#manwë/námo

[edensrose]

Manwë: .. .----. -- / ... --- .-. .-. -.-- [translation: I’M SORRY]

Námo: What's that?

Manwë: Remorse code.

Námo: I'm even angrier now.

[cilil]

Author's Note: Requested by the lovely @edensrose. Love you dear🖤

⋆ ｡･☾ Drabble ⋆ ｡･✩

A Silent Promise

Of course he knew. He always does.

Pairing: Manwë/Námo | Calamórë

Prompt: "we'll meet again" kisses (no. 16 of this lovely post)

Synopsis: Before Dagor Dagorath, Manwë and Námo share a quiet moment together

Featuring: Fluff & comfort

Short oneshot (~700 words)

It's the end and Manwë knows it. Eru remains silent, yet when he listens to the quiet song of his winds, he can hear the final chords of the Ainulindalë, the ancient symphony he and his kin sang so long ago. An eternity almost, though perhaps the weight of many ages merely distorts his perception. 

The Elder King rises from his throne as if responding to a silent, imperceptible call and walks through the halls of his palace until he reaches one of its many balconies where he shifts into his other accustomed form, a great white eagle, and takes to the skies with his mighty wings. His fellow Valar and the Maiar, at least the chiefs among them, know what to do, he reassures himself. Manwë knows that the others will need him there as well, but before he can join them there's something he needs to do, so instead of the fields of Valinor he hurries to the Halls of Mandos. 

He can sense Námo even before his keen eyes spot a lonely dark figure on top of a cliff, looking up to the sky as if he's been expecting his arrival. 

Of course he knew. He always does.

Manwë lands close to the silently waiting Vala and shifts once again before approaching him. Námo's fána is covered by black robes and he has his hands folded in front of him, though one thing is different about his usual appearance–his veil is gone, no longer obscuring the beauty of his features. 

"Námo," Manwë greets him and holds out his hands for him to take, their fingers intertwining. 

As he allows himself a moment to admire the Fëantur, trying to commit every detail to his eternal memory, he notices how tired he seems, almost frail, despite the divine power slumbering within his fëa. It breaks his heart to see his beloved in such a state, and he doesn't need to ask why; he knows Námo must have had many visions of the end, pain and suffering of both the past and the future weighing on his fëa. The master of fate always insisted on battling these demons on his own, refusing to burden anyone else with such knowledge. 

Yet Námo seems calm now, at ease even, and lets his lover draw him into a tender embrace, strong arms and warm wings wrapping around his fána. 

"I know you gave us a prophecy and that you are probably forbidden from telling us any more than you already have," Manwë says and caresses his cheek. "But still, I wonder..." 

He doesn't finish the sentence. They both already know what it is that he's worried about. 

Námo looks up at him and his viridian eyes shine unusually bright, as if the Flame Imperishable that once kindled his fëa flares up inside him, contrasting the almost deathly paleness of his appearance. His gaze says more than a thousand words, and within the storm of emotions threatening to break free after ages of being suppressed Manwë sees something he recognizes all too well. Estel. Hope. The very thing he has always tried to inspire within others.  

"Many ages have I waited for this," Námo says finally, his voice firm and clear despite the state he's in. "For Arda to be healed, so that I no longer have to be afraid of what I see in the future." 

His arms wrap around the king's larger form and once again Manwë's heart aches as he notices how fragile the Fëantur feels in his embrace. Yet his worry soon melts away when he sees a tiny, almost shy smile appearing on his lips before Námo leans in to kiss him–a silent promise that they will find each other again in the Second Music, a last glimpse into the future before they face the end of time.

His lips feel cool against the warmth of the Elder King's skin, and his kiss is soft and longing at the same time. It reminds Manwë of the countless times they watched the sunset together and saw how the night would gently embrace the sky like a veil of peaceful darkness. And as he closes his eyes and allows himself to melt into the kiss, he finally feels at ease as well. 

If you enjoyed, please consider liking and reblogging!♡

masterlist | tag list form

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Hi darling!! I'm here to request some calamórë smut for your lovely writing💕

So for some reason, my mind is only going to throne sex with a lot of authority kink and power play sprinkled in. Perhaps something along the lines of Námo being a bit of a brat that led to Manwë wanting to rectify his behaviour by showing his lover who his king is<3 you can let your mind go wild honestly — even if it's something like Námo riding Manwë on his throne hehe

No rush or pressure!! I hope this request is okay, if not that's totally alright you don't have to do it — have an amazing day sweetie!! ♥️

Nothing like some throne room fun! I hope you don't mind, but I used a couple of things of yours for inspo, one where Manwë calls Námo my little raven, the other where Manwë uses his control over air as a form of breath play. I hope you like this.

"Begging"

🦅Pairing: Manwë x Namo (Calamórë)

🦅Themes: Smut 

🦅Warnings: Kissing | Choking/ Breath play | Dirty talk/Degradation | Cock warming | Spanking | Masturbation | Explicit language | Penetrative sex | Cream pie 

🦅Word count: 1.7k words

Summary: Sometimes, when it comes to the High King, nothing short of begging would do.

Rating: 🔥🔥 | Minors DNI | 18+

Want to be tagged? Want to know the rules? Read all here. 

The throne room had grown dark, save for the light of a handful of candles. And it was cool, with the wind that blew in through the large windows that were opened to the sky. It was a most breathtaking sight: the swirling clouds, the full moon, and the countless glittering stars. 

Námo wanted to see it—that breathtaking view one could only see from the halls of Taniquetil. He longed to go to those wide open windows and look out into the night and think and dream. Unfortunately, he couldn't. Not tonight. Námo was forbidden from doing so as punishment for vexing the High King. 

And how Manwë relished this, watching him try not to squirm and not prolong this torment the High King inflicted upon him. "How do you fare so far, my little raven?"

Námo took a deep, steadying breath and tried to make himself more comfortable when Manwë spread his legs just a little wider and pushed himself in a little deeper. "Well, my king," he breathed as he adjusted to the feel of his lover deep inside of him. His robes had been pulled open, exposing his skin to the cold air that danced all over it, raising little goosebumps in their wake. "But how much longer must I have to-"

The sharp smack that reddened his thigh again ripped a gasp out of him. "You will warm me as long as I deem it necessary, little raven," Manwë uttered regally as triumphant lust shone brightly in his lapis eyes. "And not a moment before that."

Námo trembled—oh, how he trembled. Not just from the jolt of pleasure that washed over him when Manwë's palm marked his thigh, but from how Manwë took command of him, never relinquishing control even for a second. It made him want to yield, to submit and obey, and he did, his tongue silent, his palms folded neatly over his lap.

The sight of him all meek and submissive made Manwë groan softly in delight. "See how obedient you are, little raven. So meek and pliant." He sighed and relaxed into his throne, making himself more comfortable amongst the silken cushions, his skin tingling whenever Námo whimpered due to his movements. Oh, and how glorious it was to see Námo exposed to him like this, to feel the heat of him around his length. "Perhaps I should reward you a little for your compliance," Manwë said, bringing his hands to Námo hips, his palms kneading gently at the flesh beneath silken robes that had been thrown open. "Touch me."

"My king," Námo shivered at the command and did as he was bid, pushing away Manwë's disheveled robes out of the way to run cool palms over the pale fana beneath them. He swallowed as his eyes rested on his lord's, his ears tingling with the gentle rustling of Manwë's folded wings. And Manwë's eyes, how they never left his, the deep, vivid blue of them growing darker and darker as lust and wanton desire hammered at him.

"Very good, little raven," Manwë closed his eyes, humming softly as Námo's touch left him lightheaded and weak. And weak he would not be. Not tonight. "Now keep still again."

Námo's whine was rewarded with another sharp smack that drew a moan out of him. "Behave, little raven," Manwë hissed, drunk on the deep, drugging sound he heard. "For this is what you deserve."

And Námo knew it. He had teased the High King today, not letting him concentrate on his duties, filling his ears with wild and dark things, and acting bratty when Manwë didn't yield easily. And now he was paying for it by having to warm the king and wait. It was agonizing, oh so agonizing, to be made to wait like this. But it was all so good too. How Manwë felt inside him, stretching his walls, how his hands left stinging bruises all over Námo's thighs. And how he looked, seated upon his throne, very much the image of a king. It was enough to make Námo forget himself and plead, "Please my king. I c-can't take anymore."

"Begging so soon, little raven?" Manwë crooned, his eyes never leaving Námo's, those beautiful orbs of glassy black and silver. "My my, what a weak little slut you are."

"My king," Námo shivered when large, warm hands left his hips and glided all over his torso and his thighs, toying with him and playing with him, leaving his entire fana aflame. "P-please."

Manwë grunted in satisfaction. There was something about Námo's pleading that aroused him and made him want to hear more. "I like you begging. Keep doing it."

Námo swallowed and pressed on, eager to please. "My king, I just want you to take me in any which way you desire. It would be a great honor if you did."

Manwë tilted his head to one side, bringing his hands to Námo's hips again. What he heard was enough to drive him insane, but he kept control of himself for now. There would be plenty of time to let go later. "Really? Do you really want me to use you however I please?"

Námo took it as his cue to continue. The darkened look in Manwë's eyes and his curt, regal nod were proof enough of it. "Please my king, I beg of you to do so."

Manwë growled again, this time tightening his grip on Námo's bare hips, his fingers leaving little crescent-shaped bruises in their wake. "Hmm. Perhaps it is possible," he hummed, his own body tensing with growing need. But Manwë would not say yes, not yet. He wanted Námo to beg a little more. "But convince me some more."

"Please, please, my king, I would do anything to feel you moving inside of me," Námo breathed, his breath hitching when fingers dug into his flesh. He closed his eyes, hoping and praying that Manwë would say yes, for he was already turning into a trembling mess. "Please, my king," he pleaded again.

"You need to try better than that," Manwë ordered, thoroughly enjoying this hold he had over Námo.

And Námo begged again, his very blood heating at the thought of submitting himself like this. "Please my king. I'm aching to feel you moving inside of me," he licked his lips when an idea struck him. "Perhaps... Perhaps I could move instead. It would honour me to do so."

And that did it. Manwë smiled a wide, wicked smile that would always leave Námo weak in the knees. "Very well," he sat up straight, hooking his arms around Námo's waist. "Go on. This cock isn't going to fuck itself."

His order was like the crack of a whip, and Námo groaned, taking Manwë's face into his hands, and dragging him in for a kiss. He started to move, rocking his hips in slow, rhythmic motions, his breath hitching when Manwë's arms tightened like vises around his waist. He felt so tight and hot that Manwë sighed into his kiss, holding Námo tighter, one hand sneaking up his back and around Námo's throat.

"Touch yourself," Manwë ordered, his hand applying gentle pressure over Námo's throat. "Touch yourself while I fuck you."

Námo, already losing himself to Manwë's ministrations, couldn't help but comply. He reached down with one hand, wrapping it along his length and stroking it in a rhythm he liked. He forced his eyes open and found Manwë looking at him, his eyes burning brightly as they bore into his. "I should deny you," Manwë kept up that delightful grip around Námo's throat, his heart pounding at every mewl and whimper his touch incited. "For teasing me and distracting me."

Námo whimpered when Manwë moved in sync with him, matching his rhythm for rhythm. "I'm s-so s-sorry m-my k-king."

"You should be sorry, my little slut," Manwë retorted as a dark and sinful thought swirled in his mind. He used his power, controlling the very air that went into Námo's lungs and giving him just enough to take shallow breaths. "And I should have continued admonishing you instead of rewarding you like this."

Manwë applying pressure around his throat and controlling the very breath he took sent shockwave after shockwave washing over his fana and Námo's movements grew erratic, his strokes frantic. "N-no m-more my k-king. I beg of you."

The lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin echoed across the vast and empty throne room. "No more, you say," Manwë felt like he was being pulled into a darkened tunnel of desire. "Then kiss me again, and make it count."

It was as if a dam had burst, and Námo's mouth crashed against his, the sweetness of his kiss pouring into Manwë's mouth. He sighed into that kiss, his tongue forcing its way past Námo's lips and dipping into the warmth of his mouth. On and on they kissed, hot, demanding, hungry kisses, their fanas cleaving into each other even as they neared the edge of the cliff. And Manwë kept applying that gentle pressure around Námo's throat, keeping his breath to a bare minimum. It was all so sinful and erotic, what he was doing, and Námo felt like he wasn't going to last much longer. He rode his king right there on the throne, wild and wanton, moaning into Manwë's mouth, his movements growing even more frantic now.

And Manwë felt it, in the tensing in Námo's body and in his own. "Let go, little raven," he growled and slammed his hips against the inside of Námo's thighs. "Let go for me now."

Námo's strokes grew fast and desperate, as unceasing as the movements of his hips. His breath grew even more shallow as his coiled muscles snapped and his orgasm ripped through him, heated and so so intense. And it was just at that moment Manwë let him take in a deep lungful of air, and he sobbed, Manwë's name leaving his lips repeatedly like a prayer. He couldn't think, could barely breathe, his body trembling and trembling while he spilled his seed, while Manwë continued to fuck him through his orgasm. Námo was so lost in that blissed-out state that he barely felt Manwë thrust one last time, his moan deep and guttural as his own orgasm washed over him. It was good. So good. And Manwë held on while his body spasmed, pulling Námo with him as he fell back into his throne, exhausted but so very satisfied. 

The throne room went quiet, so very quiet. The wind outside suddenly stilled, and nothing could be heard save for the laboured sounds of their ragged breathing. Manwë held Námo to him, whispering in his ear and bringing him down from his high. "Are you well, my little raven?" he asked, brushing back Námo's tangled silvery hair. Manwë then unfurled his wings and wrapped them around Námo, enveloping him in soft, white feathers. He heard a sigh, a soft, dreamy sigh, his own fana softening when Námo curled into him even more.

"Yes, my king," Námo breathed, nuzzling Manwë's neck. "I am well."

"Good," Manwë looked out the nearest window, at the full moon. Such a beautiful sight, he thought, but nowhere as beautiful as the Vala in his arms. "Rest my little raven. Afterward, we can indulge in a little stargazing."

[whosthatsilmcharacter]

(All art used with EXPRESS permission from the artist)

[nyarnamaitar]

thinking about interpersonal relationships between the valar... which valar are close? which valar are less so? i think that, overall, the valar are all very dear to one another. they're only fourteen after all and they've gone through so much together, so there aren't any major distances, rifts or resentments between any of them. i mean, if you spend eternity together, you have plenty of time to communicate, don't you think? also, i generally hc that the valar function more like a hive mind. they live symbiotically, constantly sharing ideas and impressions with one another, even across large distances (they don't need to be physically together to talk). but still, particular friendships did develop and some valar are more intimate than others. i'll start with manwë, varda, aulë, yavanna, vána, námo, and vairë; i'll try to finish irmo, estë, oromë, tulkas, and nessa some time in the upcoming days.

manwë gets along with everyone swimmingly, not just because he's naturally sweet and charming, but also because he puts in a lot of effort to be there for each of his kinsmen. his closest bonds are with varda, ulmo, and nienna, but he is also often found in the company of aulë, yavanna, and námo.

varda is kind and warm, but less sociable than her husband. she spends most of her time with manwë, but is also close with nienna (the stars are particularly bright in the night sky above nienna's tower) and ulmo (it took some time for ulmo to open up to her, but eventually he did, seeing how much she, like him, loved manwë).

aulë is a very social being and, like manwë, entertains good relations with all his fellow valar. beside his wife, he is particularly fond of manwë (aulë's always felt an emotional affinity with his king, a feeling that only deepened once they both lost people they loved to the darkness), tulkas (they enjoy a good wrestling session together), nessa (aulë loves to dance, even though he's no good at it), and vairë (craftspeople recognise each other, don't they).

yavanna and vána are the closest of sisters and can often be found in each other's company. additionally, yavanna is also in the habit of seeking out her king and queen, especially when her heart is troubled. yavanna also consistently invites tulkas and nessa to her and her husband's parties (she adores seeing her dear smith trip over his own feet on the dancefloor). beside her sister, vána is close to estë and irmo. as the incarnation of the passing of seasons and the relentless challenge of starting over again and again ("April is the cruellest month, breeding / Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing / Memory and desire, stirring / Dull roots with spring rain..."), vána, too, gets tired sometimes. in those moments, nothing makes her feel as good as a visit to lórien.

ulmo's dearest friend has always been and will always be manwë. he enjoys his solitary existence in the deep sea, but if there's one thing -- or to be specific, one person -- that draws him back to the land of his kinsmen time and time again, it's manwë. ulmo also cherishes his friendship with varda, a bond that gradually developed over the long ages of arda.

námo and vairë generally keep to themselves, finding comfort in each other, but they do try make time for their fellow valar. námo loves his siblings, irmo and nienna, deeply. if he's not in mandos (which is rare enough), chances are high he's in lórien, napping alongside irmo, or in nienna's tower, watching the eternal waves of ekkaia until they disappear beyond the horizon. as judge of the valar, námo also has regular contact with manwë and a strong friendship has grown between them, built on mutual trust and understanding. if námo is in need of a little bit more estel, he goes to manwë. as for vairë, she loves to visit aulë's halls and marvel at the beautiful things taking shape in the smith's talented hands. sometimes, she and aulë sit together in one of his workshops, she working on her embroidery, he chipping away at a wood block or drawing up a design for an another elaborate project of his, the contentment that comes with creation a living, breathing note of song between them.

[furious-haste-of-malice]

❝ I want you, Námo. I have wanted you for a while. ❞

⊱ Prompt: Blackmail, obsession ⊱ Pairing: Manwë x Námo ⊱ Synopsis: After Námo disobeys an order from his king, Manwë forces him to make it up to him. ⊱ Warnings: Creepy Manwë, power dynamics, sexual content, non-con, the prompt in itself

𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆: Another one for @tolkienpinupcalendar's Dead Dove December and yes, I will be working on these for quite a while longer. Nevertheless: Enjoy!

"Please forgive me, my king." 

Námo was kneeling in the chambers of his lord, head bowed in dutiful penitence. He was as aware as the Vala in front of him that his refusal to speak when he was bidden was a grievous offence to the Elder King's authority, even though he believed it had been necessary to adhere to the divine ordinance he had been given at the beginning of his existence – to never reveal more than what was needed. 

Nevertheless, his being was bound to lawfulness, and he would accept punishment if his lord and his father deemed it necessary. 

Manwë looked as holy and glorious as ever, even seated on his bed instead of his throne. His usual smile had faded, replaced by a sorrowful mien, and the deep sigh that fell from his lips sent a small breeze through the air surrounding them. 

"Worry not, dear Námo. I shall surely forgive you, but I am afraid you will need to make it up to me." 

Despite the perfectly serene and innocent tone, Námo felt a sense of unease, sending shivers down his spine. 

"Anything that is within my power, my king," he said carefully. 

"Very well. Rise." Manwë held out his hand, though it was a gesture of silent command instead of an invitation to take it. 

Námo did as he had been told. Perhaps his obedience could help him atone for his sin, he thought, but then he was caught off-guard when Manwë rose as well and delivered three swift, decisive strikes, the gleam of silvery talons being his only warning – the first one tore off his veil, the second discarded his hood and the third undid the sash holding his robes in place. 

A small gasp escaped Námo as his form was revealed to the eyes of his lord, and he saw delight blossoming within the depths of his blue eyes. 

"Get on the bed." 

"M-my king –"

"Now." 

There was something rough and firm within Manwë's voice, something that was usually absent, that many thought him incapable of. Námo's fána trembled when he obeyed once more, leaving him exposed and prone in front of a Vala he had always trusted – until now that he saw his eyes glint like those of a raptor spotting prey in the grass. 

"What do you want from me?" he managed to ask, attempting to suppress his fear when Manwë climbed on top of him with such natural ease – 

As if we were lovers...

"Is it not obvious?" Manwë smiled at him, as kind and sweet as he had always done, but the dangerous gleam in his eyes hadn't vanished. "I want you, Námo. I have wanted you for a while."

Too stunned to speak, Námo could only stare at him as he lovingly cupped his cheeks. 

"You are so beautiful," Manwë sighed. "And now you will finally be mine." 

Námo stopped breathing when he was drawn into a kiss so tender it almost made him forget that it was forced, and his own lips remained stiff and unmoving. He still couldn't believe that he was being subjected to a punishment of carnal nature, at the hands of his pure, benevolent king no less. 

Manwë withdrew after a few fruitless attempts, seeming upset. "You don't wish to kiss me?" 

"Please, my king... n-not this..." Námo attempted to plead, but was ignored. 

"If you continue to be disobedient I can no longer be patient with you. Your punishment is whatever I deem fit, and if I want to make you mine and show you where you belong, then this is what shall be done." 

Talons dug into his sides as Manwë forced him to turn around and slipped his robes off his shoulders, tearing any remaining clothes to shreds. Námo was left lying on his stomach, held down by a Vala greater than himself. A still-clothed groin was pressed against his exposed backside, and he felt flesh hardening against him. 

"Since you have cheated me out of a prophecy, I hope you at least haven't cheated me out of being your first," Manwë whispered in his ear. 

Námo remained silent. He didn't wish to recount the ways in which his wife had made love to him and how they pleasured each other, and his mind struggled to comprehend the depths of the twisted lust his lord had suddenly revealed. How long had he desired him? Why did he believe he had a right to claim him? 

Yet there was no time to ask himself such questions when two hands spread his legs first and then his cheeks, and he heard the sound of a bottle being uncorked, followed by the scent of vanilla and the sensation of liquid being poured onto his skin. 

He prayed that those talons wouldn't be forced inside him, even if that meant he would be taken without further preparation; it was going to hurt, but repairing his flesh would be easier this way. 

It was only then that Námo briefly considered fighting back, yet any spark of resistance was swiftly drowned out by the knowledge that his king was mightier than he, greater in power and stature. Something inside him had given up before the thought had even crossed his mind; perhaps he already knew that it was going to happen regardless. 

Námo buried his head in the nearest pillow when he heard the rustling of fabric and attempted to muffle his cries of pain as Manwë forced himself inside. He had to will his fána to relax and open up, even as it felt like he was betraying himself and his objective of enduring this violation with as much dignity as he could. 

"You feel so good." 

"You are so beautiful." 

"You sound lovely when you cry and moan for me." 

Manwë whispered sweet nothings in his ear while taking him, but Námo refused to break his self-imposed silence. This was neither love nor pleasure, it was punishment just as his lord had said, and he would not think of it otherwise for the sake of his own sanity. He received no touch and no true affection, only the empty words of one whose mind had been tainted by greed and obsession. 

"Say my name." 

Manwë's command seemed to permeate the very air Námo was breathing, but he refused; he did not desire this, and he would not pretend to. 

Taloned fingers closed around his neck. "I commanded you to say my name."

He remained silent. Manwë's grip tightened, making it nigh impossible to breathe, and despite knowing that he couldn't be slain, panic flooded his fána – as well as the realisation that his torment might only continue if he kept refusing. 

Hesitant and in a broken voice, Námo at last obeyed his lord's command. 

"M-man... wë..." 

The whisper of his name and the choked noises he made sent a shudder of pleasure through Manwë's entire fána, and he spilled his seed inside his unwilling lover, withdrawing only after every last drop had left him. 

Námo felt the need to curl up on his side, make himself small and disappear, but before he could move he was turned around to lie on his back once again. 

Manwë looked down at him with a perfectly angelic smile, as if nothing had happened, and planted a chaste kiss on his forehead. 

"You are forgiven." 

Thanks for reading! ♡

[thetempleofthemasaigoddess]

Poll for the ladies coming right up!

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Day 5: Free of Evil | Opposition

New day, new drabble...

Words: 100

Characters: Manwë & Námo

Warnings: Námo has a hard life

Námo’s remonstrances melted like wax, caroming off the impenetrable walls of Manwë’s incomprehension, unheeded.

“There shall be no more strife,” the Elder King declared confidently. “The time of oppression and opposition is at an end!”

Disheartened, the Judge understood once more that knowing what would come to pass didn’t enable him to change the course of destiny.

All he could do was scream at the unhearing and point out inevitable disasters to the blind.

“He is my brother,” Manwë rebelled against Námo’s tangible wariness.

“So he is,” Námo agreed softly. “I’ll release him, and we shall see what he’ll become.”

@manweweek

Lots of love from me!

-> Masterlist

[cilil]

Meeting (disguised) Eru in a cafe - Ainur react

Eru: My son - Melkor: (screaming internally) Sorry, I don't know you Eru: Yes, you do. Melkor: No and my husband says I'm not allowed to talk to strangers anymore (runs) ──────────── Eru: Mairon. Mairon: (rolls eyes) Ugh, not you again. I haven't even done anything - Eru: So you haven't told you husband to run away from his beloved father? Mairon: No. He's a big Vala who can make decisions on his own. ──────────── Eru: My son <3 Manwë: Father! Eru: Come give your father a hug, will you Manwë: (snuggles) ──────────── Eru: Námo? Námo: ... Eru: ...well, you have kept your silence, haven't you? Námo: ...yes. Eru: Good (pats his head) ──────────── Eru: Yavanna, dear - Yavanna: Oh good thing you're here, Father, come and see what Aulë did the other week! ──────────── Eru: Aulë, your wife says - Aulë: I swear I did nothing wrong

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Stranger in a new land

Day 7 for @manweweek

Freeform

Characters: Vampire! Manwë, Námo, Irmo

Time of story 19th Century London, England

Themes: Meet cute | Soft | Fluff | Vampire! AU

Warnings: Irmo nearly gets into an accident (blink and you might miss it)

Word count: 900+ words

Summary: Manwë makes new acquaintances moving to a new city in a new country

This is also available on AO3

London was a hive of activity, even while it was caught in the grips of a chilly autumn. Manwë walked about this bustling city, amazed by the sheer throng of people hurrying past him like a fast-moving river flowing around a boulder: businessmen in their fine suits, mothers and nannies with children firmly in hand, ladies in splendid dresses and thick cloaks and elaborate hats promenading with their suitors and chaperones. The sound of people talking and laughing, along with the din the many carriages and horses plying London's streets created, added to the chaotic cacophony filling the air. Manwë stayed out of other people's way, watching, listening, and discreetly observing. He was a stranger here, having only just arrived in the country after he had acquired a home beyond the outskirts of the city for himself.

“Good evening.” He smiled and doffed his hat respectfully at a young lady who dared to look at him appreciatively. She giggled and looked away before turning to whisper something to a friend who walked out of the nearby shop, her bags full of yarn and thread and lace and bright new ribbons. Manwë continued walking, having little interest in looking over his shoulder. The ladies were beautiful, to be sure, but neither of them caught his eye. Not in that way.

And I could not make myself known to them even if I desired to, he lamented, for I could not risk having the true nature of who I am being discovered.

Manwë was a vampire. He was turned by another while he lay at death’s door. It was what he wanted—to be spared the call of the angel of death—and it was granted to him willingly as an act of gratitude. He never truly regretted his choice, save for those fleeting moments when he came across friends talking and laughing or when he came across companions lost in love. Until now, he did not allow himself the joys of such things, for his companions would age while he remained unblemished, and mortals feared what he and others like him stood for.

We are death and sin made flesh. We are all that they think is unnatural and wrong. Manwë closed his eyes to the cold wind that swept through his silver hair, breathing in the scents of new apples, freshly baked bread and cake, and hot, roasted chestnuts that drifted with it. If he had been mortal, Manwë thought with a smile, his stomach would have rumbled fiercely.

“Irmo! Irmo, get back here!” Manwë's delight in what greeted his senses disappeared when a young man cried—exasperated—as he chased his brother around onlookers who quickly moved out of his way. “Irmo Lórien Fëanturi! Stop running this instant!”

“No!” Irmo returned gleefully, evading his older brother’s repeated attempts to catch him. He ran and ran, running as fast as his little legs could take him, flashing cheeky, dimpled grins at anyone who passed him by, and hooting with wild joy. It was all a game to him, and he enjoyed it immensely. He did not stop, not even when others tried to reach out in their vain attempts to catch him on behalf of his much-put-upon brother. Manwë had also seen the little boy racing toward him. He made haste to swoop down and scoop the child into his arms before he could run around him and onto the path of an oncoming carriage.

“And who do you belong to, young master?” Manwë said, dipping gracefully to his knees and smiling at the little boy who struggled in his grasp.

“He belongs to me. Well, our family, that is.” Námo reached them, nearly out of breath from the merry chase Irmo subjected him to. “Thank you, truly, for stopping him before he hurt himself. And my humblest apologies, sir, for him getting in your way.”

“It was no trouble. No trouble at all.” Manwë straightened himself after Irmo was placed into his brother’s care. Then he introduced himself. “I am Lord Amân Mānawenūz, of Taniquetil. I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”

The name he gave was an old one, and it had once belonged to a distant uncle of little consequence. No one had heard of that name since that uncle perished nearly six hundred years ago, and Manwë only made use of it on those rare occasions when he had to introduce himself.

"Námo Fëanturi,” Námo said, extending his hand. When Manwë stood there and looked at it, puzzled, he let it fall to his side. He must not know our ways, he thought to himself. “And this bundle of never-ending delight is my brother, Irmo.”

Irmo squirmed in his older brother’s other arm, but he rewarded the one who saved him with another cheeky grin. Manwë could not help but smile at them both.

“I am pleased I was able to be of assistance to you," he said.

“We were heading toward that teahouse over there to meet our sister," returned Námo. "You are more than welcome to join us, if you like, Lord Mānawenūz.”

Manwë wanted to do nothing more than refuse the invitation. He opened his mouth to speak, to politely say no. Then he stopped himself from doing so. What he was offered was an invitation to have tea with people he would never see again, not an invitation to dine with a lover. No harm would come out of accepting such a request, so long as he was careful not to give too much of himself away. And, he told himself, what better way to learn about this new city than by talking to those who actually lived within it? He took a moment to decide before saying, “Yes. I would be honored to join you and your family."

Little did he know how much his life would change after that day.

[beatles4ever65]

His fëa thrums with Song until he knows no more, their melody put to rest at last. As the lava burns his fëa away, Maedhros is reforged and returns to Valinor before the Darkening. But the Valar have something more in store for him, and Maedhros isn't sure he wants to know what...

Chapter 4: Doom Realized

Part of a time travel eldritch alternate universe about family, hope, healing, and redemption.

[dfwbwfbbwfbwf]

Warriors - The Valar

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Manwë Thúlimo - Galestorm(star)

Varda Elentári - Specklesky(star)

Aulë - Firestone

Yavanna - Appleleaf

Ulmo - Shellsplash

Nienna - Softmist

Melkor - Blackfire

Námo - Paleshadow

Vairë - Webheart

Irmo - Duskshadow

Estë - Sweetflower

Oromë - Hawkfang

Vána - Birdpetal

Tulkas - Badgerclaw

Nessa - Fleetstep

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@eri-pl

Here you go, my friend. :3

[feralteapot]

Since I’m not sleeping any time soon, might as well give into the simp thoughts again.

Manwe First Time (reader virginity loss) fic was great.

My brain requires one for Namo . I need to know how it’d go with him.

(Though technically we’ll find that out with Sweet Escape)

Namo taking reader’s virginity fic when.

( @edensrose you’re responsible for this train of thought)