#mayglor

[taur-en-faroth]

it’s a long, long road

from which there is no return…

maglor and celegorm for the end of mayglor. sort of sad i didn’t contribute sooner but you know what. i like what i’ve got.

[meadowlarkx]

little kano pilfering nelyo's things (based on v. bayushkin's illustration for "the malachite casket.") maybe he's off to a recital and needs the glamor ✨

[searchingforserendipity25]

dark waters | maglor/daeron

there is a song coming from the steep stones, from the places where the waves froth their rage, and it is calling maglor by name.

makalaurë makalaurë makalaurë -

he had sought to ignore it. why? not cowardice. arrogance, rather: his own songs he had valued the better. the pressing need to lay them out had been in him, as much grief as pedantry. was he not after all the minstrel of the noldor, though none of th noldor would have him now? 

you know what you have done!

arrogance. and futility, of course. but he had needed the tasks of elegy not to go mad with the pain of varda’s hallowing upon the filth of him. he had needed to recall the grief of the many, his own and those by him and his slain, not to turn to savage ditties on maedhros, son of fëanor, son of finwë, self-slain unto the earth’s very burning heart. maedhros, clutching the jewel even as his skin turned to ash, though his brother was in agony beside him. 

and he needed to sing. if he was not to be as hateful a creature as carcaroth; if he was not to cede to evil, and go blood-mad, and slay any living thing that crossed his path and himself with it.

evil he might be, as much as morgoth’s own foul pet, but still: he was a minstrel. is one, even now; though the sea makes for a thankless audience, and what great works he makes out of the vast scope of lamentation are heard by none else.

not like the song from the waves, that holds in its thrall even the wildest of sea-birds.

thou knowest what is owed -

the loremasters were not incorrect in this; daeron had always been the superior singer out of the two of them.

that had not changed, in the long stretch of intervening years since either of them had belonged to any list besides the one of those lost to their own legends.

to the sea the sea the ever widening sea. makalaurë!

how long had it been since he had heard the call?

this is not the sea-longing, but a deeper, wilder thing, nothing like the chaining of the oath. nothing like anything else he had ever felt, except the once - except when once he had raised his voice in perfect memory and counter-melody - 

the song is beautiful, tremendous. it soares and lowers, harmonized with the murmuring of the waters - on purpose, maglor thinks, on accord: the sea was for it. in duet they sang, water and sindar. 

what a strange thing it is, after so long, to envy the very voice of the sea! but he does envy it then, for the privilege of that duet. how long had it been, since he had ceased pretending to himself that his feet took him anywhere but ever-nearer to it?

maglor had knwon that voice. he knows it still. there is nothing more beautiful in the world; he would have known it in the void. 

it is so easy to follow, in the end. the sea, the hungry justice of the sea, grinned at him with a mouthful of sharp teeth like the gleam of the treacherous moon, a gleam of starlight on purple-dark scales freckling his cheeks and torso and tail.

a smile more familiar than it had any right to be, after one meeting only. but what a meeting it had been, such a joy for the ages!

and in truth, maglor had been longing for such a reunion. for such a long time -

daeron reaches out. his kiss is treacherously sweet, gentle, if not for the possessing nails digging into his skin, running between the taunt filament that stretched between his fingers, mingling blood with the salt of the sea. 

the singer in the waves drags him down into the dark waters, and maglor - makalaurë, last of the kinslayers on endorë, does not think to scream. 

[nailsinmywall]

i am not dead by the way

i’m just having a hard time getting into the elf drawing mood in my new flatshare (i moved last month)

i did half-heartedly participate in hashtag feanorianweek, though, by posting wips and low effort doodles every day on my twitter 💀 they include sketches of curufin (+ celebrimbor) with dwarves, sleepy teen caranthir brushing his teeth, feanor/nerdanel doodles from 3 years ago, little tyelko antics and Maglor VS celegorm 

[mgcoco]

A little Crablor for Mayglor 🦀💙

Bonus featuring Elrond:

[foxleycrow]

Sad, sea-themed sketches of Maglor for Mayglor. Gel pen.

[silmawensgarden]

Maglor on a swing during sunset

Maglor in Valinor after being reborn.

The gold-pencil just doesn't show up normal, so have a weird slanted pic as well. ♡

[joyfullynervouscreator]

Fathoms Below

@nailsinmywall, @foxleycrow & @navyinks seem to have dragged me into something called Mayglor with mer-Maglor arts and I am *living* for the potential of Eldritch Uinen and Maglor friendship implied by this... so I maybe wrote a fic. (Partially inspired by @bloodwingblackbird‘s TRSB concept, too...)

Uinen moves, fluid as water, sinuous as a snake, her limbs – green-webbed fingers longer than fingers ought to be, skin decorated with the lumps of pale barnacles clinging to her, a body that is thick and feels strangely nurturing in a sense he does not quite understand, ending in a mass of squid-like tentacles each thicker than his legs – flowing like she is following her own current.

“Beautiful, is she not?” The words, the light wry voice turned sweetly loving, right next to his ear are even more startling than the knowledge that when the sailors who heaved him overboard to calm the storm cried out a sacrificial prayer to Uinen, she actually listened.

He nods, dumbly.

She is, the savage beauty of power leashed if barely, the roar of the seas hers to command or calm, and he knows who is beside him, foam-white hair floating in a current that doesn’t exist in this strange bubble of air beneath the waves.

“Ossë,” he breathes, fear-tinged.

Ossë laughs, high and bright, and an elf-shaped hand darts into view, gripping his shoulder. The bruise beneath flares to life, hot and painful, and the best reminder than this is no drowning-dream.

He is fathoms below, dropped into the depths of the sea.

And he is alive.

For now.

Fathoms Below (Ao3 // SWG)

2.6k, no warnings, T Maglor, Uinen, Ossë Maglor & Elros (mentioned), Uinen/Ossë Under the Sea, Eldritch Ainur, canon-compliant(after a fashion, at least), Mayglor

[navyinks]

concept for mayglor (crablor but make him a merman instead): legend tells of a strange creature that gets washed onto the shores of middle earth on the full moon of the seventh month of every seventh year, clutching a bundle of rags which is said to contain great treasure; however, none have ever successfully captured said beach cryptid to confirm this theory.

[searchingforserendipity25]

thinking about maglor's mays on this mayglor. the many mays he lives through over the ages. what they look like by the seaside: how it is a time for the beggining of a slow death, in some places. the drough season starts; all the wildflowers and reeds growings thin and yellow, slowly and then all at once - the mites and flies moving in packs over the dunes, looking for something ripe to pick at. how often does he have to sing them away from the rotting thing beneath the bandages of what was his hand, away from the impression of death on his skin?

the songs say he harps still: let us say he does. it is not without effort, but it can be accomplished. the whale moving away to the extreme north and the extreme souths for courting and feasting season, the last of their cries ringing disconsolate over the lands. may, and the trees of the north are flowering, the pine and elm and cedar forests grown for the usefulness of the fleets of arnor growing heavy with warm perfumes. all the small things that nestled in spring trying their turn in the world - meeting the teeth of wolves and foxes for the first time.

maglor sings many laments all through the years, specific ones for every reason. but is a time for small elegies, and small beauties: the almond trees with their leaves turned to flaming reds after the last flowers fell, the small kites growing braver. the swallows with their graceful tails returning, again and again, and dropping their mad flights with skimming wings over the waves, greeting him with trills and cries - an old, old tradition, started when first he took up their language in the loneliness of his wandering. some of them, picky and whimsical, bring strange offering - little stems of bluebells, poisonous blossoms of oleander, so vivid a pink as to deceive a bird's generous eye. so it goes, one year and perhaps the next. the rhythm of the world pounding on against the shore along with the ceaseless sea, all living creatures following their migrations among their kindred.

he goes on in him aloneness, a creature singular and entirely alike all the rest, following the shadow of wings northwards or southwards as his feet take him or the swifts invite him. a bandaged hand raised in farewell to the great orcas, waving off their offer to compare hunting stories on their return.

maglor has a song for every season, but may is full of the promise of sound and fury, all of it a string of incidents signifying nothing. the same chord, every years - can there be any comfort in that? every thing that roams the world alone becomes wise and cunning about the measuring of safety, after a time. sometimes it is less evil to break into silence, and let the harp rest, and the hands, and listen to the death of spring before summer comes and recalls every old violence with the turning of the storms.

[searchingforserendipity25]

Your dark waters piece is so gorgeous!! The style feels so elegant

-@outofangband

Thank you so much @outofangband! I started it last week for mayglor, after chatting with @meadowlarkx about maglor + mermaids. I wanted to write something for mermay, but got stuck a bit until last night.

There are some lovely art pieces on tumblr for mermayglor (can this be a holiday? Banks close, everyone goes mermaid hunting by blaring contemporaries art music on speakers, etc). I'd already done a mayglor thing, but the mermaid concept was fighting me a bit! There are some other drafts about it that might have worked, but I'm much happier with how this one turned out. Daeron stole the show, in true siren rocks rockstar fashion!

Doubling down on the stylistic choices was what made it finally work, so I'm so glad that struck you, it's very validating haha <3

[foxleycrow]

More Maglors (Maglori) for MAYglor. This time, it’s—corrupted Maglor! Gel pen sketches.

[nailsinmywall]

mayglor day 24: older brother

[nailsinmywall]

happy MAYglor ! baby maglor must have been a nuisance

[nailsinmywall]

maglor in concert (mayglor day 8)

[nailsinmywall]

mayglor day 6: maglor sings a lullaby to little baby moryo