#Medieval! Ainur

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Lord and Master

Pairing:  Manwë x Fem. Reader (Elf |Third Person POV)

Themes: Medieval! Ainur | Angst | Dark

Warnings: Dark Manwë | Arranged marriage | Dub-con | Manipulation | Imbalance of power | Oral (male receiving) |Medieval sexism

Wordcount : 3.4K words

Summary: Manwë finally agrees to marry, but is angry because his ability to control his life is being stripped from him. Finally, on his wedding night, the chance to take back some of that control presents itself to him.

Rating: 🔥🔥 | Minors DNI | 18+

Rules and tag form here.

A/n: This is my first foray into dark/dub-con, so I apologize if there are any mess-ups in the story.

The wedding passed like an ugly dream. Manwë did all that was required of him, biting the inside of his cheek the entire time.   

When word of his trysts with Námo made its way into the light, ladies refused him one by one. Varda was the first to rescind her offer of marriage. She had declared she did not think highly of a prince who threw the one he loved to the dirt and walked away like it all meant nothing to him. And where she went, the rest followed: Vána and Yavanna agreed with their lady’s choice, as did Arien and Ilmarë. Even the dutiful ones like Uinen, Lëa, and Melian refused the prince’s proposal with a courteous chorus of "Thank you kindly, your grace," followed by "But no." Nienna would never accept a proposal, and Meássë simply laughed in the messenger’s face when he showed her the king's letter. The king had purpled and raged for days when he heard.

Manwë turned to his bride, a wave of deep-seated anger and resentment surging through his veins. Lady y/n was not his choice for a wife. After Meássë refused, Eru finally had to stoop so low as to ask a minor lordling for his daughter’s hand in marriage. That stung as well. 

He glanced at his wife again. She was well-bred and well-mannered, so the others said. Y/n loved singing, sewing, and reading, but she was not what the crown prince wanted in a companion. She was too quiet and docile. She certainly was not Námo, yet he must wed her and secure the line of succession. That was his father’s order and the council's. 

"Wed her, bed her, and put a child in her," the king commanded once the offer of marriage had been accepted. "You are capable of this, yes?” 

Manwë had clenched his fists so hard they turned white at the knuckles. "You command I wed someone I do not desire," he spat, "Yet you heartily agree to your Lord Commander's wedding and bedding a lowly serving girl. How do you justify it, your grace?"

His father’s icy glare pinned him to the chair he sat in. It made Manwë feel so small. "Our Lord Commander is not my son. He will never wear the crown. And Eönwë commands the near-fanatical loyalty of our army. He even saved your life once. Do you not remember? How he fought your brother and bled in your name?" 

Manwë flinched when reminded. "Father...” 

"Keeping a warrior like our Lord Commander happy is in this realm's best interests." Eru interrupted him and picked up his quill and a piece of parchment. The sight made Manwë feel like he was in a ship already listing dangerously to one side. "And yours. That is how I justify it. But if you wish to refuse this marriage," Eru said while dipping the quill in new ink. "You need only say the word, and I will marry the lady instead.” 

And if I refuse, Valinor will learn my lord father has yet another son who flees his duty, the prince thought bitterly. Oh yes, I can hear it now. Poor king Eru, plagued with selfish, disobedient sons who care for nothing but themselves. 

Manwë did not want others to see him as no better than Melkor, but he wished for the days when his brother was heir and life was a carefree dream, where he was master of his destiny and lived how he pleased. Now, with every word and every stroke of his father's quill, he felt his sense of control being stripped from him, sliver by painful sliver. Each day he felt a little smaller and a little weaker. He started to feel more like a boy desperate for approval and nothing like the man he wanted to be.  

Forever bowing my head to the will of someone else. Father, the council, the crown. Is that what I am? Someone who readily acquiesces? Someone helpless and weak?  

Someone coughed. It was the priest. The time had come to exchange vows. The bride and groom turned to face each other, one with eyes full of hope and the other wishing to see nothing before them. 

"One heart," they repeated in unison, "One soul, One flesh. Bound in word, body, and spirit, from this day until the end of all days." 

Y/n looked at her new husband through her veil, thinking how comely he looked in his rich black velvet doublet, and his silver hair falling down to his shoulders in beautiful waves. She hoped to find blushing cheeks, bright eyes, and a shy smile. All she found was darkness in his deep blue eyes and anger in his clenched jaws. It was a warning, a sign of dark things that may come to pass. There was great danger here, but she shrugged the growing sense of foreboding away and still gave him her hand, shivering when he slipped a thin gold band onto her finger. There was nothing else she could do. The contract had been signed, and the vows had been said. For good or ill, she was his now, and her duty as a wife was to obey her husband. That was what she was taught. 

"With this ring," Manwë declared to all present, his words clearly forced. "I pledge my love!" 

His bride did the same. Y/n’s words were sweeter, and filled with tender hope. Her lord father came forward and lifted her veil. Manwë ground his teeth and did his duty, leaning in and kissing her chastely before swiftly pulling away. He accepted the necklace his father presented him in a beautifully carved box and draped it around his bride's throat. Y/n was overcome with the shivers. Her new jewels felt like a noose. She took deep breaths to compose herself and clung to the hope that the prince was as kind and courteous as the songs said he was and that love would bloom between them over time.  

"What the Gods have brought together," came the priest's cry, "let no one tear asunder!" 

The crowd clapped and cheered in approval when the crown prince and princess turned to face them. Manwë dutifully offered his arm, but y/n felt his stiffness as they walked down the aisle together. The chapel was aglow with the light of a thousand candles. A riot of color bled from the stained glass windows onto the floor. Those standing in the upper walkways threw rose petals onto the couple while they walked beneath them. Swirls of red and white rained down on y/n and Manwë even as the doors to the outside world opened. Crowds gathered outside Taniquetil’s great chapel cheered even louder than those inside. Y/n raised her arm and waved to them, thinking her heart would burst with joy. She turned to face her husband, her joy soon wilting like a flower under the scorching heat of the sun. When Manwë turned to her, his eyes filled with something akin to hate. 

“Come, wife," he said stiffly. "It is time we took ourselves to the feast." 

An hour later, they were walking into the great hall for the feast. Y/n tried to talk with her husband during the carriage ride to Ilmarin to engage his attention. Manwë would look at her with little interest before turning away. His cool indifference stung, but y/n chose to be patient. She thought he was grieving the loss of his first love. This will pass soon enough, she thought. Someday she would be rewarded. She was certain of it. 

The feast was a splendid affair. Eru had spared no expense. Minstrels strolled between tables, singing and fluting and strumming lyres. Fire dancers walked on stilts, juggling flaming batons in their hands. Guests dined on thick mushroom soup and salads of beans, onions, spinach, and beets. There was roasted boar and roasted quail and squab, and pears soaked in red wine. There were flagons of mead and flagons of ale, glass pitchers of iced summer wine, and the finest hippocras money could buy. Many broke into loud applause when servants walked into the hall carrying a great swan pie between them. The dish was reserved only for royalty. On this day, it would be served to everyone. Seated at the high table on an ornate chair under a richly embroidered canopy, y/n had little appetite for her food, fine as it all was. Her stomach would tie itself into unpleasant knots whenever she glanced at her husband.  

Manwë's mood had darkened even more. Irmo of House Blackgrave was seated with the other high lords and ladies, but Námo was nowhere to be seen. He had been ill since Manwë sent him away. A common illness, so the messenger said, one that would go away under the tender care of his sister. The prince knew differently. Námo was sick because of him.  

It should be me tending to him, and not Nienna.  

He could not tend to Námo now. The chance to do so disappeared when Manwë put his name on parchment and agreed to take y/n for a wife. With each stroke and flourish of the quill, he felt his sense of control slip away even more, making him feel helpless and angry. 

Weak. Helpless. Forever bowing to the will of others. This cannot continue. 

He heard gentle laughter. It was the Lord Commander's wife. She was wide-eyed while she watched a troupe of tumblers perform incredibly daring feats. Her doting husband kept her in his lap, not caring a whit for what other people thought. Eönwë was content to feed her morsels from his own plate before stealing unexpected kisses, his arm tightening around her waist in a protective gesture when she leaned in and cupped his face. He would listen indulgently whenever she said something, beaming like a man who knew his love was well returned. The sight filled Manwë with despair. He wished to hold Námo the same way, feed him the same way, and drown in his laughter. He turned to face his wife. She was playing with her food. Anger seared through his veins again.  

"Does the meal not please you?" he asked in rough, clipped tones.  

Y/n was startled. It was the first time the prince had asked anything of her since their first meeting half a year ago. 

"It is excellent, your highness," she replied meekly. "But I fear my appetite cannot do it justice."   

Your highness. The way she said it, all soft and submissive. Manwë gave her a measured look.  

Small. Meek. And bound by oath to obey me. The thoughts came swiftly and unbidden. Manwë ignored such thoughts and looked away just as a herald called the guests to dance. His wife placed her hand over his.  

"Shall we dance, your highness?" she asked hopefully. 

Manwë’s mouth twisting into an ugly sneer was all the answer y/n needed. He did not want to dance, eat, or join in the merrymaking. He wanted this night over and done with. 

There is only one thing left to do, he decided, and rose. The music slowly died when he stood to his full height. Everyone's attention turned to him. 

"I confess, my lords and ladies, as much as I would love to dance," he declared with a forced smile, "I have more... pressing matters to tend to with my lady wife. Come, my lady. It is time we did our duty." 

The others laughed. Y/n forced herself to smile. When her husband offered his arm, she rose and took it, turning a deaf ear to the ribald jests shouted their way. She let Manwë lead her through lofty halls and cool corridors, all while her stomach was a roil.  

She had been prepared for her bedding, but the way Manwë looked at her, his eyes ablaze with cold fury, frightened her. She looked straight ahead, clinging to the hope that her fears were unfounded and the prince would surprise her with tender words and gentle embraces. 

That was not to be. When the couple entered an airy bedchamber and the doors closed behind them, Manwë pulled away from her. He walked over to a side table and helped himself to a cup of wine.

Manwë studied her critically. Quiet. Dutiful. Perhaps this can work.

"You must now obey me in all things, yes?"

“I am your wife, your highness. I must obey."

Small. Meek. Bound by oath to obey me. This time, he did not push the thought away. Y/n was bound by oath to obey him. Whatever he asked of her, she had to do it without protest. The knowledge of it was too much for him to resist. 

It is time I regained some control over my life. I will not bow my head to yet another. 

"Undress yourself," Manwë commanded. He walked to the bed, his new boots clicking over the stone floor.  

Y/n blushed furiously. She dreamed of her husband undressing her, giggling while he fumbled with the clasps and lacings in her dress. She did not expect him to order her to undress herself in front of him. 

"Undress yourself," Manwë urged, his words like honey. "Come now. You are a true and obedient wife, yes?" 

Y/n wrung her hands. "I... I wish to be, your highness." 

Manwë lifted his cup and drank deeply, draining it to the last drop. "Then prove to me you are a true and obedient wife. Undress." 

Y/n flushed. She was his wife. She pledged herself to him. Swore to obey him in all things. And obey him she did. She first undid her braids, removing the pins and clips, her fingers fumbling at her hair like they were all broken thumbs. Manwë was content to watch. Seeing her hair fall free in loose strands did something to him. Watching her comply with his command did something to him. Whatever it was, he soon grew drunk on it.  

"You are still dressed, my lady," he observed. "Your gown… it is beautiful to be sure, but it is too much. Unburden yourself. But leave the necklace; I like it."  

Y/n flushed again. This time in humiliation. "Your highness, I... should I be doing this?" 

"Yes, sweet wife," Manwë replied, enjoying himself thoroughly. "It is only proper that you do so." 

His wife managed somehow, her cheeks aflame the entire time. Her heavy gown and sash slowly slipped off her shoulders and pooled around her feet. Her stays and slip followed. When she finally stepped out of the wisps that passed for smallclothes, Manwë put his cup on the ground and stood up, surprised to find himself already hard. 

There were gooseprickles all over y/n's exposed skin. Her eyes were fixed on the floor. Manwë circled her once, then twice, like a predator circling his prey. He let his hand glide up her spine and play with her hair. She shivered when he palmed the soft expanse of her breasts. Manwë felt her tremble. He liked it. It made him feel powerful, for the first time in many moons.  

"Undress me," Manwë ordered, slipping out of his boots.  

Y/n kept her eyes on the clasps on his tunic. She fumbled again, her fingers turning back into broken thumbs. Manwë smirked and kept still.  

Her hands were soft and warm when they brushed against his flesh. She was unsure of herself and hesitant, but she did her work dutifully and quickly. Once freed of his doublet and undershirt, Manwë returned to the bed and stood by the edge. 

"Come, wife," he said, holding out his hand. "Come here." 

His wife took one hesitant step after another, uncertain of what he wanted. Y/n had not been taught much concerning matters of the flesh. Her mother had told her to expect certain things, like discomfort and pain, but she also said such things would go away and the rest would be nothing but magic. Y/n studied her husband. There was hunger in his eyes, and flashes of something far more sinister. She feared there would be no magic this night. Not for her at any rate. 

"Closer," Manwë cooed. "Closer. Good. Now. On your knees." 

Y/n looked at him, shocked. "Your highness... I... I do not understand."  

Manwë grinned wolfishly. "Get on your knees and undo my belt. Go on. You would do it if you really wanted to be a dutiful wife, yes?" 

Y/n licked her lips. Of course, she wanted to be a dutiful wife. From the first moment she saw Manwë all she had ever wanted was to be a good wife and earn his love. She nodded and sank to her knees, grateful for the rug beneath her. She undid the clasp of his belt, then the drawstrings on his breeches. Her cheeks heated when Manwë tugged them down just enough to free his cock. 

"Open your mouth," he said, and caressed her cheek. He ran his thumb across her lips, imagining what they would look like, swollen and glistening with the remnants of his spend. "Go on."  

Y/n looked up at him, thinking she had heard wrong. Manwë caressed her cheek again, almost in affection. "Open your mouth. You do not want to disappoint me, do you?" 

"No," she sputtered. It was a strange feeling, having his cock slip past her parted lips and sink further and further into her mouth. She felt him, thick and salty and heavy on her tongue. Y/n glanced up at him, surprised to find his eyes closed and his head thrown back. 

"Loosen your jaw," he hissed, and wrapped his hands around her hair, pulling it out of the way. "There. Like that."

Manwë's mind soon grew hazy with bliss. Gods, her mouth feels so good. His grunts grew louder and louder. There was nothing else—no whispered endearments—that would soothe his wife and inflame her passions. Manwë did not care. He simply wanted to regain some control. And it felt so good, to take back what control he had over his life. 

I am in control.

Y/n did not know what else to do. She let him thrust into her mouth, her eyes stinging with confused tears. Manwë wiped the tear away with his thumb and brought it to his lips, as if to taste. He shivered when he tasted the saltiness of her tear on the tip of his tongue, and shivered when he felt the warmth of her mouth and the softness of her sinful lips. He wanted to kiss those lips while he claimed her maidenhead, but not now. He was so close that he could already feel a tightness in his belly. He brushed his hands over her hair and groaned when her lips tightened around his cock. Just a little longer. He needed to hold on for a little longer. And that was all he had. The world went still. Manwë let out a deep moan while his body splintered and shook with ecstasy. Y/n could do nothing but grip his thighs while the warmth of his spend filled her mouth.

Manwë panted and drew back, satisfied for now. "Swallow," he insisted, not moving another inch until y/n had swallowed every last drop. He stood back and admired the sight of his wife on her knees before him, her lips glistening and swollen just like he hoped they would be. That sense of feeling powerful returned, this time stronger than before. 

I am in control.

Manwë grabbed that feeling with eager hands, not wanting to let go of it. 

I am lord and master.

He finally walked away, setting himself to rights and picking up the rest of his clothes as he did so. "I will sleep in here," he said, opening the door to a smaller bedroom. "Good night." 

Y/n rose and turned to face her own bed. Her knees were sore, and her jaws hurt. She thought there would be more to this night. "But your highness, this is our wedding night. Should we be…" 

"Do not fret," Manwë yawned contentedly. An hour or two of rest was needed, and then he would consummate their marriage. "I will claim your maidenhead and consummate this marriage. But it will be at a time of my choosing. Not yours. Never yours. Am I understood?" 

Y/n opened her mouth in reply. She thought she deserved to have some say on how this night went. Manwë leaned against the door, his arms crossed, and his eyes darkening again. It frightened her, made her whisper, "Yes." 

"Yes, what?" 

"Yes, your highness." 

"Good," Manwë muttered. "Never forget what I am, wife. Your lord and master, nothing less than that." 

Y/n tried to blink back her tears when he slammed the door behind him. Her hopes slowly crumbled like brittle clay. There would be no love. No tenderness. Not with him, not after tonight. Manwë made it plain with his few words that she should not expect more from him. Suddenly more tired than ever, she crawled into bed and slipped beneath a soft pelt, waiting for him to come for her again. 

The thought made her blood run cold.

tags: @cilil​ 

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

💫High Tree Hall is located deep within the ancient forests of Hunter’s Pass. The forests are rarely, if ever, infiltrated by an enemy, as the trees form confusing paths and dead-ends similar to the Labyrinth of Alqualondë. Still, elves and attendants loyal to Lord Oromë carry out regular patrols in and around the forests. Any guests or outsiders visiting High Tree are met on the outskirts of Hunter’s Pass and led down winding paths on horseback while blindfolded. - Medieval! Ainur Oromë home layout.

💫Despite their standing as a noble house, House Tarkil had little in the way of coin, their lands were hard to farm, and members often served in House Shield’s household guard. Still, they persevered, with Lord and Lady Tarkil doing everything possible to ensure their children wanted very little. Meássë had a good childhood alongside her twin brother, often training beside him in the sparring yard. Much like other high-born ladies, Meássë was taught traditional feminine arts such as art and embroidery, but she preferred her lessons in archery, horseback riding, jousting, and hunting. She would often join in on hunting expeditions. - Medieval! Ainur Meássë bio

Happy Tuesday, Fellowship! 💚

Don’t you just love to tease your audience with some snippets of what’s to come? Tuesday Teaser is all about hyping up a piece you’re currently working on. So, go on, tease a few sentences from your latest project!

Share as many or as few sentences as you like, and be a part of the buzz of excitement for your hard work!

[quinn10121012]

“The maiden whom the Valar chose from among the Maiar to guide the vessel of the Sun was named Arien, and he that steered the island of the Moon was Tilion.” - the Silmarillion, J.R.R. Tolkien

[cilil]

🎀 Arien seeking a favor

― 𝓐𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓷 ~ seeking a favor ⋆࿓𖤓

𖤓 Arien is a proud lady. Her friendship isn't easily won and her heart isn't easily swayed.

𖤓 Should you wish to receive a favor from her, make sure that she considers you to be a good and trustworthy person and you aren't overstepping the boundaries of your relationship with her; otherwise she is rather prone to declining and withdrawing from unwanted advances.

𖤓 If Arien considers you worthy of receiving a favor, she will give you a golden hairpin in the shape of the sun and make you promise that you will give it back to her once you return from whatever adventure you wish to embark on. She will most definitely hold you to that promise, and it's a sign of great trust.

𖤓 Should you bestow a favor upon her, she may be surprised by the gesture, but appreciates it nevertheless - rest assured, she is very much flattered to receive such a thing from a beautiful lady/lord/noble such as yourself.

𖤓 Arien won't betray your trust and go to great lengths to return whatever you gave her to you. It's a matter of pride and honor, and while she can be gentle and loving, she's equally as fierce and determined when it comes to things she cares about.

⋯⋯⊱⊰⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⊱⊰⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⊱⊰⋯⋯

Thanks for the ask!

These headcanons are based on the medieval!Ainur AU created by @a-world-of-whimsy-5. Please check out their amazing writing and worldbuilding to learn more about it~

For Medieval! Tolkien emoji game

[miss-miaumiau]

TAG GAME - FAVOURITES

Colours

black, grey pastel black, bordeaux, purple, violet, navy, teal, dark green, antique silver, antique gold

Gemstones

emerald, malachite, lapislazuli, amethyst, ruby, garnet, rose-quartz, moonstone, opal, amber

Flowers

rose, lily, lavander, orchids, sunflower

Animals

felines, wolves, spitz dogs, birds of prey, corvides, cetaceans, cephalopods, tube worms, tardigrades

Mythical Creatures

Ainur, Elves, Sphinxes, Phoenixes, Mermaids

Food

asian & mediterranean cuisine, spicy food

Beverage

still water, tea (preferably green), coconut juice

Music

Don’t take the listed “genres” too seriously. All those categories, sub-categories and sub-sub-categories seem quite redundant to me - imho, they’re just unnecessarily confusing … but, then again, I’m no music-nerd, after all.

Actually, there is just “Like” or “Don’t Like”, but this list might give you an idea:

Medieval, Renaissance & “Classical”

Walther von der Vogelweide, Guillaume de Machaut, Cantigas, John Dowland,Mozart, Beethoven, Bach, Vivaldi, Rachmaninov, Tschaikovsky, Smetana, Schubert, Chopin, Rossini, Wagner, Sissel Kyrkjebo, Hayley Westenra, Sarah Brightman, Sumi Jo, Vanessa Mae, Thomas Bergersen, Two Steps from Hell, Audiomachine, Howard Shore, Soundtracks, …

(Neo-)Folk

Joan Baez, Esther Ofarim, Ofra Haza, Loreena McKennit, Nolwenn Leroy, Eivør Pálsdóttir, Gudrid Hansdóttir, Cecile Corbel, Enya, Celtic Women, Blackmore’s Night, Versengold, Sumerluft, Annwn, Anois, Garmarna, Arany Zoltan, Noel McLoughlin, Luc Arbogast, Patty Gurdy, Psalteria, Estampie, Dead Can Dance, Faun, Omnia, Skáld, Wardruna, Heilung, Vàli, In Gowan Ring, Hagalaz’ Runedance, Sonne Hagal, Of the Wand & the Moon, Gae Bolg & the Church of Fand, …

“Goth”

Sopor Aeternus, Helium Vola, Qntal, Dargaard, Arcana, Artésia, Ataraxia, Die Verbannten Kinder Evas, Trobar De Morte, Triarii, Wolfsheim, Deine Lakaien, Faith & the Muse, In my Rosary, Kirlian Camera, The Frozen Autumn, The Crüxshadows, VNV Nation, She Past Away, Lebanon Hanover, Siouxsie & the Banshees, Joy Division, The Cure, Clan of Xymox, The Sisters of Mercy, AlienSexFiend, Bauhaus, Lene Lovich, Depeche Mode, …

Metal & Rock

Van Canto, Blind Guardian, Rhapsody, Wisdom, Therion, Nightwish, Edenbridge, Within Temptation, Apocalyptica, Equilibrium, Kamelot, Sabaton, Finntroll, Dimmu Borgir, Ghost, Metallica, HIM, The 69 Eyes, Mono Inc, Subway to Sally, Evanescence, Garbage, Muse, …

Other

Kanon Wakeshima, The Brilliant Green, Onmyou-za, Rin’, Kalafina, Yuki Kajiura, Akiko Shikata, Kokia, Alan Dawa Dolma, Malukah, ShadowCa7, Erutan, Alina Gingertail, Karliene, Peter Hollens, Andra Ariadna, Minniva, Aurora, Lana Del Rey, Cher, The Doors, The Beatles, The Seekers, ABBA, ...

Literature

Fantasy & Sci-Fi

J.R.R. Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit, The Silmarillion, Unfinished Tales, etc.

M.Z. Bradley’s Avalon-Novels & Firebrand

J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter

Medieval & Antique Literature, Myth & Folklore

Ovid’s Metamorphoses

The Edda

Nibelungenlied

works of Walther von der Vogelweide

Arthurian Romances (like Erec, Iwein, Parzival, etc.)

Gregorius

Aeneasroman

Iliad & Odyssee

Murasaki Shikibu’s “Genji Monogatari” (the language is really beautiful, but I can’t stand the protagonist)

some Classics

Pride & Prejudice

Wuthering Heights

The Fortunes and Misfortunes of the Famous Moll Flanders

The Picture of Dorian Grey

Dracula

Faust I+II

Macbeth

The Life and Opinions of Tomcat Murr

works of the Brothers Grimm

Siddharta

some "regular" novels

Paulo Coelho’s “The Alchemist”, “Brida”

Nobara Takemoto’s “Shimotsuma Monogatari”

some fanfiction

“Father’s Heart” & “Process of Elimination” by Fern Withy

“Antiquity’s Corollary” by gonnabefamous

biographical books

Mineko Iwasaki’s “Geisha of Gion”

Paramahansa Yogananda’s “Autobiography of a Yogi”

Baird T. Spalding’s “Life and Teachings of the Masters of the East”

interesting non-fiction

such as science-related books / websites

those of a more metaphysical & occult subject matter

or those about more controversial topics, such as Extraterrestrials, so-called “conspiracy theories”, and the like (Problem!? Your loss. I don’t see why I shouldn’t look into these topics. It certainly is interesting, and it’s quite arrogant to assume we have it all figured out. Besides, no one says you have to believe anything you read, but it sure can’t hurt to approach things with a more open mind, and to just look where evidence leads us, when it presents itself.)

~*~

I'm tagging:

@aikoiya, @monkey-li, @mikeilo & @chattegeorgiana

[numenorrex]

Why I Like the World of Tolkien So Much

     Why do I like the world of Tolkien so much? Is it because I like that it is medieval-inspired or because it is majestic? Ever since I watched The Lord of the Rings movies by Peter Jackson I was amazed by the beauty of the world and its geography, and how the characters and locations were brought to life. Not only was it majestic and medieval-inspired–it was the most amazing thing I saw in my entire life.

     But I found out that there is more. There were stories before the Lord of the Rings like The Hobbit which is about Bilbo Baggins going on adventures and The Silmarillion which is like everything in one like the Bible. I was shocked to learn about these stories and the biology of every being in the World of Arda.

   I found out Arda is the name of the World or Earth in Tolkien’s works. I was introduced to a character named Eru Illuvatar who is known as God in Tolkien’s works and the Ainur who are the angels/gods who are divided into two groups The Valar who are based on Christianity, Norse Mythology and Greek mythology, and the Maiar who are the angels. 

The Valar like Manwe and Varda based on Zeus and Hera from Greek Mythology, Odin and Frigg from Norse, Joseph and Mama Mary from Christianity, Ulmo based on Poseidon, Mandos based on Hades from Greek and Hela from Norse, Melkor aka Morgoth based on Satan, Nienna, Vaire, Aule based on Hephaestus, Yvanna based on Demeter, Vanna, Orome, Tulkas, Este and Nessa.

The Maiar are servants of the Valar, in earlier versions the Maiar are the sons and daughters of the Valar but they were changed to be servants instead of children. The Maiar include the Istari or Wizards like Gandalf, Saruman, Radagast, and the Blue Wizards, Eonwe, Osse and Iluin, Melian, Mairon (later named Sauron), and the Balrogs. 

It is possible that characters like werewolves, vampires, and other characters like Ungoliant and Tom Bombadil are Ainur but Tom Bombadil is actually the Spirit created by the song of the Ainur. 

Some Valar like Aule, Yvanna and Melkor created their own people Aule created the Dwarves, Yvanna created the Ents, but Aule felt that creating a race of people is mistake so he tried to destroy his creation but Illuvatar stopped him, like how God stopped Abraham from sacrificing Isaac, Yvanna feared that the Dwarves the Creation of her husband would cut her Trees so she begged Manwe and Eru to create a new race of people known as Ents, Melkor wanted to create his own race of beings with the Flame imperishable or the Secret Fire but it only is part of Eru alone, so Melkor decided to take action during the song Ainur, Melkor does his Discord but Eru tells Melkor that he is Mighty but He alone is the creator, which makes Melkor unhappy but he hides his feelings, But due to the discord it created a dark spirit named Ungoliant who takes the form of a Spider and the mother of the Spiders like Shelob, Melkor did create other creatures by corrupting some of the Elves and became known as Orcs, Trolls were made by Melkor in mockery of Ents, Dragons and other foul creatures.

     Another thing I like about Tolkien’s World are the many Peoples of Middle Earth, also known as the Children of Illuvatar. They are races of beings like Elves, Men, Dwarves, and Hobbits. Elves are the firstborn children of Illuvatar, They’re immortal and stay young even if they reach 90, 100, or more. If Elves die they go to the Halls of the Vala Mandos to be re-embodied. Humans or Men are Mortal and live shorter lives, which is a Gift from Illuvatar Himself. However, One Man did fell in love with an Elf and They are Beren and Luthien. Beren and Luthien along with Tuor and Idril started a new race known as the Half Elves like Dior Eluchîl, Elured and Elurin, Ellwing, Earendil, Elrond, Elros, Elledan and Elrohir, Arwin and the line of Numenor. Dwarves are actually adopted by Eru along with Hobbits, but Dwarves and Hobbits like Men are Mortal. Dwarves like Durin, Thorin and Company, and Gimli live in Caves that they established as their Kingdoms and Mines. Hobbits live in Hobbit holes which are built on hills. I really love characters like Frodo, Bilbo, Sam, and everyone, and they even reflect Tolkien himself Because it reflects his life with his friends and family.

     Beren and Luthien is a couple that was based on Tolkien’s love story with his wife Edith. Beren was a Man who fled an attack from Sauron’s fortress Tol in Gaurhoth, traveling to the Mountains and Valley where Ungoliant’s Spiderlings lived and reaching Neldoreth where he meets Luthien and was Tasked to steal a Silmaril from Morgoth’s Crown to win his blessing to Luthien’s father Elu Thingol. Luthien was an Elf but not your ordinary elf as she was half-Maia, and her Mother Melian is Maia, Melian met Thingol in a small forest called Nan Elmoth, where she created a girdle surrounding Doriath and Neldoreth. Luthien helped her love, Beren, along with Huan the Valinorian Hound to steal a Silmaril. Beren decides to steal all three of them but his knife breaks and runs with Luthien to escape Angband but Beren loses his hand and the Silmaril to Carcharoth the Werewolf, Thingol decides to wed Beren and Luthien and hunt the wolf down but it claimed the lives of Beren, Huan, and Luthien but Luthien sang a song to Mandos about her grief and she along with Beren where brought back. Beren and Luthien would have a son named Dior who would later succeed his Grandfather as King of Doriath. Beren and Luthien did die one last time, although Luthien was half-elf, half-Maia she gave up her immortality to be with Beren one last time.

     Orcs are another race of being in Middle Earth. It is believed that they were elves once before Melkor corrupted them. When they multiply in number they can participate in many battles. Orcs along with Goblins, Uruk Hai, and Man Orcs serve Morgoth, Sauron, The Witch King, and Saruman and are loyal to their evil masters. Hobgoblins are superior orcs like the Uruk Hai they are strong and smart. There are also orcs like Azog, Bolg, Shagrat, and Radbug who are vicious in many of their own ways.  Orcs use terms like “snaga” which means slave in Black speech. Another term they use is  “snufflers” which is how they refer to their wide nostrils.

     Another race that serves Morgoth is the race of Trolls. While Orcs are mockeries of Elves, the Trolls are mockeries of the Ents. There are many Trolls in Middle Earth. Hill Trolls live in Hills and are seen opening the Black Gate. Cave Trolls are another type of Troll that live in caves, like the one we see in Moria in the Fellowship of the Ring. Mountain Trolls live in Mountains and are known to push the battering ram called Grond to ram the gates into Minas Tirith. Snow Trolls are rare in Middle Earth but we did see one in the Rings of Power TV show and they are mentioned in the story of Helm Hammerhand to describe Helm as he was looking for food and fighting off enemies with his bare hands. Half Trolls like Half-Orcs and Goblin Men are a mix between Trolls and Men. The Olog Hai, meaning Troll people, (like Uruk Hai means Orc People) are a group of Trolls known for war, as we see in the battle at the Black Gate in Return of the King. And there are the Three Stone Trolls: Bert, Tom, and Bill, whom Bilbo and Thorin’s company meet in The Hobbit.

     Ents and Huorns are races of being in Middle Earth that resemble Trees. Ents and Entwives (like Treebeard, Fimbrethil, and Quickbeam), and Huorns like Old Man Willow live in forests like the old forest and Fangorn. We don’t see the Entwives in the films because the Entwives disappeared during the War of the Last Alliance in the Second Age, when Sauron burned the Gardens of the Entwives.

     We cannot forget about the animals of Middle Earth. Middle Earth has so many animals either domesticated or wild. Animals like Dogs such as Huan the Hound, and the dogs of Farmer Maggot, cats like the cats of Queen Beruthiel, horses and ponies like Bill the Pony, Nahar, Snowmane, Shadowfax, Felarof, and the Mearas, Asfaloth and Rochallor, wolves, wargs and werewolves like Drauglin, Carcharoth and wargs of the Uruks of Isengard and Bolg’s forces, Vampires and Bats like Thuringwethil (Fact: Sauron in the story of Beren and Luthien shapeshifts into a werewolf to fight Huan and a vampire to flee), Spiders or Ungol like Ungoliant, Shelob, The Spiders of Mirkwood and the Spiders of Nandungortheb and Ered Gorgoroth, Dragons which include both Fire and Cold Drakes like Glaurung, Ancalagon, the Beast of Gondolin, Gostir, Scatha and Smaug, Hellhawks or Fell Beasts, Birds like the Great Eagles and other various creatures.

     I also love the places and locations of Middle Earth. Places like the lands of Beleriand, The island of Numenor and the lands we all know and loved in the movies.

The artifacts are another thing I love. Artifacts like The Silmarils, Phials, The Rings of Power, The Arkenstone and Various Treasures and Weapons like the Swords, Axes, Bows and Arrows and Hammers and Maces. Swords like Anglachel aka Gurthang, Anguriel, Glamdring, Orcrist and Sting, Narsil aka Anduril, the Morgul blade, etc. Bows and Arrows like the Red arrow, the Bow of Legolas, etc. Axes like Dramborleg, Durin’s Axe, The Red axe of Dain Ironfoot, The Axe of Gimli, The Hammers like the Smithing Hammers of Celebrimbor and the Gwaith I mir dain and the Maces like Grond the Mace of Morgoth to whom the Battering Ram is named after.

     But why do I love these things? Because I was fascinated by how the lore describes them. The feeling is what reflects us and Tolkien himself like how Beren and Luthien is based on his love story with his wife and the names were written in their tombstone after they passed away. The friendship between Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin reflects the Tea Club and Barrovian Society, the club Tolkien founded when he met Geoffrey Bache Smith, Christopher Wiseman, and Robert Gilson. Geoffrey was the Samwise Gamgee to Tolkien’s Frodo Baggins, and Edith was the Luthien to Tolkien’s Beren. I too describe myself as these characters like I am the Frodo to my brother’s Samwise but I’m also the Bilbo, Thorin, and Theoden to the children who are new to our family, and The Beren or Aragorn to maybe someone I would fall in love with, but when I saw the Tolkien Movie, I knew that I would also be like him, to start and bring back the Club he started at a very young age, fall in love and write a love story or tell a story about fellowship and friendship and maybe I would succeed everyone like Tolkien until the end.

[eri-pl]

Musing, rambling, essay, headcanons: masterlist

(I don’t subscribe to all, those are potential HCs) (yes, you can use those)

Of the Ainur

old Valar headcanon for personalities and looks part 2 (back in the time I didn’t even remember Nienna too well) part 3: Melkor (2022) (I had that book and now I lost it…. :( )

Varda and Ulmo comparison (2024)

Namo HC (the problem of free will - related) (2024)

Namo’s feelings HC (mostly outsourced to siblings) (2024)

Aule and Yavanna and they work on their relationship by making stuff (2024)

What were the Blue Wizards for? (less fangirling edition. Spoiler: Sauron.)

Loose images of “Valinor is getting old and fading”, had a second part but it’s not publicly posted (because of too intense incomprehensible fangirling)

On the origins of Olorin and some other Maiar (it involves Melkor)

Olorin as Feanor’s fan (includes previous HC)

re: asks on Namo

re: what's my thing with Melkor exactly? (complicated, tldr: he's cool but wrong and it's sad, also he's got issues) | more thoughts

maybe they just asked to go govern Arda?

Re: asks Voices: Melkor; the rest of the Valar (focused on the Great Music)

Give the other Feanturi some psychopomping too

Melian didn't abandon Doriath (partially canon, partially hc)

[canon-ish] it was Sauron who "lost" Maedhros as a prisoner (Morgoth was busy with Men)

Athrabeth, fangirling over the Gift of Men etc.

Whet is the Gift actually

Trying to explain what Men are for

East vs West (reclaiming the symbolics)

humans are to Legendarium as quantum mechanics is to physics.

Can "Athrabeth Finrod ah Andreth" be canon? (no, unless we blame Pengolodh, as we often do)

"the darkness in his eyes" (it's probably half in this category but anyway)

Weird musings on the term "Everlasting Darkness"

Chromaticism!!! (Or: the dissonance wasn't the problem) p1

Of Feanor (&sons)

About how he came to be (involves Sauron)  (old)

Another origin of Feanor (involves: the Valar don’t have a manual for Eruhini) (old)

Why does Melkor hate him more than any other Eruhini (2024)

Doom of the Noldor doesn’t work (this inspired Serindo the Intern)

Feanorians, Polish history and self-destruction (loose rambling)

“Thou” AKA Feanor being rude to everyone

How Maedhros pronounces his name

Let’s (for some reason) map the sons of Feanor to the Valar

Discussion about M&M stealing vs legally reclaiming the Silmarils, and related topics

re: Asks about Maglor and Maedhros

A bit more feels for Fëanáro

How he understood the “not the first one” remark.

The third Silmaril wouldn’t (maaaybe) burn them.

[crack lawyering] The Oath is cancelled

No, the weird wording of the Oath makes sense

So does the ship-burning (still wrong, but logical)

What did he mean by "Everlasting Darkness" (being a jerk edition)

But what about the Silmaril's rights?

How were the Silmarils made (the actual "technological" process)

About M&Ms discussion at the end (+ discussion on Melkor, his lies and various things in the reblogs) (re: to this earlier post)

A portrait from the days of bliss

Who gave them the idea of "all will be condemned to the Darkness if one breaks" (and yes, I think they did assume this)

Maglor + a Dwarf = Hobbits

The Feanorian heresy

Of language

Alliterative verse (the Oath, both versions, with marked alliterations). (Quenya, both in normal letters and Tengwar); early Feanor's speech alliterative; early Earendil poem alliterative;

“Anna” is a cool word

Quenya post-Third Age HC

Tengwar, it’s structure and names of the letters

Silme, sule, orthography and stuff

Boromir would be a perfectly legit Medieval Polish name

With edennill, trying to name the Silmarils (inspired by Silmarillion-ways-to-die)

Of Numenor

LotR movies should have less Isildur and more Ar-Pharazon

Making myself sad about Amandil and Pharazôn an all that 1 2

one good thing about Pharazôn's awful grandfather AKA Tar-Palantir's awful father

about Pharazôn's mother

Of other things - link

[skyeventide]

speaking of tallness in Tolkien, aside from (or on top of) the weird marker of beauty and moral goodness that it's (almost) always used for, I do think it's interesting to look at it from a "Medieval religious iconography" point of view. in the sense that, taking it all at face value, the Ainur are the tallest creatures, then come the (Amanyar?) elves, then the Edain and later on the Dúnedain, then other men, so on and so forth. on top of it, kings and important figures (most obvious with Turgon, Thingol, or Elendil) are especially tall and stand out even among their own people. it does look suspiciously like hierarchical height in iconography (of say, stained glass, triptychs etc): the saint or religious character is always tallest and biggest in the picture, and then it scales down from that: angels, other saints, prophets, monarchs, and smaller the further you go down.

there's a lot more you can say about hierarchical height in Tolkien (not just the above list, but also think of dwarves and petty dwarves: the latter are smaller than the former, as well as disliked and less morally "good". or the descriptions of some hobbits), including how the application of it to character descriptions can be interpreted as a complimentary trait intended to enhance the perception of nobility and hotness. (you could also go the other way though, cause we do have specific descriptions, like Earendil's who is not that tall, which by contrast implies that the rest may in fact be all real). either way I think it's an interesting option to consider when approaching the Silm as a manuscript written with specific conventions and traditions in mind.

[marta-bee]

Did Tolkien say Trans rights?

Probably not. The man was old-fashioned for his times. Still, he has a rather interesting passage in the Ainulindale, and I’m always a bit surprised Tumblr Silm fans don’t discuss it more given how interested so many of us are in the topic. So let’s do that.

For the uninitiated: the Ainulindale is the first section of the Silmarillion and gives a kind of creation-story of Arda. We meet Eru Iluvatar, the closest thing Tolkien gives us in-universe to God; and also created beings who existed from “before” there was time, something between an angel and a little-g god. Quite a few of them choose to bound themselves up with the world that’s being created; outside of time they’re called Ainur (hence this section’s name) but within the created world they become the Valar and the Maiar, depending on their rank. And since they’re interacting within a world built for embodied people, they occasionally need to take on a body themselves. Often but not always, that body will be like the Elves and Men, which in Tolkien’s world apparently means they need a gender.

Which brings us to the passage I mentioned:

Now the Valar took to themselves shape and hue; and because they were drawn into the World by love of the Children of Ilúvatar, for whom they hoped, they took shape after that manner which they had beheld in the Vision of Ilúvatar, save only in majesty and splendour. Moreover their shape comes of their knowledge of the visible World, rather than of the World itself; and they need it not, save only as we use raiment, and yet we may be naked and suffer no loss of our being. Therefore the Valar may walk, if they will, unclad, and then even the Eldar cannot clearly perceive them, though they be present. But when they desire to clothe themselves the Valar take upon them forms some as of male and some as of female; for that difference of temper they had even from their beginning, and it is but bodied forth in the choice of each, not made by the choice, even as with us male and female may be shown by the raiment but is not made thereby. But the shapes wherein the Great Ones array themselves are not at all times like to the shapes of the kings and queens of the Children of Ilúvatar; for at times they may clothe themselves in their own thought, made visible in forms of majesty and dread.

Breaking that down a bit:

Ainur don’t always have bodies, even after they bound themselves up in Ea (essentially the cosmos, which includes Middle-earth).

Even when they have a body it’s not always humanoid.

When they do take a humanoid body it’s always one gender or the other

... but this isn’t any more their real gender than the clothes we choose to wear determine ours.

This gender presentation is constant. If they ever present as female, whenever they choose to take humanoid form it will be as a female.

... though they can always take non-humanoid forms, or no particular form at all.

The gender they present comes from “that difference of temper they had even from their beginning”

... which is not to say they were male or female from the beginning, just that they had the kind of personality that would most easily manifest through that gender when they need a gender at all

... and it’s also reinforced (roughly speaking) through the choices they make, and “their knowledge of the Visible World”, that is, the part of the Song revealed to them by Eru before they entered into the cosmos

(Which also means Eru Iluvatar “contains” (again roughly speaking) both the feminine and masculine, or at least both are part of his Song, which is kind of a blueprint for how the world ought to be. Which touches on some fascinating debates from medieval philosophy of why Christians say God the Father rather than God the Mother; but it’s really a topic for another day, so I’ll leave it by the wayside for now.)

The barest-bones takeaway from all this is --at least for the Valar-- gender is a projection, a way of communicating who they are rather than who they truly are. What gender you project through is also a result of their choices in Ea and their experiences before time. It’s not quite that they’re changing their gender when they take a physical form, because they didn’t have a gender to begin with. But it’s also not quite so simple as saying it’s hardwritten into their DNA (so to speak). It’s partly “that difference of temper” that’s innately who they were since before the beginning; but it’s also the choices they’ve made, and the part of Iluvatar they were shown in the Great Song.

It’s also worth noting, there are a heckuva lot of wants to present as female. Take the three most famous “female” Valar to my mind: Varda/Elbereth, Yavanna, and Nienna. The first two are married to “male” Valar. Varda is a companion and a helpmate, though she has her own complementary role to that of her “spouse.” Yavanna is more a mother-earth type and also a fighter. I can’t wait to talk about the knock-down drag-out fights she gets into with Aule. And Nienna is more solitary, and spiritual, a goddess of sorts of pity and sympathy. For Lord of the Rings fans, they remind me roughly of Arwen, Eowyn, and... you know, I’m really struggling to come up with any even rough parallel for Nienna, because she is so gloriously Other. Maybe the common Finduilas (of Gondor) we often see through fanon? Maybe.

But the point is, there are three very different ways to be that most naturally lend themselves to representation through feminine forms. Put as simply as I can: they may all be feminine, but there are a lot of ways to be feminine. All are women(ish), but they’re really not the same kind of woman.

I also have to take issue with Tolkien here, because the kind of behavior we expect of women (and men) has changed hugely throughout history. I don’t mean in a straight line of progress. I’m thinking of Eshet Chayil, the “wife of noble character” who manages the home but also goes out into the public square to conduct business and enrich her household. I’m thinking of what I know of medieval women who worked alongside their home, without such a strict division between the public and private spheres, or of the American Indigenous peoples who divided labors in entirely different ways from their European-colonizer counterparts. I’m thinking of how thin a slice of human history the June Cleaver domestic angel archetype of ‘50s sitcoms actually covers. And I’m forced to conclude, if the gender of their forms is a projection of who they really, essentially are, then surely that projection is going to fit better in different gender stereotypes as they’re understood in different periods. If being a woman or man just means what people will understand as “womanly” or “manly” really fits who they are, surely that’s not always going to be the same for the same type of personality?

Doubtless Tolkien would disagree with me and say the masculine and feminine aren’t nearly as changeable as people act like they are; but this isn’t the only point where I’d like to thunk him over the head with a big fat history text. Then again, I’ve always been that sort of fan.

**************************

I know I promised a more detailed take on why Eru chose to create through the Ainur rather than doing it Themself, but that’s taking more thought and research than I expected. I also don’t want to lose my steam, so next week I’m going to press on with the Valaquenta. May circle back if I ever get my thoughts in order, but for now, onward and upward.

[lightdancer1]

Back when Game of Thrones/A Song of Ice and Fire was a thing in pop culture the most obnoxious aspect of it

Was the insistence that George R.R. Martin invented grimdark fantasy. Meanwhile my brand of fantasy takes far more notes from Tolkien's First Age stories than his Third Age. The First Age/Silmarillion stories are a tale of a cosmic entity that embodies evil marching itself to destruction and from a spirit of such power and splendor that it descends as a giant clad in ice and crowned in smoke and fire and waging war against the Ainur....to a wasted pitiful hateful thing that shrieks itself beyond the Doors of Night.

The heroes of the First Age are genocidal colonial imperialists who impale themselves on their own conquests. The villains are literal incarnate evil in a physical shape. The Valar are at best failures and there's a lot of interpretations that go beyond there.

In the end the heroes are warned that no matter what they do they will go war against Morgoth and they will fail. And so they go to war against Morgoth...and not only do they fail but hoo boy that failure is a doozie. The bad guy unceremoniously wins and drags the heroes into a furtive skulking existence worthy of the Morlocks.

Unlike in the Lord of the Rings the good guys fight fire with fire and casually level the entire continent the First Age unfolds on and leaves it wrecked such that it can never rise again.

It's worth noting this grimdark fantasy was the version Tolkien worked on from his time in the trenches of the Somme, while the Lord of the Rings was a WWII-era spur of the moment sequel to the Hobbit that was integrated into the broader legendarium and thus the Hobbit got rewritten to factor it into that broader narrative.

There is literally nothing that Martin wrote in ASOIAF that Tolkien didn't do first. Even the Brother-Sister Incest and its tragic results. And I may be biased but I think Tolkien did it better and without the sniveling pretense that a world of dragons and ice zombies reflected a realistic view of medieval times.

[wonderwafles]

Hello! I'm your gifter for the Gates of Summer exchange (Secret Lord of Gondolin?) and I was wondering if you had any specific headcanons on the Ainur? Especially re. characterizations and especially especially re. characterization/backstories of the named Maiar? I have some ideas already, but my headcanons are a little out there for some of them! Also, any other details you didn't put on the form but would really like/DNW?

Hello! Happy Gates of Summer! <3

I do have... a lot! I generally imagine the Ainur as being... somewhat human in thought and reasoning (if not in physical form!), but a little to the left. More utopian in their thinking, more divorced from the concerns of the body, closer to Eru, which is why I think their semi-feudal system of "vassalship" to the Valar tends to work as well as it does. Actually, there's this poem I read a long time ago about the feudal system written in around the tenth century or so (???) that sort of idealizes the feudal state, imagining the lord as a benevolent guide and teacher who maintains the land and the serfs as willing helpers who benefit from it. Now obviously that's bull, but I sometimes imagine the Ainur's system as being like... a version of that where all participants really *are* in it with good faith, where the Valar want to help and teach the Maiar rather than exploit their labor and the Maiar help the Valar in turn out of gratitude and free will, and all parties can withdraw freely from the relationship because they are largely independent of each other. Though in true Tolkien fashion, they are at their best when they work together. Like if you took the medieval feudal system of liege-lords and fealty (because Tolkien) and put some utopian communism on top of it.

Of course, the Ainur's work involves the proper functioning of dreams and the regulation of the wind and rain and things like that. I like the juxtaposition of the grand fantastical nature of the Ainur being on top of a relatively mundane social system. I headcanon that Elves and Men both learned about Kings for the first time from the Ainur... for better or worse. :P

I also like the "pagan gods" aspect of them, and I think they sometimes take a break from being angels to go have big rowdy feasts in Valmar and wander Middle-Earth (playfully, depending on if the Maia is Melkorish or not) tricking the inhabitants into becoming part of a fairy tale. :D

Now for character headcanons! I have a few; I think Ossë and Mairon are foils in the beginning, for one thing. I like to think of Mairon as refusing to join Melkor in the beginning because he is all about order and despised Melkor's chaos and disruption of the Music, while Ossë joined because he likes to have a good time and rebel. Then it turned out that Melkor didn't want chaos and freedom (which was already inherent in the Music), he wanted to dominate everything that wasn't his, which caused both Mairon and Ossë to reconsider their stances on serving him. (Another thing is that Ossë had Uinen, who didn't give up on him; Mairon had no one.)

Some others: Manwë is a hopeful universalist, and believes unto the last Ages that even the vile spirits of Melkor and Melkor himself will be healed and brought back into the Music. Upon Olorin's return after the War of the Ring he was celebrated wildly as a hero of the Maiar, which he bore politely even though it made him grumpy. Ulmo seems to like humans, which I like to think carries through to his Maiar, particularly during Numenor’s sea-faring height. I think there are more Maiar hanging out in Middle-Earth still than we might imagine, both those who loved it and wanted to stay and those who are just doing their day jobs.

Less of a heacanon per se, but to rec a fic instead: I love The Sky, the Sea, and the Birds Between, and its portrayal of Eönwë in particular is my favorite Eönwë ever. I don’t want to assign you reading if you don’t want to lol, so some highlights are Eönwë as a valiant himbo warrior who spent much of the First Age asking permission to go fight in Beleriand, makes up poetry for fun, and has no idea how to handle kissing people. He does sleep with Eärendil and Elwing both, but don’t worry, it’s all above-board. Plus, it’s one of my favorite Silmarillion fics.

Okay... I think that’s all I have for now! I don’t think I have any other DNW’s (I mentioned Valar-bashing, right?). Feel free to ask me anything else you’d like to know! Or just to talk about the Ainur, too :D

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Destined

Pairing: Medieval! Oromë x Fem. Reader ( Ward of the Crown | Second Person POV)

Themes: Medieval! Ainur | Slow burn | Smut (Lemon)| Soft

Warnings: Arranged marriage | Use of a dagger during the wedding ceremony | Blood | Alcohol consumption | Mentions of injuries | First time | Kissing | Foreplay | Some explicit language | Oral (fem receiving) | Penetrative sex | Cream pie

Word count: 4.6k words

Summary: It was an arranged marriage to the lord of High Tree Hall and Hunter’s Pass, a man of little words, one who was known to be as wild as the forests and deep passes he ruled over. How would he conduct himself on his wedding night?

Rating:🔥🔥 | Minors DNI | 18+ You are responsible for the media you consume. 

Full list of the great noble house of Valinor can be read here.

Rules and tag form here | Prompts for requests here.

It was the height of summer; the air was warm and balmy, and the wind blew in hot even though it was near evenfall. Still, it was glorious. The air was sweet with the scents of wildflowers and pine. The sky was a vivid kaleidoscope of gold and yellow and orange and even pink when the minstrels called at your door.

You were given the finest guest manse on the grounds. Oromë would have preferred to have you housed within High Tree itself, but custom decreed the procession. And that he not see you until the ceremony. 

Your chambers were a hive of activity. Maids rushed to and fro with dresses and shoes and flowers plucked fresh from a nearby meadow, taking great care when laying them out over the bed while you bathed and dressed and fixed your hair. Jewels caught the light of nearby candles and gleamed against your throat and ears and wrists. 

"Are you ready, lady y/n?" Lady Nessa said when she arrived to escort you to the Great Hall and your soon-to-be husband. 

You turned away from a silvered looking glass to face her. "As ready as I will ever be."

Nessa smiled and stood by your side while a maid helped you with the final touches for your dress, fixing your skirt and straightening your veil. Another helped drape a heavy cloak around your shoulders. At the appointed hour, you took your soon-to-be good-sister’s arm and let her lead you from your chambers.

By the time you had stepped out into the light, the horizon had turned into a slow burning ember. Deep blue and purple and black now bled into fiery red and orange. The first stars shone brightly overhead even as the sun slowly dipped beneath the tree line. Over you was a canopy of deep green velvet, richly embroidered with black thread, held up by several pages. Minstrels walked ahead, playing viols, flutes and drums and even trumpets while another page sprinkled white rose petals along the path. Beautiful lamps affixed to the low-hanging branches of nearby trees lit the way. 

The splendor of the moment did nothing to detract from the fact that life in High Tree Hall was nowhere as elegant and luxurious as life at Ilmarin, where the gardens were all neat and well-tended and the white marble halls were a riot of color due to the stained glass windows catching the sun’s glorious light. Here there were gnarled trees and ponds and flowers growing wild all over. The manses were built out of rough-hewn stone and mortar and thick wooden bark. The people that lived here were said to be as wild as their lord. 

Their lord. Oromë was liege lord of Hunter’s Pass and master of High Tree Hall. He had been in need of a wife and had asked the king for your hand after seeing you taking a turn in Ilmarin’s gardens not even half a year ago. After your father disgraced himself as a traitor, Eru stood in his place now. He was able to dispose of your hand to whomever he wished. And you could not say a word in protest. 

"My brother is eager to see you again." Nessa smiled. You dared to glance at her. Until a little while ago, it was Nessa who served as Lady of High Tree Hall. After tonight, that great honor would fall on you. If the lady had been bitter about her change in station, she didn’t show it. "He nearly dug a trench in the great hall by pacing about for what seemed like hours. He is that eager for the ceremony to begin." 

Eager to see me? Cannot wait for the ceremony to begin? You wrinkled your brow in confusion. Oromë barely spoke with you. He did not court you, or bring you little tokens. You could count with the fingers of one hand the number of times he had called on you, and that too only when the king was present. His letters, such as they were, had been brief, and few and far between. 

Nessa looked on expectantly, awaiting your answer. 

"I pray I will be a good wife to him," you say hesitantly. 

Nessa gave your arm a gentle squeeze. "Just as my brother prays to be a good husband to you."

You were not so sure. Oromë was known for his many passions and his wrath, and you felt wholly unprepared. Oh, your mother did talk to you upon your flowering many and more years ago, and of course you had listened to the scandalous chatter amongst the maids. Still, hearing talk of the marital act and actually having to go through with it were two different things altogether.

Will he be gentle, even a little? You wondered. Will he treat me with a kind heart and a tender hand?

The music slowly faded when the great doors of High Tree Hall loomed ahead, and the guards threw them open for the king himself. Eru had been resplendent this evenfall, garbed in black velvet slashed with cloth of gold. A heavy gold chain of linked flames had been draped loosely around his shoulders. His crown, an airy confection wrought out of a rare black metal and studded with emeralds, rested upon his brow.

"My lady y/n," he said and bowed respectfully, before extending his arm. "Shall we go in?"

Nessa gave your arm another gentle squeeze before dipping gracefully to her knees. "My king," she murmured, and rose. "My brother awaits you both."

You swallowed and looped your arm around the king’s, your eyes on Nessa’s retreating back the entire time. A blare of trumpets sounded, and you walked in time with the king. Minstrels took up their instruments again, and this time, a sweet, haunting air filled the great hall while a hush fell over the guests. Your gaze went straight to the proud lord standing by the roots of the great Silverwood tree that stood in the center of the feasting hall.

Oromë cut a striking figure. Tall and lean and fierce, with his thick black hair pulled back into a neat bun, he stood out from all of the others. He had been garbed in hunting clothes—all high boots and leather and light mail and soft wool. Heavy enameled green pins depicting a mounted archer in black fastened a thick pelt at the shoulders. A thin scar ran from brow to jaw, barely missing his right eye.  You took a deep breath and tried not to pay any attention to the guests looking at you. Their looks had been kind, but still, the attention was more than a little unnerving. When you looked back at the tree, you found Oromë looking right back at you. The beginnings of a smile played at the corners of his mouth. A warm flush crept up your throat when you reached the tree and the priestess who would join the two of you together, and Eru placed your hand on Oromë’s.

The ceremony itself passed like a blur. You listened to what was said, and said your portion of the vows. At one point, you could have sworn Oromë gave your hand a gentle squeeze. The priestess then unsheathed a sharp dagger and asked you to hold out your hand, palm facing up. The blade barely pierced the skin, but it still hurt. You watched while she did the same for your new husband. She then joined your hands and bound them with a new ribbon. You watched, enthralled, as your blood and his mingled and trickled, staining the thin strip of white silk a deep, deep, crimson.

"One body!" The priestess then declared to the crowd. "One heart! One soul! Bound as one in the sights of Gods and men! Cursed be they who try to tear them asunder!"

As her words rippled around the great hall, Oromë pulled you close and kissed you deeply. You had expected something that was rough and quick, but when his mouth opened yours, it was in a kiss that was tender and sweet.

"Mine," he whispered first, before adding, "Yours."

You looked on, wide-eyed, while he drew back. Guests broke into loud applause and cheers. You turned to face them, and felt a gentle tug on your hand. It was Oromë. He was trying to lead you to the raised dais at one end. You shook your head and rewarded him with a smile. It was time for the feast.

Again, there were differences. Feasts in Ilmarin were always lavish, but more than a little restrained. Here, the food and drink were served freely to anyone and everyone. Guests dined on thick soups and roast fowl and fish caught from a nearby river. There were flagons of ale and flagons of mead and flagons of a dark, bitter beer for anyone who had a thirst. There was wine too, a curiously light vintage that went very well with most of the food. Candles burned bright even as the great hounds of High Tree spread out next to tables and pelts and slept, having had their fill of scraps. Some guests started to fall asleep where they sat as well. Others wandered out of the hall in pairs of two and three and more, to engage in private amusements of their own. Lady Nessa made herself comfortable between Lady Varda and Nienna and Estë, and could be heard laughing merrily. The king stayed for as long as courtesy demanded before making his own excuses and leaving for the night. The revelry grew louder after his departure. 

Lord Tulkas had been singing the entire time, taking deep swigs of his ale in between verses. An auburn-haired woman clad in simple, soft green wool sat next to him, a pin bearing the bloodied hand of House Tarkil fixed firmly over her left shoulder. 

A captain of House Shield’s guard, you remembered. The one they call lady Meássë.

"Never engage him in a game of drink," Oromë leaned over and whispered. "Lord Tulkas will drink you under the table and continue drinking until dawn."

You believed him. Lord Tulkas was known to be able to hold his drink, and many of the others beside him could not. One by one, they made their excuses until his companion remained. 

"What about you, my lord," you observed after stealing a glance at his cup. "You have not drunk anything besides water all night." 

Oromë’s lips tugged at the corners. "Oromë," he insisted, "or husband, which is what I would prefer. As for my not indulging… well, let’s just say I wish to keep a clear head for what’s about to happen later." 

Your skin warmed. What’s about to happen later, he said. Oromë had been talking about bedding you. You turned to your meal, unsure of what to say. You tried to eat, but the cut across your left palm made it difficult to hold a fork. 

"Just use your hands," Oromë said, tearing a leg off a roast capon to show how it was done. "No one will mind. Eat. Please." 

You looked around the hall. Of those who had been eating, many used their hands. No one said anything. No one even seemed to mind. And the growls in your stomach made it harder to resist. Still, you took care not to dirty your dressing. The food was delicious, and you found yourself eating well from each dish. By the time the cakes and pudding had arrived, you found you could only manage a piece or two of lemon cake. 

Someone found a viol and launched into the bawdy version of "Lady Luck." Tulkas had stopped drinking but continued singing, this time joining in on the new song. Someone else found a flute, and "Lady Luck" soon changed to "Cup of Mead", which in turn soon turned into "Seven Lasses," a song that was even bawdier than "Lady Luck." Someone spilled their ale. Someone else shouted a vulgar joke. You struggled to contain your mirth. 

Guests took to the center of the hall and started to dance, while others clapped in tune. The singing grew louder while maids lit fresh candles. It started to rain outside, and servants rushed to close the shutters. More guests wandered out of the halls. 

Oromë took it as a sign that the time had come. He rose to his feet and extended his hand, and, you placed your hand in his. Few noticed, save for Lord Tulkas. He opened his mouth to say something, but Oromë cut him off with a quick, "Give words to your thoughts, my good friend, and I’ll break your fucking jaw." 

The lord of Stonehearth pouted before chuckling to himself. He leaned over to Lady Meássë and whispered something in her ear. Her cheeks turned a pretty shade of red, but she nodded in agreement to whatever it was he said. They left the hall not long after, arm in arm. 

No one followed either of you in the expectation of a bedding ceremony. Oromë led you around the dais to the chambers set aside for his own use. The walls were so thick, you were told, that no sound carried to the outside. You decided it was a blessing. You didn’t want the others to hear what went on. 

The air within was pleasantly cool. Oromë led you past little rooms and a small hall before guiding you to an airy bedchamber. More candles had been lit, and a brazier had been readied for lighting. He kicked the door shut behind you both. "Would you like something to drink?" he asked. 

The last thing you wanted was wine, or anything else, for that matter. "No, my lord," you said before discretely looking around the room. It was the same as the hall, with a bed made almost entirely out of thick pelts at one end. "My stomach is a roil." 

"Husband," Oromë said. He made no move to leave his place near the door. "Are you nervous?" 

"A little," you confessed, and walked around, not stopping until you had reached a strange but beautiful bow hung up on one wall. Twists of gold and silver wood gleamed with a delicate light all of their own.   

"From fallen branches of the sacred trees in Starfall," Oromë said after a moment. "Lady Varda made it with her own hands after I slew the creature that tried to destroy them." 

"Ungoliant," you replied, shivering. 

"Aye." Oromë came from behind and rested a hand on your shoulder. "Her skull is here. I can show it to you tomorrow if you wish." 

You were curious despite yourself. Oromë had asked you for your hand after seeing you only once and calling on you only a few times. Now he was married to you, and about to take you to his bed. 

"Forgive my lord, but why did you marry me?" You turned to face him. "My father is a known traitor. My family has been disgraced, so why me?" 

"Husband," Oromë insisted a second time, and grew silent for a long while. He finally said, "As for why I chose you… I… I felt something the first day I saw you. I didn’t understand why it was happening. All I knew was that I had to be with you and you alone. It was only by talking to others that it finally became clear. We were meant." 

"But you barely spoke to me!" 

"And I must apologize for that. I… I have never been one for tender words. My sister has tried to teach me… and failed on that score. She hopes you have better luck instead." 

You smiled timidly. Oromë walked over to you, his boots barely making a sound over the smooth stone floor. 

"May I?" he asked when he was close enough to you. 

You swallowed, but nodded and stood perfectly still. 

"Tell me if you want me to stop," he urged, before reaching for your veil. There was a soft ping whenever a hairpin fell to the floor. Your veil soon followed, fluttering to the ground with barely a sound. Your cloak, on the other hand, fell with a soft thud. Your hair slowly loosened as braids and coils came undone. 

"Do you want me to stop?" Oromë asked again, this time reaching out to undo the clasps and fastenings of your gown. You felt it loosening, and you were too caught up with your own growing curiosity to say another word. You shake your head all the same, knowing he was expecting an answer. 

He nodded and slipped the gown off your shoulders and past your waist, letting it fall the rest of the way and pool around your feet. Your stays were next. He helped you out of your shoes and your jewelry. Soon, you were clad in nothing but a sheer silk slip. Goosebumps prickled all over your flesh when you stood there, nearly exposed. Oromë studied you, his eyes darkening with each passing moment. He took your hands and brought them to his lips, pressing gentle kisses over each of your fingers. A strange but pleasant jolt shot up your spine when he kissed your bandaged palm. 

"Would you get into bed?" he said. 

It was not an order but a request instead. You took slow, measured steps, running the flat of your hand over the pelts. 

So soft, you mused. Softer than even the featherbeds back at the palace.

You climbed into the pelts, all too aware of Oromë’s eyes following you the entire time. He proceeded to undress himself, first by slipping out of his boots before removing his garments. Cloak and tunic and mail and leathers soon joined the growing pile of clothes on the floor. You turned your gaze to your lap when the last of his clothes were disposed of and he stood naked in front of the bed. Curiosity got the better of you again, and you dared a glance. 

His back was turned to you, all lean and muscled, and covered in all manner of scars. Even his arms and thighs had not been spared. 

It’s as if he has known nothing but violence most of his life. You looked away once more when he came to bed. "Look at me," he said. 

You obeyed, and found hunger in his deep green eyes. Your own wandered. His black hair tumbled past his shoulders now, and thin patches of more black hair trailed its way down his chest. There were scars all over his torso as well. Some of them looked old and angry. "Did these hurt?" You found yourself saying. 

"In the beginning," he confessed, "They all did. Some worse than others. Do they frighten you?" 

"Yes," you admitted, "I have never seen anyone with such scarring before." 

"Never?" he said, his eyes filled with curiosity. "You never grew close to anyone who caught your eye?" 

"Never," you replied, even as another heated flush crept up your throat. A smirk worked its way across Oromë’s face. 

"Never?" he asked again. "No pretty handmaid caught your eye? No comely stable hand tried to steal a kiss?" 

"No," you said, "The king had his warriors dogging my every step the moment I set foot outside my rooms. And my handmaids were his spies, I am sure of it." 

"I see," Oromë said, as if considering what you told him. 

"And what of you?" you challenged. "I hear you never keep to the warmth of one bed." 

He winced and sat up straight. "I will not lie when I say that there have been others and…" 

"Will there be others even after tonight?" 

"Will you be content with such a life, wife? Being bound to a man who cannot honor his vows?" 

In your heart of hearts, you knew you would never be happy with such a life. "No." 

Oromë nodded. "Just so. As for the others… They will never be a threat to us. And they will not be a threat to you. I give you my word on this." 

And the word of those who lived in these parts was their bond. They would never go back on a promise, not even on pain of death. And he swore the two of you were meant to be. It gave you some small comfort. 

Oromë running his thumb over your knuckles put an end to your thinking. He looked at you again, this time with expectation in his eyes and not just hunger. He had been as nervous as you, though he was much better at masking it. 

When he saw you for the first time, wandering around the gardens of Ilmarin, he thought his body had been set aflame, but the heat was something he had never felt before in his life. That heat had pulsed and spread and filled him with a light that glowed from within. As the days melted into each other, heat and light simply grew, and it was only after he approached Lady Varda and her ladies for their counsel that it became clear. 

"Destined," Varda had said. "The Gods themselves had planned this union. Do not fight it." 

He didn’t fight it. Oromë approached the king for your hand. As the father of the realm and your guardian, Eru had every right to say yes or no. Fortunately for Oromë, Eru agreed to the union and issued a proclamation before the week was even over. Now you were here—in his halls and in his bed. He brushed his hand over your hair and your cheek. He let his thumb trace the lines of your sinful lips. When you rewarded him with a wistful sigh, he leaned in. 

The pelts were soft, but he found you to be a great deal softer. Your lips tasted of the cakes you had earlier—tart and sweet. Your hair slipped around his fingers like water. When he laid you down and found you trembling, he ran his hand over your arm to soothe you. 

"Could you kiss me again," you looked up at him and asked. "It makes everything feel wonderful when you do." 

Far be it from him to deny you! Oromë grinned and kissed you again, this time not stopping until your mouth slowly parted for his tongue. His hands explored every inch of your body, slipping beneath the silks of your slip to run over the warmth of your flesh. He sighed when you moaned into his kiss, and groaned when timid arms slid around his waist. Nails dug into his skin, marring it with little bruises every time he kissed a little deeper and pressed himself a little closer. Oromë found your slip and smallclothes getting in his way. 

"Lift," he commanded. 

There was a soft rustle when your slip was tugged over your waist and arms before being consigned to the floor. Your skin prickled when you lifted your hips, and your smallclothes slid up your thighs before being unceremoniously cast aside with barely a flutter. When you shivered and covered your breasts with your arms, he gently drew them away. 

"Let me keep you warm," he said, before lowering his head. 

He did more than just that. Oromë spent what seemed like ages worshiping your body. His hands may have been rough, but his touch was exceedingly gentle, caressing you as if you had been made out of fragile glass. He kissed every part of you, from the tips of your fingers to the insides of your thighs, not stopping until you were whimpering and trembling beneath him. He went lower, his lips leaving a warm, damp trail all over your breasts and your belly. Not satisfied with even that, he went lower still. Warmth spread just beneath your skin when he pressed his lips over your folds. All you could do was grab at the pelts, fingers digging into soft fur whenever he ran his tongue over your already slick heat. Nothing could be heard but your ragged breaths and his soft grunts. You murmured when sweet tension grew within your belly. It was intoxicating. And so wonderful. All the tales you had heard, all the gossip and scandalous chatter, were nothing compared to what your husband was making you feel—like your entire body had been set ablaze from within. His tongue felt hot and lush whenever it ran over your core. His lips felt so soft whenever they tugged gently at your already-throbbing nub. You were close. So close. It felt like you were on the edge of the precipice, about to fall. Then he drew away, pressing a soft kiss against the inside of your thigh. 

Sheer instincts drove Oromë now. Still, he fought to control himself, not wanting to go too far or too hard the first time. There would be plenty of time for all of that, he decided, once you had grown more comfortable with him and trusted him more. He moved over you, sighing softly when your legs slid open for him. His lips captured yours in a kiss. It was a distraction to take your mind off of what was to come next. 

You felt him. All of him. He moved slowly, piercing you inch by slow inch. There was pain, yes, and discomfort, but his kisses were so sweet and heady and drugging, that you barely paid attention to either. You tasted the traces of you on his lips and tongue, and fount it to be as sweet as his kiss.  And there was pleasure—a slow-building kind of pleasure that pulled you into a dark tunnel of desire. 

"More," you whispered. More was what you wanted, and more was what he gave you. Oromë moved with gentle, rhythmic thrusts, and soon grew drunk on your sweet moans. On your own urging, he went a little harder, a little faster, moaning deeply whenever he felt your walls tighten around his cock. Nails dug into his flesh again, inciting almost otherworldly growls. He dipped his head and kissed you until you were silent, and he lost himself in your sweet flesh. All he could do was feel the warmth of your skin, the heat of your kisses, and the softness of your thighs, even as they scrambled for purchase against his hips. When your hands brushed and curled around his hair and the tips of your fingers glided over his scalp, he lost all sense of control, pushing you harder against the bed with each thrust. 

"I’m close," he whispered against your neck. "Are you?" 

"Gods yes," was all you could manage, raw and desperate. 

When you raised your hips, Oromë found a new angle that allowed him to go as deep as he could manage. His nails dug into your thigh as he set a torturous pace, his cheeks clenching even as you writhed wildly beneath him. A few more moments were all it took before the world went dark in your eyes and your body splintered while your orgasm ripped through you. You couldn’t think or even breathe. All you could do was feel the heat spreading beneath your skin and the bliss that washed over you. You barely heard it—Oromë spilling his seed with a deep, satisfying grunt. 

A hand brushed over your hair. You open your eyes, slowly taking in the room that came into view and the man that still hovered over you. His chest heaved with each breath he took. His eyes had been filled with what looked like worry. Was he worried he hurt you? Was that why he looked so concerned? A slow, satisfied smile worked its way across your face. You lifted a hand and caressed his cheek.   

"Husband," you whispered softly. "There is no need to worry. You didn’t hurt me." 

"Are you certain?" Oromë asked, even as he trembled upon hearing you call him husband for the first time. 

"You didn’t," you insist, too lazy and content to sit up straight. "This night went better than I anything I could have dreamed." 

Relief brought a wide smile to his lips.

tags: @cilil​ @asianbutnotjapanese​ @edensrose​ @wandererindreams​ @floragardeniahope​ 

[cilil]

Oh, I have a few truly wonderful recommendations to drop this week~

The Favour by @a-world-of-whimsy-5. Set in Whimsy's awesome medieval Ainur!AU, this one tells the story of our beloved Eönwë approaching you, dear reader, with an unusual request

Speak or forever hold your silence by @i-did-not-mean-to. Curumo and Aiwendil have some (rather poorly timed) confessions to make

The Injury of Finally Knowing You by @melkors-defense-attorney. A truly heart-wrenching fic written for Silvergifting Week (day 4 - betrayal) in which Celebrimbor speaks about his beloved Annatar

Happy Friday, Fellowship! 💛

Fic recs are the best way to help promote someone else’s works! Find some of your favorite fics, they could be WIPs, completed, old, new, whatever you want to share, and rec at least (1) of them for us and your followers to see! Who knows, it might just be the fic someone out there is looking for!

Bonus: tag the author (if possible) and share with us why you are recommending this fic!

[quinn10121012]

“Then Aulë took up a great hammer to smite the dwarves; and he wept. But Ilúvatar had compassion upon Aulë and his desire, because of his humility; and the dwarves shrank from the hammer and they were afraid, and they bowed down their head and begged for mercy.” - the Silmarillion, J.R.R. Tolkien

[cilil]

What are your thoughts on Aluin? From the lost Valar? What do you think he’s like? Or looks like? Really curious to hear any thoughts/opinions you have on him!

Also, I hope you’re having an amazing day! I look forward to seeing each notification I get for your blog❤️

Hey anon! First of all thanks so much for your ask, I've unfortunately been struggling recently due to more shit happening irl, but messages like these truly brighten my day and I'm just... in awe that the absolute chaotic madness I'm causing here is enjoyable to others out there too. My day is amazing now thanks to you and I hope yours is too❤️

Anyway - Aluin! I've actually been thinking about him from time to time (haha) over the last few years. He's a bit of an interesting and also odd case to me because:

He may be the one Vala we know by name who didn't descend into Arda (at least some sources claim that)

He had sons but no (known) spouse, unlike the other Valar and their associated Valarindi (who were still a thing at that point)

He was supposed to be the eldest of the Ainur, which I assume would otherwise/in the "newer lore" be Melkor due to the whole medieval cliché that the eldest son is usually the strongest/greatest/most powerful (my explanation for that is always slightly terrible, but I think you get what I mean)

What does Aluin look like? Well, I have no idea - because my headcanon, if I were to incorporate him into canonverse as I usually write it, is that he never appeared in Arda like the other Valar did.

Let me explain (the following will all be headcanons, thoughts and the usual wild ideas).

So if you happen to be into space content, particularly astrophysics and the like, you may have heard that time is often being regarded as a fourth, temporal dimension in addition to the three spatial dimensions we're familiar with. Taking this idea, I'd basically have Aluin be by himself in the fourth dimension, where he isn't really able to be perceived or interacted with by the inhabitants of Arda, possibly including most Ainur.

Character-wise, as well as functionally, Aluin would be very similar to Námo. Being The Judge, Námo is a passive observer, as seen in the Silmarillion: He doesn't attempt to direct people, he waits for them to make their choices and then judges them. Prophecies and random throwaway comments are rare. He's often silent and seems aloof.

Time, as Eru would certainly be aware, is a causality-breaking and timeline-ruining power, so he would make sure Aluin is even more removed from everything than Námo is, which he would be in his dimension. I also think that Aluin, as the one person not stuck on the linear arrow of time, would be the least concerned about whatever divine drama is currently unfolding, possibly not always have the chain of causality in order and seem aloof and impersonal if anyone somehow managed to encounter him. He would have an even greater knowledge of the past and possibly the future than other Valar, though I would say maybe not on the level of Varda's sharp insight and Námo's prophecies, and overall function as a Guardian of Time of sorts, making sure it flows and nobody messes with it too much (I wonder what he thinks about black holes).

I could also picture Aluin (either alternatively or additionally) as a whimsical being who regards the fate of Arda as a neat little tale among many. He might appear either very young or very old depending on the circumstances, which would be a fun contrast and irony compared to the other Ainur's (relative) agelessness.

Additionally, I would be tempted to incorporate some ideas and symbols from the Legend of Zelda, as it also has time travel and magic music which would fit really well with a Time Ainu (Time-nu hehe).

If I had to incorporate Fanuin, Ranuin and Danuin as well, I'd choose one of the following:

They're Maiar of his (same change as the other Valarindi)

They're aspects of Aluin

Corresponding with 2.: They're creations of his similar to Aulë's Dwarves before Eru adopted them/Melkor's dragons

Either way, they would act as his helpers by focusing on their respective time measurements.

(Small side tangent if I may: Bringing Aluin back into the universe, even if he remains remote and removed, comes with the issue that Melkor, due to his share in everyone's gifts, basically automatically gains time powers as well, which... could be a problem. However, as we see with water, Melkor doesn't necessarily excel in all areas even if he theoretically has access to them, so his time powers could be something fairly minute (pun intended), for example like the recall ability in Zelda TotK. Also you could argue that his introduction of decay and making Elves fade is already the extent of whatever temporal powers he may have. Just something to keep in mind for worldbuilding ^^)

So yeah, those are my thoughts, ideas and possible headcanons for Aluin so far. Maybe something to expand on in the future or feature in fic? We'll see. Either way thanks again for your ask and I hope this was at least... mildly interesting😂💕

[outofangband]

under cut for non graphic discussion of sexual abuse including discussion of canonical assault in The Silmarillion and Histories. 

also warning for discussion of incest in the instance of Húrin’s children

edit: the Tulkas part is here and it’s so much worse than you can imagine 

Edit: you can see a longer analysis here

(I forgot the exact wording of the question but it basically had to do with Morgoth’s canonical instances of overlapping lust and hatred)

My answer: I’m not entirely sure, anon! I think it also depends on how heavily you want to lean into HoME as canon. We know that there are several instances in The Silmarillion and/or The Histories of Middle Earth that show that Melkor is capable of such things. In at least one version he assaults Arien after she refuses him (it’s worth noting that her refusal was not specifically a romantic one but rather to join him in his goals) This of course backfires on him as she curses him to be unable to withstand the light that he craves. Then he fantasizes about assaulting Lúthien but is fortunately unable to.

 It’s worth bringing up briefly that while in canon Melkor’s more explicit examples of sexual violence and lust are focused on female adjacent* characters, there are instances where Melkor demonstrates an urge to dominate and humiliate Tulkas, ordering him to be brought before him in chains and to pay fealty to him by kissing his feet He goes into detail of his terms with Manwë in The Book of Lost Tales. While there is nothing explicitly sexual, to say there is subtext of something is putting it lightly. 

He also er...agrees for Tulkas to be bound for his “power and pleasure” exact words. 

Then of course the fact that he forces Húrin to watch his children’s sexual encounter in my humble opinion an act of violation both against Húrin as well as them (whether the act itself or unknowingly being watched as a form of torture to Húrin) 

I won’t go into here but that I always think about when thinking about the Narn. 

Melkor consistently wishes to control, subjugate, and hurt others and this extends to very physical violations. He uses sex as revenge and punishment in more than one instance. 

So to answer your question anon, I don’t think this necessarily started after he got his injuries from the Silmarils, I think that only made his already sadistic urges even more violent through his anger and impotence. 

! I don’t think that Morgoth’s libido works in the way a human’s, or even an elf’s would. He’s a Valar and his original form is non physical. While each of the Valar and Ainur probably have different relationships to all sorts of physical pleasures and discomforts (food, sleep, sex, etc), Morgoth primarily uses them as a weapon and a tool. He doesn’t really need or even desire sex, though the act itself can be pleasurable to him, it’s the way he’s using it that he enjoys so this whole thing, in my story, is really just another game to him. Almost like very not consensual role play. Morgoth is putting Maedhros into yet another scenario that he has no control over..  

And, while not adhering to the philosophies of elves, understands them well and understands that they view sex as a bond often, though not always associated with marriage. By forcing Maedhros, whether or not he creates this sort of bond, it is yet another “theft” from Fëanor because it’s yet another way of claiming control over his first born son. In many Medieval Societies, including the ones Tolkien was inspired by, much of a family’s legacy was staked upon the firstborn, hence why fairy tale villains are often trying to kill, steal, or marry the hero’s firstborn child! As for how Maedhros understands his reactions...unfortunately he doesn’t really. He’s never been given any sort of thorough sex ed and so most of what he understands, he heard from Morgoth himself.

Before I get into the concepts of purity and virginity in a more general sense I want to mention first that Morgoth seems to have an obsession with bloodlines and primogeniture, that is, the state of being the firstborn child often understood to be the firstborn son and heir. This is especially true in a society where one's children are considered to be the property of their father and intrinsically linked to his status and legacy.

As I’ve said, If you've read any fairy tales or mythology, you've probably noticed that villains especially often share this fixation! Curses, dooms, revenge often fall onto the firstborn child of the subject. So this "claiming" of Maedhros (both in terms of his capture and any sexual assault taking place) could be viewed as another theft of Fëanor*, especially considering the sometimes held view that physical intimacy is akin to a marriage bond (I don't believe this is always the case, even among the elves and I go into that more here where I also discuss a bit about how the Valar view intimacy!)

As for more generally, I imagine Melkor has a pretty decent understanding of how the Noldor view their relationships, he spent a lot of time in their society before the Darkening and while I don’t think he’s ever had like, an earnest interest in elven affairs I think he has a very astute understanding of Noldorin society so he could use this against them. And of course he has a very intimate understanding of shame, fear, anger, etc. 

It’s also worth noting that we see sexual violence committed by characters who aren’t Morgoth for the same reasons; namely, to stake a claim on family inheritance and rule or to try to such as in the case of Aerin and Tar Míriel

(*I say adjacent because Varda and Arien are of course Ainur and so it feels silly to say they have anything like a binary gender and even elves likely do not have the same concepts of gender as humans but that’s an entirely different conversation.)

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