#namo x vaire

[saintstars]

The Record Keeper and the Judge

For @ainurweek

[cilil]

I like to imagine that one of Námo's favorite activities is to just quietly sit with Vairë and watch her work. Between the past being woven into tapestries in front of him and the future already taking shape in his mind, he looks at her and sees her move and hears her breathe/hum/sing/talk to him, whatever she chooses to do, and is thus grounded in the present for a while

[celebrimbor-loves-you]

my design for Namo Mandos, master of souls and fates!

his hair are mouse-brown and! his eyes are totally black. like the Darkness where Melkor dwells. black and very tired.

I love Namo a lot and I love Vaire and I love all feanturi im common they're my lovely cute suns ^^

So yeah, that "stars" on his clothing are Vaire's embroidery... and he love her work. and he love her.

Vaire: oh my dear you can't put on all clothes I designed at once.

Namo, who's looking like a a pile of beautiful rags with head: why I can't? I like every single one of them...

Vaire: oh dear...

Namo: don't worry about it, my beloved. I'll deal with it. Love you ❤️

Vaire: love you too honey ❤️

[runawaymun]

Hey:) Could you do a Thranduil/Elf!Reader (romantic), where the reader is quite curvy but really insecure about it, because elves are tall & graceful but the Reader isn't, and Thranduil overhears some other elves teasing her, or finds her crying (idk you decide) and makes her feel better? Make it as angsty as you want, but please make it fluffy too! I use she/they pronouns. (PS: I LOVE your work)

ahh! I love this prompt. And thank you!! I hope you like this one~ this got HUGE lol. But it was loads of fun.

Thranduil x Elf!Reader - A Gown Spun from Starlight

genre: hurt/comfort, romance warnings: none, except for Elves being jerks about the reader’s figure.  for: @narniaandthenorth reader pronouns: she/they

sindarin translations + lore references for those unfamiliar:  anu/inu - male/female elleth/ellon - man/woman (but like, Elves) Naugrim - a kind of rude/racist term for dwarves, lit: “stunted people”. mîr nín - my treasure/jewel gil-mîr - glittering jewel Vaire: weaver, wife of Namo/Mandos - the Valië that weaves the tapestries in the halls of Mandos which depict the story of Arda Elbereth: the kindler of the stars, most beloved Valië of the Elves, wife of Manwë, lord of wind and sky, and queen of the Valar. Said to be too beautiful for words with a face that radiates pure light.

-

You’re used to the looks.

You’ve lived with them your entire life. Though, admittedly, you grew up among your Noldorin relatives and they were much better at relegating their judgement to the lift of an eyebrow, a stare that lingered just too long, or --if they were feeling especially rude-- a snide comment or two. But your Silvan and Sindarin cousins have no such subtlety. 

At first, their outright jokes and laughter had shocked you, but you’re getting used to that now. At least it’s more or less died down now that King Thranduil (of all people!) has declared his interest. 

Of course, that came with its own issues.

The laughter was now replaced with nasty glares. 

You can’t blame anyone for it. What Elf--anu or inu-- didn’t fantasize about the king of the Woodland Realm? Thranduil is breathtaking: seven feet tall, silver-haired, and built like a Vala. You’re still not sure what he sees in you. 

Neither is anyone else. 

And they make that known as loudly as they dare. But, of course, never in front of their king. 

Usually you can more or less ignore the scowls and pretend the laughter isn’t about you. But today Thranduil is out on a hunt and, as the saying goes, while the cat’s away...

...the mice are downright malicious. 

The tailor sticks you with another pin and you have to suck in a sharp breath at the sting of pain. He shoots you a smile that’s more cheshire than apologetic, almost daring you to accuse him of doing it on purpose.

“Forgive me. I am unused to working with someone of your...shape.”

You stare at him, in half a mind to just walk out on the fitting, as you feel your face heat in a mixture of shame and anger. You clench your fists at your side but you keep your expression as neutral as you can. You’re under enough scrutiny as it is. The last thing you need is to add “hot-tempered shrew” to your list of faults. 

“No harm done,” you say, trying to sound as magnanimous as you can. As a queen would be. You’re going to be one after all. 

He flashes another façade of a friendly smile and returns to draping the mockup over you. There’s a party coming up and Thranduil has commissioned a new gown for you: something befitting of his Intended.

The tailor only gets halfway through pinning it up when he stops and starts taking it all off of you again, muttering: no, no, no-- it’s all wrong!

You frown at him. He calls for his assistant to start remeasuring, and you have to roll your eyes as the brown-haired ellon comes over with the tape and draws it around your too-wide hips.

“Master tailor, you’ve already taken a thousand measurements!” you complain.

“Yes,” he snaps, “And I shall have to take a thousand more. I cannot finish the fitting today, I fear. The mockup hangs all wrong on all of those...” he drags his eyes up and down your body and vaguely gestures to all of you, and despite yourself you shrink a little on the pedestal. He means your hips. Your breasts. Your thighs. Everything about you that’s too much. It’s all too much. It always has been.

And it hurts.

You hate that it hurts. It shouldn’t hurt. You shouldn’t let it hurt you, but it does. As soon as you reached your half-majority, you started growing differently to your other Elvish peers. Clothes have always been a struggle as every single tailor tried to squash you into a silhouette that you just don’t have.

You can’t decide if it would be better if Thranduil was here or not. The tailor wouldn’t dream of insulting you like this if he was here, but you hadn’t wanted to keep Thranduil from his hunt and you also aren’t sure that you could bear to be poked and prodded and measured with him watching. 

They were talking about you now --the tailor and his assistant-- complaining about you and making all the jokes you’ve heard before. You try not to listen and stand still, fingers still balled up into fists, tears brimming in your eyes that you don’t dare try and wipe away. You don’t want to give them the satisfaction.

“I just don’t know what he expects me to do,” the tailor grumbled. 

His assistant chuckles around the pins he has in his mouth as he kneels to adjust the new hem to accommodate your legs --which are far shorter than the average elleth’s. 

“I am not a worker of miracles, you have to understand,” the tailor goes on. “But I am doing my best.”

Numbly, you nod, hoping that the stiller you stand and the quieter you stay, the faster this whole humiliating experience can be over. 

The assistant takes the last pin out of his mouth and finishes the hem. He stands and steps back, studying their work side-by-side with the tailor and mutters with a helpless shrug:

“There is not much you can do. I am not certain even lady Vaire herself could make one of the Naugrim look like one of the Eldar.”

The tailor claps a hand over his mouth to stifle a laugh.

Don’t cry.

Don’t cry.

Don’t you dare cry. 

“Half-naugrim,” the tailor corrects-- as if he’s being charitable. “Even so, I would never in a thousand years think our king would deign to take a half-naugrim for a concubine.”

He says it so casually. Like you aren’t even there. You can’t even see through your tears. Shaking, you climb down from the pedestal with the mockup fabric bunched around you, ready to bolt out of the room. You don’t even care that you’re not properly dressed. You just want out of here.

The voice from the doorway stops you dead.

“Even if I did, it would be no concern of yours, master tailor.”

It rings through the room like a lightning strike. Thranduil stands in the door, filling it, wearing his hunting gear and an expression that could freeze a balrog solid.

“How dare you,” Thranduil thunders, striding into the room to step between you and them, gathering you up underneath his arm. He still smells like the forest he’s been out in: like green growing things and rich loam. He wipes at your tears with the leather-gloved pad of his thumb and murmurs in your ear: “You’re perfect.” 

“--We-- we did not mean to insult you, sire,” the tailor tries. He’s gone as white as the mockup muslin.

“No. Indeed you did not. You meant to insult my Intended. But,” he tisks, “In the end you only succeeded in insulting yourself.” His voice is icy; his arm around you is tight. He stands tall as an oak, towering over the two of them and they seem to shrink in his shadow. “I had thought you were a skilled enough tailor to create something worthy of my Beloved. Clearly I was mistaken. Fear not: I never make the same mistake twice.” 

“--Sire--” 

He holds up one gloved hand. The tailor shuts his mouth and squirms beneath his glare.

“You’re relieved of your position,” Thranduil snaps. “You have three hours to pack your things and head for the borders of Greenwood. I suggest you make haste before I decide to have my soldiers drag you there by your ears. Get out.” 

The tailor flees. His assistant, however, hovers nervously and Thranduil’s predatory glower turns on him.

“Have you lost your hearing?”

“Please, my king. I am just his assistant--”

“--Oh. Good. Then you may assist him with his luggage on your journey out of Greenwood.”

The assistant actually bursts into tears. Thranduil’s face remains impassive-- even vaguely disgusted. The ellon runs out and you almost feel sorry for him.

“You didn’t need to banish them,” you whisper once they’re both gone.

“I will suffer no one to abide in my kingdom who sees fit to mock my queen,” Thranduil replies, voice knife-sharp, turning to face you.

“Then you’d have to banish half your subjects, and that’s hardly practical.”

You hate the way your voice shakes just as much as you hate the way his whole body goes stiff.

“Why did you not tell me of this, mîr nín?” He sounds both horrified and furious.

“Are you that blind?” you scoff. “Look at me!” 

A heavy silence passes between you two. Your eyes, the treacherous things, are still leaking water and you hate yourself for it. 

Thranduil’s gaze is a weight pressing on top of you. It sears you to your core. He peels off his riding gloves and tosses them carelessly onto the tailor’s table, then presses the crook of his finger beneath your chin.

When you meet his glittering blue eyes, the expression in them is so intense it knocks all the air out of you.

“I am,” he says, voice suddenly impossibly soft. “I am looking at you.”

Habitually, you avert your eyes. It’s too much. You’re still flushed red with shame.

He grips your chin and commands: “Look at me.”

You do. His gaze is no less intense. He winds an arm around your waist, dipping until your noses brush together and you can feel his warm breath ghosting across your lips. 

“I burn for you,” he hisses. “You enchant me. You undo me utterly, gil-mîr. I do not concern myself with the opinions of others, least of all that fool of a tailor.” 

Your mouth trembles. He brushes his thumb over it and then presses a kiss to your lips. Usually his kisses are fire, possessive, consuming, passionate, leaving you breathless. This one is gentle, almost chaste, and dripping with pure adoration.

“You will be no concubine. You will be my wife. Their queen. I would have them all see you as such.”

You close your eyes and rest your head on his shoulder, and he winds his other arm around you and cards his hand through your hair. He’s so much taller. So strong. Pure power bound up in every inch of him. He makes you feel so safe.

“I don’t want to go to that party,” you mumble.

“And deny yourself the pleasure of making them all sick with envy? Please.” 

You smile into his shoulder. “And how, dear Beloved, am I to do that without a gown?”

“You shall have a gown,” he growls back. “A gown such that no one as ever seen, laden with so many white gems they shall think Elbereth herself has come down from the heavens to Greenwood. You shall have it even if I must hold a hundred thousand tailors at swordpoint to get it.”

It’s so dramatic. So very him.

It makes you warm in the very best of ways. You take his face in your hands and stand on your toes to press a kiss to his forehead. 

“Do not. I fear we would run out of tailors.”

Thranduil looks entirely unbothered when he replies: 

“For you, that is a price I am willing to pay.” 

[cilil]

𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦 | 𝐀 𝐇𝐮𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐬

AN: My last one for @feast-of-horns - for now. The Turgon x Caranthir sequel I promised will be coming, just at a later date. Thanks for reading and being patient!

𓄌 Characters/pairings: Námo x Vairë 𓄌 Synopsis: Námo and Vairë try out their own version of predator/prey play. 𓄌 Warnings: Smut, shapeshifting (Námo with female parts) 𓄌 Oneshot (~1k words) | AO3

"You know," Vairë said, spinning silver threads with four of her six hands while a fifth caressed the back of her husband's cool hand. "I have always been fascinated by this feast Oromë is so fond of." 

"Have you now?" Despite his usual neutral tone and posture, there was a faint hint of humour colouring Námo's voice. 

"Indeed." She hummed to herself, watching the motions of her hands as she dwelt on the thought. "We may not be hunters like he and his people are, but I would be lying if I said I couldn't comprehend the satisfaction of..." 

Skillfully, Vairë looped the thread around four index fingers and pulled it taut. 

"...catching something pretty just right." 

Námo observed her with the calm amusement of one who already knew the outcome of the conversation and was merely waiting for it to unfold. 

"I suppose you do, though your prey is both less corporeal and less flighty than Oromë's," he mused. "Yet thus far you speak in riddles. If there is anything you would have of me, you must ask."

"You would make me spell it out and show you, you who knows all and forgets nothing?" Vairë scolded playfully. "But I don't mind." 

Her sixth hand replaced the fifth, clasping Námo's, while the thus freed hand rose to his face. Gently, she turned his head and pulled away his veil. 

"I think I would like to capture you, my beautiful husband." 

Indeed, he was breathtaking underneath his veil, as Vairë thought whenever she removed it. Features too beautiful and ethereal to ever seem as stern and unforgiving as he was often seen, a face frightening only in its irresistible allure and divine grace. 

Námo smiled at her. "You already have. I shall be all yours." 

It was all the encouragement Vairë needed. Her four hands holding the thread spun around hastily, faster than the eye could see, yet with the precision of a true master of her craft. She then threw it at her husband like a net and crooked two index fingers as if to direct it as it wrapped around his wrists like a silvery snare. 

Reminiscent of a spider web, it floated in the air, thrumming with the power of her will and her music, and Námo kept smiling even as his arms were secured in place and his feet lifted off the ground. 

"Wonderful work as always, beloved."

"Thank you." 

Vairë willed the nails on one of her hands to turn into claws and raised it, ready to strike and devour her food like a spider discovering prey in its web. 

"Tell me, what will I find underneath those robes of yours?" she purred. 

"Whatever it is that you wish to find," Námo answered. 

"You already knew that as well, didn't you?" Vairë let out a chuckle, then cut his robes open with vicious efficiency. 

She was going to fix the damage later if she felt like it; there were prettier things she could find for her husband to wear than those plain black robes. 

Námo's fána was, as it had always been, less corporeal than those of other Ainur, almost ephemeral in the way he willed it in and out of existence within the blink of an eye. Some of its features remained ever the same, most importantly his tall, slender figure, his long, almost spindly legs and the ghostly pallor of his smooth, cool skin. Yet other features were ever fluid, changing and shifting at will. 

His hips were narrow as usual, but between his legs Vairë was greeted with the gentle slope of a vulva. Her eyes lit up in excitement — she had desired to bed her husband in such a manner for a while. For even though Námo aligned more with male temper and often presented accordingly, he was just as, if not more beautiful than any lady she had seen. 

"You saw my thoughts," was all Vairë said as she knelt down in front of him to examine. 

"Such is my nature." Námo spread his legs without needing to be prompted. "My flesh exists only for your pleasure, I need it for nought else." 

"At this point you are asking to be devoured."

"Perhaps I am, yes." 

"In that case, I shall." 

Vairë moved closer until she was kneeling between Námo's legs, caressing his thighs as she rested them on her shoulders. When she kissed his folds, she was reminded of a water lily with its petals closed, delicate and hiding its true beauty, and determined to coax it into opening up to her. 

Námo sighed. He was a quiet lover and not prone to outbursts of passion, but Vairë could tell he was sensitive. Almost as if he had never been touched before. Which he had been, though not in this form. The sense of novelty fanned the flames of her desire.

She took hold of his thighs and began to enjoy his new fána. First quick, teasing licks across his folds to explore. Then bolder, dipping her tongue in-between, pushing inside, searching for the sensitive little pearl that would ensure his pleasure. A gasp, a tentative moan. She could feel it now, right against the tip of her tongue. 

Entranced by the wonderful timbre of her husband's voice, Vairë continued. Námo was panting now, trying to adjust to the new sensations he was experiencing. 

Unfortunately for him, his wife wasn't merciful. She could feel his muscles twitching and traces of his arousal leaking out of him, wettening her lips and chin like morning dew. 

Oh how she loved him. Vairë could do this all day. 

Circling her tongue around his pearl, she carefully pushed one finger inside Námo, then two. He was tight but not entirely unused to penetration, he had taken her before in a different shape. 

"Please..." she heard his voice in her mind. 

"You are begging already?" Vairë neither slowed down nor withdrew, instead taking it as encouragement to thrust her fingers in and out of Námo. 

Whatever he had meant to say in response never came as his fána was overwhelmed by pleasure and driven to an early climax, leaving him speechless. 

It was only then that Vairë granted Námo a break. 

"Coming so fast?" she teased. "You do realise I haven't even started yet?" 

He exhaled slowly and closed his eyes. 

"Take me as many times as you see fit, beloved, as is your right after a successful hunt."

Thanks for reading! ♡

taglist: @asianbutnotjapanese @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @blauerregen @bluezenzennie @edensrose @elanna-elrondiel @eunoiaastralwings @i-did-not-mean-to @just-little-human @saintstars @singleteapot @urwendii @wandererindreams

[cilil]

❅ Prompt: New year & candle light (rare pair bingo) | Námo x Vairë ❅ Synopsis: Vairë wants to celebrate the new year. Námo is skeptical. ❅ Warnings: / ❅ Drabble ❅ AO3

» Disclaimer: While this is a canon pairing, the Valar couples don't get much spotlight, so I still feel like they count as rare pairs.

"Candles? In your workshop?" 

Námo quizzically eyed the wide selection of candles his wife had placed on every available surface. 

"Only for tonight and because I prefer them over fireworks," Vairë explained and put down her tools, her many arms resting for once. 

She took Námo's hand. "I know your mind is already on the future you dread, but let us take a moment to reminisce."

"Of what? Another year of death and destruction?" 

"Of the good times we had, our smiles, our laughs," Vairë hissed his forehead, and his stern mien softened. "And then, we allow ourselves to hope."

Thanks for reading! ♡

taglist: @asianbutnotjapanese @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @bluezenzennie @edensrose @eunoiaastralwings @i-did-not-mean-to @melkors-defense-attorney @singleteapot @stormchaser819 @wandererindreams

[cilil]

I'm honestly obsessed with the future vs past dynamic Námo and Vairë have going on, with his future sight and her recording history.

And sometimes they even meet in the present for just a brief moment to be spend time together...

[cilil]

[Since the Valar relationship hcs were so much fun, here are my hcs about how everyone's wedding went - or how they would've gone if they had taken place in Arda. Most of them were already married when they descended, it seems]

Manwë & Varda

The classic, traditional, super expensive wedding, everything in gold, silver and white and everyone was invited -

Except Melkor. Manwë wanted him there, of course, but Varda secretly assembled a task force comprised of Ulmo, Tulkas, Oromë and Yavanna, telling them that Melkor was under no circumstances allowed anywhere near the wedding party

Ulmo was the best man, Eönwë, Ilmarë and a few more Maiar were selected to be groomsmen and bridesmaids and Námo officiated the ceremony

Everything went fairly well. Manwë was a little sad that Melkor "couldn't make it", Ulmo was a just a tiny bit jealous of Varda, Nienna cried and Irmo slept through the entire ceremony, but the rest was fairytale-perfect

Melkor was pissed that he didn't get to crash the wedding, but all he managed to do was sneak in after everyone had already left and steal the last piece of cake

Aulë & Yavanna

Yavanna took over most of the organization after Aulë got tired of attempting to have opinions on things

They had a beautiful fairy-themed forest wedding, though Aulë was a little late due to his tendency to forget about everything around him when he's in the forge. Also his outfit was slightly glittering because of some persistent metal dust he couldn't manage to get rid of

Nienna and Vána provided the happy crying for the ceremony while Irmo was, you guessed it, happily asleep in Estë's arms

When everyone got slowly drunk later Aulë quietly admitted to Manwë that he was sad about some of his Maiar missing, especially Mairon

Thankfully Yavanna didn't make him sleep on the couch that night, however she might've done so if he had managed to invite Mairon and his other fallen Maiar

Melkor was explicitly not invited

Oromë & Vána

Vána went all out and created the greatest bouquet Valinor has ever seen. she also conspired with Oromë to have Nessa catch it, resulting in poor Nessa getting nearly buried under a mountain of flowers when Vána threw it at her

Vána's dress was absolutely gorgeous. She'd spent weeks creating it together with Vairë

There was a small amount of controversy leading up to the wedding when Námo refused to let horses inside the cathedral. In the end Oromë begrudgingly organized a carriage for himself and Vána, choosing Nahar and a few other horses to pull it, and agreed to leave them outside

Nienna and Irmo remained consistent in their behavior during the ceremony. This time Yavanna joined the crying efforts as well, as did, to everyone's surprise, Tulkas

The food was great thanks Oromë's and Vána's Maiar going above and beyond

Melkor was explicitly not invited

Tulkas & Nessa

Things got a little hectic when Tulkas showed up in sweaty gym clothes and had to be sent back home to shower and change

Thankfully this incident remained without consequences since Nessa was also late due to last minute dancing practice. Everyone was relieved - except Námo who was slightly miffed about the whole situation, but had foreseen it and brought a book as well as a pillow for Irmo who was, you guessed it, fast asleep after 5 minutes

Nienna was slightly surprised to share her tissues with Oromë and Vána this time, but didn't ask any questions

The afterparty was basically Oktoberfest. Tulkas and Oromë got black-out drunk after ungodly amounts of beer and fell asleep

Nessa had no issue continuing the dancing alone. Vána joined her later and the two danced the entire night

Melkor had no plans to show up but wasn't invited either way

Námo & Vairë

Despite Manwë's vehement protests and several offers to help organize something else, Námo wanted a simple courthouse wedding and Vairë agreed since she isn't too fond of big events either. Only the Valar were invited to keep it small

Manwë - who had been tasked with officiating the ceremony this time - was determined to make it special anyway, whether the couple wanted to or not, and prepared a big speech about family and romance

While Námo glared at him the entire time for unnecessarily prolonging the ceremony, Vairë knitted a shawl around the two of them. Everyone thought it was super cute and Nienna and Irmo claim to this day that they saw Námo blushing and tease him about it

Irmo brought a slightly suspicious bouquet from his garden for the couple. No one knows exactly what kind of flowers were in it, but they emanated a very soothing smell which ensured that almost everyone fell asleep during Manwë's sermon. Ironically Irmo himself was awake for the entire ceremony since he was very excited about his brother's wedding

The afterparty ended abruptly when Námo kicked out Tulkas and Oromë for getting too drunk and scaring the fëar in his halls

Melkor was explicitly not invited

Irmo & Estë

Irmo and Estë chose a fairly casual and unorthodox ceremony, refusing to listen to any criticism from Manwë or Námo

Despite Irmo's protests, the suspicious flowers he had brought to Námo's wedding were removed from the location by Yavanna and Vána on Manwë's orders; however Irmo managed to sneak in a few of them anyway

Nienna cried a few tears of joy and couldn't stop smiling. Some say they saw even Námo smile just a little

Oromë and Tulkas made a betting pool on whether Irmo would manage to stay awake for the entire ceremony and afterparty. Nessa, Vána, Yavanna and Aulë joined in as well.

The afterparty went down in Valarin history as one of the craziest nights they ever had, ending in everyone passed out on the floor, Valar and Maiar alike. Some claimed later that they had seen purple petals around the infamous but incredibly delicious punch Irmo prepared

Estë was kind enough to help everyone through their hangover

Melkor was actually invited, but didn't deem the event important enough to crash it

Melkor & Mairon

Manwë was explicitly not invited and neither were the other Valar except Nienna. He attempted to get in anywayk but Melkor had been smart enough to give him the wrong date

Mairon went full bridezilla mode and several people were burned to a crisp before, during and after the wedding for major to minor mistakes

Melkor enabled this behavior in an attempt to fulfill his fiancé's every wish and showered him with gifts as well

Gothmog was supposed to officiate the ceremony, but accidentally burned the script. Thankfully Thuringwethil was able to step in and take over

Melkor wore black to no one's surprise. Mairon wore red and gold. Even the Orcs were gushing about how great his outfit was - yas king slay

There was also a lot of discussion about how cool their wedding rings looked

The afterparty basically turned into the greatest metal music festival Middle-earth has ever seen as Melkor took the opportunity to showcase his music to a large audience. The centerpiece was a full Ainulindalë remix

According to eye witnesses, he and Mairon were on the dancefloor for hours and their moves looked like life-threatening activity, both for themselves as well as the people around them. Collateral damage was reported

After the party the two dark lords retreated to their bedchambers and weren't seen for days. According to rumors, Mairon's first project after coming back to his forge was repairing the bed

[cilil]

D - Dress-up

Characters: Námo/Vairë

Synopsis: Vairë made new robes for her beloved husband.

Warnings: /

Drabble

"Are you sure about this?"

Námo turns away from the mirror to look at Vairë. 

He's currently trying on a new set of robes she made for him, made of viridian silk and green and white tulle, with wide volant sleeves and a high collar decorated with a beautiful emerald she acquired from Aulë. His shoulders are left exposed and the cut accentuates his slim waist, making Vairë smile as she admires her husband's beauty. 

Námo keeps his hands folded in front of him, looking uncharacteristically shy.

"Do you think it looks good on me?" 

"Absolutely," she says and nods.

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