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a-world-of-whimsy-5 · 1 month

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Day 3 @eonweweek

"Unprepared"

Prompt: War

Pairing: Eönwë & Angaquárë (OC)

Themes: NSFT | Angst-ish

Warnings: Very mild sensuality

Word count: 1.4k words

Summary: During the beginning of the War of Wrath, Eönwë calls on Angaquárë to speak to him on the manner in which he fights during battles.

A/n : Bio for Angaquárë, my OC, can be found here.

Minors DNI

“The Lord Commander is without, my lord,” an elven warrior said. He stood by the tent entrance, for etiquette decreed that he stay that way unless invited inside. “Shall I allow him entry?”

“A moment,” Angaquárë replied. He turned to face his companion, and said, “Tis best if you left, my lady. The Lord Commander may not take kindly to another listening to what he has to say.”

“Of course, my lord.” The Maia’s companion threw back their furs and got out of bed. She set herself to the task of getting dressed and trembled when he reached out and caressed the small of her back. “I trust you will want me to call on you later?”

“Indeed, my lady,” Angaquárë told her. “We still have much to discover about each other.”

The elleth flushed from cheek to chest, but she smiled and said, “As you will, my lord.”

Angaquárë watched her depart with a mournful look. The lady was almost as fair as those of his own kindred. Her thick sable hair smelled of lavender oil, and her lips tasted sweet. Then there was her skin—it was soft, like silk. She was eager also, willing to accommodate herself to his every whim and pleasure. It was an aspect Angaquárë intended to make the most of while she continued to agree to him bedding her.

“I will speak with the Lord Eönwë now,” Angaquárë called out, rising. He slipped into a robe he had laid out for himself at the foot of the bed and left his sleeping chamber. And this was how the Lord Commander found him when he entered the tent: garbed in a linen robe, standing by a little table, and pouring cups of fine wine for them both.

“Was your companion to your liking?” Eönwë asked with feigned indifference. In truth, he wanted to satisfy himself with the knowledge that no harm came to his general’s elven companion. Angaquárë was a Maia, after all, and he was known for his many appetites. He could have easily forgotten himself and gone too far.

“Very much so,” Angaquárë replied truthfully. He held out a cup of wine for the herald of the Elder King to take, and then he studied him keenly. “The lady was a most welcome companion, and we each found much pleasure in our coupling. But I suspect you did not come here to speak of the companions I take to my bed. Am I correct on this score?”

Eönwë nodded. The time had come to speak of the true cause of his calling on his fellow warrior.

“Yes," he said, having perceived the other Maia was indeed speaking the truth about his relations with the elf. He moved to sit on a high, lattice stool, and he gestured for Angaquárë to do the same. “I came to speak to you about the manner in which you conducted yourself during our first battle.”

“Ah,” Angaquarë said. He straddled his stool with long legs and sipped his wine. “You believe I go too far?”

“Oh, aye,” Eönwë returned. “You are too thirsty for the spilling of blood, as always. And I have come to ask you to restrain yourself, my lord. These fell servants of Morgoth may yet wish to turn away from the path they set themselves on. Others may wish to return to Valinor, and plead for pardon. We must allow them to do so.”

“These creatures will never turn away from the paths they have chosen for themselves. They will never plead for pardon,” Angaquárë said. He took another sip of wine and savored its taste. “Tis folly to even believe that they would do so.”

Eönwë sighed. The Úmanyar spoke the same during their many meetings with him, as did the emissaries of Men. The Edain who pledged themselves to Morgoth could not be saved, or the orcs and the lesser spirits, or the Maiar themselves. They were lost to all now, consumed by the darkness and malice fed to them by their lord. There would be no joyous return, no turning away from paths shrouded in shadows, and it grieved him immensely. Nevertheless, he held onto the hope that at least a few of them would return, and that his own lord would grant them pardon.

“Such may indeed be the case,” he allowed, albeit reluctantly, “for some of them. But for others, redemption may yet be possible. This is why I urge you to curb your hunger for violence the next time we go to battle. We must give quarter to those who yield.”

Angaquárë studied the Lord Commander again. “When you speak of these others, do you mean the great smith who even now serves his master as his most trusted servant and companion?”

A flash of heat rose up Eönwë’s throat. Angaquárë spoke of Mairon, the Maia who once lived beside him in the Timeless Halls, and who was once a beloved companion of his heart. Still, he composed himself. He would not give a servant of Makar the pleasure of seeing him startled, or distressed.

“I speak of many,” he began, and he drained his cup in one swallow. The wine was quite light and sweet and fragrant, more suited for a delicious meal shared with friends than a darkened tent used by a quarrelsome spirit. “And not just the one you spoke of. Restrain yourself from here on out, my lord. That is a command.”

“I hear your command,” Angaquárë said. He stood and set his cup down on the table. “And I say nay. How I deal with our enemies during battle is not your concern, my lord.”

“How you deal with our enemies is very much my concern, for your conduct reflects poorly on me, and it reflects poorly on the Host of the Valar.” Eönwë set down his cup and stood as well, his vivid cobalt eyes blazing. He seemed to grow tall and fierce and menacing, and the air within the tent crackled and sparked. He did not wish to do this, to remind another of their own place, but he felt like he must. Manwë gave to him his own sword and bid him to lead the Host of the Valar in his stead; he would not be seen as a leader if he bowed his head to one of inferior rank. “And you will heed me on this. Restrain yourself, my lord. Offer quarter to those who ask for it. Are we in agreement on this matter?”

Angaquárë was not afraid of him, having grown accustomed to his own master’s fiery temper. Nevertheless, he yielded. He was in too fine a mood after having spent a most glorious evening with a choice companion, and he desired the Lord Commander to leave. At length, he said, “Very well, my lord. I will do as you command.” He paused, hesitated. “But I, myself, believe no quarter will be asked. Who would ask for such a thing, while Morgoth still lives? If he achieves victory in this war and comes upon all those who gave themselves over to us, they would have to suffer his wrath.”

“You say they will not yield?”

“I say they will not. These fell servants will fight us to the very death if need be, for death would be preferable, no doubt, than having to contend with Morgoth's fury. This war will be a long and bloody one. You best be prepared for it.”

Eönwë shivered. “Let us hope that this bleak outcome you speak of does not come to fruition. My thanks, my lord, for the wine. I will leave you now to your duties and your amusements.”

The other Maia merely grunted and turned away. Eönwë turned sharply on his heel and departed. The night was quite cool, and the stars shone brightly in a blackened sky. And the Lord Commander did not see their beauty; his thoughts lingered on Angaquárë’s words instead.

The servants of Morgoth were numerous. They infested forests and caves, and they dwelled in ruined cities and great holdfasts. Some of them were loyal to their master’s cause, and many of them lived in fear of him. And they, as Angaquárë said, would fight the Host of the Valar to the death, for death would indeed be preferable to failing and suffering their master’s wrath. The battles to come would be violent and filled with much bloodshed and grief, and he, Eönwë, perceived in his heart that he was wholly unprepared for it.

tags: @cilil @asianbutnotjapanese

#eonweweek #eönwë #angaquárë #eönwë x angaquárë #nsft #tolkien oc #the silm #the silmarillion #the ainur #the maiar

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a-world-of-whimsy-5 · 4 months

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Chapter 1: Strange Request

Characters: Olwë, Eärerossë (OC), Netyamo (OC), Eärwen, Angaquárë (OC)

Themes: Epistolary | Soft

Warnings: None

Wordcount: 3.5k words

Summary: The herald of Makar calls on the King of Alqualondë with a message from his master.

This is also available on AO3

A/n 1: OC name meaning

Netyamo, Chief Steward of King Olwë- Netya (Pretty, dainty) | mo (agental suffix).

Ilmon, a courtier of King Olwë’s court – Ilma (starlight)| On (Masculine suffix)

Angaquárë, a messenger and herald of Makar: Anga (Iron) | Quárë (fist)

A/n 2: Original image from Pixabay

Letter from Makar Ramando to Olwë Ciríaran, King of the Teleri

14th day of Y.T. 1270.—

Your grace,—

I would be most honored if your daughter, the princess Eärwen, would agree to serve my own sister, the Lady Meássë, as her new handmaiden. An attendant will be appointed to see to her needs, and she will receive a generous allowance to ensure the maintenance of her dignity as a princess. Our halls, while dark and grim, will not lack for comfort and amusements. This is our wish, and Lord Manwë’s command. Pray send your answer on the swiftest of wings.

Makar Ramando

High Lord of Iron Hall

Olwë read the letter once, and then twice, before turning to face Makar’s messenger, a Maia with hair as dark as the sunless sea and deep bronze skin that brought out the otherworldly colour of his eyes. They were blazing gold with swirls of crimson and black, colours of the molten earth the King only heard of in tales of a time long before the awakening of the elves. The messenger was garbed in the manner of those who served his lord, all furs and supple leather with sheathed blades and a throwing axe at his belt. Well-oiled, richly engraved iron gauntlets shielded his meaty hands. They clenched when the king took his time to frame a reply.

Such a strange request, the king thought. His brow furrowed in confusion while he considered how he should approach such an important matter. Strange and most unexpected from those such as the twins.

“Your master and his lady sister are well known for their lack of love toward the elves.” Olwë set the missive down on his table and steepled his fingers beneath his chin. “Why would the Elder King command such a thing, when another Maia would serve them just as well, if not better?”

“The master does not explain such things to me.” The herald spoke, his tone curt. He stared at the king, unblinking. It unnerved him. “Nor does the lady. Will the princess consent to serving in their halls, or no?”

Such impertinent words would have been answered with a swift refusal had they parted the lips of an elf. Angaquárë, the messenger and herald of Lord Makar, was no mere elf, and Olwë could find no cause to refuse his master’s offer. He certainly could not find just cause to refuse the Elder King’s command. Still, he was plagued with doubt. The Lord of Iron Hall was not talked of with fondness by anyone who dealt with him, and neither was his fierce sister. The grim halls they ruled over were not wholly suited for one with more delicate tastes, and his daughter, despite her delight in hunting and riding with her sometimes unruly brothers, was not prepared for life in such a place.

Perhaps it would be good for her, he thought, to serve those like them. It may prove to be useful in the future. But I will need to make my own terms clear.

“I will agree,” he began, “but only if I receive assurances that my daughter will be treated well. Princess Eärwen has never had a hand raised to her, nor has she heard a harsh word said to her in anger. I desire to keep it that way.”

The Maia’s lips curled in distaste. “Iron Hall is no Ilmarin,” he returned. “We are free to speak however we wish, to whomever we wish. But I will pass on your concerns to Lord Makar; you may have my assurance on this.”

He gives assurance to pass on my concerns, Olwë thought, but none to honour them.

He regarded the letter before him. His daughter would have to be told, of course, as would her lady mother. Many plans would have to be made. A royal escort would have to be arranged, and gifts besides. There would have to be a feast as well, before Eärwen departed for a strange and new home.

"I must speak with my daughter," he said, rising. Telperion reached his greatest bloom just then. Brilliant silver light poured in through wide, arched windows open to the west. Singing flowed from windows open to the east. The Oarni had come right into the Haven; it was they who were singing. Their visit was a rare thing in itself, for they found the noise of the harbor and the city proper to be too loud, and its lamps too bright. Mariners aboard the swanships joined them in their song. Olwë yearned to listen to them for a little while before he approached the others on the matter of Eärwen serving Meássë. "And the queen. Many preparations will have to be made. I trust this delay will not hinder you in any way."

He is king, thought Angaquárë. And yet he seeks the counsel of others instead of simply commanding his daughter to obey.

His lord had once told him of this. Elves deferred too much to their kin, seeking their counsel on many, if not all, matters. It was a vexing thing, his lord had gone on to add, but there was naught he could do. Angaquárë set his jaw and fought back the urge to sigh. He decided that it would be best to allow Olwë to defer to his queen. Then he could accomplish the task he was commanded to do.

"Very well," he acquiesced with a tilt of the head. Then he turned his thoughts to other matters, such as a warm bath, a hot meal, and a place to lay his head. "I trust I will be allowed to find a chamber for myself while I am here?"

"That will not be necessary, my lord." Olwë lifted a little silver bell that lay next to his great seal of office. His steward opened the door not long after he rang it. "My Chief Steward, Lord Netyamo, will see to your needs."

Netyamo bowed to Angaquárë and then turned to bow to his king. "You called for me, your grace."

"Take Lord Angaquárë to our finest chambers," the king commanded, though not unkindly, "and have all that he needs prepared for him without haste."

"At once, your grace." The steward bowed again and invited the Maia to come with him. “If you would care to follow me, my lord?” Olwë waited until they had departed before going in search of his queen. The singing, he decided, would have to wait.

He reflected on Lord Makar's offer while he walked beneath vaulted ceilings full of creamy white pearls and through corridors lit by blue lamps crusted with vibrant crystals. An elven lady, irrespective of the station they were born to, was never asked to be a handmaiden to any of the Valier. Eärwen would truly be the first elf to serve any of the Exalted Ones in such close proximity, but the knowledge that she would be tending to the needs of one such as Meássë made him anxious in ways he could not describe.

Of all the Exalted Ones, he thought, why them? Why did Lord Manwë command my daughter to serve them?

The Elder King would have had his reasons, as unfathomable as they would have been to Olwë. And Olwë knew he had little choice but to obey.

I will still seek out Eärerossë’s counsel on the matter, he told himself. She is Eärwen’s mother, after all. She must have a voice in this great matter.

Eärerossë was in the gardens, her handmaiden told him. Olwë found her seated on a white marble bench with palm trees, juniper, torch lilies, and golden yarrow surrounding her. The queen of Alqualondë listened to her mother's kin singing while looking over the gilded terrace and into the harbor. A gentle gust of wind lifted stray wisps of her blossom-white hair and the silk of her vivid blue robes. Starlight caught the delicate silver and gold scales running along her exposed shoulder, making them sparkle. He halted for a moment to admire her.

Of all the lords she could have taken for a husband, he pondered in wonder, she chose me, an elf who is far beneath the likes of one such as her.

"Would you care for a ride to the Havens, my lady?" He called softly. “Your mother would like to see you, I think.”

“My mother expects to see me the next time Telperion reaches his greatest bloom.” The queen turned to face him and smiled with genuine pleasure. "Until then, I must wait. Come," she added, patting the space beside her, "and talk to me about your visitor."

Olwë girded himself even as he made himself comfortable beside his wife. "Lord Angaquárë came bearing a letter from his own lord. It appears—" he paused, hesitated. "It appears Lord Makar intends to take Eärwen, our Eärwen, as a handmaiden for his sister. It is his wish, and Lord Manwë’s command. What is your view on this?”

"I like it not," his queen said. She made a face. "Lord Makar and Lady Meássë are the last beings any of our children should serve in shape or form. They are violent and they care for only themselves. If that messenger had not approached you in full view of our courtiers, and if he had not come bearing the command of the Elder King himself, I would have said nay."

“So you will agree to this?”

“I will, but only so long as we can call on Eärwen whenever we can.”

"They may not agree to it, my love."

“This is what I am willing to agree to. Either they allow us to call on our child whenever time permits, or our child stays here. That is all I will say on this matter."

Olwë smiled when he saw her jut her jaw in determination. Eärerossë would not yield once she had set her heart on a certain matter. Their daughter would be allowed to have visitors while she dwelled in Iron Hall, or she would not go at all.

The Oarni ceased their singing. The Mariners ended their song as well. They then heard nothing but the sounds of the wind sweeping through the trees, the waves washing over the shore, and the cries of seagulls as they hovered over the water, searching for their next meal. It made them both feel at peace. They did not speak, not for a long while. Instead, they sat together in companionable silence and admired all that lay before them: the lush trees and flowers, the haven and its twinkling lamps, and the silver light that flowed through the sky like winding streams, illuminating the world beneath them. Then Olwë remembered the letter and grew perplexed.

“Why would Lord Manwë even command such a thing?” He thought that perhaps his queen might have a greater understanding of such a decision. “There are many Maiar seeking a Vala to serve, so why ask for our daughter?”

Eärerossë was as baffled as he. “I wish I had an answer to give you, my love, but I do not. The Elder King has made his decision, and we must abide by it. But I trust you understand that we will have to go to him should any harm befall Eärwen.”

"I understand," Olwë said. He stood and pulled his queen up with him. The time had come to speak to their daughter. "I will give our answer to Lord Angaquárë when Laurelin reaches her greatest bloom. For now, let us speak with our child. It would be best if she heard of her change in station from both of us.”

The princess was as amazed as her mother and father when she was told of Lord Makar’s letter and the contents it held. She had a great many questions about Iron Hall, and about the Ainur who lived there. She was frightened, for she had only traveled as far as Tirion and Valimar and Ilmarin, and never to the far north. And she was curious also, for those who dwelled within Iron Hall were only ever seen during contests of strength and skill or at great feasts, and that too if the Elder King commanded it.

“They say the twins hunt in the forests of the Great Lands more often than not, and only Lord Tulkas cares to call on them.” Eärwen did her best to remember her childhood lessons. “They also say the Lord and Lady of Iron Hall attuned their song to the discord created by Lord Melkor and that they spoke against us elves living in Valinor, saying that Valinor is for the Valar only. Why did Lord Manwë command me to serve them, father? Why did they agree to it?”

“Tis the same question your mother and I have been asking ourselves,” Olwë confessed. “And I fear neither of us has an answer to give you. Will you agree to this, daughter mine?”

Eärwen left her place on the edge of her featherbed, crossed over to a wide window open to the gardens and the sea beyond it, and leaned against the windowsill. The fragrance of new blooms clung to the air, as did the sharp bite of salt. She sighed, for she would not find fragrant flowers, salty air, or the sea itself around Iron Hall. Nothing but snowcapped stony outcrops, wind-beaten oak, and towering sentinels as old as Valinor itself adorned the lands around the great fortress, and the flowers that sprang to life there were the hardy kind that were not known for their scent.

A daunting prospect to be sure, she told herself, but I will agree. As much as it would pain me to live apart from my family and the city of my birth, I will agree. I may never receive such a high honour again.

“I will agree, father mine,” said Eärwen, and she turned to face her parents. “I will consent to serving Lady Meássë as her handmaiden.You may write to Lord Makar and say that I said yes.”

“Very well, my daughter.” Olwë rose. Eärerossë remained seated on the edge of her daughter’s bed. There were other matters that had to be spoken of, matters that made the king flush from cheek to chest. “And now I will leave you in your mother’s fair but capable hands. There are many things she wishes to speak of.”

Eärwen smiled. Her blue eyes twinkled in amusement. “I know of the matters that you speak of, father mine. And I will gladly listen to my mother’s counsel on such topics.”

“Just so.” The king made haste to bow and take his leave of them. The bedding rituals his children indulged in was not a topic he wished to talk about.

I will speak with my steward, he thought as he walked down the lamplit passages leading to his private receiving chamber, and see what has become of our guest.

“Angaquárë ate all that was placed before him, your grace, and he drank a great deal,” his steward said after he had been summoned. “After that, he called for a bath and then retired to his bed, but only after he had invited a willing courtier, Lord Ilmon, who had caught his eye when he first approached you, to join him.”

Olwë felt a flash of sudden anger. We are worthy enough to share their beds, he seethed silently while Netyamo opened the doors to his chamber for him, but not worthy enough to share the land they call home.

And there was little that he could do. As long as Angaquárë’s bedmate came to him very willingly and so long as they were treated well, he had to guard his tongue and say nothing. He took his seat by the table and rang for fresh parchment, quills, sealing wax, and ink. Already, the lights of Two Trees had begun to mingle, with Telperion’s silver and Laurelin’s gold twinning around each other like thick ribbons, creating an otherworldly atmosphere within his chamber and the world outside his windows. A nearby bell chimed six times. Olwë picked up a quill and sharpened it with a little blade. He dipped it in a bottle of coal-black ink and chose a square of hot-pressed parchment from the little pile Netyamo had set before him. Angaquárë would come looking for him once he was fully rested, and he would come expecting a favourable answer.

His master will have a favourable answer, Olwë thought, but I will make my concerns known also.

He began to write, his quill scratching at the parchment with each word he wrote in elegant cursive lettering.

19th day of Y.T. 1270.—

Makar Ramando

High Lord of Iron Hall

Most gracious lord,—

Your letter was a welcomed surprise, my lord, and my queen and I are deeply honoured to have received it. We take great delight in telling you that our daughter, the princess Eärwen, is equally honoured to have heard your request, and she heartily consents to serving the Lady Meássë as her handmaiden. She will depart thirty days from now, and I trust her journey will be a peaceful one.

I pray that I will not offend you, my lord, by saying that my queen and I will hope to call on the princess whenever time allows. I give you my assurance that such visits will be few and that they will be announced far ahead of time. I also assure you that our presence will not hinder you or yours in any way. Eärwen is most dear to all of us, and the notion of her living so far away from her family, without our protection, fills us with a sense of dread. Such fears are a father’s fears. A mother’s fears. They are trifling matters to one such as you, no doubt, but I am certain that you, one of the most Exalted Ones, would have no qualms in assuaging them.

Your most humble servant,

Olwë Ciríaran,

King of the Teleri

Olwë parsed through each and every line. Once he was satisfied with his answer, he blotted the paper, folded it, and held a stick of sealing wax—a rich sea-blue, and made only for him—over a candle flame.

Thirty days, he thought as he watched the wax soften slowly. Eärwen will remain with us for thirty days before she departs for her new life. I pray her sojourn in Iron Hall will be a peaceful one.

And the feast in honor of her departure would be as splendid a feast as it could be. He decided it would be aboard his own ship and that no expense would be spared. The cooks would be commanded to prepare all of Eärwen’s favourite foods, and his ship would be taken out to sea. Perhaps they would stay in Tol Eressëa for a little while. Her brothers—he was certain—were bound to take their sister on one final hunt before she left them.

There will be many tears upon her leaving, he reflected while he held the stick of softened wax over the folded letter. Thick drops of blue wax fell on the parchment with soft plops, eventually creating a little puddle in their wake. Her mother’s and mine most of all.

He did not have to call for his steward. Netyamo came to him not long after he finished his letter. They had to discuss the matter of the Shipwright’s Guild requesting the king’s presence during their next assembly.

“Have Lord Angaquárë meet with me once Laurelin reaches her greatest bloom.” Olwë pressed his great seal of office onto the still warm blob of wax and sealed his letter. Then he poured himself a cup of golden wine. “Eärwen has agreed to serve Lady Meásse.”

Angaquárë was brought to him at the appointed hour, when the world looked like it had been bathed in a waterfall of gold. The Maia looked well rested, his eyes bright and uncommonly soft. Even his manner of speech was warmer. Olwë suspected that a good meal and a good bedding had done much to improve his dour mood.

I trust Lord Ilmon had as much pleasure as the one who took him to his bed, he thought. I will have Netyamo make discreet inquiries in any event, and make certain Lord Angaquarë did not forget himself and go too far.

“My letter, my lord, and my answer to your master’s request.” Olwë went on to explain the contents of his message. Angaquarë listened to all he had to say. His lips pressed into a thin line when he heard the king’s concerns about his daughter’s welfare and their intentions to visit whenever time allowed, but he did not press the issue. “I trust a delay of thirty days will not hinder Lady Meássë in any way.”

“It will not,” Angaquárë told him. “And I will not tarry any longer. My master and mistress will need to make their own preparations for the princess’ arrival.”

“Of course, of course.” Olwë rose. Angaquárë rose with him. He accepted the king’s letter. “Farewell, my lord, and may Eru smile on your journey home.”

#iron hall #chapter one #Olwë #Eärwen #tolkien oc #the silmarillion #the silm #canon divergence

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