#eonwë the maia

[nightmares-2]

Eonwë & Makalaurë 🩵

[mandhos]

[erendur]

"The sons of Fëanor should have broken their oath !" "Why did they not break their oath ?"

"Many quailed to hear the dread words. For so sworn, good or evil, an oath may not be broken, and it shall pursue oath-keeper and oathbreaker to the world's end."

Literally, the first thing we are told about the oath after they swear it.

[batsyforyou]

Eönwë

Eönwë Sleep Headcanons

Asking Eönwë for a Favor

Masterlist

[erendur]

Oh, yes !!

It gives me "Winged Victory of Samothrace" vibes (and he DID win the War of Wrath !) :

I like the details on the bust of the dress. Sky blue, would match that beautiful light blue Cristal sword that we gushed about ?

He would be a very chic herald for sure !

NEPHI GARCIA Serenity Dress 2024 if you want to support this blog consider donating to: ko-fi.com/fashionrunways

[artesdaterramediabykithkerulin]

Isso é tudo que poderei tentar postar aqui. Já tentei postar quatro vezes e o tumblr derrubou o post. 🔥👁️🔥 Mairon x Eonwë 🦅 se quebrando na "porrada" 👀

Esse desenho nem ficou tão bom, mas para quem quiser conferir a arte completa esta somente no meu → twitter ←

[annabawritersdream]

So...today I answered an ask about my dream fic plot and I say that it would villain redemption story. While that is true, I am aware that I can't write it myself. I lack the experience to actually write it well and giving any villain a redemption arc kind of means that the story has a happy ending...? If you know me even just a little bit, you'll probably guess it's not really my cup of tea. I'm a sucker for angst and tragedy and that's what I feel most comfortable writing. Which is why I decided I will indeed attempt to write a villain story, but it will be more of a character study. The main character will be a fallen Maia named Moyeldë (one of the many OCs that will appear in my main WIP The Lady of Ithilien and additional one-shots/snippets related to it) who is basically Sauron's main love interest (or so she thinks) in the Fourth Age. Our little fiery Maia comes back and does some stuff, but that will be addressed in LOI.

This new project is about Moyeldë (her name was given to her by Morgoth when she followed him in the aftermath of his rebellion against Eru and it is Quenya for "slave-daughter"=> I combined Mól=slave and Yeldë=daughter).

She's always been in love with Mairon and had a major rivalry with Thuringwethil as the both of them wanted to be his one true love. It is my headcanon that Mairon had a whole Harem in Angband and enslaved Elf-maidens as well as Maiarin women fought one another all the time to be THE ONE FAVORITE. Since it is unclear how Thuringwethil died, it is my headcanon that it was Moyeldë who finished her with Mairon's full support and approval. (Huan only wounded her).

Moyeldë will be eventually killed by Eonwë in LOI, but this new fic will explore her whole life (or maybe just parts of it) and her descent into madness and her delusions as she becomes more and more ruthless. It's a character study basically.

Fancast for Moyeldë is Meryem Uzerli, specifically her role as Hürrem Sultan in the show Muhteşem Yüzyıl (Magnificent Century). She has a slightly unhinged, psycho quality to her that I think fits Moyeldë perfectly.

Crowns and jewels all made by Mairon himself of course.

Here is a little edit of the evil power couple by yours truly.

She doesn't need to know he doesn't give a flying f about her. She is just a concubine to him, a slave who happens to be more useful to him than others.

She's literally admiring him and he's clearly about to scold her. That's their usual dynamic.

Let me know what you think! Does it sound like something you'd like to read? (I will probably write it anyway, but I would like to hear your opinion ☺️)

Thanks!

[eri-pl]

As I said, I am having a Finrod phase, in particular a "Finrod talking to [a character I never before realized he would interact with]" phase.

So, Sauron. No, not the song duel. But a couple of things, more or less noncanon. [Long post after cut, mentions of Sauron's various deeds but not detailed]

Sauron early (just after the War of Wrath, he goes with Eonwë) redemption arcs.

So how would the interactions between him and Finrod look?

First, there's the "I tortured you and got you killed" issue. I think if Sauron was actually remorseful, Finrod would forget that without a problem. (Again: in my reading of it, as opposed to many people's readings, Finrod is not traumatised. It was hard, but he did heal, mentally too.)

Second, there is the more difficult issue of "You fed my men, for whom I was responsible, to a werewolf". finrod would not let it slide unless all of the Ten forgave Sauron. But I think they eventually would, following Finrod's example. Not as fast as him, but not very slowly either.

Third there's the "You tortured my half-cousin at Morgoth's orders," which is even more of an issue, because said cusin is in the Halls of Mandos (at best) and probably won't get to forgiving anyone for a long time. So, for sake of exploring the situation, let's assume that Morgoth did the torturing himself, because, I don't know, he found it fun?

And the general "You tortured people and spirits" but this is not personal, so Finrod would not feel like it's his job to be angry about it, it's the role of the Valar to judge Sauron, and they did. (Have I forgotten something ugly that Sauron did in the FA?)

So assuming all that, and assuming that Sauron— ok, I should call him Mairon at this point— would be allowed to roam relatively freely and talk with people, I think he and Finrod would get along relatively well. Not very well, but well.

Because assuming all is forgiven, and looking just at the personalities — Finrod loves bling and gems and gold. Mairon in many fanons loves bling too, and even if he personally doesn't, he's a Maia of Aulë (even if he shifted to, say, Nienna, because it fit more with his mental state now, he still has a lot of skill). He would be great working with gems, we know that he canonically was great working on jewelry with elves even when he was evil, and I would assume being good makes him more attuned to beauty.

Also, I have a strong HC that Finrod would build something similar in style to Nargothrond (simply because it was beautiful) and I can very well see Mairon helping with that, and trying to convince Finrod to make everything more symmetrical (with little results).

And Mairon, being one of the few have-been-evil Maiar (and much calmer than Ossë) would, I think, understand a certain melancholy that Finrod has. the mourning of the things we lost by our bad choices. Like Nienna's mourning for Arda Marred, but more personal. More "we have a part in this".

And this would first take some convincing (probably by the Teleri) for Mairon to agree, but they would reenact the song duel. It would feel liberating for both of them, to be able to face it and smile. And they would learn that they really like singing together, like making arguements in the form of a song. (Often about the role of symmetry in art)

Mairon would not understand Finrod's deeper philosophical, how to call it, unrest? But he would respect that there's something he can't understand (It's probably one of the most important lessons he needed to learn to come back). That's why they would never be really close: their deepest passions are just too different.

2. Canon Sauron

They would not talk after Finrod's death, of course, but Finrod would have thoughts.

Imagine: Second Age, Numenor is built, Finrod visits it once in a while, then they get a little less friendly and he gets distracted by an architectural project, or child-raising, or whatever and when he emerges back into the world, Tar-Palantir is nearing the end of his reign and everyone is forbidden from visiting Numenor, because it's too dangerous for the Elves (morally, spiritually).

And then Pharazon claims the throne and the repressions return (those things are known in aman to those who are interested and trusted to be able to handle difficult knowledge — like Finrod — because the eagles and the palantir of Tol Eressea and wasy like that).

And those Men are claiming what?

Finrod begs to be allowed to go there, to talk to them, because he would tell them all the things— he is denied, and of course he knows better than to disobey the Valar. But it does take Námo for Finrod to stop asking.

And then Pharazôn captures Sauron, and this feels bad, this feels so bad, and it does become bad, and the palantir cannot see into the golden dome, but a lot of Men start appearing in the Halls of Mandos, and some of Námo's Maiar, unlike their lord, do gossip.

@edennill you asked in one post: do all the Númenoreans even land at the Halls? I would say: there won't be a clear, provable no (Námo does not say and none of the Maiar knows all what's going on in the Halls) but there would be such gossip. And a lot of speculations as to what this means. And the Maiar would bring the discussion out to all the Eldar who would be interested in listening to it. Definitely they would gossip about it to Finrod, after all this is the kind of thing he seemed interested in.

Imagine Finrod standing at a seashore cliff, looking East and screaming in a powerless rage until his voice runs out.

And then the fleet sails and again it takes a very clear and direct order for Finrod to not wait for them at the shore. And after the sea settles, after the Undying Lands are sundered, he stands at the shore again, wailing, mourning, screaming wordlessly, because he would not dare say the questions that are circling in his mind.

(And just after he calms down enough to return home, he gets visited and yelled at by Curufin's wife or whatever relative that stayed in Aman for not having been there with the rest of the family, and doesn't he even care aboyt Tyelpe? And he asks "What happenned with Tyelpe?" and gets slapped in the face.)

(Yes, Finrod, like all the Noldor, has some hyperfocus tendencies. And maybe not very much contact with the Feanorian side of family at this point.)

And then he learns that, by the way, Glorfindel was sent to Middle Earth to deal with Sauron. Because, you know, there may be a Balrog involved eventually. And no, he cannot go too. First, there may be a need for stealth and second, he clearly is not impartial about the whole Sauron situation.

It takes some processing and some more questions for Finrod to realize that yes, Sauron is very likely still alive.

And then he probably goes to yell on the cliffs again.

3. Late redemption arc Sauron.

…basically the same as above, but with more bluescreening on Finrod's part.

I mean, just imagine it. Finrod is so furious, and justly so, because. Just: because. (And also, tyelpe.)

But also: Sauron has been judged already and it's really not Finrod's job.

But also: he is so angry.

And it would be crazy for Mairon too — I mean, in addition to the normal crazy— because Finrod would be one of the evry few people who Gets Is. Who just get a) how bad it was b) which parts were the worst c) all the implications of him eing still alive d) how insane that is. But also, Finrod would not talk to him, or see him, because he just can't stand it mentally.

And then one day Finrod would, when wandering the shores, find a monument in the memory of Númenoreans —all of them— and there's something about it that resonates with him. there is some truth in it (even if it's too symmetrical). He would plant flowers there, and sing for long. Sometimes he would feel watched, but nobody would appear.

When he would return, there would be more flowers, and the best parts of his song carved into the stone, more intricately than he ever could. He would sing more and it would reeat for a long time: a dialogue of mournings.

[malkaleh]

I think the closest we got to Aman!Mairon - the maia who worked with Aule, who was Eonwë’s friend is maybe Halbrand when he first comes to Eregion, pre Galadriel finding out. Like he’s in his element!

(And actually that’s a thought - Galadriel never finds out AU. I think he probably still does Go Full Evil but maybe…)

And like that is deeply sad and also SAURON YOU FUCK YOU HAD SO MANY OPPORTUNITIES TO NOT BE AN ABUSIVE DICK.

(Also possibly my Mairon from my Mairon Who Never Went Over To Morgoth verse (or genuinely got abducted/had an horrifically abusive relationship with Morgoth) is just facepalming in my head @verecunda )

[doodle-pops]

Forever and Always and Our Will

Eonwë x reader

A/N: Please don't run me down with a pitchfork, bricks, microwave, gun or axe because I hurt your bird boi :)

Warnings: war descriptions, fighting and blood, strangulation (it's all in the heat of battling), break-ups, getting philosophical and questioning Eru's will

Word: 2.2k

Synopsis: “You sound just like the rest of them, pathetic and hopeless. The exact reason why I can't stand to be around the lot of you...” those were the last words you spoke to him before your back became the last image he saw for more than five hundred years and an age.

The room was filled with the howls and bellows of the great warrior Eonwë. Healers fought to strap him down to the bed as he fought to escape their grasp, begging and pleading with them to give him relief by letting him free. With a violent swing of his hand, he struck two of Irmo and Estë’s healers down, and the sound of metal clattering to the floor followed. Eonwë felt weak yet strong at the same time and hated the pity that he was being drowned in. The solicitousness from his King and the other Valar around him made his stomach convulse. He didn't want their pity or sympathy; he wanted them to set him free.

He wanted to be free to find you and return you home. He was furious with their choice of judgement—let you roam about freely without any repercussions for your actions. As much as he loved you, Eonwë believed that you deserved to be dealt with harshly. You already tore his heart out willingly the day you chose to follow your fellow Maia all for the sake of a better world and order. His stomach turned at the mere thought of his conversation with you before you walked out.

“I believe that Melkor would bring about a better world than what Eru has promised us. Look at this place, you and I both know that the future of this world is doomed as long as we're under his will Eonwë,” he flinched as you called his name. The bitterness of it rolled off your tongue like poison as you cursed him.

“The future can change Y/N, you don't have to do this. Eru's will isn't as terrible as you make it sound to be. His will is just as great as he,” he did his best to reason with your logical and illogical facts. He had no idea of what was promised to come to this world since all he sang were praise to his Creator before he descended. So, you were wrong, the future could change, it was forever changing.

“You sound just like the rest of them, pathetic and hopeless. The exact reason why I can't stand to be around the lot of you...” those were the last words you spoke to him before your back became the last image he saw for more than five hundred years and an age.

The next time you both saw was on the battlefield with Sauron. Embellished in your arrays of colours—black and red—you stood side by side with Sauron wielding your spear; never one for swords ever since he knew you. Your own crimson stained your face and clothes alongside his that you drew multiple times. Eonwë didn't know what was stopping him from taking you down, or maybe he did, but it caused him to lose more blood than ever.

Gashes to his forehead, nearly taking his eyes and to his chest in an attempt to claw out his heart. Whether you did or not, Eonwë's heart was really to fall to the ground upon the first reunion in over an age.

“Sickens me to see you fighting for hope, maybe you'll die along with it when I'm through with you...” your arms shot out to take his head off with your golden spear, coated in the rich ruby of his comrades. Mocking him with all his Elder King and God's praising and wills to drive him to a point of no return, Eonwë was falling for all your tactics. He hated the idea of someone insulting the beauty and perfection he worshipped. Part of his mind knew that you were right, this could have been avoided but it was a part of his natural fault to let things be. It wasn't as if he could fight it, reject and cast it aside. He didn't have the freedom you gave to yourself, and it was a part of his design, he had to fight.

“Gonna cry about it little birdie, go cry to your God and King about how you can't break yourself from the faults of this world and your,” catching him off guard with a kick off your foot, you brought him to the ground and clambered atop him, wrapping your dirty and grimy hand around his neck, “...freedom.”

Smaller and more agile than him, you still had strength left in your body to attempt to apply pressure around his neck while laughing and spitting your blood across his face, “Cry my little songbird, shed those tears for me and maybe I'll grant you the freedom you desire. I'll send you to a place where you don't have to worry any longer, hmm.”

He didn't have it in him to throw you off, whatever you were whispering to him weakened his body. Arms limp, legs weak and lulled to the side, wings beating on the ground and tears pricked his eyes as he watched yours filled with anger, hatred and confusion directed towards him. But it wasn't, it wasn't for him, it was at Eru.

All the life in his body was slowly being drained and he did nothing to stop you. What if because of Eru's will, he had to die by your hands, and he wasn't to resist? Was this how his life was to end, by his former love and not by Mairon? Not by Dagor Dagorath? Not by Morgoth? Just lying on the blood-stained ground, rolling around and grappling one another until the other stopped living. Even the laughter escaping your throat pushed him further into a relaxed state that refused for him to take up arms.

“Is that the best you can do,” his eyes fluttered as you leaned in, applying more pressure to bare your teeth at him hauntingly, "pathetic just like the rest of them...don't worry, when I'm through with you, they'll all come to keep you company…”

No, he couldn't lose his life so easily, he was a warrior and the best. He wouldn't let his life vanish by your hands whether he loved you or not. You made your decision, it was time for him to come to terms with his. Manwë made it clear that he would have to face you and to brace himself. Eonwë knew this, though he had come to terms with it which was why he fought. He fought to break free of the chains wrapped around his mind. The pretty chains that you planted in his head to fool him.

The tears were already running free. Fire and brimstone fell around him and you were all he saw through the tears. There was still love for you, and his heart was still beating for you, but sometimes the greatest sacrifices required the strongest will. He would push through it and defeat you, even if it meant never seeing you again for aeons, you would be healed and cured and freed from the lies you were fed. His soul would be at rest, as would be yours. Yes.

Gathering what little strength that was left in him, he used it to release a few feathers from his wings and direct them towards your clothes. Gripping the fibres and tugging, his feathers threw your body off his and into the air before you crashed into a dirt pile. A loud wheeze followed by coughing ripped through Eonwë's throat as his hands rose to grip his neck. He was begging his body to move for once, move with the agility he once possessed to take you down. Please, please.

Crawling and wheezing with bile running out his mouth, face reddened and dirty, his hands searched the blackened ground for his swords. He heard from the distance the sounds of crunching approaching his weakened figure and it terrified him. What next were you going to do? Whipping his head to the side, he observed you staggering over to him with a dagger in your hand.

Turning himself over, he fell onto his butt and curled his wings in, summoning the rest of his feathers. If he was going to fight you, he needed every ounce of protection—you were out to kill.

“If we’re gonna fight...we're gonna do this fairly,” Eonwë coughed his words as he glared at you with sorrow and venom in his eyes.

In return, your head cocked at his commanding words, “Big words from a pretty little bird boy who still has his head in the clouds!” At the end of your scream, you lunged at him, dagger raised to strike.

Eonwë rolled out of the way with ease, knocking into his sword in the process and snatching it up to rise it as you swung again to take his head. Your dagger slid off his sword and accidentally clipped a few of his feathers off prompting him to groan. It was the act that drove him to act out of rage.

“Enough!” swinging his sword to the side, and engaging in a heated fight, feathers and swords were clashing against one another in the open clearing. Not a single soul intervened in the battle between you both. Screams and shouts of profanities and slurs were exchanged but only on your end to weaken the herald. You were growing tired, as was he but Eonwë was driven to end this fight.

Spinning on your heel to drive your spear into his side, his wings came down to block, taking most of the damage. At this stage, Eonwë's wings were his shield instead of his armour and it didn't take you long to understand what needed to be done to walk away alive. If this battle was a part of Eru's will, you were hoping that you had broken free, enough to keep you alive to see the end of everything because this could be your last move. But then again, whether you lived or died, he would be traumatized from the heat of the moment.

Was the sacrifice worth it, to see him in pain for eternity and hear him curse your name?

Finding an opening when he turned his back as he spun to deflect, with a burst of energy, you lunged forward and snatched him by the base of his wings. A foot to his back and he fell into the dirt while you latched onto his wings with your dagger in hand. Eonwë didn't wish to fathom what you were about to do but he had to experience it to understand.

The pain was sharp and searing, antagonizing and heated as if a liquid fire was being poured into his veins. Clawing at the blood-stained floor, his own blood spurted from his back as you slashed messily at his wings, clipping him. Screams and cries to stop weren't saving him as he wriggled like a worm. He couldn't move with your weighted foot on him and the nightmarish laughter hovering and cornering him like prey.

How did he let this happen? How did he fall? When did you become a predator?

“I warned you I'd clip those wings for you to open your eyes...too bad, I did love your wings. Tis your fault you lost them,” walking onto his back, you became weightless, but Eonwe had no strength to throw you off, you stooped over him, “this could have been avoided you know darling.” His body shivered at the use of his old name. You knocked his helmet off and ran your grimy fingers through his white curls, smiling at its softness. It was still there.

“We could have still been if only you had listened to me and broken free, now look. You submitted to his will and lost your beautiful wings to me. It wouldn't have been that way if only...” leaning in to hover, your lips were only an inch from his face before they came down to kiss his tear-stained cheek, “I'm sorry and I love you still, but some things just have to be. The greatest sacrifices do require the strongest will...farewell my little songbird. Sing me for still, I'll be listening.”

In an instant, you were gone, and the war was over and now he was screaming out in pain from having his wings clipped. Manwë watched from the distance with hurt in his heart for his herald that was like his son. There wasn't anything that the healers could do to return his wings not even Eru was responding to his calls for a solution. Everything was silent and loud. Heavy and gloomy while hopeful and victorious. The war was won but at the cost of questioning the will of his creator. Did everything that occurred didn't have another option or path? Were you truly right? Had he followed he would have given himself easily to the dark side, but freedom was there.

Croaking your name throughout the healing halls and cursing you for your actions, a part of his heart grew distasteful and dark towards you, but another part was thankful for opening his eyes. Perhaps one day he would discover you on his own, even if it meant hunting you down, he would find you. Your heart was still beating and reaching out to him after all.

Masterlist

Taglist: @edensrose @cilil @spidergirla5 @lilmelily @eunoiaastralwings @noldorinpainter @ranhanabi777 @mysticmoomin @rain-on-my-umbrella @starborne0661 @floraroselaughter @singleteapot @wandererindreams

[maironsbigboobs]

Hope (ao3)

Rating: M Relationships: Sauron/Eonwë Words: 2650

Summary:

Eonwë wondered when the last time anyone had offered him friendship had been. He wondered whether Sauron’s heart had always been hard, or if service in Angband had hardened it. - What if Sauron’s surrender had gone differently?

My @myslashyvalentine gift for @yletylyf. Happy Valentine's everyone 💖

“You expect me to believe a single word you say, master of lies?”

The wind whipped at the feathers of his pauldrons, bitter and cold as his heart. Eonwë stood on the rocky planes of the battlefield, looking down at the kneeling maia before him. Manwë’s gaze was upon this meeting. There was a familiarity to him; pride, beauty, the cold sharpness of his bearing that Eonwë had never seen in any other. He set his jaw and held the point of his spear to Sauron’s throat. He must not let memory overcome him. This was not the same maia of Aulë who he had once known, but a shadow of him.

Sauron raised his head. His face was gaunt and smeared with battle blood. There were dark circles under his eyes. But his gaze was fierce, blazing. The memory of their intensity stirred his heart. He is trying to get under your skin; you know what they say of him. You know him.

“Do you think I would submit myself to this if I was not sincere? Herald of Manwë, you know me. I do not suffer bruised pride needlessly.”

“Know you? You were always clever with your words.”

How could he forget? Sauron - Mairon, then, though that name did not fit him any longer - had always had a sharp comment or witty remark; his humour had been dry and refreshing after a long day surrounded by the formalities of the King of Arda’s court.

In the moment, his mind wandered to another meeting, from a better day:

***

In fair Almaren, a gentle breeze carried the scent of the first Spring flowers. Under the branches of a blossoming tree, it tangled Eonwë's hair as he dozed against the trunk. He had been waiting for Mairon to join him, but the hours had passed with no sign of him, and eventually the waiting had lulled him to sleep.

Only when he felt the heavy thud of someone sinking down next to him did he open his eyes.

He frowned. “You’re late.”

Mairon was never late. With just a glance, Eonwë could tell something was not right. There was a brooding look in Mairon’s eye, and he seemed... dulled. Dimmed, like a faltering lantern.

“I am never late.” Mairon answered, and then his smile was back, sharp as ever. “I always intended to arrive now. You are simply early.”

“Sometimes I think you are too clever for your own good.” Eonwë rolled his eyes affectionately, taking Mairon’s hand. His fingers were cool, not warm from the forge like he had been expecting. “Where were you?”

“I have a new project.” But his gaze flitted away to the horizon. When he looked back at Eonwë, he still seemed distant.

Perhaps he should have asked more, but Mairon talked enough about his work without prompting. That was not what they were here for. Eonwë pulled him into a kiss, swallowing his protests. “Leave your work behind.”

Mairon relaxed against him, and Eonwë turned them until he was straddling Mairon’s hips. Mairon reached up and undid his own bun, shaking his hair out. It fell to his shoulders in curls of molten flame. As Eonwë kissed him, Mairon’s face grew just as red, his head falling back. Eonwë felt the heat of him; it almost burned his lips as he left open mouthed kisses down the pillar of his throat.

“Eonwë, you’ll bruise me, what will my lord -”

“Worry not for what Aulë says.” Eonwë slipped a skillful hand beneath the waistband of Mairon’s trousers. “He has so many maiar. He will not notice.”

Mairon laughed; it was such a beautiful sound. “No, Aulë will not notice my absence. You are right.”

“That is more like you,” Eonwë triumphantly divested Mairon of his trousers entirely. “Relax, my jewel, and let me do the work now.”

“Ah, Eonwë...”

***

It was not Aulë he had been worried about that day. The realisation froze his blood - or perhaps, he had always known it, and only now it became undeniable. Darkness had been in his beloved’s heart even in those blissful days. Sauron was speaking, but above the reeling of his mind he could hear little. His forced himself to focus.

“I repent of all my deeds, of my service, of my malice and cruelty. I beg you, Lord Eonwë, grant me mercy.”

Eonwë remembered how to speak. “I cannot do that.”

Sauron’s eyes flashed with fear and rage. Eonwë continued, his tongue heavy.

“I would if I could, but it is not my place to give it. You must plead your case before Manwë.”

He saw the horror on Sauron’s face. He could not blame him. He could not picture Sauron on his knees before Manwë, humbling himself. It seemed impossible; Sauron had never been deferential, even when he had served faithfully.

“Do not be afraid, Sauron.” The name tasted foul. But Mairon was no more, and no other name was any more complimentary, or more neutral. “I will stand with you, I will vouch for you. Swear to me you mean your words, and I will speak for you.”

“You promise me that?” Sauron arched an eyebrow, unconvinced. “You would stake your reputation on me, of all people?”

“I would.” For everything they had once had. For love, for hope, deep desperate hope that some part of the past might be reclaimed.

“Then, I accept. I will go with you.”

Eonwë withdrew his spear and held out his hand.

Sauron stared at it. Eonwë wondered when the last time anyone had offered him friendship had been. He wondered whether Sauron’s heart had always been hard, or if service in Angband had hardened it. He wondered if it even mattered - perhaps it was like the the maiar of Manwë often said: you cannot have an Eagle without an egg, nor an egg without an Eagle.

Sauron took his hand and rose to his feet.

Perhaps there was hope for him yet.

***

He bound his hands and gave him his cloak, to shield him as much as possible from the eyes of Elves. If any of them saw Sauron, Eonwë knew they would clamour for blood, and they would riot at the sight of him going freely among them. He could not blame them for that, and Sauron took the burden quietly, for once not eager to draw attention to himself.

It almost worked. It would have worked, if the elf-kings had not been waiting for him in his tent.

“Why have you brought him here?” Finarfin’s face was murderous, and Eonwë could not fault that, either. He placed himself between the elves and Sauron.

“He is my prisoner.”

“Your prisoner?” Gil-Galad mocked him with a laugh. “His crimes were against elves and men - we should judge him, not you.”

“I am not here to judge him. That is Lord Manwë’s place.”

Finarfin’s scowl deepened. “Manwë would grant him mercy. He deserves none. I should cut his treacherous head from his body myself, for my son - but he is a snake, ever growing more. He should be thrown to the darkness with his master if he is such an eager hound.”

Behind him, Eonwë felt Sauron bristle. Do not speak. Valar, keep him silent. I will not be able to calm them if he riles them up.

“King Finarfin, please, have faith in me.” he implored, “We have fought and bled together. Trust me; I would not have him escape unpunished.”

Gil-Galad interrupted. “We have faith in you, Herald. It is him we do not trust. Who knows what he will whisper in your ear? Even the wise can fall victim to a clever tongue.”

“Gil-Galad is right. He will lie to you - he has probably lied to you already.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sauron move, and open his mouth. He subtly stamped on his foot. Quiet.

“My lords, I understand your concern. But this tent is well guarded. You may set your own guards if you wish. But I swear by the Stars that he will not leave this tent save to board a ship to Valinor.”

The two elf-kings looked at each for a moment. The air was thick, simmering rage and pain in the air. Finarfin’s glare did not fade. But Gil-Galad relented, and Eonwë knew Finarfin would not break their united front here.

“Very well, Herald. But if he escapes punishment, there are many who would look to you to suffer in his place.”

With that, he bowed, and left the tent. Finarfin lingered only to give his own cold farewell, and to scowl at Sauron.

When they were gone, Eonwë ordered the door guards to let no one else in or out. Sauron sat on the stool by the low cot, still wrapped in Eonwë’s cloak. His expression was strange, lost in thought.

“Thank you for defending me.”

Eonwë closed the distance between them and unbound his hands, kneeling before Sauron and holding his hands in his own. Those long, nimble fingers were so familiar - but now they had wrought such agony and torment.

“I only did as I promised you.”

“Still.” The gentleness of Sauron’s voice made him look up. His face in the lantern light, he looked almost ... vulnerable. Soft.

Eonwë gave in to temptation. He kissed him.

His lips were as soft and warm as Eonwë remembered, and Sauron fell forward into his arms as if they had never parted. Their kisses grew fiercer, a clash of lips and teeth and eager hands. He pulled Sauron to the bed, the cloak cushioning them. Their bodies crashed together, never apart for more than a moment.

Sauron’s hands found his belt, and it was no challenge for him, and Eonwë let out a soft sigh as he stroked him. It had been so long, so very long. He wanted to give in to the pleasure, to take everything Sauron was willing to give him.

“Ah, Eonwë...” Sauron pushed him onto his back, the bed creaked, and then sank down before him, lips brushing against his inner thigh. “I have missed this. I have missed you. I craved you for so long...”

Gil-Galad’s words came back to him. Who knows what he will whisper in your ear? Was this all just another lie? Another seduction? Was he just one of Sauron’s toys, to be used to get what he wanted? He went still beneath Sauron’s caresses.

“Eonwë?” Sauron paused, and he looked up through his lashes. Eonwë mourned the loss of the warmth. “Is something wrong?”

He did not answer. Sauron frowned. There was still the same crease in his brow that Eonwë had always teased him for.

“You don't trust me, do you? You think this is part of my game. That I am wrapping you around my finger.”

He pulled away, his hands falling to his lap. “I cannot blame you for not trusting me.” He sighed, “It does not matter. We should not be doing this.” He started buttoning his shirt again.

“No.” He caught him by the wrist. If this was a lie, it was one he wanted to give into. Let the elf-kings rage and swear. He wanted to indulge the heat of Sauron’s touch, to feel the sweet caress of his lips, to hear the fevered beating of his heart. If he woke to him gone, so be it!

“I want this.” He wanted, oh, how he wanted! “I want you. I want you how I always have, terrible as you are.”

“Your dirty talk has not improved.”

Eonwë laughed. “Put your clever tongue to better use.”

Sauron took that instruction to heart. He settled himself between Eonwë’s legs, his burning kisses leaving reddened skin on the inside of his thighs. Eonwë was aching with need, curling his fingers in Sauron’s hair to guide him - his mouth was hot, eager, and they both groaned as Sauron sank down, swallowing him entirely.

This was the physicality he had missed; repressed for so long. The sweet tension building up in his gut, the burn of lust in his veins, the slick sounds of sweat and skin. He tried to keep quiet - tent walls were thin - but he could not stifle his moans and praise. Oh, so good, so perfect, made for him - his desire flowed effortlessly as the Sea.

When he spilled, it was with blinding pleasure; his hands clenched tightly in his bed covers, eyes screwed shut as he bit his lip to keep from crying out Sauron’s name - Sauron, who took everything he was given with a soft groan and smug look in his eyes, who then sat back and wiped his mouth with Eonwë’s cloak and tucked Eonwë into the bed before folding himself up beside him without a word. Sauron seemed to want nothing for himself, pushing away Eonwë’s touch and closing his eyes.

“Let me enjoy this. It may be the last moment of peace I have.”

Eonwë relented and lay back on the bed, curling his fingers through Sauron’s hair. The other maia slept peacefully against him, warmth enough that he did not miss the blanket. His doubts had not faded; as he lay in the dark, they returned anew. He could wake in the morning and Sauron could be gone - he might not wake in this bed in the morning at all, if Sauron decided to eliminate a threat.

It is done now. For better or for worse.

He closed his eyes, and tried to sleep.

***

The Sun was setting across Valinor, her rays scattered through the stain-glass windows, as Eonwë made his way to the secluded chamber of Aulë’s hall, whistling as he walked.

This part of the hall was well-guarded, but the guards knew his presence and made themselves scarce awhile. His visits were frequent, though he rarely arrived at such a beautiful hour.

He knocked on the chamber door. There was a pause, the sound of tools on a workbench and booted feet, and then several locks being undone. And then a smiling face was revealed.

“Annatar.”

A new name for a new life; something untarnished by past lives and past deeds, the promise of an unclouded future.

“Come in, I am just finishing up for the day.”

Sometimes it felt like Annatar had never left these halls. This chamber was locked and secluded; but unlike the cells of Mandos, it was homely and bright, with little touches of Annatar here and there: stacks of books by the bed, blueprints spread out on the table, little chunks of metal and ore arranged artfully on the windowsill.

“You work too hard.” Eonwë protested, taking his arm. Annatar scoffed: he was only permitted to work on approved commissions, and Eonwë had heard many times how he wished he had more to do. Some things did not change. “It can wait.”

He half-dragged him to the seat by the window, silencing Annatar’s half-hearted protests with a kiss. Once he had him in his arms, Annatar gave up the pretence, curling against him like a cat. The Sun bathed them in her evening glow, casting a golden light over them that made Annatar look holier than he had ever been.

They spent hours there, talking about nothing in particular: Annatar’s projects, Eonwë’s latest duties, whatever the latest gossip was in Tirion, whatever else came to mind. At some point Annatar closed his eyes, half asleep as Eonwë continued to talk.

“I love you.” he whispered against the crown of Annatar’s head. Annatar made a soft noise, turning to look up at him. His eyes shone.

“I love you too, Eonwë. Now keep talking. I want to hear more about Curumo’s visit to Ilmarin. I hope he made a fool of himself.”

Eonwë laughed, and launched into the story.

The future was better than he could have ever hoped.

[nightmares-2]

Maglor and Eonwë (years of the trees) 💙🐦

Eonwë close up under the cut

[mandhos]

[magpiecaranthir]

In the Tinwe captured early verse, her not feeling well before the second kinslaying so her and Caranthir staying back and both of them living instead of Caranthir dying.

Oh god yes. I want Caranthir to survive so badly bc tinwe deserves good things after going through so much shit.

On the other hand, here is a little draft I wrote when I couldnt sleep a few nights back lol. Like what would happen if he did not survive for whatever reason :)

Ranyatinwë dismounted. Her mount pawned the ground and she took some steps towards the camp.

Upon her and her brothers' arrival, the guards stood at attention, hands at their weapons and ready for attack.

She gave them a bored look. "You could not even draw your sword before I have you choking on your own blood," she said icily. "Where is the white-livered coward that led you here?"

She was met with silence.

Scoffing she took a few more steps forward.

The flap of a tent opened and out walked Arafinwe and Eonwe who had been in deep discussion about how to progress from this moment henceforth.

Arafinwe stopped when he saw Ranyatinwe, armed and armoured. "What a lovely surprise," he said mildly.

She looked at him. "I would rather hear it from someone whose family was not at the forefront of saying I would not see my majority and my masteries being a waste of resources because I would walk into Lórien before long."

Her eyes fell to Eonwe. She held out a hand. "The Silmarilli, if you please."

The maia looked at her. "As known to your kin, your right to the Silmarilli is void. They shall go to the West now from whence their light came."

"I have suffered for these jewels for five hundred and seventy years at the very hands and whims of your brethren while you brought your master tea and bread. Only to then lose my twin to the svum of doriath, too. To those who kissed an ainu's feet. Your kin did this. You cannot claim innocence either. Do you sleep well knowing you could have prevented it? Or do you wonder how much you could get away with? With being Manwë's herald I wager you could take a whip to my back like Sauron has done often and none would bat an eye."

Eönwe's face twisted into one of wrath and the air around them seemed to crackle with tension.

Behind them, her horse snuffed and threw its head.

She gave the maia a bored look. "You need to look like a Valarauka to scare me. Try again, perhaps with a flaming whip. Having had to fight them for entertainment leaves you quite devoid of respect for the likes of the Ainu."

She wiggled her fingers. "The Silmarilli. I will not ask a third time, seeing as you will never give me the third Silmaril either."

Upon being met with stoic silence, she giggled. "Very well. We shall be going. Would you like the twerps' heads on one pike or on separate ones?"

That recieved a reaction.

The peredhil gasped and squeaked "what" where they were seated on their own mounts beside Maedhros and Maglor.

Several guards gripped their weapons and Eonwe's face turned more wrathful.

"You will not harm them."

Ranyatinwe giggled. "The only reason I have not killed them and finally ended the Line of the egoistic manics Lúthien and Beren is that they were counted amongst children. As of a few months ago, they are counted amongst the adults. I do not murder children, but I murder adults. You will be finding their remains somewhere."

She turned and walked back to her mount.

"No," said Eonwë.

Stopping, she looked over her shoulder. "I will be getting the Silmarilli, then," she said boredly. "My fathers stolen jewels in exchange for the stolen boys. Until then they are ours to keep and mine to kill."

[hidden-lord-of-arda]

Is there a canon character that your OC needs to ask forgiveness towards? 

It depends on the timeline of events. Since there are two possible timelines that can happen.

The first one is probably Eonwë, since in the Battle of the Powers in the first age. He threatened to rip Eonwë’s wings off if he hurt Melkor too bad. And to this day the Maia is still scared of him of him doing that.

The second is probably either Sauron or Melkor, since he sees them as sons, he regrets not being able to do anything when they are defeated and put into the void.