#HOW TO GET YOUR WIFE BACK IN IRMO

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Das Runde muss in das Eckige

This will be a sweet one for Week 2

Thanks to @cilil who keeps challenging, inspiring, motivating, and enabling me, I will give you a slice of Fëanturi trying to relax.

Have fun!

Words: 944

Characters: Námo, Vairë, Irmo, Estë, Nienna, Tulkas, Oromë, Manwë

Prompt: Shade

Warnings: In the name of honesty, I will specify that Tulkas is entirely naked in this ficlet.

Vairë arrived at the gathering a little late, on account of her having momentarily misplaced her favourite knitting needles.

As she had promised to craft a scarf for Eönwë, the foolish bird, to wear during his expeditions far beyond the spaces deemed safe, she had little choice but to locate the Eru-forsaken things before joining her family.

Sucking her teeth at Tulkas, who had purloined a spherical object from one of the Children and was bouncing it off his bare pectorals in a perplexing display of questionable skill, she made her way towards a spot of shade underneath a dense canopy of dark trees.

Vairë knew that she'd find her husband and his blessed siblings there just as surely as she knew that she'd choose a sparrow pattern for Eönwë's scarf.

"Beloved," she greeted before she even caught sight of the darker speck of shadow in which Námo was hiding.

"Wife," he grunted back affectionately. "Could I trouble you for a bit of string?"

"Whatever for, dearest?" Vairë asked, sitting down gracefully and arraying her various supplies neatly in the cool grass.

"To tie up Irmo," Námo grunted. "He's going to get himself squashed by that infernal ball Tulkas has stolen from the Eldar."

"Leave him be," Estë admonished softly, ever faithful to her husband and his ambitions, "he's having fun."

"He's not more fragile than you are, brother," Nienna agreed with one of her rare smiles—sometimes, it seemed that they were solely reserved for those brothers she was so devoted to.

This, as a matter of fact, was an erroneous belief for she shared the understated, cerebral humour of her brothers and merely hid her sharpest and most devastating remarks under a thin veil of doleful seriousness.

"He's..." Námo sputtered, narrowing his eyes suspiciously at his sister and his sister-in-law as they bathed him in the light of their benevolent, indulgent, and slightly patronising smiles.

"I know!" The cool, soothing hand of his sister alighting on his tense arm considerably assuaged Námo's nervous tension. “The world is old and so is he, dear. Have you not come hither to unwind? Try to do so now.”

"Let's not tether our brothers," Vairë laughed, only flinching a little bit at the uncomfortable memory of Manwë's brother who was still languishing in the endless, formless Void.

Leaning against the solid, reliable silhouette of the being she shared her existence and most of her love with, Vairë sighed happily.

It was rare for her husband to accept the invitations of his peers, but they had all needed some time away from their work.

"That one was out of bounds," Námo thundered as he witnessed Oromë trying to dupe Tulkas.

"Ever the judge," Nienna stated with indulgent mockery as she poured out the refreshing concoction Estë had brought to their little get-together.

"Incorrigible," Vairë giggled and extended her hand to the small, iridescent moth circling around her handiwork with evident interest.

"Irmo, my sweet," she greeted, "how fare you on this beautiful day? Do you like the scarf I am making for Eönwë?"

The moth settled on one of the formerly vanished needles and started vigorously cleaning itself.

"Won't you join us? Your brother is much dismayed on your behalf."

Changing back into the diaphanous, enchanting form he usually favoured when in company, Irmo gave her a cryptical smile.

"My brother," he purred, "likes worrying. It's all he does—he was made for it."

"Leave your brother alone," Estë and Nienna chided in unison.

Shrugging, Irmo let his shapely head settle on Námo's free shoulder.

"Won't you come over? We need a referee—I might have inspired too many dreams of success and greatness in our cherished fellow Valar to curb their ambition and enthusiasm now!"

Giving his younger brother an exasperated look, Námo turned his head and pressed a loving kiss onto his wife's head, bent over her steadily clicking needles.

"You shall weave," he declared, "and I shall judge. Thus are our destinies."

Looking up briefly to accept another, more intimate and passionate token of his love, Vairë grinned. "There's none more just and impartial as you, my beloved. Have fun!"

With measured, dignified steps, Námo moved towards the players as if to proclaim some terrible doom.

"Oh, no," Nienna cried out as she watched her brother go. "They're going to rope in the Maiar."

Tears of empathy and foreboding collected on her delicate lashes.

"I've got it," Estë assured her and reached for the grotesquely huge bag she brought everywhere, containing the most basic ingredients for healing poultices and soothing drafts.

"Our skills mix badly with their ambition," Irmo confessed sheepishly as his wife kept staring at him through narrowed eyes.

As the glaring did not subside, he lifted the hands of both his wife and his sister to his lips.

"It is your curse and burden to undo whatever mischief we cause, isn't it?" he chirped apologetically.

"So it seems," Estë commented good-humouredly—she was convinced that a bout of earnest, pure fun was worth the odd, temporary ailment.

On the playing field, Manwë had unexpectedly appeared and promptly disrupted the game by blocking a vital pass with his mighty body.

Instantly, Irmo reverted to his winged form to investigate how this would influence the thoughts and desires of the players who were all in considerable uproar at that interruption.

"I am keeping track," Vairë called without looking up from her work. "Tulkas' team was in possession of the thing."

Sharing a private smile of commiseration and deep love with the other ladies, she gave her husband—standing immovable beside the churned-up grass—another appreciative look and bent to her task once more.

@fellowshipofthefics Here's a sweet one for my last day of work :D

Lots of love from me!

[galadhremmin]

god lol it is no fun to me to reduce characters to ‘good’ bad’ etc. but genuinely...hard to come up with a truly sympathetic and truly canon compliant characterization for Finwë.

The more I look at the actual text the more I’m forced to conclude that him having a “failing in full love” quote is an understatement if anything. He seems to have been a very selfish person in the end, and going by his reaction to the threatening of Fingolfin/judgement of Feanor/unkinged comment changed his mind about the Valar as much as Feanor did but get this-- while being the one who had benefited from their authority overriding the rules of Elvish society before despite it causing a great deal of suffering to his young child and being deeply unfair to his recovering wife. 

But when whispers start about Fingolfin, the child he so badly wanted, usurping ‘Finwe and the line of Feanor” he seems to maybe believe them-- about his own child -- he certainly does nothing to stop Feanor, or to voice any dissent! Feanor has reason to be wary of Fingolfin, Finwe does not. Also how painful is it to Fingolfin that his father treats him this way? Agh. At least he’s said to be close to his mother.... much like. Oh lmao. Feanor. 

And even after the sword incident Finwe does not support Fingolfin being given the rule in Tirion at any point, instead immediately leaves in exile, demonstratively refuses to show up anywhere and calls himself unkinged... dude come on. How important is a slight to your authority to you, exactly? I kind of see where Feanor gets his focus on that, though for Feanor it’s somewhat more understandable as he’s constantly anxious about being replaced, as his mother was-- uniquely so, in their entire society. For Finwe it’s just... you were the one who came to Valinor. You knew what you were getting into!

The only positive things I can see are 1. very brave, as shown by his taking the initiative to come to Valinor to start with! And he stands his ground against Morgoth on his own 2. there’s that nice NoME line about wanting to go to Valinor in part so his lover Miriel could fully develop her talents 3. Miriel is known for her precise and swift pronunciation, but Indis “his voice and mastery of words delighted her” -- so I suppose Finwe is also very good with words, Feanor got it from both. It does make sense for a leader to be a good orator. 4. likely charismatic (convinces their people to leave).

But ... his reaction to Miriel’s weariness is to have her spirited off to Lorien when she says she does not want any more children. That is the reason why she is sent there at all. 

He said, therefore: ‘Surely there is healing in Aman? Here all weariness can find rest.’ 

Then Finwë was greatly grieved, for the Noldor were in the youth of their days and dwelt in the bliss of the Noontide of Aman, but were still few in number, and he desired to bring forth many children into that bliss.

But Miriel said to Finwë: ‘Never again shall I bear child; for strength that would have nourished the life of many has gone forth into Feänáro.’

Therefore Finwë sought the counsel of Manwë, and Manwë delivered Miriel to the care of Irmo in Lorien.

She eventually leaves her body; she is noted to react to feeling pushed into anything by becoming ‘obdurate,’ and the assumption seems to be that if she comes back she is expected to have more children (”I have no wife, and must hope for no sons save one, and no daughter. Must I remain ever thus? [For I believe not that Miriel will return again]). Under that specific pressure, her reply is that she wishes to “escape from the body” and that her life has gone out into Feanaro. The ‘labour of living!’ Escape from the body! But she does eventually want to come back to her body; and she comes back when there is no longer any pressure on her to have more children. 

And then with Indis Finwë has a ‘failing in full love’ again, because as it turns out the children he wanted so much aren’t quite enough to make up for the loss of Miriel 

She eventually departs from him all on her own, alive. Honestly I don’t think he was a good father to Feanor despite the favoritism-- he could at least have waited until his son was an adult before making the loss of his mother final, for one, or addressed his replacement anxiety in any meaningful way. To Fingolfin he seems like he was initially an enthused father, happy to have another son-- but then made it obvious he was not his favourite, nor even someone he was willing to stand up for or trust. It really does make sense that Fingolfin was much closer to Indis. 

‘But this also she found true: ‘the house remembers the builder, though others may dwell in it after.’ For Finwë loved her well, and was glad, and she bore him children in whom he rejoiced,yet the shadow of Miriel did not depart from his heart, and Fëanáro had the chief share of his thought.

His redeeming moment might be, I guess, his agreeing to stay in Mandos so Miriel can regain her body.

[an-eldritch-peredhel]

The Feanturi's Forms

I've always assumed that the Valar had several forms that they can change between, so for instance they've got their "divine" form (eldritch abomination), their "not-a-form" form where they're just energy, their safe for incarnates form, and their "stuff" forms, which are things like trees for Yavanna, saltwater springs for Ulmo, etc.

But I had a thought, recently (with the help of a post I lost, the gist was elves were definitely dying before Orome found them, so why doesn't Namo show up to Mahanaxar like "Yup, elves woke up, they're dying, someone should go get em"? Answer: he absolutely tried to but got cut off and was salty enough that he didn't bring it up again)

Assuming that, then Namo knew what elves looked like before everyone else. And being Lord of the dead he probably has a lot more experience with incarnates than the other Valar. Not everyone went to Valinor! And once humans wake up that's death on a daily basis.

Presumably Vaire also knew, given that she's weaving history and the elves awakening is y'know, a historical event. Even if she didn't, Namo would've told his wife. And his siblings as well, who also have "interact with incarnates" as their job description in some form or another (and Este, who Irmo would've told if Namo didn't)

Where am I going with this? tl;dr: the goth doctors' club members (feanturi+spouses) are the most "normal" looking valar. They've had a) the most time to get used to it, b) the most reason to really try, and c) the most references on how to not sit firmly in the uncanny valley.

So yes, sometimes they look like impossible, twisted, holy things. Sometimes Irmo is a kaleidoscope of colors with no ears filtered through the lovechild of impressionism and cubism, and Este is the shivery silver of a scar with needle-thin fingers that smell like alcohol, and Nienna is a hundred-thousand sobbing eyes with no mouth but wailing anyway, and Vaire is all spidery limbs spinning and measuring and cutting to weave history together, and Namo is what could generously be called a skeleton with no eyes in its grinning gaping sockets, but mostly they are not.

Mostly, Irmo is soft and smiling, with his sleeves rolled up for gardening and his hair more flyaways than braid, and you can ignore that he can't always hear or understand you, that you have to speak clearly to catch his attention from wherever it wanders. (nowhere that you've seen- or at least nowhere you remember)

Mostly, Este is kind but stern and infinitely practical, her hands a little dry and cold from washing them so often, and you can ignore when her handwriting slips from bad but normal to incomprehensible symbols that catch the light wrong, that her hands go a little too steady as she stitches a wound.

Mostly, Nienna is tired but never hopeless, her eyes are always red and puffy and her clothes are always soft and warm and her arms are always ready to catch you in the best hug you've ever had, and you can ignore that she can't always find words to say besides "I'm so sorry", that you have to strain to hear her multitude of whispered reassurances. (though you never understand them after the moment has passed)

Mostly, Vaire is passionate and focused, her hair in tiny woven braids that fall in her face if they aren't tied back, and you can ignore how her hands never stop moving as if she's embroidering the air, that she knows things from your past she hasn't been told.

Mostly, Namo is grim and patient, he is never seen in anything less than pristine clothes and though he never seems to smile his eyebrows jump on the rare occasion that he is amused, and you can ignore that he can never quite look at your face, that you have to exaggerate your movements for him to pick up on anything besides the presence of your soul. (you can feel it when he senses you, and when he passes you by- he's Death, after all)

Death, History, Empathy, Healing, and Dreams. Past, Present, and Future. Of course they look like the Children of Illuvatar, of course they look like they belong in this world. Where would we be without them? Where would they be without us?

[amethysttribble]

Something Old, Something New, Something Borrowed, A Love So Blue

Yeah, I’ve decided everything I write for this Feanorian Week is all going to be nice stuff, even if this one is a tad more bitter sweet. Maglor reconnects with his wife over the children they didn’t raise together!

@feanorianweek Entry 2: Elrond & Elros (kinda. Only barely. It’s more like ‘children’ but shhhhh)

No kids, he and Ravennië had promised each other.

At least, not for several hundred, several thousand years, if ever. They’d both grown up with plenty of siblings- more than enough siblings- and trusted that there would be nieces and nephews down the line to scratch the baby itch if it came. Children took time, children required effort, and they yelled and caused trouble.

“I think between the two of us we have more than enough volume and trouble,” Maglor had told Ravennië, making her laugh.

They’d been busy, and exhausted with children, and had very grand dreams, and Maglor and Ravennië had grown more and more adamant every time they met eyes when someone told them, “You’ve surely been married long enough.”

No kids.

And yet- ages and so much more later- here they were.

A baby swaddled in green rested in a basket upon Ravennië’s table. The child had been left there by her parents, but what Elladan had been thinking with this stunt, Maglor could not say. For you two to bond, he’d said, I trust you. Which warmed the cockles of Maglor’s wind chilled heart, but perhaps Elladan should have distrusted Maglor for different reasons than the obvious. And leaving him and the baby with Ravennië?

She would not be any more able to mitigate damage, despite what was likely hoped.

“I don’t actually know how to handle infants. I don’t think I’ve held one since my niece was born, which was-“ Ravennië whistled. “A while ago.”

Maglor cracked a smile, and it still felt like he was actually cracking apart. The skin around his eyes folding as it had not in ages… the gesture alone was enough to make him want to cry. His eyes were watering. Ravennië was kind enough not to mention it.

“I do believe it was Celebrimbor for me.”

She laughed.

“Which was so long ago that he didn’t even bear that name yet. By Irmo, we are old, when did we get so old?”

Ravennië reached forward and pinched the sweet girl’s foot, waving it from side to side. Maglor bit the inside of his cheek to keep from saying anything, but he feared that would wake her up. And he really didn’t want the baby to wake up.

“What do you think?” Ravennië cooed at the child. “Do you think we’re old? Gonna call us granny and gramps? Oh Valar, great granny and gramps.”

Ravennië turned to look at him, her eyes widened in exaggerated horror.

He laughed, and the motion didn’t make him have to cough anymore, like it did just a few months ago.

“Perhaps great, great. You’re the one who all but adopted Lady Elwing.”

“Yes, well, what are you supposed to do when a princess comes to your house screaming about how your estranged husband kidnapped her children? Close the door?”

“Get thee gone…” Maglor drawled at Ravennië, who threw her head back with the force of her laughter. How could she be more beautiful than when he left? Ravennië was now even… brighter. Louder, larger, steady. In full bloom.

It made his eyes tighter but his throat looser to look at her. He’d almost forgotten this notion, this almost childish romantic desire. Ravennië made Maglor want to sing happy songs again.

Her melodious joy was high and bouncing, though, meant for grand halls with high ceilings, and the baby’s piercing wail broke in to join her.

They’d woken the baby, and Maglor and Ravennië both looked down at her in shock before turning to each other in panic. Maglor took a hasty step back, holding up his palms. His bright red, scarred hand was on full display, a silent beg for reprieve.

While others might have shown pity, Ravennië scowled.

“I know your tricks, you bastard,” she groused, while still picking up the baby, gently rocking the child in her arms.

The baby kept crying, drowning out Maglor’s answering huff of amusement.

“I feel like it was you who originally taught me how to skive off my responsibilities,” he said, and like with everything else he said, there were many horrible and deserved possible replies.

The baby was quieting, and Maglor would happily take all of his sins.

Ravennië didn’t go for any of them, though, simply snorting and saying, “It wasn’t my fault nobody had taught His Royal Highness how to skip class. I honestly thought you knew! If I realized I was corrupting you, I would have cried right there on the beach, so ashamed. I still can’t believe you told that story when you met my parents, I thought my mother was going to have a fit.”

“My father did have a fit when you told him about when I smashed my harp over Alchon’s head, so we are more than even.”

“I thought they knew! I thought it was romantic! You were defending my honor,” she said, a softer smile slipping on her face.

Maglor knew not to let her distract him. Ravennië was the finest actress of a generation and she knew how to make harp strings swell. If he let her get the better of him every time she set a scene… Quite a bit might not have happened quite so badly.

But Ravennië also never would have given him her time and that child and her arms possibly might not have existed. No use dwelling on the past or upon her smiles now.

Maglor shook his head.

“You thought I’d willingly told my parents I destroyed a piece of craft?”

Ravennië opened then shut her mouth. Considered that for a moment. When she finally went to speak again she said, “Well, no. I guess I thought the school had told them. And he got over it pretty easily, once your brothers started up again.”

“Oh, yes, the anger based soon enough, but the hurt?” Maglor pushed to give a dramatic sigh. “Father never forgave me for using one of the school’s harps instead of writing home so he could make one, never mind wood-work was not his field. Why, I think the knowledge wounded him so much, it was what drove him over the edge.”

Ravennië laughed again- Maglor was so selfishly glad to still be able to make her laugh- and that made the baby start crying again.

“Oh, fu-”

“Ravennië!”

“Who's the mother hen now?” she teased as she started bouncing the baby more aggressively. “No cursing, no wonder Elrond’s so damnably polite. You know I taught all of my children at the school to curse. Vulgarity makes art richer.”

“Yes, but at court it gets you put in time-”

A bell chimed, a pleasant but forceful gong that came from Ravennië’s front porch. The baby cried louder.

“Shit,” Ravennië cursed, “That’s one of the children now, Iowen said she would come over for new tuning instruments.”

“Is your house ever empty?” Maglor asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No, and that is by design. Okay, darling, you’re just going to have to lie down for a minute while granny-“

“I’ll take her,” Maglor said, and he felt as shocked at himself as Ravennië looked. Neither of them dared cross his moment of courage, though, didn’t want to make it waver with words. Ravennië simply placed the child in his arms, and ran for the door.

Which left Maglor looking down at a crying infant.

“Oh my,” he muttered, licking his dry lips in hesitation.

No kids, no babies. Elrond and Elros… as much or as little as they had been his, they’d been well and truly out of diapers by then.

They had cried, though, cried irrationally and fully like children did, but crying from hurts that even adults wouldn’t be able to understand. Words couldn’t help such things. Maglor could only hold them when they wanted it, and sing.

He grimaced.

“I’m not quite as good anymore, forgive me,” he muttered.

His voice was raspy and cracked, broken from years of wailing out his songs and woes- one and the same- in harsh sea airs, above roaring winds and waves, day and night.

Now he sang like an old Man, edge lost and voice low and rumbling. It was not up to any Elven standard, but the baby seemed to like it.

She quieted slowly, soothed and snuggling against his chest, seemingly content. Maglor kept singing as she settled, though. He had missed singing.

He noticed when Ravennië came back in. She settled against the doorway, arms crossed, just watching. He met her eyes and rumbled out the words to a song in a language she didn’t know. And they were both smiling.

They were not as they had been, never would be. But they were friends, and so much love ran between them, different and tempered as it was. And they shared children.

[saelwen]

Irmo x Child!Reader

Request by a lovely anon:  Hi ! Can we get a Lòrien with an abused child! reader one shot please ? Where reader is mistreated and abandoned by her parents and Lòrien finds her and tries to comfort her. Please, I need fluff ! (sorry for my english mistakes, i'm french but i love your blog :D )

Warnings: violence, child abuse, fluff

Words: 1,256

Masterlist

A/n: So i just wanted to say that Lórien is mostly known as Irmo 

Your small sobs sounded through the dark silent forest. Dark bruised printed on your small arms and chubby cheeks. Your big e/c eyes study carefully your surroundings as fat tears run down your soft cheeks.

Your worst nightmare finally came true. Well, you didn't know if it was a nightmare or a dream because you wished to run from the monsters that once you called parents. Since you were born, your mom and dad spend their days hitting you or forcing you to do all the work in the house.... but it wasn't enough. You were too little to reach for the plates on the top shelf which led to a pile of broken dishes. You had received the worse beat of your small life from your drunk dad.

After beating you with his belt a few times and slapping your face until your lip split open, he throws you to the old wagon and took off towards the dark forest which leads to where you are alone.

He left you there to die. In hopes that some dark creature captures you and rip your soft flesh off from your bones.

You curl your sore body into a small ball by a tree and sob into your small hands, wishing that all of this would end quickly.

"My poor child." A delicate voice sounded through the tall trees, making you lift your head from your hands. "Left here to die."

"W-Who's t-there?" You asked with a whispered voice.

Suddenly a bright figure comes from the dense forest, he was tall and was wearing long silky dark blue robes. His hair was silver like the moonlight and waterfall down his back. His skin was pearly white and his features remind you of a feline, with his cheekbones and sharp grey eyes.

"Don't be afraid, child." He says with a calm and delicate voice. The strange man kneels in front of you and pushes an h/c lock behind your ear. "I'm a friend and I've come to rescue you."

You rub your tears off with the back of your hand and sniff a little, your eyes fixed on his grey ones. "Like the knights do to the Princesses?" You asked in curious but frown lightly, looking down at your small hands. "But I'm not a princess..."

The man chuckles and shook his head, making his beautiful silver hair fall over his shoulder. "You don't need to be a Princess to be rescued, Little One." He says with a gentle smile. "I'm Irmo. What's your name, Little One?"

You look up from your hands and shrug your shoulders, trying to fight more tears from falling. "I-I don't have one... I think" You whisper, seeing the shock on his gray eyes.

"What do your parents call you?" He asked, his face contoured with concern.

You shrug your shoulders again and sniff. "Pigglet, Little Whore, and many other things...."

Irmo was speechless, not knowing what to say to the small child before him. The sadness of the child's soul had brought him here, he couldn't support more how scared and sorrowful this child was. How could someone do this to a small child??!! How could a parent do this to their own offspring? Not even the Dark Lord himself could do this to a child.

Irmo's eyes study carefully the dark bruises on the child's arms, neck, and head. Noticing that she was wearing an old rag, that only covered a little, leaving most of her little legs and arms bare.

You wrap your arms around your knees, pulling them to your chest. A hiss fell from your lips as you move your sore body, feeling the burn of the bruises that your dad made. Lórien took his robe off and wrap it around you. The feel of rich silk against your skin made you sigh in pleasure, feeling safe and warm. Something that you aren't used to it.

After a long silence, Irmo clears his throat and smiles down at you, noticing the sleep in your tearful eyes.

"Y/n," He says simply.

You frown and tilt your head to the side, confused. "What?"

"That's your new name." He gave you an excited grin and cups your cheek with his large hand, noticing how you flinch with his touch. "I have a big home and I would love to share it with you, Y/n."

"Home?" You asked with a little hope on your voice.

He nods and smiles gently. "Yes, home. A place where you could be who you are and never feel fear or sad again." He says calmly. "I can see that you have passed a bad time and you deserve better, Y/n... You deserve to feel loved, to feel safe, to be free... So, what you think, Little One? Would you like to go to your new home?" He asked.

You stay quiet for a while, thinking carefully of what he said. You knew that you shouldn't go to a stranger's home but...but you don't have anywhere else to go, no one to call family or friend and Irmo seems a good man. Well, not man since you just notice the pointy ears.

"Are you an elf?" You asked shyly.

He chuckles softly and cleans a tear from the corner of your eye. "Ahh...You could say that." He says with a grin and a wink which made you giggle. "Ahh, there it is! What a beautiful laugh!"  He says as he starts tickling you, making you laugh even harder and plead for mercy.

"Okay, okay." You huff with a small smile as you try catching your breath. "I will come with you...just-just promise that I won't get hurt anymore... I can't take it anymore." You say quietly, your eyes fixed on his, trying to see if there were lies in them but she found none.

"I will not anything bad happens to you, Y/n... I will protect you forever, Little One." He says with a serious face. He leans down and gives a gentle kiss on your forehead. "Now, sleep little one... We have a long journey ahead of us." with that, your eyes closed and sleep takes over you.

Irmo picks you up gently, careful for the robe not fall down.

"My Love?" His wife, Estë, comes from between the trees to his side. Looking down to the child on his arms in curious. "Who's this little one?" She asked as she stroke gently your cheeks with her finger.

He smiles softly down at you and looks to his wife. "This is our new guest of honor." He says as he kisses his wife lovely. "She has been through a lot, love."

Estë looks down again at you, her eyes full of sadness as she sees the bruises on your limp body. "Poor child..." She gasps. "Don't worry, My Love... You and I will give her a good life in Valinor... Let's hope that Manwë won't mad with this little human being there." She says with a grin and mischief eyes.

Irmo chuckles and nods, walking into the dense forest with you in his arms and his wife beside him. "Nah, I think Manwë will love her." He says as the three of them began the journey back to Valinor.

One thing that Irmo is sure about it, is that every Valar will love Y/n with all their hearts and will do everything in their power to protect her.

"Let's introduce you to your new family, Little One."

Hey Guys!!! Here's a new One shot with Irmo! I hope you like it and feel free to comment and tell me what you think!

Also, it would mean so much if you guys could buy me a coffee! It’s only 3$ 💕(my ko-fi account name is Lilith and post there my original work.)

☕Ko-fi☕

XOXO

[elesianne]

A Silmarillion fanfic, chapter one of seven (?) – Sequel to Your spirit calling out to mine and Fascination

Story summary: Life is made up of small moments and ordinary, wonderful days for the first few years of Caranthir and Tuilindien’s marriage. Most of those days are full of love and happiness, and the worse ones are at least eased by love. A continuation of Caranthir and Tuilindien's story in the form of a collection of ficlets.

Chapter length: ~850 words; Story rating: Teenage audiences

Some keywords for the whole fic: romance, marriage, family, some fluff, some angst, implied sex, years of the trees

A/N: In honour of the bloody coronavirus, I’m writing more about my favourite couple (don’t tell the others). The title is from The Amazing Devil's Fair which fits Carnistir and Tuilindien rather well.

These ficlets vary in length and in where they fall on the fluff-angst-scale. This first chapter is the shortest, kind of a prologue. Next chapter will be posted on Sunday.

AO3 link

*

Chapter I //  The still, quiet light of morning

Carnistir has always disliked mornings.

They were loud and messy and chaotic when he was a child, and barely better as an adult in the last years he lived at home since Ambarussar are capable of creating a remarkable amount of noise and chaos between just the two of them. Tyelko is also, still, as irritatingly raucous a morning person as he was as a child, and the only reason he and Carnistir didn't have as many quarrels at the breakfast table as adults is that Tyelko has been gone from home a lot since he gained his majority.

Carnistir has always been the opposite of a morning person. He always finds it difficult to pull all of himself away from Irmo's realm at once: for the first two or so of hours after rousing, he is scatter-brained and irritable and wants to go about his morning routines in peace and quiet.

Since he married his routines have changed, but all for the better. Mornings are slow and quiet now. Tuilindien isn't a morning person either, and they live in their own house where they can decide the rhythm of their day.

It brings him great happiness every morning to wake in the same bed as Tuilindien, and that happiness is compounded by how they wake up every morning.

They usually rouse around the same time but whichever of them does first will get closer to the other: roll closer and throw some limbs over them, or grab tighter if they're already holding onto each other.

Slow movements, and gentle, quiet touches in the mingled light of the morning that shines in through the gaps in the curtains covering the tall windows.

One or both of them will whisper 'good morning' either in words or in spirit and reach out mentally, and they will touch that way , reuniting after a night of walking different memories.

And then they simply… stay there for a time.

No sitting up instantly, no leaving the bed, no making love, not even talking or touching beoynd a few soft caresses and words.

For the first time in his life Carnistir takes the luxury of waking slowly and sweetly. And how sweet it is with Tuilindien, with her soft, flower-scented hair and languorous limbs wrapped around him, or all of her tightly in his hold.

For the first few days he tells himself that he indulges and delays beginning the day's tasks only for her sake, for it seems to be what she prefers. But he never was much of a one to lie to himself and soon he admits that he could not enjoy it more.

'Tuilë', he murmurs to her one morning when they have both shaken off the last of sleepiness. 'I adore mornings with you.'

Tuilindien's eyes are darker than usual in the limited light of their bedchamber. 'Mornings are a very special time', she agrees.

'As restful as the night itself', he says. For him, it is easier to keep an even mood all day when he has had a slow, pleasant morning.

She kisses him gently. 'I am glad', she says, and rises from bed and goes to pull the curtains open.

They have stayed in bed even longer this morning than usual, and the light that fills the room is almost pure gold. It surrounds Tuilindien with a radiant glow, her golden hair that tumbles down to her hips a brighter-than-usual glory of indescribable beauty.

'Come back to bed', Carnistir says with a dry mouth.

She turns from looking out to the garden to looking at him. 'I thought you were roused enough already. I am sorry if I rose too early.'

'I am, and you didn't, but come back.'

She comes and smiles at him and dives into his arms, understanding his meaning at last, at once.

In the end they get out of bed so late that once again Tuilindien worries about their servants making fun of them.

*

They fit into each other's lives with about as much ease and difficulty as they expected. The ease comes from discussing it all – schedules, mealtimes, occupations, engagements, pastimes – in person and in the many, many letters they have exchanged over the years; and from the shared life in their new house being equally new to them.

Carnistir lived in the house first, when it was still half-unfinished, but he had few routines then that he wants to take to his married life.

They build up their new life out of plans and compromises, his likes and hers, new things and old, and somehow all the parts fit together well enough, aided by affection and care where they might otherwise have friction.

Carnistir has never worked less in his life, because he wants to have plenty of time with his wife. His family makes fun of him but he doesn't care, because Tuilindien does not work that much either, only enough that at the end of the day there are ink stains on her fingers for him to kiss.

*

A/N: In the next chapter, Carnistir and Tuilindien spend time with his family.

[ambarto]

Headcanons for Maglor’s and Curufinwe’s wives

Don’t you guys just love how so many of “canon” female characters in the Silm end up being basically your own OCs? Anyways, pretty much what it says on the tin, my Feanorian wives OCs. A little bit of these headcanons are in my fic Much, more, less, nothing already, but I’m gonna expand on pretty much whatever my thoughts are. Very long post under the cut (and I sure hope the cut is working because if it isn’t this is gonna be long to scroll through).

Maglor’s wife - Vílerë

- The name for this girl is my own probably kinda sloppy work. I found in some Quenya dictionaries the word “vílë” which means “gentle breeze”, and it fit perfectly within my vision of her. The ending -rë is feminine and can denote an agental meaning, making the name mean “[girl] who makes a gentle breeze”, or something along those lines. I want to point out I have never studied Quenya at all and so this goes off entirely on various dictionaries I’ve been through.

- Vílerë is the girl’s mother-name, and it refers to two things. The first, is that she was born with very weak vocal chords, meaning her voice always sounds barely louder than a whisper. The second, is that she is also a very skilled flute player.

- Her parents are Noldor, but her grandmother is Teleri. Vílerë’s eyes are dark brown, which comes from her Teleri grandmother. Her hair is black, and she wears it long and plainly braided. Her skin is a light brown color. She’s not considered exceptionally beautiful, but not ugly, either. By Noldor standards, she’s cute, but in a little plain way, and a little on the shorter side.

- She’s a quiet girl, she doesn’t speak much. Partially it’s because of her voice, but it’s mostly just her personality. She doesn’t like drawing attention to herself, and she prefers being alone or with a few good friends rather than in the middle of a crowd. Because of this, she also doesn’t play her flute a lot in public, although she is known for being one of the best players and her music is loved by anyone who hears it. With those who know her, she’s kind and sweet, full of smiles and with a sharp wit you would not guess at first.

- While quiet and introverted, she’s got a strong will, and she will let people clearly if there is something that displeases her. She picks her words carefully, and if angry she’s good at getting her point across in the most cutting ways.

- She and Maglor met through music, and spent a great deal of time playing and composing together. She understood his more introspective moments better than most others, and she was drawn to his more caring side. She was good at getting him out of any bad mood and at humoring him when he got involved in some kind of musical competition with others; and he in turn helped her get out of her shell a little, but never tried to force her to come out on the spotlights with him. She took a liking to him from the start, although she sometimes rolled her eyes when his Feanorian pride showed through a bit too much.

- While still deeply in love, she did not follow him in exile. She did not agree with the Kinslaying, especially being part Teleri herself, and thought that it was absurd to do all of this just because of some rocks, no matter how beautiful they were. She didn’t want to leave her husband, and was also quite curious to see what was on the other side of the sea, but in the end she stayed in Valinor with her family.

- Other than music, she also enjoyed poetry and theatre. She had an appreciation for painting, but she never really learnt how to do it, and was more content with just looking at art rather than creating it. She also knew a bit about woodworking, because it was her parents’ profession, but she never really liked it. She enjoyed traveling too, and seeing new landscapes, and after marrying Maglor took her around to see all the cool places he had been to with his father and brothers.

- Some people had to say about her and Maglor marrying, because Vílerë lived in a village outside of Tirion and her family was one of the common folk. Some particularly vicious ones also complained that she didn’t look beautiful enough, but they had all learnt very well to not badmouth the beauty of the wife of someone of Feanor’s line. She was honestly more annoyed by receiving all that attention than by the negative comments in themselves, because she hated the positive attention too.

- She has one younger sister, who married before her and had two children. Vílerë herself married late in life compared to the average, although she was still a couple centuries younger than her husband. Out of her in-laws, the people she got along with better were Maedhros and Nerdanel, and she also was on friendly terms with Fingon and Finrod. While she did not have any quarrels with Feanor or with Maglor’s more outgoing brothers, she did find them exhausting in the long run, and better dealt with in small doses.

- While she grew to resent the Valar, although not as strongly as her husband’s family, when she was younger she liked to spend time in Lorien, and the quiet presence of Irmo and Este.

Curufin’s wife - Vanien

- Her name I took from RealElvish.net because I got lazy, although for some reason it’s not listed there anymore? For some reason? The closest it lists are Vanie and Vaniel, idk why they got rid of the specific one I used. Just my luck. Anyways, Vanien comes from “vane”, which means “fair or beautiful”.

- Her name says all about how she looks. She is the picture of Noldor standards of beauty. She has black hair and strikingly blue eyes, her skin is pale, and her facial features look like they could be put on a statue. She’s the kind of woman who could compete in Tirion Next Top Model, if they had it.

- Her family is entirely Noldor, going back all the way to Cuivienen, and fairly respected. They’re not nobles, but her parents are very good healers, which in Valinor mostly meant they were spectacular surgeons who could fix any idiot who had gotten attacked by a wild boar or something of the sorts. She was herself a healer, and very skilled.

- She and Curufin met though work as well. She had been developing a theory that perhaps one could enchant jewelry to give it properties that would make healing and recovery faster, and she had decided to go look for a good smith who could help her with it. It turned out making that kind of magical jewelry was extremely difficult, but she did get a husband out of the deal.

- She’s a city girl and at ease in the middle of the hustle of Tirion. She’s got a charming smile and she’s an excellent conversationalist. She’s a good girl, but she’s also got a rather competitive and petty streak, and if someone pisses her off she will get herself a nice revenge. Nothing truly bad, of course, but she’s not above turning her husband’s hair green if he acts too annoying. She’s more mischievous than harmful, however.

- Her main flaw is probably that she is a bit vain. She’s very aware of her beauty, and will do her best to flaunt it. She has excellent taste in fashion and hairstyles, and a husband who can craft her some of the most amazing jewelry one could think of. If she goes to a party, one can bet she’ll make sure to be the most breath stoppingly beautiful person in the room.

- She’s more outgoing than her husband, but she doesn’t mind that he sometimes ends up working on a project for days on end, although it does annoy her, as a wife and a healer, how he sometimes ends up forgetting to eat and rest. He often looks for her input when coming up with a design for something. Bitching about people who annoyed them is a bonding activity for them, but of course not their only topic of conversation. They like to go out on rides together, either along or with Curufin’s family. They are both ridiculously proud spouses, Vanien is extremely proud of her handsome, clever, and talented husband, and Curufin is extremely proud of his beautiful, smart, and talented wife. They’re also a good match when it comes to being stubborn.

- Celebrimbor is the only son they had, because Vanien struggled to get pregnant and carry the child to term. Sadly ironical, for a healer, and she was very protective of her son once he was born. She was a caring mother, and the kind who likes to cheer her brooding son by tickling him until he’s out of whatever tantrum he was throwing.

- Officially, it’s said Curufin’s wife stayed in Valinor, but I like to think that she came to Beleriand with him and Celebrimbor. She was a headstrong woman, who had her husband’s resentment towards the Valar and almost enough pride to match him. She did not directly participate in the Kinslaying, but cured the Noldor who had been wounded in it, and got on the ships with her family. Unfortunately, she ended up being killed in the Dagor-nuin-Giliath, and because of her rebellion she was held in Mandos until after the end of the First Age.

- She gets along well with most of Curufin’s family, especially Celegorm and the Ambarussa, and bonded with Feanor by answering all his questions about the body as well as she could. She became good friends with Aredhel, too.

[lushthemagicdragon]

I don’t often write fluff but when I do, it’s extreme sap. Behold, a handfasting ceremony. 

Swear Me No Oaths But One Maedhros/Fingon The Silmarillion Rated PG

Here @ AO3 

They took to their horses on the eve of their leaving for the shore. They bridled the pair themselves, leaving the stable boys to rest before the long ride ahead. No one need know of their passing, across the fields with packs full of candles and cloth. Findekano took the lead with great intent, directing the horses while Maitimo kept eyes around to see if they had been spotted or followed; The last ride of Findekano and Maitimo through the lands of Aman.

The whole thing had been Findekano’s idea to begin with, ever one to take wild notions and bring them into fruitful reality by the sheer power of his will alone. Laying together in their distant privacy, still within earshot of Macalaure’s singing, they stared up at the sky above and mulled over the bitter agreement between their fathers. Maitimo spoke with calm confidence, the tongue of a son raised for diplomacy, a boy who weathered a father’s temper alongside the rambunctious behavior of six brothers and more cousins alike. He spoke of the journey across the sea, of the provisions they would need and the hardships they would face. He spoke of soft beds they would sacrifice for their freedom, and Findekano watched him parse Feanor’s words with his own brand of rational thinking. Findekano watched, he listened, he turned onto his side to face his cousin when he had heard enough dancing around the issue that concerned him most.

“But you don’t want me to come with you.”

Maitimo hesitated, his lips tightening in the way they always did when he struggled to find just the right words for how he felt about a matter of great importance.

“I never said that. I would never say that.”

“You didn’t need to. I think I know by now when you’re trying to be self-sacrificing for what you believe is best.”

Again Maitimo was quiet, his eyes fixed on the sky above, the clouds that passed with gentle ease.

“Neither of us know what waits for us across the sea. None of us know beyond Grandfather’s stories, and with him gone, we have only the idea of wilderness and our own power of will to guide is.”

“If you’re going to imply that I’m weak willed Maitimo--”

“I think you are so strong willed that you will go head-first into any danger that approaches, believing wholly that doing what is right will keep you safe from harm.”

“And am I not allowed a choice in this?”

“Fino…”

“Look at me, Maitimo.”

Maitimo did as he was told, and Findekano met that stubborn concern in his lover’s eyes and the tension in his jaw with a stubbornness of his own; an assured security in his convictions. Findekano smiled, and he brushed a strand of hair back behind Maitimo’s ear.

“I will not tell you that I will be anything but myself. I will not tread carefully and linger behind while others fight my battles for me. I’m reasonably sure that you love me for who I am, not for some far off idea that I could be anyone else. Am I wrong?”

Maitimo chuckled with a gentle shake of his head. “I love you for everything that you are.”

“Then how could you possibly believe that I would stay behind? I would fade if I were to remain. I would become a shadow of myself without our family, without purpose, without you. I would follow you to the ends of the world.” Findekano reached out to hold Maitimo’s cheek in his hand, and his thumb stroked the gently freckled cheek beneath it. “You are a part of me as if I were your husband or your wife. I would marry you if that would convince you to dismiss the idea that I would be anywhere but by your side and in your confidence.”

Maitimo’s hand joined Findekano’s upon his cheek, his jaw relaxing under affection.

“You know as well as I do that our fathers would never allow it.”

“They wouldn’t need to know.”

“You’re not serious.”

The trees in the Garden of Lorien twinkled brighter with fireflies, made visible by the shadow of the wood. The choice of location had been hard thought and discussed. They could not do this by traditional means and still remain secret. No, not under the eyes of Varda and Manwe, nor in the halls of Tulkas and Nessa. To do this in the home of Irmo and Este, though, was a promise of something quieter and deeper than some raucous ceremony. They tied their horses to a tree and made their way, hand in hand and off the path towards the house of healing. Around they went to the other side of the lake, hidden from the view of any healers that might be awake by the island itself.

What would Feanor say if word of their actions were to get back to him from the woods where Miriel lay to rest? What would Fingolfin say of his son’s boldness, on the eve of fragile truce? Findekano found a spot for them upon the shore of the lake where only the eyes of the Valar themselves could see and witness. Stones laid in a circle, packs of candles empties and lit between stone and pebble. Findekano plucked flowers gently from the trees to place between each candle, each stone, and in his focus he missed Maitimo doing the same. Maitimo caught him off guard at his work, sliding a single blossom behind one ear, and another into a braid.

“If we’re going to disturb Irmo’s rest with our secrecy then you may as well look the part of a bridegroom.”

Findekano laughed, and flowers found their way wound into Maitimo’s hair as well, and in between Findekano’s golden ribbon and dark locks. Within a button-hole, hooked playfully in a belt buckle. It was perhaps too many flowers taken in the night, but the lovers laughed quickly between kisses, and Findekano lead Maitimo by the hands into the circle they had made.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

Hands squeezed together before Findekano brought forth a sash from his pack. There had been no time to have one made for the occasion. There would be no elaborate embroidery befitting the House of Finwe, no ceremony beyond their circle of light and stone and earth. Only a sash plucked from Aredhel’s wardrobe, in the colours of both families. Findekano began to sing as he wrapped their left hands together. That soft wedding melody often carried by more voices than one. With no chorus to sing for their vows, harmony came only when Maitimo joined in. Findekano’s tenor and Maitimo’s baritone rang together as only music could, with spirit and soul in every word and note that passed from lovers lips. With left hands tied Findekano took up the edge again and.

Stopped.

“Fino.”

“Don’t say it.”

“How are you going to finish this exactly with one hand?”

Maitimo did his very best not to chuckle at the glare he received, and at the dedication with which Findekano approached this problem. Findekano tied the sash around both of their hands loosely, tucking the edge and, with the bite of his teeth, pulled the edge tight.

“That should do.” Findekano remarked proudly, testing the strength with a gentle tug of his right hand. Not too much tugging and the thing would stay for the time being. “It seems that I have a gift for working one-handed. Should anything happen to my left I think I would do just fine.”

“You would be wasted without both of your hands, Fino.”

“You never know, I could learn to nock an arrow with my teeth.”

“I would rather you never had to.”

The trees smelled so richly of their flowers. The ones still attached to their trees and those entwined in their hair, surrounding the lovers as they smiled. They had not learned yet in their youthful innocence of Thingol and Melian across the sea, and yet the trees seemed to speak to them like visions. The forest home of Irmo spoke words of devotion across the sea that they could not yet comprehend, of trials weathered and burdens carried in the bonds of love. So heavy the heart would seem to Irmo without Este to bring the ever present calm of trust.

“I feel as if I could sleep, rest here for eternity with you, just as we are in this moment.” Fidekano’s hands squeezed Maitimo’s under the fabric bonds of matrimony. Maitimo leaned in to press a gentle kiss upon his lover’s cheek, lingering for a moment in their closeness.

“Best that we not let Irmo lure us from our duties then, for I would have you for every day to come and not only for a moment in the woods.”

Crickets chirped their melodies and fireflies lit their circle. The witnesses had come. Onto them Este smiled. Maitimo continued.

“I have always known that I would need to marry. It is my responsibility, as it is yours, to father sons and daughters in the lines of our fathers and our mothers. I have known this my whole life, but no wife or mother of children has ever driven my passions. None, when there was you. You who grew from presumptuous child to presumptuous adult before my eyes and insisted on being known. You who have known my mind and my heart above all, who has put words to the most difficult of thoughts and action to the most difficult of struggle. You who has supported me and and whom I would keep by my side through all trials that await us across the sea. The responsibilities will come. I will need wife and child, and in the eyes of our people I will need marry as responsibility sees fit, but you will always be first. If this must be our secret then our secret it will remain into the end of all things. I worry on what is to come, and in true form you have taken my worry and turned it into hope. Findekano I will love you through any and all things, of this you have my solemn oath. Without you I am nothing.”

The trees rustle and in the calm of Este’s smile the oath worries none but the trees themselves.

“Do not swear such an oath to me Maitimo, without me you are as vibrant as you are now. You are the star in my sky and light of my life, and in your eyes I see the very best of us. You who have carried the weight of the family upon your shoulders and who would cross the seas to carry the weight of our people in their entirety without hesitation. You are good, my love, and I will see you through to your very best by your side. What responsibility could possibly tear me from you? None. We shall go across the sea together and we shall do our very best, together. Never go far from me and you shall never come to harm. I will love you with my everything and no great sea, no great unknown could keep me from you.”

“You speak in definites as if you know what is to come.”

“I need not know what is to come to know you, and to know myself.”

Findekano raised onto his toes to snatch Maitimo’s lips with his own, without the assist of his hands. His kiss spoke its own oath, of love and devotion. With foreheads pressed together they sang in gentle breathes the marriage vows, in the presence of the trees. They laughed as they untangled themselves from their handfast and retangled themselves with one another for a short while. There would be no worry here, hidden away from the oncoming storm, in the eye of the calm.

Their burdens could wait a few short hours, for what was the point of worrying when one was loved?

[djinmer4]

Paimë i Valaina (Silmarillion)

“Are you worried?” Elrond approached the figure at the rail, watching the rapidly nearing quay.  The other ellon turned to look at him, grey eyes calm with none of the apprehension the Peredhel had expected.

“Not anymore.  I was worried at the beginning of the trip, that the Valar might choose to do something dramatic during the journey.  But we seemed to have made it safely through the Straight Road.  Even if Manwë takes it into his head to hit the ship with a lightning bolt to drown me, we’re close enough to the shore that the rest of you can swim to safety.”  Maglor leaned back and shaded his eyes.  “I’m not seeing a company of Maiar on the docks to escort me to the  Máhanaxar so I’ll take that as a good sign.”

Indeed, when the ship docked there was only a small contingent to meet them.  Galadriel had taken it upon herself to be their spokeswoman and commented on the lack.  The head of the delegation apologized, “We were indeed warned by Uinen and other Maiar of Ulmo, but ‘The Ship bearing those who fought against Sauron will arrive soon’ doesn’t actually give a time frame for expected arrival.  Your parents, Princess, could not take leave of their duties for such a great time period to meet you here, although word will be sent to Tirion to let them prepare a celebration for your arrival.”

“That is acceptable,” piped in Elrond.  “But the ship that left prior to ours should have given word that we would be the next.”

“Indeed they did.  However, they did not know if a new ship would be built from scratch or if you would take whatever was available or if you would wait a few more years to tie up any loose ends or even what the weather conditions would be like.”

Now it was Maglor’s turn to interrupt.  “Practical enough.  But I believe you were told that not only the leaders of the Resistance would be coming but also a notorious criminal.  Were there no preparations made for that?”  The Teleri ner simply looked confused, and the Feanorian realized that he was far too young to have known who he was currently speaking to.  To make his point clear, the eldest Elf there slipped off his black leather glove and held out his hand, palm facing the other.  Even then, it took the Teler a few minutes to understand what the bright red design on his hand meant.  “Oh, uh, yes, we were informed.  Again though, we weren’t sure if the rumors that you had chosen to return was true.”  Maglor put his gloves back on and spared a bemused glance to his cousin and foster-son.  “Well, as you can see, it is.  Perhaps we might get things over with and you can escort me to Máhanaxar so that I may face the judgment of the Valar.”

Brown eyes looked away, the ner darting glances back at the Noldo.  “That won’t be necessary.  There will indeed be a trial over your actions back in the First Age, but the advocates from Tirion, Alqualondë and Tol Eressëa will need at least a month to prepare.  In the meantime, given your good behavior since then, your bond has been given to your family.  You can spend the wait in Formenos, catching up with them.”

“My family?  Surely you must be mistaken.  My mother and grandparents perhaps, but my family has been condemned unto the Void for being unable to fulfill our Oath.”

“With the exception of Maedhros, the rest of your family has returned from the Halls of Mandos.  And given that you’ve returned, I’m sure your last brother will also be released soon.”  Before any of the three Elves could comment, the Teleri delegate continued.  “I’m a bit surprised you mentioned facing the judgment of the Valar.  Surely Olorin and Aiwendil had mentioned that the Valar no longer rule Aman.”  That statement made even Galadriel jump.

“Truly?”

“The Valar have not ruled since the end of the Second Age.  Did not Curunír or any of the other Istari tell you so?”  Before they could respond, they heard Bilbo gasp behind them.  “Why Gandalf!  You look so young!”  Turning around they saw that Olorin had returned to his form of shining light.  (Trust a hobbit to describe it as looking young.)  Tired but still compassionate eyes looked over all of them.

“I think it’s time for you three to see the truth of Aman.”

The cavern was deep underground, underneath the crater of what had been the  Máhanaxar.  It was cut off from any wind or light.  Inside the gloom they could hear a thin, reedy voice, begging for news of the outside world, for someone to answer its cries.  “He once was the King of all the Valar in this world.  But when the Downfall of Numenor occurred, so too was the Ring of Judgment struck.  The Noldor eventually discovered this cavern while searching for new veins of ore.  Now he crawls alone in the dark, blind and deaf to anything around him.”

Galadriel and Elrond were struck speechless.  Only Maglor had the presence of mind to respond and even he took more than a few minutes to recover.  “How did this happen?”

Olorin shrugged, as much as any being of light could.  “The survivors are not certain but the most popular theory is that it is Eru’s punishment.  The Valar exist as custodians of Arda and as guides to the Children of Eru.  By the time of Numenor, it may have been that they had failed all their duties.”

“I can think of plenty of ways they failed the Elves but how did they fail otherwise.”

“They ruled the Firstborn but aside from the Maiar sent to help the creation of Numenor, ignored the Secondborn completely.  As for they’re other duties, they restricted themselves to Aman.”

“Some of that was fear of Melkor.  But even after he was gone, very little effort was made on their part to repair the damage from the war.”

“Exactly.  So when they called on Eru to defeat the Numenorean invasion, apparently Eru decided if they were going to be derelict in their duties, they should not have the benefits of power that went with their position.”

Eyes that still glowed with the light of the Trees contemplated the black hole in the ground.  “Surely they are not all like this.  The Telerin delegate mentioned Ulmo.”

“No.  Ulmo, Aulë, Irmo, Nienna, Estë and Vána have all been seen since then and appear to have retained their duties.  They have given up ruling the Firstborn but will offer advice if one seeks them out.”

“May we see any of the others?”

“The other Valar are scattered across Aman.  However, Yavanna is close by and we can walk to her prison within an hour.”

Not far indeed.  Yavanna was standing on the mound where the Trees had once grown.  The strike that had destroyed Máhanaxar had also caused the hills around it to cave in.  The Giver of Fruits was dressed in rags of brown and as far as she could see, nothing grew.  She did not move, staring at where her greatest creations had fallen.  “Not all of them are uncommunicative and still.  Varda and  Vairë were only struck blind-”

“Given those two, that’s punishment enough.” stated the Feanorian dryly.

“On the other hand, Nessa, Tulkas and Oromë were all encased in partially in stone.  And we’re not precisely sure about Mandos.  He still rules over the Dead in his Halls but he hasn’t left them since the end of the Second Age.”

“I’ll bet he makes no more prophecies either.”  The Vanyarin guide gave Maglor a funny look.  “You’re right about that.  How did you know?”

“It’s fairly obvious.  Eru must have quite a sense of irony or humor.   Manwë had the winds bring him news from all over the world now he knows nothing about anything.  Yavanna was in charge of growing things now all she sees is sterility and decay.  Nessa, Tulkas, they never stood still and now they can do nothing but.  Varda loved the light, all she sees is the dark.  For Mandos, he ruled over the Dead but also the living and pronounced Doom over the Firstborn.  Although I suppose he didn’t fail his duty, just tried to rule over the living Eldar and reduce their free will.  Maybe that’s why he’s still Ruler of the Dead.”

The blonde looked too much like his step-grandmother, and Maglor’s tone was more condescending than perhaps he intended.  “Tell me, did the decision to reduce themselves come before or after the end of the Second Age?”

“I-I don’t know.  Nienna, Ulmo and some of the others had long withdrawn away from Taniquetil before the Incident occurred.  But the others, Vana and Nienna were still seen.”

“Hmm, I’ll bet then, that the ones who were punished were the ones who voted to let Eru take care of the Numenorean problem.”

“I can’t confirm that.”

“I suppose even the Valar have their own secrets.” 

“Cousin.”  Maglor turned from where he was saddling a horse.  Last night it had been decided that he would await the trial in Formenos with his family.  Elrond would follow later, after meeting with his wife in Lorien.  Galadriel had not yet decided if she would go to Tirion to meet her parents but was staying longer on Tol Eressëa to take the time to make up her mind.

“Cousin,” he responded in kind.

“What you said yesterday, do you really believe the Valar deserved what happened to them?”

Glowing grey eyes looked into the same.  “Artanis, do you agree that the Valar abandoned their duties to Aman after the War of the Wrath?”

Reluctantly she nodded.  “Melkor was gone.  They could have helped us all rebuild and did not.”

“And do you agree that they also abandoned the Secondborn?”

“I’m not so sure about that.  But certainly, aside from the Gift, no aid ever came to them after the First Age.  And really, the only thing that happened before was Ulmo trying to warn Gondolin and that wasn’t even for the benefit of the Secondborn.”

“What about their treatment of Melkor?”

Here her face hardened.  “No, they were definitely in the wrong there.  It’s all well and good to say that Manwë didn’t understand evil, but even after being shown he was wrong, they took no responsibility for his actions until the War of Wrath.  Melkor was a Vala, one of them.  Instead, they abandoned the rest of us, Noldor, Secondborn, Sindar, everyone to the mercy of him and his lieutenants.”

“Then I take it the part you object to is their treatment of the Eldar?”

“Maglor, they are not like us.  They couldn’t possibly understand what they were doing was wrong.”

“Perhaps.  There have been times when I too want to believe they had good intentions and were merely misguided.  Certainly, the line between advising and guiding and actually ruling is very blurry.”  His eyes were as hard as hers.  “But even if I ignore the crimes to our family, that still leaves them guilty of three out of four charges.  And I think even one of those still shows an unforgivable breach of duty, with no signs of remorse or restitution in sight.  In my view, Eru is only handing out the just retribution those of Arda would inflict if they had the power to do so.”  He finished saddling the horse and easily mounted despite the scarred hand.

“Talk to others here, cousin.  Life is more complicated now than it was during the Years of the Trees.  But I think you will find most are satisfied with the trade-off of more responsibility in return for freedom.”

[saelwen]

The Last Dragon

Daenys Targaryen x Glorfindel

Crossover: Game of Thrones and LOTR/Hobbit

Chapter21

Masterlist

Summary: After Daenery’s death, her daughter Daenys, flew away with Drogon. Feeling lost without her mother beside her, but what will happen when Daenys find a portal that will lead her to a certain world, where dwell elves, dwarves, humans and other races

Warnings: Fluff

Words: 2k

The sound of water dripping made me stir on my sleep. Frowning my brows, I open slowly my eyes and the first thing I saw was a beautiful ceiling, decorated with vines and white flowers. Where am I? A soft delicate voice hummed around the room, I turn my head to the side and saw the back of a slim figure. It was a woman, with beautiful long blond hair made up in two loose braids that had the same vines and flowers of the ceiling, wrapped tightly in her hair.

She was wearing a flowing grey dress, that reminds me of the cool water of Rivendell. Around her small waist was a gold belt that had some bottles hanging there.

A groan escapes from me as I try to sit up, my vision still a little blurry. The woman stops humming and turns back, looking at me with a bright smile “Your wake!” her voice full of delight.

I put my hand on my head and rubbed softly, as I lift my gaze a gasp falls from my lips. The woman, who was now walking towards me, was Estë, wife of Irmo, one of The Valar.

She was known to be the Goddess of healing, I know this because I always see her in the garden of Lórien, catching some herbs and Aredhel told me once.

“How do you feel? Any dizziness?” she asks me a while taking of the cold cloth off my forehead. I put my hand on my belly as I remember the events from yesterday “Where’s my husband?” i blurt out, my eyes full of concern. She smiles and points to the corner of the room.  

I follow her finger and see a golden-haired ellon sleeping peacefully on a very uncomfortable chair. “He’s been here the two days that you were at sleep. Never leaving your side.” my eyes bulge out as she said those words “Two days?!” I say with wide eyes. She lets out a chuckle and nods “Yes...With all the stress of the war and the news of the babies, your body shut down...It was a trouble to bring you here. Your dragons didn’t let anyone get near you except Glorfindel.” a small smile appears on my face. My sweet children...

She helps me sit up and stroke softly my cheek “Your babies are fine, very healthy... I advise you to take it slowly and do not put much stress on you.” I nod and look down to my stomach, rubbing gently my flat belly. You are yet to be formed but I love you already...my babies.

I hear a groan coming from the corner of the room, turning my head back I saw my husband starting to wake up. I smile as his ocean blue eyes met mine “Daenys!” he whispers a while running to me, enveloping his strong arms around me “Are you okay? What happened?” he blurts out, checking me up, trying to see if I had any injury. Didn’t Estë or Varda told him about the babies? Confused, I look to Estë but she only gives me a smile “Well, I will leave you two alone so you can talk in private.” with that she leaves the room.

He grabs my hands and squeezes softly “Daenys? What's happened out there?” his voice was full of concern. I lift his hands and gave a kiss on each one, smiling softly to him “Well, Estë told me that I fainted because of all the stress and of the news that Queen Varda told me...” he looks to me confused, “What do you mean? What news?” I smile nervously to him. I hope he doesn’t faint!

I pull his large hand and put it on my belly “Well...it looks like we are going to be parents.” I say quietly.

There's a long silence, I look up, afraid of his reaction but I was met with a huge smile on his face, almost splitting his face in two. His eyes were full of tears, he picks me up and spins me around gently“We’re having a baby?! I’m going to be an Ada?” his voice was full of happiness and excitement.

I let out a laugh and cup his face softly in my hands “Yes...and we’re having two babies.” with my words his eyes widened, tears running down freely “Twins?!” I nod, feeling my own tears rising up. He puts me down and pulls me into a passionate kiss, pouring all his love and happiness in it.

“I love you so much.” he says, then he bends down, kisses gently my belly “And I also love you, my children.” I giggle and caress his soft hair.

He stood up and grab my hand “Come! Aradhel is going nuts. She almost punched Estë’s maiar in the face to try to get in and come see you.” I look to him with wide eyes “What?” he only chuckles and leads me out of the room.

As we were outside, Aredhel jumps into my arms, wrapping her arms around my shoulders “Oh Eru! Are you okay?” I chuckle and nod, noticing Turgon and Ecthelion walking towards us “Yes...well, we have some news.” I say a while looking to Glorfindel, who was smiling like a dork.

Aredhel push back and looks to us in confusion “News?” I nod and grab my husband's hand “We are going to be parents of twins!” my voice full of happiness and pride.

They all let out a gasp, “Oh Eru!! That’s wonderful news!” Aredhel squeals, jumping up and down. Ecthelion put his hand on Glorfindel’s shoulder and smirk “Let’s hope that they don’t have your face!” Glorfindel punches his shoulder and rolls his eyes “They will be beautiful like their mother!” he says a while looking at me with a proud smile.

Suddenly a roar sounded in the air, making us lookup. Drogon and the other dragons landed in front of us, I grin and walk towards them.

Drogon pushes his snout into my stomach and starts purring “Well, it seems that you know already.” I chuckle, stroking gently his warm scales.

The sound of someone clearing his throat grabbed our attention. I turn back and saw Aulë looking at me with a smile, with Manwë and Morgoth behind him “It’s good to see you better again!” he says. Glorfindel comes to my side and wraps his arm around my waist protective, his eyes glaring at Morgoth, who was looking at me with a strange look on his eyes.

“Yes! I’m much better now.” he nods and looks to Drogon “Lord Tyrion has explained to me the dragon glass. I know a way to forge weapons and armor for the battle!” I straight up with those words, “Your dragons are made with magic...so if they melt the iron with their fire, I could forge it into weapons that can kill those ice demons!” I stay silent for a moment, thinking of what he said. It could work...and we need this quick.

“Okay! When do you need them?” I ask. Aulë took a deep breath and look to the sky “Maybe tomorrow or the day after. I need to talk with the Noldor folk...They are the best in crafting and I need all the help I can have.” he says, smiling softly to me. I agreed and bow my head as they turn around and leave but I notice Morgoth looking back, giving me a wink “You need to tell the secret to make those beasts so tame!” as he said those words, my blood turn in liquid fire. Drogon lows his huge head so he was beside me and let out a warning growl, baring his sharp teeth to him “They are not beasts!...Also, a dragon cannot be tame, Morgoth!” my words full of venom. Manwë pulls roughly the chains “Stop it, Melkor!” he says to his brother, who was with a large smirk on his lips.

He bows dramatically to me “I’m so sorry, Lady Daenys!” he says sarcastically. Aulë grabs his arms and pulls him with them, taking him away from us.

I put my hand on Drogon’s neck and stroke softly, Glorfindel put his large hand on my cheek and rub his thumb gently on my brown skin “Don’t let him get you...he’s not worthy.” I nod and gave him a gentle smile “I know...”

When I turn back, I notice in the corner of my eye two redheads peeking through the bushes, staring in awe to the dragons. I hit softly my elbow on Glorfindel’s arm and motion with my head, he follows my gaze and shakes his head, “Hello Amrod and Amras!” I say with a teasing voice.

They shot from their place and look at me with an embarrassing look “Ahh.. Ah...Hello, Lady Daenys and Lord Glorfindel!” Amrod says quietly, looking around so his gaze not meeting mine.  

“May I help you with something?” I say with a silver eyebrow lifted. As Amras was about to answer, a rigid voice sounded behind them “Ambarussa! Where are you?” I move gaze to the side and saw Maedhros walking towards us.

As his gaze met mine, his eyes widened and he bows his head “I’m sorry, Lady Daenys! Did they cause any trouble?” he says a while giving glaring to the twins, who were with their head down. I smile and wave my hand “They didn’t cause any trouble. They just curious about my dragons, am I right?” I say calmly.

The twins nod, looking to their brother with innocent eyes “We just wanted to see them up close.” Amras says quietly.

Maedhros look to them suspiciously but nod “Hmm...Father is looking for you two. Go before he gets angry.” they nod and, as Maedhros and the twins were about to leave. I took a step forward “Ahh...Prince Maedhros! I would love to have your family over to a picnic tomorrow...and also the twins could meet probably my dragons if they want.” as I say the last words, the twin's eyes shined like bright stars.

Maedhros stayed silent, thinking for a moment. Then he looks to me, smiling for the first time “I will ask my father first but you can count us in tomorrow.” I smile brightly and nod. He bows his head “Thank you, Lady Daenys!” I could sense in his voice a little excitement “Your welcome, Prince Maedhros.” with that they turn back leave to their home.

Glorfindel looks to me confused “Why did you invite them?” I sigh and walk to Drogon, climbing to his back “Because I want to get to know them better...Everyone deserves a second chance.” he nods and sits behind me, wrapping his strong arms around my waist.

I grab the spikes of Drogon’s back and look over my shoulder “Let’s go for a ride?” he smirks and nods “Let’s go, my dragon Queen!” I smile and order Drogon to fly.  

Hey Guys!! New Chapter is here! Looks like Glorfindel is trill with the news 😂😂 I hope you like it and feel free to comment and tell me what you think!

XOXO

Taglist: @gwendelerynan​ @crazyonesarethebest​ @foggyturtleknightangel​ @yes-captainstark​ @moonchild-stuff​ @bloodoftargaryen​ @demonquartz​ @shanty-lol​ @damniitjim​ @lasswarrior​ @kxnngsshirecoffee​ @dipsylou​ @cookiechristie​ @bitchimalivesadly​ @melissalune​

[amethysttribble]

@kendrixtermina, this idle comment of yours possessed me. I wrote this in 30 minutes. Enjoy.

Also, sorry this post is so long, I couldn’t put a read more in the first part unfortunately.

The Kingmaker

“How dare you.”

It was a lot to ask of Curufin.

But Maedhros could not renege on his plans now, and everything else was trivial compared to that. Curufin’s indignation was trivial. His anger was hollow, his words pointless, his accusations didn’t sting. There was nothing about this display that Maedhros couldn’t weather.

Still, if Maedhros had two hands, he would have used the one not fiddling with the quill to pinch his nose. But he didn’t have two hands, and Maedhros was worried his composure would break if he stopped twirling the feather between his fingers. Thus, he was forced to face the full brunt of Curufin’s hysteria without any buffer. What a life he now lived, where he couldn’t even make dismissive and rude gestures at his younger brothers easily.

What a life he was living, where he was commissioning Curufinwë to forge a crown for their half-uncle.

“It’s a political gesture.”

“It’s a farce!”

“Would it help to think of the work as a job? I’ll even pay you.”

Curufin laughed, and it was a nasty, cracked gesture that seemed to shake his whole body. The sound was pathetic enough that a shudder ran down Maedhros’ spine, and he had to look away. Curufin’s bloodshot eyes and gaunt face cut a figure to match many of the people in Morgoth’s prisons. His emotional state was similarly frayed and... loose to those jailbirds. Maedhros was trying to be accommodating of his brother’s sharp, cracked edges, as Curufin put himself back together.

After all, Maedhros had returned from Thanogorodrim down a sister-in-law. He imagined it was hard for Curufin to lose a father, a brother, and a wife in short succession. And to have the least loved of those three be the one that returned from the dead?

Well. Maedhros wasn’t offended. The lashing out was just sad, is what it was. Understandable. But Maedhros had let his understanding allow him to condone quite a few of his father’s more questionable actions to detrimental results. No more. And Curufin had never proven himself worthy of leeway.

“Curufinwë,” Maedhros asked, “what do I have to say to get us to skip this conversation?”

“How about, ‘Actually, I’ve decided not to spit upon Father’s legacy, I’ll gracefully accept the crown. The metaphorical one, yes, but also that very lovely one you just made me.’”

Maedhros closed his eyes briefly, and tipped his head back. He took a deep breath through his nose. Was this about the damn crown Curufin had made him while Maedhros was still bound to bed? Perhaps telling Curvo to melt it down for materials was rude. But looking at the hunk of metal made Maedhros feel ill, made him think of three gems wreathed black, of Sauron’s delight. Maedhros now has a scar across his cheek where the vile creature had beat him with his last coronet...

By Irmo, he was so tired.

“We both know where this ends, Curufinwë,” Maedhros told the ceiling. “I will not be moved on this point. Just agree or refuse.”

“Fuck you,” Curufin hissed, “You know there’s no choice.”

“Of course there is. If you don’t wish to make another, I won’t order you. I could just present Nolofinwë with my own crown. That does have a certain symbolic drama to it...”

Curufin drew in a sharp breath at the suggestion, and Maedhros turned back to look at him. Curufin’s lips were curled in disgust and fear, like the idea of Nolofinwë not wearing a custom made crown was an affront to Ilúvatar. Or maybe he was just upset that Maedhros cared so little about his gift. Curufin took his accessories too seriously. Maedhros could only barely remember when he himself had thought it was all that important.

“You don’t deserve to be Father’s son,” Curufin spat, and that one actually made Maedhros’ eyes widen. “You always wished you were Nolofinwë’s heir instead, and even now you use his devices. Don’t insult me with the illusion of choice, you dishonest cretin. Just give your orders or lick Nolofinwë’s boots already. You can’t play your games, can’t create these stupid rituals and then treat your resolve like it’s tin. Pick! Are you king or not? Do you command me or not?”

“I command you,” Maedhros replied, disdain dripping from his voice, “as your eldest brother. No matter what you, or I... might wish was the case.”

Curufin paused, breathing so heavily Maedhros could see the rise and fall of his chest from across the room. Then Curufin suddenly stalked forward. He loomed over Maedhros’ desk, and ripped the quill right from his hand. The paper was snatched from under Maedhros’ wrist, and Curufin bent over the page. He went to scribbling, periodically dipping the quill in the inkwell, splashing ink everywhere each time.

Maedhros watched, mildly curious, as Curufin worked, staring at his brother’s face. As he worked, Curufin’s features smoothed out, growing placid and calm. His eyes darted rapidly, and Maedhros could practically perceive the calculations. Odd how creation soothed Curufin’s emotions, while it had only made Father more manic.

There was no quiet satisfaction or joy about Curufin when he looked up from the rudimentary sketches, though. He looked dead.

“Is this acceptable?”

Maedhros didn’t break his gaze from Curufin’s.

“Sure.”

“Very well then.” Curufin stood, grabbing the paper in his fist, crinkling it. He turned to go, but paused, his back turned to Maedhros.

“I hope you know what you’re giving up,” Curufin whispered.

“Of course,” Maedhros replied, and there was a pounding in his forehead. His vision was going a little blurry. “I’ll not ask anything of you again, Curufinwë. I know anything less than the orders of a king would be an insult to you.”

“Fuck you. You should have asked Tyelperinquar,” Curufin hissed as he walked away. He wretched the door open as Maedhros closed his eyes ones more to try and stave off the nausea. He picked up the quill again.

“Curufinwë!” Maedhros called, “Don’t put anything snide in the details of that crown!”

Curufin laughed again, and Maedhros squeezed his eyes shut tighter.

“Make me party to the defilement of Father’s memory if you please, but don’t fucking insult me.”

Door the slammed shut. Maedhros finally slumped in his chair, certain in the knowledge that he had lost Curufin for good. As the migraine set in, that new pain in his heart was a weird source of relief.

The Imperfect Crown

Feanorian Week, entry two! I chose ‘Kingship’ for Maglor.

If he hadn’t grown up in a family of smiths, Maglor would think the crown was rather glorious. Each link was silver, and the longer he looked the more detail he unearthed. Songbirds hid among the twisting silver branches that composed the circlet, and where the metal joined together emeralds were embedded. The ruby in honor of their father was the centerpiece, it glowed when there was no light and it rested heavily on his forehead. But the crown was undeniably Maglor’s. He appreciated the gesture, especially from Curufin.

But Maglor was the grandson, son, brother, and uncle of smiths. He’d spent a fair amount of time in the forge, and even his mediocre work was good enough to fool the uninitiated. Maglor was a great discerner of quality, and he knew how to spot cut corners and cheap substitutes. When he was a youth with a lot of expectations and no confidence to his name, he’d enjoyed judging his ostentatious peers for their subpar jewelry.

I might have missed the high note, but that necklace isn’t silver. The water and air will rust it in a matter of weeks.

A Noldor might not recognize a robin’s song from a nightingale’s, but at least we can see the craftsmanship of a child. Carnistir could make better, and I can differentiate both.

My fingers will heal and the blood can be cleaned from my harp. But you’re never getting a refund for that gaudy, glass thing you call a bracelet.

It had been a bad habit, and he’d outgrown it. But the skills he’d used as a weapon against his peers remained. Maglor could always tell when his brother’s work was rushed and shoddy.

Not that he could blame Curufin. He’d been half-way through forging Nelyo’s crown when their new High King was captured, with no word on whether he was alive or dead. Curufin was never duped by anything twice, so he forged Maglor’s crown three times as fast. No need to lose another king before his crown could even be finished! Curufin, eyes bloodshot from sleepless nights and endless tears, had thrown the damn thing at Maglor’s head, hissing, “If you get the urge to run off on a suicide mission, tell me beforehand! I’d like a warning to start working on Turko’s. Maybe I’ll just go ahead and make his and Carnistir’s!”

Curufin’s short fuse had been made nigh non-existant by Father’s death and actually set a lit but Nelyo’s capture, but Maglor didn’t fear it. Atarinkë’s grief was as hysterical and fiery as Father’s had been, but he’d never had the same spark as Feanor. His tantrums only reached as far as what words anyone in earshot let hurt and what inanimate object he could hurl. Maglor was certain his brother was more prone to hurting himself than anything else. He did feel a little bad for the wife and son that had to live in such close quarters with Curufin’s emotional fallout, though.

Still, Curufin had put a lot of care in the symbol of Maglor’s new kingship. Not time certainly, and probably not as much effort as Nelyo. But there was certainly care, and love, and trust. Curufin made a crown fit for his bard brother, one that spoke of song, steady roots, and the greens Maglor always favored. It looked nothing like Father’s crown, nor the sketches for Nelyo’s. This was the symbol of an entirely new king, not a reminder of the legacy that Maglor had expected.

Somehow, that made it so much worse.

Curufin trusted him. Curufin trusted him. There were a thousand more people out there who wanted to trust Maglor to lead and protect them. They were going to follow his orders! Look to him for guidance!

His grandfather and father- two people who were never, never supposed to be gone- were dead, Nelyo was beyond them, and there were people out there who wanted Maglor to put on this crown and be a king.

And why? Because his brother tossed a hunk of metal at him? Because they chose his grandfather? Because Finwë’s family was supposed to take up that burden? Well, that was all fair and good, but this was never supposed to come close to Maglor. He’d not trained for this, thought of this, expected this; not like Nelyo had, even though this should never have been necessary.

Why Maglor? Father called the idea ‘inheritance’, but that was just one of the many words that Feanor made up! None of this was real!

Just as that tacky jewelry had not made his classmates as polished and sophisticated as they’d hoped, and insulting them hadn’t made him feel better, a crown did not a king Maglor make. Curufin’s circlet was just as cheap an imitation of greater things as Maglor’s entire kingship. This was madness. 

This was reality, and it was sitting in Maglor’s hands.

Curufin had made this crown; made it poor and personal and passable because he didn’t want to be in this position either. But they both were. That unfortunately meant Maglor would have to try. If Curufin could try… Well, Maglor really hated letting his little brothers out-do him.

He was not his father or his brother. His ascension to this position was hasty, and if any looked at him longer than a few seconds they would see the mistakes and the cracks. But it would have to be good enough.

Maglor put on his crown, and walked out to address his subjects. He wasn’t sure what he was going to say, because he was not a king. Not yet. But until then, Maglor was still a great performer. He knew- like Curufin knew- how to hide a few imperfections.