#and a maia of aulë comes and HE can see the good in the way celebrimbor works too of course; because maia are things of song

[tathrin]

@the-smartass-under-the-mountain oh that is fantastic yes. It sounds to me like you have a story to write! (please?)

#either version would be amazing! #and theres always that one elf/dwarf whose brain work opposite #like an elf that does need everything in An Assigned Place bc memory is for Songs ans Genealogy not Hammer Location #and they end up getting along with the dwarf smiths better bc FINALLY someone understands that the tongs live on the 2nd shelf #or the dwarf that works seamlessly with elves bc they can hand off tools to each other without even glancing up from their work

A thought on Elves and Dwarves (as inspired by my roommate and I and the one place where our brains really don't line up):

Elves with perfect memories, who know exactly where they put that thingamajig even when they last set it down twenty years ago, and thus can always find whatever it is they're looking for amidst what looks like total disarray to everybody else.

Dwarves with perfectly ordered spatial awareness, who are so accustomed to the layout of their workshop or forge that they can lay their hands on any tool in there without even looking, and always set everything back where it belongs out of ingrained habit.

Elves who never ever put things back where they belong, because "put that away neatly so you can find it again" is simply not a concept that exists in elvish minds, because it doesn't need to.

Dwarves who will look right past the thing they're looking for if it's not where it belongs, because it's not where it belongs, why isn't it where it belongs, where did you put it you daft elf...?

Elves and Dwarves in the smithies of Ost-in-Edhil, ready to go to war over the arrangement of their tools, and Celebrimbor on the brink of tears desperately trying to keep the peace here that he never managed to in Nargothrond.

(alt: could easily be done the other way around too, with elves always putting things away because then the thing is always where it's supposed to be, even twenty years later, so you can find it again, because they have so many more important things to hold in their memories than where they last put down their favorite hammer, and after a few hundred years you fall into the habit of expecting things to be where they belong so you don't even look to find them somewhere else; and dwarves who have such an innate sense of their tools and their workspace that they don't need to have "proper places" to put things away, because of course they remember where they put their hammer, what kind of a question is that, can't you just feel where your hammer is wtf???)

[thyras]

I saw that you were accepting requests and I couldn't miss this opportunity. I follow your account and I really like your writing! I thought of something like Sauron and the reader have been together since Morgoth, but with Sauron's return and his contact with Galadriel, the reader begins to be uncertain about his feelings. So when she leaves Eregion late at night, Adar finds her and takes her to his camp days before Halbrand arrives. Adar could suspect that Sauron is Halbrand and tries to use his wife as bait. But you can obviously write however you like. English is not my language, so I apologize for any mistakes! :)

It is perfectly okay!

I had a hard time thinking where I wanted to go with this, but it came to me in a dream (hehe, divine intervention), and I really went from there, honestly. I took some parts of your request and kind of morphed them a little. I hope that is okay, but the bones are still there. So sorry this took so long, though. final exams and papers are in full swing and it's taking everything out of me.

→ luminary

PAIRING → sauron | mairon | halbrand x f!Maia!reader

WORD COUNT → 4.9k words

WARNINGS → soft!sauron, lies, obsessions, manipulation, etc.

SUMMARY → you have been with sauron since he was a servant of aulë, though now centuries later you have doubts. but with doubts come dangers not even a maia can be saved from.

AUTHORS NOTE → i tried a different style of writing this as I usually write in past tense so it's probably utter garbage and does not flow properly but hey i tried. reader does have a name that yavanna gave her when she was in her service, and is referred to a few times. but I do not reference anything that would take away from the reader's perspective.

In the days before the shadow fell over the world, before the Valar waged their war on the darkness and the light of the Two Trees was lost, you walked among the Maiar as one of Yavanna's most cherished. She called you Nelyanna, for your voice carried the essence of the Music of the Ainur, coaxing flowers from the earth and bidding forests to rise in splendor. Your song was the song of growing things, of roots and leaves that drank deeply of the light, and your heart burned fiercely for the beauty of Arda.

As a servant of Yavanna, you often found yourself in the halls of Aulë, her husband. Among the clamor of hammers and the blaze of forges, you first saw him: Mairon, golden and shining, whose mastery of craft and subtlety of thought stood unmatched. He was unlike any you had ever known. Where others toiled contentedly, he sought perfection, driven by a restless ambition that burned brighter than the forge-fire.

At first, you admired him from a distance, enchanted by the elegance of his work, the way his hands shaped metal into wonders. His voice, when he spoke, was a low and captivating murmur, like a storm on the horizon. But his mind held you, sharp and vivid, full of visions that reached far beyond the present. He spoke of perfecting the world's flaws, of reshaping Arda into something eternal.

You did not see the danger in his words nor the shadow that began to coil around him. How could you? Your heart was so full of faith in the light of creation that you believed in the goodness of all things. Slowly, you came to know him, and your presence seemed to soothe the storm within him. Together, you spoke of creation, life's wild and untamed beauty, and how it might be ordered into something more significant.

What began as fascination became something deeper. You felt it in every note of your song, a pull stronger than you could name. When he spoke, his gaze pierced through you like sunlight breaking through a forest canopy, warm and unwavering. In him, you saw not only his brilliance but a yearning that mirrored your own: a longing to create, understand, and belong.

But whispers of discontent began to ripple through the halls of the Valar. You noticed the change in him, how his light grew darker, his ambition sharper. He spoke of Morgoth, the fallen Vala who sought dominion over Arda, and his words carried a dangerous allure. Mairon did not see Morgoth as a tyrant but as a visionary, someone bold enough to challenge the flaws of Eru's design.

Others turned from him, their hearts heavy with fear and mistrust. Yet you could not. You had seen the light in him, the brilliance beneath the shadow, and you clung to the hope that it might prevail. He was your sun, and you, a flower bending toward his radiance.

When he made his choice—when Mairon turned to Morgoth and the dark halls of Angband—he came to you. His voice was soft, his words entreating, as he spoke of a new order, a world remade.

A power over the flesh.

He asked you to choose: to remain untouched and safe among the green fields of Yavanna or to follow him into the unknown.

Your heart wavered. Could you leave the forests, the meadows, the songs of life you had nurtured? But then you looked at him, at the fire in his eyes, and you could not turn away. You told yourself you might save him, that your light might temper his growing darkness.

And so you left. You turned from the green fields and walked into the shadow, following him. The air grew colder with every step, and the light dimmer. Yet you hoped, still you sang, and you believed, even as the weight of the dark pressed on your spirit.

In time, the world would remember Mairon by a name spoken in fear and hatred, but your story would fade like a forgotten note, lost to history. Still, somewhere deep inside you, even as the dark wrapped tighter around you, you would remember the sun and the green fields of your beginnings.

And you would wonder if the flower you had once been might ever bloom again.

The golden afternoon light bathed Eregion in a warm glow, and its white towers rose proudly against the mountains. The city thrummed with life, its forges alive with the fires of creation and the voices of Elves. You lingered at the city's edge, your gaze drifting to the distant horizon, where the mountains seemed to touch the sky. There, your thoughts often wandered, searching for answers to a question you dared not voice aloud.

You felt an unease deep within you, a faint pull like a thread tugging at your spirit. For weeks, you had sensed something shifting, something drawing nearer. It was not fear but anticipation, a quiet certainty that he was coming. You could not say how you knew, only that you did. Mairon. Sauron. Whatever guise he had taken, the thread that connected you had begun to hum once more.

The sound of horns at the gates startled you from your thoughts. You turned toward the commotion, your heart quickening. A flurry of hooves approached the gatehouse, the figures indistinct against the shimmering heat of the sun. As they approached, you saw an Elf clad in battle-worn armor leading the way, her golden hair catching the sunlight. She supported a figure as she helped them off the horse, his weight leaning heavily against her before guards moved to assist her. You felt the air shift even at a distance, and your breath caught.

It was him.

Your feet moved before your mind could catch up, carrying you toward the gates. Elves gathered, curious but cautious, as the group passed through the threshold. Galadriel—the Lady of Light herself, though you had never seen her before—moved to speak with Lord Celebrimbor and Elrond, though you could not hear what the three were saying. The coppery-haired man stumbled, barely able to stand, his tunic torn and stained with blood. You hesitated in the shadow of the crowd, your heart pounding.

Celebrimbor said something to the guards that was inaudible to you, but the guards moved to follow his orders, though you remained frozen. His face was obscured, turned away from you as they carried him into the forge, but you knew. You would always know. The air around him was heavy, resonating with the faintest trace of power—perhaps diminished but unmistakable. You stepped forward, your hands trembling as they disappeared behind the doors.

Galadriel turned her gaze to you briefly, her eyes sharp but puzzled. "Do you know him?" she asked, her voice curious but wary as you walked over to the group.

You hesitated, the words caught in your throat. Finally, you shook your head. "No," you lied softly. "But I… I can help. If you'll allow it."

She studied you for a moment longer, then nodded. "Come, then."

You followed them into the chamber, your thoughts spinning. The room was quiet, the golden light of a single lantern casting long shadows on the walls. They laid him on a low bed, his breathing shallow but steady. Galadriel spoke briefly with the healers, her voice low and firm, before she turned back to you.

"Stay with him," she said, her tone gentler now. "He may wake disoriented. It is better if there is someone here."

You nodded, unable to meet her eyes. She lingered a moment longer, then left, her presence fading like a beam of light withdrawing from the room as she spoke with Elrond quietly outside the door's threshold. When they finally departed, you exhaled, the tension in your chest easing slightly.

You moved to his side, kneeling by the bed. His face was pale beneath the grime and blood, his features softer than you remembered. His manly face almost resembled the one you had met him with. Though with this face, stubble traveled across his chin and cheeks, and he held less of that glow he had. But it was still there, deep inside, and only for you to see.

The years—or perhaps the ages—had worn on him, stripping away the veneer of power he had once carried so effortlessly. And yet, even now, he was unmistakable. Your fingers hovered above his face, trembling as you brushed the damp coppery strand from his brow.

"You found your way back," you whispered, barely audible. "I always knew you would."

He stirred faintly, his head turning slightly toward you. His eyelids fluttered but did not open, his breathing hitching before settling again. You stayed where you were, your heart aching with the weight of centuries. The bond between you hummed faintly, a reminder of what had been, of the light you had seen in him even when all others saw only shadow.

The door creaked open behind you, and you turned to see one of the healers entering with fresh linens and salves. She looked at you briefly but said nothing, her gaze curious but kind. You rose and stepped back, allowing her to tend to him, though your eyes never left his face.

"Will he recover?" you asked quietly.

The healer nodded. "His injuries are severe, but he is strong. He will heal with time."

You nodded, relief and trepidation warring within you. As the healer worked, you moved to the corner of the room, where you could watch without drawing attention. When she left, promising to return later, you stepped forward again, your hand brushing against his. His skin was warm, his pulse steady beneath your fingertips.

For hours, you stayed by his side, unwilling to leave. The city beyond carried on as it always did, but for you, the world had narrowed to this room, to the fragile rise and fall of his chest. You did not know what he would say when he woke or if he would even remember you. But you had waited for this moment for centuries and would not falter now.

When his eyes finally opened, softly green like the pastures you used to tend in Aman and piercing even in their weakness, you felt your breath catch. His gaze found yours, and for a fleeting moment, recognition flickered there; even in the deepest of guises, he could tell it was you: his heart, his light in the darkness.

"Nelyanna," he rasped, his voice rough but unmistakable.

You smiled faintly, your hand tightening around his. "Yes," you said softly. "Nelyanna."

And though the shadow of his past loomed over you both, the thread that bound you felt whole again for the first time in ages.

The days after his arrival were a haze of whispered tension and unanswered questions. Mairon—no, Halbrand, as he called himself now—recovered swiftly under the care of the Elves, his wounds healing faster than they had any right to. He was different now, quieter, his once-burning ambition masked behind a veneer of humility. But you saw the familiar glint in his eyes when he spoke to Celebrimbor, the calculated precision in his words. He was a master of deception, as he had always been.

What unnerved you most, however, was the way his gaze lingered on Galadriel in those days that followed.

You told yourself it was nothing. After all, she had brought him to Eregion. It was only natural that he would be drawn to her—a powerful Elf whose light radiated an intensity few could match. But you knew him too well to ignore the subtle signs: the way his eyes followed her in the forge or courtyard and how his tone shifted when he spoke of her, tinged with something you could not name.

At first, you tried to dismiss your fears. You reminded yourself of the bond between you, the centuries you had waited for, the sacrifices you had made to follow him into shadow. But as the days passed, the unease in your heart grew. You began to see the pattern: how he subtly positioned himself to be near her and encouraged her trust. His words were carefully chosen, always flattering but never overt, weaving himself into her thoughts like a strand of her light.

One evening, as the city settled into twilight, you found him alone in the courtyard underneath one of the lone trees in the city. He was seated on a low stone bench, his face tilted toward the sky as though lost in thought. The sight of him, so seemingly serene, only deepened your resolve.

"You’re spending a great deal of time with her," you said, your voice soft but firm.

He turned at the sound of your voice, his expression unreadable. For a moment, he said nothing, then gestured for you to sit beside him. You hesitated before complying, the tension between you as palpable as the golden light fading from the horizon.

"She interests me," he said finally, his tone even. "Her strength, clarity—It is rare to see such light untainted."

Your chest tightened. "And what do you intend to do with it?" you asked, trying to keep the tremor from your voice. "You and I both know you do not fixate on things without a reason."

He studied you, his green eyes sharp and piercing. "You think I have ill intent," he said, almost accusing.

"I think you have a purpose," you replied. "You always do."

He smiled faintly, a flicker of the charm that had once captivated you. "Perhaps I do," he admitted. "Galadriel’s light is—unique. It is a beacon, a force capable of uniting even the most divided hearts. It is a light this world sorely needs."

"And you think to wield it," you said, your voice laced with disbelief. "You would use her for our plans."

"I would heal Middle-earth," he said, his voice low but fervent. "Look around you, Nelyanna. This world is broken and fractured by conflict and mistrust. Galadriel has the power to inspire and lead. With her, we could bring order to the chaos."

His conviction sent a shiver down your spine. "She’s not a tool, Mairon," you said, using his true name deliberately and sharply. "She is not something for you to mold into our vision."

He flinched at the name but recovered quickly, his expression hardening. "And what would you have me do?" he asked, his tone bitter. "Stand idle while this world crumbles? I see a chance to make things right, to shape Arda into what it was always meant to be. Would you deny me that?"

"That’s not what this is about," you said, your voice rising. "This is about you. You can tell yourself it’s for Middle-earth, but I know you. This is your ambition, your obsession. And now you’ve turned it on her, seeking power when you already have such power by your side."

For a moment, heavy and unyielding silence hung between you. He looked at you, his eyes filled with anger and something deeper—raw, almost pleading.

"You think I don’t care for you," he said quietly. "That you’ve waited all this time for nothing."

Your throat tightened. "What I think is that you’ve forgotten what truly matters," you said. "You are so consumed by your need to control and shape that you cannot see the cost." Tears threatened to fall now. "My love, Mairon, it is the cost."

He reached for your hand, his grip firm but not unkind. "You matter to me," he said, his voice softer now. "You always have. But this—this is something greater. Something I cannot ignore."

You pulled your hand away, the distance between you feeling like an unbridgeable chasm. "If you go down this path, there may be no coming back," you said, your voice trembling. "You think you can use Galadriel’s light without corrupting it, but you’ve forgotten the shadow you carry. It will twist everything it touches, including her." You pause. “Look what it did to me.”

His expression darkened, and for a moment, you saw the flicker of the Sauron you had once known, the master of ambition and cunning. "You underestimate me," he said, his tone cold. "And her."

You rose to your feet, your heart heavy. "Perhaps I do," you said. "But I will not stand by and watch you lose yourself again. Not this time."

As you turned to leave, his voice stopped you. "You won’t leave me," he said, a note of desperation beneath his words. "You never have."

You paused your back to him, tears threatening to spill again. "Perhaps I should have," you whispered before walking into the growing shadows.

Behind you, the garden fell silent except for the faint rustle of leaves in the evening breeze. And as you left him there, you wondered if, this time, the thread that bound you might finally snap.

Eregion was quieter now, but it felt like a shadow had passed over the city, dimming its light. You walked through the streets, the familiar paths that had once comforted you, now stirring only heartache. His presence lingered here, like the echo of a melody you couldn’t forget, no matter how desperately you wanted to.

He had left. After revealing himself to Galadriel, after his ambitions had been laid bare, he had vanished as suddenly as he had come. His departure had been like a blade to your heart, not because you hadn’t expected it, but because it solidified what you had long feared: Mairon, the husband you had loved, was gone, replaced by Sauron’s consuming obsession with power and control.

You had stayed for a time, hoping he might return and seek you out, not as Sauron but as the man you once knew. But he hadn’t. And now you could no longer bear to remain. His shadow hung too heavy here, his presence a ghost you could not escape.

It was time to leave.

You stood on the outskirts of the city, where the wildflowers grew untamed. The soft hum of your song rose on the breeze, a farewell melody. You had sung this tune countless times over the ages, but now it carried a new weight, a finality you had never felt before. You knelt among the flowers, your fingers brushing their delicate petals as if saying goodbye to the life you had built here.

"I thought you might come to your senses," you whispered into the stillness, your voice breaking. "I thought you might remember who you were. Who we once were."

The breeze carried no reply, only the faint rustle of leaves. You closed your eyes, swallowing the lump in your throat. He wouldn’t come. He had made his choice, and you had made yours.

As the sun descended below the horizon, you rose to your feet and turned toward the road away from Eregion. You didn't have a clear destination in mind, only the need to leave. You couldn’t follow him anymore—not down his chosen path. His quest to dominate, to twist Middle-earth to his will, was one you could no longer justify, no matter how deeply you had once believed in that path.

But leaving wasn’t easy. Eregion had been a sanctuary where you had tried to find solace and clung to the last threads of hope for your husband’s redemption. Walking away felt like tearing a piece of your dark soul from your body, but you knew it was the only way forward. If you stayed, his shadow would consume you as it had consumed him, and you would fall into the same madness.

As you began to walk, the soft crunch of your footsteps on the dirt road filled the silence. Each step felt heavier than the last, but you pressed on. The road stretched before you, winding into the distance, and you didn’t look back.

You had just passed the last of Eregion’s outlying homes when a voice stopped you. It was warm and even. There was no hint of malicious intent, only the warmth you craved from him.

"You’re leaving."

You froze, your breath catching. Slowly, you turned, and there he was. He stood a short distance away, his shadowy figure watching you, the evening light casting his face in sharp relief. His eyes burned with the same fire you had always known, but now there was something else there—something raw, almost desperate.

"I am," you said, your voice steady despite the storm raging in your chest. "There’s nothing left for me here."

He took a step closer, his movements slow, measured. "You can’t mean that," he said, his tone quiet but firm. "We’ve been through too much—"

"You left," you interrupted, your voice rising. "You left, Mairon. You revealed yourself to Galadriel, exposed your plans, and vanished without a word. What did you expect me to do? Stay here, waiting for you to return so you can pull me into whatever scheme you’ve concocted next?"

He flinched at the sharpness of your words, but he didn’t look away. "You don’t understand," he said, his voice softening. "Everything I’ve done, everything I’ve worked for—it’s for us. For our redemption. I need power to achieve it. Galadriel—her light—she could have been—"

"Don’t," you said, cutting him off. "Don’t try to justify it to me. Not anymore."

You stepped closer to him, your hands trembling at your sides. "I loved you, Mairon," you said, your voice breaking. "I loved you so much that I followed you into shadow, believing in your vision, believing in you. But I can’t do it anymore. Not when your vision means a web of schemes that involve taking something you already have by your side. I was your light for ages, Mairon, but I guess your darkness dimmed me out too much."

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought he might argue, might try to pull you back into his web of ambition. But then his shoulders sagged, and the fire in his eyes dimmed. "I never wanted to lose you," he said quietly.

"Then you shouldn’t have lost our vision," you replied, the words heavy with sorrow.

For a long moment, the two of you stood in silence, the space between you filled with all the things left unsaid. Finally, you turned away, the ache in your chest nearly unbearable.

"Goodbye, Mairon," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "I hope one day you find what you’re looking for."

You didn’t wait for a response. You walked away, your steps resolute, even as tears blurred your vision. The road ahead was uncertain, but it was yours, unshadowed by his ambitions.

And though your heart ached with every step, you knew you had made the right choice. No matter how deeply intertwined, some paths were never meant to be walked together.

The woods outside Eregion were dense and quiet; the only sounds were the rustle of leaves in the evening breeze and the crunch of your boots on the dirt path. The road was lonely, stretching far into the wilderness, but the solitude was a balm to your frayed spirit. Every step away from Eregion, away from him, felt like tearing yourself apart, but it was a pain you had chosen. It was better this way.

Or so you told yourself.

The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the forest floor, when the attack came. It was silent at first—too silent. The birds stopped singing, the wind stilled, and an oppressive weight settled in the air. Your instincts screamed, and you reached for the dagger at your belt, but it was too late. The first blow came from behind, knocking you to the ground. Hands grabbed at you, rough and clawed, dragging you to your knees.

Orcs. At least a dozen of them, their blackened armor blending with the shadows of the trees. Their eyes glinted with cruel delight as they bound your hands and stripped you of your weapon. You struggled, but their strength was overwhelming, their snarling laughter mocking your defiance.

"Leave me," you hissed, your voice sharp despite the fear rising in your chest. "You’ve got no quarrel with me."

One of the orcs leaned close, its breath hot and foul. "It's not us you should be worried about," it sneered. "He’s waiting for you."

Before you could ask who, a burlap sack was pulled over your head, plunging you into darkness.

When the sack was removed, you found yourself in a clearing lit by the orange glow of a fire. Orcs milled about, their guttural voices and harsh laughter filling the air. The largest of them loomed nearby, sharpening crude blades, while others eyed you with suspicion or amusement. But it was the figure seated by the fire that drew your attention.

Adar.

He sat calmly, his face illuminated by the flickering flames. His features were sharp, almost elven, but twisted with a darkness that seemed to radiate from him. His eyes, cold and calculating, locked onto yours as the orcs shoved you forward, forcing you to kneel before him.

"So," he said, his voice smooth and low, "I see our paths have crossed again, my lady."

You glared at him, refusing to show fear. "If you mean to kill me, get on with it," you said, your voice steady despite the rapid beat of your heart.

Adar chuckled, a sound devoid of warmth. "Kill you? No. You are far more valuable alive."

He leaned forward, studying you as though you were a puzzle to be solved. "You carry the stench of him," he said, his lip curling. "Sauron. Mairon. Halbrand. Whatever name he uses now. You’ve been bound to him longer than I imagine, Nelyanna,”

You stiffened at his words, your fists clenching against the bindings. Adar smiles weakly at you as he knows he has broken your facade by calling you by who he knew you as. The fallen goddess, forever bound to her shadow. You had been there when he struck that blow; you had watched as he murdered the being you loved. Stood idly by as your beloved husband choked on his ambitions and his black blood.

Finally, you regained your voice and gazed into your captor's eyes. "I have nothing to do with him anymore," you said. “I left him. I want no part of his plans."

Adar’s expression darkened, his eyes narrowing. "You may think you’ve left him, but you don’t understand what you are to him, do you?" He rose to his feet, his presence commanding as he paced around you. "You are a thread in his tapestry, a piece of his grand design. Even now, I can feel his faint pull through you."

His words sent a chill down your spine, but you refused to let him see your fear, for Maiar were never supposed to fear anything less than them. "If you think you can use me to reach him, you’ll be disappointed," you said, your voice firm. "He doesn’t care about me anymore."

Adar stopped, his gaze piercing. "Oh, he cares," he said. "You are his weakness, his flaw. For all his cunning, for all his power, he cannot sever his connection to you. And that is why you are so important."

He crouched before you, his face inches from yours. "I will use you, yes," he said, his voice soft but deadly. "Not as a tool for his schemes, but as bait. He will come for you. He cannot resist. And when he does…" His eyes gleamed with malice. "I will end him. For good."

Your heart raced, your mind spinning with the implications of his words. Adar was no mere villain; he was driven by hatred, by a desire to see Sauron’s end at any cost. And now, you were caught in the middle of his web.

"You’re wrong," you said, though your voice wavered.

Adar’s smile was cold. "We shall see," he said. He rose, gesturing to the orcs. "Cage her. Ensure she is watched at all times. For she is just as deceitful as he is."

They grabbed you roughly, dragging you toward a crude iron cage at the edge of the camp. As the door slammed shut behind you, you sank to the ground, your thoughts racing. You had left Eregion to escape him, to free yourself from the shadow of his ambitions. And yet, here you were, once again, a pawn in the game that Sauron’s existence seemed to cast upon the world.

You stared out of the bars of your cage, the orcs sharpening their weapons and preparing for the battle that would ensue. And in the quiet of the night, you whispered a plea, not to the Valar nor the stars, but to the man you had once loved.

"Don’t come for me," you murmured, tears slipping down your cheeks. "Please, don’t."

[two-white-butterflies]

CHANGED | part one

Description: You have found that there are different types of love. Self-serving ones who grovel when abandoned in pity for themselves. However, there is another greater form of love, one that creates life. What happens when your husband uses you in the creation of the rings?

Pairing: Annatar/Reader reincarnation trope that i am a sucker for

Mairon — admirable, splendid, and gorgeous.

Your husband is perhaps the greatest maia to ever grace the lands, his gentle touch, his kind smile, his beautiful auburn hair — and his strong shoulders that you have found yourself massaging as of the late. "You are spending far too much time in Lord Aulë's smiths." You opened your mouth to speak, while continuing to massage his back.

"We are doing good work, my love." He defends.

The way that his eyes glitter at the slight of crafting, he brings the finest little treasures to your shared home every day. He creates stories behind the treasures, claiming them to have come from distant lands — you always answer him with a giggle, and he finishes every tale by telling you that he only made it up.

"We spend little time together. I've missed you." You sigh.

He turns to look at you — his eyebrows merged together, eyes filled with concern. "I apologize, lover." He pouts, and you press a kiss to his lips. "...and our child has longed for you too." You place a hand on your stomach. "Aulë says that a great darkness grows," Mairon says.

Goosebumps travel down your spine as you remember whispers of Melkor's darkness, he has always gone against Eru Illuvatar. "He visited the gardens yesterday, Iellas and I were looking for fruits for today's feast. He spoke to us, told us that this world is flawed." You informed, feeling the dread pool in the pit of your stomach.

Mairon rises to his feet.

He looks deep inside of your eyes, searching for any trace of — an emotion that you are unfamiliar with. "You must not speak of that encounter to anyone else, tell Iellas to do the same," Mairon commanded, his voice firm.

"We must tell someone. If Melkor seeks to sew discord — create a conflict that cannot be resolved by mere words, then the very peace of our realm is thrown in limbo." You whispered, afraid that anyone else would be able to hear. "Eru Illuvatar sees all." Mairon affirmed.

You wanted to argue with him — tell him that a dark cloud follows after Melkor, a cloud that you are sure obscures Illuvatar's vision. You stare deep into his eyes again, allowing those sea-green orbs to bring you peace. Mairon knows better. His power exceeds yours.

"— as his children, we must fight against temptation. It is our test." His eyebrows relaxed, but you could sense that there was a deeper meaning to his words. In his eyes, you could see conflict, of both light and darkness, of safety and reckoning. "I see no future in following Melkor's faith. No one shall follow after him, for no one shall desire to leave this paradise." You stated.

Valinor is beautiful — its green fields, warmth, and its promise of eternal peace. Only a fool would leave. Only a fool would follow after a dark mist of dread.

He cups your cheeks with his hands. He presses a soft kiss on your lips. You inhale his scent of roses. "We do not have to worry about that — because we are safe here. The whims of the Valar are beyond our hold, we can only do what makes us happy." He smiles.

"I love you, lover."

"I love you most,"

Mairon slowly turned distant after that, he'd make up excuses — tell you that there was work needed to be done in Lord Aulë's smiths. He'd wake up early in the morning and sleep late in the night. He'd whisper in your ears — all the ways that this world is flawed, all the creations of Illuvatar that are broken.

His songs, which used to feel like feathers and bamboo leaves, now turned grim, reminding you of rocks grinding upon rocks. You tried to intervene...you tried to help him, but one day he just left, without a note, without a word, without a goodbye.

The light that used to fill your child with strength now dwindled like their father — their movements became little, until one day, you were sure that there was no longer life inside of your stomach.

"You are the fairest of Illuvatar's creations," Yavanna's voice echoed throughout the large chambers. "I feel your light." She adds.

"Lady Yavanna, there is no life left for me to live." You opened your mouth to speak, and after centuries of crying and mourning your beloved and child, all joy has shaken off your body.

You kept your eyes on the floor, bowing in the presence of the Valar. Great darkness has consumed these lands and corrupted its people, even your husband, who was more powerful than you. "The Grey Havens exist to provide us with peace. It saddens me that you cannot find it here," Yavanna tilts her head.

"I do not wish to be...How I am jealous of mankind, for their souls can leave this sphere, unlike mine, unlike ours." You breathed.

How beautiful it must be, the feeling of release. The feeling of not having to be in this world anymore, simply a spirit or an energy that floats, incapable of thought, incapable of action, finished in existing.

"It is not death that your spirit seeks, but the privilege of forgetting." Yavanna looks deep inside your thoughts, feeling your memories flow through her veins. "Do you wish to forget, child? To have a new beginning?" She inquires, she is not the most merciful of the Valar, but she sees herself inside of you — she loves Aulë in the same way that you love Mairon, and the thought of her lover being pried out of her hands, it makes her shiver.

"If you will allow me, my lady." You say with hidden pleading.

Yavanna raises her hand — and everything turns to black.

Halbrand — veiled, hidden, shadowed.

You always hated staring at the sea, your mother says that the Grey Havens are always waiting for you out there — but it sounds so dreadful being stuck there, unable to do anything, unable to speak to any other creature besides elf and valar.

But now, you are stuck in the middle of sea, drowning because you refused to learn how to swim.

"Help me, please!" You scream, and a man helps you on his raft. The 'man' gives you a thin-lipped smile, saving you before you can inhale seawater. A cough escapes your mouth, feeling the unforgiving sun kiss your bare skin. "Thank you," you breathed.

The man standing in front of you is ... strange.

He has long brown hair that reaches past his neck. He has a charming beard and a mysterious fea. "What are you called?" He asks, feeling waves of familiarity crash over his body.

This elf maiden standing in front of him — with raven black hair and piercing purple eyes, he feels something hidden inside of her. 'I love you, lover.' His wife's voice floods his thoughts. Halbrand is in this raft because of you — because he wants to chafe his knees, earn his spot back in the Grey Havens, earn his spot back to you.

"Artanis," you say, your name sounds like a prayer.

Artanis, one of the names that he was supposed to give his child. He closes his eyes for a second, imagining his child standing in front of him, a smile ghosts his lips, how old was the child now? Ten thousand years? Fifteen thousand years? He has lost count in Morgoth's caves.

Will he even recognize you or his child? Will he even be allowed to see his family?

"I am Halbrand," he introduces himself.

"...and what are you doing here, Halbrand?" You raise an eyebrow.

"I cannot tell you, fair-Artanis." He chides.

You kept your distance from him, instead, choosing to sit on the farthest corner of the raft, intending to jump ship the moment that this blasted thing touches land.

Halbrand continues thinking about you, unaware that you are sitting right in front of him. "Where is your raft headed?" You asked, he tilted his head — for a second, your voice sounded so familiar. "...I doubt that we will be able to find safety until landfall." You added.

He chooses to ignore your chatty mouth.

"You are a deserter, aren't you?" He says with certainty. Nothing has changed with these elves, they've always run with their tails in between their legs.

Your eyebrows merged together, offended at his insinuation. "Do I have the look of a deserter?" You raised an eyebrow.

Halbrand admits you have the grace of a noble woman, the light of the two trees hiding behind your eyes. He chuckles, he must've wounded your vanity.

"You don't have the look of someone to whom things happen by accident," he teases, his eyes trailing back and forth between your eyes and your lips. The way that your waterline looks...no, it is the sea that is making him remember these memories of you. Of your warm hands massaging his back, of your fingers gently braiding his hair.

"Which means you were running. Whether toward or from something, I haven't decided." He placed a finger on his lips, pretending to be deep in thought.

You have landed right inside of his raft, it is biblical.

"Duty demanded that I return to Middle Earth. That is all that you need to know."

"Important Elf business, no doubt."

"What have Elves ever done to you?" You snapped.

You had already finished your studies by the time Halbrand learned to walk. Speaking from experience, it is always the youngest ones that have a lot to say!

"Do you blame us for your being stranded here?" You queried. Horrible people have horrible stories to tell. "Worry not, Artanis, it was not the elves that chased me from my homeland. It was the darkness that I am sure still remains there." Halbrand looks off to the far distance.

"Your home, where is it?"

"What's it matter? It's gone now." Halbrand interrupts. The light of the sun casts an eerie glow on his face. "I know something of the pain you carry. My father dedicated himself to eradicating darkness. My mother — she lost herself to temptation." You shared.

Your mother was one of the few people that Sauron stole from the Grey Havens. He sewed chaos into the very realm that he once promised to protect. "Morgoth has done terrible things to my kind," you continued. "— my aunt, her husband was Mairon before he became Sauron."

His eyes widen slightly, but his face shifts back to normal before you can notice. "Your aunt, did you know her?" He cannot fight against the urge to ask a question — even when it is uncharacteristic of Halbrand.

"She begged Yavanna to grant her new life. I was born centuries after her spirit left the Grey Havens." You informed. "...and her spirit, where is it now?" Halbrand tried to make his voice sound curious — like something that a human would say after hearing a tale about elves.

"Not even Yavanna knows," your lips pursed into a thin line.

Silence permeates throughout the atmosphere. You turned to look at him again. "What's that around your neck? Is that a mark of your people's king?" You stared at his neck.

"My people have no king," his voice turns cold.

He cannot return to the Grey Havens now. He must find you.

"But if they did, where might that kingdom be found?" You asked with furrowed eyebrows, a plan beginning to form. "What if I told you we might be able to reclaim it?" You say, hoping to ignite a fire of hope in his heart.

Halbrand will be useful to you.

"I am afraid you are short an army," Halbrand scoffs. There was something inside of him that shifted — like mechanical gears suddenly turning in the other direction. Darkness follows him, and engulfs his figure, but you are unable to see it, thinking of it as nothing but his strong fea.

"Leave the army to me." You state with confidence.

"Do you usually plan or do these schemes come to you in dreams?" Halbrand stares. "Why're you stranded at sea, anyways?" He interrogates.

"Because rather than rest in glory, I chose to seek out the very enemy responsible for your suffering." You raise your chin.

"Look, Artanis. You didn't cause my suffering, and you can't fix it." Halbrand breathes.

"I have pursued this foe since before the first sunrise bloodied the sky. It will take longer than your lifetime even to speak the names of those they have taken from me." You argued, he cannot help but roll his eyes again.

If only you knew.

"If you want to murder orcs and settle a score, that is your affair. Don't dress it up as heroism." He spat.

"Are you going to tell me where the enemy is or not?"

"The Southlands." He finally answers. His plan is already fully formed inside of his head.

"I need to know how many the enemy were, under whose banner they marched, and then you are going to take me to their last-known location." You demanded.

Seeing as his wife was no longer in the Grey Havens, and his child could have traveled to Middle Earth during the interim. He could only purse his lips before saying: "Alright, Elf." He relents.

But the moment that you find out about the truth.

It shall not be his fault.

PART TWO ||

COMMENT TO GET TAGGED

[fluffywolverine]

why i believe sauron does not exactly "love" galadriel

let's discuss saurondriel, shall we?

i have to start with exposing myself - i don't exactly ship it, because up until the finale i believed that sauron's motivation was never affection, but only manipulating galadriel into siding with him. i never believed in sincerity of "if i could just hold on to that feeling" nor "not dark, not with you at my side", i only saw that in context of sauron saying what galadriel wanted to hear.

but.

then in s2e8 sauron said "not all of it" [meaning his acts being only an illusion] and… well, i still don't think it's love per se, but i believe he perceives this simply as deep connection. let me explain.

we have to start with a very important statement: sauron is NOT an elf, orc, human, dwarf or any other race more or less related to us. he's a maia, a primordial being, sort of either an angel or a lesser god. he's been alive longer than any middle-earth race, and he will never be quite like any of them. furthermore, while the valar have spouses - meaning we might assume they can form romantic relationships - the maiar are always mentioned alone, none of them being ever married (or at least most of them - please correct me if i'm wrong). my conclusion is that the maiar, including sauron, aren't exactly inclined to romance.

enter sauron meeting galadriel.

i believe the thing that drew him to her was their main similarity: being cast out by their own people for going too far in their actions while believing they do good. they both had to suffer loses for their purpose, they also both desired to fix what was broken - galadriel by sauron himself, sauron making amends after serving morgoth.

i feel like sauron saw himself in galadriel a little bit, he saw the same fire, the same passion, which ultimately led galadriel to the light and sauron to the darkness.

let's also not forget that the thing TROP showcased really well is how opportunistic sauron was. he sees a chance and immediately takes it in order to shift for his own gain. would he create a bond with any other elf or even other powerful being if they had joined the raft? of course. it being galadriel was a coincidence, he would have used anyone else and if there was never anyone, he would've come up with an entirely different plan.

it ends up being galadriel though, so he slowly starts getting closer to her and here we get to the tricky part - does he actually fall in love? on galadriel's part we know that she does, it was confirmed by charlotte brändström, the director, and frankly, i agree with here, on galadriel's part i can definitely see the romance slowly building up. with sauron/halbrand there, i can only see the likeliness of minds, and, what sauron hopes for, but never actually happens, the same path for a common purpose.

i think he shares a similar kind of deep platonic connection with celebrimbor, but with him, it's mostly based on shared love for craft. sauron, originally being an apprentice of aulë (the OG smith if you will) must've had grand love for this craft, and i believe he saw the same passion in celebrimbor. that was the field they bonded over, and it's just as platonic as his feelings for galadriel, only with her, it was more generally oriented, not focused on a single thing like craft.

there is also one aspect i wanted to talk about, meaning galadriel binding sauron to light. i see it in a way that sauron is afraid of turning into morgoth 2.0. he saw what his old master did, how he spiralled down into the madness of power. sauron doesn't want that, not because it was literally evil, but because that's what led to morgoth's fall. sauron saw his mistakes and had to make sure he doesn't follow the same path. now would sauron actually stick to light with galadriel by his side if she joined him? i don't think so, i think he would abuse his power and her, which would eventually end in his fall after all, but i think he must've thought pure of his intents.

of course everyone can interpret saurodriel in any way they want, i just wanted to propose something different in a romance centred world, where the only way for characters to be together is either lovers or (much less common) friends. i think it's valuable to step out of this box, especially with a character who might not know love at all.

[titcrevette]

Day 20 : Friendship, Ulmo, Bad

Ulmo wasn’t sure he understood the concept of friendship and what it meant for the elves and the Secondborn. Emotions and feelings were not something he had ever considered before observing the elves as they came to Valinor. But as he saw Aulë get closer to some of the elves, teaching them the songs of the stones and metal and fire, Ulmo found himself wanting something similar. But as he taught the Teleri in the way of the Sea, he realized not all the elves made friends through teaching and crafts. So he directed some of their boats in Uinen’s direction. He might not be able to get the kind of closeness he wanted to have with the Teleri, but he was confident the mariners would like his maia and she would love them too. She deserved to be able to make good friends too. He also considered Nowë a friend but quickly realized the elf seemed to consider himself emotionally closer to Ossë. 

He later on tried to start making friends with Tuor, but came to realize when the Human reached Valinor that sending the person you wanted to be friends with on a quest was not how the elves and Men went about it. By the end of the First Age, he had a lot of elves he considered as friends, but didn’t feel confident it was mutual. After all, Earendil was a star, and more likely to consider himself Varda’s friend. He was more confident about Elwing, but didn’t dare going too near the peredhel. Realizing he had been mistaken about friendship before had always brought a weirdly uncomfortable feeling he didn’t want to experience again. On the other side of the Sea, the Valar made sure to keep an eye on the elf he considered his, more than any other. Maglor had given him his biggest treasure, and Ulmo was confident this was considered a sign of friendship to the elves. Yet, he dared not get too close to the grieving elf, even as he ensured the Feanorion continued survival by gifting him fishes and crustaceans to eat. 

It was only when the Ringbearers finally came to Valinor that Ulmo got a better idea of what friendship was. He had been curious of Yavana’s small children for quite a long time, and having some of them in Valinor had been the occasion for him to get to properly meet one of them. At first, he had fear to overwhelm the small Child, but had instead been invited in the house newly built inside the hill overlooking the sea on Tol Eressea. As the hobbit -Frodo Baggins- hurried to prepare tea and pastries, filling the silence with fast chatting, a sentence caught Ulmo’s attention : 

“I apologize for my uncle's absence today. You see, he went to visit some of our friends from Imladris. He planned to go visit Lord Elrond in Tirion, then maybe go to Gondolin to meet Lord Glorfindel’s friends there.”

“Is unannounced visits something important for the elves in making friends?” Frodo Baggins paused for a moment. 

“Well, when one begins a friendship, unannounced visits are not exactly considered very polite. But my uncle has been friends with some of them long enough that they will not be surprised or annoyed to see him. That is part of their friendship that he might come by at any moment. He actually has a standing invitation with both Lord Elrond and Lord Glorfindel. If I may, why are you asking my Lord?”

“Well, it is something I have been wondering about for a long time. My observations of friendships with the elves have so far been … contradictory. And my overtures at it were quite unsuccessful. I was hoping for some insight I suppose.”

“I would be happy to offer advice and insights where I can. You can come for tea whenever you like, and ask me any question you might have and I will do my best to answer them. As far as Hobbits are concerned, that is how we make friends, standing invitation for tea.”

“Then I thank you for your most generous offer of friendship, Frodo Baggins.”

And as Frodo, slowly but surely answered his various questions and gave a few pieces of advice, Ulmo finally thought that maybe he was not that bad at making friends. He might even have more friends among the elves than he realized. 

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Farewell

Pairing: Mairon x Reader (First person POV)

Themes: Angst | Heartbreak

Summary: Mairon had grown so consumed with the plans he had concocted with Melkor, he forgets you. What will you do when he makes his choice plain to you?

Warnings: Arguing | Insults

This is my first angst post. Here’s to hoping it passes muster.

Long ago, before the creation of the rings, before Sauron became known for what he is now, he was Mairon, the mightiest Maia who apprenticed under Aulë the Smith. At that time, he was fair and beautiful and loved order and perfection. This proved his greatest weakness, for his love of order and perfection threw him under Melkor’s influence. Through Melkor, he believed he could achieve all that he strived for.

Melkor would always be in his ear. They would make plans, devising new ways to achieve their ends, creating even more hellish beings to aid them in their quest for supremacy.

No. Everything was done to help Melkor in his quest for supremacy. Mairon eagerly lapped up the crumbs his master threw from the table. He thought one day, he would be richly rewarded and given his rightful place as the right arm of the Supreme Lord and ruler of Middle-Earth. He truly believed Melkor would give him leave to rule under his own authority.

All of this alarmed me, for I could see nothing good coming out of Mairon’s association with Melkor. I listened to his plans, the dreams he weaved, and warned him every chance I got. Melkor served no one but himself and cared for no one but himself. All he wanted was chaos, not the order Mairon desired. Once Mairon served his purpose, I was sure he would find a way to do away with his most loyal servant, and I’d rather that didn’t happen. Mairon would listened to me at the begining. He swore he loved me and he understood my fears. As time went on and he grew enmeshed with his so called ally, he waved off my concerns, just as he waved off my need for his time.

Like tonight, just like every other night now. "Come to bed, my love," I called out to him as he sat there, shoulders stooped, going over plans for a new fortress. Angband, he and Melkor called it. The Iron Prison. The ugliest name for the ugliest holdfast ever. It filled me with dread and I wondered what they would devise in this place. "It is cold."

He waved off my invitation with an impatient flick of the hand. "Mairon.” Despite the fire the room had gone cold. I pulled my robes to me and went to him. "You have been at this for hours now. Come to bed."

"I cannot," he grumbled impatiently. His meal had gone untouched, something that happens more frequently now. Mairon would not eat, would not drink, and he barely slept. All his thoughts were focused on what he and Melkor could achieve. How would he be rewarded for his service. "I need to see this through."

I sighed and draped my arms around his shoulders. His skin felt unsually warm to the touch. "Mairon." I purred into his ear and played with his hair, which was now completely black, as were the edges of his fingertips. Melkor's influence exacted a heavy price from all those who served him. "It can wait an hour, surely."

An hour. Just an hour. He felt an urge to put everything and walk away, but he couldn’y bring himslef to do it. This, his plans, had to take precedence over all else. Great rewards awaited him. "No," Mairon mumbled loud enough for you to hear. "I cannot. This is the stepping stone to the most important role in my life. Nothing must get in the way of that."

Not again. "But last night, you pro--"

Anger struck him like lightening. "Enough!" He shot up with such force that I stumbled and fell onto my back. "Enough of this! You try to strangle my plans like a thousand little weeds, and no matter how hard I try," Mairon snorted angrily, his face red with rage. "No matter what I do, you always try to find a way to creep back in!"

What happened to the chivalrous Maiar I feell in love with? "What happened to you?" stunned by his outburst, I picked myself off the floor. "You were always so sweet and considerate, but this," I gesture at him in frustration. "How am I supposed to love what you have become? Something cold and so cruel?"

"You do not!" Mairon snapped at me like an angry dog. "It would be better if you did not. It is clearly better for me to not be plagued by your presence."

It hurt to hear him talk like that. I looked around and realised how cold the room had grown over the past few weeks. The bed felt empty even when he was sleeping right next to me. My meals were taken at a quiet table. My days felt long and lonely.

Melkor has replaced me in his heart. My throat tightened at the very thought, then I remembered his words. He didn't want to be bothered by mypresence, so I won't bother him anymore. "Very well." I touched your cheeks, thinking I might find tears there. For now, there were none, but there would surely be plenty after. "I will remove myself from your presence and this kingdom for good."

This was something wholly unexpected. Mairon flinched like he had just been slapped. He felt an old yearning in his heart, to do the right thing and leave it all behind, but the words he should have said died on his tongue. 

"I will find a home elsewhere." I was trying to figure out where to go and how to get there. "Perhaps a cottage somewhere deep within the forests of middle earth. I think I could be happy with such a life." 

I got started on my lists, my packing. "I--" Mairon said repeatedly, but didn’t go beyong that. "I trust I will be given safe passage out of here?" I refused to look up from my trunk. Fight for me, I kept thinking, hoping, and praying he would come to his senses, go back to who he was before, and leave all of this behind. Fight for me, damn you.

Mairon gulped. He opened his mouth to talk, to apologize, but the dream of being his own lord, of seeing his plans through to the end, finally won out over the demands of his heart. "I will arrange it all," he said after hardening his heart. "Including coin for your upkeep. It will be ample, I assure you."

So he is not going to fight for me. Well, that certainly puts me in my place. I finally felt my chest heave, but now was not the time for sobs. Tears no longer affected him, so what was the point? "Thank you." I straightened my spine and touched the corners of my eyes. They were stinging and my cheeks were already damp with silent tears. "I hope you find happiness and success in your endeavors." Now was not the time for long farewells and teary goodbyes. This had to end, quickly and cleanly, for my sake. "Consider this my goodbye then."

I stormed to my rooms before he could answer, slamming the door and collapsing to the floor as the tears finally broke free. 

This had to be done, I kept telling myself. This had to be done. I’ll be happier away from him.

On the other side, unebknownst to me, Mairon rested his head against the door, a single tear trailing down his cheek. Before he could even touch it, that drop changed and disappeared like mist. He looked at his blackened fingertips, at the hair that had once been a beautiful, glittering red, and sighed. 

Too late. It was too late now. When his plans called out to him again, he answered. It was all he had left. 

[fremedon]

No one asked for Les Amis as lesser Maiar, for good reason, because making them beings of any inherent power beyond the common measure of humanity fundamentally doesn’t work; LM is fundamentally a story about the Second-Born.

But I’ve been reading and rereading Silmarilion fic all week so here, have Les Amis as lesser Maiar.

(This got long.)

(And I am not coming up with their Quenya names or it would get longer.)

(That’s a lie, there will totally be Quenya names at some point.)

Enjolras: I was really taken by a couple of asides in @thearrogantemu’s fic, characterizing Olórin (Gandalf) as originally a Maia of Melkor, before he came to Irmo’s service, and characterizing Melkor’s original domain before he became Morgoth as transformation--that because of his fall, the Children have never known change without loss; and because of his banishment, change comes now unwilled by any Power.

You see where I’m going with this.

Enjolras is a spirit of transformation who joined in the Second Theme early and enthusiastically, because hell yes every creature should have a right to partake fully in shaping creation. And he did not repudiate him immediately: he saw the dissonance of the Second Theme as necessary to bring about the harmony of the Third, and as of the descent into Arda he was still Melkor’s creature to the extent that he was anyone’s.

When it became clear that Melkor had set himself as the enemy not merely of Manwë, but of creation, he left his service and attached himself to Manwë. In some ways it’s not a great fit. In substance he is a Valarauka, or close to one, a creature not of air but of fire; in temperament, he is the spirit of the sovereignty of the will over itself--the Maiar inherently serve the natures and functions of the greater powers, but his service is very much to the function and not the being that embodies it. He will take direction from Manwë, as the embodiment of legitimate authority rightfully wielded, but his nature is still that of transformation, and Manwë knows he will always serve the spirit of the law over the letter and conscience over authority.

Still, fire and air can collaborate well, and like his cousin Arien who draws the Sun, he accustoms himself to his new realm. He enjoys, more than anything, the long view from the crest of the Pelóri and the lower reaches of Ilmen, but his usual realm is far below that, in the spark of lightning, or as the breath that stirs the banked ember to sudden flame; or, among the nations of the Second-Born, as the voice that stirs oppressed spirits to remember that they are sovereign, and they are strong.  

He appears in form sometimes as an eagle, but most often as a Man with a high forehead, like a horizon with much sky.

Combeferre: So in every possible Les Amis as system, Combeferre is a mess who doesn’t really fit anywhere. He has some affinity with Estë the Healer, obviously, and some with Aulë the Maker, but I’m going to put him in the domain of Irmo, Lórien, Lord of Dreams and the spouse of Estë, whose gardens flow into his own. He is the spirit of chimeras, invention, what is not but that yet may be. He treasures all the Children but loves especially the Dwarves and the Noldor, and shares with them many designs they must look to Aulë to realize; and for this he is also a friend to Aulë, for in this way the Maker is driven to expand and perfect the scope of his Art.

Prouvaire: And for Jehan, while Irmo would have been an obvious choice, I’m going to go with Nienna, the Lady of Tears, who grieves for all in the world that sorrows or is marred. By day he weeps for the world that is, and he weeps with the passage of time for the worlds that are no more and for those that will never be; and by night he walks in the gardens of Lórien and imagines the world that still might be, and he smiles.

Feuilly: While he also has some affinity for Aulë the Maker, who was so eager for others to teach what he knew that he created a whole nation of people, Feuilly is obviously a Maia of Vairë, the Weaver, who sees and understands all of history and translates it into the medium of decorative art.

Courfeyrac: Courfeyrac is a servant of Vána, the Lady of Spring, who governs birds and flowers and also all things that are young and full of potential. There is great friendship between him and Enjolras, as has often puzzled the dwellers in Aman, for Enjolras takes no notice of flowers, or birds, or springtime; but they walk often together in Arda, by themselves or in company with Combeferre, and where they go the spirits of the young are moved to the thought of new struggles.

Bahorel: Bahorel’s friendly belligerence could have gone a lot of ways--Tulkas, obviously, or I could see him as one of Ulmo’s, a cousin to Osse--but ultimately I think he belongs with Oromë, who along with Ulmo never entirely forsook Middle-Earth or the Children of Ilúvatar, and who is always ready to throw down with Morgoth’s servants. Sometimes he rides in his train in the shape of a great wolf, but more often he wanders through the cities of the Second-Born, and where he walks the paving-stones remember the mountains, and the fountains the rivers, and Men remember that they too are wild creatures.

Bossuet: So Bossuet is the reason that I wrote this up in the first place, because what he’s associated with, alone among the Amis, is luck. Which is to say, Fate. And fate and free will--and laws and contracts, and also curses--are all very firmly in the domain of Námo, Mandos, the judge of the Dead.

Which is hilarious.

So, yes, Bossuet is the happiest servant of the Doomsman of the Valar! If his master’s domain is that which is, and Irmo’s is that which could be, and Nienna’s that which now can never be, Bossuet dwells in that which could be worse, and helps--in what measure he can, for his power is not great--to ensure it is not.

(On the plain of Araman, during the Flight of the Noldor, while Mandos pronounced his Doom, Bossuet, unseen, slipped through the host untying shoelaces and breaking the buckles on luggage. The extra minutes of consideration granted to several would-be Exiles while they got their gear in order were instrumental in their choices to turn back with Finarfin.)

Joly: Like Bossuet, Joly is a minor servant of one of the greatest Powers--Yavanna, the Giver of Fruits. He finds and mends the errata in creation, helping to ensure that every living thing has something to eat, and something to eat it, if only in its decay. Fungi, especially, are his interest, and everything that lives and sprouts anew from death; but he appears most often in form as one of the Children, cheerful and pleasant to look upon.

Grantaire: I initially thought Grantaire would be hard to place--wine is Yavanna’s domain and art is Aulë’s, and depression is Nienna’s and Estë’s, and verbal shitposting doesn’t seem to have an obvious patron. But then I looked at his name, and who else’s could grande aire be but Manwë’s? Spirit of fog and vapor--the cloud that obscures, or seems to be other than it is; pipe-smoke and the wisp of the dying candle.

Grantaire maintains that it was he who introduced pipe-smoking to the Halflings and the Halflings to Olórin; this is almost certainly untrue, but Olórin has never denied it.

Manwë has never really known what to do with him, but Varda is fond of him. Her husband finds this unaccountable; to everyone who doesn’t have to work with him it’s clear enough why the Kindler, whose greatest work requires darkness for its greatest effect, might find mist a comfortable companion. Grantaire is dazzled by her--as he is by Arien, by Enjolras, by all bright spirits. Varda doesn’t encourage it; but when she retires her old and dying stars, those too weak to blaze out all at once, she will set a few of their embers aside for lamps, and in their light Grantaire’s vapors make brief but haunting shapes, and even Enjolras, who has no eye for beauty, cannot look away.

[sunflowersupremes]

Silmarillion AU where Finarfin managed to drag his nephews back to Tirion or so help me GOD. @outofangband requested this one and I went a little overboard.

He had been fully intending to drag them back one way or another before he left, and he had rooms already waiting for them. Reinforced, of course, so he could insist that it was technically a cell so no one would argue with him.

He also intended to get Galadriel back, but she’s fucking stubborn. He can threaten his nephews; he cannot in good conscience threaten his daughter, because he knows it wouldn’t actually work and she would just shrug and tell him to TRY.

The Valar’s agreement to let the Feanorians return was only given to him moments before Maglor and Maedhros attempted to retake the jewels. It was by sheer dumb luck that Finarfin ran into them - he was walking out of camp to find them as they were sneaking in. Realizing what they were planning he shouted at them and called them idiots. Maedhros just took it with a straight face. Maglor almost cried.

Neither of them knew what to do when Finarfin said the Valar had agreed to void the Oath - and that he was confident they actually could since Manwë and Varda had been named as witnesses. They hadn’t believed the Valar when the message came from them, but coming from their beloved uncle it becomes a lot more persuasive (also Elrond and Elros turn up and side with Finarfin, so then they don’t really have a choice)

Mae and Mags aren’t exactly fond of boats, but Finarfin drags them on board anyway because he is DONE with this entire fucking continent and his nephews’ bullshit. Nerdanel meets them at the docks in Tirion and shouts at them, then hugs all three of them. Yes, including Finarfin.

They’re totally ready to go on to Valmar for trial - they both keep offering suggestions of increasingly terrible things the Valar could and should sentence them to - so they don’t know what to do when instead they’re dragged back to the palace in Tirion. You see, the agreement was that Finarfin would take them to Tirion then return them to Valmar, but it never actually specified when he had to return them, so he just… kept them.

Thankfully Olwë really likes his son in law, so he grudgingly gets Ulmo on Finarfin’s side (Ulmo agrees that no time frame was ever specified, so the Valar can’t actually do anything. Mostly, Ulmo is tired of the Noldor’s bullshit and wants to be left alone. He figures that leaving the Feanorians alone in Tirion will cause the fewest problems)

Nerdanel gets Aulë on their side and well, is anyone going to argue with two of the most powerful Valar?

The Valar decide that this is fine, because they weren’t actually sure what they were going to do with the Feanorians - Tulkas wanted them, which was proof that Tulkas Should Not Have Them - and they’d debated making them serve Olwë but he wants nothing to do with them (they also debated making them serve Earendil, but they weren’t sure they wanted them around the Silmaril and… well… you see, Earendil is a bit weird and was strangely excited by that idea, because Eönwë had told him that the Feanorians were actually surprisingly good kidnap parents and he wanted to hear all about his sons, so the Valar agreed that wouldn’t actually be a punishment).

So fine. They void the Oath. Keep your stupid nephews. We didn’t want them anyway.

I know the fandom kind of agrees that the Feanorians would be hated in Tirion, but what if they were welcome? Like, the elves that stayed behind must have had some major survivor’s guilt, so rather than seeing the Feanorians as dangerous murderers, they see them as more of ‘people we let down’ and ‘broken things to fix’

Also everyone likes Finarfin, and everyone feels bad that his entire family is dead or cursed, so if having pet Kinslayers makes him happy they’ll accept it.

Of course, it can’t all be happy, because the Valar are clear that they don’t want the Feanorians just out wandering around (and that was what Finarfin had expected, which is why their rooms were practically prison cells).

Maglor does all right, mostly because he has people to talk to (he quickly befriends everyone in the palace, from the advisors to random servants). He’s not doing great, but he’s doing just fine, all things considered.

But Maedhros… Maedhros does really badly in captivity.

He sits and stares at the wall, or paces, which they write off as just adjustment to his new home. Then he starts talking to dead people, which was pretty bad, but Finarfin is sure he can fix it given enough time. Then Maedhros starts talking to Sauron, and they realize that something in his brain thinks he’s back in Angband.

The only thing that keeps him sane is Maglor’s music, which would be fine, except Maglor can’t sing 24/7, so there’s nothing they can do for at least half of each day. Nerdanel sits with him, and that helps some, but he’s still only about half there.

And they’re desperate, but hey, Finarfin has this really weird friend, a Maia who serves Irmo, and… maybe Olorin can help?

Spoiler alert: Olorin can help, as it turns out, because he’s remarkably good at fixing problems.

He also takes lots of stories to Elrond once he travels to Middle Earth and takes the name Gandalf.

[random-thought-depository]

For real though, there's a lot of parallels between the way I'm writing Elle and Brett Devereaux's analysis of Saruman:

"But Saruman does not have a lot of experience. Théoden does. As Saruman himself notes, the house of Eorl has “fought many wars and assailed many who defied them” (TT, 218)."

"But as to Saruman – there is no hint in the Silmarilion that Curumo (the Maia who would be Saruman) was a great warrior among the Maiar (indeed, I cannot find that he did any war-fighting before this; his Maia name comes from the Unfinished Tales – he does not appear in the Silmarilion save as a wizard); he was a Maia of Aulë the Smithlord, and it shows. Saruman is a builder, engineer, plotter and tinkerer. Given his personality, he strikes me as exactly the sort of very intelligent person whose assumes that their mastery of one field (effectively science-and-engineering, along with magic-and-persuasion, in this case) makes them equally able to perform in other, completely unrelated fields (a mistake common to very many very smart people, but – it seems to me, though this may be only because I work in the humanities – peculiarly common to those moving from the STEM fields to more humanistic ones, as Saruman is here). I immediately feel I understand Saruman's sense of “I am very smart and these idiots in Rohan can command armies, so how hard can it be?”" - Brett Devereaux, The Battle of Helm’s Deep, Part I: Bargaining for Goods at Helm’s Gate.

Oh yeah, Elle is very much like this. She's a businesswoman, a kind of mafia boss, a kind of tinkerer, and a plotter, and she definitely over-estimates how well skill in those fields transfers to other areas and has that "I am very smart, and if these idiots can do it, how hard it can it be?" arrogance.

On one of her next burners back from "take over the Directorate" is a plan to become Prime Minister and Putinize Britain (preferably before global warming gets too bad cause she very much wants her hand on the wheel in that crises) and eventually transition to open vampire rule, and significant in her thinking about that is definitely the thought "if the idiots who actually run this country right now can do it, how hard can it be?"

"First, what are Saruman’s objectives? The ideological project is painfully direct: Saruman aims to “have power, power to order all things as we will, for that good which only the Wise can see” to achieve “the high and ultimate purpose: Knowledge, Rule, Order; all the things that we have so far striven in vain to accomplish, hindered rather than helped by our weak or idle friends” (FotR, 311). While Saruman clearly imagines reordering quite a large amount of Middle Earth, he is clearly willing to accept lesser areas of control for the time being. Of course, for any of this to happen, the state Saruman controls – Isengard – must first survive. So we have a first-order aim (the survival of Isengard as a state and Saruman as a being) and then a second-order aim (the ordering of as large a territory as possible)." - Brett Devereaux, The Battle of Helm’s Deep, Part VIII: The Mind of Saruman.

Oh yeah, change a few names and words and this would describe Elle's mindset, goals, and priorities to a T.

"How do we account for this? After all, for all of my humor at the beginning, Saruman is not stupid. Why does he end up so deeply in error?

Clearly, part of the answer is overconfidence and arrogance. Saruman, armed with the power of his voice, is likely very used to his schemes and deceptions working and seems to have come to view all of the world, even figures like Gandalf and Sauron, as rubes to be fooled and exploited. That hubris born from easy success is sometimes called ‘victory disease‘ in military contexts (it comes from Fuchida Mitsuo, writing about the Imperial Japanese Navy; on this note Parshall and Tully (2005), 398ff)." - Brett Devereaux, The Battle of Helm’s Deep, Part VIII: The Mind of Saruman.

Oh yeah, Elle is definitely going to have this going on: she's not stupid, she's actually basically correct in her perception of herself as quite bright, but by now she's very used to being able to solve her problems by throwing money and social status/authority and social connections and mind control powers at them, and that influences how she perceives and interacts with other people. It especially influences how she perceives and interacts with people who aren't rich and powerful and high-status.

"And getting to the level of character, what I think informs all of this is our first strategic sin: Saruman is in the end guided not by his planning, but by his anger. What we see in “The Voice of Saruman” is a manipulator who is at best only thinly in control of a deep well of anger. Briefly we glimpse Saruman’s mind, “they saw through the mask the anguish of a mind in doubt, loathing to stay and dreading to leave…then he spoke and his voice was shrill and cold. Pride and hate were conquering him” (TT, 221)." - Brett Devereaux, The Battle of Helm’s Deep, Part VIII: The Mind of Saruman.

Yup, Elle too has an outwardly controlled persona that conceals that, 1) she has a deep well of anger, 2) that anger is a huge part of what drives her. And, yup, Elle has a lot of pride and hate, the hate more concealed than the pride.

Though I think it's somewhat more sympathetic with her. Elle is the sort of abuser who uses and manipulates marginalized people by pretending to be their friend, but part of that is she's also been an oppressed person herself (gender oppression when she was a human woman in the sixteenth/seventeenth century, and then she spent the next two or three centuries or so as basically a slave), so her manipulative persona isn't just an act, she actually is coming from a place of genuine empathy with oppressed people and genuine desire to be in solidarity with them (albeit a patronizing savior kind of solidarity). And a lot of her anger is about the things she suffered and the things other people suffered/are suffering that she empathizes with and identifies with and wants to save them from.

I think this might be one reason she clicks with Bea, because Bea and Maria also come across as people with controlled personae that hide deep wells of this sort of anger. Like, my reaction to The Sisters of Dorley Chapter 16 was: "Basically, Bea faced an utterly prostrate abusive institution, she had everything she needed and every plausible motivation to just end the abuse that day, and she just… chose not to for some reason? Kind of baffling and very unsympathetic! Lady, what the fuck is wrong with you?!?" One of my top guesses for how that might make any sense at all is, yeah, at some point before she walked back into Dorley Hall with Elle pride and hate conquered her. You don't necessarily need a deep well of anger to be the sort of person who runs an organization like Dorley, but it sure helps! Like, I feel like those force-fem novelty mugs are pretty revealing in this context, in the sense of, they are her telling you who she is, believe them.

"I suspect these emotional concerns were likely working on Saruman from a much earlier date. He has been Rohan’s neighbor for a long time and his outburst shows what he really thinks about them “What is the house of Eorl but a thatched barn where brigands drink in the reek, and their brats roll on the floor among the dogs?” (TT, 219). That such ‘lesser’ beings had been given lordship, had been able to set the world to their sort of order, I think, gnawed at Saruman, for much the same reasons it clearly gnawed at Sauron. I have met a great many very intelligent people who imagine in their formidable mastery of a field that if they could just order the world to their whims, things would be so much better than the current system whereby regular people are allowed to make their own decisions; experience tells us it is not so." - Brett Devereaux, The Battle of Helm’s Deep, Part VIII: The Mind of Saruman.

Yup, strong parallels to Elle, but again, I think maybe she's a little more sympathetic, because with her it's inflected by the thing I talked about in the previous point. Elle's desire for "power to order all things as we will, for that good which only the Wise can see" is a desire for something a little like this but as a deliberate, self-aware liberal/left/wokeness-adjacent moral and political project that eventually swallows the world. Like, that seems pretty topical with what Dorley is like, where they're like "we're going to inflict horrifying coercion and violations of body autonomy on criminal-adjacent people after putting them in a literal prison with literal prison guards that our institution is literally built over, we think this is extremely feminist and woke of us."

[yellow-faerie]

I would very much like to hear about your head canons for Findis and co! (if you're not busy, no pressure!) have a great day :)

Oh yes! Would love to! Sorry it took so long - I have exams and I had to go back through all my many, many notes I have accumulated over the last six months of headcanons and things and the post kept getting bigger!

OK, so, while I sometimes go by other people as Findis’ wife/husband, my personal favourite is Rilyanixë and together they have four children: two daughters and two sons. Of these children, they have six grandchildren (3 granddaughters and 3 grandsons) and (as far as I know so far) no great-grandchildren.

(I’ll put the full post under the cut)

So Findis is the eldest daughter of Finwë and Indis called Laurinalma by her mother (meaning Golden Flower) and Lintafinwë by her father (meaning Soothing Finwë) (and maybe Finwë is a male name but I believe -wë is a gender neutral name ending and I like the idea of different families keeping a naming tradition of sorts). The name Findis is actually her Cilmessë.

She dislikes Tirion immensely because of their general attitude to remarriage and everything really.

I have this headcanon that the children of Finwë were all very close until they really got into society and rumours and other people’s opinions really tore them apart - Fëanor to Formenos or Aulë’s halls; Lalwen to the wilds where she spends most of her time with her Maia girlfriend/wife (they aren’t sure which); Fingolfin to the isolation of court; and Finarfin to Alqualondë.

And Findis goes to Valmar and the Vanyar.

She takes on a healers apprenticeship there, returning only a few times a year to her family home where tensions are rising between Fëanor and literally everyone else - not yet about anything important, more about really insignificant things. (I think this post sums up my thoughts on Fëanor and the way I see his relationships with his half-family quite well)

And for her graduation, she goes to the Tirion library before returning to Valmar (this is as much to cool down after arguing with Fëanor over something inconsequential as it is to find resources for her theory exam/essay/things) and meets Rilyanixë.

Rilyanixë (a name meaning Sparkling Ice) is the quiet, middle child of the chief archivist of Tirion Archive. His father is a Vanya hunter (because, really, Findis isn’t going to marry someone who isn’t at least a little Vanya) and his older sister takes after him. His younger sister went down to Alqualondë to learn sailing because she refuses to take after either of her parents, but that’s another story.

They meet because he too is looking to get away because his mother - a staunch supporter of the crown and it’s ability to make sound decisions (thus trusting Indis) - threw someone from the archive for making snide comments about the royal family and Rilyanixë rather disliked the raised voices. It is technically his day off but he came here to put books away because that’s what calms him.

So they meet and get on well: Rilyanixë quite likes this slightly scatter-brained healer and Findis likes the quiet librarian with a small smile and brown hair that shines gold when the light hits it just right.

She agrees to meet him again when she returns the books in a month or two when she comes back to town.

And they go out for coffee and learn that they are both half-Ñoldo, half-Vanya. And they sort-of fall into each other, meeting up in Valmar and in Tirion and eventually they are courting and then betrothed and then they are married, three years after first meeting.

(The marriage does cause tensions to rise between Rilyanixë and his Vanya family who see Findis as too Ñoldor and have issues with that so they don’t end up spending much time with them - there’s a reason Rilyanixë’s parents don’t live together anymore)

Now, Rilyanixë married into this family so he is as veritably crazy as all of they are - except no-one notices until he tells Fëanor that his latest creation was ‘passable, he supposes’ because Fëanor insulted Findis and you just don’t do that. Basically, Rilyanixë is very uncrazy unless provoked at which point he will just provoke whoever’s closest, however ill-advised that is (if that makes any sense).

Anyway, they get a house halfway between Tirion and Valmar (because they can’t be completely separate from politics but...they don’t want to be anywhere near it at the same time) and live fairly peacefully, with occasional siblings just appearing or nephews and nieces and the like (from Rilyanixë’s side too it should be noted).

Everyone is beginning to think that they are not going to have children as Arafinwë is already married and with a baby when Findis declares that she is pregnant. A year(ish) later, she gives birth to a girl that Findis calls Findecurë (Tress of Skill - weird name, but I was trying to come up with a translation for Finvain) and Rilyanixë calls Nofernë (Under Beech Tree). Of the two of them, Rilyanixë’s naming is actually a bit more prophetic than his wife’s (because I find it odd that only women have prophetic visions and while I still think that women are almost always the parent (if either parent does have prophetic name-giving), I thought that men must even just a little).

Before Fëanor pulls the sword and everything finally collapses in on itself, they have three more children. A boy who she calls Findelaurë (I’m using this variation on Glorfindel’s Quenya name for the sake of familial consistency) and who Rilyanixë calls Indiltur (Lily Lord). Another girl that Findis calls Fanyanel (Daughter of the Clouds) and Rilyanixë calls Iþilmolótë (Flower of Starlight - and apparently the Vanyar still used the letter thorn? I might be wrong). And finally another son that Findis calls Finróna (Hair of the East) and Rilyanixë calls Aþumolor (Good Companion in Dreams). In order of birth, their Sindarin names (and the names I shall be referring to them by) are Glorfindel, Finvain, Faniel and Finrun.

At the darkening, Glorfindel follows Turgon (with whom he is close), Faniel follows Glorfindel (with whom she is close), Finrun follows his elder siblings and the other Finwean babies (Galadriel, Argon and Ambarussa), and Finvain follows her siblings.

When her children and family leave, Findis disappears into the wilds (very good fic about this here) and Rilyanixë, with no family, returns to his mother’s house in Tirion.

So Glorfindel we all know goes to Gondolin and dies and gets re-embodied, etc. I would like to add a bit to his story to say I am a big Glorestor shipper and they definitely end up married and they adopt Lindir and his sister Lindis (because no-one can stop me).

As of Erestor, he’s an Avar in my mind who ends up with Gondolin because the Avari keep being pushed from their homes and he knows he would be safe there. (He does initially say he’s a Sindar to try and avoid the general distaste everyone seems to have for the Avari and only tells those he really trusts). Also, he would get on so well with Rilyanixë and it’s such a pity that they don’t meet until the fourth age.

Finvain leaves ME because her brothers and sisters are going, not from any particualr desire of hers to go. She is protective at heart - even if she seems very cold - and loves her brothers and sisters a lot. She does a lot of what she does only grudgingly and eventually swears off killing even orcs as her actions at Alqualondë haunt her that much (she acts as a behind the lines medical assistant due to her knowledge of plants and herbs and is killed because of her oath when the camp is overrun).

She loves gardening. If she’s sitting in a patch of flowers, she’s happy (she would really love hobbits if she had lived). She had a garden in her family home between Valmar and Tirion but when she left it got overgrown, despite Finrun’s best attempts to keep it cared for (he’s busy and the garden reminds him too painfully of his absent sister). She can’t keep a garden in ME (she’s a messenger for Fingolfin, moving around a lot) but she does have a habit of planting flowers in odd places wherever she travels.

She does fall in love, if that is what you would call it. She and Morwen (and I have this headcanon that Morwen and Húrin were really good friends who were both hella gay and both really wanted children so got married for that while agreeing that they could see other people) spend time together and it would have developed further if Finvain wasn’t always being called away and she hadn’t died at Nirnaeth.

Finvain holds guilt over her brother’s death as Finrun died at Alqualondë and Finvain saw him die, still confused as to what was actually going on; and Lalaith’s death (who she thought she could save with her medicine but who died anyway).

When she is re-embodied - before her sister but after both her brothers, she returns to her family home - left abandoned by her mother who had vanished soon after the Darkening; her father, who had returned to his mother in Tirion; and her brother, who was now living almost permanently on the outskirts of Alqualondë. She fixes it up the best she can and tends to her garden as slowly, one by one, her family returns.

Faniel is the sort of person who has everyone wrapped around her little finger but doesn’t seem to know. Hella strong, hella kind, hella oblivious - a summary of Faniel’s character.

Faniel and Ecthelion are both bi (when Ecthelion was younger, there was a time he and Glorfindel were courting before they decided they were better as friends). She and Ecthelion have three children: a son, Elemmakil; a daughter, Meleth; and a child, Enerdhil. Meleth ends up as Eärendil’s nurse and marries Elwing’s nurse Evranin which is all I really have for her and I have next to nothing for the other two. But they exist.

Anyway, Faniel fights with a spear and actually lives to escape to the havens but she dies in the Third Kinslaying.

She is the last of her siblings to be reborn and ends up being the one to initiate the search for their mother.

And finally, Finrun. He dies at Alqualondë when he and a few others go into the city to see what the confusion is all about and gets caught up in the crossfire before he can really tell what’s going on. With no blood on his hands and practically no trauma, he gets re-embodied within a few years but everything is really different: all his family has either gone to ME, gone and secluded themselves somewhere, are exceptionally busy or Finrun thinks they hate him. As someone who thrived off of the familial love of his family (being Aro/Ace, this is one of the main forms of love that he experiences), it’s a jarring experience to say the least and ends up with him being really, really lonely.

He decides to deal with this crippling loneliness by throwing himself into his work. The only family who really talks to him is Finarfin but they mainly talk about work and he’s like, if it makes him happy then it’ll make me happy. (It is making neither of them happy, they’re just avoiding the problem). So he ends up in Alqualondë working towards restoring relations. No-one here particularly likes him (Maglor’s wife, Cantasië, does occasionally come and keep him company to be honest to her).

He is here he meets Elwing, singing and miserable who he promptly adopts. (It is not only the Fëanorians with adopting people on the spot issues). The rest of the Teleri are a bit sceptical of this girl however much they like her and she’s uncomfortable in palace having lived nearly her whole life in near poverty despite being a princess. And Eärendil, when he appears, reminds him of his cousins due to being Turgon’s grandson. There’s a bit more nuance to it, I guess, but basically he sees these two children with no family anymore and as he knows how they feel, he decides to give them that family.

It’s at the end of the First Age that Finrun realises that the Valar intend to keep the Ñoldor in Mandos and he basically becomes the advocate for their release. In his house by the sea, he is slowly collecting war orphans who lost parents far too young and came to these shores to try to heal hurts of their souls and Finrun houses them and loves them and tries to get the Valar to release the families they have lost (not realising that in the process he has become part of that family and the loneliness he has been feeling is lessened somewhat - not gone completely because his family is a different entity entirely but lessened).

Eventually, he convinces them and one-by-one, his family and the others trapped in Mandos are released upon their healing, rather than being kept there forever.

(When Glorfindel is reborn, Finrun is not told and meets him on the docks by pure chance before he must go to Middle Earth. And before he can really get over the shock and bundle of emotions, Glorfindel is gone again. Finrun genuinely thinks that this was a hallucination for a long time.)

It is one sunny day soon after Glorfindel has returned to Valinor that Faniel gets them together to go after their mother, who, despite everyone coming back and a tentative happiness and peace beginning, has not returned from wherever she ran to. During their search, they get to catch up for the first time really since they were all reborn.

Findis has just sort of made camp in a cave, not hiding but decided that society sucked and she didn’t want to go back. Her children convince her otherwise and they return and everything is good and happy.

Umm, so yep, these are my vague thoughts on this family. I hope you liked it!

[warrioreowynofrohan]

The Silmarillion as a TV/Netflix Series (Part 6)

This is by far the trickiest part, because I have no specific ideas for adapting the strategy and tactics of the War of Wrath. But there are a few big points to settle first. One of the major questions is whether the Valar themselves are going to be involved in the war.

If they are, it’s hard to imagine how the war could take 50 years.

If they aren’t, it’s hard to imagine how it could be won at all: the Vanyar-Noldor army of Valinorean elves is not especially larger than the original Noldorin forces in Middle-earth, and the remaining forces of the Sindar and Noldor of Middle-earth are so far depleted as to be neglibible. So, if it was virtually impossible for the Noldor to defeat Morgoth when they first arrived near the start of the First Age, or during the Long Peace, before he’d had the time to develop more and more dragons and other monsters within Angband, it’s hard to see why it would be possible for similarly-sized Elven armies to defeat him now. (Remember, the Valinorean Noldor are only 10% of the original group of Noldor.) Also, if the Valar aren’t involved, it’s hard to see how the war could be so cataclysmic as to literally destroy the landmass of Beleriand.

The Silmarillion states “The Host of the Valar were arrayed in forms young and fair and terrible, and the mountains rang beneath their feet.” I take this as meaning at least some of the Valar did go to war themselves; while it’s possible to read the phrase as referring to only Maiar, that seems like far from the most obvious reading. Manwë and Varda would not go (I think Tolkien said or implied this somewhere), but Tulkas and Oromë, whose purposes specifically include combat against evil things, certainly would. Ulmo, also, would undoubtedly be involved. And I think Aulë and Yavanna would as well, for love of the shapes and creatures of the world that Morgoth had destroyed and corrupted. I’m not as good as imagining Vana and Nessa in battle-shape, but it’s certainly possible. Of the Fëanturi, Lórien, Estë, and Nienna would come at some point, but in non-combat roles and to do what healing and cleansing of land and spirits as they could. And all these would be accompanied as well by large numbers of Maiar. (Including Melian! Likely including Curumo as well, he seems like the type of person who would want to be involved.)

If there’s a question as to why Eönwë would be commanding when Valar are there, I don’t see a contradiction. The general of an army is neither inherently the most powerful warrior nor the person of the highest social status. If he’s generalling, it’s because that’s the role he’s suited for.

The second major question lies in the basic contradiction between timelines indicating the War of Wrath took about 50 years, and the statement that the onslaught of the winged dragons lasted for “a day and night of doubt” and is one part of the battle noted where the Host of the Valar was on the defensive and retreating. Now, I have no military knowledge, but even to me it seems obvious that a war which lasts for fifty years and in which the largest setback for the victorious side lasts for one day make no freaking sense.

And on top of that, cinematically a fifty-year war would be very difficult to depict. So for the show, I think we’re better off having events proceed considerably more quickly than that.

As far as individual episodes go:

Episode 1: This episode is set-up. In Valinor, preparations for war, and the rising of the Star of Eärendil, seen in Middle-earth (including by Maedhros and Maglor, and Elrond and Elros). In Middle-earth, some scenes of Maedhros and Maglor raising the twins (I think it’s stated somewhere that they went far south, beyond the regions where Morgoth’s for es had a heavy presence). Some scenes on Balar dealing with the aftermath of the Fëanorian attack on Sirion. (What do they do with Fëanorians who surrendered afterwards? What do they do with Fëanorians who changed sides and fought on in their defence but who they still don’t trust?) The episode ends with arrival of the Host of the Valar.

Episodes 2 through 8 are the War itself, which, again, I have no idea how to construct. The Elves of Valinor are arriving by boat; and I expect that the Valar and Maiar would, for the most part, accomoany them. The landing would take place mainly all along the Falas, from Nevrast to the Mouths of Sirion, as well as farther north around the First of Drengist where Fëanor first landed.

Morgoth’s forces are spread throughout all of Beleriand, but vary in type. Hithlum stands out because it is not mainly inhabited by monsters, but by Men - the Easterlings and those among the Edain who are their thralls. I have an impression - partly from the Manwë’s reaction to the later Númenorean invasion, yielding authority to Eru even though the Valar certainly had the capacity to defeat Ar-Pharazon’s army - that the Valar and Maiar would be very uncomfortable about making war against Eruhini, even those who served Morgoth. So the portion of the invasion force at Drengist would be in large part the Edain, with some Elven and Maia support, and soon aided by uprisings among the Edain thralls. The role of Maiar or Valar here would largely be to keep the orcs and wolves and monsters of Morgoth at bay outside the mountains of Hithlum, but to leave the conflict against the Easterlings of Hithlum largely to the Edain and Eldar.

This would bring the northern portion of the army quite close to Angband, but they couldn’t attack from there - the Anfauglith would be packed with monsters and defenses, never mind the ever-present threat of Morgoth flooding the place with lava.

The greater part of the Valinorean forces would sweep east and north from the coast, facing substantial armies’ or Morgoth’s creatures (including cold-drakes, non-winged dragons, wolves, giant spiders, and really anything else horrifying you can think of; but the balrogs are being held in reserve by Morgoth for the defense of Angband). Various Maiar of Morgoth would be involved, including Sauron. One thing to note is that despite the presence of Valar, the Valar aren’t (aside from Tulkas and maybe Oromë) inherently suited to combat - that’s why Tulkas showed up in the first place. Even back in the Ages of the Stars, the Valar’s attack on Utumno was a hard fight - and that was when Morgith’s forces were far smaller than during the War of Wrath, though Morgith himself was personally more powerful then). So it’s not implausible for things to take some time and be challenging.

Episode 7 is the fight against the winged dragons and death on Ancalagon, and Episode 8 is the destruction of Angband and the casting of Morgoth into the Void.

Episode 9 includes Maedhros and Maglor’s demand for the Silmarils, Eönwë’s response, the brothers’ attempts to steal the jewel, and Maedhros’ death and Maglor’s departure from the known lands. This episode would also include scenes of the aftermath of Angband’s overthrow, the freeing of thralls and of captive spirits, in which the Fëanturi and their associated Maiar would have a large role (shout-out to @thearrogantemu’s latest fic!). At least a few of the Maiar who served Morgoth would genuinely surrender, which could be contrasted with Sauron considering surrender but ultimately choosing against it due to being unwilling to face consequences.

Episode 10 is the journey of (some of) the elves of Middle-earth to Valinor; the choice of others to stay (including Galadriel and Celebrimbor’s choices, and Galadriel’s last conversation with her father); and the promise of a new land for the Edain. It would also include the rebirth of Finrod in Valinor, giving hope that many of the audience’s favourite characters are not permanently dead, though it may be a long while before they return to life. I think having this at the very end is the best way to deal with elven rebirth without it feeling like a bit of a cop-out. If Finrod’s alive at the start of Season 6, you’re going to have pragmatically-minded viewers asking why the Valar don’t revive the Noldor as a whole and chuck ‘em at Morgoth - after all, if they die again, they can just come back again! Elven rebirth needs to be treated seriously, not as convenient respawning, so I think introducing it just as a possibility, for many years in the future, and at the end of the series, is the way to go.

This is also a great episode to show all the different reasons for different elves’ decisions on whether to return to Valinor. Returning out of weariness, or desire to see their families, or repentance, or simply having had enough of the endless wars and suffering of Middle-earth, or wanting to see the beauties of Valinor. Staying because they’re attached to Middle-earth; or want to make their own decisions outside the tutelage of the Valar; or are too ashamed to return and see the people they once knew; or, for some (especially Sindar) being unwilling to go to Aman if the Kinslayers can go there and be pardoned as well (“I’d rather live in the Anfauglith than have to share Valinor with them”); or still being curious about what the lands of Middle-earth beyond Beleriand are like; or wanting to know more of the Edain and Dwarves; or feeling a responsibility to aid and heal the world rather than leave it. I could even see a small handful of Vanyar or Valinorean Noldor choosing to stay for a while out of fascination with this world and its people, despite so much of what they had seen of it being horrible.

[tathrin]

💚 a ship that you think deserves more love

[from this ask meme]

Okay hear me out: Celebrimbor/Narvi/Sauron.

It's a disaster! It's three incredibly talented smiths trying to one-up one another all the time; it's three creative outcasts supporting one another in their shared craft; it's three people from the most different possible backgrounds imaginable coming together to forge something greater than any one of them could have made alone.

It's beautiful! It's the heart of what the Gwaith-i-Mírdain was supposed to be about... (and only one of them knows that it's been rotten at the core all along.)

It's hopeful! It's overcoming suspicion and distrust on all sides with the power of love... (and then dying alone in the dark.) It's doomed! It's lovely! It's tragic! It's terrible!

It never could have ended well...but it could have ended better than this.

(Is Celebrimbor's grief over Narvi's mortal death part of how Annatar entices him to push further than before and make the Rings of Power? Rings that greatly extend the lifespan of whatever mortal wears them? Rings that could have kept Narvi alive and with them if they'd only been forged sooner?)

(Is Narvi's distrust of Annatar part of what pushes Celebrimbor to overlook his own suspicions of the maia? Because after all, he and Narvi were suspicious of one another at first, and now look at all they have done together! Or maybe it was the other way around; maybe Celebrimbor was the one who distrusted this ostensible emissary of the Valar, and good-hearted Narvi who urged Celebrimbor to open his heart again...)

(Is Annatar's initial dismissal of Narvi part of what first draws them all together, as Celebrimbor determines to prove to this stuffy maia that Aulë's children are just as noble and good and talented as those of Illuvatar, even as Narvi shrugs and shrugs it off because it's hardly the first time someone has looked down on a dwarf...

...but Celebrimbor won't allow anyone so smart to be stupid enough to disrespect his beloved, and he pushes and pushes and pushes until Annatar finally sees and agrees; and then when the three of them finally do put their heads together there's nothing, nothing they can't do...unfortunately for everyone.)

(Maybe Sauron did think briefly about just being Annatar; maybe he let himself toy with the idea that he could really, truly, be happy without domination; could be happy here, in Ost-in-Edhil, with them... but mortals die. Mortals die. And Annatar, even with all his necromantic arts, could not stop that. He needed more power. He needed to never, ever let that happen to anyone he cared about again. He needed the Rings...which meant that Annatar had to die too, and leave only Sauron to remain.)

(Is the strength of Narvi's heart, distilled in their thoughts as they craft the Rings, part of why the Dwarven Rings are less devastatingly corruptive than the Nine? Because they were forged with a knowledge and respect of dwarven strength, and so they can only strengthen dwarves—especially their worst aspects admittedly—rather than consume them, as Men are consumed?)

(Maybe the strength of a dwarven heart, the unshakable mountain of dwarven love, was briefly enough to hold the past at bay; to let Celebrimbor step beyond his fear of what the works of his family's hands could do, and embrace the risk of forging to the very best of his ability, because he knew that Narvi would be there to steady him...and if not for Narvi, he would never have had the courage to follow Annatar into the making of the Rings.)

(Did losing Narvi—and worse, watching Celebrimbor lose Narvi—teach Sauron some of the crucial lessons that allowed the Necromancer to bind and break mortal souls that way he does with his Rings? Or did it just convince him that mortals are weak enough to be dominated after all, given how fast they die?)

(Maybe the strength of a dwarven heart, the unshakable mountain of dwarven love, was briefly enough to hold his past at bay; to let Sauron step beyond Morgoth's shadow and shine as Annatar, as the memory of Mairon that had lain so long dormant: to make for the sake of making alone instead of in pursuit of power and domination. And then, when Narvi died, that shattered and all that was left was the comfort of command and corruption and Sauron, again, for all time; the safety of keeping a wounded heart safe behind hatred.)

(Does Sauron sometimes look at his Nine Ringwraiths and wish that he had Seven more, dwarven-strong and bright and clever, to remind him of better days in Ost-in-Edhil? Or is some small part of him glad not to have seen dwarves corrupted that far? And does he hate that little thread of weakness that his lingering affection for Narvi begets, or does he cherish it as one last reminder of what oh-so-briefly almost was?)

(Maybe they were never all three of them together at once; maybe it was Celebrimbor and Narvi first, and Annatar on the outside trying to worm his way in; not jealous of course, oh no, never jealous of a mere dwarf don't be absurd! but they were such a closed-loop, such a perfect pair and partnership, he could not help but envy them...but mortals are so momentary. Sauron knew all along that all he had to do was wait. Knew that his best entry to Celebrimbor's heart was through Narvi: that by earning Narvi's friendship he would earn Celebrimbor's trust, and then when Narvi—inevitably, as mortals do—died, then the greatest living smith of Middle-earth would be lost and vulnerable and his to mold as he desired...)

(Does jealousy of Narvi—of the fact that Celebrimbor died still loving Narvi, and hating Annatar—drive Sauron to make war on Erebor, to want to see Moria torn down to ruins, to bend all the dwarves finally, finally to his will with the Rings and promises that came so close to almost working once before?)

(Is memory of Narvi why the dwarves of Erebor are given three chances to change their minds and do Sauron's bidding before he tries to destroy them? Does he think that, like Narvi, surely they'll be clever enough to come around eventually...or does he know all along that, like Narvi, they'll be too strong and stubborn to give-in, but he gives them the chance anyway in hopes of getting those clever hands and minds pledged to his cause?)

The Rings were as great as they were because the three of them, together, were made for greatness. The Rings were terrible because love built on a lie always is.

What wonders could they have made together, if Sauron's heart was true? How could he have ever made the Rings at all, if their own hearts hadn't first been won by his lies?

How much of their love was him lying to them, and how much of what came after was him lying to himself?

[celebrimbor-of-eregion]

Finding (Annatar/Celebrimbor)

A sequel to this one-shot where Annie and Tyelpe finally make it up!

Telperinquar’s previous life - and death - had taught him to admit his suspicions and uneasiness to himself and act upon them. Right now, he was uneasy because he suspected he got lost in this forest. The way to Aulë’s forges was so much longer than he had imagined!

Exhausted, the Noldorin prince sat onto the soft pillow of grass and fallen leaves. He was dressed lightly but had a coat in his knapsack, as well as some way-bread and dried fruits. The elf began his modest meal; fortunately, he also had a skin of wine at his hip.

Nothing but the rustling of leaves disturbed his peace, until a distant song sounded from between the trees. The song moved closer and closer, pure and soft and oh so pleasant to the ear. Telperinquar smiled. Either that was a Maia, or he was about to meet another Luthien!

Meal forgotten, the Noldo rose to his feet and ventured towards the song.

Indeed that was a Maia, but not the one he expected!

“Annatar?” Telperinquar called, blinking. What an unusual meeting!

The beautiful Maia turned around, startled, his golden eyes wide and confused. Oh, Telperinquar was ashamed to admit how much he loved them!

“Annatar! How are you here?”

“I… was just going about my… business,” the Maia replied plainly. “I wasn’t chasing you, Tyelpë, I swear!”

“I do believe you,” Telperinquar smirked, “but only because I was chasing you. I thought you were Luthien!”

Annatar winced. “No, I am just a Sauron going about my business. And you, Tyelpë, what are you doing here? Looking for elf maidens?”

Telperinquar blushed. As if he was ever looking for any maidens! “No. I am looking for Aulë’s forges.”

“Then why are you walking in the opposite direction?” Annatar frowned.

The Noldo did not like where this was going. “Oh, that is none of your business.”

Annatar glanced at him with a trace of hurt in his eyes before casting his gaze down. In a sudden turn of events, Telperinquar regretted being rude.

“Sorry.”

Annatar forgave him as quickly as a kitten whose owner accidentally stepped on his paw. “Are you lost, Tyelpë?”

“I am,” the elf finally admitted. “I have no idea where I’m going. I refused a map because I used to know these lands as a child, but now that I’m here, I can’t remember a thing.”

“That’s alright,” the Maia whispered. “Just follow me.”

“You’re going to show me the way?” Telperinquar raised a brow. “What must I do for it? Continue the walk naked? Fall to my knees for you? Spend a night with you afterwards?”

“Nothing, Tyelpë, nothing.” Annatar looked offended by those suppositions. “Just follow me.”

“What, you’re going to help me and not take advantage of me?” Telperinquar continued, sarcastic. “I am here all alone, you know. No one would hear me, if anything…”

“I am done taking advantage of you, Tyelpë,” Annatar insisted. “Now go. Follow me. The sky is darkening already, and I promised the local wolves I’d play with them after dusk.”

The news that there were wolves in this forest was frightening, but Annatar made it sound like he found a puppy playground. Telperinquar had never thought of him entertaining wild animals out of the goodness of his heart; it was a shame Annatar had kept that part of him secret!

“Do you turn into a wolf when you play with them?” the elf inquired, unsure why.

“Yes!” Annatar’s eyes lit up so tenderly! “I like it, I can be jumpy and wave my tail and run around like them! We chase each other and compete in jumping on cliffs and play hide-and-seek and wail at Tilion while he makes stupid faces at us.” He giggled.

Telperinquar found it charming. Annatar as a little wolfy wolf!

“I wish I could see you in your wolf form, but that would make things really awkward,” the elf smiled.

“Why?” Annatar was giggling again.

“Because… it will feel like an odd bestiality situation!” The elf prince blushed crimson.

“But wait, we are not…” Annatar soon matched him in color. “It’s not, because we are not…”

Telperinquar covered his mouth when he realized what he implied. “But we have, in the past…” he mewled.

“But it will never happen again…” Oh, Annatar’s eyes were so full of longing!

Perhaps Yavanna listened to him, or maybe he should have paid less attention to beautiful elf princes and more to where he was going. Either way, Annatar tripped on a root. Telperinquar’s attempt to catch him was utterly unsuccessful, and they both went rolling downhill, thankfully avoiding any trees.

At the bottom of the ravine, Annatar mounted Telperinquar like he used to in those sweet cold nights of Ost-in-Edhil - although by accident this time.

“Annie,” Tyelpë’s breath was heavy, but it was probably the effect of the falling. “Are you alright, Annie?”

“Tyelpë...”

Annatar’s hands clutched Telperinquar’s shoulders so desperately, even though the danger had passed. “Tyelpë, yes… and… you?”

“I’m so good…” The Noldorin prince’s eyes fell closed as his fingers went exploring that neck, once again, again…

“Tyelpë… oh, Tyelpë… you’re touching me…”

“I’m touching you…”

“Would you… would you like me to kiss you?” Those golden eyes were so frightened and hopeful above him.

One faint flickering light in Telperinquar’s eyes, one last suspicion that could keep him from jumping head first into uncharted waters one more time, and…

“Yes. Please, Annatar, now.”

No wine, no clearest water from the purest source was as refreshing as Annatar’s kiss. The warm lips, gentle as ever, the scent of him, now slightly more herbal but still that of metal and ash and warmth, those locks tickling his face, the taste of his love and doom. Telperinquar’s heart beat against his chest louder than any hammer. Annatar, Annatar, back in my arms, my love, my fate…

It was wet and cold all of a sudden, and Telperinquar opened his eyes, only to see his love crying.

“Annie, Annie, what is it? No, don’t cry…” His rough thumb tried to wipe those tears away, but they kept coming.

“I’m sorry!..” the Maia wheezed. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

“Shh… Breathe, breathe for me. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.”

It was already dark by the time they climbed out of the ravine.

“Let’s start again,” Annatar offered, sliding across the grass as if his body had lost all of its weight from happiness. “My name is Mairon. I am a Maia of Aulë. I was carrying some rare minerals from the Pelori to my master’s workshop to make healing stones when I met you, o beautiful elf, in this forest, and now, I wish to be by your side.”

“I am Telperinquar of the House of Finwë, and I am drawn to pleasant-looking craftsmen,” the elf in question offered with a smile. “I wish to share my time with you, provided that you are respectful of my boundaries and hide no sinister intentions.”

“None whatsoever,” Annatar assured. “All I want is to make you happy.”

“Well, I can only commend that.”

“Another kiss, to celebrate our meeting?”

“Please.”

“You are so accommodating!”

“My pleasure.”

“Oh, the pleasure is mine…”

“Mmm…”

[catbowserauthor]

If By My Life or Death, I Can Protect You, I Will: 2 HOBBIT AU

What did he look like?”

Bilbo spun his spoon a bit, letting the tea settle and enjoy the warmth and scent. The sunlight streaming in the window was welcomed. It reminded him of such evenings and mornings in the Shire, when the sound of birds and occasional chattering of folk outside would drift, just enough to dust your atmosphere with the sound of civilization.

If not for the sound of the breaking of water against the rocks outside, he could nearly imagine himself back on his porch in Bag End, taking a nice puff of his pipe as second breakfast settled and he enjoyed the signs of the world just waking up.

“Uncle?”

Blinking once then twice, it took Frodo gently laying his hand over Bilbo’s before the older Hobbit looked up. “Ah, my apologies, my lad.”

“You’ve been distant since yesterday…no, since we arrived Uncle.” Frodo furrowed his brow and took a sip of his tea. “I was asking you about your meeting with Manwë yesterday and you just seemed lost in thought.” Frodo paused, “I hope I’m not bothering you Uncle.”

Chuckling, lightly, Bilbo lay a hand on the boy’s left cheek. “My dear boy, as I recall, I have never neglected to tell you when you are being a bit too enthusiastic, have I?”

Smiling, and yes, the light seemed a bit more bright in his eyes though still haunted, Frodo admitted with a shake of his head, “No, you were always honest on that, Uncle Bilbo.”

“I shan’t be changing that now.” Bilbo set his spoon down and after taking a bite of the small sandwiches before them and swallowing, he advised, “I am focused now, my boy. What were you asking, again?”

Frodo smiled, “About Manwë.”

Bilbo took a moment, enjoying the warmth of Frodo’s smile. It had been a while since there had been so much light to it. Not without weight but the burden of the ring was lifting here. There was hope and healing again.

A burden he should never have had to carry.

“Ah, Manwë. He is a rather peculiar fellow, my boy. Though, I surmise that being the Voice of Eru will do that to a person, even after eons of having the position. Though, I would say that even with that issue, he could stand a bit of a lesson in manners. His wife, Varda was a bit more approachable.”

Frodo took a sip of his tea and offered, “Well, I suppose this is all rather new to them. Elves, as you’ve told me, are expected here and Gandalf is a Maia. But two small Hobbits…that would be rather unexpected. Though Lady Yavanna seems pleased with it.”

Ah, the Lady of the Earth? Bilbo set his nephew with a curious eye. “Ah, so I am not the only one requesting the presence of the Valar?”

Blushing slightly, Frodo had a stern argument. “I did not request her presence, I was merely honored by it.” Now, his face lit up, as it had so often in his younger years, when he had first come to Bag End. When they would finish supper and then sit by the fire, letting the warmth dance across their faces as Bilbo would weave one of his tales until slumber took the boy’s eyes. “Lord Elrond thought I might appreciate her gardens and the hills of greens. As I was walking among the trees, I spied her and she approached me Uncle.”

Eyes warm and only heightened by the scent of the food and drink, Bilbo reached forward and embraced his nephew. “Did she now? Do tell, my boy for it is a great privilege to speak to the Lady of the Green.”

“She did not say much. But her voice was like all the birds that used to nest in the thicket in the Shire. It dripped like honey. She sounded young, far younger than I thought she might, as if she were perpetually blessed with maidenhood.”

Oh, Bilbo could only imagine. So many of their stories had been around Lady Yavanna. He had been surprised that even Thorin and his Company had exchanged stories of her. While their respect lay in Mahal, the Valar Aulë, her husband, they had nothing but respect for her and gave praise to the fruits her earth provided. Her mercy and passion for her growing things was something that their families looked to for inspiration. According to Ori, a wonderful compliment for a Dwarven family was to be compared to Yavanna.

Fili and Kili had spoken at length about how while dwarves did not possess the skill with the earth that Hobbits did, they knew how to plant and how to raise crops. Thorin had even mentioned that Erebor had possessed a large garden way up in the upper levels where foods could be grown and often were before the dragon came. He spoke at length about how they had active veins of gem, gold and silver that lined the open platform and the hanging branches and vines would nearly form a painting as they contrasted.

He had never gotten a chance to show it to Bilbo.

“Oh, Uncle, you must see the rolling hills! Sam would so have loved her fields. Full to the brim they were with trees, trees so heavy with fruit that they nearly touched the ground. Potatoes, carrots, shrubs, herbs, anything that could come from the ground!” Frodo went quiet a moment, contemplative. “Sam...my dearest Sam…he told me…when the Ring…tried to tempt him…all he could see was making Middle Earth his own personal garden. He…all but laughed at the concept because, you see, it was already a garden.” Folding his hands into his lap, Frodo looked upward, eyes fixated on the lovely glass fixtures through which the wonder of the sun and moon were never absent. “My dear Sam…I do hope you are happy.”

Bilbo’s heart lurched. Sam and Frodo had always been close ever since they were small things. But when he had heard of Sam’s loyalty on the quest, through all trials, even against a spider as ferocious and ancient as Shelob, Bilbo had looked upon the boy with more respect, more honor and more gratitude than he thought himself capable of feeling. The loyalty of that boy could not be measured.

Yes, indeed, he hoped that Sam was happy too.

“You gave Sam and Rosie Bag End, did you not, my boy?”

Frodo nodded. “I did. Sam has much left to do, though it pains me not have him by my side. After you left the Shire, he became my constant companion, even more so than Merry or Pippin, much as I love them as well. Then, when I began this long journey, he was forever by my side, no matter the obstacle or what I might have said unto him.” Tapping his fingers on the table a moment, Frodo once more glanced outside. “I think I understand now, more so than I did before, what you meant when you said that an adventure could fill your heart with empty longing. I gained much on the Quest, Uncle—on myself, in the form of deep friendships and understanding and while my heart and spirit was mending here, there is a deep emptiness as well. The emptiness of leaving them behind and not knowing when or if I shall see them again?” He eyed his relative with something akin to desperation. “Do you think it is so, Uncle? That we have been parted forever?”

Bilbo shook his head. “No. No, I do not believe it is so. You have suffered much, my dear boy, and I do not believe that will be your fate.” He bit his lower lip. “I am sorry to have been a cause of it, of this pain, no matter how small. I know all too well the pain of parting and I would not have wished it even on my most loathsome of enemies.” He stroked a loose hair from Frodo’s eyes. “Hence, I am taking what steps I must to correct it. For you. For Middle Earth. For myself. For those that I have had to say farewell to, long before it was proper.”

Frodo didn’t need to ask; he knew that look in his Uncle’s eyes. As much as Bilbo never tired of telling the Journey to Erebor, it was rare that he told the ending beyond “the dwarves of Erebor were triumphant.” He had told Frodo and Frodo through extension had told Sam and Merry and eventually Pippin had learned from Merry but he never brought up such sad endings with the Hobbit children. Not only because he wished them to continue the delusion that there was such a thing as endings where all was good and right again for as long as possible but because Bilbo could rarely hold his voice steady when speaking on the losses of the Durin family.

He always went to bed early those nights and Frodo would hear Bilbo sob deep into the night. So, they had stopped asking about the details of the battle and only focused on the quest itself. Now that he carried his own heavy heart burdens, Frodo felt he understood. Though, he also knew he did not understand.

He had bid farewell to Sam, Pippin and Merry but he knew they were safe. He knew they were alive. He knew Sam was having children and was enjoying it more each day. Pippin had found himself a love with Diamond of Long Cleeve and Frodo had no doubt they would have at least one child before all was said and done. He even suspected that Pippin might honor his dear friend Faramir when the time came to name any future children. Then there was Merry whom was still on a lookout for a love himself but had perhaps found a potential one in Estella. She was a pleasant enough Hobbit lass with just enough sass to keep up with the only Hobbit knight of Rohan.

Yes, yes, all his friends, though he might have said farewell had long lives laid out before them and many wonderful adventures they had yet to have. Many wonderful things they were yet to do and he was warm at heart at the thought.

Uncle Bilbo did not have that luxury.

Thorin was struck down with his kingdom at his feet and Fili and Kili…Bilbo often spoke of their gusto and love for life only for it to snatched away. Then the horrible news they had borne back about the fates of Balin, Ori and Oin…

“What did you ask of Manwë, Bilbo Baggins?”

The sudden new voice was a surprise and yet not unexpected. Bilbo took a moment to set down his cup and turned. Frodo stood up and ran forward, wrapped Gandalf in a hug as the old man entered the room. There was sternness to his figure, not something unusual for the wizard but at the embrace by Frodo, warmth and the kindness that was well known by all that took the time to get to know him bled through. The man chuckled and stroked Frodo’s hair a moment before the Hobbit pulled away.

“Gandalf, we didn’t know you were coming!”

“As I’ve said before, a wizard arrives when he desires to, Frodo, neither before or after.”

Rolling his eyes slightly, Bilbo stood, retrieving his walking stick and made his way over. “You are similar to the elves in that manner, old friend. Riddles and saying both yes and no in the same instance.”

“I would imagine that you are well accustomed to riddles, Bilbo Baggins.” The older man countered but the intensity had not left his eyes. “But if you wish me to speak freely, so I shall. Your demands of Manwë have not gone unnoticed.”

Bilbo scoffed. “Demands? I would hardly call it such. I made a request, simple as that.”

“And the request you made was hardly simple!”

Bilbo eyed his nephew who was looking from him to Gandalf and back again with something akin to anxiety in his eyes. Hardening his voice, Bilbo set his eyes on the wizard. “Gandalf, my old friend, if you have a desire to speak to me candidly about that which you think I made egregious errors, let us take a walk to discuss this. This does not involve Frodo and I’ll not have us dragging him into it!”

This seemed to calm the wizard’s storm and he stopped, turned to the younger Hobbit. “Y…yes, quite right.” Clearing his throat, Gandalf remarked. “Your uncle and I will discuss some things, Frodo but I promise you, it will be civilly.” He shifted to Bilbo. “As I recall, you have not yet seen Yavanna’s green hills, have you?”

Taking up his walking stick, Bilbo shook his head, “I have not and if what Frodo has told me, that is a dreadful shame. Come, let us correct that now.” He turned to his nephew, “If I recall, my boy, Lord Elrond may have some more stories to tell you here than I have ever heard. So many ancestors he has been able to reconnect with. Let him occupy your time this afternoon and I will look forward to your full report at dinner.”

“…yes, Uncle.”

OOO

“I will not rescind my request, if that is what you desire from me, Gandalf.”

The wizard sighed heavily. “It is neither a simple thing nor something to simply push aside to ask for the Valar to appeal to Eru, Bilbo Baggins.”

“Perhaps not, but Manwë agreed to it all the same, with some pressure and proper council from Lady Varda.”

“Pure curiosity and utter shock at your tenacity I am sure.”

“Do not play games with me.” Bilbo stopped and turned. “I spoke to them candidly as I do to you now. I desire to fix that which should not have come to pass. I look to stop needless suffering, if it possible. To stop deaths that should not have happened.”

“Such is the casualty of war, Bilbo Baggins.” The wizard spoke softly though no less intently. “Life is not a fair entity, designed to hand out equal lots to us all.”

“No, it is not but I will strive to make it more fair than it has been.” Bilbo insisted again. “I will fix it if I may. I am not questioning the fact of it being unfair, Gandalf. I am simply questioning if it must remain that way.”

“You are questioning the path that has already been laid, Bilbo Baggins.”

“I am!” The hobbit turned and his eyes were fierce and full of fire. “Don’t stand there and pretend you do not know what I have asked. I know you have. And I know you know WHY I have asked.”

Gandalf paused in step, took a deep sigh. “Your grief over the line of Durin—“

“Thorin. Fili. Kili. They had…HAVE…names Gandalf! Use them!”

Turning, the wizard knelt so that he was at eye level with Bilbo. The hobbit’s eyes were watery and red and despite his advanced age, oh, there was so much fury in his face that Gandalf had no doubt that if he had possessed Sting at the moment, he would have drawn it, Valinor or not.

“Bilbo, my old friend.” The wizard laid a hand on each shoulder. “You know me better than that. I mean no disrespect to their memory. But the dead are dead, Bilbo Baggins. It does us little good to linger on them for so long that they poison our present.”

“Don’t speak of them like it is damaging to remember them.” Bilbo gathered his breath and he challenged. “You have given me much wisdom in my life, old friend, but I will not accept this. Not if there is a chance, even a fraction of a chance. And you can lie to yourself all you want, Gandalf but I have seen through your lies.”

“Oh? When have I lied to you? Not been always open with all I know, yes, that is true but—“

“Whenever you looked at Pippin and Merry.” Bilbo gathered his voice. “Whenever you would come, always under the pretense of your fireworks or making merry but your eyes always drifted to them. As they laughed and danced and drank. Look me in the eye, Gandalf and swear unto me by the very land we stand upon, that you have NEVER looked at them and not wondered on Fili and Kili.”

Gandalf stared at Bilbo, for a long time, seemed to age centuries in mere moments. Bilbo could almost see him remembering, revisiting and the weariness of his heart bled through his eyes. With a heavy sigh, the white wizard stood again.

“I cannot. I will not deny that their deaths, if nothing else, have weighed heavy on my heart.”

“As they have on mine. I sit awake and wonder some nights…what they would have been like. If they would have married, had children, how Fili would have done so well as a King with his brother by side. Oh, the pride in Thorin’s eyes…” Bilbo took a breath again, a shaky one. “I do not pretend that this is some utterly noble quest or venture, Gandalf though, indeed, the elements of that do exist. I meant what I said when I said I meant to stop suffering, stop pain, maybe stop this whole war…but my heart knows that it is for them the most that I want to go. That I want to change things, however I may.”

“Noble in principle, my friend.” Gandalf spoke simply. “But you are not as young as you once were. How would you manage to correct so wide an error that you claim their deaths were?”

“Crawling on my hands and knees, if need be.”

Gandalf eyed the hobbit a long moment. The wonder of the Blessed Land had aided his memory somewhat but it did nothing for Bilbo’s body. It was still hunched, slow, reliant on a cane and hair as white as his own. To send him on a quest such as this, it was as much a death sentence as if Gandalf had swung his own blade upon him.

And yet, as he had felt with Frodo, a hint of hope awoke in the wizard’s heart. He smiled, a weary, worried and yet amused grin.

“Bilbo Baggins, as I said unto your nephew not so long ago. Hobbits really are amazing creatures. Here I had thought I had known everything about them and yet, here you are, again, my friend, surprising me.”

Bilbo stood firm and tall, but did not answer.

Gandalf gestured with his left arm and guided Bilbo with his right. “My purpose this day was to convince you otherwise of this favor but I do not feel that I can. Nor, anymore, do I wish to. Being that as it is…”

Bilbo eyed him, suspicious and not without cause but Gandalf merely pointed forward to the great halls that loomed before them with his staff. “…Gandalf?”

“The Valar will see you now.”

[tough-girl9]

Just stalked you here to ask about Gorthauro Estel. Any chance for next chapter? I just can't wait...

My dear, dear Gorthauro Estel… The next chapter is very nearly done; I had hoped to get it out by the end of January, but it still needs some revision though it is getting close. I hate making promises, because Real Life tends to get in the way, but I hope to get it published in the next two weeks.

Despite (or perhaps because of) how precious GE is to me, it is dastardly hard to write and that was especially true with this chapter. I suffer from a truly ridiculous level of perfectionism and, more often than I like, that perfectionism, the little voice in my head that says it has to be Perfect in every way or it is garbage, gets in the way of my inspiration and drive to write, or smothers it altogether. I hate that my brain does that to me, and I’ve even thought about going to therapy for it, because I hate it when writing feels like wading through waist-deep mud, especially with stories and characters I love. I know writing is always hard, but I used to enjoy the challenge of it so much more and now I get so, so frustrated at myself if my writing doesn’t live up to the impossible standards in my head and I know that’s not the way it’s supposed to be.

The perfectionism kicked in particularly hard with this chapter, because it’s a Big chapter that I know a lot of my readers have been waiting on pins and needles for, and that I’ve been waiting for, and my brain wants it to be Perfect.

For your patience and love for the story, however, enjoy this sneak peak at the new chapter (and hopefully the whole thing will be along in the next couple weeks).

My Gorthauro Estel readers are the Best. Love you all!

EXCERPT FROM GORTHAURO ESTEL CHAPTER 19

“So, the day is finally upon us. It will be most interesting to see how it goes.”

“We are not spying upon him, you know. That is not what this is about.”

“No, but nonetheless, it may prove interesting to see how he handles himself. It will be good for him, I think, and it may grant us a better gauge of how he is doing. I worry about keeping him cooped up in the Halls under the eyes of only Aulë and Yavanna. Many tapestries have been woven of his history with them both, and once the course of Doom is set it is difficult to divert. Yet that is what we seek to do. But here, here the very first thread has barely touched the loom for him, and he may feel the weight of his Doom, or what he deems to be his Doom, less heavily. One way or another, as I said, it should prove interesting.”

“If nothing else, I can grant him a day of rest. If he will allow himself to take it.”

“An ‘if’ of great proportion, I fear.”

“Perhaps. But the power that sleeps in these halls is not a power he is used to encountering. The power locked in his fëa has been twisted almost beyond recognition of what it once was, yet it cannot wholely be changed nor corrupted, and once that power was the balance of mine. It may affect him in unexpected ways.”

“Are you worried?”

“No, he is strong. I am not worried.”

“I did not mean for him.”

“I am strong as well.”

“I know you are. Yet you know better than any of the rest of us just how dangerous that Maia is. He is cunning and willful in his own right, and combined with what lies within, he is powerful and dangerous beyond what Manwë cares to acknowledge, I fear. I would not see him hurt you.”

“He and I are alike, far more than he knows. I am willing to take the risk if it means it changes the course of his Doom. I am not afraid to face him again, in whatever form he may take. From him I learned much strength, more than he ever would have guessed, the strength of sorrow that he never could have comprehended.”

“I would expect nothing less of you. But be on your guard. There is something greater at work in that he chose you first of all the Valar, but I do not think he knows it. I suspect he simply thinks you are easy prey.”

“That may be. With your domain, he does not understand and he knows well that he does not. With my domain, he simply thinks he understands.”

“I would almost feel sorry for him, did I not know that he will be in the very best of hands.”

“No harm will come to the Maia, though I make no promises that he shall leave here the same as he entered.”

“Just promise me that you will protect your own heart, sister. It is no weakness to acknowledge that he will bear great pain for you into these halls. If it grows to be too much, promise me that you will seek help.”

“I promise. Now, don’t you have dead people to watch?”

“Hmmm, and they say you are the Valië of Compassion.”

“Oh, I am, dear brother. As a certain Maia is about to learn. But I am also the Valië of Sorrow, and now it is my profound grief to send you back to your duty, while I await the arrival of mine.”

“I shall take my leave then. Oh, and Nienna?”

“Yes, Námo?”

“Don’t break the Maia too thoroughly. That would ruin allthe fun.”

“Goodbye, Námo.”

“Goodbye. And I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“Take care.”

“I will.”

[loyalservants]

( Continuation | @scldsouls )

     words pierced through her heart almost as a dagger being pushed by every single word she spoke. the pain was enough for yavanna and aulë when she had decided to abandon valinor, to leave behind all the good she had always believed in only to follow morgoth the cursed himself. he had mairon ensnared in his web of lies, of the promise of power and all he could possibly offer her but then again the vala did not believe that her most precious gift would turned her back on the loving parents she had to follow him to arda and allow middle-earth to become a dangerous place, a THREAT to both the race of men and elves. aulë had the dwarves under his protection and even so, yavanna believed they could mend for themselves since they carried the strength of her husband. nonetheless, mairon was a fire maia and she was growing more powerful each day. melkor was banished from arda, sent into the void to never be seen once more, but for her own worst nightmares it appeared as if mairon was to be the following dark lord. even if the rules were broken in terms of leaving the grey havens to travel to middle-earth, yavanna did so nonetheless for she believed there was a part of mairon that could be reason with… the desire to bring her daughter home growing within her chest.

     orcs were not a threat to her presence, with a gentle swing of her hand she threw them out of her way until she announced she was there to speak with the dark lord. they stood out of the vala’s way, for her light shone brighter than all the darkness that settled itself in this darkest corner. green eyes were almost filled with tears when the sight of her once and sweet innocent little maia was now gone… o, but how GORGEOUS she truly became. a small whimper was released from her lips when mairon appeared and the words were lost for brief moments. until she spoke and the words were shattering the queen of all living things heart. 

     ❝ how can you speak such words? ❞ voice was low, filled with indignation for never once she had witnessed her own daughter being so cold towards her. yavanna remembered the both creating flower crowns and later spending countless nights with aulë by the forges, perfecting her natural ability to become just like her father. ❝ mairon… this is not who you are. please, heed my words. ❞ hesitant steps took her a few inches closer to the other. ❝ there is time still to redeem yourself. i shall speak to erú myself and see that you are FORGIVEN. ❞

                                       MAIRON had gone  MAD  of power. Though, the Ainur was incapable of contracting any ailments of the  MIND , Mairon was only poisoned by her own  PRIDE  and her own  DESIRE  for  POWER . She was twisted by Melkor into believing that she was indeed the lady with utmost right into inheriting the  THRONE  of Angband and rule with her own pair of  IRON FISTS . Her  HEART  had hardened like a metal leaving the  FIRES  and was cooled in the air. She had only let her heart soften once more when Maedhros had come and deflect her own doing to her, falling for him in the  DUNGEONS  of Angband. Then she had to sacrifice her own  HAPPINESS  for him and their daughter but her own  PRIDE  kept her away from them, when she could have stayed by their sides and denounce her loyalty from Melkor.

                                        Only then was more proof her  PRIDE  was going to be her downfall since the  DAWN  of the World. So proud was the Lady of Mordor that upon the  ARRIVAL  of her own Mother, she was sitting upon her throne. She did not rise to stand, to greet her, and though she was sitting, her throne was levitated by steps, so she was as if  ABOVE  Yavanna, even if Mairon was the lesser being between the two of them. Yavanna was still as  FAIR  as the gems of Aulë of which he would ask Mairon if they were suitable to gift Yavanna. She looked unmoved by Yavanna’s  PAINED  face and she instead laughed gently, mocking her.

                                       ❝ Mother mine, you come to my  REALM  unannounced and you expect me to just  WELCOME  you ? You have come here, killed some of my soldiers and strolled as if you own my  HOME . ❞   Mairon’s eyes narrowed, eyebrows furrowed together as she  GLARED  upon Yavanna with indescribable  HATRED  seeping through them. That young  FLAME  Mairon was once, she was just a memory... gone forever.   ❝ Redemption ? Forgiveness ? Pray tell, mother, what makes you think I shall heed you without much thought ? I was once  BLIND  and I am now  WISER  than before, wiser than you and father could ever allow me to be ! ❞