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a-world-of-whimsy-5 · 5 months ago

Text

Day 1 of @eonweweek

"A dream of what once was"

Prompt: Almaren

Pairing: Eönwë/Gothmog (Calinár)

AU: Fall of Valinor AU

Themes: Life in exile | Strange friends and allies | Soft

Warnings: Pain | Injuries/Scarring (brief mentions only)

Word count: 900+words

Summary: Eönwë talks with Gothmog about a dream he had about Almaren.

A/n: Bio for Nahtanis, my OC, can be found here

Eönwë dreamed of Almaren, its verdant forests and lush meadows, and the great lake that circled it. He dreamed of the stars that hung high in the heavens, the fragrant wind that swept through his hair, and the wondrous singing that filled his ears. The Valar lived in peace, and Iluin and Ormal flooded the world with blue and golden light throughout the hours appointed for them. It was such a beautiful dream, full of joyous and tender moments. Then it was gone, snuffed out like a flame upon a wick.

The Maia opened his eyes and sighed. The Isle of Almaren was no more; it was destroyed in the tumults that followed when Melkor cast down the Two Lamps. And Valinor, the land that the Valar claimed for their new home, now belonged to a dark and cruel lord who crowned himself the new Elder King.

And I am in the halls of Oromë’s, he thought, without wings and forever bound to this one form.

He reached over and found the other side of the featherbed was cold. Gothmog was not abed; he was in the courtyard, no doubt, garbed in the form he chose whenever he had to be prepared to do battle. Such had become his custom after word of werewolves straying outside the lands surrounding Taniquetil reached their ears. Eönwë did not wish to rest alone. He rose and slipped into the robe the Balrog had laid out for him beside the bed, paying little heed to the stab of pain that went through his leg. This was a custom also, for Gothmog knew that pain or not, Eönwë would seek him out after he awoke and found himself alone in the chamber they shared.

The halls outside the chamber were dimly lit and silent when the Maia opened the door. The others were in their own rooms, resting, or they were in the courtyard outside, keeping an ever-watchful eye beside the Balrog they willingly followed into exile. It was a notion Eönwë would not have considered before, a Balrog keeping watch alongside elves. Their duty was to slay elves whenever they found them or bring them back to Utumno so that their master could devise new torments for them. Still, Gothmog kept the peace with the elves who followed him. He even went as far as to heed their counsel whenever he could, which was no small matter in anyone's eyes. It was enough to keep Eönwë content.

He halted for a moment, and closed his eyes. Walking was not as easy as it was before. Each step brought forth flashes of dull pain, and it was slow also, for he had to walk with a limp. Still, he managed, and he smiled when he walked beyond wide, open doors and discovered Gothmog in the courtyard, seated on the low stone stool that had been hewn especially for him, wreathed in flames. Nahtanis was seated on the grass beside him, a tiny thing next to his colossal stature. The elven princess was speaking to the Balrog in hushed whispers, and roasting sticks of meat over the lit firepit. Her owl, Spirit, was perched on her shoulder, nibbling on the bits of meat she fed him.

“Calinár,” he called softly.

Elf and Balrog turned in unison to face him. Gothmog possessed a countenance that would send fear coursing to the very marrow of any being who saw it. His hair was kindled, fire poured out with each breath he took, and his eyes were ablaze. Nahtanis had a thin, pink scar that cut from brow to cheek, visible proof of the battles she fought. The elf saw no shame in it; ever since the fateful hour she received it, she had worn it like a badge of honor.

“Little bird,” Gothmog said. The flames enveloping him died when he stretched out his hand. “Come. Sit beside me.”

The warmth from the fire and the Balrog’s embrace provided a welcome relief from the pain in his limb and the cold in the air. Eönwë felt the cold more keenly now; it was a sign that he was no longer the all-powerful Maia he once was. Nevertheless, he made himself at ease upon the stone stool and gazed at the flames that danced merrily in the firepit.

“Did you rest well?” Gothmog asked.

“I did,” Eönwë told him. “I even dreamed of Almaren, its starry skies and evergreen forests. What glorious times those were, when we dwelled in the Spring of Arda.”

“And then my master waged war, and threw down the Lamps,” Gothmog returned. “And Arda was all the poorer for it, so the great minstrels of the Valar say. Do you remember the days we spent beneath the leaves of Almaren’s mighty trees?”

How could Eönwë forget? "What blissful hours we shared together,” he said, “where we both believed nothing could tear us asunder.” He paused, overwhelmed with a deep and abiding sense of sadness. “Then you pledged yourself to Melkor, and walked down a path I could never follow.”

“I did,” Gothmog murmured, smitten with remorse. “I pledged myself to him, and then I believed him when he swore no harm would come to you should you ever fall into his hands. He lied.”

“Your master lies to many,” Nahtanis observed. “I truly believe he lies even to himself, and he does not even perceive it.” She gave a stick of roasted meat to Eönwë, and another to Gothmog. “Enough of him, my lords. Tell me more about Almaren. What was it like in all its glory?”

tags:@cilil @asianbutnotjapanese

#eonweweek #eönwë #gothmog #eönwë x gothmog #firebird #nahtanis #the ainur #the maiar #tolkien oc #the silm #the silmarillion #Fall of Valinor AU

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