#medieval! Oromë

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

High Tree Hall, seat of House Archer and Medieval! Lord Oromë

Rules and tag form here | Prompts for requests here.

A/n: Silverwood tree is something I invented purely for this AU.

High Tree Hall is located deep within the ancient forests of Hunter’s Pass. The forests are rarely, if ever, infiltrated by an enemy, as the trees form confusing paths and dead-ends similar to the Labyrinth of Alqualondë. Still, elves and attendants loyal to Lord Oromë carry out regular patrols in and around the forests. Any guests or outsiders visiting High Tree are met on the outskirts of Hunter’s Pass and led down winding paths on horseback while blindfolded.

High Tree Hall and its outer buildings are surrounded by a curtain wall made of stone and mortar. There are two gates, the Hunter’s Gate and the River Gate, and the curtain wall has four bastions facing different directions.

High Tree has its own water supply due to the presence of pools fed by underground springs. Despite this, wells have been dug into the earth in case of necessity.

1.High Tree Hall: High Tree is a long house built around a giant Silverwood tree, and the structure itself is made out of a mixture of roughly hewn stone and mortar and thick wooden bark. The lower branches of the redwood tree spread out beneath the roof.

High Tree has one floor above ground, along with a basement. The floor above ground is partitioned into three separate sections. One corner section is for Oromë’s personal use. This section comprises a bath chamber, a small hall for when Oromë wishes to hold private meetings with his advisors, a little library, Oromë’s bed chamber, and his own armory. The other end is sectioned into small, but well-appointed bed chambers for Oromë’s guests. Each room has its own private bath. 

The center portion of High Tree is called the Great Hall. This hall is used for feasts, dances, and larger meetings. Even on days when there are no planned meetings or festivities, the residents of High Tree would all gather here for their daily meals. Pelts of animals slain during hunts are spread out all over the floor and furnishings, and the skulls are hung on the walls. There are no fireplaces here, only braziers and beeswax candles. The basement comprises a kitchen and cellar. Like all of the Great Houses of Valinor, High Tree has its own ice cellar.

2.The Stables

3.The Kennels

4.The warehouse and stores

5.These buildings are used by Oromë’s warriors, attendants, and their families. Each building comes complete with its own armory.

6.These buildings are used by Oromë’s servants and their families.

7.These buildings are guest manses, and are used to house the retinue of Oromë’s guests.

All buildings listed under 5, 6, and 7 come with their own bathhouse.

8.Smithy

9.Sparring yard

House Shield coat of arms: A mounted archer on a green field

Tags: @asianbutnotjapanese @cilil @edensrose @wandererindreams

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

💫High Tree Hall is located deep within the ancient forests of Hunter’s Pass. The forests are rarely, if ever, infiltrated by an enemy, as the trees form confusing paths and dead-ends similar to the Labyrinth of Alqualondë. Still, elves and attendants loyal to Lord Oromë carry out regular patrols in and around the forests. Any guests or outsiders visiting High Tree are met on the outskirts of Hunter’s Pass and led down winding paths on horseback while blindfolded. - Medieval! Ainur Oromë home layout.

💫Despite their standing as a noble house, House Tarkil had little in the way of coin, their lands were hard to farm, and members often served in House Shield’s household guard. Still, they persevered, with Lord and Lady Tarkil doing everything possible to ensure their children wanted very little. Meássë had a good childhood alongside her twin brother, often training beside him in the sparring yard. Much like other high-born ladies, Meássë was taught traditional feminine arts such as art and embroidery, but she preferred her lessons in archery, horseback riding, jousting, and hunting. She would often join in on hunting expeditions. - Medieval! Ainur Meássë bio

Happy Tuesday, Fellowship! 💚

Don’t you just love to tease your audience with some snippets of what’s to come? Tuesday Teaser is all about hyping up a piece you’re currently working on. So, go on, tease a few sentences from your latest project!

Share as many or as few sentences as you like, and be a part of the buzz of excitement for your hard work!

[senadimell]

Here's a picture of Lúthien and Huan that fits how I see him. 

I've always imagined him as a wolfhound, but so many artists see “wolfhound” and never get past the “Wolf” part. Wolf depictions are a bit strange to me, as I associate hounds with the hunt; they fit with a medieval feel so common in Middle Earth.

 As Cú Chulainn is a character I'm familiar with, dogs are something well-situated in my psychological "mythical map;" that is, I don't find them strange or too domestic to be in a tale of mythic proportions. I knew about wolfhounds before I knew about Tolkien. Thus, I was delighted to discover a wolfhound when I read the Silmarillion, as there doesn't seem to be much knowledge of them where I live and they rarely make it into pop culture. Popular mythology seems to be Greek, Roman, Arthurian, or Norse in nature. As Huan's name means "great dog, hound" and Oromë is described as a lover of "horses and hounds," I see Huan as a wolfhound rather than a wolf (that is, a dog rather than a wolf that hunts), capable of great fierceness and great loyalty alike.

[cycas]

Your Tiriom map is really neat! Do you have any ideas/know what Formenos was like?

I’m glad you like the map!I think the only canon on Formenos is this:“With him into banishment went his seven sons, and northward in Valinor they made a strong place and treasury in the hills; and there at Formenos a multitude of gems were laid in hoard, and weapons also, and the Silmarils were shut in a chamber of iron. Thither also came Finwë the King, because of the love that he bore to Fëanor; and Fingolfin ruled the Noldor in Tirion.”(Silmarillion) 

Plus, from Morgoth’s Ring:"Northward in Valinor, in the hills near to the halls of Mandos…” Which is odd. Fëanor and his sons travelled widely all around Valinor. Formenos doesn’t seem like an inviting spot to choose given a free choice.  Why not go to somewhere near the Halls of Aulë where he and his sons had regularly visited, or the forests of Oromë that Celegorm knew well, or to Alqualondë or to Valimar, if he was only banished from Tirion?  

Perhaps he didn’t want to go near the Halls of  Aulë - maybe he felt that his friend Aulë had let him down, not speaking to the Valar on his behalf at his trial?

Or perhaps he was told to stay near Mandos? The only other criminal we know of in Valinor was Morgoth, and he was required to live within the walls of Valmar to demonstrate good behaviour.  Perhaps Formenos was something similar. 

Or perhaps the northern hills near Mandos were just a good isolated spot to sulk, though apparently all seven of his adult children and his father felt that he had good reason to sulk, which I tend to think would be soothing.  On the other hand, presumably you only build a stronghold if you are scared of being attacked. 

Some people think that Formenos was a city, and already established before Fëanor went there, but personally, I don’t. I think Fëanor built it at the start of his exile, as the Silmarillion says, and it was more of a single castle than a large independent settlement.  I think it had walls and gates and probably an internal courtyard but probably wasn’t as elaborate as a later medieval castle.  Maybe something like Dolwyddelan Castle, if you can imagine this with the walls all complete, lit faintly from one side by the distant Trees, and with a star flag flying over it.

Quite a change from Tirion. 

Fëanor, his sons, and Finwë were clearly not the only people at Formenos. For a start, there were the messengers that Finwë sent to Valmar to warn that Morgoth had been seen.  I think Finwë probably brought people and supplies with him from Tirion, perhaps with the iron to build the treasury.  So perhaps that’s how Morgoth found his way there when he came to offer Fëanor an alliance, and was scorned as a jailcrow of Mandos: he followed the supplies. 

But since Fëanor himself shut the door of his house in Morgoth’s face, rather than, say, having him escorted to the town gate,  I tend to think there weren’t loads of other people around at the time.

[maedhrosrussandol]

I've have spent way too much time thinking about this intermittently over the past few years. I've worked on casting it in my head (and despairing because THERE IS NO ONE WHO CAN DO JUSTICE TO MAEDHROS), figuring out how to follow story arcs, considering what to keep and how to present it.

So (rolling up sleeves and just diving in)--here's my take on it:

It has to be a multi season TV series. It's too much for movies. I'd start the whole thing in Rivendell with a book being pulled off a shelf. Pages of gorgeous Fëanorion script with illuminated artwork, like a medieval text. Then a voice over (similar to start of Fellowship of the Ring.) This is how we painlessly make it through the Ainulindalë and the Valaquenta. Scenes of the Music of the Ainur, Melkor's discord, the creation of the world. Intro to the named Valar. The coming of the Children of Iluvatar is foretold. Aulë and Yavanna bit, creation of dwarves and their suspended animation. The first war against Melkor and marring of Arda. Creation of the trees. This is like the two hour season premiere.

Oromë finds the elves. Elwë, Olwë, Ingwë, and Finwë travel to Aman. Offer made to dwell there permanently. The go back to get their people and we follow them to their three kingdoms in Aman. Then flash to what happened to Elwë and have the Melian meeting and establishment of their kingdom.

Switch back to Tirion and follow the house of Finwë. Fëanor, the whole Miriel misery, the new marriage, the new kids, Fëanor's time with Mahtan. Marriage to Nerdanel and the arrival of those amazing sons of theirs. Follow Fingolfin and Finarfin creating families too--lots of cousins and happiness.

Then the whole arc of division between Fëanor and Fingolfin. Melkor's lies. The exile to Formenos. The Darkening, death of Finwe through the kinslaying at Alqualondë and ending the season with the burning of the ships and Fingolfin's vowing to follow and starting the Helcaraxë. Thus endeth season 1.

Next season starts with Fëanor and sons in Beleriand. Encounters with local elves and orcs and the battle where Fëanor dies. Maedhros captured. Scenes of misery, torture, hung on Thangorodrim.

Maglor and brothers left to pick up the pieces. Focus then shifts back to Fingolfin and the Helcaraxë crossing in all its brutality. Their arrival, the sun, the taunting at Angband, the reunion with the rest of the Noldor. Cue Fingon's rescue of Maedhros, the kinship transfer and the acquisition of lands and kingdoms by the various family members. Scenes of Himring, Gap of Maglor, Dorthonion, Thargelion, Dor-Lomin etc. siege of Angband.

Galadriel heads off to Doriath somewhere on this arc. We see Thingol, Melian, Luthien. Girdle of Melian. Harsh words for Noldor. Hello Beleg. Glimpses of Celeborn and Oropher. Brief view of Cirdan somewhere in this narrative.

Finrod finds men. Nargothrond established.

Battle. Battles.

Turgon buggers off to found Gondolin. Aredhel leaves, finds Eol, has Maeglin, heads on back and dies.

Back to battles and the fall of Fingolfin. Thus endeth season 2.

Entire Beren Luthien arc next. This might be a whole season too, with the whole Nargothrond arc.

Next season begins with great Fingon scenes--glaurung, battles etc. All leading up to Nirnaeth.😩

Multiple episodes with Turin arc with fall of Nargothrond. End of season.

Fall of Doriath. Obligatory scene of Maedhros desperately searching forest for lost twins. Elwing to Sirion.

Fall of Gondolin. Deaths of Ecthelion, Glorfindel, Turgon. Idril's escape route. Earendil and Elwing arc.

Fall of Sirion. Elrond and Elros with Maedhros and Maglor. Years of growing up, battles with orcs, becoming who they will be.

Earendil to Valinor. War of Wrath. Defeat of Melkor. M&M steal Silmarils. Death of Maedhros, wandering of Maglor.

Elrond and Elros flash forward.

End with Elrond gently touching the book and reverently putting it back.

It's at least a 5 season run. Epic battles of game of thrones excess.

Challenging to cast. The cinematography, CGI, architecture really can all play off the world PJ created for LOTR movies. But casting it will be a real nightmare. Mind you I've got ideas but it's still a nightmare.

If there ever was a silm movie how would you like it to be?

I admit I am a bit surprised to find this in my inbox, because to be honest I am very neutral about the whole prospect. My stance with the Amazon Series is “Cautiously Optimistic” at best and nearly apathetic at worst. Yes new content gives us new fans and people to reach out to, and that is always something to celebrate, but with it comes discord and malcontent and fandom wank that I am quite literally done with. BUT. If The Silmarillion were ever to be adapted I would probably approach it as a series rather than a movie or a collection of movies. Adapting this book would not be something I would envy anyone… but if the task were given to me I would probably open it up in Imladris with Bilbo translating the old tales. He is with Penlodh and Erestor and he fumbles through the language, asking questions as he is translating it. On occasion Penlodh and Erestor give him gentle correction. As he goes through translating this account we see what he sees, with Penlodh as the primary narrator and on occasion Erestor. Maybe a guest appearance by Galdor or Glorfindel. Maybe on occasion they fight over which account actually occurred. The Silmarillion is vague and unfilmable in its current state, so a lot would have to be supplemented with pure headcanon. This is just how I might approach it. How would you guys? 

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Medieval! Oromë x Reader masterlist

Destined

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Destined

Pairing: Medieval! Oromë x Fem. Reader ( Ward of the Crown | Second Person POV)

Themes: Medieval! Ainur | Slow burn | Smut (Lemon)| Soft

Warnings: Arranged marriage | Use of a dagger during the wedding ceremony | Blood | Alcohol consumption | Mentions of injuries | First time | Kissing | Foreplay | Some explicit language | Oral (fem receiving) | Penetrative sex | Cream pie

Word count: 4.6k words

Summary: It was an arranged marriage to the lord of High Tree Hall and Hunter’s Pass, a man of little words, one who was known to be as wild as the forests and deep passes he ruled over. How would he conduct himself on his wedding night?

Rating:🔥🔥 | Minors DNI | 18+ You are responsible for the media you consume. 

Full list of the great noble house of Valinor can be read here.

Rules and tag form here | Prompts for requests here.

It was the height of summer; the air was warm and balmy, and the wind blew in hot even though it was near evenfall. Still, it was glorious. The air was sweet with the scents of wildflowers and pine. The sky was a vivid kaleidoscope of gold and yellow and orange and even pink when the minstrels called at your door.

You were given the finest guest manse on the grounds. Oromë would have preferred to have you housed within High Tree itself, but custom decreed the procession. And that he not see you until the ceremony. 

Your chambers were a hive of activity. Maids rushed to and fro with dresses and shoes and flowers plucked fresh from a nearby meadow, taking great care when laying them out over the bed while you bathed and dressed and fixed your hair. Jewels caught the light of nearby candles and gleamed against your throat and ears and wrists. 

"Are you ready, lady y/n?" Lady Nessa said when she arrived to escort you to the Great Hall and your soon-to-be husband. 

You turned away from a silvered looking glass to face her. "As ready as I will ever be."

Nessa smiled and stood by your side while a maid helped you with the final touches for your dress, fixing your skirt and straightening your veil. Another helped drape a heavy cloak around your shoulders. At the appointed hour, you took your soon-to-be good-sister’s arm and let her lead you from your chambers.

By the time you had stepped out into the light, the horizon had turned into a slow burning ember. Deep blue and purple and black now bled into fiery red and orange. The first stars shone brightly overhead even as the sun slowly dipped beneath the tree line. Over you was a canopy of deep green velvet, richly embroidered with black thread, held up by several pages. Minstrels walked ahead, playing viols, flutes and drums and even trumpets while another page sprinkled white rose petals along the path. Beautiful lamps affixed to the low-hanging branches of nearby trees lit the way. 

The splendor of the moment did nothing to detract from the fact that life in High Tree Hall was nowhere as elegant and luxurious as life at Ilmarin, where the gardens were all neat and well-tended and the white marble halls were a riot of color due to the stained glass windows catching the sun’s glorious light. Here there were gnarled trees and ponds and flowers growing wild all over. The manses were built out of rough-hewn stone and mortar and thick wooden bark. The people that lived here were said to be as wild as their lord. 

Their lord. Oromë was liege lord of Hunter’s Pass and master of High Tree Hall. He had been in need of a wife and had asked the king for your hand after seeing you taking a turn in Ilmarin’s gardens not even half a year ago. After your father disgraced himself as a traitor, Eru stood in his place now. He was able to dispose of your hand to whomever he wished. And you could not say a word in protest. 

"My brother is eager to see you again." Nessa smiled. You dared to glance at her. Until a little while ago, it was Nessa who served as Lady of High Tree Hall. After tonight, that great honor would fall on you. If the lady had been bitter about her change in station, she didn’t show it. "He nearly dug a trench in the great hall by pacing about for what seemed like hours. He is that eager for the ceremony to begin." 

Eager to see me? Cannot wait for the ceremony to begin? You wrinkled your brow in confusion. Oromë barely spoke with you. He did not court you, or bring you little tokens. You could count with the fingers of one hand the number of times he had called on you, and that too only when the king was present. His letters, such as they were, had been brief, and few and far between. 

Nessa looked on expectantly, awaiting your answer. 

"I pray I will be a good wife to him," you say hesitantly. 

Nessa gave your arm a gentle squeeze. "Just as my brother prays to be a good husband to you."

You were not so sure. Oromë was known for his many passions and his wrath, and you felt wholly unprepared. Oh, your mother did talk to you upon your flowering many and more years ago, and of course you had listened to the scandalous chatter amongst the maids. Still, hearing talk of the marital act and actually having to go through with it were two different things altogether.

Will he be gentle, even a little? You wondered. Will he treat me with a kind heart and a tender hand?

The music slowly faded when the great doors of High Tree Hall loomed ahead, and the guards threw them open for the king himself. Eru had been resplendent this evenfall, garbed in black velvet slashed with cloth of gold. A heavy gold chain of linked flames had been draped loosely around his shoulders. His crown, an airy confection wrought out of a rare black metal and studded with emeralds, rested upon his brow.

"My lady y/n," he said and bowed respectfully, before extending his arm. "Shall we go in?"

Nessa gave your arm another gentle squeeze before dipping gracefully to her knees. "My king," she murmured, and rose. "My brother awaits you both."

You swallowed and looped your arm around the king’s, your eyes on Nessa’s retreating back the entire time. A blare of trumpets sounded, and you walked in time with the king. Minstrels took up their instruments again, and this time, a sweet, haunting air filled the great hall while a hush fell over the guests. Your gaze went straight to the proud lord standing by the roots of the great Silverwood tree that stood in the center of the feasting hall.

Oromë cut a striking figure. Tall and lean and fierce, with his thick black hair pulled back into a neat bun, he stood out from all of the others. He had been garbed in hunting clothes—all high boots and leather and light mail and soft wool. Heavy enameled green pins depicting a mounted archer in black fastened a thick pelt at the shoulders. A thin scar ran from brow to jaw, barely missing his right eye.  You took a deep breath and tried not to pay any attention to the guests looking at you. Their looks had been kind, but still, the attention was more than a little unnerving. When you looked back at the tree, you found Oromë looking right back at you. The beginnings of a smile played at the corners of his mouth. A warm flush crept up your throat when you reached the tree and the priestess who would join the two of you together, and Eru placed your hand on Oromë’s.

The ceremony itself passed like a blur. You listened to what was said, and said your portion of the vows. At one point, you could have sworn Oromë gave your hand a gentle squeeze. The priestess then unsheathed a sharp dagger and asked you to hold out your hand, palm facing up. The blade barely pierced the skin, but it still hurt. You watched while she did the same for your new husband. She then joined your hands and bound them with a new ribbon. You watched, enthralled, as your blood and his mingled and trickled, staining the thin strip of white silk a deep, deep, crimson.

"One body!" The priestess then declared to the crowd. "One heart! One soul! Bound as one in the sights of Gods and men! Cursed be they who try to tear them asunder!"

As her words rippled around the great hall, Oromë pulled you close and kissed you deeply. You had expected something that was rough and quick, but when his mouth opened yours, it was in a kiss that was tender and sweet.

"Mine," he whispered first, before adding, "Yours."

You looked on, wide-eyed, while he drew back. Guests broke into loud applause and cheers. You turned to face them, and felt a gentle tug on your hand. It was Oromë. He was trying to lead you to the raised dais at one end. You shook your head and rewarded him with a smile. It was time for the feast.

Again, there were differences. Feasts in Ilmarin were always lavish, but more than a little restrained. Here, the food and drink were served freely to anyone and everyone. Guests dined on thick soups and roast fowl and fish caught from a nearby river. There were flagons of ale and flagons of mead and flagons of a dark, bitter beer for anyone who had a thirst. There was wine too, a curiously light vintage that went very well with most of the food. Candles burned bright even as the great hounds of High Tree spread out next to tables and pelts and slept, having had their fill of scraps. Some guests started to fall asleep where they sat as well. Others wandered out of the hall in pairs of two and three and more, to engage in private amusements of their own. Lady Nessa made herself comfortable between Lady Varda and Nienna and Estë, and could be heard laughing merrily. The king stayed for as long as courtesy demanded before making his own excuses and leaving for the night. The revelry grew louder after his departure. 

Lord Tulkas had been singing the entire time, taking deep swigs of his ale in between verses. An auburn-haired woman clad in simple, soft green wool sat next to him, a pin bearing the bloodied hand of House Tarkil fixed firmly over her left shoulder. 

A captain of House Shield’s guard, you remembered. The one they call lady Meássë.

"Never engage him in a game of drink," Oromë leaned over and whispered. "Lord Tulkas will drink you under the table and continue drinking until dawn."

You believed him. Lord Tulkas was known to be able to hold his drink, and many of the others beside him could not. One by one, they made their excuses until his companion remained. 

"What about you, my lord," you observed after stealing a glance at his cup. "You have not drunk anything besides water all night." 

Oromë’s lips tugged at the corners. "Oromë," he insisted, "or husband, which is what I would prefer. As for my not indulging… well, let’s just say I wish to keep a clear head for what’s about to happen later." 

Your skin warmed. What’s about to happen later, he said. Oromë had been talking about bedding you. You turned to your meal, unsure of what to say. You tried to eat, but the cut across your left palm made it difficult to hold a fork. 

"Just use your hands," Oromë said, tearing a leg off a roast capon to show how it was done. "No one will mind. Eat. Please." 

You looked around the hall. Of those who had been eating, many used their hands. No one said anything. No one even seemed to mind. And the growls in your stomach made it harder to resist. Still, you took care not to dirty your dressing. The food was delicious, and you found yourself eating well from each dish. By the time the cakes and pudding had arrived, you found you could only manage a piece or two of lemon cake. 

Someone found a viol and launched into the bawdy version of "Lady Luck." Tulkas had stopped drinking but continued singing, this time joining in on the new song. Someone else found a flute, and "Lady Luck" soon changed to "Cup of Mead", which in turn soon turned into "Seven Lasses," a song that was even bawdier than "Lady Luck." Someone spilled their ale. Someone else shouted a vulgar joke. You struggled to contain your mirth. 

Guests took to the center of the hall and started to dance, while others clapped in tune. The singing grew louder while maids lit fresh candles. It started to rain outside, and servants rushed to close the shutters. More guests wandered out of the halls. 

Oromë took it as a sign that the time had come. He rose to his feet and extended his hand, and, you placed your hand in his. Few noticed, save for Lord Tulkas. He opened his mouth to say something, but Oromë cut him off with a quick, "Give words to your thoughts, my good friend, and I’ll break your fucking jaw." 

The lord of Stonehearth pouted before chuckling to himself. He leaned over to Lady Meássë and whispered something in her ear. Her cheeks turned a pretty shade of red, but she nodded in agreement to whatever it was he said. They left the hall not long after, arm in arm. 

No one followed either of you in the expectation of a bedding ceremony. Oromë led you around the dais to the chambers set aside for his own use. The walls were so thick, you were told, that no sound carried to the outside. You decided it was a blessing. You didn’t want the others to hear what went on. 

The air within was pleasantly cool. Oromë led you past little rooms and a small hall before guiding you to an airy bedchamber. More candles had been lit, and a brazier had been readied for lighting. He kicked the door shut behind you both. "Would you like something to drink?" he asked. 

The last thing you wanted was wine, or anything else, for that matter. "No, my lord," you said before discretely looking around the room. It was the same as the hall, with a bed made almost entirely out of thick pelts at one end. "My stomach is a roil." 

"Husband," Oromë said. He made no move to leave his place near the door. "Are you nervous?" 

"A little," you confessed, and walked around, not stopping until you had reached a strange but beautiful bow hung up on one wall. Twists of gold and silver wood gleamed with a delicate light all of their own.   

"From fallen branches of the sacred trees in Starfall," Oromë said after a moment. "Lady Varda made it with her own hands after I slew the creature that tried to destroy them." 

"Ungoliant," you replied, shivering. 

"Aye." Oromë came from behind and rested a hand on your shoulder. "Her skull is here. I can show it to you tomorrow if you wish." 

You were curious despite yourself. Oromë had asked you for your hand after seeing you only once and calling on you only a few times. Now he was married to you, and about to take you to his bed. 

"Forgive my lord, but why did you marry me?" You turned to face him. "My father is a known traitor. My family has been disgraced, so why me?" 

"Husband," Oromë insisted a second time, and grew silent for a long while. He finally said, "As for why I chose you… I… I felt something the first day I saw you. I didn’t understand why it was happening. All I knew was that I had to be with you and you alone. It was only by talking to others that it finally became clear. We were meant." 

"But you barely spoke to me!" 

"And I must apologize for that. I… I have never been one for tender words. My sister has tried to teach me… and failed on that score. She hopes you have better luck instead." 

You smiled timidly. Oromë walked over to you, his boots barely making a sound over the smooth stone floor. 

"May I?" he asked when he was close enough to you. 

You swallowed, but nodded and stood perfectly still. 

"Tell me if you want me to stop," he urged, before reaching for your veil. There was a soft ping whenever a hairpin fell to the floor. Your veil soon followed, fluttering to the ground with barely a sound. Your cloak, on the other hand, fell with a soft thud. Your hair slowly loosened as braids and coils came undone. 

"Do you want me to stop?" Oromë asked again, this time reaching out to undo the clasps and fastenings of your gown. You felt it loosening, and you were too caught up with your own growing curiosity to say another word. You shake your head all the same, knowing he was expecting an answer. 

He nodded and slipped the gown off your shoulders and past your waist, letting it fall the rest of the way and pool around your feet. Your stays were next. He helped you out of your shoes and your jewelry. Soon, you were clad in nothing but a sheer silk slip. Goosebumps prickled all over your flesh when you stood there, nearly exposed. Oromë studied you, his eyes darkening with each passing moment. He took your hands and brought them to his lips, pressing gentle kisses over each of your fingers. A strange but pleasant jolt shot up your spine when he kissed your bandaged palm. 

"Would you get into bed?" he said. 

It was not an order but a request instead. You took slow, measured steps, running the flat of your hand over the pelts. 

So soft, you mused. Softer than even the featherbeds back at the palace.

You climbed into the pelts, all too aware of Oromë’s eyes following you the entire time. He proceeded to undress himself, first by slipping out of his boots before removing his garments. Cloak and tunic and mail and leathers soon joined the growing pile of clothes on the floor. You turned your gaze to your lap when the last of his clothes were disposed of and he stood naked in front of the bed. Curiosity got the better of you again, and you dared a glance. 

His back was turned to you, all lean and muscled, and covered in all manner of scars. Even his arms and thighs had not been spared. 

It’s as if he has known nothing but violence most of his life. You looked away once more when he came to bed. "Look at me," he said. 

You obeyed, and found hunger in his deep green eyes. Your own wandered. His black hair tumbled past his shoulders now, and thin patches of more black hair trailed its way down his chest. There were scars all over his torso as well. Some of them looked old and angry. "Did these hurt?" You found yourself saying. 

"In the beginning," he confessed, "They all did. Some worse than others. Do they frighten you?" 

"Yes," you admitted, "I have never seen anyone with such scarring before." 

"Never?" he said, his eyes filled with curiosity. "You never grew close to anyone who caught your eye?" 

"Never," you replied, even as another heated flush crept up your throat. A smirk worked its way across Oromë’s face. 

"Never?" he asked again. "No pretty handmaid caught your eye? No comely stable hand tried to steal a kiss?" 

"No," you said, "The king had his warriors dogging my every step the moment I set foot outside my rooms. And my handmaids were his spies, I am sure of it." 

"I see," Oromë said, as if considering what you told him. 

"And what of you?" you challenged. "I hear you never keep to the warmth of one bed." 

He winced and sat up straight. "I will not lie when I say that there have been others and…" 

"Will there be others even after tonight?" 

"Will you be content with such a life, wife? Being bound to a man who cannot honor his vows?" 

In your heart of hearts, you knew you would never be happy with such a life. "No." 

Oromë nodded. "Just so. As for the others… They will never be a threat to us. And they will not be a threat to you. I give you my word on this." 

And the word of those who lived in these parts was their bond. They would never go back on a promise, not even on pain of death. And he swore the two of you were meant to be. It gave you some small comfort. 

Oromë running his thumb over your knuckles put an end to your thinking. He looked at you again, this time with expectation in his eyes and not just hunger. He had been as nervous as you, though he was much better at masking it. 

When he saw you for the first time, wandering around the gardens of Ilmarin, he thought his body had been set aflame, but the heat was something he had never felt before in his life. That heat had pulsed and spread and filled him with a light that glowed from within. As the days melted into each other, heat and light simply grew, and it was only after he approached Lady Varda and her ladies for their counsel that it became clear. 

"Destined," Varda had said. "The Gods themselves had planned this union. Do not fight it." 

He didn’t fight it. Oromë approached the king for your hand. As the father of the realm and your guardian, Eru had every right to say yes or no. Fortunately for Oromë, Eru agreed to the union and issued a proclamation before the week was even over. Now you were here—in his halls and in his bed. He brushed his hand over your hair and your cheek. He let his thumb trace the lines of your sinful lips. When you rewarded him with a wistful sigh, he leaned in. 

The pelts were soft, but he found you to be a great deal softer. Your lips tasted of the cakes you had earlier—tart and sweet. Your hair slipped around his fingers like water. When he laid you down and found you trembling, he ran his hand over your arm to soothe you. 

"Could you kiss me again," you looked up at him and asked. "It makes everything feel wonderful when you do." 

Far be it from him to deny you! Oromë grinned and kissed you again, this time not stopping until your mouth slowly parted for his tongue. His hands explored every inch of your body, slipping beneath the silks of your slip to run over the warmth of your flesh. He sighed when you moaned into his kiss, and groaned when timid arms slid around his waist. Nails dug into his skin, marring it with little bruises every time he kissed a little deeper and pressed himself a little closer. Oromë found your slip and smallclothes getting in his way. 

"Lift," he commanded. 

There was a soft rustle when your slip was tugged over your waist and arms before being consigned to the floor. Your skin prickled when you lifted your hips, and your smallclothes slid up your thighs before being unceremoniously cast aside with barely a flutter. When you shivered and covered your breasts with your arms, he gently drew them away. 

"Let me keep you warm," he said, before lowering his head. 

He did more than just that. Oromë spent what seemed like ages worshiping your body. His hands may have been rough, but his touch was exceedingly gentle, caressing you as if you had been made out of fragile glass. He kissed every part of you, from the tips of your fingers to the insides of your thighs, not stopping until you were whimpering and trembling beneath him. He went lower, his lips leaving a warm, damp trail all over your breasts and your belly. Not satisfied with even that, he went lower still. Warmth spread just beneath your skin when he pressed his lips over your folds. All you could do was grab at the pelts, fingers digging into soft fur whenever he ran his tongue over your already slick heat. Nothing could be heard but your ragged breaths and his soft grunts. You murmured when sweet tension grew within your belly. It was intoxicating. And so wonderful. All the tales you had heard, all the gossip and scandalous chatter, were nothing compared to what your husband was making you feel—like your entire body had been set ablaze from within. His tongue felt hot and lush whenever it ran over your core. His lips felt so soft whenever they tugged gently at your already-throbbing nub. You were close. So close. It felt like you were on the edge of the precipice, about to fall. Then he drew away, pressing a soft kiss against the inside of your thigh. 

Sheer instincts drove Oromë now. Still, he fought to control himself, not wanting to go too far or too hard the first time. There would be plenty of time for all of that, he decided, once you had grown more comfortable with him and trusted him more. He moved over you, sighing softly when your legs slid open for him. His lips captured yours in a kiss. It was a distraction to take your mind off of what was to come next. 

You felt him. All of him. He moved slowly, piercing you inch by slow inch. There was pain, yes, and discomfort, but his kisses were so sweet and heady and drugging, that you barely paid attention to either. You tasted the traces of you on his lips and tongue, and fount it to be as sweet as his kiss.  And there was pleasure—a slow-building kind of pleasure that pulled you into a dark tunnel of desire. 

"More," you whispered. More was what you wanted, and more was what he gave you. Oromë moved with gentle, rhythmic thrusts, and soon grew drunk on your sweet moans. On your own urging, he went a little harder, a little faster, moaning deeply whenever he felt your walls tighten around his cock. Nails dug into his flesh again, inciting almost otherworldly growls. He dipped his head and kissed you until you were silent, and he lost himself in your sweet flesh. All he could do was feel the warmth of your skin, the heat of your kisses, and the softness of your thighs, even as they scrambled for purchase against his hips. When your hands brushed and curled around his hair and the tips of your fingers glided over his scalp, he lost all sense of control, pushing you harder against the bed with each thrust. 

"I’m close," he whispered against your neck. "Are you?" 

"Gods yes," was all you could manage, raw and desperate. 

When you raised your hips, Oromë found a new angle that allowed him to go as deep as he could manage. His nails dug into your thigh as he set a torturous pace, his cheeks clenching even as you writhed wildly beneath him. A few more moments were all it took before the world went dark in your eyes and your body splintered while your orgasm ripped through you. You couldn’t think or even breathe. All you could do was feel the heat spreading beneath your skin and the bliss that washed over you. You barely heard it—Oromë spilling his seed with a deep, satisfying grunt. 

A hand brushed over your hair. You open your eyes, slowly taking in the room that came into view and the man that still hovered over you. His chest heaved with each breath he took. His eyes had been filled with what looked like worry. Was he worried he hurt you? Was that why he looked so concerned? A slow, satisfied smile worked its way across your face. You lifted a hand and caressed his cheek.   

"Husband," you whispered softly. "There is no need to worry. You didn’t hurt me." 

"Are you certain?" Oromë asked, even as he trembled upon hearing you call him husband for the first time. 

"You didn’t," you insist, too lazy and content to sit up straight. "This night went better than I anything I could have dreamed." 

Relief brought a wide smile to his lips.

tags: @cilil​ @asianbutnotjapanese​ @edensrose​ @wandererindreams​ @floragardeniahope​ 

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Snippet from future Medieval! Ainur fic

Eager to see me? Cannot wait for the ceremony to begin? You wrinkled your brow in confusion. Oromë barely spoke with you. He certainly didn’t call on you or court you. His letters had been brief, and few and far between.

Nessa looked on expectantly, awaiting your answer.

“I pray I will be a good wife to him” you say hesitantly.

Granted, this can still change, but I cannot wait to finish and upload this, hopefully by the 7th. 

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

I have passed 1k followers!

I have been remiss in doing something about it earlier, so I am having a little event in honor of passing this milestone, and for the following prompts:

A thrall's brand Eönwë/Gothmog

House of Cedar (pleasure houses in Lórien AU inspired by this fic by @furious-haste-of-malice ) Tolkien only Amrod/Amras

Bejeweled (Feast of Horns AU) Tolkien only Melkor/Maedhros

Many appetites

As sweet as a nightingale Oromë/Dior

Hollow praise - Medieval! Melkor/Nienna

Rose of Bethmora Hellboy/Prince Nuada only

Son of Balor Hellboy/Prince Nuada only

Your most faithful servant Gothmog/Melkor

Street of silk A Song of Ice and Fire/Fire and Blood only

Silver and gold - Curufin/Finrod/Celegorm

Sworn shield - Tytos Blackwood x Fem. Reader 

Rules:

Fandoms I will write for: Apollo & Hyacinthus | Tolkien | Prince Nuada | A Song of Ice and Fire / Fire and Blood | Dracula (Francis Ford Coppola's film)

Characters I will write for in Tolkien stories: Elves and Ainur only.

Other AUs I will write for: Medieval AU only.

One or two requests will be answered per week.

Please specify if you prefer soft/fluff, NSFW/Smutty, Dark/Dead dove.

I will not repeat prompts nor character(s)/ships, so requests will be taken on a first-come, first-served basis.

I will not reply requests if proper details are not given.

For reader inserts: Please specify if the reader is to be AFAB, AMAB, or gender neutral

Ships: If the pairing appeals to me, I will write for them.

I will not write any sexual or dark content featuring minors.

For smut: Please mention your wants/do not wants.

For dark content: I will take requests for violence, death, dub-con, non-con, and incest.

I will not take requests for scat splay, water sport, or spit kink.

Minors DNI

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

“Hollow Praise”

Pairing: Melkor & Nienna

Others characters: Mairon, Eru, Nornorë

AU: Medieval AU

Themes: Unrequited/One-sided love | Angst | Ambiguous/Open ending

Warnings: Heartbreak | Insecurities | Jealousy

Wordcount: 1.7K words

Summary: Nienna’s secret desires and hopes are dashed when another arrives and captures the crown prince’s attention in a way she never could.

This is also available on AO3

A/n : This is a request from a lovely reader over at AO3, and for one of these prompts.

Nienna followed the others onto the royal balcony. The tourney field, already prepared for archers who had put their names down for the contest, had the first targets—thick bundles of rawhide adorned with painted circles of red and white—mounted on wooden stakes driven into the earth. The distance for the first round was sixty-five paces, a trifling matter for anyone skilled with bow and arrow.

“Lady Nienna!” Melkor called out to her. “Come and sit with us, my friend!”

The lady forced herself to smile even as sorrow tore through her heart. Even now, after all the long years of their knowing each other, the Crown Prince saw her as a dear friend. No matter what she did, how she looked at him or tended to him during his troubled moments, he considered her only a friend. He never thought of making her a companion of his heart, and he certainly never thought of making her his wife. Still, she walked over to where the royal family sat and curtsied deeply. Sadness or not, she would not forget the courtesies her mother and father taught her. 

“Your grace,” she began amiably, addressing the king first and then rising. “My prince. You honor me with your invitation.”

“Sit beside me, my lady,” Eru said. He glanced over his shoulder and raised his hand, summoning a servant to attend him. “Would you like something to eat or drink?”

“Something to warm the body, your grace, if it is no trouble,” Nienna said. She sat beside the king and drew her furs closer to her, taking care not to look too much at the crown prince. Melkor was resplendent on this day, garbed in dark riding leathers and a rich black velvet doublet. His hair he had braided into a thick plait adorned with golden pins. It gave him a regal yet commanding appearance. “There is an unusual chill in the air.”

“An unusually cold autumn means a most dreadful winter,” Eru remarked, “or so the scholars say.” He turned his attention to the servant who came to him. “Bring mulled wine for all of us. Oh, and fetch some of those pies as well.”

“At once, your grace,” the servant said. They bowed and took their leave of the king. Eru returned his attention to Nienna.

“Have you placed a wager for the contest?” He asked. 

This time, Nienna smiled with genuine pleasure. “I have placed a wager, your grace, on my brothers. Námo and Irmo are taking part this year. It is a first for them both.”

“They will have no lack of competition,” Melkor told her. “My brother has put his name down, as have the Lords Tilion and Oromë. Even the Lady Irissë, Sir Nolofinwë daughter, is partaking.”

Their talk ceased briefly when the servant returned with a tray laden with delicate pastries, ornate cups, and a tall, slender pitcher full of mulled wine. Eru asked that he serve Nienna first. She waived away the offer of food but gladly accepted the cup given to her. The gentle fire that washed down her throat was a welcomed thing; it also gave her the courage to glance at the prince again. Melkor’s gaze was elsewhere for a moment. He was talking to one of his father’s courtiers and passing a small but heavy purse into the lord’s hand. He was placing a wager, she thought, and on his brother, no doubt.

“Not Sir Tyelkormo?” The king asked, taking his cup to hand. He looked at his son, surprised by what he heard. “I was told he was the most skilled archer Lord Oromë has ever taught.”

“He is incredibly skilled,” Melkor agreed and looked back at his father. He accepted a measure of wine and stretched out his long legs, making himself more comfortable in his seat. “But Lord Oromë tells me contests like this bore him. Sir Tyelkormo prefers hunting deer that could outrun him to shooting arrows at painted rawhide.”

“A pity, truly, to not be able to witness his skill,” the king murmured. He leaned over to his son and added, “Tell Oromë Sir Tyelkormo is to join us on our next hunt. I wish to see what he is capable of. If he is as good as his lord says he is, he may find a place among my personal guard.”

Nienna’s pale gray eyes widened. An invitation to take up a position within the king’s personal guard was no small thing. It was a matter of state, for all those invested shielded the king’s person wherever he went. Nienna glanced over her shoulder. Several of them were in the royal box now, armed with finely forged long swords and armored in jet plate adorned with ornate scrollwork of vivid green. One of them looked at her, their eyes filled with curiosity. She made haste to look away. She did not want them to see her looking at the crown prince with unspoken love in her eyes.

“Sir Tyelkormo may be a hunter of great renown, your grace,” Nornorë, the king’s varlet and herald, bent down and said quietly after the servant left. He was standing beside the king’s seat and heard what was said. “His discipline, however, is questionable. He is quite brash, and I fear his nature is ill-suited for a warrior protecting a ruler’s person.”

Eru sighed. “I forget you hail from Tirion and may be of an age with Sir Fëanáro’s third son.” He steepled his fingers beneath his chin and lost himself to thought. At length, he said, “Invite him in any event. If he cannot comport himself in a manner befitting the station he would be elevated to, I will not make the offer.”

The crown prince nodded. “Lord Mairon,” a page announced behind them, “and his attendant, the Lady Thuringwethil.”

All present turned to look as the adopted heir of House Mahal stepped through the open entryway first. His attendant followed him. Nienna did her best not to stare. Lord Mairon was just as fair as the singers said he was, if not more so. The great wealth of his noble House was amply displayed in the splendid furs and velvet and jewels he wore. Nienna looked at her unadorned furs and simple but well-made gown with envy. She could not afford the finery Mairon wore on his person. Her own House, while prosperous, did not command the vast fortune House Mahal was known to possess. Nevertheless, she did all that she could to fight back her jealousy. Mairon had given her no cause to hate him.

“My lord,” Melkor began, spellbound and full of wonder. It was as if he was seeing a vision unfolding before his eyes. “Come sit beside me, if it would please you.”

Mairon smiled and bowed as deeply and respectfully as he could. “I would be honored, my prince.”

Melkor rose and held out his hand. When Mairon placed his in the crown prince’s, he brought it to his lips. Then he smiled warmly and led him to the others so that he could introduce him to them. Mairon flushed and then introduced his attendant, his hand still in Melkor’s. It was plain to all that he refused to let go of it, and the young lord had no desire to draw it away.

“My lord,” Melkor said, drawing Nienna’s attention to him and the lord standing beside him. “May I present to you Lady Nienna of House Blackgrave. She is a gifted healer; many would gladly attest to it. She has also been most steadfast—the sister I have always desired. She has looked after me many times, seeing to my wounds and troubles. I am proud to claim her as one of those dearest in my circle of loyal companions.”

The prince’s praise felt hollow to her ears, even though it was sincere and generously given. Nienna would have wept had she not cared for others bearing witness to her tears. She chided herself for not being bolder and not uttering a word about what dwelled deep within her heart. Now, all her secret hopes and wishes would have to remain locked forever, for when she gazed upon the prince, she could not help but see how his eyes drifted to the lord beside him and how overjoyed he was when in his presence. The sight of it all pained Nienna in a way she could not describe. She perceived no word would sway Melkor now, and no plea would make him look upon her with different eyes. Her dream of the prince seeking her out and taking her as his wife would forever remain just that: a sweet and unattainable dream.

“It is a great pleasure to meet you, Lord Mairon,” Nienna said, rising. “I hope we can become friends as time goes by.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Lady Nienna,” Mairon said. His golden eyes sparkled in the pale autumn light; they reminded Nienna of bright flames on the hearth. “I, too, hope we can become friends. Are you here to witness the archery, or are you here to witness a single archer in particular?”

“My brothers, my lord,” Nienna said with as much warmth as she could manage. The question asked of her was an innocent one. Mairon did not know of Nienna’s secret love for Melkor. She had spoken of it to no one, not even her brothers. “This is their first contest.”

“I wish them good fortune then,” Mairon said, and he let Melkor walk him back to her seat. “Perhaps we can speak more later, my lady, during the feast.”

"Perhaps we can do so, my lord.” Nienna sat back down, her heart broken into a thousand little pieces. She heard nothing more of what was said. She did not see the heralds taking their places and bringing trumpets to their lips, nor did she see the archers forming a line for the procession, their houses picked out upon the breasts of their tunics in a riot of color and jewels. She resolved to speak to her brothers after the end of the contest and leave. She would not linger for the feast. The sight of Melkor showering Lord Mairon with his attention would be too much for her to endure.

And her all-consuming despair, she thought, could be truly dealt with upon her return home. 

@cilil @asianbutnotjapanese

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

And here it is! The list of noble houses for my Medieval! Ainur fics! I had to put some of the valar into the same houses (ex. Vána and Yavanna with Varda), but I hope this will serve. The first medieval themed fic should be up by next week.

House Ilúvatar Coat of arms: A green and gold flame upon a black field Seat: Ilmarin Region: Taniquetil Head: King Eru Ilúvatar I Heirs: Prince  Melkor (Formerly) | Prince Manwë (current) Other members of the household:  Eönwë |Urwendi | Ilinsor | Nornorë  House Motto: To serve

House Starfield Coat of arms: A five petal silver rose within a circle of seven stars, upon a midnight blue field Seat: Starfall Region: Greengrove Members: Varda | Yavanna | Vána  Other household members of note:  Aiwendil | Arien | Ilmarë  House Motto: Light and life

House Archer Coat of arms: A  mounted archer on a dark green field Seat: High Tree Hall Region: Hunter’s Pass Members: Oromë | Nessa Other household members of note:  Tilion | Alatar | Palando House Motto: Our aim is true

House Shield Coat of arms: A rampant brown bear on checkered silver and gold Seat: Stonehearth Region: Bear Wood Members: Tulkas  Other household members of note:  Lúsion | Makar | Meássë    House Motto: Without fear       

House Silverwing Coat of arms: A silver nightingale upon a white field Seat: Cedar Hall Region: Cedar Lake Members: Vairë| Estë Other household members of note:  Melian | Lëa | Nielíqui  House Motto: Patience and comfort          

House Blackgrave Coat of arms: A set of silver scales with a raven perched on top of it against a white field.   Seat: Blackgrave Region: The Haunted Pass Members Nienna | Irmo | Námo  Other household members of note:  Olórin  | Silmo House Motto:  With fair judgement and mercy  

House Day Coat of arms: A black and silver hourglass on a pale blue field Seat: The Halls of Change Region: The island of Tol Eressëa   Members: Aluin Other household members of note:  Danuin | Ranuin | Fanuin House Motto: As ceaseless as time

House  Alqualondë Coat of arms: A white swan ship upon a blue-green field   Seat: Misty Harbor Region: Alqualondë Members Ulmo Other household members of note:  Ossë | Uinen | Salmar |  Ómar House Motto: By the strength of the sea    

House Mahal   Coat of arms: An anvil and hammer against a golden field   Seat: Golden Forge Region: Almaren Members: Aulë  Other household members of note:  Curumo | Velindo  House Motto: Ever industrious     

House Ironwrath Coat of arms: Two crossed black war hammers upon a crimson field Seat: Angband Region: The Iron Mountains Members: Melkor  Other household members of note:  Mairon | Gothmog | Tevildo | Thuringwethil House Motto: A servant to no one

tags: @cilil​ @edensrose​ @floraroselaughter​ @asianbutnotjapanese​ @fictionfordays​ 

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Tolkien Masterlist

Middle Earth

Gondor

Lothlórien

Beleriand

Rohan

Rivendell

Amon Lanc:

Mirkwood:

Thranduil x Finrod x Reader

Angband:

Melkor x Reader

Almaren:

Mairon x Reader

Utumno 

Valinor

Ilmarin:

Eönwë x Reader

Halls of Mandos:

Námo (Mandos) x Reader

Forests/Halls of Oromë

Alqualondë:

Námo x Lissëndë (OC)

Halls of Tulkas

Tirion

Formenos

Fëanor x Reader

Character x Character ships

Varinen (Varda x Uinen)

Calamórë

Fëanor x Námo

Lords of Ilmarin (Manwe x Eonwe)

Medieval! AU

Medieval! Ainur AU Masterlist

Modern! AU

Mairon x Reader

Thranduil x Reader

Headcanons / Layouts / Mood Boards

Tevildo: HC 1

Alqualondë: City layout | Olwe’s palace layout | Temple of Eru layout

Re-embodied Finrod in Mirkwood: Part 1

The five kingdoms of the sons of Fëanor

Multi-Part Fics

Thranduil x Fem. Reader: A Better Future

Eärwen: Iron Hall

What would a character do:

What would Thranduil do

Stories for beautiful art

Tolkien OCs

Silmarillion AU Worldbuilding

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

For this event, I have listed my chosen pairings for each day. Each story will be linked after it has been posted for @silmsmutweek. A summary is included for each fic. I have created a tag form just for this. Please note blogs without an indicated age will not be tagged for any of these stories.

Minors DNI | 18+. These fics will include triggering themes like incest and dub-con. You are responsible for the media you consume.

A/n: My beginning to write on the topic of incest does not mean I will be taking requests for such pairings for the foreseeable future.

Please click "keep reading" to see the list of days and pairings and themes.

Day 1 : Melkor x Gothmog (Monsterfucking, masturbation) - The lord of Angband pleasures himself while fantasizing about his Captain and Lord of the Balrogs.

Day 2 : Finwë x Indis (Canon relationships, tender sex, first time, inexperienced partner) - Finwë teaches Indis how to give and receive pleasure during their first time alone as husband and wife.

Day 3 : Makar x Meássë (Magical and supernatural elements, incestuous relationship) - The twins defy laws and accepted convention after finding a way that would allow them to be intimate with each other without the others finding out.

Day 4 : Manwë x Eönwë x Ilmarë (Threesome) - The Elder King and his herald invite Ilmarë to join them in bed after they catch her watching them during the act.

Day 5 : Tevildo(non-bestial form) x Fem. reader (Dub-con, predator/prey) - Tevildo promises freedom to a thrall if they escape. If they do not, they must do whatever he asks of them.

Day 6: Celegorm x Oromë (Unsual locations, public sex, sex in a forest) - Celegorm struggles to confess his feelings for Oromë. Does Oromë feel the same?

Day 7 : Uinen x Varda (Femslash, Alternate Universe: Medieval) Varda and Uinen make the most of a stormy night while traveling by sea.

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Hello my friend! Hope you'll have a lovely August!🧡

Could I get some Meássë headcanons? General, medieval AU, whatever's on your mind that you'd like to share. I love her and need to hear more about her ^^

Hello! Thank you for the ask! I hope you will like this full Medieval AU Bio I did of her.

Full list of the great noble house of Valinor can be read here.

Rules and tag form here | Prompts for requests here.

Warnings: Mentions of illness, death, and weapons use

Get to know: Medieval! Meássë

⚔️Early life and family: Lady Meássë was born into House Tarkil, a minor noble house sworn to House Shield. She is the younger twin of Makar and was raised in the family seat of Crescent Peak. 

Despite their standing as a noble house, House Tarkil had little in the way of coin, their lands were hard to farm, and members often served in House Shield’s household guard. Still, they persevered, with Lord and Lady Tarkil doing everything possible to ensure their children wanted very little. Meássë had a good childhood alongside her twin brother, often training beside him in the sparring yard. Much like other high-born ladies, Meássë was taught traditional feminine arts such as art and embroidery, but she preferred her lessons in archery, horseback riding, jousting, and hunting. She would often join in on hunting expeditions. 

This hard but somewhat idyllic life ended when a plague spread through the land and killed many of those who contracted it. Meássë and her brother survived, but most of their household did not. Due to debts incurred by senior family members, the twins lost their home. Tulkas, the new lord of House Shield, invited them to stay with him in Stonehearth. The twins agreed, and both soon rose to the rank of captain of the household guard for House Shield.

⚔️Appearance and Personality: Meássë takes after her father’s side of the family and possesses the same auburn hair, pale skin, and vivid green eyes many members of House Tarkil are known for. Unlike Makar, Meássë is slender and lithe, with lean muscles. She is also noted for her height. Meássë stands over six feet tall, but is not as tall as her twin. 

She wears her hair in heavy braids and coils when fighting or hunting, and only keeps it loose for feasts and frolics. She will dress well but simply, often preferring soft wools over silk and velvet. 

Meássë, much like the rest of her family, once believed that elves had no place in Valinorian society. However, time spent with the elves serving Tulkas made her adopt a more tolerant view. She possesses the same fiery temper as other family members. Unlike her twin, however, Meássë is more willing to listen to reason if the occasion calls for it. 

⚔️Weapons and armor: Prior to joining House Shield, Meássë’s armor consisted of boiled leather and light chain mail and thin plated armor without color or device. After she was made captain of House Shield's household guard, she was given new armor of heavy steel plate enameled in a deep crimson. The crest of her helm bears a crouched lioness wrought in yellow gold with rubies for eyes. 

Her shield bears the bloodied hand sigil of House Tarkil. 

Her preferred weapon for both hunting and war is the spear. However, she is just as skilled with the bow and lance, the latter being used often during jousts. 

⚔️Relationship with her twin: Meássë was once close to her twin, often confiding in him, sharing secrets and seeking his counsel. That slowly changed when they moved to Stone Hearth, and she spent more time with Tulkas and his attendants. 

The twins grew distant because Makar did not like that she was more welcoming toward elves. Meássë opened her eyes and saw her brother’s darker impulses and attitudes for what they were. 

Besides Tulkas, Oromë, and a handful of others, Meássë is the only person that does not fear her brother. 

⚔️Other relationships: Meássë formed a friendship with Lúsion, and even Tilion and Nessa, as High Tree Hall is not far from Stone Hearth. She and Nessa would often try to outrace each other on horseback. 

Tulkas took her under his wing after seeing her potential as a true warrior. Theirs began as a mentor/student relationship, but this relationship slowly morphed into something else over time. This further strained her relationship with her twin. Makar never truly liked Tulkas, despite him taking the twins in after they lost their family and their home.

⚔️Romances: Meássë had several casual relationships before she became involved with Tulkas. Most ended amicably.

tags: @asianbutnotjapanese @edensrose @wandererindreams @floragardeniahope

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

And it is done! It was a lot of fun coming up with everything, and I hope you all enjoyed it. Here is the full list of posts and headcanon.

🌟 Tulkas NSFW alphabet

🌟 Medieval! AU Tulkas Bio

🌟 Courtship with Tulkas

🌟 The ugly side of Tulkas

🌟 Headcanon: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9

🌟 Tulkas x Oromë one shot: Beneath twilit skies (smut)

🌟 Tulkas x Maedhros one shot: A secret laid bare (angst-ish/soft)

🌟 Tulkas x Fem. Reader: A master's hunger (dark)

Minors DNI | 🔞 | You are responsible for the media you consume.

I would also like to announce that in addition to Kinktober (replies have been scheduled for after the 7th of October), I will be adding my contributions to Silm Smut Week and venturing into even darker themes with my writing from tomorrow onwards. The lineup and a special tag form made just Silm Smut Week will be up tomorrow. I have also planned something special for November, featuring certain characters only ever mentioned in the Book of Lost Tales Volume 1. More on that will be posted on Friday, 29th September.

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Get to know: Medieval! Tulkas

Warnings: Mentions of illness/death/weapons use

⚔Early life and family: Tulkas was born to Lady and Lord Shield much later in their lives, when they had all but given up hopes for a child. As a baby, he was born large and robust, and his lady mother struggled to give him birth. Tulkas had cried so loudly that the midwife had gone on to declare, "A warrior comes!"

Tulkas would go on to live up to her prediction. Despite being given an education befitting his station as his mother’s heir, Tulkas preferred sparring and jousting and war to academics. Nonetheless, he paid some attention to other areas of study given his future position, but was often considered a trial for his tutors given his mischievous nature. 

Due to being an only child, his mother sent him to nearby House Archer to live with the family as their ward, and to serve as a cupbearer for Lord Archer. Tulkas soon grew close to the Archer children, Oromë and his sister Nessa, and the trio were seen as thick as thieves.

⚔Appearance and Personality: Tulkas inherited the impressive height both of his parents were known for. By the time he stopped growing, Tulkas towered over everyone at seven feet tall. He had the broad shoulders and powerful body from his father’s side of the family. From his mother’s side, he inherited their famous spun gold hair, ruddy skin, and amber eyes. Tulkas often preferred robes of well-cut wools and leathers to silks and velvet. A handsome man who could charm even the iciest of lords and ladies into surrendering their charms, Tulkas was never short of companionship.

Like his mother, Tulkas was slow to anger. And like his father, he was slow to forgive, never forgetting those who insulted his honor or harmed those he cared about.

He is generous as well, often treating guests with an open hand, and he is known for always setting a tasty table. He enjoys sparring and jousting, and converted an abandoned building within Stonehearth into an impressive stadium with built-in seating and a field large enough to host races, archery contests, wrestling, and boxing. Wagers from these contests have been known to set records, and contests have attracted competitors from all over Valinor. 

⚔Weapons and armor: Tulkas will wear only padded leather when sparring. For jousting or actual war, he will wear heavily plated armor chased in silver and gold, the colors of his house. The crest of his helm bears a rearing bear chased in yellow gold.

While Tulkas prefers hand-to-hand combat, he is skilled in the use of the sword, spear, lance, and morning star. He wields the family longsword, "Golden-Tooth."

⚔Relationships: Tulkas was close to his parents, often confiding in them and seeking their counsel. Tulkas grieved deeply after a great plague spread through Valinor and claimed his mother and father. He would have shut himself off from the rest of Valinorian society had it not been for his friends.

Later, he would take in the Tarkil twins after they lost their family and give them positions within his household guard. Tulkas saw great potential in both, but paid closer attention to Lady Meássë. Theirs was a student-mentor relationship that slowly morphed into something else over time. Tulkas’ relationship with Makar was nowhere near as harmonious. The two often quarreled, with Tulkas thinking Makar was too impulsive and unpredictable with his fists. He also did not care for Makar’s harsh attitude towards elves and kept him well in hand.

Tulkas once had a friendship with the former Crown Prince, Melkor. They often sparred and jousted together, and even helped each other during melees. There were even rumors that went so far as to suggest both he and the Crown Prince had been lovers. Neither refuted nor accepted these claims, but Tulkas never forgave Melkor after he left to form his own kingdom, and word of his many abuses reached Valinor. The lord of House Shield joined those who opposed Melkor’s request for pardon and a chance for negotiations, and he earned the former Crown Prince’s enmity because of it.

His friendship with the Archer siblings, on the other hand, continued to stay strong. They would all go hunting and camping whenever the opportunity presented itself, and they would invite each other for feasts.

⚔Other: Tulkas is one of only a few Valinorian nobles to have tattoos. These include the sigil of his House, intricate scrollwork, flowers, birds and animals, all depicted in gold and black ink.

tags: @cilil @asianbutnotjapanese @edensrose @wandererindreams