#Angainor

[mothdalf]

Tolkientober: the final defeat of Melkor

“He was bound with the chain Angainor, his Iron Crown was beaten into a collar for his neck, and he was taken from the Earth and thrust through the Door of Night into the Timeless Void”

[mirkwood]

should i go from mirkwood url to mablung url.

[sesamenom]

happy some-number-of-days-till-halloween!

This year's halloween costume party features Aule for the group costume theme (he is also invited).

feanor's fire effect is achieved through slightly-glowy tiny gems sewed onto a bodysuit with actual stone chunks attached. the mini-Lamps are glass lanterns containing one silmaril each and carried on a really long fishing line by the ambarussa. feanor made a mini-angainor (complete with sock monkey melkor) just for the costume.

celegorm's orome costume is a slightly upgraded version of his costume from last year's party (x)

mahtan and nerdanel (as mairon) are the only ones who didn't have to get a wig/fake beard.

curufin spent more time helping feanor with the mini-Lamps and mini-Angainor than working on his own costume. also celebrimbaby is a dwarf because why would you *not* go as aule and a dwarf when you have a small toddler.

[cilil]

Why did Manwë let Melkor out of jail? - Ainur answers

(by none other than JRRT himself)

Like Námo's silence regarding important events in the future (for an explanation of that, see here), the decision to free Melkor after three ages of captivity has been subject to very understandable confusion and frustration on the part of many readers. Instead of the unsatisfying, dismissive answer "we wouldn't have a cool story otherwise, duh", there actually are in-universe reasons, but the answers are somewhat hidden in deeper Elf and Ainu lore that not everyone comes across or finds pleasant to read and research (which, again, is very understandable).

I thought long and hard about how I could present this in a digestible way and upon revisiting the texts, I realized that, conveniently enough, Tolkien himself has provided an explanation for Melkor's release from Mandos, which of course is even better than anything I could have scraped together.

The passage in question can be found at the end of the essay "Ósanwë-kenta". I'm going to summarize Tolkien's explanation in a hopefully clear and helpful manner and am happy to provide screenshots from the PDF (best I have access to right now, sorry) if needed. There's also a tldr at the bottom.

⪼ Previously, Tolkien has described how ósanwë works. The key takeaway is that not even someone as powerful as Melkor can forcibly "read someone's mind" or perform "mind control" or anything of this sort because every sentient being is able to close themselves off and not reveal their thoughts unless they choose to. Thus Melkor was able to deceitfully approach some people, convince them to "let him in" and gain access to them that way, but others essentially blocked him. He learned language as a secondary tool to circumvent that barrier by other means of communication.

⪼ Tolkien then moves on to the issue of the Valar being deceived by Melkor. He acknowledges that it may seem strange to a reader that the Valar couldn't see Melkor's true intentions and how Manwë "appears at times almost a simpleton compared with him" (his words), especially when we as readers already know that Melkor is too absorbed in hate and pride to repent

⪼ He states that Melkor could read Manwë's mind because his was open, but Manwë couldn't do so in return because Melkor had closed himself off/projected a sort of false openness that hid his true intentions

⪼ Tolkien then poses the question: "How otherwise would you have it? Should Manwë and the Valar meet secrecy with subterfuge, treachery with falsehood, lies with more lies? If Melkor would usurp their rights, should they deny his?"

⪼ According to him, Manwë's mind was always open, both as in receiving instructions from Eru and doing his will and as in being open to others because he had nothing to hide. Melkor knew this and relied on Manwë being consistently honest and acting in accordance with Eru's rules and laws, even if he (Melkor) broke them and did whatever he wanted

⪼ Tolkien writes: "Thus the merciless will ever count in mercy, and the liars make use of truth"

⪼ He makes it clear that Manwë couldn't force Melkor to reveal his true thoughts. Melkor had to be believed until proven false and be given an opportunity to fulfill his promises

⪼ The force that was used against Melkor - Angainor, the captivity, etc - was, as Tolkien clarifies, not a way of forcing any sort of confession ("which was needless"). It could be called punishment, but should more accurately be thought of as "putting Melkor in timeout" (not his words), so that he has the opportunity to reconsider; for the sake of Arda, but also his own

⪼ Tolkien stresses that, should Melkor choose to return to the allegiance of Eru, he has to be given his freedom back and could not be enslaved or denied his part

⪼ He also stresses that Manwë's task as Elder King was to keep everyone in Arda in the allegiance of Eru and bring back those who strayed, BUT he is to leave them free within that allegiance. This is important to understand about Manwë's role and kingship in general

⪼ Because of this, it was only when Eru finally allowed it that the Valar went after Melkor (presumably referring to the War of Wrath, but the same idea applies to the Chaining)

⪼ Tolkien describes Manwë as acting reluctantly when he went to war against his brother. The reasons given include grievous hurt to Arda, as is the result of Ainur fighting, but also that, while the use of force was lawful here, it didn't accomplish much: Melkor's evil wasn't eradicated and couldn't be; only maybe if he had repented, but he didn't. The captivity made him more hateful, more adapt at lying, more vengeful

⪼ Next Tolkien argues that while great pain, suffering and loss came from Melkor's release, this chain of events also led to his ultimate defeat which otherwise maybe couldn't have happened

⪼ Finally, he discusses the question whether Melkor's continued captivity in Mandos would have led to a better outcome. Even when diminished, his power is "beyond our calculation". It could have been that, being denied his freedom and when he asked to be released, there could have been a "ruinous outburst of his despair"

⪼ But Tolkien says that this wouldn't have been the worst outcome. Rather the main concern is that Manwë breaking his promise to Melkor would have been a step down the same dark path his brother chose, even if done with good intentions. He would have acted like a mere worldly king who takes advantage of a defeated rival and ceased to be Eru's representative

⪼ Tolkien concludes by saying that this would have resulted in a world split between two proud Valarin lords striving for the throne and reminding us that one evil Vala was more than enough to handle, especially for us incarnates

Tldr:

Due to the way ósanwë works, nobody had any way of knowing if Melkor was speaking the truth or not and he couldn't be forced to reveal his true thoughts

Manwë had to, according to Eru and Eru's laws, give Melkor the benefit of the doubt

Not doing so would have been an evil act and disqualified him from being Eru's appointed vice-gerent

Melkor's lies and ultimate refusal to repent caused untold sorrow, but also his own final downfall which otherwise may not have happened

Obligatory disclaimer: As should be evident in the text, this is Tolkien's opinion, Tolkien's answer to this question and Tolkien's intentions for his own universe. The above summarized explanation he gave is not an "opinion" or "headcanon" of mine. You are entitled to your own opinion on this, I merely felt like it's only fair - and arguably necessary or at least helpful in terms of understanding - to hear out what the author himself has to say.

Like I said in the beginning, the intention behind this post was to compile his take for your convenience. The intention is very much not to attack anyone or their takes. In return, I ask you to please don't attack anyone either, please don't bash characters and please keep the conversation nuanced. Thank you!

[outofangband]

@melestasflight my thoughts for you! These are random I’m sorry

I think a lot about the similarities between Tulkas and Húrin; both are golden haired warriors whose names mean steadfast, whose second name (Astaldo and Thalion) mean courage or strength, and who openly mock Morgoth. Both also have family members likened to or connected to deer though this I believe to be coincidental

Húrin tells Morgoth, nothing you are but an escaped thrall of the Valar and their chain still awaits you. In early Histories of middle Earth, Tulkas aided Aulë in the creation of the chain Angainor which bound Melkor. In most versions, it is Tulkas who binds him.

Húrin telling Melkor these words is an echoing of his worst fear from what Eru told him; that there is no action he can take that will not be in his plan. I think this is part of the nature of the curse. Morgoth is inflicting upon Húrin’s family this fatalism, this inescapable doom that he himself feels trapped by. 

I believe at the time of Húrin’s death Morgoth felt victorious.

I also believe that following the War of Wrath, when Melkor was once again bound by Angainor, he looked up to see the image of Tulkas appear fleetingly as Húrin Thalion.

[mura171]

So gold was created by the collision of two neutron stars and then fell to earth 3.8 billion years ago in the form of meteors .

And in tolkiens early drafts the reason gold is so corruptive is because melkor created gold but what if melkor didn't intend to create gold but instead when varda rejected his advances he spitefully destroyed two of her greatest stars and gold was created .

When melkor noticed this new metal forming, he worried that this byproduct would later on aid his siblings against him For he that attempteth this shall prove but mine instrument in the devising of things more wonderful, which he himself hath not imagined, he caught a glimpse of angainor in the music and thought gold would be an essential component in forging it .

Thus he put a lot of his spiritual essence into gold while it was forming to corrupt it and thought for while that he managed to divert his fate and was proud of himself .

[thesilmarilliondrawn]

The Binding of Melkor. Melkor flees the destruction of his fortress Utomno, down into the deepest shaft, but Tulkas chases him down, wrestles him to the ground and binds him with Angainor, the chains built by Aulë.

[furious-haste-of-malice]

❝ "Does my brother – your husband – know that you still desire me?" 

"Unlike you, he is pure and good and so very agreeable. Unlike you, he knows when to obey." ❞

⊱ Prompt: BDSM, painal ⊱ Pairing: Varda x Melkor ⊱ Synopsis: After Melkor has been captured, Varda decides to try her hand at making him submit to his rightful queen - and doing it her own way. ⊱ Featuring: Eldritch Ainur, tentacles made of holy light, sadistic domme Varda, double/triple penetration (spicy bingo) ⊱ Warnings: Non-con, non-consensual BDSM, infidelity*, Varda's holy light hurts Melkor, the painal prompt in itself *I personally hc that Ainur couples tend to be quite liberal with physical love (as their bodies are just raiment to them), however Varda is doing this behind Manwë's back and he might not be ok with his wife assaulting his brother, so... make of it what you will, warning just to be safe.

𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆: Another one for @tolkienpinupcalendar's Dead Dove December that I'm still writing in February because yes. Enjoy~

It had pleased her to see him in chains. 

And it pleased her even more to have him kneel in front of her. 

Varda had ordered Melkor to be brought to her observatory within the highest tower of Ilmarin. Whether it was to settle an ancient dispute or it was merely pleasure she sought she herself couldn't tell, but what she knew for certain was that she finally had the arrogant Vala all to herself, away from the gaze of her sweet, all too kind husband. 

Though, of course, said Vala wouldn't make it easy to teach him a lesson in humility. 

Melkor looked up at her, a dark, triumphant grin twisting his fair features, and Varda swore to herself that she would wipe it off his face.

"So you wanted me all along, hm?" 

"The only thing I could ever want of you is your complete and utter surrender and submission to my rule," she said coldly and gripped his jaw. 

The searing heat of her hallowed hand elicited a sharp hiss of pain from the Dark Vala, and it was Varda's turn to smile. 

Even so, Melkor remained defiant. "Does my brother – your husband – know that you still desire me?" 

"Unlike you, he is pure and good and so very agreeable. Unlike you, he knows when to obey." 

"True." His attempt at regaining his haughty smile was more akin to a beast baring its teeth, but Varda was undaunted; rather, she felt a surge of excitement. 

One brother, already tame within her capable hands, and the other to be tamed by her, so that he might never challenge her or her subjects again. 

Melkor took advantage of her pensive silence. "But you are wrong if you believe I will be your little pet like he is – as amusing as it would be to see you admitting how much you have wanted me this whole time. Really, Varda, the true Elder King and Eru's impostor? How greedy of you." 

Without warning, Varda slapped him. 

"You shall not insult me or my husband in my presence. And whether you will learn to submit or not, we shall see." 

She could sense that it was slowly dawning on him how serious she was, and she wondered how Melkor would look if he was terrified, how he would sound if his mighty voice was reduced to a pleading whimper – something she quite enjoyed doing to Manwë. 

Fascinated, Varda looked at the handprint she had left on the Dark Vala's cheek, then her own hand, still faintly glowing with furious starlight, and finally at his bound form. He was trapped in his flesh in more ways than one thanks to Angainor, and the sensation of pain seemed more acute and intimate than what she had observed with other Ainur. 

Light, too, had served Melkor once, yet now its holy purity hurt him – retribution for his crimes – and it obeyed her command rather than his; and it was then that she knew exactly how she would teach him a lesson. 

With an elegant flick of her wrist, Varda sent forth a wave of starfire that incinerated the tattered remains of his clothes, leaving him bare under her merciless gaze. 

Fallen or not, he was still a sight to behold. Where Manwë's form spoke of lithe grace, Melkor's contained raw strength; where Manwë's hands were made for shaping clouds, holding quills to write his poetry and gentle touch, Melkor's carved valleys, broke mountains and accomplished many other evil deeds and feats of destruction. 

Varda allowed herself to behold his naked fána a while longer, until she found her eyes once again lingering on the mark she had left, marring skin that was cool, smooth and pale like snow. 

The temptation to touch him was great, but he was unworthy of such pleasure. 

Instead she gripped the collar Tulkas had so kindly put around his neck and forced him down on all fours with his head bowed in supplication. Melkor attempted to fight back, but Angainor sapped his strength and her light threatened to blind and burn him once more, so he acquiesced, though most unwillingly; his pride, as always, remained strong. 

Not for long, Varda promised herself, then asked aloud, "Will you be good for me?" 

"You should know better than to ask," Melkor snapped. 

"Very well." As far as she was concerned, his fate was sealed. 

Light erupted from her chest, back and shoulders, swiftly coalescing into long, tendril-like limbs – reminiscent of Yavanna's vines or even the tentacles of Ulmo's sea creatures, Varda thought with idle amusement. One wrapped around Melkor's neck, others pressed down on the back of his head and his shoulder blades to keep him down, more reached for his legs, while she calmly walked out of his sight and stood behind him, eager to witness the punishment she would bestow on him for his wicked ways. 

"You wouldn't," was all Melkor managed to say, though his voice shook just enough for Varda to know he was uncertain. 

"It doesn't have to happen," she said. "Renounce your false claim to kingship, call me your queen and abjure your evil deeds. Otherwise... yes, I would, and I will."

"Never!" 

Knowing that he couldn't see the delighted smile on her face, Varda allowed herself to indulge in her darkest impulses. 

"I knew you would say that." 

Hidden within the folds of her luxurious dress was, as always, a phial with water from her beloved wells that she now gleefully poured over his exposed backside, revelling in his vulnerability. The hallowed liquid was enough to make Melkor shiver in discomfort, and Varda knew full well it wouldn't provide sufficient lubrication either, but such was also not her intention. 

She wanted to purify and cause pain. 

And when she felt hot, tight flesh desperately clenching around one of her additional appendages and heard Melkor's scream within his ëala even before the sound tore through the air, she knew she had succeeded. Varda took her time pushing deeper and deeper, both curious to find the limits of his fána and aroused by the sight and sensation of penetrating the rebellious Vala that had caused her endless frustration. There was a certain pleasure to be found in breaking resistance, she noted, one that she couldn't derive from her sweet and docile husband. 

To her own surprise, Varda felt laughter bubbling up inside her chest. 

"You have your uses after all. Perhaps I was wrong to dismiss you as a lover," she taunted. "Though..." 

Willing a smaller tendril to wrap around the base of Melkor's cock, she drank in the panicked cry that followed with haughty indifference. 

"... make no mistake, this is not for pleasure." 

Yet Varda was lying to him, and she knew it as soon as she said those words. While she wouldn't allow Melkor to enjoy any of this, she would very much take pleasure in it herself. His screams and sobs whenever her light came in contact with his unholy flesh and moved inside him were bliss to her ears, even with the discord tainting his once-beautiful voice, and the desire to touch herself became unbearable when a second appendage joined the first, painfully penetrating her now-subdued nemesis. 

Varda slipped one hand under her dress to take care of herself – even serving her pleasure would be too high of an honour for Melkor – and waited. If necessary she would burn every inch of his skin and tear his hole open with more and more limbs of all shapes and sizes, but in the end she would have him begging for mercy.

No sooner than that would she grant it. 

She commanded a third appendage to enter her helpless prisoner, stretching the delicate ring of muscle to its limit, and soon felt something wet staining her luminous limbs, droplets of black blood. The sharp scent of iron assaulted her senses, and Varda knew not whether to be disgusted or excited. 

And for all his strength, Melkor was both captive and slave to his own flesh, and his will was swiftly eroded by blinding hot pain, causing him to break. 

"Stop it, please – please! I..." 

"Yes?" Varda stilled inside him, yet her fána was shuddering with pleasure. Her hand moved faster now, almost erratically. 

She was close and so was he in a way, though they arrived at wholly different limits. 

"Please... my queen..." 

Melkor was in a pitiful state, Varda noticed even as lust clouded her mind. Crying, sobbing, nearly collapsing on the floor from the pain he was in; a prideful being reduced to beautiful submission. It was this thought, this raw feeling of triumph and dominance that pushed her over the edge, and she took her time basking in the warm glow of her orgasm before pulling out and letting go of his neck. 

Black marks remained where her tendrils of light had restrained Melkor's fána and his hole was loose and raw as if he had been taken by the entire Valarin council. The mental image elicited a small chuckle from Varda; if he misbehaved again, she might consider doing exactly that and sharing him with the others. 

Nienna, of course, would tell her to pity him and Manwë would ask for mercy on behalf of his brother, but she found that she quite enjoyed the view and felt no regret. 

"You wanted me once and now you are whimpering and crying at my feet. Isn't this what you wanted? Does the light no longer please you, dear?”

Thanks for reading! ♡

[niennawept]

Could you share a quote and/or tell us about pax valarum 👀?

Oh, I'd be happy to; thank you for asking!

pax valarum is a fic set during the Chaining of Melkor and told from his perspective. I'll be writing a series of 100 short chapters (preferably drabbles) to explore his psyche and his relationships with the Valar that do interact with him during this time (mainly Námo, but to a lesser extent Nienna and Manwë). I think it's going to end up being a meditation on what makes the Valar think it's alright to let him out and the extent to which what he showed them was true or false.

This is the first drabble:

The chains bound him, but did not bite. Aulë’s work wouldn’t. Not as Mairon’s did. No, the great Angainor locked his power down deep, where he could scarce even feel it. When Tulkas kicked him, he fell to kneeling; his knees flared with vulgar, common pain. Weak as an elf. “Melkor.” Manwë’s voice rolled down from the throne like thunder over the mountains. “You have been—industrious.” It took all of his strength to muster a carefree smile. “Thank you for noticing, little brother.” But Manwë’s gaze lay behind him; a slim hand landed on his shoulder. “Well met, Námo.”

[victorie552]

"Morgoth was utterly defeated, fled into the deepest of his mines, and sued for peace and pardon, but the Valar crippled him and cast him upon his face. He was bound with the chain Angainor, his Iron Crown was beaten into a collar for his neck, and he was taken from the Earth and thrust through the Door of Night into the Timeless Void, outside Time and Space and outside Eä altogether."

Guys, I think we know Finarfin's door-related insult.

Feanor: shut his door in Morgoth’s face

Fingolfin: banged on Morgoth’s door to come out and fight

Finarfin: did some other door related insult to Morgoth that was never recorded? Ding dong ditch? Fake pizza order?

[cilil]

Mairon x Ar-Pharazôn - I know you ship it, but tell me why :)

*rubs hands* Ah it's time for the Mairazôn manifesto. I'll put some of this under a cut because I will have to discuss some dark stuff later on, as you can already guess, but for everyone else - tw captor/captive, non-con and just the fact that these two are awful men.

So first of all the entire canon scenario around these two is super interesting. We have a political intrigue plot and really get to see the "Deceiver" part. Mairon is so good at making men thirst after him that he works his way from prisoner to advisor and high priest, getting an arc that parallels Melkor's Valinor arc while also being even more "egregious" in terms of deception. We have this huge corruption arc, we have fucked up religious undertones, we have essentially a Garden of Eden narrative and most importantly we have juicy power dynamics.

The power dynamics are particularly interesting to me because on one hand Ar-Pharazôn is "the man in charge", but on the other hand Mairon is vastly more powerful than any individual in the kingdom. If he wanted he could break/melt those chains, kill the king and everyone else he hates and escape before he gets overwhelmed by numbers (plus not everyone may have a weapon that can hurt a Maia as powerful as he is, especially since he has the One Ring).

He could have also avoided capture in the first place, I doubt mortals are any good at chasing Ainur once they cast off their fána and just leave or have anything like Angainor available. But no, Mairon chose to let Ar-Pharazôn capture him and is playing the long game (well, long for mortals anyway). He wants to ruin that man and wants to do it thoroughly.

Ar-Pharazôn is canonically a rapist, at least in the version of the story where he took Míriel to wife by force (there's also one where she loved him... girl, your standards, please), and my headcanon is that he wanted Mairon as well and ended up having sex with him that he allowed, but didn't want. A very muddled consent situation to say the least.

Aside from juicy dark fic and kinky porn (and everyone is welcome to read it as just that and not more), I like taking Mairazôn (as well as Tulkas/Melkor) to really challenge society's "perfect victim" nonsense. Mairon is as "imperfect" of a victim as it gets: He's a man/male-presenting, he's a literal angel, he's evil, he's more powerful than Ar-Pharazôn one on one and known to set people on fire, he's seen it coming and maybe even "provoked" it in some way or at least acquiesced, so that people might say: "He was asking for it". They may also enjoy seeing him get raped as a sort of a justice/punishment thing.

By showing how he experiences these unwanted encounters with Ar-Pharazôn I want the reader to think about what they consider to be just and how their perception of sexual violence differs in regards to different victims. Do you think it becomes "okay" at a certain point if the victim has "allowed" themselves to get into a situation or if they're a bad person themselves (also while Mairon is to my knowledge not canonically a rapist, there is some fanon around and in my opinion it's not exactly far-fetched or OOC)? How do you perceive the power imbalance in this and can you see it going both ways? Are you willing to face the tough and morally challenging situations of victims becoming perpetrators and perpetrators becoming victims? Where does your compassion lie? How do you feel about revenge?

And this entire mess becomes even messier with my headcanon that Mairon thought he as an Ainu, a shapeshifting spirit being who wears physical forms like clothes, would be above being affected by such an act committed against him. Hell, depending on how the individual reader sees past Angbang it may have happened to him before. What does this do to his psyche? Just how far is this man willing to go for his perfect revenge? And where does it leave him in the end?

So yeah. Tldr: For me, Mairazôn is dark, messy and asks the tough questions. It's an excellent ship to explore all of these themes.

[outofangband]

Since you mentioned it, I’ve noticed that The Children of Húrin has a LOT of foreshadowing for its later twists and developments.

All of Tolkien’s works have foreshadowing of these things of course.

But I’ve noticed a LOT more of it in The Children of Húrin.

Yes there is lots of foreshadowing!

Some of my favorite examples are:

-Morwen’s dark feelings at the mention of Brethil which will of course be the place where she and her children die and where Húrin is again imprisoned. Especially pertinent because Morwen really isn’t the sort to bring up this kind of feeling especially when it’s so vague. I often wonder if there’s pre shadowing as well? Especially because Morwen was in Brethil as a young child after escaping the invasion in Ladros.

-Húrin telling Morgoth “nothing you are but an escaped thrall of the Valar and their chain still awaits you” obviously, this doesn’t come to pass in this book but it will at the end and I so dearly like to think that when Morgoth is chained once more by Angainor, he remembers those words

Perhaps the image of Tulkas flickers and for just a moment he sees in his place another golden haired warrior who dared to laugh at him (there are actually so many fascinating connections between Tulkas and Húrin from the fact that both of their names mean steadfast to the fact that both of them have loved ones who have a connection to deer)

In addition to foreshadowing, there’s also repeating motifs that I really enjoy; sight and blindness and obscuring, hunters and hunted, fire and waters, names (from the names of the flowers Nellas teaches Túrin to the names of Niënor Nínel and more), violation and control, etc

And of course there is so much foreshadowing you can do in writing fanfiction for this book. Currently, I am working on one that has so much foreshadowing about Aerin burning the house down and I feel so gleeful at all the little hints seemingly innocuous out of context knowing where it will all end 

Somewhat related, I also LOVE foreshadowing later stuff with Melkor interacting with Maedhros, Finwë or Fëanor in Valinor. There’s so much to work with there. So much suspense and dread and innocuous statements that the reader knows are not at all innocent

[demos-oneiroi]

Melkifer

[trash-ainu]

I wrote a thing.

Pairing: Melkor/Mairon

Warnings & Keywords: nightmares, trauma, mentions of violence | hurt/comfrot

Note: This small piece can very much be read as standalone, but technically, it could also be considered a bonus scene for a little thing I wrote here ;3

Melkor should have realised this was some kind of a wretched dream much sooner.

…oh, but that’s just it, isn’t it?

This is the way of dreams – to slip into unconscious, unsuspecting minds. To slither their way in there, neither asking for permission, nor giving a warning. They’re small, insidious things, dreams, that pester all creations in existence, whether they be divine or mortal. 

They seem a powerful thing when thought of this way – something no living thing is spared from, no matter the strength or authority. It is precisely at times like these, when Melkor wonders why, oh why his self-glorifying brethren did not count Irmo amongst their brave and resplendent Aratar…

Because none are safe from dreams. None are safe from nightmares. Not even their respective creators.

Was Melkor aware this might come back to bite him, millenia after he happily twisted Irmo’s contribution to the Music into something that better suited his whim?

Ha! 

No.

He would sneer at the bitter irony, if he could…

If his slumbering mind didn’t take it upon itself to thrust him back into the Halls of Mandos. If the Halls of Mandos weren’t simultaneously themselves and the crumbling ruins of Utumno, walls shaking, stone rending, rocks falling, his Might collapsing all around, all around, right in front of his eyes. If there was no Chain back around his wrists and ankles. Void, just they wait until it’s taken off of him…! 

He strains against the shackles.

Once they’re off, oh, once they’re off… The things he will do…! Scenes of bloody carnage flash before his eyes, of a kind previously unseen, even in the darkest corners of his mind. But three hundred Valian years spent bound and unmoving do things to one’s imagination.

His wrists begin to hurt where they chafe against Angainor, and then, the feeling is not only there, but everywhere, starting with his hands, then arms, then neck, more and more and more and more — until the pain explodes.

And he knows it to be the burn of the Silmarils.

Which is stupid. He knows they didn’t exist, then. Not yet.

But the sheet of white the pain puts over his vision clouds every sliver of reason, leaving only scorching agony and rage, rage, rage. Rage of his bitter defeat. Of his dominion trampled under the feet of his loathsome brethren. Of this capture, of his imprisonment, of his humiliation.

Void, just let those cowards take those bindings away!

So he can show them this fury, so he can unleash it against them…! 

He will poison their paradise, silence their Harmony and choke them! Choke everything they ever created! Choke their Light out of Eä completely!

He will put this entire existence in a chokehold, wrap his hands around the world and squeeze, until there is nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing—!

“Melkor…?”

Melkor shoots up, charred hand flying, suddenly unbound, towards the voice—

And stops. 

Because the darkness around him is not that of falling Utumno, but of a bedchamber. The stillness is not the painful silence of Mandos, but the simple quiet of the night. He is sitting not on some cracked, cold stone, but on top of a soft bed. The voice does not belong to any of the other Valar, his enemies, captors — it belongs to Mairon.

Mairon, who sits beside him – completely unmoved by Melkor’s hand that just wrapped itself around his throat with a preternatural speed.

“Just me, my Lord…” he says quietly. His hands are both raised placatingly, palms facing the Vala. But even though the gesture is one of trepidation, his expression consists of a raised eyebrow and a look in his eyes that is ever so slightly deadpan, as if to say ‘Really?’

He appears wholly unaffected by any possible danger of almost having been choked.

Void...

Void, what a fool.

Does he not know Melkor could easily slay him where he stands, if  he so chose…?! Does he not know what his Lord is capable of?! Does he not…

Does… does he not…

Tension fades from Melkor’s muscles, and he lets his hand drop. 

He uses it to rub his face instead.

Ugh… Anything but another night of this would be nice…

He can feel the arm of Mairon sneaking around him so the Maia can grab one of his shoulders, then put his chin on the other one.

The weight of him is warm and pleasant against the Vala’s back.

“What did you dream about?”

Melkor growls.

“What are you, a Maia of Irmo?” he snaps in a manner that is simultaneously much too harsh and not harsh enough. 

“Last I checked, I was still sworn to you,” Mairon replies, still adamantly unphased, tone just short of sardonic. “Lest you need yet another reminder of my undying devotion…?”

And right then, Melkor feels an open mouth pressing to the side of his neck, teeth grazing flesh lightly, teasingly, like a dare for him to do something about it before it becomes a proper bite.

The kiss is just right, placed just the way Melkor likes it… But right now, when the metallic rattling of Angainor resounds painfully inside of his head and the blackened skin of his hands feels stiff, wrong, and sore – he cannot bring himself to enjoy the sensation in a way it deserves to be enjoyed…

It only adds to his rapidly worsening mood.

Mairon seems to notice as much, pausing to hum thoughtfully into his shoulder.

“What do you want?” he asks eventually, half with genuine concern and half like he’s negotiating with another advisor during a council.

What does he want?

To hit something. To break something. To kill something.

To watch something run away from him in terror, to feel the bones of anything in his grip fight against his strength until they can’t, until they give in to his Might and break.

“Perhaps you should return to your chambers, lieutenant,” he says, eyes going distant as he’s planning the next few moments.

Mairon leaves. Melkor takes Grond (where on Arda did he put it?) and waits long enough for the Maia to walk far away enough as to not hear him use it. And then, hmm… What does he have that he can do without? Candelabras are easily replaceable. And he never really liked that one bookshelf, anyway—

“Those are my chambers, my Lord.”

…

Void take it all.

He’s forgotten about that; that this wasn’t the usual setting…

Melkor grumbles something that even he can’t make out under his breath. Well, that only leaves him with one option…  

He starts pushing himself off of the bed. He wants to stay, but he needs to… to crush something, else he will go mad. And what he definitely doesn’t want is Mairon there, being present for his fit of destructive fury. 

Somewhere behind him, he can hear a scoff and a sound that tells him the Maia just threw his hands up, then let them fall idly, onto the covers.

“Don't leave me alone in my own bed,” he says, indignation in his voice hiding a trace of hurt.

Melkor wants to tell him he has to be gone by morning, lest the servants will know. 

He can't bring himself to say that.

Risking a glance at Mairon, he sees his lieutenant doesn’t really have much strength to maintain this annoyed facade he led with. He sighs, shaking his head, and the remnants of it melt away. 

“Not after I spent the three hundred past years lamenting how cold it has grown,” he continues in a softer tone now. “Not tonight.”

A hand places itself over the Vala’s own, charred one, keeping him there. Something in Melkor wants to swat it away. But he cannot bring himself to do that, either.

Not when the touch lessens the pain of the burn.

“Please,” the Maia whispers, and it comes out faint. Uncharacteristically small. Unlike him. Soft. Weak. Vulnerable.

Melkor wants to reprimand him. Where does the Maia think he is? This is no Blessed Realm with its idyllic shores and gardens! This is a dominion borne of Darkness and Discord, where such displays are shunned and punished. They mean weakness and are not to be tolerated. Mairon should know better than that as his lieutenant, for Void's sake! Melkor should tell him of his disapproval. He should sneer at it all.

But he cannot.

“Melkor…” Mairon says, and the reverent tone brings to mind a prayer.

And suddenly, Melkor, in sheer, abject horror, realises that if his jaw grinds any harder, if his muscles tense even more, then he will doubtless start to shake.

He feels a hand placing itself against his cheek.

Mairon's. It's very warm.

Melkor should move away.

He cannot.

He leans into the touch.

And then, not only is he leaning into it, he is following it, where it guides him to lie back down, right on top of Mairon, head pressed into his chest.

The Vala shifts. Huffs.

It’s nice. Soothing. Comfortable.

“This is ridiculous,” he proclaims and immediately feels a spark of irritation at hearing himself speak.

He sounds not insistent, but petulant; the words are not confident, but lame and frustratingly unconvincing.

Mairon chuckles. Melkor can feel it – each small shake of his form – due to how close they’re pressed together.

“You, my Lord, are ridiculous,” he replies, sighing, like he means to convey there is no tricking him.

And then… Then they just lie there, and it dawns on the Vala that he can’t really enjoy this too.

Because he’s now motionless, tethering right on the edge of a mindless rage, as if one too-bright flash, one too-sharp sound, one uncomfortable touch, or a smell that is just slightly off could send him into a fit. He almost wishes for it – for that one sensation to come, so he can go and tear something apart, feel something break in his hands, watch something expire under his Might.

That would usually help him keep to the surface of the strong, brimming, quiet unrest that is welling up in his chest. Instead, he's right there, confined to one bed, one position, slowly feeling himself sink.

And that is bad.

Because this unrest is just the surface. The shallow part of this sea he's drifting through. Because just past the point where pressure is survivable, lies something else.

Utumno (falling apart, walls shaking from violent tremors – like spasm of a dying creature. The sound of stone getting torn apart, quakes bringing to mind the howling of a wounded beast.)

Halls of Mandos (the deafening quiet. The silence ringing painfully in his skull, worse than the loudest of ear-splitting roars known in existence.)

Angainor (metal around his ankles, over his back, binding his wrists, chafing to the point of breaking skin. Black blood, his blood, drip, drip, dripping. Three hundred years of nothing but sitting there and watching it drip then dry, then drip, then dry, then drip—)

Ungoliant (that abominable spider, the webs that confined, then bound, then choked.)

Burns from the Silmarils (the pain spreading from his hands to his arms, to his neck. To his back, creeping up and down his entire spine. To his head, clouding his vision in nothing but a flash of grey-white spots, but still, he cannot drop them, cannot drop them, cannot drop them—)

One of Mairon’s hands buries itself in Melkor’s hair, fingernails scraping lightly against his scalp. The other places itself between his shoulder blades and strokes his back.

And then, like it’s that simple, those hands rub away the burns of the Silmarils, that wretched spider, the Chain, Halls of Mandos, the rubble of Utumno. 

The sound of Mairon’s heartbeat that he can hear with one ear pressed to the Maia’s chest – it drowns out all of the thoughts those memories brought. Everything that whispered of weakness, smallness, softness, wrongness – it conveniently drowns it out.

All too easily. 

Melkor almost wants it to have been more difficult. Maybe then, he could hold onto the belief that between them, Mairon and him, things are still simple.

He sighs – and it is a sigh of resignation. Defeat.

Yet he cannot bring himself to feel the sting of it. 

Instead, he takes a breath and says—

“Mairon…”

“Hm?”

“You waited three hundred years…”

For me.

You waited three hundred years for me.

“Did you waver at all, I wonder...?”

Mairon lets his head fall to the side as he’s thinking.

“Did I waver…? Yes…” he admits eventually. “Did I break? Never.”

Melkor hums thoughtfully. He doesn’t know what, exactly, he got from that reply — only that it was something important.

“And you, my Lord...?” Mairon asks in turn. 

Did he waver? Yes.

Did he break?

Melkor wants to say never, too. He wants to say never again and again; repeat it louder and louder and louder, until he shouts it from the mountaintops, across Arda, and into the entire Eä.

Until he believes it.

Until he tricks himself into not feeling the sting of the burns on his hands. Until he forgets he’s stuck now – in this one, unchanging, unyielding form. Until he stops feeling like a piece of his Might got carved away, never to be recovered again.

“No,” he tells the Maia. “I have not wavered once.”

Even though it is far from the truth, when soft lips come to press themselves to the crown of his head, Melkor suddenly doesn’t really feel like he just told a boldfaced lie…

He closes his eyes.

He's back now. He has to remind himself about that.

Well... Perhaps all of it is endurable.

If the hands around him, the warmth before him, the lips that just brushed him quieting it somewhat are any indication...

Melkor lifts a strand of Mairon's hair, twirling it idly between his blackened fingertips.

It's a vibrant orange-red. Like the flame he always sought.

Beautiful.

The sight of it is the last thing before his eyes, before tiredness takes him and he falls into a calm sleep – dreamless and warm.

What if I wrote a thing...?👀

[ainurmoodboards]

Tulkas, Valarin Tulukhastaz

The Strong, The Valiant, Champion of the Valar

Astaldo, Poldórëa, Ender

Tulkas was the last Ainu to descend into Arda, having heard of the other Valar's struggles against Melkor from far off in the heavens. Melkor might have defeated the other Valar if Tulkas hadn't arrived, and his laughter and wrath intimidated Melkor enough that he fled, which started the Spring of Arda. He was known for his strength and agility, and had no need for weapons, armor, or a steed. Tulkas has a complex personality; he laughed constantly, even during battle, and was considered to be a good friend who rarely got angry. But he was also impatient and didn't learn from his mistakes, and rarely forgave offenses. It may be for these reasons that Tulkas, despite his great physical strength and key role in the Valar's struggle against Melkor, was not counted among the eight most powerful Valar known as the Aratar.

After the Valar raised the Two Lamps Tulkas married Nessa on the island of Almaren, the first dwelling of the Valar. While some of the Valar were already married, Tulkas and Nessa's wedding was the first marriage to take place within Arda itself. After the wedding feast Tulkas, being wearing from his role in shaping Arda, rested, and Melkor used that time to strike. The Spring of Arda was ruined, the Two Lamps and Almaren were destroyed, and the Valar retreated to Aman, where they made their new dwelling. Later, Tulkas was delighted when the Valar decided to wage war against Melkor again to regain control of Arda and protect the newly awakened elves. Following a long siege of Melkor's stronghold Utumno, Tulkas wrestled Melkor and bound him with the enchanted chain Angainor, and he was brought back to Aman. For a long time afterwards, the world was temporarily free from Melkor's corruption. Tulkas was disappointed when Manwë granted Melkor freedom after he had served his "term" and refused to trust Melkor, but he did not challenge Manwë's decision.

Tulkas' wife is Nessa, who is the best dancer and who, like Tulkas, is known for her speed. Together they are associated with celebrations, and early works by Tolkien describe the House of Tulkas as being filled with feasting and warriors engaging in atheltic games while Nessa bring goblets of wine, making it strongly reminiscent of Norse Valhalla. Nessa's brother Oromë was a hunter and was arguably the second most warlike of the Valar after Tulkas, and together they tried to hunt down Melkor after the theft of the Silmarils. In early stages Tulkas and Nessa had a son named Telimektar, a strong warrior who was placed in the sky (the constellation Orion) to watch against Melkor. Tulkas and Nessa are also notable in that neither has any specifically named Maiar associated with them; there are just vague references to champions practicing in Tulkas' house and Nessa dancing with her maidens.

While they are both known for their speed and festive personalities, Tulkas and Nessa also have a sort of yin-yang relationship. Tulkas is a warrior who loves battle and physical activities and always eagerly supported proposals of the Valar going to war, thus playing an important role in the ongoing struggle against Melkor-Morgoth. Meanwhile Nessa, who was given elven names that mean "The Bride" and "The Lovely" or "The Beloved", was a supporter of peace, most notably seen when she supported the Hiding of Valinor from the elves following the Flight of the Noldor. Their marriage is similar to relationships between a war god and a love goddess in the mythologies of multiple cultures.

Tulkas is one of the Valar who don't have any siblings, along with Ulmo, Vairë, and Estë.

Tolkien's later writings state that Tulkas will again wrestle Melkor at the end of days and will play a major role in his defeat, although who wins isn't specified. It is said that Manwë and Melkor will also battle each other during this time, but that neither will slay each other. In Tolkien's early works, Eonwë will slay Melkor due to his love for Arien, who Melkor attempted to claim as a wife. In later writings it is said that Turin delivers the final blow that kills Melkor.

[furious-haste-of-malice]

❝ "I could earn it, my lady," Tulkas said eagerly, trying his best to win her favour. "Whatever you want, I will do it for you. Your wish is my command." ❞

⊱ Prompt: Degradation, boot humping ⊱ Pairing: Nessa x Tulkas ⊱ Synopsis: In which Nessa ties up her husband and uses him as a dance floor and Tulkas is very excited about it. ⊱ Featuring: Tulkas has a thing for feet, femdom, misuse of Angainor, orgasm delay/denial ⊱ Warnings: Some humiliation/degradation (but consensual)

𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆: Another one for @tolkienpinupcalendar's Dead Dove December; we're making progress. Tbh this one is just kink and not really dead dove, but since the rest of the series is here too, I'll keep it in one place. Hope you enjoy!

Tulkas could watch his wife dance for ages. 

Nessa was the epitome of graceful elegance and blinding speed alike, twisting, turning and twirling to her heart's content, faster than even his eyes could follow. Her feet, usually naked, were dainty like a fawn's limbs and artfully arched, a miracle on their own, and yet so deceptively durable and strong, carrying her through the fields of Valinor and enduring even the most strenuous and ferocious dances. 

This hidden strength and lethal accuracy Tulkas had experienced himself many times – whenever Nessa challenged him to catch her, outran and evaded him with ease, laughed at his misfortune every time she let him come close only to slip away at the last second or asked him to dance, making him follow her lead until even the mighty Champion of the Valar collapsed in exhaustion. 

And still, he didn't mind. Tulkas was endlessly fascinated by the wild and wily creature he had been granted the honour of taking as his wife and had soon learned that he would even endure ridicule and humiliation to be in her presence – and gladly so. Perhaps, he sometimes had to admit to himself, there was a part of him that quite liked it and was more than happy to serve as her plaything and playground alike. 

The position he currently found himself in was degrading to say the least, lying flat on his back with his muscular limbs stretched out, restrained by the chain Angainor that Nessa had elegantly convinced him to give to her instead – for a more pleasurable use, as she had whispered in his ear. And pleasure Tulkas felt indeed as he could do nothing but watch her, even though his ëala and fána alike ached for her, wanted nothing more than to break free and chase her like he knew she loved and maybe, maybe be rewarded in the end if he did well. 

Nessa had long since taken to stepping on him as part of her performance. Her feet, soft and so very dainty, looked tiny compared to his large, bulky frame, dancing on him like birds would hop and patter on a sleeping moose. Neither her weight nor her movements bothered Tulkas, his fána too sturdy to be hurt or damaged easily; it was more akin to a massage, rough and at times uncomfortable, but ultimately pleasant and stimulating. 

"Do you like this?" Nessa asked, tiptoeing on his chest before raising one leg up and overhead alongside both arms, her entire form curving like a beautiful bow. 

Tulkas' mouth suddenly felt dry, and he stared up at her with unconcealed hunger. His wife, so lovely and alluring, so close, yet as always just barely out of reach. If he was a man of a weaker heart he would weep, but to push him this far she would have to be even more cruel. 

The thought was frightening and exciting at the same time. 

"Aye," was all Tulkas managed to say, swallowing hard. "I... you are..." 

"Hm?" Nessa performed a cheeky little pirouette, then hopped from one foot to the other to switch up her pose. "Yes, husband? What do you have to say? I am all ears." 

"I want you."

Tulkas had never been a particularly eloquent Ainu, nor did he know how to weave charming tales of flattery. His heart was on his sleeve and his desire written plainly across his face, flushed from excitement. 

"Of course you do." 

The arrogant certainty and mocking tone with which Nessa spoke to him would have prompted him to challenge any other in her place to a duel, but her saying it sent a heady rush of arousal directly to his groin. 

Not knowing what else to say, Tulkas added in a small, breathless voice, "Please."

Nessa took a moment to assess the state he was in, and her eyes quickly settled on the growing bulge between his legs. Her lips curled into a mischievous smile, and she returned to a normal stance before stretching out one of her sinewy, wonderfully shaped legs to place one foot directly on his crotch, letting his erection nestle into its arch. 

"Indeed you do enjoy this," Nessa mused, "but I don't think I am in the mood to just give myself to you." 

"I could earn it, my lady," Tulkas said eagerly, trying his best to win her favour. "Whatever you want, I will do it for you. Your wish is my command." 

Nessa laughed. "My wish is for you to stay as you are, for I find this sight quite entertaining."

Her words cut deep, and Tulkas gave her a wounded look. She was right of course, he was enjoying this greatly, but the thought of lying beneath her while his yearning grew and grew, only for his desire to remain unfulfilled in the end, threatened to break his heart into pieces. 

It seemed as though Nessa sensed his neediness and distress and took pity on him then, pushing down with her foot so he could feel it firmly resting against his clothed cock. Tulkas groaned, and she smiled impishly. 

"But it's rather endearing as well," she lilted. "So I feel like I should grant you a little reward. How does that sound?" 

"W-wonderful. Please, my lady..." 

"Go on. Work for it." 

Tulkas didn't need to be told twice. As soon as he had permission to do so, he began rutting against her in a maddened frenzy, as much as the chains holding him in place would allow. Oh, how he wished there was no barrier of clothing between his cock and the sole of her foot so he could feel just how warm and soft her skin was and how firm her muscles; how he wished he could run his hands up and down her legs and kiss her in reverence – but such honour would not be granted today, and he had learned to accept whatever his lady wife saw fit to give. 

The speed and vigour with which Tulkas chased his peak would have daunted many others, but not fierce and proud Nessa who kept her foot pressing down, even stepping on his most vulnerable parts with queenly grace; yet whatever pain he felt only heightened his pleasure. He would have spent just as fast as he moved, had she not decided to prolong the pleasurable torment by occasionally lifting her foot, stretching it languidly as she watched him silently plead to continue. 

The relief Tulkas felt when he was finally allowed to climax shattered his mind, and he was left babbling and muttering fragments of praise and gratitude. His garments were now thoroughly stained, a testament to his desperate depravity and terrific triumph alike – Nessa had accepted his devotion and admiration and seen it fit to reward him accordingly, and he couldn't be happier.

She continued her performance then, using his heaving, exhausted fána as her personal stage once more, and despite the humiliating state and position he was forced to remain in, Tulkas smiled and felt no shame.

Thanks for reading! ♡