Now run home to your brothers and only return if you have something to tell me that actually is of any interest to me.”
If only he had raged or heaped insults over her bent head, she thought bitterly, she might have fought back, but – as soon as she had spoken those fateful words – she had known herself that it was too late already and that her most intimate and desperate emotions were not even worth a reaction beyond studied and bored politeness to the one she adored so.
And so, she waited, trusting still that what was rent should be mended and what was lost should be restored eventually; if necessary, she’d linger thus – suspended in agony – until the world was torn asunder and made anew and time itself started afresh. Next time, she told herself with that quiet confidence that was her gift, she’d turn the tide.
Dearest anon, I am shite at world building 🙈 and I am haunted by the things I've read, so I am very very very sorry if this is not living up to your expectation; I've given it my best shot <3
Lots of love from me :D
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