#melkor-l | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aylen-san · 5 months ago

Text

The Last Battle Under the Stars

It began so suddenly that it seemed the forest itself had risen up against its inhabitants. The silence that had enveloped the area only moments before was suddenly shattered by terrible sounds - hoarse screams, fierce growls, and the sound of breaking branches. The air was filled with the pungent stench of rotting leaves. Alarmed, Maglor rushed in the direction of the noise. His heart pounded with adrenaline and his mind raced, trying to tell him what might have happened. He picked his way through the dense foliage, clinging to branches and roots that seemed to hold him back, preventing him from reaching the scene of the tragedy. Every step was difficult, the ground beneath his feet slippery from the rain, and the fog thickening, hiding even the nearest trees from his view. In the distance, through the thick gray veil, bright flames began to appear. The horrible sounds continued, growing louder and louder, as if the forest itself was screaming in pain.

When he finally jumped out into the clearing, a terrifying sight appeared before his eyes. It was as if the forest itself trembled with the presence of evil, the shadows growing thicker around the unfolding battle. Finwë, young and determined, stood in the center of the clearing. Around him, like wolves circling prey, a ring of fierce creatures closed in. Their bloodshot eyes blazed with malice and hatred, and their bodies, distorted by dark magic, resembled something between monstrous beasts and nightmarish creatures of the dark. Their hideous forms writhing, their ravenous claws scraping the ground, their jaws open in anticipation of blood.

Finwë fought bravely as the future true leader of his people. The Maglor, however, froze for a moment, realizing at once that the odds were not in their favor. These creatures were no ordinary foes - they moved with diabolical agility, their skin seemingly invulnerable. Each swing of Finwë's arm was full of fury and power, but the enemies did not retreat, only intensified their attack, their fury growing like an unstoppable storm. The smell of blood and iron filled the air, and Maglor's lips were frozen with the words of a chant he had not had time to utter as he watched the unequal battle unfold before his eyes.

After a moment, Maglor came to his senses and rushed to his aid in anger and despair, his cry, full of the excitement of battle and ancient strength, echoing through the forest and mingling with the cries of Finwë, who continued to fight despite his fear and terror, his face a mixture of determination and rage. The forest seemed to respond to the call - the trees swayed, the wind picked up, as if nature itself were answering the call of the elven warrior. They stood side by side, like great warriors on a battlefield, their swords glittering in the flickering light of moon and flame, each blow imbued with strength and desperation.

But the reality was different. Young Finwë, though he stood firm and his blows were swift and honed, could not match the experience and skill of his grandson. Maglor, who had been through centuries of pain and battle, knew his enemies' every weakness, anticipated their every move, his blows were deadly and precise; while Finwë fought with all his courage, he was only a young elf, not yet acquiring the wisdom and determination that would make him a great king. Maglor realized that this grandfather was not yet the majestic leader who would one day challenge Melkor himself and lead his people through darkness and pain.

Before him stood a young elf, full of ambition but unprepared for such horrors. Finwë's eyes reflected confusion despite his courage, he fought with all his might, but his movements were a little stiff, every blow seemed to lack confidence. Maglor felt his heart clench with pain as he saw himself in Finwë's eyes, the man he had once been, before all the pain and loss. He knew he had to protect him at all costs, to keep this light creature from perishing in the clutches of the vile monsters whose malice and hatred of elves knew no bounds.

The sounds of steel, screams of pain and rage mingled in a deafening hum, the melody of a mad dance of death. Each stroke of Maglor's sword was accompanied by a flash of light that seemed to lift the darkness itself for a moment. His blade sliced through the air with terrifying force, spilling dark blood onto the drenched ground. He fought with a desperate fury, as if fire itself burned in his veins, not letting him stop for a second.

But suddenly, as he fought off another enemy, Maglor felt an icy terror seize his heart. His attention, absorbed in the battle, was momentarily diverted from Finwë, who was fighting the creatures a little farther away. At that moment, one of the dark creatures, huge and shabby, remotely resembling a withered wolf, but with monstrous fangs and fury in its eyes, lunged at the young elf. Maglor barely had time to register the movement before the creature struck with inhuman strength and speed.

In an instant, the wolf lunged forward, its mouth open to reveal fearsome fangs. Time seemed to slow, and Maglor, realizing with horror that he could not prevent the attack, saw the beast's fangs sink into Finwë's body, tearing at the flesh. A scream of pain ripped from his throat, echoing in the heart of Maglor, who, forgetting everything else, rushed to his grandfather. But it was too late: Finwë's body lay crumpled on the ground, blood staining the ground, soaking into the moss and leaves. The dark wolf growled with hate, ready to sink his fangs in once more, but now Maglor, wracked with pain and despair, was about to retaliate.

With a roar that shook the forest, Maglor lunged at the monster and slashed at it with lightning speed. His blade, stained with the blood of his enemies, pierced the monster's chest with such force that a terrible crunching of bones could be heard. The beast roared, shuddered, and collapsed to the ground in agony, writhing in its final convulsions, but it made no difference. The terrible victory brought no relief. Maglor could barely taste the blood on his lips, the blood of his enemy now mingling with the tears streaming down his face.

Turning, his heart sank. Finwë lay on the ground, his face, once full of life and courage, now pale, as if stripped of all color. His eyes were half-closed, and his breathing grew fainter with each breath until it was barely audible. Maglor, unable to believe his eyes, knelt beside his grandfather, his hands trembling as he carefully lifted Finwë's head, trying to peer into his clouded gaze.

Blood, dark and thick, flowed mercilessly from the deep wound in Finwë's side, flooding the grass and earth around him, mixing with the dirt and dust. Maglor felt his heart being torn apart, each drop of blood like a hammer blow to his senses. He tried to stop the bleeding by pressing his hands against the wound, but the blood continued to seep through his fingers, hot and sticky, burning his skin and tearing him from the inside out.

There was a dead silence all around, as if the forest itself was holding its breath, watching this tragic moment. The ominous shadows that had just seethed with the fury of battle now trembled, fading into the dim light of the distant stars. Maglor whispered words of comfort, his voice trembling, but there was no hope or salvation in them. He watched the light in Finwë's eyes slowly fade, like a candle flame in the wind, and nothing could bring him back.

Maglor knelt before his dying grandfather, shivering desperately as if he himself were at the end of his strength. The cold, bone-chilling wind seemed like an ominous whisper, repeating the inescapable truth that the end was near. His hands, usually so sure and strong, trembled now as he tried to hold onto Finwë, as if clutching at the last vestiges of life that were slipping through his fingers like sand in a clock.

Kanafinwe leaned closer, almost touching his lips to his grandfather's forehead in a last attempt to transfer his strength and warmth. But Maglor's heart clenched in pain as he realized that life was already slipping away, going where there was no return. His whispers were soft and desperate, words of prayer or farewell mixed with sobs as he tried, by some miracle, to hold his breath in Finwë's chest, to do the impossible.

Maglor's thoughts raced as he imagined what his adopted son Elrond, a master healer, might have been able to do. Elrond, with his deep knowledge and wisdom accumulated over the centuries, always found a way when there seemed to be no hope. His skilled hands and keen mind might have offered at least a fleeting chance of salvation. But now, in this field of death and darkness, drenched in blood and shrouded in ominous shadows, nothing could bring life back.

The surrounding world shrank, as if the universe had shrunk to this tragic moment. The screams and sounds of battle now seemed like a distant echo, irrelevant. All that remained was the thin thread of life, slowly fading in Maglor's hands. He knew that nothing could prevent the inevitable, and this knowledge made his heart break even more.

Kanafinwe leaned over his dying grandfather in despair, feeling his heart clench with unbearable pain. He had never possessed any special healing skills, and now his soul was torn by the helplessness he felt with his entire being. But even his humble knowledge was enough to know that the wound was fatal. Maglor knew that no power could stop this slow loss of life. Maglor felt his own heart being torn. The realization that he was losing another loved one, another link to a past already filled with pain and loss, was unbearable. He realized there was nothing he could do to help, and that was agonizing.

All he could do was to be there in his last moments, to be a support for Finwë, to give him at least a little warmth and encouragement as the life drained from his body. Maglor held his hand tightly, feeling the bond weaken as despair mixed with rage flared in his soul. He could only whisper words of comfort and farewell, knowing it was not enough, knowing that another tragedy, another loss would be added to his already heavy burden.

That moment was a brand on his heart, another scar on a soul already scarred by centuries of pain and suffering. Maglor felt his inner world crumble like a sandcastle under the pressure of a tidal wave, and nothing could stop this catastrophic process. He felt infinitely lonely at that moment, even though the elf who had once been the embodiment of all that was good and bright was beside him.

- No, Finwë, don't go, please, - Maglor whispered, feeling his heart break with grief, the tears stinging his eyes like fire. His voice trembled, and the words sounded like a plea, not only to Finwë, but to the whole world, to the powers that seemed to have abandoned them at that moment. He repeated the words over and over, trying to keep his grandfather on the edge of life, if only for a moment longer. - I'm sorry. I didn't have time... couldn't save you.

The wind rustled across the clearing, its cold breath making the leaves of the trees whisper soft words of farewell. The whole forest must have fallen into mourning, responding to Maglor's grief, and even the sky above them darkened, reflecting the shadow of this loss.

Finwë, breathing heavily, tried to smile, but his face reflected all the pain he felt. His eyes, full of suffering, looked at Maglor, but there was no reproach in them. Forgiveness glowed in those eyes, like a quiet flame that warms the soul, and Maglor knew that his grandfather had already forgiven him, despite all the unspoken words and missed opportunities.

Finwë struggled to raise her hand, a gesture that seemed simple, but was given to him with the greatest of effort. His fingers, trembling with weakness, touched Maglor's cheek, and the touch was as gentle as it had been when he was a child and Finwë had told him stories of the old days. Maglor closed his eyes, absorbing this last expression of love and understanding that he would never feel again.

- It will be all right, - Finwë whispered, his voice barely audible, but the words contained all his remaining strength. He tried to put everything he had into them, to comfort his grandson, to give him one last push forward despite the grief and the weight of loss. - You must go on. For all of us. It's not your fault... I'm proud of you, my grandson. Be strong....

Finwë's eyes closed and his arm fell lifelessly to the ground like a broken branch. Wracked with pain, the Maglor felt his heart ripped from his chest. That moment, that instant, seemed to last forever. The silence that came after the terrible battle deafened him with its coldness and emptiness. He realized that he had lost not only his grandfather, but also a symbol of hope, support, and strength for all the Noldor. Finwë was the one who had always led them forward, who had been willing to defy fate itself. And now he was gone.

Maglor was left alone, surrounded by the darkness and silence of the forest, which he now saw as hostile and strange. He knew that this day would forever be etched in his memory, a wound that would never heal. A wave of pain and sorrow rose within him that would never end. He would never forget that day, that moment when his world had finally crumbled.

Tears continued to flow down Maglor's face, dripping to the ground like raindrops, soaking into the earth soaked with his grandfather's blood. He clasped Finwë's hand, which had already begun to cool, and felt the world around him crumble as everything he had ever known and loved faded into nothingness. His chest tightened with a pain that had no outlet, like a black stone on his soul, stealing his breath and his strength.

Left with nothing but misery and desolation, Maglor looked around him absentmindedly, as if trying to find something to give him a sense of reality. But the sight before his eyes only added to his misery. The tortured bodies of the dark creatures he had killed in a blind rage lay on the ground in unnatural poses. Their vicious, twisted faces, frozen in agony, gazed into the void, a reminder that even the most hideous creatures feel pain before they die.

Blood, dark and thick, covered the ground, mixing with dirt and torn leaves to create an eerie image of destruction. From this mixture rose a heavy stench, a coppery tang that tickled his nostrils unpleasantly and added to the sense of hopelessness. The smoke from the torches that had flared up in the battle was still in the air, adding an acrid, bitter taste to the general atmosphere of horror.

Every branch, every root, everything around him breathed this new, strange, and cruel world in which Maglor was alone. This forest no longer seemed like a refuge to him. It was now the place where his new loneliness was born, the place where the darkness he had always tried to drive away had taken over.

What now? The thought echoed in Maglor's mind like a curse from which there was no escape. For the first time in centuries, he felt utterly lost, unable to see a way forward. Had his actions changed the course of Arda's history forever? This terrible thought penetrated him like a cold blade, leaving only pain and fear of the unknown. He wondered what the world would be like without Finwë, without his wise guidance and the hope he had instilled in the hearts of the Noldor. What would it be like without his sons and grandsons?

Maglor felt the unbearable weight of this responsibility resting on him like a mountain, ready to crumble at any moment. Why was he, Maglor, still here, in this monstrous place, when the likes of Finwë had left this world? He could find no answer to this question, and it made him feel a sense of injustice and despair.

Thoughts swirled in his head like wild birds in a confined space, unable to find a way out. They tangled and collided, forming a painful knot in his heart. No matter how hard he tried, Maglor could not cope with this whirlwind of emotions and thoughts. His mind, riddled with grief and guilt, kept coming back to the same thing: Why did he stay? Why was he still alive after all that had happened?

He tried to find meaning in his existence, in his survival, but instead of answers, he found only emptiness. Everything that had once seemed important and meaningful was now a ghost of the past, and he didn't know how to live with this burden on his soul.

The shore of the ancient lake, once full of life and tranquility, now lost its charm and became another dark corner of Middle-earth where one could not let one's guard down for a moment. The water that had once glistened in the sun, reflecting the blue sky and the green of the surrounding forests, now seemed dark and menacing, as if it had absorbed the darkness and despair of the place. Its surface was no longer smooth and calm; the occasional ripples and waves that broke the silence gave the illusion that something unknown was stirring in the depths, ready to break free.

The branches of the trees that had once reached for the sky, as if celebrating their connection to the earth and water, were now bowed to the ground under the weight of grief, as if the trees themselves were mourning their lost lives. Their leaves were dull, stripped of their former luster, and fell to the ground like tears, showering the shore in silent mourning. The rustling of the leaves was like soft sobs, and the wind that blew between the branches brought echoes of days gone by, when this shore had been a place of rest and joy.

Maglor stood, his legs trembling as if they would not obey his will, but he forced himself to move. He knew he could not stay here, lost in his grief, for new challenges lay ahead. The world would not stop and he had to move on despite the weight of his loss. He had to find a new place where his soul could find some peace, but first he had to fulfill his last duty to his grandfather, to the one who had been not only a leader, but a symbol of faith to many.

- Finwë, - he said quietly, looking into his grandfather's calm face, a last smile of forgiveness and love frozen on it. - I will not fail you. I will fight as long as I have the strength.

Maglor took a deep breath, gathering what was left of his will. With great difficulty, but with a feeling of deep respect and awe, he lifted Finwë's body. It was heavier than he had expected, as if not only physical but also mental weight had pressed it to the ground. But Maglor knew he had to do this - to give his grandfather a proper sendoff.

He began gathering branches and kindling, using whatever he could find in the area. The trees, as if understanding his intentions, did not resist and gave up their dry branches and leaves. Soon a funeral pyre appeared before him, simple but filled with meaning and reverence. Maglor carefully laid Finwë's body on the branches, trying to be as gentle as possible, as if he were afraid of waking his grandfather.

When everything was ready, he lit the fire. The flames took hold of the outermost branches first, then spread confidently over the whole fire. It burned slowly, illuminating Maglor's face, which reflected all his pain and determination. The tongues of fire danced in the wind, as if bidding farewell to someone who had been great and powerful in Maglor's past, who had been the strength and will of the Noldor people.

The fire grew brighter, and Maglor, feeling the heat of the fire burning his face, hummed softly an old song he had heard long ago from Finwë herself. The song was full of sadness, but also of hope, of memories of times past and promises for the future. His voice, trembling but still strong, pierced the dark night, cutting through the silence like the last cry of a soul.

The fire lit up the dark night, and it seemed as if the stars themselves leaned closer to the earth to pay their last respects to the departed. Maglor continued to sing, each note seeming to drain what strength he had left, but he knew he had to end this song as his grandfather had ended his life. The wind whispered softly, taking the ashes and embers with it, and as the flames began to die down, Maglor felt his soul fill with renewed determination. He could not leave this place until his song was finished, until the fire had taken all that was left of Finwë.

When the flames finally died down, Maglor knelt before the still-warm embers and felt himself saying goodbye to the past with every breath. Now that his grandfather was gone, he was the only one who could carry on the memory of him and those who had fought and died for the future. Maglor knew that this journey would not be easy, but he promised himself and Finwë that he would fight as long as he had the strength to keep their legacy alive.

Much later, when the fire of the pyre had long since died down and the wind had scattered the ashes, Kanafinwe again pondered the question of why he himself had not disappeared when Finwë's life had faded away. It seemed that with the death of the last member of the house he held so dear, Maglor should have dissolved, become a mere shadow of the past. But he was still here, in this cruel world where every moment reminded him of loss and bitterness.

He was no expert in the theory of time, but he had understood something of Feanor's reasoning when he had been fascinated by it in his youth. His father had said that time was not just a series of moments, but something more complex and layered. Pheanor had argued that death did not mean total disappearance, that there were ties that could not be broken even when one left this world. These words had seemed abstract to Maglor at the time, but now, alone on the shores of the dark lake, they took on new meaning.

Maglor remembered Feanor speaking of the deep connection between members of their kind, of the threads of fate so intertwined that one could not exist without the other. Perhaps his own connection to the world was so deep that he could not simply dissolve into eternity after his grandfather's death. It was as if something was holding him back, not letting him go, forcing him to stay and carry the memory of everyone he cared about.

He felt that Arda needed him despite all the loss, or maybe it was he himself who couldn't accept such an end for his kind. Maglor could not find the exact answer, but something inside him told him that his time had not yet come, that there was something important ahead of him that he had to fulfill. These thoughts kept Kanafinwe awake, as if they were pulling him back into the past, making him think over every event, every decision, every step.

What was keeping him in this world? Why was he still here when everyone he loved was gone? The answer was elusive, beyond his understanding of the nature of time and fate, but Maglor felt he must find it before he could finally find peace. Maybe this was the last riddle he had to solve.

Kanafinwe stared up at the dark sky of Beleriand, where rare stars twinkled as if to remind him of times long past. Memories of his early years in these harsh lands surfaced in his mind, bringing with them the image of the young but determined elf who had once looked upon this desolate land with hope. Darkness had enveloped the world then, too, but it had been different - dense and ominous, poisoned by the presence of a Dark Lord whose influence extended far beyond Angband. Now, despite the loss and pain, the air was clear, free of that ancient filth. He knew that the road ahead would be difficult, full of challenges, but he also knew that he had no right to give up. An inner voice told him that his role in the destiny of Arda was not over.

With a last gust of wind that lifted sparks into the night sky, Maglor looked away from the dying fire and took a last farewell look at the place where his grandfather now rested. He could not afford to linger here a moment longer. These lands held too much pain, too much loss, and despite his exhaustion and inner turmoil, Maglor forced himself to move on.

He left the shore where the pyre had burned for some time without looking back. Every step was difficult, but he walked, feeling with each step that he was moving away from the past and closer to his unknown future. Maglor did not know where this path would lead him, but one thing was certain: he would not give up, he would fight as long as the blood flowed in his veins, until the light of his soul was finally extinguished.

9 notes · View notes

a-world-of-whimsy-5 · 2 years ago

Text

Lord and Master

Pairing: Manwë x Fem. Reader (Elf |Third Person POV)

Themes: Medieval! Ainur | Angst | Dark

Wordcount : 3.4K words

Summary: Manwë finally agrees to marry, but is angry because his ability to control his life is being stripped from him. Finally, on his wedding night, the chance to take back some of that control presents itself to him.

Rating: 🔥🔥 | Minors DNI | 18+

Rules and tag form here.

A/n: This is my first foray into dark/dub-con, so I apologize if there are any mess-ups in the story.

The wedding passed like an ugly dream. Manwë did all that was required of him, biting the inside of his cheek the entire time.

When word of his trysts with Námo made its way into the light, ladies refused him one by one. Varda was the first to rescind her offer of marriage. She had declared she did not think highly of a prince who threw the one he loved to the dirt and walked away like it all meant nothing to him. And where she went, the rest followed: Vána and Yavanna agreed with their lady’s choice, as did Arien and Ilmarë. Even the dutiful ones like Uinen, Lëa, and Melian refused the prince’s proposal with a courteous chorus of "Thank you kindly, your grace," followed by "But no." Nienna would never accept a proposal, and Meássë simply laughed in the messenger’s face when he showed her the king's letter. The king had purpled and raged for days when he heard.

Manwë turned to his bride, a wave of deep-seated anger and resentment surging through his veins. Lady y/n was not his choice for a wife. After Meássë refused, Eru finally had to stoop so low as to ask a minor lordling for his daughter’s hand in marriage. That stung as well.

He glanced at his wife again. She was well-bred and well-mannered, so the others said. Y/n loved singing, sewing, and reading, but she was not what the crown prince wanted in a companion. She was too quiet and docile. She certainly was not Námo, yet he must wed her and secure the line of succession. That was his father’s order and the council's.

"Wed her, bed her, and put a child in her," the king commanded once the offer of marriage had been accepted. "You are capable of this, yes?”

Manwë had clenched his fists so hard they turned white at the knuckles. "You command I wed someone I do not desire," he spat, "Yet you heartily agree to your Lord Commander's wedding and bedding a lowly serving girl. How do you justify it, your grace?"

His father’s icy glare pinned him to the chair he sat in. It made Manwë feel so small. "Our Lord Commander is not my son. He will never wear the crown. And Eönwë commands the near-fanatical loyalty of our army. He even saved your life once. Do you not remember? How he fought your brother and bled in your name?"

Manwë flinched when reminded. "Father...”

"Keeping a warrior like our Lord Commander happy is in this realm's best interests." Eru interrupted him and picked up his quill and a piece of parchment. The sight made Manwë feel like he was in a ship already listing dangerously to one side. "And yours. That is how I justify it. But if you wish to refuse this marriage," Eru said while dipping the quill in new ink. "You need only say the word, and I will marry the lady instead.”

And if I refuse, Valinor will learn my lord father has yet another son who flees his duty, the prince thought bitterly. Oh yes, I can hear it now. Poor king Eru, plagued with selfish, disobedient sons who care for nothing but themselves.

Manwë did not want others to see him as no better than Melkor, but he wished for the days when his brother was heir and life was a carefree dream, where he was master of his destiny and lived how he pleased. Now, with every word and every stroke of his father's quill, he felt his sense of control being stripped from him, sliver by painful sliver. Each day he felt a little smaller and a little weaker. He started to feel more like a boy desperate for approval and nothing like the man he wanted to be.

Forever bowing my head to the will of someone else. Father, the council, the crown. Is that what I am? Someone who readily acquiesces? Someone helpless and weak?

Someone coughed. It was the priest. The time had come to exchange vows. The bride and groom turned to face each other, one with eyes full of hope and the other wishing to see nothing before them.

"One heart," they repeated in unison, "One soul, One flesh. Bound in word, body, and spirit, from this day until the end of all days."

Y/n looked at her new husband through her veil, thinking how comely he looked in his rich black velvet doublet, and his silver hair falling down to his shoulders in beautiful waves. She hoped to find blushing cheeks, bright eyes, and a shy smile. All she found was darkness in his deep blue eyes and anger in his clenched jaws. It was a warning, a sign of dark things that may come to pass. There was great danger here, but she shrugged the growing sense of foreboding away and still gave him her hand, shivering when he slipped a thin gold band onto her finger. There was nothing else she could do. The contract had been signed, and the vows had been said. For good or ill, she was his now, and her duty as a wife was to obey her husband. That was what she was taught.

"With this ring," Manwë declared to all present, his words clearly forced. "I pledge my love!"

His bride did the same. Y/n’s words were sweeter, and filled with tender hope. Her lord father came forward and lifted her veil. Manwë ground his teeth and did his duty, leaning in and kissing her chastely before swiftly pulling away. He accepted the necklace his father presented him in a beautifully carved box and draped it around his bride's throat. Y/n was overcome with the shivers. Her new jewels felt like a noose. She took deep breaths to compose herself and clung to the hope that the prince was as kind and courteous as the songs said he was and that love would bloom between them over time.

"What the Gods have brought together," came the priest's cry, "let no one tear asunder!"

The crowd clapped and cheered in approval when the crown prince and princess turned to face them. Manwë dutifully offered his arm, but y/n felt his stiffness as they walked down the aisle together. The chapel was aglow with the light of a thousand candles. A riot of color bled from the stained glass windows onto the floor. Those standing in the upper walkways threw rose petals onto the couple while they walked beneath them. Swirls of red and white rained down on y/n and Manwë even as the doors to the outside world opened. Crowds gathered outside Taniquetil’s great chapel cheered even louder than those inside. Y/n raised her arm and waved to them, thinking her heart would burst with joy. She turned to face her husband, her joy soon wilting like a flower under the scorching heat of the sun. When Manwë turned to her, his eyes filled with something akin to hate.

“Come, wife," he said stiffly. "It is time we took ourselves to the feast."

An hour later, they were walking into the great hall for the feast. Y/n tried to talk with her husband during the carriage ride to Ilmarin to engage his attention. Manwë would look at her with little interest before turning away. His cool indifference stung, but y/n chose to be patient. She thought he was grieving the loss of his first love. This will pass soon enough, she thought. Someday she would be rewarded. She was certain of it.

The feast was a splendid affair. Eru had spared no expense. Minstrels strolled between tables, singing and fluting and strumming lyres. Fire dancers walked on stilts, juggling flaming batons in their hands. Guests dined on thick mushroom soup and salads of beans, onions, spinach, and beets. There was roasted boar and roasted quail and squab, and pears soaked in red wine. There were flagons of mead and flagons of ale, glass pitchers of iced summer wine, and the finest hippocras money could buy. Many broke into loud applause when servants walked into the hall carrying a great swan pie between them. The dish was reserved only for royalty. On this day, it would be served to everyone. Seated at the high table on an ornate chair under a richly embroidered canopy, y/n had little appetite for her food, fine as it all was. Her stomach would tie itself into unpleasant knots whenever she glanced at her husband.

Manwë's mood had darkened even more. Irmo of House Blackgrave was seated with the other high lords and ladies, but Námo was nowhere to be seen. He had been ill since Manwë sent him away. A common illness, so the messenger said, one that would go away under the tender care of his sister. The prince knew differently. Námo was sick because of him.

It should be me tending to him, and not Nienna.

He could not tend to Námo now. The chance to do so disappeared when Manwë put his name on parchment and agreed to take y/n for a wife. With each stroke and flourish of the quill, he felt his sense of control slip away even more, making him feel helpless and angry.

Weak. Helpless. Forever bowing to the will of others. This cannot continue.

He heard gentle laughter. It was the Lord Commander's wife. She was wide-eyed while she watched a troupe of tumblers perform incredibly daring feats. Her doting husband kept her in his lap, not caring a whit for what other people thought. Eönwë was content to feed her morsels from his own plate before stealing unexpected kisses, his arm tightening around her waist in a protective gesture when she leaned in and cupped his face. He would listen indulgently whenever she said something, beaming like a man who knew his love was well returned. The sight filled Manwë with despair. He wished to hold Námo the same way, feed him the same way, and drown in his laughter. He turned to face his wife. She was playing with her food. Anger seared through his veins again.

"Does the meal not please you?" he asked in rough, clipped tones.

Y/n was startled. It was the first time the prince had asked anything of her since their first meeting half a year ago.

"It is excellent, your highness," she replied meekly. "But I fear my appetite cannot do it justice."

Your highness. The way she said it, all soft and submissive. Manwë gave her a measured look.

Small. Meek. And bound by oath to obey me. The thoughts came swiftly and unbidden. Manwë ignored such thoughts and looked away just as a herald called the guests to dance. His wife placed her hand over his.

"Shall we dance, your highness?" she asked hopefully.

Manwë’s mouth twisting into an ugly sneer was all the answer y/n needed. He did not want to dance, eat, or join in the merrymaking. He wanted this night over and done with.

There is only one thing left to do, he decided, and rose. The music slowly died when he stood to his full height. Everyone's attention turned to him.

"I confess, my lords and ladies, as much as I would love to dance," he declared with a forced smile, "I have more... pressing matters to tend to with my lady wife. Come, my lady. It is time we did our duty."

The others laughed. Y/n forced herself to smile. When her husband offered his arm, she rose and took it, turning a deaf ear to the ribald jests shouted their way. She let Manwë lead her through lofty halls and cool corridors, all while her stomach was a roil.

She had been prepared for her bedding, but the way Manwë looked at her, his eyes ablaze with cold fury, frightened her. She looked straight ahead, clinging to the hope that her fears were unfounded and the prince would surprise her with tender words and gentle embraces.

That was not to be. When the couple entered an airy bedchamber and the doors closed behind them, Manwë pulled away from her. He walked over to a side table and helped himself to a cup of wine.

Manwë studied her critically. Quiet. Dutiful. Perhaps this can work.

"You must now obey me in all things, yes?"

“I am your wife, your highness. I must obey."

Small. Meek. Bound by oath to obey me. This time, he did not push the thought away. Y/n was bound by oath to obey him. Whatever he asked of her, she had to do it without protest. The knowledge of it was too much for him to resist.

It is time I regained some control over my life. I will not bow my head to yet another.

"Undress yourself," Manwë commanded. He walked to the bed, his new boots clicking over the stone floor.

Y/n blushed furiously. She dreamed of her husband undressing her, giggling while he fumbled with the clasps and lacings in her dress. She did not expect him to order her to undress herself in front of him.

"Undress yourself," Manwë urged, his words like honey. "Come now. You are a true and obedient wife, yes?"

Y/n wrung her hands. "I... I wish to be, your highness."

Manwë lifted his cup and drank deeply, draining it to the last drop. "Then prove to me you are a true and obedient wife. Undress."

Y/n flushed. She was his wife. She pledged herself to him. Swore to obey him in all things. And obey him she did. She first undid her braids, removing the pins and clips, her fingers fumbling at her hair like they were all broken thumbs. Manwë was content to watch. Seeing her hair fall free in loose strands did something to him. Watching her comply with his command did something to him. Whatever it was, he soon grew drunk on it.

"You are still dressed, my lady," he observed. "Your gown… it is beautiful to be sure, but it is too much. Unburden yourself. But leave the necklace; I like it."

Y/n flushed again. This time in humiliation. "Your highness, I... should I be doing this?"

"Yes, sweet wife," Manwë replied, enjoying himself thoroughly. "It is only proper that you do so."

His wife managed somehow, her cheeks aflame the entire time. Her heavy gown and sash slowly slipped off her shoulders and pooled around her feet. Her stays and slip followed. When she finally stepped out of the wisps that passed for smallclothes, Manwë put his cup on the ground and stood up, surprised to find himself already hard.

There were gooseprickles all over y/n's exposed skin. Her eyes were fixed on the floor. Manwë circled her once, then twice, like a predator circling his prey. He let his hand glide up her spine and play with her hair. She shivered when he palmed the soft expanse of her breasts. Manwë felt her tremble. He liked it. It made him feel powerful, for the first time in many moons.

"Undress me," Manwë ordered, slipping out of his boots.

Y/n kept her eyes on the clasps on his tunic. She fumbled again, her fingers turning back into broken thumbs. Manwë smirked and kept still.

Her hands were soft and warm when they brushed against his flesh. She was unsure of herself and hesitant, but she did her work dutifully and quickly. Once freed of his doublet and undershirt, Manwë returned to the bed and stood by the edge.

"Come, wife," he said, holding out his hand. "Come here."

His wife took one hesitant step after another, uncertain of what he wanted. Y/n had not been taught much concerning matters of the flesh. Her mother had told her to expect certain things, like discomfort and pain, but she also said such things would go away and the rest would be nothing but magic. Y/n studied her husband. There was hunger in his eyes, and flashes of something far more sinister. She feared there would be no magic this night. Not for her at any rate.

"Closer," Manwë cooed. "Closer. Good. Now. On your knees."

Y/n looked at him, shocked. "Your highness... I... I do not understand."

Manwë grinned wolfishly. "Get on your knees and undo my belt. Go on. You would do it if you really wanted to be a dutiful wife, yes?"

Y/n licked her lips. Of course, she wanted to be a dutiful wife. From the first moment she saw Manwë all she had ever wanted was to be a good wife and earn his love. She nodded and sank to her knees, grateful for the rug beneath her. She undid the clasp of his belt, then the drawstrings on his breeches. Her cheeks heated when Manwë tugged them down just enough to free his cock.

"Open your mouth," he said, and caressed her cheek. He ran his thumb across her lips, imagining what they would look like, swollen and glistening with the remnants of his spend. "Go on."

Y/n looked up at him, thinking she had heard wrong. Manwë caressed her cheek again, almost in affection. "Open your mouth. You do not want to disappoint me, do you?"

"No," she sputtered. It was a strange feeling, having his cock slip past her parted lips and sink further and further into her mouth. She felt him, thick and salty and heavy on her tongue. Y/n glanced up at him, surprised to find his eyes closed and his head thrown back.

"Loosen your jaw," he hissed, and wrapped his hands around her hair, pulling it out of the way. "There. Like that."

Manwë's mind soon grew hazy with bliss. Gods, her mouth feels so good. His grunts grew louder and louder. There was nothing else—no whispered endearments—that would soothe his wife and inflame her passions. Manwë did not care. He simply wanted to regain some control. And it felt so good, to take back what control he had over his life.

I am in control.

Y/n did not know what else to do. She let him thrust into her mouth, her eyes stinging with confused tears. Manwë wiped the tear away with his thumb and brought it to his lips, as if to taste. He shivered when he tasted the saltiness of her tear on the tip of his tongue, and shivered when he felt the warmth of her mouth and the softness of her sinful lips. He wanted to kiss those lips while he claimed her maidenhead, but not now. He was so close that he could already feel a tightness in his belly. He brushed his hands over her hair and groaned when her lips tightened around his cock. Just a little longer. He needed to hold on for a little longer. And that was all he had. The world went still. Manwë let out a deep moan while his body splintered and shook with ecstasy. Y/n could do nothing but grip his thighs while the warmth of his spend filled her mouth.

Manwë panted and drew back, satisfied for now. "Swallow," he insisted, not moving another inch until y/n had swallowed every last drop. He stood back and admired the sight of his wife on her knees before him, her lips glistening and swollen just like he hoped they would be. That sense of feeling powerful returned, this time stronger than before.

I am in control.

Manwë grabbed that feeling with eager hands, not wanting to let go of it.

I am lord and master.

He finally walked away, setting himself to rights and picking up the rest of his clothes as he did so. "I will sleep in here," he said, opening the door to a smaller bedroom. "Good night."

Y/n rose and turned to face her own bed. Her knees were sore, and her jaws hurt. She thought there would be more to this night. "But your highness, this is our wedding night. Should we be…"

"Do not fret," Manwë yawned contentedly. An hour or two of rest was needed, and then he would consummate their marriage. "I will claim your maidenhead and consummate this marriage. But it will be at a time of my choosing. Not yours. Never yours. Am I understood?"

Y/n opened her mouth in reply. She thought she deserved to have some say on how this night went. Manwë leaned against the door, his arms crossed, and his eyes darkening again. It frightened her, made her whisper, "Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, your highness."

"Good," Manwë muttered. "Never forget what I am, wife. Your lord and master, nothing less than that."

Y/n tried to blink back her tears when he slammed the door behind him. Her hopes slowly crumbled like brittle clay. There would be no love. No tenderness. Not with him, not after tonight. Manwë made it plain with his few words that she should not expect more from him. Suddenly more tired than ever, she crawled into bed and slipped beneath a soft pelt, waiting for him to come for her again.

The thought made her blood run cold.

tags: @cilil

47 notes · View notes

melkor-l · 3 days ago

Text

La persona que hoy extrañas despierta cada mañana y, con plena conciencia, elige un mundo donde tú no existes. No hay dudas, no hay titubeos. No te busca. No te llama. No se asoma a la sombra de los recuerdos para encontrarte. Y eso, aunque duela como un puñal enterrado en lo más profundo de tu pecho, es la única respuesta que necesitas.

No hay finales con palabras hermosas ni despedidas bajo la lluvia. Solo silencio. Solo ausencia. Solo la cruel certeza de que sigues aquí, atrapado en un laberinto de lo que fue, mientras esa persona camina libre, sin la carga de tu nombre en sus labios.

A veces, la peor cárcel no tiene barrotes ni candados. A veces, la prisión es esta libertad que te consume, esta falta de cadenas que, irónicamente, te mantiene atado. Porque eres libre para seguir adelante, pero en tu mente sigues detenido en el mismo punto, con los mismos fantasmas susurrándote lo que pudo haber sido.

He aprendido a convivir con la idea de que nunca más estarás, a llenar los vacíos con distracciones y sonrisas forzadas. Pero no he aprendido a no extrañarte. Y tal vez, nunca lo haga.

By: melkor-l

#un chico escribiendo #escribiendo en soledad #lo que escribo #solo escribo #weas que escribo #frases #frases virales #escrita #escritos #tumblr #melkor-l

10 notes · View notes

nin-varisse · 1 month ago

Text

I guess after 12+ years on tumblr, it's time for a get-to-know-me-post, isn't it? So...

Hi! My name is Nin (if you have a head voice, it's pronounced with a long i as in 'knee') and this is my mainblog, which is 99% Tolkien!

Here's some basic information about me:

⸙ they /them ⸙ 27years old ⸙ lesbian ⸙ silmarillion obsessed ⸙

I love just to think and muse about things that catch my interest regarding Tolkien's works and sometimes I draw! I've also published like 1 fanfic. I reblog a lot!

While I prefer the Silm, I actually like The Rings Of Power

I have a silm brainrot blog named @realest-silmfacts

I'm aggressively pro-ship and strongly believe in don't like, don't read. Also don't care about fanwars and inner fandom fighting, this is my feel-good place after all.

You can find my own posts under the tags #nin's thoughts or #mumblings

DNI anti-shippers, TERFS, homo- and transphobes, people who just trying to cause drama, fandom-elitists

Favourite LOTR / Hobbit characters:

⸙ Gimli

⸙ Pippin

⸙ Sam

⸙ Elrond

⸙ Legolas

⸙ Theoden

⸙ Eowyn

⸙ Glorfindel

Favourite Silmarillion characters:

⸙ Finwe

⸙ Caranthir

⸙ Glorfindel

⸙ Finrod

⸙ Melkor

⸙ Sauron/Mairon

⸙ Idril

⸙ Feanor

⸙ Maedhros

⸙ And many more!

My favourite parts of the Silm are

⸙ Whatever happened at Cuivienen and and the great journey

⸙ The Feanorians (I'm sorry)

⸙ Melkor just doing Melkor things

⸙ Sauron just taking L after L

I'm a shipper and my most favourite ships are

⸙ Gigolas

⸙ Glorestor

⸙ Halenthir

⸙ Finwe/Elwe

⸙ Russingon

⸙ Curufinrod

⸙ Turleg

I also love to think about elven polycules or just add other elves to these relationships as I want to! The polycules always on my mind are The Lords of Gondolin, the 9-we (Finwe/Elwe/Olwe/Ingwe + their respective wives pls ask me about it)

Some other things I'm into, that aren't Tolkien related

⸙ Persona 5

⸙ Legend of Zelda

⸙ Hollow Knight

⸙ The Hellaverse (aka Helluva Boss + Hazbin Hotel)

⸙ Cats

⸙ Ancient History (Egyptian History is my favourite)

⸙ and Kpop (2nd & 3rd Gen mainly)

You can find these + other non-Tolkien things on my sideblog @simplynin

Have a wonderful stay on my blog and feel free to say "Hi" or ask any questions!

#it was about time #hi everyone!#personal #mumblings #nin's thoughts

2 notes · View notes

eri-pl · 7 months ago

Text

Explanation of why "be the older brother" is a sad doom

It's always the older of two brothers (unless you count Turin who had a sister, but she got it quite bad too), and either there are only two, or the two are often mentioned as a pair in separation of their other siblings.

Clear cases:

Melkor is older, Manwe is younger. Melkor is evil, and ultimately loses. Manwe is only overworked and burned-out, but is good and has a Cool Wife.

Feanor is older, Fingolfin is younger (Finarfin is not present in many of their scenes, they often interact as a duo). Feanor is despaired, arguably evil, gets his Silmarils stolen, dies quickly. Fingolfin has problems too, but lives longer and dies in a cool way.

But: if you take Fingolfin and Finarfin (considering them as a pair, because Feanor isn't their full brother): Fingolfin disobeys the Valar, goes through Ice, dies. Finarfin repents and lives happile ever after in Aman.

Maedhros and Maglor: Maglor gets the right idea which would end their tragedies, but Maedhros convinces him to not do it. Also, Maglor lives, which is kinda better? Also, he wasn't chained to a mountain.

Hurin is older, gets a terrible, terrible fate. Huor gets a clear heroic death, also, his son becomes an elf. And Hurin's son... we all know what happens to him.

Boromir and Faramir. Boromir is tempted by the Ring, dies. Faramir is not tempted, lives, gets married.

Unclear cases:

Celegorm and Curufin: They both are equally bad (unless you HC out the B&L story, then not as bad, but still kinslayers). At least Curufin gets a son, who is a good guy?

Namo and Irmo. Namo is the serious one, Irmo the happier one, but they are both good and fine.

Elrond and Elros, kind of. We don't even know which one is older. Also, both end up well, just different. However, if Elros was older, I could argue it sort of fits, because Men are the fallen race and live shorter. Also, his legacy became a dumpster fire (Ar-Pharazon...).

OK, generally twins don't really have this pattern.

Oin and Gloin are both ok, but the younger one is the father of a LotR character, so I would say he gets it better.

Also, Balin ends up as a traumatizing corpse in Moria, his younger brother Dwalin lives into the Fourth Age. Still, none of them has it actually bad.

Counterexamples:

Gimilkhâd and Tar-Palantir. The older one is the good one; the younger one is the evil one. Also, they have children who are foils too, and Gimilkhâd's son is probably the worst Man to ever live. So, double subversion.

Ambarussa? I think it was the younger one who got (quantum) toasted. But they're twins.

#silmarillion #tolkien #silm #tolkien legendarium #the silm #the silmarillion #manwe #melkor #feanor #fingolfin #finarfin #maedhros #maglor #huor #tuor

82 notes · View notes

bodhvild · 1 year ago

Note

Wait a minute--

Are you KAAMOS?!??!

Hebrofjrjdkdbdkdbdbjdndnsjhsvshs!!!!!1!!1

AM I REALLY MESSAGING THE ONE THAT SINGLEHANDEDLY OPENED MY EYES AND HEART TO THE DIVINE DELIGHT THAT IS BOTTOM MELKOR IN A SEA OF ANGBANG FICS WHERE TOP MELKOR IS THE NORM???

Sir/Ma'am/My liege! I! AM! IN! YOUR! DEBT!!!💕💖💕💖💕💖💕

But if this is Not Kaamos please do be so kind and ignore me making a fool of myself with my fangasming🥹

Now I really don't know how to face this sudden, adorable, meaningful and life-boosting storm of love... But, after all, you're Melkor, so nothing less I'd expect from him 😉 {I'm just joking, but still ♥️🖤)

Thank You 😭😭😭

The only thing I can do is to send you tons of love and 🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤 and ♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️

And. As you already know, I ~L O V E~ your art, my dear.

And I think I'm gonna die somewhere now...

17 notes · View notes

theelvenhaven · 2 years ago

Text

The Fall

Galdor x Reader

2.5k Words

* * *

It had been pandemonium from the moment that Melkor’s servants arrived. Nost-na-Lothion’s silence had been interrupted by the chanting of orcs, the roar of dragons and the cracking of whips as balrogs approached Gondolin and breaking through it’s many gates. Tramping and toppling over them like they were nothing.

You could do nothing but stand there with Galdor in shock with the rest of the Gondolindrim over everything that was transpiring. Both of you had hoped that each stronger gate would deter the wave that came… But it was no match as the mighty fell beasts aided in toppling it over, before flying overhead and burning down the buildings.

It was then at the King’s behest that Galdor ready his soldiers and people, and you two were separated. Following immediately upon the rumors that Galdor had disclosed to you. That somewhere in Gondolin there was a tunnel that the Princess and her husband Prince Consort Tuor had built. Though you were only working off rumors as you ran.

Galdor had given you basic instructions and you only hoped that they were well enough to get you where you needed to go. As you ran, you only seemed to run into dead end crumbled or toppled over buildings. Buildings that used to be homes and shops, stairways had been blocked off, your adrenaline had been pumping before you had finally met up with a group of warriors and other civilians.

Ones that seemed to know the direction that they were going in, ones that cut down orcs that rounded corners or sacrificed themselves to keep the balrogs distracted. Your group of six guards had dwindled down to two and yet the civilians seemed to keep growing as you ran. From a meager four people to well over twelve, each of you inviting and hurrying new stranded elves and mortals alike trying to hurry and help them towards the tunnel. Though the number never seemed to stay consistent.

No matter where you ran was there fire and ash, billowing up to the skies, blackening it’s perfect blue. Your ears ringing as you listened and watched as buildings would crumble and crack and fall to their ruin, rubble threatening to fall atop of you. You were lucky to save yourself when you looked up to see the massive careening piece fall from the sky and almost onto you.

Jumping as you were simultaneously pulled out of the way by another person, you could feel the heat of fire licking at your skin. As dragons fire rained down overhead. Lashing out and roasting others alive much to your horror and that of your companions. But you all knew you couldn’t stop, if you did… you’d be like those who did… You only hoped that you were successful in your escape.

Praying to Eru- begging and pleading to him for your safe route out of this mess. Praying and pleading that Galdor was safe and sound, what little you let your thoughts stray it was of concern of your husband. You hoped he was alive, that he was okay, and in one piece. The horrific ideas of the ways he could die had played out in your mind when you weren’t too focused on the surrounding areas. Trying to make sure you didn’t die as well.

It was only after what felt like hours of running did you seem to finally arrive to the tunnel, losing or gaining people as you went along. Several Lords were standing guard, including your Galdor. Immediately you ran to him, as he seemed distracted caught up in the hysteria and trying to usher people, but the moment he saw you, his heart filled with relief.

You were alive! In one piece and not a scratch on you. It was more than what Galdor could ask for as you hurriedly embraced him. His forehead immediately coming to rest against yours as you both basked for a moment in each other, knowing that you were both alive and well for now.

“Praise Eru! I worried after the first two hours- I feared the worst.” Galdor confided to you, usually… Egalmoth would have something snarky to say. Something to rush this moment, but he didn’t understanding this might be the last time the two of you see each other. Even he didn’t have the heart to ruin or rush this moment. So he simply stepped up and forward, taking over his position.

Tears filled your eyes, spilling over leaving a fresh trail of salty water down your soot stained cheeks, from all the smoke and fire.

“And I praise Eru you are here and alright. Are you coming with us? Please tell me you are.” You pleaded desperately as you held onto his strong arms that were covered in padding and armor. Yet before you could answer all you could hear was the sound of approaching goblins and orcs. They had yet to see the tunnel but from the sounds of it, if they were not stopped they’d be upon you soon.

“Go, you must go!” Galdor said pulling away from you, his usually calm demeanor was gone. The moment of relief had melted away, yet your hands didn’t release his arms and it hindered him only a little as he was reluctant to pull away from you.

“Galdor-! Are you-”

“I’ll be right behind you, melmë! Go! Now!” Galdor urged and rushed, finally pulling away from you as a civilian grabbed hold of your tunic and began to pull you along. You hesitated to go, looking back and only watching as he disappeared around the corner, with screams of horror from other elves and humans alike.

It was the wake up call you needed to run through the tunnel and you didn’t stop. Not with relief as you saw Lord Glorfindel or heard the sound of Lord Egalmoth’s voice, and your terror only became worse when you heard the roar of the balrog that threatened you and everyone else. All of you breaking into a harder run, while Glorfindel ran past all of you and in the direction of danger.

You couldn’t breathe, your lungs burned from smoke and ash and running- as your legs burned with every hard step you took running. You didn’t look back as cheer erupted, and the screeching sound of the dying balrog met your ears. But it had been short lived as again cries erupted for Lord Glorfindel.

You couldn’t bring yourself to turn around to see his demise, you couldn’t handle anymore. The grief would be too much, the stress would finally get to you and you would fade away right then and there. Your body would just turn to ash like the rest of Gondolin while your fëa would flee to Mandos.

You didn’t want to abandon Galdor if there was a chance he was still alive. You’d hang on with every fiber in your being to be there for when you all found safety.

None of you stopped as you finally exited the tunnels, not even to look back on the burning and plundering mess of what was once your fair city. The sky still clouded in smokey, though stars of Varda started to glitter their way through the further you got away from its ruin. There was a mess of elves stopping, some still going, some turning back.

Trying to find loved ones, others unable to continue on for now, others hoping to help whatever stragglers were still behind. Aiding Egalmoth in wrangling the crowd and getting you all some place safe, and you simply followed the Lord.

Your King was gone, some Lords you could hear had fallen in Gondolin, and the words of how Maeglin was a traitor quickly spread throughout. Lowering morale and making everyone feel like giving up, now that you had lost your homes and safe haven. Though Egalmoth didn’t let it deter any of you as he encouraged or everyone to press onwards.

Leading you for days through places you hadn’t been before, and if he was uncertain of where he was heading… He surely didn’t show it. Others branching off to Doriath… Though rumor held it had been destroyed. But that didn’t stop others from seeking it out, while whispers aroused of the Havens of Sirion and Arvernien.

With Tuor and Idril at the Helm of leading you there. Claiming it was one of the last safe places of Beleriand… Save maybe Ossiriand. But it would take weeks of treachery to get through to there. Where as this march was only taking days.

When you arrived you were all surprised to see so many Sinda there. Though they all welcomed you with open arms, especially as Tuor and Idril spoke with those around them… perhaps in charge or something of that nature. Others rushed to welcome you into their home, offering food and bandaging the wounded.

While everyone felt and found their kindred spirits in those from Doriath, having heard officially of its Fall and Sacking. You could scarcely find relief, your nerves never having dwindled as your mind could finally “settle”. Settling to wander back towards Galdor.

Wondering where he was. He said he was right behind you… You know he had a duty to Gondolin. But apart of you wish that he didn’t and that he could’ve been selfish and followed with you instead. You wished he didn’t had to have run head first into danger the way he did.

You hoped he survived, Egalmoth had not spoken a word to you about your husband. Simply keeping to his duties, yet you couldn’t find the words to speak to Egalmoth either, because a part of you didn’t want to know if he didn’t survive. Not yet at least, not ever… But you knew you’d be met with reality sooner or later.

While the Sinda offered you places to stay seeing as so many refugees continued to pour in from Gondolin, you stayed put firmly near the entrance of the Haven the Sinda and even- as you learned- other Noldor from Nargothrond had begun to built.

In a meager tent, shellshocked and quiet. Not speaking to anyone, you could’ve sworn Egalmoth came and sat with you a time or two. Though he said nothing, there was no reassurance, and he didn’t want to give you false hope about anything. You stood patiently at the entrance when you saw large groups approach, busying your hands with rations of food or medical items, fresh blankets or clothes.

Looking over every face and every person of stature, looking over every soldier that came in. Everyone in glittering mail with the crest of the House of the Tree on it. No one recognized you, naturally and you hardly recognized them. Yet none of them still uttered anything of Galdor.

You reached over into one of the crates picking up a skin of water, and ration of lembas when your eyes fell on the ner in front of you. With familiar light eyes, brown hair that had been covered in soot, and mess from being in a helm that was long abandoned. They didn’t take the rations from your hands, they let out a cry of relief as they grabbed your wrists and pulled you into them.

You were met with cold, dirty armor, but you felt arms wrap around your shoulders and hold you close. You froze in your place, it had all happened so fast, you hardly knew what to make of it!

“Melmë you’re alive!” Galdor said as he rested his chin on your head, and immediately a cry left your lefts as you dropped the rations and wrapped your arms around his armored chest and body. Clutching onto him as tightly as you could.

Relief flooded you and you felt faint, grateful he had such a strong hold on you as you felt as though your legs might give out. Your heart pounding fervently in your chest, and the tears spilled from your eyes,

“Oh Galdor! I thought I lost you!” You sobbed out to him as you did your best to cling tightly to your husband. His arms only winding snugger around you, and you didn’t dare complain of discomfort, you’d take all the poking of his armor on your body in the world to keep having this moment with him. It was a reminder that it was real, that you weren’t imagining it, he was really here with you.

After a moment, Galdor gently pulled away from you, though he kept you in his hold. Coming to press his forehead to yours immediately, still wanting closeness. He smelled of smoke and ash, but you didn’t care. He was here with you.

“I told you, Y/N… I was right behind you.” Galdor said to you softly as you released your hold on his waist, coming to bring your hands to his face. Cupping his jaw and holding him close, you closed your eyes, savoring the feel of his breath tickling your face, the warmth of his skin against yours.

You didn’t care what sooth or blood got on you and your clothes, you were just happy to finally have him in your arms. Galdor sighed out in relief, his heart finally beating steadily instead of pounding with worry. His fears eased knowing that you were here the whole time and safe and sound.

“Yes… You certainly were, my love… Are you alright? Are you hurt? Do you need to see a Healer?” You asked as your thumbs gently stroked his face, rubbing away grime and dirt. Galdor only pulled you closer into him, and he began to shake his head, before turning it to kiss the inside of your palm.

“No, no I am uninjured. I could use a bath though.” He said with a half hearted sigh or maybe even a chuckle if that was what you wanted to call it. You nodded at his words,

“We can get you one, hopefully a hot one you deserve it! I am just so happy you’re alive!” You said eagerly with glee before you released his face and wrapped your arms around his neck. Galdor willingly went with motions and buried his face into your shoulder, taking slow and steady deep breaths, breathing in the unfamiliar scent of plain soap- opposed to your usual scented oils and soaps. But it was undeniably you and not some fever dream.

“As am I, Y/N.” Galdor said softly, and there was a note of exhaustion finally hitting his voice. Finally he could be tired and unwind from the chaos. There was still much to be done… But for now he could breathe.

“Come let us find you a place to bathe and to lay your head down, my love.” You said softly to him, gently pulling away. Galdor raised his head, but put his arm around your shoulder. The two of you walking away and finally heading off to some place to rest. Grateful to be reunited after the Fall.

* * *

Tags: @saviorsong @lilmelily @dicksoutformtl @fandomhoe101 @celebrimbor-telperinquar @red-riding @miriel-estelwen @ta-ka-shi-ma @nerdysimpy @thegirlwithoutaname87 @spidergirla5 @eunoiaastralwings @eternalabysss @noldorinpainter

34 notes · View notes

drhdmgr · 1 year ago

Text

How one hangover (pretty bad one 😂) christmas morning I got full idea about what might have been in Our souls were made from the stars.

So, I was again thinking Our souls potential plots. And I came with one comprehensive enough which I really liked. I know the author once mentioned a plan to follow canonical events, more or less, so that is how I imagined that too. 95% of what I came with is anyway full exact Tolkien set up.

Still fingers crossed silverwing12 comes back!

I hope I will not offend any authors with posting this my idea how someone elses work could go…. If I did, sorry for that, but I think same as we speculate about 2nd season, we can speculate about fanfics :).

So here is the miracle 🤪. And absolutely at the end, I have even short idea description for another possible plot idea 😂😂😂☺️.

(i) They repair the greenhouse and get back together somehow (some Estel escalation happens) - a lot sex in Anenfel ideally 😂😂😉 afterwards. Mairon’s desires will win and he will just be a traitorous piece of shit through all this. Aaa, I love his unbeliavable ability for the denial 😉. But he will never lie to her about his feelings for her, that not! I definitely want them to share the l-word ❤️ finally!

(ii) I have no clue how Melkor gets intel how to get Ungoliant to Trees, I do not even know/imagine if it will be Mairon and how he would get this info. Yavanna is not stupid to tell him…So I simply assume this intel somehow happened. Trees are destroyed, Melkor goes crazy for stones and kills Finwe. Mairon is revealed as traitor and flees with Melkor to Endor. They cannot take sea (Ulmo is pissed), so they go through Helcaraxe.

(iii) Galadriel is hearthbroken but so pissed and angry she buries it inside. I think they might even have some interaction before Mairon escapes. Some yelling and so on. Mairon has shown himself to be quite a coward, so he will leave from this argument simply rather than defend himself. Well, he can hardly defend himself anyways…. He will change to the wolf form and stay like that for all Helcaraxe crossing. It also helps with his denial as like a wolf, he feels a bit differently. Melkor will definitely be amused by that.

(iv) Now a couple centuries all goes as in the canon. Feanor gets super mad and is quickly killed in Endor. No one is sorry about that. Melkor and spol cross Helcaraxe and Ungoliant gets hungry for stones, they fight her. Mairon directs major battles, but no direct participation - Balrogs and orcs as a first line casualties rather than commanders. Curumo is back in Valinor, this time he is under cover… no one trusts him anyways. Melkor goes even more crazy. Mairon is pissed but trapped in the situation of his own mess and denial. Mairon and Melkor corrupt some human tribes. In the meanwhile, elves crossing Helcaraxe including Galadriel come to Endor. She will be in Doriath. Meets Teleporno bla bla who cares about the guy 😂. All major battles and events happen as in the canon: Galadriel’s two brothers die in fires of Thangorodrim when Mairon breaches the siege of Angband. Mairon takes control of Tor in Gaurgoth. Beren meets Luthien. Thingol will be another crazy elf. Quest for Silmaril happens. Mairon’s wolves by mistake really kill Finrod. (I see this as a speed highway to Valinor for Finrod 😂😂😂.) Mairon will be soooo pissed and desperate that he just lets Luthien and Huan to defeat him. Bcs of course otherwise if he would not be in depression, he would be able to deal with them. Melkor will be so pissed. Mairon hides in the wolf form till end of the 1st age, also renewing his powers doing so. Than again all goes as in the canon. First age will end. Mairon will not go to Valinor when summoned. I ask myself why I like him so much when he is such a coward really 😂😂😂. Galadriel stays too - not married to Teleporno or anyone else! Luthien never tells her details about how Mairon was defeated. Galadriel vowes to revenge her brother.

(iv) Galadriel hunts for Mairon. He hides not having to fight her. Because as the author already said, he would not be able to hurt her anyways. But he assumes, correctly, that she would not be so reserved. So cute those two really. I love them. 😂 She jumps from the ship and whojoooo. She of course immediatelly sees Mairon as he still has his super sexy form.

-I have no clue why he is on the raft, sorry for this plothhole. I also do not like TROP idea that Adar would kill him, so I cease this. They just went separate ways, already end 1st age. Mairon had enough of orc shit and orcs were anyway getting out of control as later generations were just savage animals.-

But a worm attacks, so before they start to fight, they need to escape the worm. Than they have really long argument. He finally tells her all his shitty reasons why he joined Melkor, how Melkor went super mad shit, how all went differently than he planned and bla bla bla bla bla bla. A lot of self-pity and denial in it. She tells him he is a moron. He tells her all her brothers were just collateral damage in war. A storm happens. They get to Numenor, they play human Halbrand thingie. She persuades him that to solve his shit in Endor, he should solve Southlands and the orc infestation boiling there. So from the plan to kill Mairon, Galadriel goes to plan to use Mairon. Of course a lot angst and pinning for each other is happening all the time. Galadriel is super conflicted. They go to Mordor, volcano errupts. Here small difference, Mairon is not injured, they just agree to go to elves for help. In Eregion, Galadriel finds Mairon is plotting some dominance magic with Celebrimbor, she banishes him after he tells her he sees no difference between to rule or to save. Rings are made.

(v) Both are super unhappy for rest of second and third ages. Mairon goes super word dominance mode, and I tend to imagine it is because putting so much will of himself into the ring, he also goes partially mad. Some part of enchantment probably going bad or something. And also he will make a ring feeling rejected by her, so all bad vibes going in. All again goes as in the canon, Galadriel suffers Mairon’s destruction in Numenor as they have a bond of course! But she also feels he is still there. But so she feels the ring and how it corrupts all. Celebrian is born as a daughter of Celebrimbor and some elf - well, Aragorn needs Arwen, what to do…. I just do not have any valid idea how in this mess Galadriel and Mairon could have a kid…, so Celebrian is related only to Galadriel. Galadriel will rise her mostly, as they are very close. She will rise her because her father will be killed by Mairon’s army (tortute to get the ring intel…) and mother will leave in grief for Valinor. The kid will not want to leave yet. Celeborn will be like a father to Celebrian too.

(vi) The cold war between lovers until the end of Third age. Galadriel hates the influence of the ring. Mairon feels Galadriel’s last rejection of the ring and is really really really in the deep self-pity mode. Ring is destroyed. Olorin was wrong, though, as there is one more thing - My big plot idea 🤪🤪🤪- which still can anchor Mairon spirit in some reasonable form, not just as an impotent shadow. What is it??? Necklace which Galadriel never took off! She never leaves for Valinor at the end of the 3rd age. She never fades either. She finally accepts she loves him even through it all. She just waits several ages for Mairon to regenerate enough his strength. And after this happens, they live happily ever after in our word. (Maybe they also have that kid the author was hinting, whatever, would make sense - a lot sex of course 😂😂😂😉.). No word dominance as Galadriel would leave him for Valinor and also as the ring was destroyed and Mairon is whole again, he is not partially crazy anymore. He actually does not talk about all the ring business rather at all, especially the part where two small hobbits take it through his dominion to his volcano, is still a very sensitive topic 🌋 🌋🌋.

Some small follow ups for other characters

-Yavanna knows all and is very happy for them, they even talk sometimes.

-Arien is not driving sun anymore, Valar solved that after the 4th age. She lives with Tilion in Anenfel.

-Aule is still angry at Mairon, but proud of his life with Galadriel.

-Celeborn and Esten are married. I just had to do this one, sorry for that 😂😂☺️.

-Curumo is drifting as an impotent spirit, but Olorin drops by sometimes.

-Finrod and spol are of course out of Mandos. Free Finwe :).

Aaaa, I think I like this as some kind of closure. Just ignore massive illogical thing - why Galadriel would want him after he did all the canon shit up to the ring destruction 😂😂😂.

I am still a bit conflicted because I think it is also valid to assume the whole Our souls story could end at the end of 1st age and Galadriel and Mairon cleaning the mess after 1st age together as a couple before returning to Valinor and living in Anenfel together. This would not follow Tolkien from end 1st age and that would be totally full story as well! Galadriel could be used by Melkor to manipulate Mairon and he will go full Sauron mode to save her. Melkor could send some of those nice Moriondors to abduct her and than threat Mairon to behave well and do his bidding. Or he could abduct her as a punishment for lost Silmaril. Yeah, that could work too. But I would definitely not have any actual torture done to her. That I think would not go well with the mode of the author of Our souls at all. Mairon would break into Angband when Melkor would be somehoe distracted and make a hell there and get her out. Afterwards, he would join last battles and final destruction of Angband and Melkor. But not on Valar side, he would be on his side :). I think he would be done with both Melkor and Valar at this point 😂😂😂.

#haladriel #galadriel x sauron #silverwing12 #galadriel x mairon #our souls were made from the stars

7 notes · View notes