#i wonder what happens to varda in this au

[sesamenom]

Manwe & Melkor reverse au

Thoughts & alternate versions under the cut!

so i was thinking abt what if manwe was the evil brother and anyways this happened. he doesnt seem like he would go for the black and grey iron theme so the evil colors in this universe are probably more along the lines of pale desaturated blues and greys. the helcaraxe would be full of lightning instead of ice (like the thunder battles in the hobbit) manwe!utumno/angband would be really tall towers/fortresses surrounded by storm clouds and he would definitely have his lightning sword from the earlier texts.

i couldnt decide between osse or eonwe being the Dark (or Pale Grey i guess) Lieutenant so I did a few diff versions. also i did arien as lord of arda!melkors herald bc of the whole fire theme.

fancier crowns no vala markings

osse & arien

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

Day 4 Hobbit Plot Bunnies

Title: Just to See You Happy

Summary:  Time Travel AU. Frodo has carried the Ring and deserves as much rest as any mortal can bear. He refuses to see his mission as complete until Bilbo finds his happiness. And if that happiness is found in a group of dwarves from long ago, Frodo will fight the Valar above to see it done. Along the way though, he may learn it’s not the ‘dwarves’ but perhaps one dwarf in particular.

POV: Frodo

Bilbo Baggins was many things in the eyes of his nephew both before and after the incident with the ring. He was courageous. He was kind. He was encouraging. He was everything Frodo needed him to be when suffering the tragedy of losing his parents. He could so clearly recall the memory of running out as a tween without a waistcoat in his eagerness to get to the market to get the first pick of raspberries for Bilbo’s tarts. 

Of course, he had managed to run into Lobelia Sackville-Baggins who gave him such a scolding on the shame he brought his family name to be underdressed, running wild, with uncombed feet hair to top. Frodo could barely stomach the lashing, and ran back to Bag End, tears in his eyes, ready to never leave the hole again. Well, that certainly wouldn’t do for ‘Mad’ Baggins as he promptly stepped out in his bathrobe of all things! Returned Lobelia’s barb words tenfold making sure she knew just who the shame upon the family name of Baggins was, and then sent Frodo out into the woods where the ‘best wild berries’ lay hid. 

It really was no wonder Frodo offered to walk upon the slopes of Mount Doom itself just to protect his uncle. He would do anything for his uncle’s piece of mind. And while the Big Folk may sit around and argue as to whether or not Bilbo could be faulted for picking up what he deemed a harmless trinket that turned out to be the singularly most evil item in all of Middle Earth, Frodo decided he could carry those invisible sins. All for Bilbo’s happiness.

Happiness. A curious word in retrospect. If one had asked Frodo prior to the whole mess with the ring if his uncle was happy, he would have said yes easily. After all, he had shared laughs and smiles with Bilbo. He had been subjected to tender hugs and kisses as a faunt. He knew the stories that could tickle him pink. What else could happiness entail?

However, in the weeks leading up to their departure to the Undying Lands, Frodo looked introspectively, and realized Bilbo had been happy in the Shire in the same way Frodo was happy now. A mask of contentedness that hid the drowsy emptiness inside. A phantom pain that couldn’t be explained, and that couldn’t be chased away. A sad thing that clings to the back of the mind once they were alone. Perhaps it was the way one felt after having witnessed true tragedy, and there was no cure. Or perhaps it was the lingering effects of the ring that refused to give up even after its destruction. Either way, Frodo hoped with his entire being that the Undying Lands were the answer. That sailing west with the elves would heal this hurt upon his and Bilbo’s minds to show them true happiness once more.

Frodo watched his uncle’s face light up in pure delight when he deemed himself ready for ‘one last adventure’. It was so nice to see Bilbo coherent once more. That was the one thing he feared the most as he grew older, the loss of his wits. Seeing that he found them once more gave Frodo hope as he climbed into the boat with him. That hope was dashed within the first hour of their voyage.

“As soon as we land in Valinor, we must stop at the Gardens of Yavanna and maybe the Lands of Lorien before we head to the Halls of Aule.” Bilbo began to murmur excitedly.

“The Halls of Aule?” Frodo questioned with a laugh. “What business do you have in the Valar’s Smithy?”

“The Valar’s Smithy indeed.” Bilbo huffed. “I’ll have you know that is where my dwarves are, and I intend to see them.”

“Bilbo, my dear fellow, you and Frodo are the first mortals to get to visit Valinor.” Gandalf pointed out delicately.

“Meaning what exactly?” Bilbo asked with a raised brow.

“Meaning you won’t exactly have free reign to wander into anyone’s afterlife. You will be treated as a mortal in an immortal’s land.” Elrond answered gently.

The joy that had been shining in his eyes swiftly left making the already old hobbit seem nearly decrepit. After that, it was hard to get Bilbo to engage with them again. He just sat there looking out across the ocean with that pained look Frodo knew only too well. However, now he was wondering if the reason behind that look had nothing to do with the Ring. What if it had to do with something that happened during Bilbo’s adventure?

Frodo went to sleep that night wishing for more than anything to just be able to erase that look from Bilbo’s eyes forever. After closing his eyes, Frodo actually began to dream for the first time in a long time. He was standing amongst the stars where several tall figures began to appear.

The first was a blind man with hair fairer than Lady Galadriel. He looked over at Frodo and winked before turning to the rest of the gathering. With a jolt, Frodo realized what he was witnessing. He was in a meeting of the Valar, and that man was Lorien, Master of Dreams and Desires. As he spun around, more names became associated with the faces above him.

Lady Yavanna, earthy and proud, next to her husband in the dwarven armor and long red beard, Aule the Smith. Manwe’s electric blue eyes practically radiated the power as King stood next to his wife and queen, Varda, shining stronger than the stars around them. Mandos, Nienna, Este, Tulkas, every lord and lady Frodo had ever grown up learning about was present, and not a single one of them was aware of his meager presence. Well, until Lady Yavanna had the gull to wink at him.

“Why have you summoned us, Lorien?” The impressive voice of Manwe bellowed.

“To answer the call of your Chosen.” The blind Vala answered.

“Yavanna and Aule’s children?” The shadowed persona of Mandos questioned. “Have we not already granted them asylum?”

Yavanna shared a look with her husband, giving his hand a squeeze of support.

“After the service they have done us, is it too much to give them an audience?” Aule gruffed.

“Oh yes! Please, let us hear Frodo Baggins out.” Nienna pleaded her Mercy with tears streaming down her face.

Frodo suddenly found himself the intense victim of the immortals’ weighted gaze. The fact that his legs hadn’t given out on him yet was a strong reminder that this was only a dream.

“Well, let’s have it.” Este’s sweet voice, as the Lady of Healing would have, carried down to Frodo making him feel almost giddy. “What would you desire of us, Young One?”

Frodo gulped struggling for a moment to find an answer for the Vala.

“You see, it’s my uncle, Bilbo Baggins. I just want him to be happy. He doesn’t deserve to be so burdened. The choice to Bear the Ring was mine and mine alone, but Uncle...he just thought he was helping thirteen dwarves get home.”

Eyes shifted to Vaire, the Weaver, as she pondered Frodo’s request.

“It’s true there were many paths laid out before Bilbo Baggins, but...it was the fall of the Line of Durin that sealed his pain. I cannot free him without going back nearly eighty years in the mortal’s lifetime.”

Yavanna gripped Aule’s hand in support as his face twisted into a pained grimace.

“The three deaths in question were young and unnecessary, but unavoidable when considering the proximity of the One Ring that Bilbo Baggins carried at the time.” Aule pointed out.

“And we cannot surrender that front.” Manwe interjected. “This mortal’s pain is unavoidable.”

“Not necessarily.” Lorien gave a tight grin. “I have called us all here because I have heard the calls from both Frodo and Bilbo Baggins, and I believe there is a way to fulfill their desires. Vaire, could there be a path to peace created from the presence of Frodo Baggins after what the mortals referred to as the Fell Winter?”

Gasps were heard around the room.

“That far back?”

“Can it be done?”

Vaire seemed to give this a considerable amount of thought, and as she thought her fingers glided through the starry landscape as if she were sewing a pattern in the vastness of the sky. Her eyes widened at whatever it was she saw, and she turned towards the rest intrigued.

“There is a pattern I see. It’s very risky, but it can be done.”

“You’re asking us to risk the fate of the world on the happiness of a single mortal?” Manwe scoffed. “Why would we ever consider such a thing?”

“Because if anyone deserves happiness, it’s the ones we burdened with our shame and inaction.” Nienna cried out. “We must give Frodo Baggins a chance.”

Varda took that moment to address Frodo causing silence amongst the rest of the Valar.

“Frodo Baggins, do you understand what is being asked of you?”

“Forgive me, My Lady, but I’m afraid I do not.” He admitted.

She nodded gently but her voice still rang firm. “If we grant this wish for you. To see your uncle’s happiness, you will have to carry the One Ring once more. Could you bear such a burden again?”

Frodo hesitated and the pain in his shoulder from the Nazgul’s blade throbbed as if in denial of the deed that lay before him. He was broken from the quest the first time. Would there be anything left if he had to carry such evil once more? He came to the Undying Lands in search of peace. Peace for himself and for Bilbo. This entire conversation seemed to counter that point. His anxiety must have shown on his face, because Este’s calm broke through his dark thoughts. 

“I cannot see the future, Frodo Baggins. But I can feel out this timeline, and if you succeed, you and Bilbo will finally be free of the pain you carry.”

Frodo heaved a heavy sigh. There was really no question then, was there?

“I don’t know if I am truly the right person for such a monumental task as this. But for Bilbo...for myself, I would be willing to try.”

Tulkas laughed hard enough to shake the foundation upon which they stood.

“What did you do to these ones to make them so courageous, Aule?” He questioned.

Frodo stared at the smith in confusion as he just smiled fondly.

“I let my wife have some input in the design. She wanted them born with a healthy dose of hope.”

“Then let us carry that hope forward. Manwe, with your permission, I wish to send Frodo back in the timeline where he can make a real difference. He will remember much of his previous life, and he will know of the task that lies before him.”

Manwe sighed a gust that threatened to blow Frodo over. “So mote it be.”

“So mote it be.” Everyone else repeated.

Frodo looked expectantly up at Lorien who was gazing down at him softly. “Go Little One. May you fulfill all your wishes, and if you need guidance, may you always know where to find me.”

Slowly, the world faded around him until he was once again enclosed in darkness. Waking up instantly, Frodo found himself in a world much unlike the one he just left. And the first thing he noticed was how it was unbearably cold.

[veliseraptor]

onward and onward, 2.6k, maeglin, follows on this, this, and this (read on ao3), things continue to not get better, cw: self harm, heavy suicidal ideation, it’s not an ‘everybody lives’ au without everything being kinda terrible

They were nearly halfway to the Havens of Sirion before Maeglin realized that there were only three people who knew what he had done.

It struck him sitting alone, sleepless in the dark, and he started up, though the moment after he thought it it seemed obvious. If it were broadly known that he was the traitor who had given up Gondolin’s location, that he was the reason they were now homeless wanderers, that he had betrayed them all because he was weak and a coward-

He doubted that Turgon’s word would be enough to keep him alive.

What explanation had been given for his behavior? The guards that had watched him in the weeks before they left the city - what had they been told? What had been said about his choice to remain behind?

Perhaps it was explained as an act of noble heroism.

That bent him over laughing until he couldn’t breathe and just shook with it, his chest aching.

**

The Havens of Sirion had become a kind of signal fire. A fixed point in time and space that he could orient himself to. At night when he lay awake with thoughts spinning, he contemplated what would happen when he came to it. Idril said I do not want you dead. He and Tuor had not spoken since his first attempt at escape, when the Man had dragged him back. Maeglin was not certain if he was avoiding his uncle or if his uncle was avoiding him.

I do not want you dead. He ought to be pleased with that, perhaps. It seemed the closest he had ever come to his cousin’s favor, even if it was no favor but a desire to see him pay for his crime by living.

Once they reached the Havens of Sirion, he told himself, it would be easy enough to slip away. He spent enough time in solitude that it would take some time to mark his absence. By then he could be well away. Once they reached the Havens of Sirion, the Gondolithrim would have a home, a sanctuary, in place of the one that they had lost. Once they reached the Havens of Sirion–

He would have done - not enough, never enough, but there would be no more. He was already emptied out. All that he needed was to reach that signal fire, and then he could turn and fade back into the dark.

“It will be you and I,” he said to Anguirel. “Perhaps we will ride north, like my mother’s father, and see how far we get.”

“Who are you speaking with?”

Maeglin fell perfectly still, one of his hands curling into a fist, eyes closing. “Where is your mother,” he said, in lieu of answering. “Or your father, for that matter.”

“Over there,” Eärendil said, and it must have been accompanied by some sort of gesture, but Maeglin did not turn to look at him. “There’s no one else here.”

“No,” Maeglin said. “There is not.” He had never had much of an instinct for children, and still less with this one, and still less now. He had been symbolic of a hated bond, but if that was gone now he was just another member of a family that he did not feel he could claim.

“So who were you speaking with?”

“No one,” Maeglin said, after a few moments of silence. “Myself.”

“Was it no one or yourself?” Maeglin opened his eyes, frowning, and found Eärendil’s grey eyes clear and altogether too innocent. Of course he would be clever, like his mother. Who had apparently had a streak of mischief in her youth, though Maeglin had seen it little.

That line of thought gave him a pang, and so he held it close with the other knives that pierced his heart.

“Are you here for some reason, or simply because your parents are busy,” Maeglin said. Eärendil’s face fell a little. You should be kinder, chided a quiet voice, but it was quiet, and he had no more kindness in him anyway. If he ever had.

“I’m here because I wanted to see you,” he said, apparently determined not to be put off.

“Is that so,” Maeglin said blandly. Eärendil frowned at him.

“Naneth says that you are-” he seemed to be trying to recall exact words. Or perhaps trying to think of more diplomatic phrasing. “‘Troubled,’” he said, finally. Maeglin gritted his teeth and let out a short laugh.

“I suppose that is one way of putting it.” Eärendil’s brows knitted together, and Maeglin shook his head. “I am not good company for you, boy. Go on and find your grandfather.”

He didn’t move to leave. “Why?” he asked. “Why aren’t you good company?”

The strangest blend of rage and despair and exhaustion rolled over Maeglin like a wave, and he lowered his head into his hands, suddenly unable to bear his own weight. “Because I have done terrible things,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“Your mother knows,” Maeglin said. “Ask her.” There was a hard edge in his voice, like bitter iron. He forced his hands down from his face and gave Eärendil a cold stare. “You are younger than I was when I watched your grandfather execute my father. But you are old enough to know some truths.”

Eärendil’s blue eyes were wide, and Maeglin wished he hadn’t spoken. “Your father was...”

Do not speak to me of my father. “Go,” he said. “As I said. I am no fit company.” He stood and walked as swiftly as he could away, not knowing where he was going, only knowing that he needed to move and needed to be out from under this child’s eyes.

He wondered what Idril would tell him.

**

When he dreamed, his dreams were all of darkness and cold fire, and the fear that ripped the soul to shreds. His mother had been there, in the dungeons of Angband. Even now, Maeglin wasn’t certain if he had dreamed her or if she had been some phantom of Morgoth’s making.

There, she had been kind. Now, she cradled his face in her hands and said you deserve this.

Waking, he rose and walked out into the night, looking up at Varda’s stars, the cold in his bones. After a long time of simply standing still he took a deep breath and turned back, fetching Anguirel before heading for the edge of the camp. It was not too hard to slip past the posted guards - they were watching for intruders coming in, not going out. There was no cover, not here, but the night sheltered him.

Raised in darkness, fallen back into it. Child of twilight, Aredhel had named him, in defiance of Eol, in the tongue of her youth.

Maeglin walked with no real destination or intention, the sword heavy at his side. He looked north, toward where Gondolin had lain. There was a soft wind that brushed against his face like a caress, and he realized slowly that he was weeping, without sound.

If there had been someone to beg, he might have begged: have mercy. Instead he drew Anguirel and wrapped his hand around the blade. It did not seem to hurt as much as it should.

He returned as quietly as he had gone and bandaged the wounds. How long, he wondered. How long.

**

The High King summoned him.

That was how it was put: the High King summons you. Maeglin picked at the words, trying to decide what they meant. Interpretation, or exact words? Was it that Turgon believed Maeglin would not obey, otherwise, or because he sought to distance himself, speaking not as family but as the voice of ultimate authority?

Regardless, he went. Of course. He didn’t know what to expect; they’d scarcely spoken three words to each other since Maeglin’s confession of what he had done. That this silence was ending now…

A slight unease curled through Maeglin’s body before he quashed it. What did it matter? The worst Turgon could do was order his execution, and that did not truly fall under the category of worst.

“You wished to see me,” Maeglin said. Turgon stood with his back turned, and they were alone - no attendants, no Idril, no Tuor. Just the two of them.

“Yes,” Turgon said. It sounded as though it took great effort. “I did.”

“May I ask what it is regarding?”

“We have spoken little of late.”

“We have,” Maeglin said slowly. “I guessed you were busy.”

“I have been. But I have not meant-” He broke off. Maeglin thought it was probably because he did not wish to lie. “Idril brought it to my attention that you have been - isolated.”

“Of my choice, High King,” Maeglin said, and thought he caught a faint twitch of Turgon’s shoulder, but little more. He still had not turned.

“Of your choice,” Turgon echoed, and Maeglin could not read what was in his voice. He turned, at last, and his face was no easier to read but that he seemed weary. “Since your mother’s passing,” he said, “I thought of you as a son.”

A part of Maeglin thought did you, truly, or did you want to think of me as such while resenting me in your heart as the get of your sister’s murderer. The other part of him only flinched at the past tense, and wanted to ask and what do you think of me now? “You gave me great honors,” he said instead.

“I have tried to think how I did not see it,” he said, voice quieter. “How I failed to notice that something was wrong.”

I was a skilled performer, Maeglin thought, and, because you saw what you wanted to see.

“I think I did not want to,” Turgon said. “Because if I acknowledged the possibility that you might not have escaped capture as you claimed, then...the law would require that I put you to death as a potential spy.”

A laugh bubbled up in Maeglin’s throat and he forced it down, holding his silence.

“If I had,” Turgon said, still quieter, “without your warning...it seems likely we would not be alive now.”

Maeglin blinked, swayed back. “You were in danger at all only because of my treachery.”

“That is the irony, isn’t it?” Turgon huffed, a sound that was not quite a laugh. “Were it not for you, the city would not have fallen. Were it not for you, its people would not have survived - or at least, far fewer would have.” He shook his head, his grey eyes moving from Maeglin’s face. “Only I wonder if Ondolindë was Doomed from the moment of its founding, as all our works are.” The melancholy was heavy in his voice, and Maeglin did not know what to say. What he should say.

“My lord,” he said, halting, “is there aught you wish of me?”

“No,” Turgon said, after a long and strangling silence. “Nothing.”

He did not realize until those words were spoken that he had hoped for something. That he had wanted Turgon to want something, even if it was to send him away, even if it was a sentence of death, even…

He bowed, and turned to leave, relieved only that it did not seem Idril had mentioned her other concerns regarding his intentions. And at the same time-

At the same time, he was reminded of how it had been in the years after his return from Morgoth’s embrace. The dread of discovery, and at the same time the yearning for someone to see, to realize, to understand. To look at him and say Maeglin, what ails you?

He quashed the desire.

“Hold,” Turgon said suddenly, and Maeglin stopped, glancing back. He gestured. “What happened to your hand?”

“An accident,” Maeglin said after a moment. “I was careless.”

Turgon scanned Maeglin’s face, eyebrows furrowed, and finally nodded. Maeglin bowed again, and this time departed without interruption.

**

The wind was beginning to carry an unfamiliar scent - Maeglin did not know it, but he guessed that it was the sea. It was faint yet, but it portended an end to their journey. He closed his eyes and imagined it, or tried, but he had no idea what it would look like. Vast, he knew. And invisible, on the other side, Valinor. A place as distant as Varda’s stars, and as unreachable.

He opened his eyes, hearing someone approach, but did not turn.

“Maeglin,” said Idril’s husband.

“Yes,” he said.

“May we speak?”

“We are now, are we not?” He flexed his bandaged hand. The cuts underneath were mostly healed now, but he had left them wrapped. There was a long quiet, and at last he turned with a sigh to meet Tuor’s clear, bright eyes, his direct gaze.

“It has been more than a week,” he said. It took Maeglin a moment to parse the statement, and then he remembered.

“It has,” he agreed.

“You have not left,” Tuor went on. “Does this mean you have reconsidered?” Maeglin tried to read what was in his voice, but could not find anything to read: no hope, no caution, no disappointment. He wavered between honesty and falsehood, but of all those he knew here this Edain was easiest to speak truth to.

“No.”

“No,” Tuor echoed, and Maeglin thought he could hear it there: the faintest traces of disapproval. He let out a faint laugh.

“No,” he said. “I have not reconsidered.”

Tuor frowned at him. “What amuses you?”

He didn’t know how to explain. “Nothing. Do you ask because you intend to try to dissuade me? Because you, as Idril, believe I deserve this condemnation? You said you would not.”

That steady regard did not change. “It isn’t meant as a condemnation,” he said. Maeglin stared at him.

“That is not what you said before,” he said. “It is too easy. Those were your words.” Tuor said nothing, and Maeglin looked away from him, breaking his gaze. “I will follow until the Mouths of Sirion,” he said. “I will remain until you reach your new home. But no further.”

There was frustration, Maeglin thought, in that furrowed brow.

“I am not yours,” he said, with some desperation. “Nor hers. If some scrap of me remains still my own - allow me some choice.”

Tuor exhaled slowly. “I said I would not stop you.”

“And your wife?” Maeglin asked. “Will she?”

“I do not have command over her.”

No. Of course not. And Idril’s will was insurmountable. But he did not need to overcome her will; only her watch, and that he thought he could do.

A peculiar relief swept through him.

“I have never wanted to be your enemy,” Tuor said into the silence between them.

“I didn’t believe you did,” Maeglin said. “Only I wanted to be yours.” He sketched a slight bow and moved to go past him, but Tuor caught his arm.

“I will not stop you,” he said, “but I will say that I don’t think you should go immediately. Give it another week after our arrival while things settle.”

For some unknown reason, he was almost tempted to agree. Perhaps because he was being asked to stay, and some foolish part of him yearned for that ersatz welcome as much as he always had. The desire to belong, the desire to be wanted.

He detached himself, though gently. “No,” he said. “I have waited long enough.”

**

“How long?” Maeglin asked aloud, and a soft voice whispered back to him, soon.

[kurtty-drabbles]

Lovecraft/ LOTR AU

N/A: Canon is a polite suggestion here and yes, I´ll use the name Sauron here because I associate this character with this name...if you think is not fitting think this way: the main villain of Lion King is a dude called Scar and that wasn´t his original name...

@djinmer4 @dannybagpipesarecalling @bamfoftheundead @everykurt

Zaorva is the mother of all-not exaggeration or augmentation of the truth. Just the pure and undulated facts. Zaorva is the Mother of all- but it doesn´t mean necessarily that she owns all(maybe she does, maybe she doesn´t it. An Outer God´s will is hard to understand) and while she´s one of the few Outer Gods that can be label as saintly, still is an Outer God and no one ought to forget this.

Zaorva crafted carefully each piece of the Middle Earth. The skies (both of the mortal realm and the godly realm), the grass, the animals, the tress(Zaorva took a great consideration for the ents) and everything else the eyes could land on.

Zaorva has little rules and little patience for some cases, but, Sauron can say one thing about his mother (they call her Yavana even though they know she has several, if not endless, names. She was amused by the name that she allows it) is that she believes in free will.

"Once you make life...that creature can make its own choices" Sauron repeats her words that are still recorded in his mind. Sauron is one of the maias- a race she crafted after Pheonix aka Varda, as she likes to be called lately, makes her own race to worship her-who seems to be her favourite for some reason.

Well, she loves the ents and the ents love her, so, Sauron is not sure what to think in regards his mother preferences...well, truth to be told, not even Gandalf seems to understand their mother very well. ("if she likes ents, she likes ents. What´s there to understand Mairon?" "That´s not my name!" "Oh, you change...just like our mother")

His mother is here. She´s in every place in this garden, in this planet-sometimes, Sauron wonders about her own existence. The cosmic power is both frighting and truly wonderful and he can only imagine what his mother does with such power-and materializes when she wants or needs or both or maybe neither.

"Thinking about me again" she appears in her Yavana´s mask. Her presence is humanoid enough and yet is far from human (or elf or maia or anything that exist in this planet) and she giggles. Why? She can see something Sauron will never be able to and he ponders if this is a good thing or a bad thing. "Still a question, good...I like to see where it will lead" and Sauron does not get his mother.

"You have a mission for me" he changes the subject and she gentle- too gentle as a mother should but with little patience to give a full speech on why they´re looking a new garden that materialized now- points at the bluish flowers.

"Yes, I do..." and his frown broke a little as he can always count with his mother´s flowers being outwardly beautiful. He thinks in Galadriel -for a brief moment- and how she would love to see such sight. She serves and lives with Pheonix (or how she likes to be called here. Varda) but always loves Yavana´s flowers. "They´re prettier" and he smiles at this image. His mother knows how to craft a scenario.

Zaorva claps her hand pleased at his reaction. "I have a question for you, Sauron, and is very important" she beams at him and then makes her question without hesitation. "What´s the opposite of blue?" and again, Sauron does not understand what this question could possibly be or even mean.

"Oh Zaorva, love, how capricious of you!" a new voice joins the conversation and Zaorva turns to see him. Sauron knows his name as Melkor, but, really that´s not even his first name nor the last. IT is the void or he controls the void? No one truly knows...no one wants to know.

It gentle touches her long hair-the flower in her hair gets bigger and brighter as her face offers a pink hue-playing with the long lock of hair with his fingers slowly and forming a small brand on it- as he looks at the flowers and at the young and impressed Sauron.

"Any colour could be the opposite of any colour, love, it could be green, yellow ...but I think you want a thematic here. So, red is the answer" IT responds amused.

Sauron knows what IT is. No, he does not(needs to improve his lying skills a lot to be able to say this with a straight face). But people can agree on how powerful he truly is if nothing else.

His mother rolls her eyes. "Much better than the off colours" she mutters looking bemused at him for a moment. "What happened in Arkham?" and now IT is cuddling with her, still ignoring Sauron completely, and Sauron is not happy by this display.

"What I was supposed to do there...ended up quicker than I thought, so, I resolve to spend my time" and they can´t help to chuckle at this. Time is a joke for them and Sauron envies them. "with my dear Zaorva. Doing a new project?" his tone is loving.

(Galadriel wouldn´t believe him even if they were friends. Varda hated him  so much and is not above in sharing bad lies about IT)

His eyes are on Sauron´s form. And Sauron is truly fascinated by the jewellery display on IT´s helmet. Nothing comes out of his mouth or maybe there´s no chance for him to speak as his mother speaks for him.

Sauron is looking mesmerized at IT as his mother take the lead on the conversation. "Well, I was about to ask Sauron to guard the flowers, my blue roses. Impossible love, at is, is very good in helping create arts" she speaks and Sauron frowns at that.

Again, I can´t understand what she is saying.

"Will you protect your mother´s flowers?" and Sauron nods solemn hoping this would impress IT. Maybe it did, maybe it didn´t. All Sauron knows is that IT is taking Zaorva away using a hushed tone (he got a few words of their unique language: show something. But Sauron is not sure if is correct) and they´re gone.

And now Sauron is looking at the blue roses. "Impossible love? I don´t believe it..."

He´ll make IT notices him more than his mother. no matter what.

[theserpentsadvocate]

Varda and Kosomot for the meme!

Varda

What I like about them

We’ve decided unilaterally as a fandom that Varda is the Most Powerful of the Valar, yes? That.

What I dislike about them

Not enough lines, not enough information. Not enough decisive action, maybe? Manwe gets most of the flak for this usually.

Favourite moment

She distrusted Melkor from the beginning and just cut him the fuck off. There’s something really liberating in that - she didn’t wait until he did anything bad, she was just like ‘You skeeve me out and that’s enough. BLOCKED.’

Least favourite moment

Oof, I don’t know. I often find the farewell song part of Farewell To Lorien to be kind of boring, and Varda’s mentioned in the song?

A situation with this character that I want to see explored more

What happens when she and Manwe disagree about something serious? What are the dynamics there? How is it addressed if it comes up in front of the other Valar/the leaders of the Eldar/just everybody?

An interesting AU for this character

I read a dark!Varda ficlet once I really liked. I specifically remember that good!Melkor had a ton of fires so that the smoke would obscure the stars, because the stars were Varda’s and Varda was evil.

Or! The cop AU, where she’s the precinct’s captain and Manwe is her sergeant.

A crossover

Valar crossovers are hard, but I always think pantheon-switches are neat? So maybe with one of Tamora Pierce’s universes.

OTP (or OT3+ etc…. just… favourite ship)

I’m boring and like canon pairings. Varda/Manwe

Other ships?

Not really.

BROTP

With Yavanna.

NOTP

Morgoth. Ugh.

An assortment of headcanons!

-Varda is the Most Powerful in terms of sheer raw power. The only person who could really give her a run for her money in terms of effective power is Nienna.

-A certain amount of their relationship is Manwe worrying out loud and Varda sighing and saying, ‘sure, honey’.

-I read something somewhere about Varda and black holes and I don’t remember it clearly but yes that

Kosomot

What I like about them

Oh my gosh, he wants so hard to be a good person, it’s literally physically painful to me sometimes.

What I dislike about them

I guess he’s way too loyal to his dad at first, but like, can we blame him for that? I don’t like how enmeshed they are, but it’s 1000% Morgoth’s fault.

Favourite moment

Okay, the part where he gets caught by the Valar in Valinor and he’s afraid if they find out Veanne helped him before she knew who he was she’ll be in Trouble (and when you’ve been ‘raised’ by Morgoth Trouble is… Trouble), so he lies about how he got there and where he got his clothes (which were Aule’s originally, and Aule knows this) - but he’s literally only ever spoken to two people in his life, lied by omission to Veanne and was always to terrified to lie to his father, so he’s completely obvious, and the Valar are just… so fucking baffled, because he’s confessing to a bunch of horrible things, but he’s clearly lying, also he’s Melkor’s kid, why can’t he lie better, what the fuck.

Least favourite moment

When they lock him up in a cell with a bed and he doesn’t sleep on it because he doesn’t know what beds are, and then later when Manwe and Varda have decided to… keep?… him, they put him in a real room, where he doesn’t sleep on the bed because he doesn’t know what beds are, and that’s the beginning of them realizing just how Fucked Up he is. (Also I sort of love it in a perverse way.)

A situation with this character that I want to see explored more

The brief period when he lived with Namo and Vaire, I just… I mean, I want to explore everything more, but I am So Interested in his relationship with Namo.

An interesting AU for this character

He’s already an AU, but I like the modern!verse, particularly because his illiteracy is a Much Bigger Deal in terms of, like, functioning in society, both before and after he comes to the Valar’s attention.

A crossover

I’d be interested to see how he’d interact with Zuko, although it… it might go badly.

OTP (or OT3+ etc…. just… favourite ship)

Kosomot/Veanne

Other ships?

Kosomot/Freedom and self-respect

BROTP

With Runya

NOTP

(Platonic) Kosomot/Melkor is yucky.

An assortment of headcanons!

-He loves Khuzdul so much, because he never knew that reading or writing or more than one language existed, so when he finds that out and then learns that Aule made one he thinks that’s the MOST AMAZING THING EVER and wants to learn all about it. Aule… does not trust his motivations at first.

-He spends the first several decades at least of being in Valinor terrified of hurting someone… somehow… because he’s naturally Bad.

-He has such a hard time differentiating between Woman Clothes and Man Clothes, and everyone who tries to explain things to him just ends up wondering but wait… why… do we have gender roles…?? In the end he just memorizes a big list of What I Am Allowed To Wear and gives up trying to understand the distinction.

-He’s not a big fan of spiders, but they really like him.

-If he ever gets a chance to see a Silmaril up close, he’s actually going to be… kind of underwhelmed. He grew up half in a barren grey desert and half in the actual Void - when he first came to Valinor, lanterns were a beautiful shining light beyond his wildest dreams. Everything else is a matter of scale at that point, and Morgoth talked up the Silmarils a lot - there’s pretty much no way for them to live up to the hype for someone who used to sit and stare at mildly pretty rocks because he thought they were so fantastic.