#irmo my love

[cilil]

While Varda may be the Elves' favorite Vala overall, I think all the children in Valinor love Irmo the most.

He never tells them to sit down and be quiet, he loves listening to their silly stories and fantasies and he enthusiastically plays with them. Examples include blowing huge soap bubbles, conjuring colorful butterflies, building the best pillow forts ever, lily pad hopping, letting them pick flowers from his garden and making flower crowns, singing for them and telling them fairytales he either picked up somewhere or came up with himself.

Irmo is also (in)famous for falling asleep during hide and seek and never saying no to nap time.

[spiritarcticclawsw]

I'm not as well versed in Tolkien lore as I am with Elder Scrolls lore so, correct me if I'm wrong, but...

I'm not crazy for headcanoning Irmo/Lòrien as the god of sex right? Like, aside from the fact I have a ton of headcanons that de-align the lore from Christian ideals (cus I'm pagan and I think it's fun to be messy like that sometimes) but I just saw a post that was like "The Valar didn't have sex"

But Lòrien was the god of desire right?? And SOMEONE has to take on carnal desires and make sex pleasureable and you're telling me it's NOT the god of Desires???

Part of me headcanons Lòrien as like a Sanguinic/Dibellan (sorry for the TES comparison) figure who's sphere involves sex and beauty and all sorts of pleasure, and if you wanna get dark with it (cus I hc all the gods have darker aspects like Lòrien also gets nightmares that's fun) maybe he also gets like sadomasochism.

[dzhfaer]

Silmarillion #2

Okay, @skaelds , previous post was nice, but this is the real gift ☝️

Happy birthday girl, wish you all good that exist and nice time writing 👁️🫦👁️

[gadriezmannsgirl]

dad!ruben plissss🥹

You ask and I deliver😌 However, I'm sorry if this not what you wanted nor expected, did this at 3am😭 sorry. Let me know what you think, please!

O Meu Pai -R.D3

Summary: Vitória is daddy's little girl and her daddy, Rúben, loves her

"Toya, c'mon baby" You spoke lightly "C'mon we've to get you ready para irmos ao aniversário da avó Bernadette!" (so we can go to grandma Bernadette's birthday!)

"Are you and Pai matching?" You smile nodding

"And so are you, dear" You kiss your babygirl's four years old hair before getting out of her closet a light blue dress to match outifts with you and your six years husband, Rúben.

You listen to her sing some children's songs as you got her clothes on her, as soon as you turned around to grab her shoes a knock on your door came in.

"Como estão as minhas meninas?" (How are my girls, doing?) Rúben asks pecking inside the room "Meu Deus!" (My god!) He gasps "You are so pretty!"

"Pai!" Vitória yelled in your ear as you were putting her shoes on

"Don't yell in mamã's ear, baby" You tell her with a small smile getting behind her to do her hair

"Sorry, mommy" She said softly kissing your hand.

You smile looking at Rúben who has a loving look on his face, whenever he tells you "Sorry" he gives a kiss on your hands or cheeks and your daughter picked up on it.

"No worries, baby" You kissed her cheek too and start working on her hair.

"Vitória, did you get your present for avó Bernadette?" Rúben asks, sitting next to her

"I did! I did a drawing for her!"

"Where's is it? Let me put in the bag so we don't forget about it"

"Right there!" She lifts her arm and points to her small table.

Rúben gets up from the floor and goes to her table to grab the drawing she made, you see the smile on his face and instantly smiled to yourself. You finished her ponytail and secured the small braid you did at the side.

"Vitória, baby. Why don't you go to the living room and play for a bit with Simba and Nala?"

"Is everything alright?" She asks seeing her dad silent

"Yes, babygirl." You say "I gotta talk to daddy really quick"

"But make it quick 'cus we're going to be late!" She says before getting out of her room.

"Just like her dad" Rúben laughs softly "Everything good?" You get up and stand right next to him

"I just can't help but think our baby's growing so fast. She used to draw the big and happy sun at the side of the paper, now she does it on the middle!"

"She's still young, Rú" You giggle "Also, she's learning that the sun comes out from one side and hides from the other, maybe she drew this in the early afternoon?"

"Or maybe she's just growing up?"

"Well, that's life and it's cyrcle" You kiss his shoulder "You're still going to be the man of her life, always. You know it, right?" He nods

"Until she gets married"

"No. You'll still be" You shake your head "But there's a long way until that happens. So let's enjoy her and her early life before she turns 18, starts brining guys home and wants to do a piercing"

"That will not happen!" You laugh kissing his lips

"You're cute. C'mon, grab the drawing and let's go. We'll be late if we stay here and missy Vitória Y/L/N Dias, doesn't like being late"

"She really doesn't"

"I'm telling you, just like her dad" He wraps his arm around your waist, pull you closer to him and kisses your lips softly

"You look gorgeous"

"And you look extremely handsome, love"

"My wife picked this outfit for me"

"She's a fashionista" You whisper before kissing him once again

"Mãe! Pai! Hurry up, we'll be late!" You open the door from her room as you both went out

"Toya, come on babygirl! Let's get to grandma's!" Rúben says before you hear a small "Finally!"

°°° °°° °°°

"A mãe e o pai estavam a demorar muito tempo!" (Mom and Dad were taking too long!)

"Guys" Iván, your brother in law says looking at you and at Rúben "Keep it in your pants"

"Jeez, we weren't doing anything!" You reply "We were actually talking about Vitória's boyfriends?"

"Do you have boyfriend's, Vitória?"

"No! They are little ugly monsters who will only infect me!" She said before running to her dad's legs

"That's right, baby" Rúben says, you give him a look but he doesn't act on it

"Boys will not infect you, Toya" Beatrix, one of your in-laws, says with a small smile

"Either way! I don't wanna be contaminated" Toya says nuzzled in her dad's shoulders, her small arms wrapping around his neck

"Jesus Christ" You mumble to yourself before taking a deep breath

"That's my girl!"

"Rúben!" All of you scolded him as he opened his eyes and mouth

"My daughter, my ways to evite her heartbreak"

"Filho" (Son) Joao, Rúben's dad, says softly with a small smile "You're just like me"

"Like father, like son" Bernadette says making you all laugh.

"Hey, Vi" Carolina asks "Want for me to paint your face?"

"No. Pai"

"C'mon, minha filha" (my babygirl) "I bet you'd look pretty with a pretty drawing and some glitter on your cheek. Would you like that?" She nods

"But I want to cuddle with you, pai"

"You behave like a good girl with your tia and then we will cuddle while watching some cartoons and eating some food mamã and avó did, what do you think?"

"Yes, please" Rúben put her down watching Vitória run towards her tia and then laughing with her.

"I think she's too spoiled by you" Your voice comes in through the now empty living room

"Nah, I don't think so" Rúben smiles "She's just my babygirl"

"And you're her pai. She definitely preferes you over me"

"That's not true" You give him a look and after some silence he answered. "She's just a daddy's little girl, that's normal"

"She is"

"I love it"

"I know you do"

"I love you"

"And I love you too, Rú" You smile

"Can we start practicing for a sister or brother for her?"

"You want another one? Right now?"

"I do" He nods "You?"

"I do" He smiles getting closer to you so he can kiss your lips "How do you think she'll react to a sibling?"

"Mad because you are hers, I'm hers and nobody else's"

"We will have to explain that to her" You nod

"But let's wait 'till baby is in the oven" You mention your tummy "once that happens we can start planning everything"

"You're getting lucky as soon as we're getting home" You laugh blushing. Thank heavens you were the only ones in the room.

"Mãe! Pai!" Toya's voice gets closer "Look at the bee, tia made!"

"You look so pretty!" Rúben says impressed "So you're the queen bee, right?"

"I'm princess Bee, mãe's Queen Bee and you're King Bee, pai" She gave you a kiss on the cheek and a kiss to her dad.

"That's correct, love" Rúben kisses her non-draw cheek. "Ready to cuddle for a bit? What do you want to watch?"

"Barbie Princess and the Pauper!"

"You always know my favorites, don't you?" Rúben asks underneath his breath as he gets into the couch finding a nice and comfy spot

"That's why I ask for them, they're our favorites!"

"We need to sing our hearts out!" Toya laughs shaking her head

"Pai, this isn't our house to yell"

"Well, I'm sorry. But we can't watch a Barbie movie without feeling it at it's fullness"

"You're right, pai; so let's sing it then!"

°°° °°° °°° °°°

Taglist: @gaviymarcsbride @stuckinaf4nfiction @elijahslover @azzpenswrld @http-isabela

[curufiin]

Okay i am pissed enough about this:

MIRIEL WANTS TO BE LEFT THE FUCK ALONE IN MANDOS.

edit: read my bloody reblogs and comments before you make an opinion bc i am not repeating “how is any of this Indis’ fault actually” again

NOTHING Finwë could’ve said and done would’ve changed her mind. and to people who say “he should’ve waited for her”, HE FUCKING DID.

But in the bearing of her son Míriel was consumed in spirit and body; and after his birth she yearned for release from the labour of living. (all of the following are from Of Fëanor and the Unchaining of Melkor)

Then Finwë was grieved, for the Noldor were in the youth of their days, and he desired to bring forth many children into the bliss of Aman; and he said: ‘Surely there is healing in Aman? Here all weariness can find rest.’

Manwë delivered her to the care of Irmo in Lórien. At their parting (for a little while as he thought) Finwë was sad, for it seemed an unhappy chance that the mother should depart and miss the beginning at least of the childhood days of her son.

The maidens of Estë tended the body of Míriel, and it remained unwithered; but she did not return. Then Finwë lived in sorrow; and he went often to the gardens of Lórien, and sitting beneath the silver willows beside the body of his wife he called her by her names. But it was unavailing; and alone in all the Blessed Realm he was deprived of joy. After a while he went to Lórien no more.

Now it came to pass that Finwë took as his second wife Indis the Fair. She was a Vanya, close kin of Ingwë the High King, golden-haired and tall, and in all ways unlike Míriel. Finwë loved her greatly, and was glad again. But the shadow of Míriel did not depart from the house of Finwë, nor from his heart.

But the children of Indis were great and glorious, and their children also; and if they had not lived the history of the Eldar would have been diminished.

From Peoples of Middle Earth:

points that may explain the conduct of Feanor are here recalled. Miriel's death was of free will: she forsook her body and her fea went to the Halls of Waiting, while her body lay as if asleep in a garden. She said that she was weary in body and spirit and desired peace.

Her weariness she had endured until he was full grown, but she could endure it no longer. (If you want to come at me with some drafts quote bs, right back at you. Here she raised Feanor to adulthood.)

But Miriel was reluctant, and to all the pleas of her husband and her kin that were reported to her, and to the solemn counsels of the Valar, she would say no more than 'not yet'. Each time that she was approached she became more fixed in her determination, until at last she would listen no more, saying only: 'I desire peace. Leave me in peace here! I will not return. That is my will.'

When it became clear at last that Miriel would never of her own will return to life in the body within any span of time that could give him hope, Finwe's sorrow became embittered.

It was judged that Finwe's bereavement was unjust, and by persisting in her refusal to return Miriel had forfeited all rights that she had in the case; for either she was now capable of accepting the healing of her body by the Valar, or else her fea was mortally sick and beyond their power, and she was indeed 'dead', no longer capable of becoming again a living member of the kindred of the Eldar.

Death by free will, such as Miriel's, was beyond his thought. Death by violence he thought impossible in Aman; though as is recorded in The Silmarillion this proved otherwise.

From Morgoth’s ring:

But since it is not to be thought that the living shall, by his or her will alone, confine the spirit of the other to Mandos, this disunion shall come to pass only by the consent of both. And after the giving of the consent ten years of the Valar shall pass ere Mandos confirms it. Within that time either party may revoke this consent; but when Mandos has confirmed it, and the living spouse has wedded another, it shall be irrevocable until the end of Arda. This is the doom of Namo in this matter.'

It is said that Miriel answered Mandos saying: 'I came hither to escape from the body, and I do not desire ever to return to it'; and after ten years the doom of disunion was spoken.

It is said that Miriel answered Mandos, saying: 'I came hither to escape from the body, and I do not desire ever to return to it. My life is gone out into Feanaro, my son. This gift I have given to him whom I loved, and I can give no more. Beyond Arda this may be healed, but not within it.'

Then Mandos adjudged her innocent, deeming that she had died under a necessity too great for her to withstand. Therefore her choice was permitted, and she was left in peace.

Ulmo actually says that had Finwë waited longer, Miriel mightve returned, to which Vairë literally immediately responds with

'Nay!' said Vaire suddenly. 'The fea of Miriel is with me. I know it well, for it is small. But it is strong; proud and obdurate. It is of that sort who having said: this I will do, make their words a doom irrevocable unto themselves. She will not return to life, or to Finwe, even if he waiteth until the ageing of the world. Of this he is aware, I deem, as his words show. For he did not found his claim on his desire for children only, but he said to the King: my heart warns me that Miriel will not return while Arda lasts…

I can’t be bothered to find more but seriously. This isn’t even about Finwë or Míriel or Indis anymore, is it. This is about all of you demonizing and chastising a woman for daring not to be the perfect mother, blaming another person’s FREE DECISION on her, and then turning around and getting defensive when people call you misogynist.

And the way you guys talk about Míriel too borders on involuntary confinement as well. Míriel was absolutely miserable on Arda, and she found peace again in death (which cannot be compared to human death because we cease to exist when we commit suicide. Elves do not. So elven death is more akin to returning to some faraway home where you are still existing in the world than poof, gone.), but you guys seem to so want her to be forced to stay in a place that she hates because… oh no! Her child would be affected! That’s fucking ridiculous. Míriel should be allowed to choose what she believes is best for her, and y’all need to stop blaming it on Indis or Finwë because this is not the moral high ground you think it is.

Stop demonizing women in media because they dare do something that your favorite blorbo dislikes. You are part of the problem.

[cilil]

✩‧₊˚⊹ᶻ Headcanon ✩‧₊˚⊹ᶻ

Irmo can - and does - sleep everywhere and whenever he wants. sometimes it looks pretty and peaceful like sleeping beauty, other times he falls asleep in the middle of something important, for example a Valar council meeting, in the weirdest possible positions, looking like an oddly folded pretzel, or singing/talking in his sleep. neither light nor noise bothers him, and if you manage to wake him up don't be fooled - you only did it because he's happy to see you and decided he wants to talk to you🌜

[doodle-pops]

The Ainur | With A Short Reader

Request: Can I make a request for headcanons for how the Ainur would be with a short human reader? Around 5 foot tall? Like an elf of about 6 feet would only reach up to some of their chest or lower still, considering they’re like 7-9 foot tall. Would they be cute, teasing, protective, frustrated by the height difference? P.s. I love the way you characterise all the Ainur, it really feels like their personality, you do a fantastic job. - anon

A/N: Happy to fulfil this request and learn that you enjoy my characterisations of them anon. I tend to envision the Ainur as nothing less than nine feet since they are deities and display their power through their heights. So you’re going to appear super short next to them. Nonetheless, Enjoy!

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ Manwë

The bird was too stunned to speak. Are you a child or dwarf, certainly that could not be your final height at the end of your growth? Unfortunately, it is your complete height which makes you appear as a little bird before the great King. Now his nickname ‘little bird’ makes more sense.

He cannot fathom how you can be the same size as a bean and packed with all that sass whenever he mentions how tiny you are. You require a ladder if you ever reach his head for a ‘level-headed’ talk.

Has no issue picking you up with one hand and carrying you around like his personal comfort toy when he’s having a bad day. Anyone commenting or teasing gets a look that speaks about them receiving a bolt of lightning.

Let us not forget his avian side which is going to fawn over how adorable you are. You’re tiny and squishy, perfect for belonging in his nest where he can shower you in affection all day long.

The size difference is outstanding. Just picture a baby lying in their parents' bed, looking like a little nugget among the pillows…that’s what you appear like anytime you snuggle in his bed. On numerous occasions, he didn’t see you and almost squished you under the sheets.

With your size, it means wearing his robes and marching around his room or Ilmarin pretending to be him while he silently watches from afar. You are drowning in his robes, don’t even wear his shirt, it’s a gown on you.

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ Irmo

Your size doesn’t change the way he’s going to shower you with ultimate love and affection. Apart from the minor teasing he’ll conduct for the fun of the situation, Irmo loves you the same way if you are tall.

A gentleman who enjoys using the opportunities when granted to lift you over puddles or streams so he can fawn over how you fit in his arms. He (and the others) can lift you with his pinkie and has done it before.

You are authorised to always sleep on his chest—you look like a kitten sleeping on his chest in his eyes—mainly because you like to roll and so does he and nothing good has arisen from you both rolling together.

Gets lost in crowds and he panics. He’ll be walking around asking if anyone has seen his little lover and he will give descriptions. “They’re about 5 feet, this short and very tiny. They look like an elfling…”

Saw children’s clothing on a walk with you in a boutique, did not know they were for children and excitedly stated, “Oh look! I believe these would look lovely on you! They even have your colours.”

Do not be upset with him, he didn’t know that it was children’s clothing. Irmo only wished to share the moment of shopping with you. But worry not, he gathers the best seamstresses and tailors to fashion you the finest wear that looks nothing like children’s clothes.

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ Námo

Has a smile on his face anytime you take the lead and walk in front of him, hence his reason for always telling you to lead the way. He’s a simple Vala, he wants to watch as you waddle like a duck with your short legs as you take him to Eru knows where.

Pretends to complain when you ‘borrow’ his robes because you missed him, but gushes mentally at the sight of how you’re drowning in his forever monochromatic black robes.

His viridian eyes were soft at the sight of you walking around, dragging his robes all over. The idea of complaining about getting them dirty has disappeared, and all he is thinking about is how you look like a penguin.

Your feet running across his halls are the equivalent of tiny pitter-patter and it’s how he can easily distinguish your presence; just listen for the tiny footsteps. But it never works out well when you’re among elves and lost in a crowd.

The first time you met his brother, Irmo mistook you for a child Námo adopted and congratulated his brother on softening up to the idea of children. To make matters worse, you played along—much to Námo’s annoyance—and clung to his arm, calling him ‘atar/daddy’.

Irmo was elated, you were dying of laughter and Námo was contemplating his life. He couldn’t believe this was the humour he signed up for the moment he fell in love with someone shorter than most individuals.

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ Ulmo

Mistook you for the child wandering the shores the first time he saw you in the distance and scolded you for playing in the deep waters without parental supervision. That was until he learned you weren’t a child and your permanent height for a lifetime.

‘Pebble’ was the most suitable nickname he gifted you since pebbles were small and cute…like you. Plus, he brings you pebbles, seashells and pearls from the ocean floor as a token of affection.

Because you’re smaller, your strokes as you swim alongside him are slower, so he’ll call the seals, dolphins or whales to swim alongside you for assistance. You’re even allowed to ride them anytime you two are swimming out in the depths.

Since Ulmo’s true form is staggering, he opts to appear around the same height as you are anytime he has to walk the earth. His favourite place to have walks would be the beach obviously.

Hand holding while watching the sunset and he’s quietly staring at your short fingers holding his larger hand. He loves holding your hand to fawn over the size. He would even slip on a cute ring with a pearl one day.

Because Ulmo is known for having no resting place as he wanders the waters of the world, he enjoys visiting your home. It’s even better if you live near a lake for him to have easier access to seeing you frequently. Cue Ulmo marvels at how small your household items are as he picks them up.

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ Oromë

Congratulations, you are the perfect size to sit on all of his creatures (and him) to ride through the forest with him. He cannot get over your tiny figure because he knows that you’re about the same size as an elfling and all his creatures are larger than you.

Roughhousing is a thing that occurs between you both and he gets caught up in the experience to forget how easily he can send you on a trip to Estë for healing…because it has happened multiple times.

Picks you up like a sack of potatoes and slings you over his shoulder when he has to carry you somewhere and you’re being troublesome, or he wants to randomly surprise you. You’re as light as a feather as he runs with you through the forest.

Swinging from his muscular arms anytime he flexes his muscles for you? Yes, yes you do, and he loves it. Fuels his ego to know that he’s strong and his lover can climb him like a tree. Clinging to his muscular physique and probably biting him? Yes, you do that he calls you a tiny beast who needs to be tamed.

Not the type to underestimate the size of a creature you can ride because of your size but is also cautious at the same time. Wanted to gift you a Shetland pony because you were small enough to ride one, but back out last minute knowing that he would receive an earful. Gave you a giant-sized tiger or dog as a companion.

You wear his pelts and pretend to act like him, attempting to wield his bow—sweetheart, you couldn’t even draw the strings—as though you were hunting.

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ Tulkas

No different from Oromë and will playfight with you using the strength in his pinkie finger and you’d still have to bandage some body parts because accidents happen all the time. No worries though, he praises your injuries and makes you feel as though you fought a great battle with him.

He has no doubts, dismisses your strengths and associates them with your size having seen many great warriors display outstanding strengths and feats despite their size. Instead, he encourages you to take pride in your size and all the greatness you can accomplish.

You got a workout buddy, or rather he got a new dumbbell to lift or someone to sit on his back for push-ups. Your weight is inconsequential, but it doesn’t stop you from enjoying the fun in the moment.

Also picks you up like a sack of potatoes and carries you around the place, introducing you to all his close friends and elves. Anytime you need to speak ‘eye-level’ with him, instead of going to lengths to climb tables or a tree, he’ll kneel to your level.

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ Melkor

Getting called dwarf, child, or both the first time you meet will result in him changing the names and calling you a critter if you attempt to attack him for calling you short. Probably ‘ankle biter’ might be your new name because he denoted that small things have the most rage.

You’re a ferocious ankle-biter in his eyes whose nerves he enjoys getting on because your responses are hilarious. It’s all in jest…or maybe not.

Nothing of his will ever fit you, that also means trying to wear his crown with the Silmarils. It’s currently sitting on your neck as we speak. All you can do is make versions of his outfits tailored to your size.

You’re smaller, so his hands can cover your entire face. Know what that means? Squish your cheeks as you speak to admire how soft and dough-like they are. “Hm, ankle biter, you have remarkably soft cheeks,” he says while squishing your face.

There’s nothing you can climb on to meet his height because he makes sure that there isn’t anything around. He wants you to break your neck looking up at him (bite his ankles and he’ll reach your height).

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ Eönwë

“You’re like a hummingbird minus the speed,” he chuckled upon the first sight of your tiny figure. You were lucky he didn’t consider you a lost child who wandered before him in search of help because he was ready to call you ‘child’.

I have to say, Eӧnwё is the best person to try the same ‘daddy’ prank on when you’re walking through the streets of Valimar but clinging to him and acting like a child for the elves to fawn over how adorable the interaction is. There is always an elf who inquires for you to look them in the eye and say, “This is my atya!”

His avian side adores your tininess; and makes you all the more delicate and squishable. You are never again going to leave the nest…just joking, but his protective side goes up a notch because you are TINY.

I mean, he loses you in a crowd easily and you can’t even jump high enough to show your location. You can climb a table or chair but still have to get past the sea of heads before Eӧnwё spots you.

Gets you the smaller version of everything so you don’t have to struggle with holding the larger objects. He once watched as you climbed a chair as if it were a mountain or fought with a glass of wine because the glass was too big to hold.

At least going on flights doesn’t change whether you’re extra small or bigger. Visits in the morning and takes you to watch the sunrise over the mountain from a bird’s eye view.

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ Tilion

Doesn’t matter if you’re tiny or tall, you still look the same from his view in the sky as he guides the moon. But he does melt at the sight of you looking up at the moon.

You are forever his ‘little deer’ even though you’re probably feisty and love to bite or nibble on his arms all the time. Similar to Oromë, carries you around like a sack of potatoes over his shoulder, but more for the fun of watching your short legs dangle.

Doesn’t alter the size of any furniture so he can observe your legs dangling over the edges and sway, or the size difference between you and the table designed for a nine-foot entity.

Roughhousing is a constant must-have between you both because he adores pinning your smaller body under his and making you fight back. Tilion just wants to watch you struggle and wiggle like a worm. Bite him.

Puts you to sleep on top of him because it is the safest option unless you want to be crushed under a giant nine-foot Maia, and you look like a tiny kitten curled up on his chest. The only thing he hasn’t done is pick you up by your scruff.

He’s such a tease when it comes to you both riding through the forest. Tilion will purposefully place you behind him so you can’t see a thing and then tease you about being too small. But it’s all in jest because he’ll have you ride an elk or reindeer or even a pony that was handpicked to match your size.

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ Mairon

He also assumed you’re an ankle biter as well because he called you short and you were ready to attack. Please, do not release him from your tyranny because he will make fun of your height and pat your head or rest his arm atop your head when he’s resting. Again, bite him.

Complains about your short legs and how slow you are when you’re walking side-by-side but comes to you later to ask for assistance because some tool of his fell into a small hole and you’re tiny enough to get it.

Tells you that he’ll feed you to his wolves if you don’t stop clinging to him when in truth, he loves it. You’re small enough to not be a distraction as he moves about his forge or the fortress, but it’s just Mairon being a tsundere.

Doesn’t see you lying in his bed because his bed is huge and you’re extra small, so he almost lies atop your body. It’s turned into a staring match like how children stare you down without blinking.

Has a tendency to carry you around, for funsies, by holding onto your belt or grabbing the back of your clothes so you dangle as he powers through the corridors until he arrives at his Lord holding you like a briefcase.

Deep down, as much as he teases your size, he enjoys the differences. Watching you fight to lift an object made for his size or dress in his clothes—if you’re brave enough to try this—is entertaining.

Masterlist

Taglist: @ranhanabi777 @lilmelily @mysticmoomin @rain-on-my-umbrella @asianbutnotjapanese @batsyforyou @mcwentfandomtraveling @involuntaryspasms @stormchaser819 @aconstructofamind @addaigio @lamemaster

[cilil]

oh my gosh I just fell in love with Irmo all over again thanks to you😭💜 he's so sweet and nice and caring and beautiful and gorgeous and amazing and lovely and dreamy and -

I love everything about this and I hope we can all discover the path of dreams and hang out with him as well🥺🦋

thank you so much for sharing this💜

Sweet dreams are made of this

Dear @cilil & @edensrose, as you have encouraged me, I have - as promised - a tiny surprise for you.

Here is a small ficlet about dear Irmo with art by @the-red-butterfly. (-> Link to the OG post)

Please support our local artists!

Words:

Warnings: Mention of grief, slight innuendo

Characters: Irmo & OC

With a groan, Lilla rotated her lumpy pillow once more.

It had been 4 days of bad sleep since the terrible loss she did not dare think about during her waking hours and she was at the end of her rope; grumpy and skittish, she could no longer focus on her work or talk to the people she liked without being haunted by the gnawing fatigue that invariably turned her tongue to lead and her head to stone.

Her days were an endless, torturous drudgery and all she could think about was the safe harbour of her dark, cool bedroom. As soon as she laid her aching body down to rest though, the precious restorative slumber eluded her stubbornly, chased away like fragile mists fleeing from the icy winds of unprocessed grief.

By the fifth day, she had gone through most of her friends' helpful tips and resigned herself to trying one of those overpriced applications that promised to put even the most insomniac of lunatics to sleep in under 30 minutes.

“You are walking down an ever-shifting path,” the droning voice of a man resounded from the tinny speakers of her phone, “and the world around you is scintillating with faerie lights.”

Lilla rolled her eyes; the narrator of her “relaxing bedtime story for adults” sounded as if he was suffering from a debilitating toothache. His diction was unbearably vague and dull and – far from being soothing – it made her skin crawl with impatience.

“Visualise your peaceful descent down a soft slope dotted with iridescent flames,” he went on as she shifted uncomfortably under her uneven duvet. “In the distance, you can just make out the soft gurgling of water.”

Of course, Lilla thought with irritated dismay, there would be a river or a lake in that fantasy landscape; she yearned for a story where something happened rather than to be taken on an imaginary walk through an honestly ludicrous panorama.

Nonetheless, she kept her lids shut and tried to imagine the sights described to her in so unappealing a fashion until the picture came alive in her drowsy, feverish mind.

There was no sensation of abrupt falling but rather a barely noticeable shift from reality into the scenario painted onto the crumbling, cracked walls of her fragile mind.

A red butterfly materialised in her thoughts and – as its iridescent, delicate wings moved slowly – she found herself traversing the mirror of the mirage.

Her body felt lighter and nimbler as her bare feet touched the impossibly soft, velvety earth that cut through endless expanses of gently swaying grass and lush vegetation.

Lilla recognised dispassionately that she was no longer safely ensconced in her bed as if having her consciousness transported through space and time was a common occurrence that warranted neither further investigation nor frantic alarm.

Fearless, she advanced slowly as if knowing exactly where she was headed, her toes curling into the yielding, malleable ground.

Soon, a bend in the path led her past a group of trees speckled with dancing dots of pure starlight, and she smiled at the pacifying tableau of playful magic; her guiding butterfly tarried for a moment – weaving in and out of the flickering luminosity – before moving on down the path languidly.

Without having to turn her head, Lilla was intimately aware of the small pond at the end of her dream route; affectionately nodding her adieu to the blurring flecks, she let her feet carry her onwards to follow her winged escort.

Instantly, her surroundings changed, and she now found herself looking down on the expected small body of water, surrounded by lavish greenery that swayed in a fragrant evening breeze.

Despite the ruins dappling the periphery of that wholesome scene unfolding in front of her unfocused eyes, there was no desolation to be felt in the mellow mood of this wondrous place which almost struck Lilla as having been painted by the hand of some old master with bold strokes of vibrant colours bleeding into the tranquil background of softer, dreamier tones and shades.

As her momentarily clouded vision cleared once more, Lilla froze in astonishment for – even though the scene before her was exactly as the still blabbering voice in the back of her mind described it – there was an element which was distinctly out of place: there was a creature standing in the tiny lake.

Seemingly tending to one of the plants it was encircled by, the being – ephemeral and enchanting – turned its calm, dreamy attention to the approaching intruder without malice or enmity.

Its almost colourless hair seemed to float around a strangely captivating face - lit from within by some unearthly refulgence - as if it was drifting in an invisible, intangible, and yet undeniably potent ocean of peace of its own making.

“Welcome,” the unlooked-for presence greeted in a sighing, wispy voice. “I am Irmo, Master of these lands.”

His enticingly lithe shape was only veiled from her dumbfounded eyes by swathes of translucent fabric that clung suggestively to the strangely luminous skin of his shockingly amoral nudity.

“Where am I?” she whispered automatically as she drew nearer, attracted by the glorious willow tree behind him that seemed to weave spells of solace and soothing into the soft night air.

Her eyes caught a flash of carmine and ruby as her little friend settled peacefully on a nearby blossom to enjoy some well-deserved rest after chaperoning her so diligently and reliably through a foreign and confusing world.

“You are in the gardens of Lórien,” the creature calling himself Irmo informed her with a subdued smile. “They are whatever you want and need them to be and – I must admit - this is a particularly charming setting you've come up with.”

“It’s not mine,” she admitted sheepishly, “I am listening to one of those terrible stories that… Ah, never mind!” Her mouth snapped shut with a muted sound as embarrassment flooded her in the face of his evident but benevolent incomprehension.

“I have been worried about you,” he then said, wading leisurely through a colourful carpet of pristine water lilies towards the gentle upslope of the bank. “You have not visited us for a long time. I have started to miss you!”

Lilla blinked as he seemed to vacillate like a badly transmitted image for a moment; tall and slender, Irmo – Master of the Dreamlands – had the beatific face of an angel and the affectionate smile of a pure soul.

He was beautiful in a way she instinctively knew to be virtually impossible for any mortal to achieve; there was an understated perfection and an air of transcendence in his mien and demeanour that made her body tingle with curiosity and excitement.

Could he really know every sleeper in the world and keep his eye on them continually?

“It is good to see you again,” he went on and bent down to breathe a kiss onto the crown of her bowed head as he reached her. “Restful sleep is of the utmost importance as you well know.”

Mildly surprised, Lilla realised that the sheer fabric of his loose robes did no longer bear any traces of the dark water she had seen him standing in only a few moments prior; indeed, with every elegant movement he made, they billowed superbly in the zephyr that was redolent with the scent of healing herbs and delicate flowers.

The wondrous individual all but hugging her now exuded himself a faintly sweet, powdery smell that made her lean towards his utterly beguiling presence with all the shameless eagerness of a sleepwalker.

“Was I in your story then?” he then asked whimsically and sniggered innocently.

“No, no, I don’t think so,” Lilla replied, no longer certain where she thought he had sprung from; surely, it could not have been her who had conjured up an entity of whose existence she had not had any inkling, could it?

“I am Polilla,” she then introduced herself and automatically mirrored his pleased, bright smile as it broke like a midnight sunrise across his gentle, pleasing visage.

“Oh, that’s a wonderful name,” he exclaimed happily, humming a small tune that seemed to attract the butterflies and other small, winged creatures that had hitherto been flitting aimlessly across the polished silver surface of the deserted pond. “You were destined to be mine! Sit, please.”

The grass beneath her palms as she settled on the perfectly kept and yet charmingly wild lawn was indeed as silky and cool as she had imagined it to be, and a strangled sigh of contentment escaped her as she watched, enraptured, how the animals called forth by his song swathed him in a living cloak of colour and movement.

“You are beautiful,” she whispered in a fitful gasp of shameless honesty, “like a pleasant dream.”

“Oh,” Irmo cheered and lifted his long-fingered, elegant hands to his sculpted cheeks in a gesture so bashful and sweet that it made her giggle. “That is such a nice thing to say. I’ll have to tell my brother!”

“You have a brother?” she yawned, lulled into a state of blissful serenity by the chiming quality of his fluid voice.

His unnaturally handsome face softened even further, and he gestured for her to lay her weary head into his lap; as soon as she complied, he started running his fingers through her hair rhythmically, infusing every fibre of her being with a peculiar sense of deep yearning and nascent satisfaction.

“Your story is finished,” he remarked as the underlying droning voice of the far-away narrator died down, “but – if it would please you – I can tell you another one while you rest.”

Lilla’s tongue was comfortably numb by now and she didn’t dare move her head for fear that it would disrupt his tender ministrations; hoping that he would interpret her silence as the acquiescence she tried to convey by thought alone, she kept still and let her eyes drift shut.

“So, I am the youngest,” Irmo started in a mellow, melodious voice. “My oldest sibling is my brother Námo – he’s a bit of a stern curmudgeon on the surface but a real dear once you get to know him – and my sister is Nienna, the Lady of Mercy. She’s thought of you often lately too.”

Lilla sighed as an echo of the sorrow he was describing swallowed her like a wave.

“Námo keeps and tends the souls that have departed,” Irmo continued cautiously, “and he undoubtedly is conscientious and steadfast in his relentless and often ungrateful task. The sleepless grief of the living though falls into my domain and the one of my dear sister. Allow us to soothe your pain.”

The enchanting anthropomorphic form he had donned to meet her seemed to melt and when Lilla pried one eye open, he appeared to be made of warm light and pure solace.

“There is healing in slumber.” The words seemed to materialise within her foggy thoughts now without passing through any of her senses and yet, Lilla was not in the least alarmed by this intrusion. “And you are in dire need of recuperation and succour.”

Ripples of purple light – warm and soft as physical caresses – passed through the ocean of her unspoken agony at his words as his care enveloped her like a blanket.

Every remnant of anxious distrust abated as his essence pervaded all her senses and dulled her aches into a sensation profound comfort.

The sleep that had evaded her for too long finally settled on her exhausted soul and she uttered a deep, shivering sigh of relief as her mind went blessedly blank in his compassionate embrace.

“You can always come here,” he promised, “and rest in these gardens. From one moth to another, I vow that I shall ever only be a thought away. Rest now, little Lilla, and when you wake, you shall feel refreshed and restored.”

It was early afternoon when Lilla opened her eyes to a blindingly sunny day.

Stretching and yawning, she realised with a start that she felt more like herself than she had in many long days.

She was loath to admit it, but it seemed as if the stupid app and its terrible narrator had actually achieved what they had promised by lulling her into deep, recuperative sleep.

As her hand patted the mattress beside her pillow though, she noticed with a start that her phone was no longer where she had left it the night before. It now sat neatly on the bedside table and – in its stead – lay a single branch of a willow tree, covered in iridescent drops of dew that glistened in the golden light filtering through her badly drawn curtains.

“A trip to the library,” she muttered and lifted a hand to her head in confusion as she noticed the lingering scent of waterlilies swaying in a fresh breeze rippling across cool water.

As her fingers moved unsteadily, she found another inexplicable surprise: her hair – usually ruffled and knotted after a good night’s sleep – was now sleek and clean as if it had been brushed by some ghostly hands during the night.

Lilla, who had stopped believing in anything supernatural long years ago, mouthed the name of her gorgeous benefactor like a rudimentary prayer and got up – filled with an energy and a zeal she had not felt in ages, it seemed – to find out more about him.

So, here is my little surprise and my contribution to the effort to make Irmo be universally loved.

It was - as ever - a blast to collaborate with my darling friend @the-red-butterfly who's just a fantastic artist and a lovely person!

Lots of love from me!

[lamemaster]

The Valar and Men Body Swap

AN: Very unhinged. Shitposting. Do not read if you do not want to loose your faith in my humanity. Clearing my drafts.

Disclaimer: For research purposes, our team paired each Vala with some selected Men/Women. A study to experience the other end of the spectrum. No Vala or Man was harmed in this study.

Manwe and Ar Pharzon:

Ar Pharzon: standing on Valarian soil flicking off Manwe on the opposite shore

Manwe: Has...huffs do mortals breathe so heaving gasping awfully?

Concerned eagles continue flying around.

Ulmo and Tuor:

Tuor: This is cool and all but am I supposed to be hearing all these fish chatting around me?

Ulmo: No, you can shut that out. Just will yourself to do that jazz hands

Tuor: So how do you like it? stares weirded out looking at himself from a higher angle

Ulmo: floating on the water with shades on Lovely

Nienna and Turin

Turin: sobbing aggressively I cannot stop. By Eru, someone take Beleg out of this room or I will flood this place.

Nienna: flexing muscles How wonderfully solid secondborns are, and she never went back to her form, Neinna the morose but jacked Valier

Beleg: equal parts aroused and confused Call me when they're normal

Mandos and Beren

Mandos: I've had Luthien as my wife, for a day but if anything happens to her I will kill everyone in this room and myself.

Beren: knitting next to Vaire this is awesome.

Varda and Andreth

Varda: (the chosen day landed on the day of Andreth's period) I feel rage. Shut up Manwe. And Eonwe, can you not breathe so loud for once?

Andreth: ha💸ha💸ha💸ha💸 laughs in Aman rizz

Aule and Isildur

Eru: Aule, put the darves down.

Aule: No

Isildur: Currently being dragged around by Yavanna I don't even go here

Irmo and Beor

Beor: Lounging in Silver Lakes nice place dude

Irmo snoring

[overlord-of-fantasy]

Valar and orcs

I recently discovered @zrii-the-orc who really motivated me to continue with my fanfic "Under the surface". And for that I have a question. As we established in this poll, we assume that some elvish traditiones survived in equaly twisted forms or dreams.

But:

I can't add more options and let's be honest: They would fear Varda and Ulmo.

[tiutale]

Erestor sent a look to every elf he passed as he approached the practice grounds. Most had left out of respect to their captain. The nosey ones left out of fear of the councilor. 

He let his eyes roam Glorfindel's frozen form as he knelt beside a fallen leaf. Just one leaf. One of brilliant greens swirled with white definitions through its body. A unique variegation not seen in many of this species. 

Glorfindel's bow lay on the ground beside him. His quiver of arrows full. He had barely begun his practice before memory overwhelmed him. Stepping slowly and silent, Erestor folded himself to sit beside his mate. 

Neither spoke for many moments. Perhaps hours. The wind caressed the leaf carefully held in the Vanya's fingers. Even the birds held their joyful songs in reverence of the melancholy sitting upon the golden sun of their valley. 

"They leave like leaves in the fall." 

Erestor raised an eyebrow and looked to his mate. He kept his peace letting whatever had struck his love process and seep out of his mind. 

"They all left. One by one. Some in groups. The wind swept them back over the seas and I have nothing here to remind me-" his voice seized as his fingers let the leaf fall. "He left me. I-" 

Erestor began to understand. Since the twin' birth Glorfindel had spent the Summer Solstice apart from the family. Usually on patrol for months. This time Elrond forbade it. Now he understood why. He had suspected his mate had been running. But he would not push. 

"You are angry with him. For his choice?" 

Glorfindel turned the leaf by its stem his brow furrowing. "I cannot be. Choice is the most precious thing left to us." 

Erestor turned his body and face Glorfindel. "You do not blame him but you are still angry with him.* he paused, watching carefully choosing the moment. "You blame the three of them for letting you leave valinor to." 

Sharp emerald eyes looked at the councilor. Shimmering with tears they flashed in anger. "This was my choice-" 

Erestor glared.

"It was a choice influenced by words from those who care for you making assumptions on what would make you feel your role is accomplished. It was not a choice of your own will Glorfindel. It was a choice pieced together by influence." 

Glorfindel's anger dissolved into shocked confusion. "What do you mean?" 

Erestor took a soothing breath through his nose. And let it out slowly. He had avoided this conversation long enough. "Your return was of the Valar's making. They knew well that presenting you with the offer would lead you to seek advice from those you cared for most. They also knew those elves were far to damaged from the events of their death. They would leave their advice aside assuming it was what you wanted and give their blessings. It was *never* a choice given to you." 

Glorfindel's eyes widened leaving the pooled tears to slip down his cheeks as realization set in. "You-knew this-" 

Erestor raised a finger to wipe the wet lines from his mate's face. "I guessed it. But I also know how those fools operate. They *knew* your heart would drive you to return. They *knew* your family would assume that is what you wanted. I would not put it past Irmo to have a hand in that influence either. None of you truly chose this of free will, Fin." 

Glorfindel's eyes narrowed and he let the leaf fall. "Do we have free will Erestor?" He turned to his mate as Erestor moved closer, grabbing his cheeks and pressing their foreheads together. 

"Aye Meleth. This is free will. Being here. Choosing to protect this peace. Choosing to seek solace with one another while our hearts beat together. Choosing to set expectations aside and live how we wish. We have it here. Now. With no influence of their make." 

Glorfindel closed his eyes, tears slipping down once more. "I miss them, Erestor. So much so my breath stops and I feel my heart would cease beating." 

Erestor let his lips sit against Glorfindl's as they spoke.

"They are with you Meleth. In Song. You only need to quiet the pain enough to hear them." Rubbing his nose against the other's he smiles lightly. "We are here to keep you until you see them again. Do not let despair take the heart of your fire." 

Glorfindel let out a shuddering breath and raised his arms to take Erestor into a fierce hug. His face buried in his shoulder, his own body shuddering with the release of his sorrows.

[mamwieleimion]

Feanorian fall from grace

What if the Valar favoured the feanorians? Wouldn't that make the Darkening and all the Kinslaying even more tragic?

I say yes, so let's dive into it.

So obviously, we start with the easiest Feanorians.

Feanor, Curufin, Nerdanel (yes I'm counting her in, no I will not be answering questions as to why) and Celebrimbor (yes, he also counts, yes he is the cinnamon roll of the family, no that does not make him any less of a chaos agent and mischief maker).

So they, of course, were favoured by Aule. Don't ask me, why (it should be obvious), when nor in what way.

Maybe he guided their hands when they worked, helping them along. I don't know. I'm a writer, and I honestly can't say what smiths, jewelry makers nor sculptors do (that's a lie, it's literaly my thing to say/write something in a way people think I know what I'm doing.)

Second - Maedhros or then Maitimo Nelyafinwe (yes, I'm puting his mother name first, no I will not explain myself). I feel like he would be favoured by Nienna, or Manwe, or both of them. It's a hunch. Nothing more. I just like it. Also maybe, a strong maybe, Este. Because Maitimo is the healer and peace maker of the family. He cares for others and their well being.

Celegrom and Ambarussua are favoured by Orome. They hunt, they love to do it, they care about nature and the hunt and nature cares and loves them. That's the story. Orome is pulled in by the fire of Feanorions and it stays like this (even the kinslaying couldn't fully break the connection)

Caranthir. I headcannon thet he sewed, like Miriel. And thus, Vaire. They are cool with each other. And both like history. I have no idea what is really happening and I'm okey with that. For more detailes go to them. I, however, take no responsibility about what you may find there. (a tea party, and cookies)

And finally Maglor. Here I had a problem bc I had so many ideas and at the same time, none. So heres a list of Valar whom I considered and a little bit of why:

Ulmo - for rather obvious reasons, like you know, wandering the shores, singing to the sea and all that.

Irmo - I know, I know, not something you might expect but.. who is Maglor if not a dreamer at heart? All articians are.. And Maglor can wave his dreams into reality of others minds with his song. So Irmo it is.

Varda - and, here even I paused. Because I have absolutely no idea where it came from. And then I started to consider it and here we are. I think Maglor loves the stars, and Varda likes his voice so here we are, once again. (I will not be answering questions on this one.)

Nessa - I have absolutely no idea. It just feels right and so it shall have a place on this list.

So.. yeah. I know Feanorians and Valar usually don't mix, but the fall from grace would be.. great (not great great but Great). I will maybe write a follow up blog on this about said fall from grace. I might not. I don't know, we will see if motivation strikes me anytime soon.

[nyarnamaitar]

Ulmo Comforts His King

(AKA a small Ulmo x Manwë drabble I wrote in 5 minutes and decided to throw into the Void)

— — — — — —

He is still not looking at you. He raised his eyes briefly, yes, to meet yours, but he quickly lowered them again. His face is very pale and he seems smaller somehow, curled into himself. He has always been quiet by nature, contemplative, the trappings of his position forcing him to speak more and louder than he would do if he were not crowned king. But this is no comfortable quiet of his; his features too neutral, the curve of his spine too tense.

“Highest?” you ask, trying to get his full attention, trying to connect as you have always done whenever you are together. “Manwë?” you add, pushing, when he remains silent. You are growing desperate, you realise. It has been a while since you have last had a real, private moment with your dearest friend. You miss him. At first, when Melkor — Morgoth, the Eldar call your foe now, deservedly— betrayed you and yours, destroyed the Trees, and fled to his stronghold in the North, Silmarils in hand, you came speeding to your king, and during and in-between the long hours of council, you fought the urge to pull him to the side and let the words I told you so, did I not? He was never worthy of your mercy, let alone your love roll from your lips, but you fear that he heard them anyway. Ever you have failed to keep your heart hidden from him.

And now it has come to this: the radiance of your lord dimmed, his heart and soul surrounded by tall walls, his eyes averted from yours.

And though his demeanor does not come as a surprise — your kinsmen warned you — it still pains you to the very core of your being. He barely speaks to me, Námo said, and when he does, he only ever asks for advice of a political nature. He stares at Vairë’s tapestries in silence. He no longer visits Irmo’s gardens.

We used to enjoy sitting together, Yavanna and Vána told you, enjoying the sight of flowers in bloom and the touch of the wind in the meadow. Now he rarely strays from his mountain home. Even the birds feel his absence; their songs are muted.

My love is grieving, Varda confided, he needs time — or so he told me. But I know his heart and I worry. Sea King — Ulmo — friend — will you not talk to him?

So now you are here, in front of him, yet no words are sufficient to encompass the enormity of what you feel, what you wish to tell him. I know you are ashamed; do not be. I know you believe I judge you; I do not — I never did — I only ever sought to protect you. I know you find yourself unworthy of your station; do not condemn yourself so. You are by far the worthiest among us. Please believe me. Please allow me to stand by you, as I have always done. Do not push me away, where I cannot find you.

His soft-spoken words, almost whispers, take you out of your reverie. “Sea King — Ulmo — what brings you here?” he asks, as if he cannot quite grasp why anyone would willingly seek out his company. It is this uncertainty, this self-hatred you hear in his voice that makes something balk within you, scream in outrage. You have to make this right. Now. You go to him, almost running, and before he can flee into hiding, you take his hands and kiss his wrists — his pulse is like the thunder that precedes a storm —, his open palms. You pull him closer to you and you look up. The walls are down, finally leveled, and you see tears clouding his blue eyes. He bows his head in sorrow. You embrace him, and he goes willingly, curls himself against your chest. Something slumbering within you unwinds and comes to life. From this day forth, you swear to yourself, you will not waver from his side.

[cilil]

WOW!😍

he's so pretty and I love the robes and the background and everything - awesome work!💜

HI OMG- I GOT CAUGHT UP IN WRITING.

Here’s the Irmo drawinG MANY HOURS LATER I’M SO SORRY

🙇🏻🙇🏻 HERES YOUR DINNER Y’ALL

[pearlescentpearl]

Rebirthed!Maedhros AU

The previous post was getting long enough to be cumbersome, so we’re starting fresh.

Presenting; Part 8! Utúlië lómë

Findekáno’s funeral is a tense, shellshocked affair

Naturally, the entire family attends. Ruining all previous efforts to evacuate them

Maitimo cannot look his aunt and uncle in the eye; it was his idea to run back to Tirion

It’s alright if they blame him. He blames himself too

Fëanáro furiously checks and rechecks the stained glass windows, looking for proof they were tampered with

After the fifth time, Ñolofinwë takes a hammer to the broken window until not one shard of glass remains in it

Anairë takes a bigger hammer to each and every stone in the receiving hall touched by her son’s blood until only rubble remained, forcing Finwë to order new flooring

The sight of Findekáno bristling and bloody from glass shards is one that will haunt them all for a long, long time

Maitimo drifts about as one hollowed out, thoughts and emotions trickling out of him like sand through cracks. He, Angaráto, and Aikanáro attempt to find some solace in each other’s company, but in truth Findekáno was their strongest bridge, without whom a chasm seems to gape between them

He wanders Tirion instead, unable to bear company, not knowing what he’s looking for

(That is a lie, he knows exactly what he’s looking for)

He admits it’s a lie when he finds Melkor in the smithy district and the drought-stricken, hollow places in himself flood with rage. Such wrath as he has never known, he snatches up a finished knife from a smith’s stall and attempts to drive it through Melkor’s heart right then and there

The confrontation is unspeakably public

It takes three people to restrain him

News gets back to Manwë

A trial is called at Máhanaxar

It is every nightmare Maitimo knew it would be

He accuses Melkor of seven murders; he has no proof to back it up

Melkor speaks, and it is lies and ruin. He tells of how Maitimo is one of his former victims, freshly remembered, and confused by the horrors of the past. 

“How ashamed I am for the pain I have caused him!” Melkor declares before all. “I’ve done what I could to help him reconcile the past with the present but-- oh, but pain is never reasonable. After several accidents befell his loved ones it must have touched too close to my shameful past actions; he blamed me to explain his pain.”

“Do not blame him, brother,” Melkor entreats. “He is hurting. He needs help, compassion, understanding.”

Nienna rises, moved by this plea, and joins her voice to his

It’s the final nail

Manwë rises and makes his judgement known; “To act from pain is understandable. But to deliberately cause more pain by your actions is not acceptable. If time and healing is what it will take to mend this; hereby do I declare Maitimo Nelyafinwë Fëanárion is exiled to Lórien, to abide under Estë and Irmo’s care, for the next ten years--”

The uproar in the House of Finwë is beyond outrage

“--may he find the peace of mind he requires to live joyfully once more,” Manwë finishes

The hollowing shock settles in again. It’s over. It’s really over. He’s ruined their chances of exposing Melkor. Whatever he says now, whatever his family says, it will always be tainted by this day. The uphill climb has become a mountain, an encircling Pelóri trapping them within

This is his fault

Again

“--fine then! Fine!” His father is shouting somewhere behind him. “If my son is to be exiled, then so shall I be as well!”

“Fëanáro!” Finwë exclaims. “Lower your voice!”

“I will not!”

No. No, no no no

Hasn’t his family suffered enough from his actions?

Maitimo turns and pushes his way out of the crowd surrounding the Ring of Doom; his family, many of his friends, a number of quietly observing Vanyar. Many familiar faces try to greet him, but he cannot bring himself to speak

A hand lands on his shoulder. “Give him some air, people!” Ñolofinwë shoos them away, firmly steering Maitimo out into the open field around the great thrones of the Aratar

Maitimo lets himself be led

He owes his uncle this

He got his son killed

“Well,” Ñolofinwë says. “Well--” he cuts himself off, face spasming

“I’m sorry,” Maitimo says, miserable

“For what?” Ñolofinwë asks, voice tight

“Everything,” Maitimo says. “Running headlong into a trap. Losing my temper in public. Discrediting our entire family in front of the absolute last person I should have. Take your pick, I have many things to be sorry for.”

“Nelyafinwë,” Ñolofinwë says, hand tightening on his shoulder, “the only reason you are on trial for attacking Melkor is because I failed to get to him first. The only reason.”

His head snaps up at that

“If I am mad at you,” Ñolofinwë continues, “it is mostly because I am jealous. I should not be. I wouldn’t have fared any better than you. But still--”

“Still.” Maitimo nods

Ñolofinwë claps him on the shoulder, mouth tight, gaze on the horizon, and. Maitimo supposes it’s forgiveness of a sort

It’s good enough

“There you are!” Nerdanel cries, crashing into his side, clinging to him in hard hug

Makalaurë hits his back with his own hug, only letting go to elbow Curufinwë in the gut so Ambarussa can get there first. It feels good to be surrounded by his family’s smothering affection, shores up some of his crumbling foundation

“Father’s not really exiling himself, is he?” Maitimo asks his mother, face buried in Tyelkormo’s shoulder

“We all are,” Nerdanel hisses furiously. “This is outrageous!”

“Not to Lórien though,” Carnistir says. “We need a place we can fortify.”

“We’ve got some ideas,” Tyelkormo adds. “Don’t worry about us. We can handle this.”

“Who all is going with?” Ñolofinwë asks wearily, looking awkward and alone outside their huddle

“Just our House,” Nerdanel says. “Fëanáro’s insistence. Too many other people need Finwë for him to leave, you and your family chief among them. Unless you want to come with?”

Ñolofinwë snaps around to look at her. “Fëanáro is letting me have father?”

“He’s not heartless, law-brother,” Nerdanel says, stepping away to hold out her hand. “He doesn’t hold you so far away he can’t be moved to pity by your grief.”

“I-- alright.” Ñolofinwë grabs her hand, squeezes briefly, lets go to bury his face in his hands, turning away, shoulders shaking. “I might... might join you later. Not now, but. Later. Later.”

“We’ll be waiting.”

The trip to Lórien is the quietest and unhappiest yet

But not the most hopeless

Not quite

[cilil]

Irmo Lórien is the least heterosexual person to ever end up in a functional and loving heterosexual marriage.