#eönwë

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Snippet of what to look forward to next week

“That is what Aulë believed. A pity he did not stop to consider the skills of the one he once called the most gifted of his attendants.” Melkor strode around to the side and sat down on the edge. The featherbed sank beneath his weight. “Now, let me take a closer look at you,” he continued, gripping Eönwë’s chin and tilting it this way and that, “for I have never truly seen you in your earthly vessel. Yes. Eru has been kind to you, Herald. You are a most glorious creature. It is such a shame, truly, given how you wasted your long years serving those doomed to fall. No matter. You are here now, and you are mine. Ah-ah! Do not struggle. It is very important that you do not struggle. You would not be able to endure the torments I would inflict upon you if you did.”

From a smutty and dark story featuring Melkor/Eönwë (I'm still deciding on a title)

A/n: This is still a WIP. The text could change here and there during editing.

[verecunda]

AU where Eönwë rescues Diarmid from the shipwreck because fuck man, anyone trying to talk sense into Mairon's dense head deserves better than that.

[wormedeye]

to become alive because of you

it’s old, i just forgor…

[that-angry-noldo]

How about 4. for the five word sentences thing? Maybe Finarfin and Eonwe? Your writing is awesome!

"Not what I came for."

Finarfin scoffs, and considers entertaining the banter. Eönwë seems in no mood for it. The Maia strides towards Finarfin's dressing table, starts going methodically through Finarfin's boxes. Earrings and rings clink on his talons before being dismissed.

"You mean, you aren't here to discuss our further advances or renegotiate the terms of our campaign, because that simply does not require your attention."

"We already did that," Eönwë clicks the box shut with extreme prejudice, "two weeks ago. I see no need to go over it again."

"So you, what—flew a hundred miles to go through my things?"

Eönwë grinds his teeth. "I am looking for something."

"In my dresser."

"I looked everywhere. And when I say everywhere, it means I turned over every rock between here and my camp and further still and by Eru I am running out of places to look in. So yes, Noldoran. I am looking in your dresser."

Finarfin sighs.

For some reason, having the Lord of the Maiar tear through his things does not bother him as much as he would think. He watches Eönwë's attention snap back to his search, this time walking to Finarfin's makeshift bed and kicking through the furs.

"What are you even looking for?" Finarfin asks, irritation from earlier replaced with friendly curiosity. Eönwë makes a noise.

"A hair clip."

Finarfin's eyebrows go up. "A hair clip."

"Yes, it's—a claw clip. A gift. And I can't find it."

Finarfin watches, trying to remember ever seeing that particular part of Eönwë's wardrobe. His eyes skim over the Maia, catching on the rings on his fingers, earrings dangling from his ears. He takes note of his hair, raven-dark, only—

"Oh," he says. "Your hair."

Eönwë seems to have only grown more agitated. "I don't understand. I can't see it. Sense it. It's gone."

Finarfin hesitates before asking, eyes caught at Eönwë's hair, way messier than usual. "How does it look like?"

Eönwë purses his lips. "Golden. Carved into an eagle and a vulture. At least that's how your kind perceives it. It was a gift, and I—"

Finarfin walks up to him, and Eönwë stops mid-sentence, startled. Finarfin rises his hands to the crown of Eönwë's hair. Carefully, holding the side of Eönwë's face, he combs through his scalp; feels something cold against his fingers.

Finarfin untangles the clip, looks at Eönwë's face. Eönwë stares.

His expression is of surprise, then of disdain and grief. Finarfin wonders when did he learn to read Eönwë so well.

He takes Eönwë's hand and presses the clip into his palm. Scrambles for some sort of comfort. "It—happens, sometimes. I used to turn over my office looking for papers that were right before me the whole time."

"Yes, but—"

Eönwë sucks in a breath. Jerks his hand away from Finarfin, the clip clasped tightly in his fist.

"I think I'm broken," he says. "I think I'm breaking, and I don't know how to stop it."

Before Finarfin can reply, Eönwë is gone. He looks at the empty space where the Maia stood, and tries to battle the wave of sadness rising within him into something more worthwhile.

"I'm here," he says into the silence. "Whenever you feel like you're breaking, that is."

Nothing answers. Finarfin sighs. He counts minutes before the horn will cut through the dawn and rouse his people back to life; but before that, he stays, and sighs, and thinks, I would have gotten you a dozen hairclips if I knew it would help.

[ox24g]

Using Eönwë to explain the concept of blorbifiocation.

Text -

Gandalf: Is it not a waste of The Herald Of Manwë's time, looking after Sauron's remains? Eönwë: Perhaps, but consider-

Eönwë: I can put him in cute little outfits! Gandalf: ...

[urwendii]

Stucked in a team meeting but im thinking of Eönwë chopping Melkor's feet in a burst of blind rage then feeling disgusted with himself while Melkor cackled like Palpatine below him "good.....good" dark blood pooling around him and tainting Eönwë's white and gold armour.

[sauroff]

Also, have a smol Eönwë

[4nnatar]

Discovering the beautiful ship that is Manwë/Eönwë 😊

Realizing that there's almost no content for it ☹

[serregon]

sharing my msv fic here! Feathers Fall Slowly, 2.5k words of Maglor/Eönwë fourth age hurt/comfort, in which Eönwë brings a half-faded Maglor back to Valinor and wrestles with his views of justice ans punishment🪽🎶

this was a gift for ao3 user Gilithin, who doesn’t have a tumblr as far as I know

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Hi, I was wondering if I could request the blood prompt from your list? Something Non-con and whumpy with Morgoth and Eonwe, with eonwe on the receiving end? My only thing I wouldn't want is a modern au. I hope I'm doing this request right! Thanks!

Thank you for feeding the evil notions in my head. This is my first attempt in writing a whump fic, so I hope you like my effort.

Without Mercy

Pairing: Morgoth (Whumper)/Eönwë (Whumpee)

Prompt: Blood

Themes: Smut / Whump

Warnings: Non-con | Imprisonment | Kissing | Anal Sex with little preparation | Hand job | Some torture | Dissociation

Wordcount: 2.1K words

Summary: Eönwë, after having been wounded and captured during a great battle, finds himself in the private chambers of none other than Morgoth, who makes it plain he will do to him whatever he wishes.

Minors DNI | 18+

Prompts for requests can be found here.

All about Eönwë was a chamber shrouded in dusky shadows. Lamps hung on heavy chains affixed to great beams that ran across the vaulted ceiling, but they offered little light—they had been placed there chiefly for adornment, not necessarily for illumination. Still, he made the most of what little radiance they provided to better study the place he had been confined to, and he discovered his prison was more than just a cell to keep him in. Its walls were high, dark, and ornately carved, and its deeply recessed windows were opened to the night. Then there was the bed he had been laid on—it was large and soft, as if it had been made for a mighty being and not just a lowly orc.

Despite the richness of his surroundings, Eönwë knew he could not remain there a prisoner. He had to find the others and bring them safely back to Valinor. They had to tell Manwë all of what they had seen and heard and been made to endure. But when he tried to free himself, he found he could not do so. His hands had been bound at the wrists and secured to the bedposts with chains made of a substance he could not break. When he had been dragged to this place and restrained, he gave little attention to what was being done to him at the time. He had been too weak, and he believed the chains his guards used on him were the kind he could easily free himself from once he had regained his strength. Now, he found himself failing at each attempt. It alarmed him that he, a being of spirit and one of the most powerful, could be imprisoned with such ease. Nevertheless, he kept tugging hard at his fetters in a vain belief they would eventually weaken.

They did not.

Eönwë took a deep, steadying breath and gathered his thoughts. Sooner or later, he realized, the one who made use of this chamber would reveal themselves to him, and he would finally have the answers he sought. He lifted his head and peered around twisting columns and elegant stone carvings, hoping to find a clue that would reveal to him the identity of the one who commanded him to be brought here. Suddenly, his gaze cut to a tall shape half-hidden in the darkness. It stirred after having been discovered, and it crossed to him, its bare feet silent as they padded over the polished, black marble floor.

“Hail and well met, herald. We meet once again.”

It was a lord’s voice—rich, deep, and full of malice. Eönwë trembled. He did not have to be told who the voice belonged to; he recognized it, having heard it long ago in the Timeless Halls and then again in Valinor, when the one who spoke it was brought before the throne of Manwë, to plead for his release.

“Morgoth,” he returned feebly. “Why am I here? What have you done to me?”

“You were hurt severely,” Morgoth said, stepping into the dim, faltering light and revealing his full self, “and I thought it proper to tend to you myself.” He came up to the foot of the bed, clothed in nothing more than a crimson robe made of the finest silk, and rested his bare hands on the rail. It creaked as if in protest. “What do you think of your shackles? They are an exact replica of the shackles Aulë forged to bind me. Mairon mastered the art that went into the making of them, and he presented them to me. Now I use them on you. Do not attempt to break them, for you will not succeed no matter how much you try. Only the one who created them has the power to destroy them."

Eönwë tried to swallow in a throat that had gone dry. “How was such a feat possible? Master Aulë swore no other could recreate Angainor!”

“That is what Aulë believed. It is a pity that he did not stop to consider the skills of the one he once called the most gifted of his attendants.” Melkor strode around to the side and sat down on the edge. The featherbed sank beneath his weight. “Now, let me take a closer look at you,” he continued, gripping Eönwë’s chin and tilting it this way and that, “for I have never truly seen you in this form. Yes. Eru has been kind to you, herald. You are a most glorious creature. It is such a shame, truly, given how you wasted your long years serving those doomed to fall. No matter. You are here now, and you are mine. Ah-ah! Do not struggle. It is very important that you do not struggle. You would not be able to endure the torments I would inflict upon you if you did.”

Eönwë stilled, terrified. Morgoth was once considered the greatest among the Ainur, and it was plain that he still was in many ways. Pure strength and power radiated from the hand that glided impatiently over his torso. After he had been captured and beaten and brought to Angband like a rare prize, Eönwë had been stripped of his silks, his sword, and his armor, and now, he had nothing but a long strip of cloth that had been draped and secured around his waist. It was done to bring him low and remind him of his new place, but nothing made his bleak circumstances clearer than the lord who toyed with him now.   

“You are a vision,” Morgoth said wistfully, stroking his leg, “now that you have been cleaned of the filth and the blood that covered you. Your hair is like spun gold, and your skin is soft to the touch. But your wounds… alas, they still remain.”

Eönwë struggled and cried out—in pain and in shock—when Morgoth squeezed on his thigh, digging his nails cruelly through the fabric he wore, and pressed down on the deep slash the healers saw to after he had been bathed and cleaned. Agony of the acutest kind surged just beneath his skin and brought tears to his eyes. Morgoth seemed to find delight in the sight. He smiled, his teeth gleaming bright and white and sharp between his parted lips, as he pressed down even more.

“This is but a taste of what you will receive if you defy me,” the Vala said, loosening his hold. “Remember that, herald. I am not one to be tested, not even by you.”

Eönwë slumped back and let out a choked sob when the pain tearing through him lessened to a dull but bearable throb. Then he jolted when the weight on the featherbed shifted, and he heard the rustling of silk. Melkor was disrobing himself. He untied the sash of his robe, and it slid down his arms to the floor, leaving his fair form clothed in nothing but thick locks of jet hair that fell from his head to his waist. Eönwë swiftly looked away as a fresh wave of terror washed over him. Morgoth was going to have his way with him, and there was little Eönwë could do to hinder him.

“You can look away all you wish, Herald,” Morgoth chuckled, returning to his side, “but you will not escape what awaits you.” He slipped into bed, moved atop his prisoner, and straddled his thighs. His hands wandered, this time with what seemed like care instead of impatience. They combed through ringlets of silken hair, drifted over full lips, and moved smoothly down a gilded throat. It was all done slowly, reverently, as if the one who bore such searching hands wished to spend hour after hour worshipping his companion.

Then they went lower.

Eönwë bit his lip when those hands brushed over and around his nipples. A flash of unwelcome arousal thrummed through his being when they were taken between thumb and forefinger, and lightly pinched. He thought that this was all there was to it, and Morgoth intended to treat him with some tenderness. He was proved wrong in the next instant, when Morgoth twisted and pulled at them forcefully, making them stiffen and hurt. Eönwë squirmed. Had he been with a companion he had truly desired, he would have loosened his tongue and gladly sung out his pleasure with each caress, painful as they may have been. But he was not, and he was determined to deny Morgoth the satisfaction of seeing him come undone by bliss of any kind.

To Morgoth, such things did not matter. He leaned down and kissed his prisoner, grabbing his chin and keeping it steady as he ravaged with his mouth and his lips and his tongue. When he drew back, he shoved his hand down the front of the fabric Eönwë had been made to wear and yanked hard at it. It ripped through the center, disturbing the hush that lingered in the air. Eönwë shivered, from cold and fright both, when Morgoth parted his legs and settled between them on his knees. He tore at the cloth until it came apart completely, leaving Eönwë as exposed as he was.

“Please,” he implored, hoping Morgoth would heed him, “do not do this.”

“I will do what I wish,” Morgoth said, spitting onto his palm. He smoothed it over his erection to prepare himself. “And you best gird yourself, herald, for what is about to happen. I have no intention of being gentle.”

Morgoth kept true to his word. He gripped Eönwë’s hips, raised them, and positioned himself. Then he breached him without warning, moaning long, hard, and throaty when he did so.

Eönwë’s eyes flew wide open from the violence of the intrusion. He thrashed and screamed as white-hot tendrils of pain lashed at him like sharpened coils. Morgoth was big—horribly and uncomfortably so. Eönwë could feel every inch of him as he pushed deeper and deeper until he sank home and could go no further. Then Morgoth moved, giving no thought for Eönwë’s comfort. He grunted wildly instead, and snapped his own hips faster and faster as he eagerly chased after his release. Eönwë wept, unable to comprehend being defiled in any way, or by anyone. He closed his eyes and took himself to a faraway place, where life was serene and war was but a memory of a distant past. He clung to this and the image of a verdant land filled with light and joy and life even as the one who held him rutted and gasped and drove into him, drawing trickles of golden blood every time his nails dug into supple flesh. It was all an illusion, Eönwë knew, but it was an illusion that allowed him to escape, for a brief while, the sound of skin slapping against skin, the sight of his captor thrusting relentlessly into him, and the sharp stabs that swept through his body as he was taken without mercy. Even this illusion failed him in the end because he eventually heard it, the cry a lord made when he emptied himself of his seed. When the room went silent, he thought it was finally over, and he would have some peace.

It was not to be.

Morgoth reached for his cock and jerked roughly, startling him. Eönwë arched his back as he found himself being overcome by the force of his orgasm. For a moment he utterly forgot himself as he spasmed, and stripe after stripe of his seed spurted onto his belly. It shamed him that his own earthly vessel could betray him so easily. But it was over, and after he stopped shaking, he went still.

“You pleased me well,” Morgoth panted, pulling out and making him wince from the abruptness of it. “I am glad I gave the order to keep you alive.” He squeezed Eönwë’s wounded thigh once more, as if to remind him that he held his fate in his hands. “Remember what I said: never test me. On anything. Yield to me and obey me in all things, and I will treat you with kindness.”

Eönwë nodded, wanting his anguish to end. He nearly sighed out in relief when Morgoth moved and rose out of bed to stretch his limbs. He stopped himself just in time; he did not want Morgoth to hear it and grow enraged. 

“What will happen after this?” He dared to ask.

“I will send my most trusted servants to clean you, and garb you in proper raiment,” Morgoth answered. He picked up his robe. “Do not attempt to escape, herald, or I will make a gift of you to one of the others. You will not want me to do such a thing.”

“Why?”

“They will do worse to you than I ever could; I give you my word on this.” 

[laurelonde]

You know what I really, really love about Sauron/Eönwë fanart?

They often put their arms around each other.

Aren't they just the sickly sweetest~?!

[verecunda]

I'm just after reading Sweeney Astray, Seamus Heaney's translation of the Irish poem The Madness of Suibhne. In short: Sweeney, a king in ancient Ireland, gets on the bad side of St Ronan, who curses him. (Amongst other things, Sweeney chucked his book in a lake, so frankly I'm on Ronan's side. :P) During a battle, the curse strikes Sweeney, who goes mad, before turning into a bird (or acting like a bird?) and flying off, before spending years wandering in the wilderness.

Heaney's version is lovely, and I have many feelings and thoughts, but the one most relevant to this space was when my brain went, hey, you know who else is usually portrayed as a birby guy? Eönwë!

So, what about an AU where Eönwë goes mad after the War of Wrath? Simply because War is Hell, or maybe it's a last wee nugget of vengeance flung out by Morgoth before he's chucked into the Void? Either way, he has a breakdown and flies off into the wilderness of Middle-earth and... stuff happens. I, inevitably, imagined him crossing paths with Sauron, who's in his skulking away from the Valar's judgement phase. But when he finds Eönwë, lost and vulnerable, with barely any idea who he is, Sauron can't bring himself to harm him, and against his own nature, ends up looking after him. Angst, h/c, maybe?? possibility?? a happy ending ensue.

But really, there's probably hunners of things you could do with the idea of Eönwë Astray, so I'm throwing it out as a general prompt. :)

[theworldsoftolkein]

Eönwë the Herald of Manwë | Lord of the Rings Lore | Middle-Earth | Geek Zone

Eönwë was the Herald of Manwe & 1 of the powerful Maiar spirits in Arda. He took part in some of the most iconic events in the history of Middle-Earth, such as the defeat of Morgoth in the War of Wrath & his final return in Dagor Dagorath.

[that-angry-noldo]

mu favourite thing about how i write finarfin and eönwë is how different yet similar they are when i switch perspective. from finarfin's pov eönwë is this majestic ruthless being whose voice echoes with the song and who has thunderstorms contained in his eyes, who shares his hatred for violence but excells in it. meanwhile from eönwë's perspective finarfin is this sharp-tongued quick-witted creature who is also the brightest presence in the room, something to be anchored to, something so complex and interwoven he vould spend hours staring at him. and then you look in their heads and they're both on the same wavelength of bitchy and done with everything

[ox24g]

Fuck it, illusion scarf Knitter!Sauron gets his own post.

Based off of this fantastic scarf. For those who can't follow the link, the scarf just looks stripy when viewed from above, but when viewed from the side, shows the inscription of the One Ring.

Text in the first image- Eönwë: Oh, another scarf! You're getting quite good at those!

[chrissystriped]

Here is my @whiteoliphaunt 2024 for @a-world-of-whimsy-5 . I hope you'll enjoy this little knights!AU that happened in response to one of your prompts. Let me know your AO3 username, if you'd like me to gift it to you over there 😀

Title: An Honourable Enemy

Characters: Eönwë, Gothmog

Wordcount: 662

Rating: T

Summary: Eönwë has to fight Melkor's champion.

Eönwë still couldn’t understand what had possessed his king to agree to this challenge. “A friendly measuring of strength, he said”, he growled to himself in the privacy of his helmet. “Your champion against mine.” Manwë should have known by now that Melkor never played fair.

Read on under the cut or on AO3

Eönwë still couldn’t understand what had possessed his king to agree to this challenge.

“A friendly measuring of strength, he said”, he growled to himself in the privacy of his helmet. “Your champion against mine.”

Manwë should have known by now that Melkor never played fair. Staring at the mountain of a man sitting on a horse that matched his size, he knew this challenge was meant to incapacitate him and thus deprive his king of the commander of his troops. Well, he could not get out of his challenge now without losing honour.

Eönwë gripped his shield tighter and pointed his lance at the black and red shield of Melkor’s champion. He knew him by his sign and the flames on his helmet, he had not known he’d joined the ranks of their enemy.

They hurtled towards each other, coming together with bone crashing force. Eönwë’s lance splintered against Gothmog’s shield, it felt like he’d ran head first into a wall. His horse gave a startled neigh and stumbled, they both crashed to the ground. Eönwë drew his sword, quickly coming back on his feet and turning around until his opponent came back into his line of sight.

To his surprise he saw him just standing up. He had expected to fall and counted on being the better swordsman, that he’d managed to unhorse Gothmog was a nice bonus. Eönwë smiled grimly and gritted his teeth. The shield was heavy on his arm, his shoulder ached. He could not lose. He could not risk an ‘accident’ happening to him.

They fought long and hard and the longer they fought, the more Eönwë got the impression that Gothmog was holding back. Not enough to make him sure of it, certainly not enough to be visible to the spectators.

They were both bleeding, Eönwë’s shoulder felt like a hot iron was wedged in it, when Gothmog gasped: “Let us call this a draw? It is clear, neither of us can defeat the other unless it were by luck or unfair means. What do you say?”

Eönwë nodded. “I agree.” They both lowered their weapons at the same time and turned to their rulers to give their decision. Eönwë saw the relief on Manwë's face and the angry scowl on Melkor's. This had not played out the way their enemy had wanted it to.

Later Eönwë sat in his tent with a cup of wine. His wounds had been tended to, and while his shoulder would take some time to heal, it would not keep him from going to war should the need arise. He looked up when a tall person darkened the entry to his tent.

“How are you doing?” Gothmog said for a greeting.

“Come to check on me? How touching.” Eönwë smiled at him and poured a second cup. “Not too bad, thanks to you, I suspect. You were not giving it your all.”

Gothmog glanced over his shoulder quickly. “Hush! My lord can’t know. He wanted me to beat you ‘by any means necessary’. Yes, when I saw you’d taken a hurt in your fall, I held back a little. My lord wanted me to incapacitate you, that did not sit well with me.”

“I should feel insulted,” Eönwë said with a wry smile. “But you were right. And I thank you for not going along with his schemes.” He wanted to ask him why he’d joined Melkor at all, but he had a feeling that he wouldn’t receive an answer to that. “Nonetheless I would enjoy to meet you in a fair fight, out of sight of our kings.”

Gothmog grinned and emptied his cup. “I agree to that. Send message when you are healed and I will come to a place of your choosing.” He rose and clasped Eönwë’s hand. “Until then, fare you well.”

“Fare you well.” Eönwë followed him with his eyes. He felt they could be good friends and wished they weren’t on opposite sides.