#manwë is an ass

[silmarillion-ways-to-die]

[nyarnamaitar]

melkor reverently touching a sleeping manwë, softly tracing the lines of his face, blazing golden eyes taking in his twin’s fána inch by inch, entwining their fëar ever closer together until no boundaries exist between them anymore (clenches fist)

[chronomally]

I'm sure the Eagles have their own shit going on but in The Silmarillion they (especially Thorondor) feel like personifications of the mercy of Manwë; Finrod begs for Manwë to take pity on the Noldor when he looses his arrow to free Maedhros from his shackles on Thangorodrim, and Thorondor comes to claw Morgoth's eyes out and prevent him from defiling Fingolfin's body after Fingolfin is killed in their duel

[erendur]

Maedhros needs a hug.

I think we all agree (well, most of us at least), that Maedhros needs a hug, at the very least.

So I was thinking, what if he was adopted by a group of lesser fire spirits after he threw himself in the chasm (I could bet good money on the fact that a fanfic has already been written based on that idea, but am too lazy to check).

The chasm he threw himself in is probably a major, big-ass one - he’s a Fëanorian after all, I think he would leave in style. So there were bound to be at least a few lesser fire spirits hanging out there, with not much to do. Corrupted evil spirits have plenty to do, what with torturing people, murdering them or creating monsters, but the non-corrupted ones probably have plenty of time on their hands.

So suddenly, there's this gorgeous Elf throwing himself in their chasm. And they’re super thrilled, because the Ainu of Valinor get plenty of pretty elves hanging around them, but the lesser spirits of Middle-Earth, not so much. Plus, when they get closer, they notice that it’s not just any Elf, but a Fëanorian, a super-fiery one, one they’ve probably sneakily had a look at when he was in his Father’s forge at some point (I’m convinced fire spirits regularly sneaked into Fëanor’s forge fire to have a good look at him and his family of fiery hotties).

I’m imagining a kind of Monthy Python’s Holy Grail’s Castle Anthrax situation there : they all jump on his fëa as fast as they can, to make sure he doesn’t escape towards Mandos’s halls or any funny business like that, and of course Maedhros doesn’t put up much of a fight given that :

He’s super tired, even in disembodied fëa form ;

He very much does NOT want to go to Mandos and, as far as he had planned ahead, was determined to give him the slip. He’s already been imprisoned once, thank you very much, he’s not doing it again.

So when Mandos finally comes looking for him, the fire spirits hide him in under a fire blanket and pile of throw pillows or whatever the equivalent would be in a fiery chasm, put on their most innocent look, and say they’ve seen nothing.

“An Elf ? Why would there be an Elf in a fiery chasm ? We haven’t seen any Elves around here. And even if we had, they’d been gone by now. In this direction, yes, over there. Nothing to see here, no Sir, certainly no murderous fiery Elf.”

Mandos doesn’t press the matter too much, because he’s got a group of Avari Elves that have eaten poison berries to take care of, and he already feels the start of a headache coming.

Maedhros spends the next age or so being absolutely pampered by the fire spirits, who can’t believe their luck. They braid his fëa hair and make him fiery buttered crumpets. They chill on the fiery sofa and they make him laugh by telling mean jokes about the water spirits and making funny impersonations of Ulmö. I’m picturing an Odysseus/Calypso situation there. He’s having a nice time. He’s got no one to manage, he’s not in charge of any siblings, he’s got no hopeless war to fight and no Oath to fulfil. He can finally relax with his fire spirit pals.

Eventually, someone spills the beans to Mandos. Of course, it’s a water spirit. They’ve been eyeing Maglor for an age, holding their breath as he gets closer and closer to the water, hoping - surely, this time he’ll go in !- but he never does, so since they can’t get their hot pet Elf, it’s unfair that the other ones do.

Mandos decides to kill two birds with one stone on this one, and sends Fingon to get him. He’s been trying to get rid of Fingon for almost as soon as he’d arrived - “You did a magical rescue ! Manwë sent you his eagle ! You waged a war against Evil ! You died a heroe’s death ! You have nothing to do here !” - but Fingon has always stubbornly refused to be reembodied until Maedhros had at least arrived. He’s got five other Fëanorians plus a bunch of their followers who also refuse to leave for the same reason. He thinks he’s finally got a solution.

So by the time Fingon arrives in the fiery chasm, Maedhros has chilled and relaxed enough that he is able to consider the whole atone for his sins in Mandos thing in a more sanguine way. It will be mostly fine. He did some terrible things. He won’t be tortured. He’ll be ok. Fingon will be there. So he only puts up the bare minimum of a fuss before following Finno.

“I can’t go back, I’m an accursed kinslayer. Everybody there reviles me. There is no hell so profound that is sufficient to punish the tenth part of my sins…” (He has spent hundred of years hanging out with Maglor, who has some serious Drama-Queen tendencies, and also came up with that last line before Marguerite de Navarre).

“Come on, Mae, not everyone reviles you, there are many people who are waiting for you there, and you’ll get reembodied eventually…”

“Do not insist, dear friend, I am the most accursed of the accursed, I’ll never finish atoning for my sins, I'll be cast aside, universally hated, like I deserve…”

“Maitimo Nelyafinwë ! Stop it this instant ! You’re going to Mandos now, and you’re going to be reembodied, and you’ll give a kiss to your Mom you’ve been waiting for you all this time !”

So he leaves, much to the chagrin of the fire spirits. Well, at least, they all had a good time.

[perlen-gold]

Manwë: Brother, could you just stop being such a pain in the ass?

Melkor: Sure.

Manwë: Wait, really?

Melkor: But I need to ask my husband first.

Manwë: Damn!

[valar-did-me-wrong]

Rings of Power S2|E4 reactions

💍

Artanis alert!!

Them bickering shouldn't matter this much to me ಥ _ ಥ

The LOTR Jogging Routine™

Hi personification of our hopes & dreams for Celeborn in S2 :3

boy did you break some hearts!

The absolute beauty of Robert Aramayo in curls ❤️‍🔥

Angy Elrond is a VERY sexy Elrond ngl

Sauron hearing his Engagement Ring being called a "Trinket"

So that's the infamous goat!

TOM BOMBADIL has freaking arrived!!!

may the dude bros die mad 🙏🏽

fuck that must hurt!

awwwwwww....

Hobbit Love!

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Nobody knows how to count ¬‿¬

Fucking GANDALF!!

GRAND-ELF FUCKFUCKFUCK FUCK FUCK

Clean Girl Esthetic Middle Earth edition

Manwë unable to do anything about the Varda slander:

They need stronger soaps in Rhûn, that man is still dirty af

Avengers Assemble

etc etc

Elrond saving Galadriel's ass like

Internal plumbing in MiddleEarth?! I need to edit my fics now

That was brutal Arondir!

They weren't kidding about the mud in those interviews I see (• _ •)

nor about the creatures | ◉ ͟ʖ ◉ |

He is so ready to be a dad goddammit!!

This Hobbit origin story is legit the best part of this show

I literally feel nothing about this loss

Beardless Halbrand!?!!

preposterous

Isildur building his anti Casting out habit, one day at a time!

Thranduil's elves always being ✨Perfection ✨ is exactly what Tolkien would have wanted!

I'm crying & so are you! 😭

Ent wife my beloved 💚

That heartbreak would have been my villian origin story too!

Elrond having no chill this season is one sad coming of age story ˙◠˙

Cue the name changes from

Adar to Maglor ❤️‍🔥

like Southlands to Mordor in S1

S2|E1 S2|E2 S2|E3

[cottoncandiescupcakes]

Sleep isn't enough I need Elrond to put my ass in a trebuchet and launch me directly into Manwë's cloud sanctuary or whatever he's doing up there

[the-red-butterfly]

Day 1: Family | Breath & Air @manweweek

First day of Manwë week ya'll! My favourite boy ever <3 I am SO under prepared but you bet your ass I'm going to do every single day of this thing. Lets be honest though, I probably wont post or finish anything on time ✨

Breath and Air as my inspiration for the soft redesign I'm attempting to do here. Is it very different from how I usually draw him? Not really? Do I care? Heck no, look at how gorgeous he is!!

Now. Someone plis tell me if they like this the design more than the one I usually do 👁

.

Open for Commissions

[fflewddur-feanorion]

maglor and eonwe in iowa. why? I don't know.

Maglor cranes his neck to look up at the sky. The clouds are purple and yellow, like a bad bruise that’s just begun to heal. Thunder booms overhead, rattling the windows on the porch.

He steps back toward the door. Nods decisively. “This is a good one.”

“There is nothing good about it,” Eonwë huffs. He’s standing with one hand on the doorknob, every muscle in his body pulled as taut as a bowstring. Ready to bolt inside at the slightest provocation. (He has not relocated to the basement, Maglor notices. After following every one of the rules to the letter for five Ages, this is the time Eonwë chooses not to listen?) “The storm… it is dangerous! You could be killed!”

Maglor raises an eyebrow wearily. When he speaks, his voice carries over the thunder just a bit more than it should. “Remind me again why you’re here?”

“To… to kill you. Or persuade you to return to Valinor.” Eonwë shivers. For some reason, he’s wearing one of Maglor’s tank tops. It’s far too small. Basically a crop top on him. (Maglor admits that it’s not a bad look, but Eonwë is going to get a cold and then he’ll be even more insufferable.)

“Ta-da,” Maglor drawls. “If I get struck by lightning– which I won’t– you can go home. I’m sure all of Valinor will be ecstatic.”

“Are you always this self-destructive?” Eonwë asks.

Maglor laughs. Bitterly. “You still have that armor? I could put it on. Wave my arms in the air and tell Manwë to go fuck himself. Really take it to the next level.”

“Shut up!” Eonwë’s eyes flash. “You don’t know what you are saying! If they hear us–”

The rain picks up. At this point, it’s less of a thunderstorm and more of a river flowing vertically. Maglor does the math in his head: there’s still no tornadoes in sight, and he is very, very hungry. “All right,” he says, pushing past Eonwë to open the door. “You win. I’ll make some dinner, and then–”

As if on cue, the lights go out. The clock on the microwave flickers and disappears.

“Christ alive,” says Maglor. “I just bought milk. What have I done to deserve this?”

“I assume that is a rhetorical question,” says Eonwë.

****

It’s been fourteen hours since Eonwë– Herald of the Valar, Manwë’s golden boy, and royal pain in the ass– arrived on Maglor’s doorstep. In his immaculate silver armor, he’d looked laughably out of place standing among the dusty folding chairs. “Greetings, Makalaurë, son of Fëanor,” he’d intoned in a voice like the crashing of waves. “I bring a message from the Valar.”

To Maglor, this situation presented a number of red flags:

Nine thousand years on this accursed earth have made Maglor wary of people who are clearly dangerous but want you to believe otherwise. That armor has never been worn in a fight.

He doesn’t trust the Valar.

He doesn’t trust Eonwë, specifically.

Back in the Second Age, Maglor would have attacked Eonwë with any weapons he had on hand (teeth and nails included) and almost certainly gotten himself killed. By the Fourth Age, he’d have simply walked away, having tired himself out with millennia of bad decisions. But now…

Well. Maglor isn’t going to slam the door in his face. If he doesn’t let Eonwë in, his neighbors will come out to investigate, and Maglor doesn’t want to inflict Eonwë on them quite yet.

He stretches out on the couch, running through the checklist in his mind. There's no electricity or internet, but he’s found two flashlights. He’ll talk to the neighbors and check for downed power lines once the rain stops. All he can do now is wait. (And also drink ridiculous quantities of milk before it spoils.)

Maglor feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He whips his head around and sees Eonwë standing behind him, motionless as a statue. (He would make a beautiful statue. Even in a human disguise, there's something unearthly about him. Something that draws your attention in like a moth to a flame.)

“Fuck’s sake,” Maglor groans, mashing his face into the couch cushions. “Can you be unsettling somewhere else, please?”

“We could go back to Valinor.”

“I said no.” Maglor pushes himself to a seated position to glare at his companion. “Why are you still wearing a tank top? It’s, like, forty degrees.”

“I have no idea what any of that means,” Eonwë says quietly. He’s still shivering. His shoulders are hunched forward, and he looks on the verge of tears. (Why is he crying? He’s not the one with a price on his head.) “It was much warmer this morning, and I didn’t want to go through your things. I... I am sorry.”

And that makes absolutely zero sense, but… “Ugh, fine,” Maglor sighs. “C’mon. Let’s find you something that fits. We'll figure things out in the morning."

[edensrose]

"Love!" He freezes like a deer in headlights when your voice rings through his ears. Pale strands whip through the air as he snaps his head towards your direction. Form stiff. Red specks littered onto his white clothes and large wings. Manwë tenses. He meets your gaze. You meet his. The Archangel himself. A hero to the world. An alien of might and power known as a Valtúrë. Now barely able to move a muscle as he stares at his lover who has just caught him upon his return home from a day full of his typical duties. Warding of evil and protecting those in need. Silence sets like a thick sheet as you both stare at one another. As though waiting for the other to make a move. Before you speak up, with a smile on your lips. "It's your turn to do the dishes." You stride over to him and stand on the tips of your toes, pressing a kiss to his jaw and patting his chest. "I'll get dinner ready and you can tell me all about your day of kicking ass and saving civilians." Manwë only chuckles and leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. "Whatever my darling wants. You're the boss, after all." He concedes with a wink. As though he was not the most powerful being on this forsaken world.

𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒐-𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒆! 𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒖𝒓 𝒂𝒖 : hero!manwe x human!reader — teaser

[bitter-sweet-farmgirl]

Bard's Zahar

Chapter 40 of ‘A Deep Misunderstanding’.  Link to Series Masterlist. Also find it over on A03!

MASTERLIST

OC(s) Used: Estel

Translation(s): Bard's Zahar: Bard's House

Khakhafê: My ass

~~

Um....Long time no see? I legitimately can't remember the last time I posted here on Tumblr. (Probably like 2 years ago or something). Anyways, life is slightly less busy for me now as I wrap up my final semester in college before I'm student teaching, and like 3 weeks ago I reread ADM, started editing it, and actually got inspired to write it again after like 2 years of not touching it. This thing is literally like 5 years old. But the bones are still solid and I hope 2025 sees me actually finish this thing once and for all. Anyways, enjoy this chapter that I finally finished off after having it sit for a few years!

~~

I watched, teeth chattering loudly, as Dwalin disappeared under the murky water.  The rest of us waited our turns in the icy depths, all wishing that there were other options.  I mean, truly, how humiliating was it to come up through the toilet?

A gust of wind blew over us and sent chills down my spine, prompting my nervous system to launch an involuntary shiver through my body.  Merciful Manwë, my nipples felt like they were going to burst out of my blouse, it was so cold!

My only comfort was that everyone else seemed to feel the same way.  As we had entered the bitter cold water, each dwarrow had made their discomfort very obvious.  There had been more than one muttered conversation about switching to a different gender.

The water lapped uncomfortably at my chin, and I nervously shifted my weight.  I clung tightly to the hem of Thorin’s shirt, afraid to let go lest I fall and not be able to get back up.

“Are you sure there isn’t any other way?”  I asked again, and Thorin turned to look down at me.  His hair, just beginning to dry from our trip in the barrels, fell into his face, causing him to raise a hand to brush it back.

“Unfortunately not, Estel,” he murmured, glancing over as Ori vanished beneath the water.  I suddenly became aware of just how fast my heart was beating; like it was about to pound out of my chest.

I took a deep breath, trying to slow my accelerated heartrate.  “You know, I don’t think I can do it.  I’ll just take my chances…”  I began to mutter breathlessly, biting my lip.

Thorin reached out a hand to gently squeeze my shoulder, his eyes soft.  “You’ll be fine, my love.  I’ll be right behind you.  Just breathe, okay?”  He said reassuringly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.  “Now, let’s go.”

He pushed me forward and a cavern opened up in the pit of my stomach, sucking my pounding heart down into it as I realized that it was my turn.

“No, I really don’t want to do it.”  I whispered, staring up at Thorin beseechingly.  “There has to be some other way.”

“Estel,” Thorin’s voice hardened, “you have to do it.  I know you can.”  He disentangled my fingers from the hem of his tunic even as I clung desperately to him. 

“Thorin—” The ominous shortness of breath returned.

“Estel, I will push you under the water if I have to.  You have to go, now.”  Thorin commanded, his voice harsh.  I stared up at him in disbelief.  It had been a very long time since he had used that gruff tone around me, and I had forgotten just how it sent chills down my spine.  And not in a good way.

That and the threat of being forced beneath the water was frightening enough for me to swallow hard and try and get a grip on my thoughts.  Taking a deep breath, I plunged beneath the surface of the water.

The chill that bit straight through my body and into my very marrow almost had me opening my mouth to let out a gasp. 

Blindly, I swam forward, reaching to find the wooden posts that made up the foundation of Bard’s house.  With each second that passed by and I still hadn’t touched anything other than water, my heart began to pound again.

Just as I thought I was going to have to surface to snatch a gasp of air, my fingers brushed against a slimy, thing.  Flinching at the disgusting feeling of the slick, icky algae, I hesitantly reached back out to grab hold of the post and pulled myself up.

The next second, my head broke through the surface of the water and I eagerly filled my burning lungs with great gulps of air. 

Forget that I was coming up out of someone’s toilet, I was just glad to have a breath of—

I was suddenly hoisted up into the air as something solid rammed up against my thighs.  Letting out a shriek of surprise, I grasped wildly for something to hang onto.  The closest thing in reach was the head of dark hair that had sprouted between my legs.

I clung tightly to the wet strands of hair, causing whoever had surfaced beneath me (and was now carrying me on their shoulders) to let out a growl of pain.

“LET GO!”  They hissed, grabbing onto my legs to hold me steady.  “Get off!”  His snarls trailed off into angry sputters as my weight forced him back into the water.

Oh, it was Thorin.  He had said that he would be right behind me, hadn’t he? 

“Here,” a dark-haired lad reached out to grab my arm and help me clamber over the side of the toilet.  I collapsed on the floor as soon as I was free of the watery death-trap, legs numb from the anesthetizing effects of the frigid water. 

Thorin more or less crawled out of the toilet, just in time before Bofur popped up right behind him, sputtering.  Had I not been half-frozen and slightly shell-shocked, I would have taken the time to appreciate just how hilarious it would have been to see Thorin settled on Bofur’s shoulders.

Truly it was a once in a lifetime chance.

Propping himself up on hands and knees, Thorin took a moment to catch his breath before looking up into my wide eyes through dripping obsidian locks.  “I apologize for my harsh words, Estel.  You had quite the grip on my hair.”  He said breathlessly, and I shook my head.

“You did scare me, lifting me up like that.  I thought you were some sort of sea monster, to tell the truth.  But you had every right to yell at me for yanking your hair.”  I explained, causing Thorin to grin and chuckle.

“Me?  A sea monster?”  He laughed, pushing himself up off the floor and offering me his hand.  “Where did you ever get that idea?”  He pulled me to my feet and wrapped an arm around my waist, guiding me out of the bathroom and into Bard’s house.

I pursed my lips, “oh, probably around the time I touched the slimy post and realized that there just might be fish in these waters.”  I gave him a side eye.  “But I don’t think I have any need of fishing.  Not after I have obviously caught the best catch of the day.”  I murmured.

Thorin grinned broadly, shaking his head.  “You are a witty one, amrâlimê.  I do not know how I didn’t catch it before.” 

“Me?  Witty?” 

A devious smirk began to wind its way across Thorin’s bearded cheeks, overtaking the grin.  “Yes, Estel.  You have quite the way with words.  May I bring your attention to “khakhafê’?”  He murmured quietly in my ear so the others didn’t hear.

The blood that had seemed to be basically nonexistent before, now rose in my cheeks at the memory of that conversation.  “Okay, okay, I get the point.”  I hurriedly to say before Thorin could continue on.

Bard strode into the room with an armful of clothes.  Dumping them out on the table, he took a step back as the rest of the company swarmed around it.  “They may not be the best fit, but they’ll keep you warm,” he promised.

Hovering on the outskirts of the jostling mass of dwarves, I stood on my tiptoes in an attempt to see what was available.  Even if only a shirt was available I wouldn’t complain.  I just wanted to be out of my sopping clothes. 

Thorin, never the most patient dwarrow, proceeded to elbow his way to the clothes.  Vaguely I wondered what it would be like to have such confidence in your strength.  Manwë knew that I would just be squashed into jelly if I tried that move.

“Here,” Thorin emerged from the slowly dispersing crowd, holding out a red shirt that looked to be much too large for me. 

Like, the neckline would hang halfway down my chest large. 

“I’ve got something for you, miss.”  Bard’s voice sounded behind me and I turned to look at him and the clothing he was holding out to me. 

Thorin huffed behind me. 

I took the offered clothing, trying not to frown at the sight of the faded grey pinafore and cream shirt.  The last thing I wanted to wear was a dress.  But if this was all that was offered, then I would just have to suck it up.

“Thank you, Bard.”  I murmured quietly, trying to disguise the distaste in my voice.  “Do you have someplace I could change?” 

He nodded, “aye.  Tilda!” 

A young girl in a blue pinafore appeared, looking expectantly up at Bard.  “Yes, Da?”  She asked, and Bard pointed to me.

“Can you show her to your room so she can change?” 

Tilda nodded, looking over at me curiously.  I didn’t blame her; we were both the same height but far over a century apart in age.  “This way,” she motioned, walking quickly to a staircase.  “It’s the door to the left of the painting.”

I smiled at her, “thank you—”  I stumbled over the last word as my eyes flickered behind Tilda to rest on the brooding expression of the obsidian-haired dwarrow. 

Turning, I walked up the rickety staircase; each footstep eliciting a groan from the warped wood.  Behind me, I could hear Thorin’s heavy steps garnering the same result.

Arriving on the landing, I looked up at the painting Tilda said I would find.  It was of a man and a woman sitting next to each other, wearing slight smiles. 

“What is so interesting?”  Thorin asked, standing beside me.  “It is only a painting.”

I blinked rapidly a few times.  “It’s not just a painting, Thorin.  It’s a memory.”  I whispered, twisting my head in time to see Thorin’s brow crease.

“What do you mean, ‘a memory’?” 

“Do you not see the resemblance?  It’s Bard and his wife.  Probably the only picture he has of her.”  I said softly, biting my lip as a lump rose in my throat. 

“Oh.”  Thorin’s voice was quiet as he looked up at the painting with a new interest.

“I should probably change.”  I murmured, tearing my gaze away from the painting and opening the door that lay to its left. 

“I’ll make sure no one walks in on you.”  Thorin promised gruffly, leaning up against the wall and crossing his arms over his chest. 

I couldn’t help the smile that stole across my face.  “Thanks, amrâlimê.”

~~~~~

“You have got to be kidding me.”  I hissed, tugging on the pinafore in vain.  I had harbored suspicions that Tilda might have been a bit smaller than me, and I was not disappointed.

First off, I couldn’t even get the shirt to button.  Second, the pinafore was much too tight across my chest.  If I made just one wrong move, the seams would burst and my stifled breasts would be in full view of anyone in the vicinity.

“This is NOT going to work.”  I pulled the pinafore off with some difficulty and shed the shirt.  Tugging my damp clothes back on, I peeked out the door into the hallway.  “Thorin?”

“Done?”  Thorin asked, pushing himself off the wall.

“Uh, no.”  I said sheepishly.  “The clothes don’t fit.” 

Thorin raised an eyebrow.  “In what way?”

Heat rose in my cheeks.  “None of your business.  Can you just get me something different?”

“On the contrary, as your husband I believe it is my business.”  Thorin teased relentlessly, his blue eyes twinkling.

“Please?”  I begged, “I’m freezing.”

He nodded, turning and heading back down the stairs. 

In a few moments, Thorin returned with Bard’s elder daughter in tow, faded garments slung over one of her arms.  “Sigrid has something that might fit you.”  He said, and the young woman handed me the clothes.

“I don’t think anything of mine would fit you, so I found one of Bain’s old shirts.  It should do.”  She explained, pointing to a dark brown fabric.  “And I found one of my smaller skirts.  It may need a few more inches taken off, but it might fit you.” 

I resisted the urge to make a face at the thought of wearing a skirt. 

“Thank you, I’m sorry for all the trouble.”  I apologized, but the woman just offered me a smile before she disappeared back down the stairs. 

“No trouble at all.” 

I closed the door again, heaving a sigh as I stared down at the clothes. 

Thankfully, Sigrid had been right in her guesses, and Bain’s shirt had fit more or less perfectly.  Sure, it hung past my hips, but you couldn’t tell when I had the dratted skirt on.  Which, speaking of the skirt, I was less than pleased with it.  The hem brushed my shins, which I considered far too long. 

I could just imagine how it would impede me if I had to climb up a mountain or flee from an orc.  With my renowned clumsiness, I was all too certain that I would get my legs tangled within the skirts.

And the faded blue clashed horribly with the brown of the shirt.  While I do admit that fashion was not my highest concern (nor had it ever been) I still found the combination appalling.  I could only imagine what Thorin would think. 

A wistful part of me wondered if he would think I was pretty.  The Valar knew that I had only ever dressed in very masculine clothes around him and didn’t flaunt my curves.  How would he react to seeing me in a skirt?

I couldn’t help but daydream about watching him rake his eyes over me, a little smile—the one I coveted like it was the Arkenstone itself—tugging at the corner of his bearded cheek.  Then he would step up to me and look down into my eyes, now grinning outright as he said:  “you look gorgeous, amrâlimê.”

“Estel?”  A knock sounded on the door and I was unceremoniously removed from my daydream. 

“Almost done,” I called back, doublechecking the knots on my blouse—I didn’t fancy inadvertently showing off my cleavage—before scooping up my damp clothes and walking over to the door. 

Stepping out into the hallway, I carefully closed the door before turning to look at Thorin.  He was absorbed with taking in my new look, an eyebrow slightly raised.  In turn, I noted that he was no longer dressed in his blue tunic and had swapped it for new trousers and a red shirt.  Which looked suspiciously like the one I had rejected earlier. 

“So, what do you think?”  I asked, forcing in a note of nonchalance.  He didn’t need to know about the new, odd desire for my appearance to please him.  Honestly, I was surprised with myself.  Since when had I ever cared about what a man thought of my dress?  I’d spent the past five months traveling with Thorin and hadn’t had the thought cross my mind till now.

Thorin shrugged.  “It suits you.  Although,” his expression turned contemplative, “it isn’t the most practical for climbing a mountain.”

“My thoughts exactly…”  I mumbled.  Why had that little abyss opened up in my chest?  Why was I so hung up on his thoughts on how I looked?

“Come,” Thorin jerked his head in the direction of the staircase.  “The others are waiting downstairs.” 

I followed him down to where the rest of the company was gathered around the single fireplace, dressed in new, mostly ill-fitting clothing. 

Thorin made no move to join them; instead choosing to seat himself next to one of the windows near where Balin was standing. 

The elder dwarf gave me a smile as we joined him.  “Why, Estel, you look rather fetching,” he commented, seeming always to know what I needed to hear. 

“Thanks, Balin.”  I looked over at Thorin to see his reaction, only for him not to even spare a glance in my direction.  “I don’t think the skirt is very practical, but it’s a temporary fix until my clothes dry, I hope.”

My glance at Thorin didn’t go unnoticed by Balin, and he spared a glance over at the dwarrow himself.  “The practicality of something is up to you, Estel.  It might suit a different purpose than what you originally assume.”  He shrugged.

Thorin suddenly straightened, leaning forward to look at something through the window.  “The Dwarvish wind-lance!”  He gasped, drawing our attention to him. 

Bilbo chose that moment to come over, shooting Thorin a look.  “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”  He commented, and Balin came over to peer out the window.  As he caught sight of what Thorin saw, his face became drawn. 

“He has.  The last time we saw such a weapon the city was on fire.”  His voice was solemn.  “It was the day the dragon came.  The day that Smaug destroyed Dale.”  He spoke of the Black Arrows; dwarf-forged and tough enough to pierce the hide of a dragon. 

Thorin didn’t seem to hear Balin’s words.  He was still gazing out the window, eyes focused on nothing more than memories.  I sidled closer to him, wondering what he saw. 

I knew Thorin had been a young dwarrow the day that Erebor had been taken from his clan.  He’d told me how he’d stood before the gates, waiting for the dragon with his troops at his side.  How out of all the men he commanded, he was the only one to make it out alive. 

It was a burden that no one should have been forced to carry with them.  A responsibility had been placed upon him that day to one day return to Erebor; take it back for his people.  A responsibility that had only grown heavier as his Grandfather and Father fell in battle, leaving him the sole male of his line. 

As I approached, Thorin seemed to return to the present, looking over at Balin before sapphire eyes came to rest on me.

“If the aim of men had been true that day, much would’ve been different.”  He spoke, and the weight of the years rested on those words.  His anger at the loss of his home.  His sorrow over the thousands of lives lost.  But there was also a thoughtfulness to it.  What good things would not have occurred? 

“You speak as if you were there.”  Bard’s voice sounded curiously from behind Balin.  The man stood, brow furrowed in question. 

“All dwarves know the tale.”  Thorin rumbled, returning his gaze back to the window. 

“I didn’t.”  I couldn’t help but mutter quiet enough that the man couldn’t hear. 

Thorin huffed a short laugh.  “All dwarves but you, then.”  A small smile played across his face.  “If you don’t know that story, then I must be failing as your teacher.” 

“It’s a story about how your people were slaughtered and your whole world was flipped upside down.  I don’t expect it to be one you enjoy sharing.” 

~~~~

Somehow, it didn’t even shock me that the dwarves would take offence at the weapons that Bard offered them.  All because they weren’t solid iron.  As if they wouldn’t work just as well.

The thought had me rolling my eyes, leaning back against the wall with my arms crossed as I watched their argument from a distance. 

“What is your name?”  A curious voice piped up suddenly, and I jumped, looking over at the young girl who had sprouted beside me. 

She looked to be no more than 10 years old, but was already as tall as me.  Seeing my surprise, she was apologetic.  “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.  I just was curious.”

“I just didn’t hear you coming.  I get surprised rather easily, I’m afraid.”  I smiled gently, “and my name is Estel.  What’s yours?”  I recognized her as the young girl who had showed me to her room to change, but wanted to keep the conversation going.

The girl brightened.  “That’s a pretty name!  I’m Tilda.  How did you get your hair to look like that?” 

Now I couldn’t help smiling at the girl’s innocent questions.  “My husband did it for me.  I could never do anything as intricate.”  Which was true.  Thorin had spent quite a bit of time creating the interwoven braids.

Tilda gasped softly.  “Do you think he would teach Sigrid?  I’d like to have braids as pretty as yours.” 

I laughed, wondering how Thorin would react to the young girl asking her to braid her hair like mine.  To replicate the intricate style that represented his proposal of marriage and my acceptance.  “He may, I will have to ask him.”  Perhaps he could teach her something harmless.

“I’ll go ask Sigrid if she’ll learn.”  Tilda grinned, running off to go find her older sister. 

“That’s sweet.”  I murmured to myself, still smiling. 

“What is sweet?”  Thorin came up behind me, wrapping his arms around my middle. 

“Nothing.  You’ve just got an admirer.”  I grinned, tilting my head back to look up at him.  “Tilda was asking if you’d braid her hair like mine.”

Thorin chuckled softly.  “What would my wife think of me proposing to another woman?” 

“I figured you might just teach her something harmless.  She doesn’t know what it means.  She’s just a little girl and though it was pretty.”

Thorin nuzzled my neck, beard scratching against my skin.  “I think it is much more than just ‘pretty’, amrâlimê.” 

“Of course.  Now, have you all figured out whether or not you’re going to lower yourselves to using Bard’s weapons?”  I gently pulled away from Thorin, mindful of just how many watching eyes there were.

Reluctantly, he allowed me to turn to face him, his hands sliding down to grasp mine.  “We’re going to raid the armory tonight.  Those ‘weapons’, “he sneered the word, “will do us no good.  We need real iron.” 

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[gelenka-daria]

me about melkor x manwë: CANNOT live without each other, one and the same yet completely different, bound in ëlea and fana til death do them part, loathe to part from one another, melkor wants to possess manwë utterly, eats sleeps breathes manwë, wants to cocoon them away from the world and keep him to himself, the center of his universe, does everything with his little brother in mind, in love and in (supposed) hate. manwë understands his brother's inner workings like no other and willingly gives himself over to the madness only he can tame and, if he so wished, could further stoke the flame. even if the others remain weary of his brother, he knows that underneath the vainglory, the cruelty and the darkness, lay a genius with such potential and much to offer arda, in this essay i will-

me about varda x melkor: why on earth would varda spare a glance to that psychotic, narcissistic, murderous, vandalistic, backstabbing, petty ass motherfucker?

[melkors-big-tits]

A lil' progress report how the Manwë lino art is coming along~💖

It's going slow as Fuck cuz I needed to make THREE DIFFERENT BASES Before I could even Begin to Carve!!😠😡😠😡

So once again Manwë proves that the only thing he's good at is to be a Royal Pain-in-the-ass😤

[silmforrookies]

Chapter III. Of the Beginning of Days, or the Valar Are Making Me Feel

Well, fellas, congratulations! We are now officialy done with Ainulindalë & Valaquenta and are diving right into the main course, Quenta Silmarillion - or the History of Silmarils. Prepare your swords, napkins, and whatever else should you need on your endeavour.

It's an old song! It's an old song from way back when; it's an old song, but we're gonna sing it again! It's a sad song; it's a sad tale, it's a tragedy! It's a sad song, but we sing it anyway... (©Hadestown)

The first chapter of the Quenta Silmarillion is called "Of the Beginning of Days". In short:

Sigh. Alright. Let's see what we could have and what Melkor made us loose.

The chapter starts with what we already learned: that Melkor and Valar were at war, and that the Valar were losing drastically. Melkor was dominating Arda, and most of its land were under his power; of course, the Valar couldn't shape the world as intended in those anti-creative circumstances and were slowly starting to despair. However...

In a small hole in the wast fabric in the Universe, just under Eru's throne, lived Tulkas. And Tulkas looked down at the Little Kingdom of Arda, and saw Melkor, and said: "Nice little dominion of darkness you have over there. Would be a shame if something... happened to it"

(Quenta Silmarillion, Tulkas, sometime before the Age of Lamps, probably)

Tulkas spared a glance towards Arda, saw that things were not looking great for his buddy Manwë, and decided to single-handedly turn the tide of the war. What a fella. What a pal. What a chad. Seriously, get yourself a friend like Tulkas, you won't regret it.

Anyways, the second Tulkas stepped into Arda, Melkor had no choice but to turn and run. Tulkas' laughter was like a wind that cleared everything dark from its way, and his face didn't promise nothing but a good old ass-whooping. Melkor was so scared of Tulkas he didn't just run away - he abandoned Arda completely. All hail Tulkas. All hail my man.

So, Tulkas was busy searching for Melkor (I expected a good fight, man, come on), Melkor was busy sulking in the Outer Darkness (space?) and being number one Tulkas hater, and Valar were just happy that they finally, finally were able to create, unbothered by any abomination of anger, hate and envy. They happily accepted Tulkas into their ranks and got right to work.

Of course, they had to deal with the hell of a mess left after Melkor. They fixed lands and oceans, moved mountains, stabilized volcanoes and so on. Then, Yavanna could finally bring to life her most sacred project: plants. Well, not then exactly - plants need light to grow, after all; so the Valar came together and created two lights, two magnificent Lamps - Illuin and Ormal. They placed Illuin in the North of Middle-Earth, and Ormal - on the South; they were the work of Aulë and Varda, blessed by Manwë, and loved by all. And when the light of the two Lamps filled Arda, seeds that Yavanna planted started sprouting. Multiple mosses, grasses, bushes, trees - it all came to life, and the most beautiful they were in the middle of Arda, where the light of two Lamps mingled - and the Valar decided to live there. That time is called the Spring of Arda.

Those were happy times, and the Valar finally thought they could rest. Their home was an isle in the middle of a Great Lake, named Almaren; and Manwë called all the Valar and all of their servants to a grand feast, to celebrate their work and their victory. Tulkas wedded Nessa, Oromë's sister; and she danced before the Valar, and they were merry, and they all lived happily ever after...

... is what would I say if it wasn't for our good old friend, Melkor, Moringotto, the Dark Foe of the World. Who was sulking in the Outer Darkness. Or so we thought.

In reality, Melkor was busy recruiting spies and gathering intel, because Melkor can't simply let people be happy - he's just silly like that. It came to his knowledge that Ainur were planning a grand feast, and that Tulkas and Aulë would be tired as hell (because they, unlike someone, were busy helping others) - and he decided that there would be no better day to attack and to destroy the Valar once and for all.

So he started preparing for a new war - and his first step was to build an indestructible underground fortress, Utumno. His presence was so vile that Arda started marring - the plants started vaning, swamps - appearing, animals in the forests became ugly dangerous abominations who were out for blood. And the Valar, looking at this, knew that Melkor was back, and that they should brace for an attack.

Melkor striked faster than they could manage to do so. He destroyed the Lamps, and the places where they stood turned into oceans, and underground fire came forward, devouring Arda - that great was their fall.

Melkor fled - he achieved a victory, but was still too much of a coward to face Tulkas or Manwë; so he ran away and hid deep in Utumno, confident in its durability.

Valar were too busy preventing multiple major apocalypses to chase him or to vage a full-scale war; the balance of lands and waters was ruined, plants were dead, and the Lights - gone. Their home in Almaren was destroyed; everything they worked so hard on was wiped away by Melkor's sick whim, and they, yet again, had to start over.

They traveled to Aman, the most western land of Middle-Earth. Since Melkor was back to Arda, and they couldn't defeat him, they decided to fortify their positions; they surrounded Aman with Pelóri, Mountains of Aman, the greatest mountains in all world. Its highest peak, Taniquetil, is where Manwë and Varda reside. Behind Pelori, the Valar founded Valinor - their secure kingdom. It was a collection of most fair and beautiful things in Arda, its most wonderful place; so they built their palaces there, and founded a first city - Valimar, the City of Thousands Bells.

Near Valimar, there was a hill called Ezellogar; and one day, Yavanna came there, and sang. She was sitting there for a long time, singing and singing about plants, about her creations; and Nienna was crying, silently watering the ground with her tears, and the other Valar were listening.

Then, two sprouts came to being.

It is told that no sound was heard during that time - only Yavanna's song. Those two sprouts, fuelled by her voice and will, started growing - higher and higher, mightier and mightier; until they became two Trees, the greatest Trees ever created - Laurelin and Telperion.

Telperion's leaves were dark green, and they were glowing with silver, and from them the silver dew was ever falling; Laurelin's were bright, glimmering with gold, and her branches ended with golden flowers, glowing with yellow flame and spilling yellow rain, and they produced light and warmth. Those were the great Trees of Valinor, Yavanna's most magnificent creation, catalysts of Arda's history - in life and death.

Each Tree would glow for seven hours, and each would start glowing an hour before the other would start fading; so twice a day the Lights would mingle. A day in Valinor was twelve hours long.

Alright! Back to Earth. Let me remind you, Melkor is still roaming Arda, and Valar aren't fans of Melkor roaming Arda, though they can't do much about it.

Aulë's palaces were in the middle of Valinor, and he started creating metals, minerals, etc. He is called the friend of Noldor, for he was the one who taught them crafts.

Manwë, however, dwells on Taniquetil, and his thoughts are always with Middle-Earth. He established the first news agency - he gets his own newspaper in form of spirits who look like birds and travel back and forth, from Valinor to Middle-Earth. His favourites are Vanyar: he loves their poems.

Ulmo ditched Valinor and lives in the ocean, where he governs the waters. He thinks of his own music, great and terrible, and it echoes theough the whole world. His faves are Teleri, though he's also the only one to regularly check on those who live in Middle-Earth, as we learned already.

Wait.

Is it just me, or...

... AS I WAS SAYING, the next one is Yavanna, who left most of her work in Middle-Earth, and who would visit it sometimes to heal the wounds Melkor did; every time she would return, she would claim they needed to finally defeat him, until the Children of Ilùvatar come. With her, Middle-Earth was often visited by Oromë; he would hunt the dark servants of Melkor, and they would scatter from him, but come together once he would leave.

This was the state of Arda as it awaited Elves and Men. None of the Ainur knew when will they arrive, for Eru kept it secret. Similarly, only he knew the difference between them.

Elves were to be fair and wise, skilled in all arts and crafts, immortal and untouched by age or illness; their fates, however, would be forever bound to Arda, similar to Ainur, and if they die, they would heal in the Halls of Mandos and live again. Sorry, elves. No escaping the narrative for you.

Men, however, had the opposite gift - Death. Their days in Arda were limited, and their souls would long to go away from the Circles of the World. They were short-lived, but it was them who would finish the world the Ainur started, and it was them who would sing in the Second Song of the Ainur.

The tragedy of it all was, death was meant as blessing; as libertation, as a way to new possibilities; Melkor, however, in his hatred made humans fear it, and made it associated with him instead of Eru. This is why some claim Men are Melkor's servants, though he hated humans greatly.

However, let's leave the Children of Ilùvatar for another occasion. Let's relax in the Bliss of Days, and lets not think of all the upcoming tragedies.

taglist: @none-ofthisnonsense

[pearlescentpearl]

Ooh can I ask Time After Time for the rebirthed Maedhros AU? Maybe for a couple of years after the Darkening? I need to know what happens when they all get to Beleriand 👀

Okay, let's see, where were we...

Ah, yes, Mass Exodus of Elves 2: Logistics Boogaloo.

So Olwë and the Falmari have the means to get people to Beleriand, awesome! Small problem; they cannot ferry three cities worth of angry elves in one go, that's just not possible. Luckily, the Valar are not forbidden from helping. Since Ulmo is a bro, and the Helcaraxë does need to be broken up to close that path into Aman, he breaks off large flat shelves to ferry some of the elves over too.

They don't know what they're walking into over there, so it's decided, since the ice ferry is quicker, the first ice ferry elves will be primarily warriors and scouts, packed to move quickly and efficiently. The ships will follow up with more supplies and the kind of forces necessary to set up long term.

Ingwë elects to take the ice ferry. He is their highest ranking king, they'll need him for diplomacy.

Ulmo drops them off in the Falas where he can vouch for them to Círdan. Angband's invasion has not yet reached south enough to siege the Falas, but they're not so far away either.

Ingwë's forces are timely, and well armed, and Ulmo keeps them coming. They fend off the orc armies before they even touch the Twin Cities.

Such ardent resistance in the south-west draws attention. Orcs spilling from the Fens of Serech that would otherwise march around the borders of the Girdle turn instead to contend with the mixed Kindred army marching under the banner of the King of All Elves. It's not a great amount of relief to Elu Thingol's army, but it is enough relief they can march that much quicker, have just fewer foes to contend with, that Elu Thingol can just barely make it in time to save Denethor, King of the Laiquendi.

Elu Thingol has no time for pleasantries. He is surrounded. He stuffs Denethor, and as many of the Laiquendi as are willing, under his arm and hauls ass back to the Girdle.

The ships, sped along by Ulmo and Manwë, hit the shores of Lammoth and Arvernien. Finwë in the north. Olwë in the south.

Finwë marches his forces up the Firth of Drengist, fighting every step of the way to clear Hithlum and plug the passes, securing an alliance with the hard pressed Mithrim Sindar. His success lets Ingwë make decent headway into Talath Dirnen and the riverlands between the forests of Brethil and the Ered Wethrin.

Meanwhile, Olwë is clearing out the coast from the cape of Balar to the estuary of Sirion, splitting his forces around the forest of Nan Tathren to pin the orcs against the wall of the Andram. They follow the Andram east to the Ramdol where Amon Ereb can be seen in the distance.

With Finwë and Ingwë plugging the Fens, the exhausted Iathrim finally get enough breathing room to take back Dimbar and make headway in Dor Dinen. Not even orcs willingly trespass in Nan Dungortheb.

With Finwë taking the brunt of the frontal siege in Ard-Galen, Ingwë spills his forces through the arc of Dorthonion, clearing out the orcs. Eventually they emerge in Ladros and start the slog of closing the pass of Aglon.

The Iathrim take back Dor Dinen, and start securing the passes of the river Arossiach. Forays are made into Himlad to get Nan Elmoth back. Down south, Olwë chases orcs up through Estolad, freeing up the river passes into Ossiriand and winning friendship with the Laiquendi along the way. The plains of east Beleriand are wide and easy to travel. Eventually they pin the orcs between the Celon and the Little Gelion, forcing them through the craggy hills of Himring.

Ingwë and Olwë meet in Aglon, and then Olwë goes east, into Lothlann.

Together, the three kings and their forces shove the routed armies of Angband back through the dread gates.

And that's the first Tree year in Beleriand.

Meanwhile, Elu Thingol is being pushed to his limits as a gracious host. The good news! Thanks to Melian, Denethor mended well and took his people back to Ossiriand, clearing out Thargelion along the way. The bad news. There are now three entire Kindreds of Calaquendi elves in the north and Elu is no longer the only of his kind. The better news! Ingwë says they only plan to stay long enough to kick Angband's ass and then they'll be out of Elu's hair eventually. The worse news. Ingwë's now calling himself the King of All Elves, which is the first Elu's ever heard of it.

He didn't vote for this!

At least his missing brother and his old best friend are in hugging distance again, even if they're both mercilessly calling him a heartsick swain for taking up residence in the forests where Finwë used to live.

Elu takes back missing them. They can fuck off again.

And thus, the Leaguer is established with Ingwë and Ingwion in Hithlum (bc otherwise Ingwë gives Elu 'and no other above me' Thingol raging hives), Finwë takes Himring, Olwë takes the Bay of Balar, and the three of them spread their multiple sons out elsewhere in the gaps.

Also, Russingon have a threesome with Denethor, but that's another matter.

[transsexualhamlet]

i saw a post ranking how much each of the Valar hates Melkor and I thought I would make a post with kinda the opposite side of that, so

Melkor's Ranked List of Most Hated to Least Hated Valar

Burning Scorching Undying Hatred

Yavanna- There is just a special #1 enmity Melkor has for her, as is very obvious. He fucking hates trees so fucking bad and it is very difficult to escape her Stuff all Over the fucking place. There is absolutely nothing about Yavanna that Melkor wants to interact with. She symbolizes life and happiness and flowers and junk and well. Clearly makes him want to puke. He is a fan of the Corpse Flower which she made specifically because she was angry at him but it failed bc he was like oh this is awesome. But clearly there is NO redemption between them

Ulmo- Also has to do with conflicting elements. Ulmo fucking ruins this man's life and then ruins Mairon's life AGAIN later. He gets ZERO points for this and the sea is really the only place Melkor could never manage to conquer. As the sea is a very thematic thing for the elves and their salvation from Melkor and his nonsense, Melkor hates water so fucking much not even just because it spies on him and Mairon certainly did not have better treatment by it in his day

Manwë- The only reason he's at #3 is because Melkor does appreciate how much of a forgiving sod the dude is. He has to admit it is very easy to get off scot free from his brother, though Varda is not so forgiving. But despite it, he just cannot get over the rage of his brother being god's favorite. It's really an issue

Varda- Varda would be above Manwë if not for the fact that Melkor doesn't even hate stars, in theory. He wouldn't mind them honestly if they weren't literally all named "star that hates Melkor" "star that hates melkor 2" "star that shows we all want to kill melkor with weapons" above his head 24/7. Varda hates Melkor more than Melkor hates him, but of course that adds up to a Lot. She is the goddess of light which just. Well they really truly do not like each other

Nienna- Imagine having a bitch designated specifically just to be sad about everything you do. Very annoying. Get over yourself. You can just not be sad about it. There's an upside in knowing his actions have caused so much suffering because you know, that's what he's going for, but the idea of Nienna still just disgusts him. He feels as if his domain has been invaded and inverted towards Eru's purpose, which has been. A major point of contention. Over the years

Vana- She obviously gets hated simply thru association with Yavanna. She has personally offended him less, but it bothers him a lot that he has had such little effect on her. He's made Yavanna cry a lot in canon but Vana just . Can get through anything, she's there no matter what, she's happy no matter what. It makes him Sad

Namo/Mandos- This is a really weird one for Melkor because for him it's like. Going to the mall in your most fucked up and insane outfit to piss people off on purpose and then you see someone who looks even cooler and goth-er but they have a lot of friends with them and seem mentally healthy and it's honestly really getting to you. There are things about the world that he knows that Melkor doesn't and that makes Melkor want to fucking eat himself. Also he kept Melkor in a cage for 3000 years and literally never even made conversation. Melkor cannot tell if he wants to be friends with this dude or wipe him off the face of Arda but neither of those are options in any world

Tulkas- You'd think this dude would be higher on the list, but Melkor rarely thinks about Tulkas and often forgets the dude exists. Obviously it pisses him off that some random guy jacked as hell came in and beat his ass more than once and he has zero other purpose in life. But as to being a nemesis of Melkor, Tulkas thinks himself much higher on the list than he really is. It's kind of funny

Oromë- Melkor's main beef with Oromë comes from the dude and his people constantly one-shotting his Beautifully Handcrafted Beasts, and to a lesser extent him telling the elves about the trees, but there would be a lot less fun in making increasingly Fucked Up Creatures if they didn't have someone to fight, and well. He didn't really like the elves anyway. Mairon hates him more, personally, because of Huan, but on principle Oromë doesn't bother Melkor too much.

Estë- Although it is rather frustrating to have someone who can heal trauma which you worked so tirelessly to inflict, Estë's power is rather limited and doesn't often come into play. It's like someone comforting your ex who you haven't thought about in years and going ohhh he sucked he was awful you're perfect like. Ok? Like you're Wrong but it's not like this matters very much after the fact

Aulë- Melkor has very little to say against Aulë other than those like two times he yelled at Mairon during the years of the lamps. Aesthetically a really great guy, great ideas with weapons and volcanos and machinery and giant stone halls and whatnot. But seriously not a fan of the big chain. Melkor even thinks big chains are super cool. Just not like. Around him. Without consent ofc

Vairë- Melkor says keep on making awesome tapestries of people fighting against me and losing. Go ahead give him bigger horns make him look really scary. No notes just didn't like the hundred years she spent making a weaving of him sitting in a jail cell.

Irmo/Lorien- As much as he doesn't really have anything in common with Irmo, there's nothing really to complain about. Melkor is rather good at invading dreams and enjoys fucking with people thru them, so rather glad they exist. It is a pretty decent art medium and can make torture interesting. Generally not a threat unless in the rare and vague case of prophetic dreams which are just not heeded very often. Irmo can send some elf a thousand dreams of Melkor's battle plans and they will forget 99% of it within a minute of waking up

Nessa- She's pretty solidly on the bottom despite being almost entirely irrelevant because well, Nessa has done nothing to ever bother Melkor. He likes deer and dancing as much as the next guy (especially the fucked up kind) and they would probably get along at a party provided she didn't recognize him lol. She probably doesn't even talk too much about her cringefail husband

Indifference to Don't Even Mind This One