#írimë

[spruceneedles]

Findis and Lalwen (concept)

[acommonanomaly]

Írimë

I should really make more art of Lalwen, as the little bit I've written of her made me fall in love with her as a character.

[dfwbwfbbwfbwf]

My opinions are based from this beautiful art piece:

[syaraan]

What are your headcanons for Maedhros' age vs his aunts' and uncles'?

Personally I tend to think that Maedhros is about the same age but slightly older than Írimë. But if he was close in age or older than Fingolfin it would add another layer to the handing over of kingship.

[bretwalda-lamnguin]

Given that Anairë remained in Valinor, I think Lalwen would have definitely been mistaken for the high queen of the Noldor at the Feast of Reuniting.

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Snippet of American Horror Story AU - Hotel Angband

Characters snippet

Warnings: Illness | Vampirism

VAMPIRES/DHAMPIRS: These are vampires/Dhampirs who moved into the hotel during the 1930s after being told it would be the safest plece for them.

Countess Indis Ingweron: Wealthy noblewoman, Vampiress, maker of Lady Thuringwethil, and mother to Nolofinwë, Findis, Arafinwë and Írimë Ingweron. She moves herself and her brood to Hotel Angband in 1936 after Faeldor told it would be the safest place for them all. It is here she turns Thuringwethil, her lady’s maid, into a vampire, after she contracts tuberculosis from a guest and begs to be saved. She also strikes up a friendship with Míriel Þerindë of the Þerindë family after she approached her for new dresses to be made.

Nolofinwë, Findis, Arafinwë and Írimë Ingweron: The dhampir/demigod children of Countess Indis and Faeldor, her maker. Unlike Fëanáro and his kin, they have always lived lives of great wealth and privilege, and they have a father who loves them. Nevertheless, they go on to form friendships with the Þerindë family. Nolofinwë is the most responsible, while Findis is the most adventurous. Arafinwë is the gentlest of the siblings, while Írimë is the most sadistic. Írimë is also involved in a causal relationship with Makar Tarkil, one of the bodyguards who works for Mr. Bauglir and Mr. Gorthaur.

Thuringwethil: Vampiress and lady’s maid to Countess Indis and her daughters. She knows the secret of the Ingweron family, but she refuses to reveal it as she is loyal and they are very good to her. Thuringwethil turned down multiple offers to be turned until she contracts tuberculosis from a guest in 1937. Then she begs her lady to save her life as she realizes she does not want to die.

[who-needs-words]

In an AU where Lalwen is actually Allowed To Do Things™️ and isn’t immediately forgotten by Tolkien(s), the narrative, and the fandom;

Celebrimbor entrusts one of his rings to his beloved aunt. She survived the wars of the first age and still finds the will to make a joke.

The fiery red of the ruby in Narya compliments the tree light still in her eyes and the passion in her heart. She will give it, in time, to Gandalf but for many years the ring of fire finds a home on the hand of a daughter of finwe

[dfwbwfbbwfbwf]

Brother, yes!

They were forced to do a get-along-project

Findis: So, everyone, what does our story NEED?

Finarfin: A nice main character!

Lalwen: A pretty setting!

Feanaro, a gleam in his eyes, in a near-whisper: REVENGE.

Fingolfin, spraying Feanaro with water: Brother, NO!

[temporarily-your-saint]

Under the Stars

A Rings of Power fic has been brewing inside of my brain but unfortunately Elrond will be going through so much pain... As if he hasn't been through it enough. :') BUT. I really wanted to give him a soft and sweet moment, so here we are. Our sweet summer boy deserves only love. <3

Word count: 3.8k

Warning(s): none, kissing??, some (lil bit) of spice??? more like suggestive spicy?

Themes: Friends to lovers, mutual pining, sort of submissive elrond??? hehehe

Also all translations are at the end!

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　

Elrond could always be found underneath the golden trees that surrounded Lindon, Írimë could be sure of that.

The elleth watched her dear friend from afar, awestruck by the scene before her. The half-elf seemed to glow underneath the mallorn trees, almost shining while he wrote his poetry and speeches for the king. 

She always admired his passion for the melodic words that danced along the pages and never grew tired watching his quill flick skillfully. After a moment, her legs finally moved through the field and towards the king’s harold.

As she approached, his gaze continued to stay fully enveloped within the binded pages, unaware of her presence. 

“My heart sings to see that not much has changed,” her voice rang, breaking the silence.

Elrond, slightly startled, smiled when he heard the familiar voice. His eyes flickered to her face and then down her body, taking in her figure with a subtle glance.

"Írimë? Is that really you?" He spoke calmly as he stood up from his sitting position atop the tree and stepped forward to approach her. "It's been a while. You haven't changed a single day."

As he grew closer to her, she reached out and placed a hand against his cheek. “Neither have you, mellon nin,” she breathed as her thumb brushed against his skin, tenderly just beneath his eye.

Warmth immediately poured over her as they greeted one another. It had been years since the two had seen one another and by the Valar, she had truly missed his affable smile. While years in the lives of elves passed swiftly and without much notice, she had still ached to lay her eyes upon him once again.

A light blush trickled along Elrond’s cheeks as his eyes danced across her face. “I’ve missed you, my dear friend,” he spoke softly.

She couldn’t help but beam with happiness at his words, a smile never leaving her lips. Her bright blue eyes stared into his gray orbs, not daring to look away.

“And I you,” her voice whispered. The elleth’s heart pumped quickly as her stomach filled with butterflies.

His hands wrapped around her one that had held his cheek and brought it down between them. She could let him hold her there in place for centuries if Eru Ilúvatar allowed it. 

He squeezed her hand gently, feeling the warmth of her touch while his gaze held hers as it shined with merriment and affection.

Gods, had he missed her.

The half-elf studied her features, captivated by the beauty of the elleth. A strange but not unpleasant flutter raised inside his chest. He always thought she was beautiful; any being that roamed Arda could see she was well-favored by the gods, but something felt different now.

“There was not a day that went by when I did not think of you,” he admitted, voice just above a whisper.

His forward words only quickened her pulse more. She wasn’t so sure her heart wouldn’t fully beat out of her chest at this point for she would melt under his gaze if he wasn’t currently keeping her grounded, holding her hand between his two.

“Surely I didn’t cloak your thoughts too much,” she teased him, a smile dancing across her lips.

Elrond let out a soft huff of amusement at Írimë’s teasing. He gave her hand another gentle squeeze and shook his head with an affectionate smile as he spoke, "You know very well that you have always occupied a significant amount of my thoughts," he replied in a teasing tone of his own.

He brought her hand up and pressed a soft, gentle kiss against her palm. It was a small yet intimate gesture.

Elrond had always been fond of the elleth before him. He hadn’t always noticed the peculiar feeling for it only seemed to grow stronger within the past years that had passed. And here she was before him once again. He couldn’t pass up the opportunity this time to tell her.

“Elrond…” she breathed, unable to formulate a witty response. He was being serious.

His lips…His eyes…The way he peered into her soul dizzied her senses. She had noticed Elrond looking at her differently the last time she was in his presence and now…Here he did it once again.

Elrond watched her reaction carefully. He saw the way her breath caught in her throat and he heard the slight tremble in her voice. His heart beat a little faster, his breath catching in return.

His thumb traced idle circles on her palm, the contact between them making his skin tingle. Elrond swallowed tightly, meeting her gaze with a gaze full of sincerity.

"Írimë... I have wanted to tell you... that I..."

His voice trailed off, his words failing him. How could he tell her that he felt for her without sounding foolish?

“Yes…?” Wide eyes stared into his own, searching for answers. Something… anything.

Írimë felt like she was on fire. Blood pumped through her veins that felt like lava—heavy, scolding. Pink lips parted as she licked her lips.

Elrond hesitated, struggling with how to properly articulate the storm of emotions he felt inside. He swallowed again, swallowing his last remaining doubts.

He brought her hand up to his chest, placing it right over his rapidly beating heart. The warmth of her palm pressed against him nearly made him shiver.

"Írimë... I have come to realize...”

Every passing moment made her heart boom louder. Her hand placed over his heart was so intimate, so raw. He wanted her to feel his heartbeat. 

And she did.

Before he could finish, a loud voice came barreling over the hill, running toward them through the grass.

“Írimë! Elrond!”

The voice broke their trance, not allowing Elrond to finish his words. Gods, how she needed him to finish those words.

She stepped back, allowing some space between her and the half-elf before her as she retracted her hand. Her gaze met a familiar figure walking towards them. 

“Vorohil!” She exclaimed, welcoming her old friend.

Elrond's heart felt heavy inside of his chest, the moment stolen from him just as he was about to confess his true feelings. He took a step back as well, his shoulders slightly slumped in defeat.

As Vorohil approached, Elrond looked up, his expression slightly irritated at the interruption. He had been so close to speaking up, so close...But now there was no chance of picking up from where he had left off. The mood between the two souring now that Vorohil had joined them.

"Vorohil," Elrond said in greeting, forcing a small smile.

The ellon acknowledged Elrond with respect and then rested upon the raven-haired elleth. “I heard you just arrived. I have come to fetch you for the feast!”

Írimë grasped her dear friend’s forearm and gave it a light squeeze. “Thank you, my dear friend,” she said softly. Her bright eyes then met Elrond’s gaze, “Shall we join?”

The half-elf let out a soft sigh, his disappointment still evident on his face. However, he offered her a small, reluctant smile and nodded, "Yes, let us be on our way."

As they began walking, Elrond fell into pace beside her, their shoulders brushing slightly. He kept his hands clasped tightly behind his back to stop himself from reaching out to her again. The words that he had wanted to say lingered on the tip of his tongue, yet he held them back once more.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　

The feast was a splendid affair. Food was plentiful and wine flowed freely. Music played in the background, filling the air with cheerful, light elvish tunes.

Elrond walked beside Írimë, though his earlier enthusiasm had wilted slightly. He occasionally stole glances at her but made no attempt to resume their earlier conversation. His heart ached with unspoken words, yet he couldn't bring himself to speak them, not with so many peers around.

Írimë made her rounds throughout the evening. It had been many, many moons since she had last seen the trees of Lindon. How she had missed it so…

A familiar gaze lingered on the elleth though she welcomed it. She knew he watched her. Their keen senses made it near impossible to ignore. She found herself biting her lips more than not, swinging her hair, and smiling more than not as Elrond watched. The half-elf had such a peculiar way of affecting her; it was like she was a young elleth once again the way she yearned for his gaze.

And he noticed it all. The way she strode with more confidence and grace, the way she flipped her waves of midnight hair around, the way her smile glowed.

Every movement she made, every gesture, he absorbed them all, devouring them like a sweet dessert. 

His gaze lingered, continuing to watch her closely, trying to memorize every detail. The half-ellon’s fingers squeezed the chalice he held.

The more time passed, the more his heart longed for her, desperate to reach out and touch her, to speak the words that were dying to leave his tongue.

As the feast went on, Elrond eventually found himself able to slip away. He walked outside into the cool night air, his heart still pounding in his chest. He couldn't stay inside anymore, being so close to Írimë yet unable to speak to her; it had become too much to bear.

He ran his fingers through his curly locks, feeling tired and frustrated as he stared off into the night sky. "If I could just have one moment alone with her," he muttered to himself.

“Who is this elleth my dear friend frets over?” The very voice he daydreamed of rang through the air as she approached Elrond. 

He gave a small huff of laughter in response to her question as he turned toward her, "You heard that, did you?"

Her eyes narrowed curiously at him. As he spoke, he wouldn’t meet her eyes, instead talking into the distance as he turned back away from her.

Taking a sip of the wine he held, he sighed, "She is someone I cannot seem to get off my mind, even for a single moment. She occupies my thoughts from dawn to dusk, filling my heart with a melody I have never felt before."

His words cut into her. Was she being farcical? Was this an unknown lover of his? Or…?

She sighed and took a large gulp of wine from her own chalice. The sweet wine from the First Age coated her tongue and warmed her insides. “A lucky elleth,” her voice strained. “You must write poetry about her…” She whispered as her eyes turned down.

Do not shed tears, she thought to herself. 

Her response startled Elrond. It was almost as if she... as if she didn't seem happy for him. Or, perhaps, jealous? But surely not. He shook his head slightly, his heart starting to pound in his chest.

Írimë stood beside him, looking out into the late evening.

Elrond looked over at her, his gaze fixing on hers. He could see the forced smile spread across her lips and he knew that there was something deeper behind her words.

"I have written many poems about her," he admitted, his voice quiet. "She is my muse, my light, my everything."

Her voice hitched in the back of her throat. His everything… His words echoed throughout her very being.

She swallowed hard and met Elrond’s eyes as she tried her best to hold back tears. “This elleth must feel only warmth and sunlight then,” her voice came out as a whisper.

Elrond could hear the hitch in her voice, the barely concealed pain in her words. His heart ached hearing the sadness that coated her tongue.

He took a step closer to her, his voice dropping to a whisper. "You do not sound as if you are happy for me, Írimë. Do my words cut you?"

Their bodies almost touched. Her heart pounded as the tears began to swell over. Tears streamed down her pink cheeks as blue eyes searched Elrond’s. 

A forced smile still strained on her lips as she spoke, “I wish you nothing but happiness, mellon nin.” 

She avoided the question, only wanting to relieve him but the pain was too much. Until it hit her. I love him. The words ran through her mind as realization kicked her in the chest.

The sight of Írimë’s tears broke him. Seeing the pain in her eyes, hearing her voice crack and her forced smile... He couldn't bear it anymore. But he needed to know why. Needed to hear her say it.

"You wish me happiness yet the sight of me talking about another pains you so," he said softly, taking another small step forward.

He reached up, gently brushing away her tears with his thumb. His gaze pierced hers as he spoke, “Tell me, Írimë. Why does this make you grieve?"

His question echoed through her mind. She had to tell him. Needed to. Though she felt foolish to love him if he was already promised to another. How could she do that to such a friend like him?

But what if she never told him? She would have to endure and watch him love another. Could she handle that?

Trembling lips parted as whispered words fell from her lips, “I remember when we were younger. You always wiped away my tears.”

A wavering smile crept upon her lips as she looked up at him. “You have always looked out for me, even knowing that I did not need it. Always tended my wounds. Always filled my heart with nothing but warmth and joy,” her eyes searched his, almost pleading as she spoke. 

Her hand reached up to cover his own that lingered on her cheek as his thumb wiped away the wet remnants.

“When your face fills my dreams, I sigh with comfort and happiness. When your skin meets mine,” she began as she turned her cheek inward toward his hand, placing a soft kiss in the middle of his palm. 

Her eyes met his again. “A current runs through me as if something becomes awakened when we touch. A wildfire that cannot be contained. A light that can never be diminished. You are as bright as daylight and warm as summer, Elrond.”

Elrond's heart pounded in his chest as he listened to her words. Every sentence, every sentiment... It was everything that he had been waiting for. Every bit of validation that he needed, it was in her words. He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

The tear-stained face, the trembling lips, the hand on his... It was so raw, so open, so vulnerable, and yet so beautiful. He ached to say something, anything, but he was frozen in place. He could only stare at her, his face mirroring every emotion that ran through him.

He swallowed hard, his voice barely more than a whisper, "My dear Írimë, I... I never knew...I wanted to…"

His eyes flicked down to her trembling lips, his heart pounding louder and louder in his chest. The hand on her cheek moved down, tenderly cupping her face as his thumb brushed over her lips.

She sucked in a breath at his touch, closing her eyes in the process. A slow exhale left her lips as she slowly looked up at him.

The way she looked up at him was entrancing. Eyes of blue wide, pleading for him yet sad. She had never wanted something so badly in her immortal life. 

His finger brushed against her bottom lip again, softly pulling on it and then brushing it over. An agonizing ache reached below her stomach from the way his eyes bore into hers. He felt her breath hitch at his touch, her eyes closing for a brief moment once more.

“The elleth is you, meleth nîn,” his voice whispered. He placed both hands on either side of her cheeks as she looked up at him.

Everything fell into place at his words. The elleth is you, he had said. 

“Elrond,” her voice squeaked. 

A wave of relief washed over Elrond. Every ounce of tension left him as he heard the relief in her voice, knowing that he hadn't made a terrible mistake. He had never felt so vulnerable yet so complete at the same time. His thumb traced over her cheek gently, feeling the smooth skin beneath his touch.

"Írimë," he whispered back, his eyes roaming her face as if trying to memorize every little fleck of cerulean in her eyes, every curve, and every freckle on her skin.

He bent down and rested his forehead against hers. The two closed their eyes and shared breaths in the silence. She placed her hands over his own, her touch sending yet another shiver through him.

After a moment, she whispered, “Kiss me.”

When Írimë’s whispered words reached his ears, it was like a dam had burst.

The words had barely sunk in before he leaned in and hungrily pressed his lips to hers.

Long, slender fingers gently wove into her hair, holding her in place as he deepened the kiss. Their bodies close, so close that he could feel the heat radiating from her like a fire. All the years of longing, of hidden desires, were suddenly let loose in the kiss. His heart pounded in his chest, feeling as if it had finally found its home.

His other hand slid down, curling around her waist, pulling her in even closer, holding her against his body, as if trying to merge their very beings.

She could almost feel their souls become one as his lips pressed against hers. The hungry kiss released everything she had been feeling for him. Everything she wanted to envelop into words but did not have the ability.

They let their lips speak for them as the kiss deepened and he pulled her tighter into him. She could feel him, feel everything beneath his linens. 

A moan fell from her lips as his tongue danced with her own. She reached up, letting one hand curl into his dark locks. 

“Elrond…” her voice gasped his name. 

He felt every sound that left her lips—every soft gasp, every whisper, every moan. It was like music to him, the most beautiful symphony that his ears and soul had ever composed. Only the welcoming melody to Valinor could compare to this.

His hands wandered over her body as his tongue moved against hers, feeling her every curve, his touch desperate and hungry, yet tender and gentle.

Nothing else mattered in that moment but them. The dark night hid their figures outside, luckily, as their bodies intertwined. 

Her hand slid down through his hair, making its way next to his ear. Her fingers brushed over the pointed tip and she heard him whimper. Finally, she thought. 

The pointed ears of elves were incredibly sensitive, especially when senses were heightened. And they were left only to the touch of those that were promised, only to the most precious of close loved ones.

A jolt of pleasure shot through his body as her fingers glided over his ear. He had never felt something like it before, the sensation so intense, so intimate, that it almost overpowered all judgment. He let out a small gasp against her mouth, his body tensing up briefly before relaxing again.

His mind clouded, his focus entirely on her and the way she touched him. He pulled back from the kiss, breathless, and looked into her eyes, the intensity of his gaze almost dizzying.

"Do that again," he whispered, his voice husky with desire.

She had never heard his voice like this before. It was so gruff yet, he was begging? Or was that a command? She intended to find out.

Darkened eyes stared up into his piercing grays. Her thumb slowly, and barely even touching the tip of his ear, slid across the sensitive skin.

She watched his brows furrow and eyes close. No, she thought.

“Look at me, meleth nin,” her voice commanded, breath against his lips. Her thumb then traced down the outer part of his tapered ear.

Elrond's breath hitched in his throat as she touched him again, his eyes nearly rolling back into his head with the sensation. But the sound of her voice pulled him back into focus, a mixture of command and desire in her tone.

His eyes slowly drifted open, finding hers. He swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest, his lips parted as he let out a shaky breath. His fingers traced along her waist, drawing her as close as he could.

Hearing his song of pleasure spill from his lips rang through her.

His lust-filled gaze peered into her dilated pupils. She had never felt like this before. Her body could not get enough of him; it sang to her as hers sang to him, and she wanted to pluck every note.

Elrond’s breath deepened, his fingers gripping at the fabric of her dress, as if trying to hold himself back. His gaze darkened, the intensity in his eyes burning brighter with need.

He couldn't take it anymore. The fire coursing through his veins demanded something more. He wanted Írimë—needed her. Needed to feel their bodies fuse together, needed to taste her, needed to make her his entirely.

What was this?

Their chests heaved as they exchanged breaths, staring at one another. Desire filled their eyes as heat pooled deep within them.

“Elrond,” she breathed, looking up to him. In the quietness, eyes searched each other.

“We have been gone from the feast for so long,” her voice was unsteady, breath hitched from the shared intimacy.

Hearing her mention the feast reminded him of the festivities that still occurred. The thought of leaving her side to return made him wince, his heart clenching at the idea of being apart from her again.

His fingers flexed against her waist as he held her gaze, his mind and body both fighting against the rational part of him. He knew they needed to return but he didn't want it to end.

"You speak...words of reason," he said, his voice low and uneven.

She reached up, placing her hand against his cheek softly as her eyes peered into his. They both knew they needed to make an appearance once more.

”Meet me under the stars once more tonight…After the feast,” she finished, whispering her words.

His gaze softened as she touched his cheek, the feel of her skin causing his eyes to close for a moment. Elrond then turned to press his face into the palm of her hand, keeping her there for a moment as her words sunk in and he reopened them. 

“Under the stars, melnā,” he murmured, his voice as soft as a whisper against her skin.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　

mellon nin: my friend

meleth nîn: my love

melnā: beloved

Írimë: lovely, desirable

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　

[dfwbwfbbwfbwf]

Crack AU where Nolofinwë calls Fëanáro the worst brother ever.

I'd argue there are worse brothers than Náro (*cough Moringoþo cough*), but Nolo said what he said, and Fëanáro is not one to be the worst at anything, thank you very much.

(Especially when it's Nolo saying it!)

So Fëanáro attends Findis' dance recitals. He gifts Nolofinwë Ringil (which I believe he did in canon anyway, but this Ringil is even ✨ shinier ✨. He invents the tuba for Írimë, who really wanted to learn to play a never before seen instrument. He makes Arafinwë a swan-shaped nightlight for when he's at Alqualondë studying (and flirting).

Eventually, he grows to be able to spend more than three hours in his half-siblings' presence. (Yes, including Nolofinwë.) Then, he grows to almost enjoy it. Then, he starts to seek them out. Love grows between them.

Fëanáro becomes the best brother out of spite.

[marukoshiasu]

Our girls Findis and Írimë!

I missed @finweanladiesweek 😭

[dfwbwfbbwfbwf]

Well now I need to know something.

Silmarillion Headcanon

Feanor is absolutely awful when it comes to expressing genuine feelings verbally to people he cares about, and is equally bad about choking out apologies. They have a tendency to come out stilted and insincere.

So when Feanor is back in Valinor (after the world has been fixed), and begins to actually get along with his half-siblings (and their descendants) and care about them he turns to actions instead of words. He drags them to his forge to show them new things, Feanor cuts time out of his schedule to be with them (even if it makes him late), and most often, he makes them jewelry. Tons of jewelry and gems are made for his family, all made to the exact style preference of each individual. He never sticks around to present it, just gives it over or drops it on their doorstep and runs off. Feanor is always nervous that they won’t like it, or they they will change their mind about trying to bond with him. He always feels relief when he sees them wear it the next day.

[meluiloth]

Here’s my artwork for @silmarillionepistolary day 4, love and creation!

More time has passed, and Finwë still loves his art, his people, and his growing family. His eldest son, Fëanáro (shown on the top left and right), has grown into an ambitious and genius adult. He is always creating and inventing new things - even a written language! Finwë has spent much time learning the script (a few failed attempts are shown in the top left corner), but he is immensely proud of his son (and his wife, Nerdanel, pictured below him).

Finwë’s ‘other family’, so called by Fëanáro (who doesn’t get along with them at all), has grown over the last several years. Indis is a ray of sunshine in his life, and as strong a woman as she is a Queen - she has borne four children and remains as joyful and sturdy as ever. Nolofinwë is the eldest, followed by Arafinwë, then his two daughters Findis and Írimë. Finwë adores children, and would love to always have them near him forever. (Though his own are swiftly growing up, Nerdanel is already pregnant with her first child, which is very excited about).

Still, though his first wife makes no more appearances in his sketches … she always lingers in the back of his mind, a phantom he could not erase even if he wanted to. And he doesn’t want to, no matter how much guilt he feels about pining over Míriel when his living wife is ever beside him.

Tengwar translations (the language is English transcribed into Tengwar):

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Words of love

Day 5 prompts: Love

For: @silmarillionepistolary

Rating: General Audiences

Characters: Eönwë, Maglor, Írimë

Theme : A series of letters from one character to another - Eönwë to Ingwion | Maglor to Indilien (OC) | Írimë to Amarië

Themes: Soft | Fluff

Warnings: None

Wordcount: 778 words

Summary: Eönwë writes to Ingwion after the latter sends him a letter on life in Valimar | Maglor writes to Indilien, thanking her for agreeing to him corresponding with her | Írimë writes to Amarië, thanking her for her gifts

A/n: OC name meaning Indilien, wife of Maglor - Indil (Lily) | ien (suf. feminine ending; feminine patronymic).

This is also available on AO3

Letter 1 – Eönwë to Ingwion:

10th day of Y.T. 1231.—

Beloved,

It pleases me to hear that your training with Lord Tulkas goes well and that he sees to your lessons himself. He is a most steadfast and hardy friend, and I am certain that you will not want for comfort while you reside within his halls. Valimar is a most beautiful city, and to be invited to see all that lies behind its walls of white and gold is a rare honor. Prove yourself worthy of this honor, as I am sure you will, and you will discover much of what that fair city has to offer. 

My love, your letter moved me deeply. To read of your deep longing for me, to know I am foremost in your thoughts! I confess that I read it once, and then I read it twice, and then I read it a third time. I treasured every word and committed each and every one of them to heart. I pray you will not think me weak when I admit I feel your absence most keenly. The great halls do not ring with the sound of your sweet laughter, and our chambers feel strangely cold and empty without you in them. The time of flowering and ripening of all things is upon us, and yet I find that Ilmarin is shrouded in the dark and dismal winter of death your leaving has left it in. Forgive me. The pain of our separation is nigh unbearable. I do all that I can to make myself content with the knowledge that when I call on you, this pain will pass. Alas! If only time flowed according to our own wishes! If only there was a way to make that appointed hour of our reunion arrive faster! There is none. Nevertheless, we will see each other again. This is all that truly matters in the end. With this, I will put an end to my letter. Write to me as often as you can, my love, and always keep me in your thoughts.  

Written by the hand of he who longs for you,

Eönwë

Letter 2 - Maglor to Indilien (OC)

30th day of  Y.T. 1284.—

Noble lady,

Allow me to begin by offering my sincerest and most humble gratitude for your granting of my wish to write to you, and I pray that I will not make you weary with my letters. I was told you were most astonished by my appeal and that you consider my request an honor. Pray allow me to correct you on this, my lady, for the one who is honored, is myself. Never have I heard another sing so sweetly or seen anyone more beautiful! There is no word to give justice to how you have captivated me, my lady, and I pray that you will allow me to speak of how you have held me enthralled the next time we meet. Such words will be poor fare, to be sure, but they will, no doubt, speak of the sincerity of my feelings and the depths they contain. I will write no more for a lack of time, but I beseech you to write to me if I have not offended you in any way with my declaration.

Your most faithful servant,

Lord Makalaurë Kanafinwë

Letter 3 - Írimë to Amarië

91st day of  Y.T. 1362.—

Beloved,

Thanks and thanks and thanks again, my dearest, for your gifts. And thanks once more, for your tender words. They are more precious to me than any gift, though I will treasure the works of your hands greatly. Mother helped me find a place for all of them, and we both agreed that the marble carving of the great eagles who dwell in the crags of Ilmarin is the most breathtaking. So magnificent! So lifelike! I would have considered the turning of stone into something so fine nigh impossible had the great sculptor herself, Nerdanel, not proven me wrong on more than one occasion on that score. You are gifted as she, and I consider myself the most fortunate of elves to have one such as you by my side.

I am truly overwhelmed by your expression of love for me. No words could describe the sincerity of my gratitude, my dearest, but please accept these words, humble as they may be, as a token of my thanks. It heartens me to no end to know that I am so loved. And pray accept this gift—a bracelet that I have recently crafted—if it pleases you. With this, I shall bring an end to my letter.

Your beloved,

Írimë

tags @cilil @asianbutnotjapanese

[demonscantgothere]

Beasts of the Hill and Serpents of the Den. Galadriel/Sauron | Halbrand. Explicit. 206.5k | 4.2k chapter [41/150] Ch. 41: The Center of It All

During the First Age, the War of Wrath changes course. On the island of Tol-in-Gaurhoth, the Isle of Werewolves, one of Sauron’s former strongholds—is the seat of the Necromancer’s power. Instead of sending his wolves out to kill Finrod after capturing Felagund in his dungeons, Sauron demands an exchange for his life. Galadriel offers herself.

“A just distinction,” Írimë conceded, “but the Oath has tainted them with a dark curse, and those sorts of things tend to linger deep within the crevices between. There is no water in all of Arda capable of washing that stain out.”

Galadriel glanced at the Silmaril—and stared within the gleaming fractals of its wonder, the ebb and flow of a gentle kaleidoscope of muted pastels, cool and calm, shifting between varying hues of soft azure, a pure bath of pristine white, the gossamer threads of lavender, and followed at last by a faint hint of rose.

Somewhere, in the midst of all the lovely shades intertwining before her eyes, Galadriel thought she saw a faded sliver of gold shining in the center of them all, more subdued than all the rest.

“Your uncle,” Írimë brought up, reminding Galadriel of his request as her voice fell below her breath in the faintest of whispers, “he had asked for a strand of your hair three times, but you declined him in all. He had intended to use your hair for the Silmarils, imbuing them with your essence.” With an almost imperceptible tilt of her head towards Galadriel, Írimë leaned in closer to her. “He would have made you the center of it all, Galadriel.”

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We don't talk about Fë-a-ná-ro, no! We don't talk of Fëanáro! But - It was the Darkened Day

It was the Darkened Day

Everyone was screaming And there wasn't a light in the sky

No light was seen in the sky

Fëanáro came here with a malicious sneer -

Bloodshed!

Are you telling this story, or am I?

I'm sorry, Alquaya, go on.

He spoke as if he wore our crown

So arrogant!

My father refused with a frown

The ships had sentiment

Fëanáro struck him down!

Your brother hit first, yet mine were cursed!

We don't talk about Fë-a-ná-ro, no! We don't talk of Fëanáro!

My brother is strange, I will admit, and He was like this long before we got banned I associate him with the sound of roaring flames - crack, crack, crack He was not born for Valinórë His spirit was drawn back to Endórë For that he's received a great amount of flack And he won't come back

Face o'ershadowed Lightning in his eyes His gems, hallowed Demanded as a prize Died in the first clash Now naught but ash

We don't talk about Fë-a-ná-ro, no! We don't talk of Fëanáro!

He took my family away They all end up DEAD!

His sons, more like orcs Made the earth run red!

My Lúthien was very nearly forcefully wed

We don't talk about Fë-a-ná-ro, no! We don't talk of Fëanáro!

He told me that forever we'd be together as long as we live He told me that our love would survive anything; I cannot forgive

He told me that he never would leave; a promise he broke and burned in his fire Sometime I feel him near

Námo, I want all my sons here with me!

I feel him here!

Um, Fëanáro.... Yeah, about Fëanáro I must know about Fëanáro The truth, just the truth, Fëanáro!

Uncle Bilbo, it's getting late

Time for dessert!

Face o'ershadowed (It was the Darkened Day [It was the Darkened Day])

Lightning in his eyes (Everyone was screaming)

His gems, hallowed (And there wasn't a light in the sky)

Demanded as a prize [No light was seen in the sky]

Died in the first clash (Fëanáro came here with a malicious sneer -)

Now naught but ash [Bloodshed!]

Are you telling this story, or am I?

I'm sorry, Alquaya, go on.

He spoke as if he wore our crown (Face o'ershadowed, lightning in his eyes)

My father refused with a frown (His gems, hallowed, demanded as a prize)

Fëanáro struck him down! (Dessert!)

Don't talk about Fë-a-ná-ro, no! Let's talk about Fë-a-ná-ro

Not a word about Náro! Let's talk about Náro!

Now, we just need a "We don't talk about Feanor, no, no, no' musical and the Amazon show will be perfect.