#valar ventures

[apoloadonisandnarcissus]

The Physicality of Sauron x Galadriel: Cosmic Connection and Physical Attraction

We already heard the expression “cosmical connection” a million times, and even I already discussed that in this post. Expressions like “higher beings” and such have been used by the actors and show producers to describe Sauron and Galadriel’s connection.

And, then, we have this iconic moment:

What does this “cosmic connection” means? Both Galadriel and Sauron/Mairon are immortal spirits. Mairon, as a Maia, is one of the Ainur, and one of the forces who first shaped the world, alongside the Valar (Ainulindalë or “Music of the Ainur”). He’s ancient, being around since the Days before Days (before the world was created).

Galadriel was born during the Years of the Trees, thousands of years later. And she’s of one the Children of Ilúvatar, an Elf. Her grandparents were among the first Elves created by Eru to live in Valinor.

What’s the difference?

Mairon belongs to the Unseen world, because he is, up and foremost, a spiritual being. And like all Maiar and Valar, he can choose his physical form (Halbrand, Annatar, etc.) in the Seen world. And he’s not bound to it, but these forms are all the same spirit. Hence the big focus on “Halbrand is Sauron” in Season 2, and even Charlie Vickers said many times in recent interviews how he wanted to show that continuity between both characters in his interpretation of Sauron in Season 2.

Galadriel belongs to the Seen world, and cannot chose her physical form. She’s bound to the one she was born with (in this sense, Elves are pretty much like Men, who are also Children of Ilúvatar). In the Third age, Galadriel can move between the Seen and Unseen world, but that’s not the case when she and Mairon first meet.

Let’s see what happens when Maiar and Elves fall in love:

Melian and Thingol

In the Valaquenta, we were introduced to some Maiar of interest. Melian was one of these. She’s a Maia to Vána (Vala of preserving youth and of fauna and flora on Middle-earth, also known as “Queen of Flowers”) and Estë (Vala of healing and purveyor or restful sleep). Melian dwells on the gardens of Lórien, and has a magical voice, great wisdom and was beloved by all. Birds, especially nightingales (her signature friends) surround her at all times. Around the time the Elves are created by Eru, she ventures across the Sundering Seas and arrives on Middle-earth.

Centuries later, the Teleri are the third or the Elf clans (alongside the Noldor and the Vanyar) to take the Great Journey, from Valinor to Middle-earth. Their leader, Elwë (Thingol) has the habit of wandering the woods by himself. One day, he ventures a forest called Nan Elmoth, in Beleriand. And there she meets Melian, and he was absolutely smitten.

“Enchantment” falls on him, and when he actually hears Melian’s voice, it’s all over. Her song fills “all his heart with wonder and desire.” And this is before he actually sees her: when he finally does set eyes on her, he’s at awe, because the “light of Aman” is reflected in her face.

Love overtakes Thingol, completely. He takes Melina’s hand, and “straightway a spell is laid on him.” Suddenly his plans (to reunite with his friend Finwë, to lead his people to Valinor, to dwell again in the light of the Two Trees) just disappear. He forgets everyone and everything. Thingol and Melian just stand there, looking at each others’ eyes, hands clasped, and perfectly still, for (according to some sources) 200 years. The trees grown tall around them. And no one knows Thingol is there, so his people search for him in Beleriand, in vain.

Since this event seem so over the top, many speculate that an actual spell, indeed, fall upon Thingol, even thought Tolkien gives no indication of him being “enslaved” or joining with Melian against his will. Anyway, one theory is that this meeting was orchestrated by Eru himself, because many key events happened because of it. Meaning, they were ��doomed” to meet and fall in love:

Thingol and Melian will go on to establish the first of the organized Elven kingdoms of Middle-earth, in Beleriand, and rule it as Queen and King: Doriath (and their people are known as the “Sindar”);

They will have a child, described as “fairest of all the Children of Ilúvatar that ever was or shall ever be”: Lúthien, who would help in defeating both Morgoth and Sauron in the future.

In order to be with Thingol (= have sex with him), Melian retained her physical form, and became bound to it after conceiving a child with him. Meaning she couldn’t access the Unseen world, anymore (= return to her true spiritual form).

“Rings of Power” created a parallel of Thingol and Melian’s first meeting with Galadriel and Mairon, throughout Season 1:

Then an enchantment fell on him, and he stood still; and afar off beyond the voices of the lómelindi he heard the voice of Melian, and it filled all his heart with wonder and desire.

He forgot then utterly all his people and all the purposes of his mind, and following [the sound] and was lost

But he came at last to a glade open to the stars, and there Melian stood; and out of the darkness he looked at her, and the light of Aman was in her face. She spoke no word;

[…] but being filled with love Elwë came to her and took her hand,

[…] and straightway a spell was laid on him so that they stood.

[…] thus while long years were measured by the wheeling stars above them; [not only are they outside, but Galadriel armor has a star sigil – and, no, this is not Fëanor’s sigil, it’s a different design] 

[...]; and the trees of Nan Elmoth grew tall and dark before they spoke any word

Like Thingol and Melian, there is no need for words between them. They look into each others’ eyes and feel it (“I’ve felt it too”). This makes it hard for the audience to understand what is happening between them, but it is what it is.

However, I think this was *the moment* when they truly saw the extent of their mutual feelings for each other; when their souls are merging due to being bound together (via Morgoth’s crown). Which explains their reactions here: Galadriel is shocked, and Mairon is in happy disbelief. “Wait- you’re actually in love with me?”

Galadriel thinks Sauron is evil incarnate, she’s not shocked because he stabbed her, come on.

Which, again, explains this expression over here. This is pure joy, and he has tears on his eyes: Mairon believes that Galadriel is about to join him, and they are going to run into Mordor the sunset together.

Cosmic connection and Physical attraction

Galadriel belongs to the Seen world, the same as Thingol. But their Maiar pair, Melian and Mairon, are from the Unseen world. Meaning: are these connections only spiritual (“cosmically”) or they have a physical component (“lust”), too?

We know that Thingol and Melian went physical with theirs, because they had a child together. Since Thingol is from the Seen world (and cannot access the Unseen world) he’s both a physical and spiritual being (Elf) but he’s only spiritual after the death of his physical body. The same with Galadriel.

Both Maiar and Valar are capable of feeling love and lust in Tolkien lore. We see this not only with Melian, but with all Valar couples. We also see Melkor/Morgoth lusting after Lúthien when he saw her dancing for him (this implies a very physical sentiment).

Then Morgoth looking upon her beauty [Lúthien] conceived in his thought an evil lust, and a design more dark than any that had yet come into his heart since he fled from Valinor. Thus he was beguiled by his own malice, for he watched her, leaving her free for a while, and taking secret pleasure in his thought. Lúthien dances for Morgoth on his Dark Throne [before she puts him and all the host of Angband to sleep with her magic singing]

In other works describing this episode, Tolkien goes on using words like “lust”, “hunger”, “blinding thrist”, “pleasure”, and stressing the importance of Morgoth trying to reach out for Lúthien with his hand (= he wants to touch her). Meaning, there is a real physical element at play here (even if it’s evil and diabolical).

Mairon himself got pretty “touchy” with Galadriel back in Season 1. This is not random, and this implies the connection between them was not only “cosmical”; Mairon, a spiritual being, wanted to touch Galadriel, meaning, there was as a physical element/attraction there, too.

We also saw this with Mirdania in Season 2, the she-elf of Eregion who reminded him of Galadriel, and was used as a plot device for the audience to see that Galadriel is always on Mairon’s mind.

Meaning: yes, Mairon wants to “shake the sheets” (or the table forge) with Galadriel. It’s not only “cosmical” or “spiritual”. He desires her, on a physical level, too.

Mairon, the Maia of Aulë

To understand the physical attraction, we need to go back to the beginning of Mairon himself.

Mairon was created by Eru as a Maia of Aulë, the Vala of smithing and handiwork. He was among the most powerful Maiar, and the purest one, too. Eru created him to be good and loyal, but also to love several things: crafting and creation (smithing), beauty, order and perfection, and to dislike wastefulness. These were, most likely, Mairon’s contributions to shape the world in the Ainulindalë.

Melkor/Morgoth used Mairon’s love of order and perfection to corrupt him, and turned it into an obsession with domination and control. Morgoth corrupted his goodness and loyalty into evil and treachery (turning him into “the great deceiver”). His love of beauty corrupted into ugliness, by the breeding of the Orcs. Mairon’s greatest virtues became his downfall.

And who better embodies the qualities of “beauty” and “perfection” than Galadriel herself? Her beauty is the stuff of legends, and everyone is at awe when they first meet her. Her very gold/silver hair inspired the most legendary jewels in existence: the Silmarils. The light of the Two Trees of Valinor shine on her hair and eyes.

We also see Galadriel connected with “smithing”: she’s the object of the love and lust of the two legendary Elven smiths: Fëanor and Celebrimbor (Brimby in Tolkien lore, not in “Rings of Power”). Fëanor was inspired by how the light caught her hair to create the Silmarils; and he asked her for a few strands of hair, three times, and three times she denied him. In the Third age, Galadriel would gift strands of her hair to Gimli, a Dwarf, a Child of Aulë (the Dwarves were created by Aulë himself; another connection to smithing and to Mairon’s original Vala).

Yes, "Rings of Power" really went there. All the paralells.

Galadriel is also connected with power, something Mairon liked from the beginning, too (which caused Melkor to target him and get him to his side). She's not only power-hungry, but she's powerful, herself, and will only grow in power as the years go by. She's a natural leader, proud and rebellious; she was born to rule (literally, because her father was High King of the Noldor in Valinor, she’s an actual princess).

Just like Thingol and Melian!

Galadriel was also a pupil of Aulë and his wife Yavanna, back in Valinor. Which means, that if Mairon wasn’t corrupted by Morgoth/Melkor and he didn’t betray the Valar, they would have met, then. And what would have happened? Galadriel would never marry Celeborn, in the first place, that’s for sure (they met on Middle-earth, not in Valinor). And if sparkles happened in Middle-earth, in the most antagonist of scenarios (with Mairon already corrupted), OG Mairon and Artanis (Galadriel’s original name) meeting would set Aulë’s forge on fire. Artanis would have the most enviable jewelry collection in all of Arda. Because Mairon would gift her and worship her, nonstop: I will place crown(s) upon your head. I will never rest until all Arda had been brought to its knees, to worship the light of its Queen.

The “what ifs” don’t stop here. Because Artanis and Mairon power couple would parallel Yavanna and Aulë, too. Yavanna, Aulë’s wife and queen, “Queen of the Earth”, physical form is described: “in the form of a woman she is tall, and robed in green (…) crowned with the Sun; and from all its branches there spilled a golden dew upon the earth.”

Wild how “Rings of Power” already went there. Several times:

In fact, the first regal outfit we see Galadriel wear in "Rings of Power" is a teal (greenish-blue) cape and a gold dress. And she's wearing a gold flower crown. All hail, Queen Artanis, stronger than the foundations of the earth? Interesting choice of words, because Aulë created the "foundations of the earth" (= mountains).

In 2x02, we see Galadriel planting flowers, while wearing green and with a gold leaf crown on her head (as she was meant to be):

How could Mairon not love her? That’s the real question. Galadriel is the materialization, the physical form, of everything he was designed to love. And she can’t change her physical form, mind you. She belongs to the Seen world.

And this was probably the reason why Eru brought them together, in the first place: for Mairon to recall his original purpose. And probably to rub on his face what he lost for being a evil b*tch and side with Melkor. Galadriel is already bound to another (Celeborn) in the eyes of the Valar and the Eldar. The only way to “undone” that is for the Valar themselves to give permission.

[thatlittlered]

rings of power men | tropes

warning(s): light TROP spoilers, gn!reader used throughout

author's note: most of these will be turned into actual fics :)

-.-.-

Elrond + friends to lovers

GIF by @fukutomichi

As kind as summer, as gentle as the soft rays of sun upon your faces whilst you sit in each other's company and he is weaving, unbeknownst to you, tales of your wit and beauty in his mind; poems he would never dare show you. It was love long before either of you knew what to call it.

Gil-galad + opposites attract

GIF by @fukutomichi

Born and raised the son of kings, Gil-galad has known nothing but duty during his lifetime. A King neither ventures, nor tries his hand at passing affections, and yet the curse of a still beating heart inevitably finds him when his lieutenant and trusted friend Círdan is apprenticed by a lovely lowly elf.

Celebrimbor + soulmates

GIF by @dailyflicks

It is instant, absolute. As if the two of you were born a mystical creature, bearing two faces, four arms and four legs, until the Valar separated you and forced you to spend eternity searching for your other half. In the worst of times and the most unlikely of places, the search has come to cease. Alas, so has the time of peace.

Arondir + forbidden love

GIF by @lousolversons

The Silvan elf comes to respect the race of men for what they are during his time in the Southlands and whilst he dare not admit it, it does pertain with knowing you. It is hard to care for the hateful gazes of villagers when your own gaze is so tender under the moonlight, your hands cold and decisive when you touch him here where no one can hear or see. Though he has not tasted mortality, it must taste like you and the urgency you kiss him with, as if in fear the sun might never rise again.

Elendil + forbidden love, age gap

GIF by @frodo-sam

This man was born to be your dutiful protector, loyal like no other and sworn to serve you as his ruler with everything he has. Loyalty and love tend to melt into each other, merge so that it is impossible to tell them apart. It is a tormenting, silent agreement that neither of you may speak on these feelings and yet, it... overwhelms.

Valandil + childhood sweethearts

GIF by @fukutomichi

To know and love Valandil comes as easy as breathing air. You have been doing both for just as long, you think. Childish adoration blossoms in time until your souls are tethered and he will commit his life to earning rank and making it official, from the streets of Númenor to the edge of the world, where he hopes to travel with you.

Isildur + love triangle, second chance

GIF by @vidalharkness

Isildur has always held a deep admiration for you, a childish infatuation even, but your bond with Valandil always comes before all and he happily accepts things as they are for a long time. Friendship is of equal, if not grander, worth and he considers both of you his dear friends above all. Until Valandil is killed, that is. The love each of you have for him and each other perseveres until grief threatens to swallow you whole. On the precipice of desperation, a teary kiss is meant to bring comfort. Yes, of course. That is what this must be.

-.-.-

bonus:

Adar + enemies to lovers

GIF by @anthemias

Sauron saw in you every weakness, every earthly, pathetic desire to be appreciated and loved when everyone and everything has been cruelly ripped from you. To be part of something larger than the pain eating away at your chest until your days in Middle Earth are over and you can find refuge in the arms of those who unlike you, gave their lives for a greater cause. He saw and took full advantage. Adar sees it now too when he looks at you; the agony of knowing you have played into the hands of evil itself just as he has. There is always a sliver of affection in understanding another, is there not?

[thyras]

→ the bearer of fruits

PAIRING → mairon | halbrand | annatar (sauron) x f!elf!reader

WORD COUNT → 8.9k words

WARNINGS → 18+ mdni - dark!reader, mentions of abuse (sauron kind of manhandles reader and threatens her, while she throws stuff at him), mentions of trauma, some fluff (if that can even be associated with him), manipulation, dark deeds, unprotected p in v, implied smut, handjob, pregnancy

SUMMARY → after your husband’s departure of Eregion, you are left hollowed and sorrowed. you find solace in your work and planting your seeds until an unexpected visitor shows up at the gates of Eregion.

AUTHORS NOTE → wow this took ages to finish, sorry about that. i've been so busy with school and mom life that i just was so drained of inspiration for this part. i wanted to touch more on reader and his background as it really defines how their relationship works. they are very hot and cold with each other, she may be really dark at times, even darker than him at times, but she is good at hiding it and even can suppress it. idk i hope you guys enjoy as well be reviving up in the next few parts. @sansaorgana you asked me to tag you, so here you are my friend ❤️

FIC MASTERLIST → NEXT PART

The fire crackled against its fuel as you flipped through a volume from the First Age. You had dove into anything that could take your mind off the sorrow you felt with his departure again. This time, you thought of starting to sow some seeds for your husband’s plan. For weeks, you had been coming after all the smiths had gone home, and you would be left in silence, hoping that one person would see you.

Which had not happened once.

Your hand fanned across the page. The silver band on your finger caught the light and shined its beautiful blue hue in the moonlight. A smile crept up on your face as you twisted it around your finger. The bluish inscription appeared in Sarati lettering, the ancient written form of your kin.

You rarely spoke Quenya anymore, but the inscription on the ring was something you always remembered.

Fairest of maidens, in the moonlight, you shall find me, for we are never truly parted.

You had been there in that elven forge of old when he crafted the ring. When you bound yourselves in mind, body, and soul. The Beauty of the Woodland was no more, for she had become his Wicked Beauty.

You snorted softly at the name. The Beauty of the Woodland. That’s all you had been to your kin, a goddess crafted by the Valar and sent to honor your family with your fair beauty. Your life before your husband had been nothing but pure subjection to fill that role and heal your kind.

For you were perceived to be an emissary of Valar in fair form.

But that was hardly true; you were just an elf gifted with refined beauty, which a woman of no consequence birthed. No fair powers filled you other than the gift to heal.

As you had done with him in those days.

The morning was bright, reflecting on the golden leaves down onto your glittering hair. You pushed some behind your ear as you bent down to gather some fungi to take back with you. You had ventured alone early in the morning, not a wise thing, but with years on you and a keen sense for danger, you always carried a blade concealed in your sleeve.

You started humming a sweet song while moving through the woods, peeling off fungi and picking medicinal weeds you could not grow. Your humming grew into a lovely, silvery song.

You hesitated a moment, though, when you reached for a mushroom nestled in a small patch by a tree. A certain iciness came over the forest, the gloominess of a rain cloud crawling over the once bright forest. You stood up and swallowed hard as the eeriness fell even more over the forest.

The hairs on the back of your neck rose suddenly as if you turned and looked behind you. Nothing. Your pulse raced. Your hand reached under the sleeve of your robe for the blade. Your eyes closed as you took a few shallowed breaths before a shadowy breath crossed your ears. Its disembodied voice caused you to shiver. You took a few breaths before opening your eyes and throwing the blade at a tree behind you.

You turned and saw nothing but the shining blade in the tree. As the sun was shining once again and the iciness over the forest lifted, you walked over and pulled your blade out before saying some Quenya words to the tree in sorrow for the damage.

You turned and went back to pick the mushrooms quickly. The darkness was gone, but you still felt its lingering touch on the shell of your ear—the caress almost as seductive as the taste of the finest wine or fruit. You licked your lips as a dark smile rose on your lips.

The darkness had touched you as a little girl; watching your father turn mad at your mother’s lovers, killing her in front of you, had changed you before you even were a teen. In later years, you plotted to kill the man for killing your mother.

Each day, you waited.

And watched.

Until you struck one night, holding a pillow over his face as you plunged his dagger into his heart. The pillow muffled his screams. You leaned in and spoke;

“For the Valar have forsaken you, Commander, and I am their justice.” You paused and took the pillow off so he could look into his daughter’s dark eyes. “See my face, and know it is I who have ended you.” The shocked look crossed his eyes before the light of the Valar left him.

You had been so dramatic in the following days, playing the part of a grief-stricken daughter. Only to hold back the triumph and satisfaction of ridding this world of the man who abused you and your mother enough to stray.

You returned to the road that would take you to your village. It would not take long to get back into the confines of those walls.

Your cage.

Your shackle.

It only brought more blackness to your heart lingering there. But you could hardly protect yourself on a long journey to find another set of kin. Your feet stopped as you felt a whisper of a breeze and turned to see a man walking, well limping, just ahead of you, hand covering his leg as the fabric of his pants was tainted with blood. His reddish hair glistened in the golden sun, much like a flame would as it would against its fuel. The strands were long and braided on the sides.

He stumbled, and you raced to grab his frame before he hit the ground. The weight of him caused you to collapse onto the dirt road. You looked down to see he was an elf, from what kin you did not know. His face was of the fairest beauty, someone to rival even your own. He smiled weakly.

“By the Valar,” he breathed hoarsely. “Have I reached Valinor?” You shook your head and told him your name and that you were a healer. He repeats your name back as if it was the sweetest of nectars. His hand reached up to touch your cheek, eyes fluttering as he swallowed hard.

You looked down at his leg and saw the deep puncture of something in his upper thigh. He had fashioned a tourniquet above the wound to stop the blooding, no doubt. His eyes looked up into yours, pleading almost.

"Boar," he breathed hoarsely again. You nod and smooth your hand across his clammy cheek in a comforting gesture.

"I'll get you well again; it's the least I can do." The man nodded, and you smiled before trying to help him get up. He tried greatly not to put all his weight on you as you walked, but it would only cause him even more great pain. So when you reached the outskirts of your village, you signaled for a couple of men to help you get him to your home.

Once the stranger was laid on the bed, you thanked the other men and began mending his wound. Throughout that time, you could not help but feel the warmth of his eyes on you, watching as you cleaned and worked tirelessly in your craft.

"You are so beautiful," he said through labored breaths, "like a star from the heavens." Your face warmed, and you finished bandaging his leg carefully. He reached up his shaky hand to push some of your hair behind your ear. The touch sent shivers down your spine and caused you to look over at him. You knew he was probably delirious from the blood loss and infection. He would not remember a thing when he woke up, but you prayed he would.

"Get some rest; I'll be here when you wake." You smiled, took his hand, and gave it a light kiss of reassurance. A smile touched his battered lips before his eyes closed. You laid his arm across his chest and rose out of your chair to start the clean-up.

Hours later, when he awoke again, you sat a bowl of stew next to him on the small table and a glass of wine. He sat up, took the bowl, and began eating eagerly as you moved back to the small kitchen.

"Thank you," he said, inclining his head to you.

"You're welcome," you paused. "You should be well enough to travel by morrow's eve; your kin must be worried about you." Something in his eyes changed as he lowered the bowl to his lap. His eyes turned dark like yours had when you murdered your father. A touch of your darkness rose as his did.

"I have no kin," he said softly, his eyes still staring at the bowl in his hands. You nodded before turning back to the worktop, where you continued to mash your herbs.

Silence grew over you both until he spoke again moments later. "They perished in the war." You nod. Many of your kin had as well, but again, it was not even sorrowful to you. These people had stood by and let their commander abuse you and your mother.

"I'm sorry," you said with fake sorrowfulness. “To lose one's kin is a tragedy that most of us do not heal from.

"You speak as if you know of this," he said, reaching to grab the glass. You nodded in an ever-convincing gesture toward his question. If it was not for the darkness of the hour, you swore you saw a nebulous smile touch his lips.

"My father died in the war; his company was ambushed, and before the rest of the force could reach them, they all but perished." You lied while staring at him in those dark eyes as he watched you. Your secret still hidden.

"I'm sorry," he breathed, inclining his head toward you. But before he could continue, you spoke again.

"Don't be; he was an arrogant, abusive man." You flashed him a dark smile. He could not help but chuckle. "I was more sorrowful for the men under his leadership, and I thanked the Valar for freeing me of his abuse." You looked down at your stone, knowing you had already told him too much of your despise of this place and its memories. But it felt good to touch the darkness again, that part of you that you forced into submission to keep your facade of the virtuous, sweet, elven healer.

You heard him stand up and move over to you. His fingers cupped your chin and brought your face to meet his gaze in the dim light of the candles. His eyes were dark as night and full of desire, and you gave him an equally dark smile.

His grip tightened on your chin, and you let a sharp breath fall out as you closed your eyes. His hot breath crossed your face and sent shivers down your spine. Before his lips could meet yours, you pushed on his chest. Your hand was placed against his fluttering heart as his gaze watched you, waiting for you to make the next move.

"I hardly know you,” You said, giving him a playful look. “And it would look less than virtuous for you to be seen touching me." You continued, fingers gripped onto his shirt as you raised your brow to taunt him more. The darkness in his eyes seemed to come alight with an animalistic presence. A growl rumbled through his chest as you ran your fingers down his chest. “Now, you would not want to take a fair maiden’s virtue?” you said with a fake pout. The mischief in your gaze made a nebulous smile touch his face again. It sent your pulse racing as every inch of you heated up.

“Temptress,” he breathed. Releasing your chin and running his warm fingers down your neck. “For you have deceived an even greater deceiver.” In an instant, you had your fingers wrapped around his throat and backed up against the wall. A blade hovered above your fingers, cool Valinor silver pressed against his jaw. You felt the tension in his neck as he swallowed and lifted his chin to give you better access to the skin, his eyes closing as you leaned in slowly.

“You think you have deceived me?” You said, watching his eyes flicker open when a laugh of disbelief left your lips. “I knew you were watching me. The second I walked into those woods. I played the fair innocent maid, oh so sweet.” You tightened your grip as you leaned in to run your tongue against the skin of his jaw. His muscles tensed under your grasp again, your teeth grazing his chin. “I bet the singing got you real hard.” You tempted, his eyes closing again as his nostrils flared. “Hard enough to do my bidding and be rewarded with a taste?” Your lips ghosted over his. His hands kept perfectly still next to him, fists clenching as he struggled to stay calm against your grasp.

“Little one, you have no idea who you are bargaining with,” he growled.

“I have an idea,” You run the blade just underneath his jawline. A trickle of black blood fell to no surprise to you. You leaned in and lapped the sweet nectar, coating your lips as you took in some of his essence. It tasted godly, giving you a taste of his malice and power. You craved more and wished to allow this being to cover you in it so you could know what true power felt like, not the innocent power of one's flesh but the over someone's mind and soul—morphing them into what you wanted. “So what shall I call you, my lord? Or do you want me to scream out your true name as you have your way with this fair maiden?”

He reached up and pushed more of your hair out of your face. The touch was so gentle for a man who had murdered so many of your kin. You should have been scared of him, terrified even. But you knew you were just as black-hearted as he was, which probably drew him to you.

You were an expert manipulator and temptress.

A true dark widow leading any unsuspecting man to her web of deception. This time, though, you had caught the Great Deceiver in your web; he was yours now. Your two dark souls were finally connected, yearning for release and pleasure.

"Mairon,"

The clinging of a glass brought you out of your musings before looking over at the source of the sound. Celebrimbor strode up the staircase with a glass of wine for the both of you and a pile of parchment between his left arm. "May I join you?" he asked as a smile touched his lips.

You nodded and motioned to the chair. Finally, your plan bore fruit. He set a glass down in front of you. You reached and brought it to your lips, drinking the liquid as he moved to lay his papers out on the table across from you. Designs, no doubt, for more rings. You turned back to your reading, delicate fingers turning the large page as you read the old words.

"I see you have taken an interest in First Age magics." You look up at him as he took a drink. "It is a delightful read, even for someone who was there."

"I never experienced those magics, only the ones to destroy." You said truthfully, but you hid your dark smile at the mention of the shadowy being who had taught you many of those dark things.

“I forget myself. You lost all your kin to him.” You gave him a sorrowful look before turning back to reading. Celebrimbor raised a brow at you as your left hand moved across the page. His gaze fell when the moonlight from the window caught your ring, causing the inscription to reappear. He moved to pick up your hand as a missing piece of his puzzle had probably been solved, but before you registered what he was doing, he had the ring of your finger in haste.

Your body weakened with age, and signs started to appear on your once beautiful, serene face, showing how your choice to stay in Middle-Earth had affected you. The air in your lungs grew cold, and your mind became lonely as you could no longer feel his power and dark thread against you—the life force to your beauty and enhanced healing abilities.

Celebrimbor watched you shift and change, then glanced down at the ring. Even more surprise crossed his face as he stood and walked quickly to the window, hoping to see how it worked. But the inscription all but faded as it was not connected to your essence anymore. Your husband's blood had given you vibrant beauty for the rest of your days, but only if his gift was placed upon your finger.

The bond you shared and promised to keep had been laid into that ring, blood mixed with blood. His vow was recited and dropped into the molten Valinor silver ore as you recited yours. He forged it under the starry, moonlit night in love and promise for more. Thus, it created the final piece of your bond, gave you access to some of his abilities, and gave the beautiful silver its blue hue.

The Valar were displeased with his creation and choice to massacre your people, citing that if he genuinely were remorseful for his deeds, he would return to Valinor to pay for his crimes. At the same time, you paid for yours in loneliness and longing for the Undying Lands that you would never meet.

You both turned your backs and knew no road to redemption did not leave you separated from one another. So you both agreed to cleanse and heal this world in your image so that you may sit upon your thrones and finally have peace from the looming threat of the Valar’s wrath.

You were sure he had just felt the parting, and soon, his shadowy form would be upon you—or worse.

"How–ho–" he stuttered out as he tried to get the blue hue to show again. Your frail body stood and snatched the thin silver ring from his hand before slipping it back on, and you shifted back into your youthful, beautiful form again.

The air in your lungs returned, and you felt a tear fall from your eye. The comfort of his mind and soul returning, the pain of silence and separation becoming too much. You gave the little thread a soft tug to tell him it was alright and just part of your plan. "Teach me," His eyes were blown wide almost as he moved over to the table quickly almost knocking the wine glasses off. "Tell me everything or show me how you did it,"

"I did not do anything, Lord Celebrimbor," You said, covering your hand so he would not have another chance to snatch the ring off your hand. "It was a gift from my late husband to torture me," you said with slight anger; though this was about to be a clever story, your beloved was probably about to be very disappointed in you slandering his name.

Celebrimbor looked at you, confused. "His dying wish was to see me live an immortal life tied to this." You hold up the ring to him. "For being unfaithful to him. It is my shackle, my lord, and I doubt you wish to craft something as such." You look back down at your book, hiding the pain in your face as you tell such lies about your husband, but this was needed to keep Celebrimbor going. Keep him thinking about the other rings, sowing your husband’s dark web in even his absence.

"But you wear it proudly? And your reaction earlier tells me he means more to you." You cursed at your earlier slip in disguise, but no one had ever tried to take it off your finger. So it caught you off guard, and your mask had faded. You had not expected him to do that.

"I wear it because my immortality depends on it; my gift to heal depends on it. I wear it so I can live." You finally look up at him, and your eyes gaze into his. "Wouldn't you do the same, my lord?"

"But you have used your ring for good," You held back the snort at his comment. "Healed Eregion for centuries and been an utmost loyal friend to my family." All for your husband's benefit, he had an in and a watchful eye here. He had what he wanted, and you had a warm place to sleep while you waited for him.

"You flatter me, my lord," Your eyes turned back to the page as he touched your shoulder.

"I am sorry, my friend; I did not mean for my impoliteness. Forgive me." You placed a hand over his and smiled softly up at him, your charming, deceitful self on full display.

"It is quite alright." He released you before going back to his chair. He picked up a quill and began scratching out notes. You returned to your reading until a cool breeze entered the room from the window, causing your senses to heighten as you felt the shadows come to life. A small smile touched your lips, knowing he was about to play one of his little shadowy games. His ghostly hand wrapped around your throat, fingers trailing against your soft skin.

"Don't worry, there is an illusion over you," his voice said against your ear. "You will appear to be reading."

"And what do I owe the pleasure, husband?" You felt the pain on his form at how you did not hide your irritation, or it was coming from him for another reason. He was not allowing you to see where he was for whatever reason.

“Can a husband not check in on his wife?” You swatted his shadowy hand from touching you. The Black Speech curse that floated across sent a nebulous smile, touching your lips, knowing he was not in the mood to play games. But neither were you.

His hand moved back to your throat, hand tighter as his lips went to your ear. “You would do right to remember who—“

“I tire of these excuses, husband.” You closed your eyes, trying to keep yourself in complete control. “I also tire of these lies, " he growled.

“You are such a burdensome woman,” he said as his fingers grabbed your hair, yanking it back. You could see the dark embers of his eyes encased by his shadowy form. “Always speaking of things she knows nothing of.”

“But that’s why you love me,” You reach up to touch his shadowy face. “Without me, your immortality would have been oh so tiresome.” you teased. Your finger ran across where his cheekbone would have been. “But you’re right; I am only some innocent maiden who knows nothing of the plan she helped mold.” Another growl went through his shadowy lips, fingers tugging even more on your hair, pulling a whimper from your lips.

“We both know you are far from innocent, little one.” You had to laugh at that. “For you deceived the Great Deceiver at his own game,” you hum as his hand ran down your chest, ghosting over your breasts and down to your ripened core. You grabbed his wrist and held it up.

“It would do you good to remember that,” you growled. “It would also mind you well to tell me where you are.”

"Sowing seeds,” you rolled your eyes at his even more cryptic answer. "Just as you are, my little temptress," His shadowy lips wrapped around your ear. "Though I warn you if he touches you or your ring again, I will take pleasure in killing him right now.” You whimpered at the thought and bit down on your bottom lip as his hand met your skirt again.

“You spoil me, husband,” his dark chuckle filled your ear. “Do not forget that I can only stall for so long," you bit back at him. “He will keep hammering me about the ring,” he hummed in answer to your statement before the brushes of his tongue ran across the shell of your ear. Your walls and stomach fluttered in anticipation of your reunion once again. He was playing dirty, but whenever did he not?

"I'm aware," he whispered before nipping at your ear. A whimper left your lips in response. Through this whole interaction, you had not as much as glanced at Celebrimbor through the illusion until now.

He was working away, taking a sip of his wine occasionally. Utterly undisturbed by you and your husband’s interaction. “Only if he saw you right now,” your husband breathed against your shoulder. “In all your dark glory, wanton with desire for the very man they fear. Oh, the scandal it should cause.” He kissed your shoulder lightly before moving up your neck and back to your ear. “That innocent elven maiden disguise you have carefully constructed, completely broken against my cock.”

His lips nipped at the sensitive tip while his hand ran back to your stomach, cupping it softly.

"I will it," he breathed.

And like a gust of wind, he was gone. Illusion falling.

The lingering sadness mixed with his words caused another set of tears to fall onto your face.

He willed it.

Sunrises turned into sunsets, and each day felt like an eternity. Since his appearance that night, you had grown longingly for him even more, knowing he was still alive and well, to some extent. 

But you had waited centuries with even less uncertainty. It was always a game of patience.

Though you had grown tired of it now.

You tried your best to distract yourself with the mundane tasks of being a healer, such as setting broken bones and healing minor cuts. Sure, your assistants could do such things, but it helped busy your mind and distract you from the aching in your heart as you longed for his touch and his breath on your ear. 

It drove you mad when he tortured you in the night, shadows bringing you almost to the brink, only to leave you hanging like he wanted to build up the tension of your separation. You had many a thought to take your ring off so you could stop the torture, but you knew that was not the brightest idea. He would only make it worse for you after he arrived.

You bared it, though.

As you awoke this morning, something in the air told you today would be different. The air was crisper and tasted like the electricity of a storm rolling in. A smile touched your lips as you felt the lingering touch of his caress on your lips. You brought your thumb to meet your bottom lip as he had the night before, tracing across it in sweet memory. Your heart filled with what little warmth you had left in it, only reserved for the dark shadow that filled your dreams and drove you mad with his ghostly touches.

You threw the blankets off your body and got out of bed, feet walking across the stone floor toward your balcony doors, opening them to see the bright morning light into your chambers. Back when you had a semblance of pureness in your heart, you would have probably enjoyed this sight, the singing of the birds flying across the river to the sounds of the city waking up. 

But that had long left you.

You found solace in the dark, stormy days and long, cold winter nights. Something about them made you feel like he was there with you after settling into Eregion. The only warmth you sought was his embrace and the dark aura that always seemed to follow him, encasing you and bringing out the life in you. Never light, just life.

He completed you in so many ways, just as you completed him.

Your arms leaned against the railing as you took in a familiar scent, one you had not smelled in many centuries—blue daises. They used to grow around that first city you and your beloved made your home in. The name had long since been forgotten through the ages. But you could always remember that smell.

When you both tried to seek peace and redemption for your dark souls, you settled down into a slower way of life. One where you tried to suppress the darkness and power-hungry souls that lived in you both, hoping it would be enough, wishing that your deeds to help the people would wash your slates clean. When there was still a tiny part of you both that was still pure of heart.

As always, you had taken on a life as a healer, and your husband did what he did best.

Created.

He created beautiful things for you at that time—things you still had tucked away in the soft confines of your jewelry box, even if they did burn when they touched your cold, dark being now. But nothing surpassed the ring you wore on your finger even though it was both your undoing.

His fingers pushed your loose strands behind your ear as you sat on one of the many flower-covered hills surrounding the city that you both had made home. Your cheeks warmed against his gaze. It was not uncommon for you both to find solace away from the city limits, as you both kept to yourselves in hopes that your dark souls would find the space to heal.

“Tell me about your day,” you asked; a smile touched his lips as he looked down at your hand, reaching to take his. “I know he has you busy, as you are so gifted.” Your husband nodded and he began to tell you about his day. You hung on his every word and gesture, getting glimpses of what he would have probably been like before his corruption. The brightness in his eyes, playful and gentle touches that he would give you at times.

You had noticed that darkness falling away in his eyes the more he did good. 

The more he healed that dark part of him.

“I do have something for you,” he said, bringing you out of your musings. You raised your brow in suspicion. He moved to cup your chin, pulling your face to meet his briefly as his pillowy lips moved against yours. A giggle escaped your lips as he broke away and laid his forehead on yours. “I promised you that you would never want for anything; if you asked, it would be yours no matter the cost.” Your fingers moved to cup his face and nod.

“I remember,” He released you before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a beautiful piece of jewelry. Blue stones hung in a setting that looked reminiscent of the blue daisies that surrounded you and grew in front of your home, that you had tended so carefully to over the years. The stones shined in the sun's light and pulled you in more. It was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.

“Crafted for my beautiful wife,” you turned and lifted your hair so he could lay the necklace on you and clasp it closed. “Forged with silver from Valinor and blue gems of the mountain. All made for the beautiful woman meant to wear it.” He leaned in and kissed your neck as your fingers touched the stones, his fingers skating across your stomach and caressing the white silken fabric you wore. 

“It’s beautiful,” you breathed as his lips lapped at the skin of your neck and down to your shoulder. “Thank you,” He hummed against your soft skin and continued to nip and suck on the skin he exposed when his fingers pushed down the silken fabric that rested on your shoulders, exposing your skin to the warmth of the sun. “I want to remind you that children come up here, my love.” He did not reply with words but with a grip on your breast before pulling you into him. His other hand traveled down to your core, only to make a symphony leave your lips as he fucked you into a withering mess as he always did.

You both lay bare against the warmth of the swaying grasses and flowers, intertwined still as your post-coitus bliss still hung against you both. He slid one of the blue daisies behind your ear as you kissed him passionately, fingers moving up to cup his face as he wrapped his arms around you.

Hearts and souls as one, once again. Full and warm.

“I have been thinking,” he started as he propped himself up on his elbow, looking down at you. The sun had become your greatest friend in your time here, you glowed again and seemed to fill with even more peace than he had ever seen in you.

“That is never a good thing with you,” he glowered down at you as you made the jab. “But go on,”

“I want to forge you a ring,” he breathed. “One that will bind us immortally.” You swallowed hard and moved to place your hand on his cheek, his head leaning into it as his lips kissed your wrist softly.

“We have been here before, love,” you started as he sighed. “Our hearts are still so black that even the slightest taste of power could set us off.” He continued to lay his head in your hand, only now his eyes were looking at yours.

“I know, and we have worked so hard in trying, but–” You cut him off with a passionate kiss. 

“No more talk of this,” you breathed against his lips. “We promised to leave it all behind. We have built our own little bits of peace here. They have not noticed or wish to not meddle in our progress.” They, being the Valar, which you both wished to please in this time, hoping they would renounce both your crimes and allow you to live in a world of bliss and longevity together.

Though you felt that lingering wish for power and control deep inside him still. The lingering tendrils of Morgoth’s weavings were still embedded in him, fighting with the pureness that was trying to show itself again. “I know you wish to lavish me something so great, but it would be a creation built in the dark. The magic used would not be of light as we wish but of darkness.”

“Divine,” he breathed, leaning into you again. “Let’s try,”

The hairs on the back of your neck stood as that once eerie feeling resurfaced. Telling you the peace here would be limited once again.

Limited it was.

The darkness crept back in. 

Slowly at first, only with signs that were noticed by you. His mind elsewhere while yours tried to keep on moving forward. Late nights in the sitting room doing whatever had been consuming his mind, to the irritation he had about his work.

On one occasion, you walked down to see him muttering to himself and scratching away at something. You moved over to him and placed your hand on his shoulder causing him to jump as he had been so consumed by his task. Your eyes swept the page to see designs for a ring. Your ring.

“I thought we were behind this?” You said, trying to take the parchment from him, causing him to rip it from your hands, tearing the parchment in half. His eyes darkened as a growl rumbled in his chest.

“And I thought you trusted me?” You looked at him, bewildered by the boiling temper in his eyes. For the last few centuries, nothing but a lovelorn look had been in his eyes. 

“I do, but love, this ring does not prove my love and loyalty to you.” you breathed, holding up your half of the parchment. “It will only drive you down a path I cannot follow.”

“Cannot follow?” He yelled. You flinched and looked down at your feet, hoping not to upset him more. He moved over to you and wrapped his fingers around your throat. “You follow me; remember, I took you from that place and gave you the revenge that you sought. All because I love you.” Tears kissed your cheeks as he tightened his grip, dark eyes blazing.

“I love you too, but they will take you from me if we do this.” You cried. “A separation greater than any we have experienced before. Do you want that for me?” He sighed, loosening his grip on you, and ran his finger across your cheek.

“Then let me just make you this one ring so even if we are ever parted, you will still feel like I am there with you.”

That one choice, one singular choice, had changed your relationship forever. You agreed and he forged the bonding ring and the darkness now awoke in you again after centuries of it being only a quiet hum.

He grew obsessed and consumed by the desire to create more rings to bring order to this world. You watched as he drove himself mad with this all-but-consuming task.

Power over the flesh.

He kept saying. In those times he did not seek your comfort, grew cold and distant towards you. Each time you would walk to that hill and the flowers would wilt and die against your touch until there was none left. A personification of what was to come.

You stopped going until the darkness in your heart returned. Things began crumbling in your lives; he lost his temper more, filled people’s minds with his sickness, and fell so much further into his obsession.

The day everything changed, you watched as he stood in the doorway and told you he was going back to Fordowaith and taking up his place in Morgoth’s wake so he could finish his work. He asked you to come with him, take your place by his side, and be his queen, but you told him no. 

You told him that there was no path you would not follow him. Told him that you would continue the plan, but you would do it your way. A way that kept you together.

You left him standing there.

And went on your way.

You stood back up and turned back towards your chambers, the sun becoming too much for you as your mind dove even deeper into the maddening memories. It was too much at times, and you tried not to let it affect you, but it did.

It broke you to part yourself from him, but you knew somewhere in your heart he would find you again. And he had.

As you got ready for the day, your hands skated across the fabric over your stomach. The skin had yet to stretch, but you knew they were nestled deeply in your womb.

The greatest creation he had ever made.

You had known for a bit as the dizzy spells overcame you and heightened smells that sometimes nauseated you. Life grew a little brighter in his absence, but not enough to quench the need to feel him there beside you, sharing in this joy.

After your musings had ended, you got right to work and attend to your duties. You made your rounds and finished just before lunch. You started back to your home when you felt the lingering pull of that dark thread crawling up your spine. You turn and see guards walking up the road with a man on a horse.

Your heart nearly leaped out of your chest when you saw him. The coppery strands glistened in the sun as he continued towards the gatehouse. You moved out of the way and watched as his green eyes met yours, a smile touching his lips as your face warmth. Your heart fluttered in your chest as you bowed your head in response before he passed, and you were only left with the lingering warmth of his shadowy thread wrapping around yours.

You rushed back home, knowing he would probably visit after speaking with Celebrimbor.

But nothing came of it.

And the night rolled in with not much as a word. The claps of thunder and flickers of lightning filled your darkened chambers. With the rain spilling moments later.

And you could not help but add tears to the sound of the pattering rain.

Heart aching at his rejection, yet again.

Slap.

Your hand connected with his face, sending shivers down your spine as his elven head turned in response. Hand shooting to his face as you seethed with anger. Your pulse raced as he looked back up at you, eyes burning with a fire you had never seen in him before. You stare at him with your seething gaze. He was so stunned by your reaction that he moved up to you with a pace unmatched by any mortal being. His fingers gripped in your hair, yanking your head back. Those elven eyes seared into yours as he snarled at you.

You did not flinch or pull away from his grasp. The pain was only temporary, and the satisfaction of seeing the red mark coming up on the pale face caused a smile to touch your lips before you spoke.

"You dare not hurt me, husband," His hand gripped harder, pulling at your roots. You struggled not to whimper at the action like you always did. Your desire to not give into his temptation and prolong this argument until he was buried deep inside you and taking you like the feral animal he could be at times. Though this time, you knew he was deprived and wanting, so this would only make his restraint last so long before he gave in to his desire to control you.

"Do you want to test me?" He growled. "Because I have killed people for less."

"And I've killed people for the fun of it, my lord," your eyes burning now as his grip loosened just a tiny bit. A chuckle left his lips, knowing you were fully capable of wreaking havoc on entire cities and his heart. "You leave without a word and only appear in my chambers again when you see fit. In a whole new disguise, may I add." You spat out at him. "What web are sowing now?"

He released you and moved past you into your chambers, speaking words that were inaudible to you. "I am protecting you," he finally said.

"Protecting me?" you say in disbelief as you move over to your desk where your books and papers are. "That's all I get?"

"The less you know, the more believable you can be." You gripped a book. The anger in your bones at his lack of faith in you had you seething for an even grander fight. You wanted to slap, punch, or kill him for even believing you could not be believable at your own game. You had spent centuries here building relationships and trust that it was laughable for him even to consider himself of more importance than you at this moment.

Your hand gripped the thick leather volume harder before your anger boiled over, and you tossed it at him, but before it could hit him, he pushed it out of the way with his abilities.

"The more believable I can be?" You roared. You grabbed more and continued to throw it at him, anger surging even more. Your pent-up heartache at his mistrust poured into each onslaught. His eyes watched you as he moved out of the way of your blows, books, quills, and jewelry box hitting the wall behind him. The pain in your eyes did not affect his emotionless face in the slightest. "Are you doubting my skills?"

"Are you doubting my judgment?" He roared back at you. "Because as I see it, you questioning me tells me they have gotten into your head." You moved quickly and pushed him over onto your bed, using all the darkness in you to overpower him. He sat up, looking at you with disbelief at your action. You had never dared to touch him in anger in all the centuries. Sure, you had been close before, but this was different. He was questioning your loyalty to him. 

"How dare you question my loyalty," Tears touched your cheek. "How dare you threaten me and treat me like one of your little puppets when all I have ever been to you is faithful."

"That's not what you told Celebrimbor," he taunted, trying to sit up, but you moved to straddle his hips, holding him in place before wrapping your fingers around his neck.

"If you believe the words of a lie," You growled at him. "Then surely you've gone mad." You leaned down over him, the other hand pulling up the skirt of your nightgown over your hips while delicate fingers hungrily searched underneath his robes.

“This argument bor—” his train of thought stopped as your hand found what it was searching for. Your eyes watched as his closed against the grip of your hand. Fingers sliding up the length till your thumb traced against the tip, pulling a low hiss from his lips.

“This bores you?” You taunted, pumping lightly against the hardened flesh that filled your grip; his hips arched into your tugs as you rolled yours softly with your motions against him. You finally lean into his ear, motions growing. “If this bores you, then you have gone mad.” The tension lines in his neck tightened as you ran your teeth against them, nipping the pale skin as you went. You were in control for the moment, trying to get him to remember who he belonged to.

Your strokes grew in intensity as you could tell his peak was coming, his deprived state causing his body to fail him. ��My sweet,” You breathed into his ear. “My oh so sweet Mairon, in all those centuries apart, you still believe you have control.”

His eyes opened, and he growled as he quickly had you on your back, his painfully hard cock at your entrance. His eyes burned into yours as he thrust into you quickly, pulling a moan from your lips as you closed your eyes. He leaned down to your ear. “Control is only an illusion, wife. I let you believe what you want, but you bow to me, no one else.” You whimpered against the sickly, sweet words. His thrusting grew in intensity as he took pleasure in the way you silenced the control over him, letting him take you as he saw fit.

You were a devious creature that was as slippery as a serpent. But he was only but a mirror of that. He never had to command your mind or inflict his magic on you. You surrendered so willingly, already kissed by the darkness ages before he crossed your path. Desire drove this relationship at times, a sickly sweet desire he had never fully understood until he felt those hips against his fingers, guiding you through the movements. It was maddening as the sounds of your climax repeated over and over throughout that tiny home in that long-forgotten elven city. The night you both had given your souls to each other.

After that, there was nothing he would do for you. He would murder whole cities and move the oceans just to please you. He only wanted to give you everything you desired—jewels, clothes, even a child.

The thrill of the chase, of the fight for dominance, never bored him. Even if he told you otherwise, these ‘arguments’ were sometimes needed to remind you who pulled the strings to your heart and who pulled his. The anger and heartache only fueled your desire to seek control and dominance over him, trying to hold him close to you as if he would sleep away into the abyss again.

You had left before.

And it broke him.

You sought the rational solution to lie in wait. Let them come to you. Build relationships, reputations, and trust in those you wish to subjugate.

Greed had chased you away. He paid dearly for that and spent centuries as a pile of omniscient form of liquid goo. As he regained his mind, he thought of you and how he wanted to find and surrender himself to you—telling you how you had been right. He would never doubt you again.

But you had taken your ring off.

You took the one connecting piece off, and you were nothing more than a distant memory in his mind. He had no idea where you were or if you had perished. He sometimes cursed himself for using the ring to bind your bond. But he never thought you would unbind yourself to him.

So when your mind disappeared again, it weakened his weakened state even more. He needed to feel you, and it angered him that you would even think that was a smart idea, but he had asked for trust in those first years.

And trust was a two-way street.

Your whimpered pleas for more brought him out of his thoughts. He looked down at you, all unmade under his fingertips. Hair tousled and lips swollen from biting down on them. You looked so beautiful and ethereal as he drove you mad with lust. Your fingers clawed against the linen of your bed, silver band shining in the moonlight as he tore you down with his thrust. Only to remake you once again.

It was not long before you both reached your respective highs. Climax found you both as calls of your names filled the stone walls, echoing into your hearts. His lips moved with yours as you gripped your fingers in his blonde hair. Delicate fingers took their time to ruin the perfectness of the strands. A memory finds you, causing a giggle to leave your lips. The last time he appeared like this was when he first saw you. Though his hair was much different back then, you felt slight sorrow at the choice of blonde hair.

“Red suits you more,” you breathed against his lips. “This,” your fingers moved over the shell of his ears, running up to the pointed tips, causing him to hum at the stimulating touch. “Is how I remember you each and every time I close my eyes,”

He chuckled. “I can change it,” you shake your head.

“No, my sweet Mairon,” you grabbed his face. “I am selfish and wish to be the only one to gaze upon that form.” He hummed and kissed your lips again briefly. Eyes locked as you both sunk into your post-coitus bliss. When the thought crosses your mind. A smile rose on your lips again. “Lord of Gifts,” you breathed, pulling him out of his thoughts. “I have a gift for you.” You took his lip between yours and sucked down on it.

“What kind of gift would be greater than gazing upon my wife?” Your face warmed before you ran your fingers across his cheekbones. You felt the tickle of uncertainty touch your heart. It was still so early, and you could be wrong in your assessment. But deep in your heart, you knew that you both had created something in the light of that morning when he had willed it.

“The gift of creation,” A darkness flashed across his eyes as you spoke. That earlier worry filled his cold heart. “The fruits of our union.”

“Divine,” he breathed, but you cut him off.

“You are not happy?” He sighed and ran his fingers through your hair. He smoothed out the strands as he tried to find the words to tell you how he felt. In truth, he did not know how he felt. All kinds of emotions crossed his mind until he spoke again.

“It will grow on me; I’m concerned.” You nod, and a weak smile fills your lips before moving to sit up. Fingers running through your hair as you struggle with what to say to him. This was not the reaction you had expected at all. In your belief, you thought he had wanted this as much as you did. His change of heart was sincere, but that was not the case.

“You willed it,” You whimpered. He caught your chin, bringing your gaze to his. His gaze was as soft as he could ever get it to be. Tears brimming in your eyes as you both searched for the right words. He knew you were hurt, and you could sense the fear of the unknown on his dark thread.

“Like any father, I’m surprised and shocked that it happened so quickly,” he finally said. You stifled a loud laugh of amazement at his statement, knowing it was probably not the best right now. But to know he was surprised was shocking; you did not even know he could be that.

“I did not know the Dark Lord could be stunned for words.” A thin smile touched his lips, fingers pushing your hair behind your ear.

“There is a first for everything,”

[morganas-pendragons]

Hands | Celebrimbor

gif by @quietparanoiac

I’m obsessed with this gif. Seriously.

Short little thing about celebrimbor’s hands. It’s ridiculous how attentive I am to this detail.

tagging @thatlittlered @pentaghasm (I really do not know who else wants to be tagged, I just tag based on previous interest) @erebusbabylon @ladyoflindon and @poetryvampire (since you said you were looking for softer Celebrimbor fics)

***

His hands are worn. The first time you feel them, he is cradling your own while tending to a burn you’ve obtained from your first real venture of crafting at the forge. You spend far too much time staring at the lines of his hands, the way the muscles of his fingers move as he cradles your own and applies salve before tenderly wrapping a bandage around the wounded area.

You practically melt when Celebrimbor places a kiss thereupon.

"Wait, Celebrimbor."

He allows you to take his hand in yours and shivers when you drag your fingers across his palm, whispering to yourself as you turn his hand over and examine the scars upon his knuckles. "Dearest," Celebrimbor whispers hoarsely, swallowing the knot of emotion in his throat as you curl his fingers and bring his hand to your lips. "Why are you-"

"Beautiful." You say firmly, interjecting your opinion before he can speak lowly about himself. "Worn hands are beautiful."

***

His hands are gentle. They are the hands of a creator, hands that must often care for precious things. You are his most precious thing in this world now. Precious things must be protected.

"I didn't know you could braid." You remark, leaning your head back into his hands as Celebrimbor easily weaves your hair together. "It feels phenomenal. You're so gentle."

He smiles and kisses the crown of your head. "As you know per our customs, Elves fix wedding braids for one another. My hair has always held curls well as that is its natural state. Yours is perfect for braiding," Celebrimbor reaches to the small pile of adornments you've kept for special occasions and pulls out a particularly detailed group of flowers to slip into the gaps of your braids. "And it will be my pleasure when that day comes."

***

His hands are careful, always moving with intent, with purpose. You find those same hands on either side of your head while your body remains caged beneath his own, his knee pressed into the part of your thighs as you stare up at him in wonder.

Celebrimbor's fingers flex in yours as you both hold your breath. The two of you had not thought you would get here. To be able to stand in front of the ones you love, to commit to the vows you'd made in front of your loved ones and the Valar.

"I love you." You whisper. His eyes shine with tears as you surge up to kiss him, and you can taste his tears on your tongue as he seeks to deepen the kiss.

Those hands do not leave yours once, grasping at your fingers with the intent of anchoring Celebrimbor to the present moment when he slides into the warmth of your body, into home. He moans low into the crook of your neck and fights the urge to allow his hands to wander.

Chest heaving, you turn your head to whisper low in his ear, "You can touch me, veru."

Those hands have never sought violence, nor had they inflicted them: They have only ever sought to create goodness, to hold greatness within his grasps and cradle it as the most precious thing he can hold.

You. You are the most precious thing Celebrimbor's hands will hold.

Translations:

Veru - Quenyan word for husband

[fingolfinwiththesteelchair]

Mightiest Elf Fight Club Side A

Vote on Side B HERE

These elves are competing in a tournament! I don't like brackets, so below, select the elf in this group that you think would come in LAST, I repeat, vote for the elf in LAST PLACE. The elf you vote for will be ELIMINATED from fight club

The sister poll with more options is located HERE

Find PROPAGANDA and MIGHTY DEEDS below the cut

Feanor: You love him! You hate him! It's Feanor, one of the biggest driving forces behind the entire Silmarillion! Feanor invented weapons before anyone else in Aman had done it. He called Actually demigod-Satan a bitch to his face, and then slammed a door in it. Feanor left Elf-Heaven, took the ships of the Teleri by force, and fought against the armies of Morgoth before the sun and moon even existed, falling only to a large group of Balrogs! Weaknesses: Silmarils, oaths

Finarfin: A High King of the Noldor, Finarfin was smart enough to stay in elf-heaven, but brave enough to venture into middle earth to fight in the War of Wrath at the end of the first age, leading the noldor from Valinor, helping to put an end to Morgoth's time in Middle Earth for good. Weaknesses: common sense kept him out of most of the Silmarillion

Finwe: The First King of the Noldor, and among the first of the elves to heed the call from the Valar and arrive in Valinor. When Melkor attacked, Finwe was the only one brave enough to stand his ground and fight one on one against Melkor. Weaknesses: Prophecies

Luthien: Luthien, fairest to have ever lived, used her powers to free herself from her father, gain the help of Huan the Hound. She passed through the gates of Angband, past the great wolf Carcharoth, and then used her powers and a dance to put Morgoth himself, and everyone there, in to a deep, enchanted. She then rescued her boyfriend, stole Morgoth's crown, and fled Angband with her love. Weaknesses: Beren

Thingol: When Morgoth returned to Middle Earth after centuries in Valinor, he attempted to attack the people of Middle Earth, but Thingol's kingdom repelled the attack, not allowing a single orc to enter Doriath. After all the time spent with his hot Maia wife, Thingol was left changed, and was the tallest of the Children of Iluvatar. Weaknesses: Dwarves

Mablung: One of the greatest captains of the Sindar, Mablung helped hunt down the wolf Carcharoth to retrieve the Silmaril the wolf had swallowed; Mablung was the one who cut the jewel - and Beren's hand - from the werewolf's stomach. Weaknesses: Heavy hands

Ecthelion: Ecthelion fought in, and survived, the Nirnaeth Arnoediad. Not only was he one of the few named characters to slay a Balrog, he was the one who slayed Gothmog, the Lord of the Balrogs. Weaknesses: Being too sexy to live, wearing armor in water

Fingon: He walked into Morgoth's domain, rescued Maedhros, and then flew right back out with an injured Maedhros, leaving Morgoth wondering what the hell happened to the elf had chained to a rock for thirty years. Fingon fought in many battles against the forces of Morgoth. When Morgoth sent Orcs to attack Hithlum, Fingon beat the tar out of them so thoroughly that Morgoth invented dragons. Weaknesses: Gothmog

[mirkwoodshewolf]

Princess of Starlight; Thranduil x elfling child reader

*Author's note*

Well guys this took me awhile to get around to making and a couple of weeks to write it all down but this weekend I finally had some time to fully sit and write it out and now it's ready! So @soralinklokidottirofmirkwood I appreciate your patience with me and I now present to you your request. Hope you enjoy it as well as any reader who catches this little gem.

Warnings: parental death, spiders (yeah those arachnophobes out there like me, BEWARE OF SPIDERS!!) mentions of infertility and stillborn children, some angst and fluff.

Taglist:

@plethora-of-things

@waddles03

@psychosupernatural

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels

@queen-paladin

@gay-and-ready-to-cry

____________________________________________________________

I managed to duck down into the root of a tree and quickly buried myself with some old leaves and twigs and stayed as quiet as I could until I heard the sound of their clicking and hissing.  I then watched as their shadows went past the tree I was hiding under, hoping and praying to the Valar that they wouldn’t see me.

After what felt like forever, the last of them finally walked passed my tree so I slowly peeked out clenching my father’s crystal necklace he had given me before he and mother told me to run and hide.  There was nothing but silence in the woods, no birds, no wind, not even the sound of running water.

Very carefully I decided to venture out of my tree in hopes of finding another place to hide, or maybe get out of the woods all together.  Suddenly out of nowhere I was pinned down by three long, hairy legs and heard a hiss-like roar behind my back.  I tried to fight but I felt myself being wound up in the sticky web of the spider that had me pinned.

Then as quickly as I felt it starting to wrap my up, it stopped.  I heard the whizzing sound of arrows being shot, blades being unsheathed, and the terrible sounds of the spider that had me pinned along with more spiders from above the trees.  Soon there was silence once again and I heard someone say in my language.

“How many are left?”

“I counted five more escaping during the skirmish my lord Legolas.” Said a female voice.

“Kill them all. None must be left alive. By order of the King.” The male voice said again.  The female then proclaimed an Elvish command and I heard some running away from the area.

“My lord Legolas, what about the victim?” oh no.  I tried to wriggle myself out of the web but it was so thick and sticky, I couldn’t even move my arms up that had been pinned to my side.  So like a warm, I tried to inch myself to a hiding spot (even though I could barely see through the silked webs) but I was soon stopped by another foot.

This was it, this is where I would meet my end. Not by spiders but by my own kin.  I felt as the webs were being cut away and I was now staring into the sharp, blue eyes of an elf in what almost looked like dragon-like armor.

“Stand down, she’s only an elfling.” He ordered to the few dozen guards that remained at his side.  Unlike the others who had either dark or red hair, this elf before me had blonde hair, just like my mother did.  I jumped out of my web trap and pressed myself against one of the trees and the elf told me, “It’s alright. No one will hurt you.”

Even though he looked intimidating, there was a comforting aura around him that I was sensing from him thanks to father’s necklace.

“Do you speak in the Eldar? Or do you also know common tongue?” he asked me.  But before I could answer, I noticed a large shadow slowly coming down from above.  It was one of the younger spiders whose feet are so light, they couldn’t even be detected by our Elvish ears.  One of the guards happened to look where I was looking and proclaimed.

“Hir nin Legolas!” my necklace soon glowed and I extended my hand out and a powerful wind blast sent everyone falling down including the spider.  It’s back slammed hard into the trunk of a tree before falling down on a spiked log, piercing it through it’s center and it quickly fell limp.  The elven guards plus the elf who had tried to talk to me, Legolas according to one of the guards.  They all looked at me in either shock or awe at what I had just done.

“I’m sorry.” I finally spoke to show that I knew both Elvish and common tongue.  “I didn’t want that one to hurt you. They’re more deadly than the bigger ones, nana and adar were attacked by one just like that. The venom spread so quickly mother barely had the chance to cry out.” Suddenly one of the guard withdrew his bow and arrow and aimed it at me.  I jumped back fearfully but Legolas stood in front of me, shielding me from the oncoming attack.

“Lower your bow Feren!”

“My lord, she had hurt you!” Feren snapped.

“It was an accident. She saved my life, and as such it would do you more harm than good to bring harm to my rescuer.” Feren without question removed his arrow from his bow and stood down.  Legolas turned back towards me and knelt back down in front of me.  “Little one, how do you know magic?”

“My father’s amulet. It just—glows whenever I feel high levels of fear and fires the magic. I didn’t mean to hurt you I swear it.”

“No apologizes necessary, may I be permitted to see your father’s amulet? Don’t worry I won’t take it from you.” I looked into his eyes and felt deep down he was telling the truth.  I reached underneath my shirt and pulled it out and held it out to him.  He gently took it in his hands and as he admired the crystal gem, I noticed how his eyes widened when he turned it around to look at the runes on the back.

“Am I—in trouble?” I asked nervously.  He looked at me and told me as he handed me back my father’s amulet.

“No penneth. But we would like for you to come with us, the King would like to know of your presence in our part of the forest.” The King? As in King Thranduil? I had made it to King Thranduil’s palace?! I had but lost hope that I would make it here.

Before I had lost my father, he had told me to reach the realm of Thranduil.  If I showed him my amulet, he could protect me.  Those were his last words before the younger spider got to him and dragged him off into the woods, never to be seen again.  Legolas kept his hand out for me to take it and so I did and he ordered the remaining guards to follow us.

As we walked, I soon began to feel the light of the sun upon my face as we reached a different part of the woods.  I couldn’t recall the last time I had felt the light of the sun or have been able to feel all of Yavanna’s great creations all around me.  The feel of the spray of the rushing waterfalls beneath us, the smell of the fresh air instead of the decaying one I had been under.

We soon came to a great fortress that had been built within the trees themselves.  Gates of iron stood before us as Legolas ordered the guards to close the gates behind us.  Once inside I was amazed at the interior of this grand palace.

Narrow walkways of tree bark and light that seemed to be glowing on it’s own from what appeared to be sap from the trees.  Elves all around were walking the various pathways that either were below or on top of us.  Soon enough, we came before a large, intimidating throne of wood and stone.

Large antler-like structures stood on either side of the throne that was at the foot of a narrow staircase at the foot.  And sitting upon the throne wielding a staff was none other than the King of all Mirkwood, King Thranduil.

He resembled Legolas almost to a perfect picture but his eyes held a harshness that felt like winter wind hitting you in the face.  A crown of autumn leaves stood upon his head and he wore robe of onyx and hanging off his shoulders was a blood red cloak.

“Legolas,” his voice held a deep booming sound to it that almost resembled thunder in the far off mountains.  “Who is this child you have brought before me?”

“My lord, this young elf was found within the outer boarders of your realm. The spiders had ambushed her and nearly had her killed. She in returned saved me from a spider that we had missed that would’ve killed me.” Thranduil’s eyes shifted to me.

Seeing him upon his throne lounging against it and his icy blue eyes staring down upon me gave me an intimidating feeling.

“And you had killed it? It wasn’t left alive?” he asked me.

“Yes, Great King of Wood and Stone.” I said bowed to him.

“The child has manners. And a great debt is owed to you for saving my son.” He told me.  Legolas is the son of the King?! I had saved the Prince of Mirkwood?!

“It is also best that you know this young elfling saved me not with a steel of any weapon, but of magic. A powerful magic that I had never crossed paths with before.” Legolas said again.  I watched as Thranduil slowly came down the steps of his throne and stood before us and told his son and the guards.

“Leave us.” They bowed and soon I was left alone with the great King of the Wood.  “Rise young one.” I got back to my feet and looked up at him nervously, fiddling with the ends of my tattered dress.  “How long have you been traveling in the woods on your own?”

“I—lost my parents what feels like an age. But counting from what I could tally in the ground and trees, it had been nearly a year and a half since I had been on my own.”

“And from where did you hail from in my kingdom?”

“The Southern borders of Mirkwood my lord. Near the fell fortress. My parents and I escaped the spider raid when they first came upon the lands.”

“What were your parents names?” he asked me.

“My mother’s name was Thessa, and my father’s name was…..”

“Orrian.” The King finished for me.  I looked up at the King in shock.

“You knew my father?” the king knelt down to my height and asked me.

“Answer me this, do you bear his family’s amulet? A clear diamond surrounded in silver?” I reached down into my shirt and pulled out the amulet necklace and Thranduil’s eyes widened.  “By the grace of Varda. You are her. You are Orrian’s young starlight. You are just as he described.”

“My father spoke highly of you, but I always thought it was because you were the King of our realm.”

“Not only that child but your father and I go back a long time into our elfling hoods back in our old home of Doriath. He was the youngest cousin to the Queen Melian. And my greatest friend. Oh the times we had together as elflings.” His voice held a warm, gentleness and his eyes that once struck me with a cold feeling now held a warm, tender look to them.  “I am sorry for your loss my dear child, but know that your father truly loved you. More than anyone, more than life.”

“That’s what he said before telling me to find you. Saying that you would protect me. I had but given up hope that I would even find sanctuary and that his and my mother’s deaths would’ve been in vain.” Thranduil placed a comforting hand to my shoulder and said.

“You need not think that anymore dear one, your parents can finally rest in peace knowing that you will indeed be safe here in my realm.” Then I did something I never would’ve thought I had the guts to do.

I embraced the Elven king.  He tensed up at the surprised hug but gladly embraced me back.

Later that night after being provided with proper lodgings, food and medical attention to the scraps and bruises from running through the thick shrubberies.  Thranduil sat down with me on my bed telling me all the stories of him and my father growing up.

“And had it not been for me, your father would’ve never had gotten the courage to ask a dance from your mother.” He finished the tale of how he had helped my father and mother begin their courting.

“Father always said he’d learn to thank you for giving him the proper push.” I fiddled with his amulet necklace.  My heart growing heavy with grief.  “I miss him and mother every day.”

“And they loved you dearly. They feared that they would go through life without being able to conceiving a child. Everytime your mother started to bear one, it was either a stillborn or she ended up losing it. But when you came along, there was something about you that made your father believe that you were the one. You were going to be the grace of Varda herself, and he was right.” He tucked some of my hair behind my ear and turned my chin up to look at him, “An elfling born with the power of the Stars and wind, and it is through that amulet that was brought down by his family line that helps harness your powers.”

“Yet they didn’t appear till after I had lost them. If only I was able to use that power to save them.”

“There is a saying your father used to say, ‘Yesterday is history, tomorrow’s a mystery, but today is a gift. That is why it is called the present’. We cannot choose what happens in that time frame or what events will fall, only after what’s done is done, do we have the strength to follow through to the next event that may fall upon us.” I nodded and leaned my head against the king’s arm.

I felt his arm come around me, pulling me onto his lap as my head rested on his shoulder.

“I promise you (Y/n), you’ll never know fear or loneliness ever again. I swear on your father, I’ll try to give the same amount of love as he and your mother gave you.”

“Thank you my lord.”

“No more formalities. You may call me by my name when it is just us, okay?”

“Okay, Thranduil.” I felt him bring me closer to him in a loving embrace and he lay a kiss upon the top of my head.

For the rest of my life, Thranduil kept his word.  I was raised at his side like his own daughter and Legolas came to see me as his own little sister.  I was trained not only in weapons by my brother and father, I was also taught how to better control my magic.  Though for those lessons, I was sent to Rivendell where I was told by Lord Elrond that he and his wife were good friends of my mother.

Lord Elrond taught me of how to better control my magic and how to use it in combat.  Throughout the lands I became known as the Starlight Princess of the Woodland realm.  Any orc that I came in contact with was blinded by my powers of Starlight and shuddered in fear whenever the winds would blow, signaling my arrival.  And whenever I felt doubt or fear of forgetting what my parents looked like, my adoptive father was willing to show me old pictures of him and my father and tell me more stories of them and their lives together. And I never had to live with fear or doubt ever again, just as my adoptive father had promised.

[lordgrimwing]

The Monster #01

[for Glorfindel Week, hosted by @glorfindelweek, Day3, part of the More Mouths Series]

[content warning: blood, graphic violence]

The beast listened to strange voices in the passage outside its cell.

“By the Valar, what is that?”

“One of Sauron’s werewolves?”

It crouched in the back of its cell head cocked toward the heavy door trapping it. With a sniff, it tested the air for the familiar scent of orcs but found only elves. It knew the scent of elves, remembered feasting on elvan flesh when the orcs were done with them. Sinking lower in its corner, it waited for the elves to do more than quickly glance through the barred window in the door. Hunger gnawed at its stomach but it could wait.

“No, look at the eyes, the hair.”

An elf peeked through the window again, dark face and hair popping into view for a moment before retreating again. The beast closed its eyes and laid its head down on its forepaws. If it pretended to be uninterested, asleep, perhaps one would venture inside.

“No, you’re not saying—you’re not saying that’s Lord Glorfindel! Sauron killed him!”

“We don’t know that.”

It listened to the breathing, the shuffling of boots in the passage. 

“Wait, what are you doing?”

“We can’t leave him like this.”

The scrape of metal as the bolt holding the door closed was pulled aside.

It exploded into motion as the elf opened the door to its cage—but too soon. 

The door was large and heavy and the hinges stiff with rust and grime. Pushing it open took great effort and the elf was struggling for every inch of movement when the beast slammed into the other side. The stone walls echoed with the force of the collision and the creature’s infuriated snarling as it caught its prey. 

The elf at the door cried and fell back, trying to get away as a scarred arm thrust through the gap in the door. Blood oozed from the limb, the skin torn off by the rough stones on one side and the sharp edge of the door on the other. Claws grasped his shoulder, slipping under the armor and piercing through the mail like it was cheesecloth. He screamed in pain and terror as the beast jerked him forward, slamming him against the doorframe over and over as it tried to pull him into the cell.

The beast howled when a dirk slashed down into the muscles of its forearm. The second elf had come to the first’s aid. It hadn’t expected that. The orcs were always quick to abandon anyone unlucky enough to fall into its clutches, unwilling to meet a grizzly demise, too.

It tugged the caught elf once more. Driven almost mad by the sweet blood in the air, it bit at nothing, snapping its broken teeth together with brutal force. Between hunger and pain, however, it couldn’t figure out how to get the door open wide enough to drag the elf inside. The bulk of its own body blocking the door from swinging further. 

The second elf yelled in fury as she hacked into its flesh, the blade biting nearly to bone. 

With a final, frustrated scream, it released its would be meal and retreated to the back of the cell, limping on the mutilated limb. Tucked into a corner, bleeding against the wall, it watched the window, weary of the elves’ retribution.

The unwounded elf threw her whole weight into dragging the door closed before the beast recovered and attacked again. The latch screeched as it slid into place, once again locking the threat away.

On either side of the barrier, the elves and the thing-which-once-was-an-elf panted from exertion, shock, and pain. 

“Let’s get to the healers,” the uninjured elf said, helping her fallen companion to his feet.

“We need to tell our captain about this.”

“Healer first, then I’ll report this: who knows what Sauron turned that into. I’m not letting you die from some dark magic.”

The beast listened to footsteps retreat down the passage.

[draculasfavoritewife]

Meleth Nín (My Love)

Summary: The very future of Middle Earth may hang in the balance, but a quiet night allows thoughts to stray toward questions of a more personal nature.

Pairing: Legolas Thranduilion x elf!Reader/OC

Warnings: Pining, female language used for reader.

I wrote this a couple summers ago during my brief but intense LOTR phase. "Enelya" is the Elvish name I got from a name generator as a kid so I used it here 😁. Apologies for the length, I got massively carried away. This IS supposed to be x reader, I just wrote it before I was comfortable writing in 2nd person.

(Translations of Elvish phrases at the end)

It is my turn for first watch tonight, an assignment that I do not mind even during normal times, and that I am almost bittersweetly grateful for on this night. I have much on my mind that needs settling, and somehow, I do not think that listening to the grating snores of the sons of Gloin and Denethor would give me more peace than the crisp night air. 

The surrounding woods are still, nothing moving about in the underbrush that shouldn’t be, and I allow my guard a chance at rest, turning my attention to the stars instead of the trees. Crouched where I am on a wide branch, I have a perfect window through to the deep ebony expanse of the sky, and a strange blend of homesickness and excitement blazes briefly through my chest. The stars are strange here, arranged differently than they are back in the Greenwood, yet a few familiar individuals still flicker amongst foreign constellations. 

It reminds me of the first time Legolas coaxed me into climbing his favorite tree back home so I could see the stars. I will never forget the wonder I felt as he pulled me through the last layer of obscuring leaves and the sky unfolded before me, rolling on forever. I’d seen the stars many times in Imladris, but they were different there, blessed with a sense of safety and serenity that everything beneath the watchful eyes of Elrond felt. 

With Thranduilion, high in the crown of the wood, balanced on the very threshold of the sky, with nothing anchoring me except his steady hand holding mine, it suddenly seemed I could reach out and touch the Valar themselves. I remember laughing, simply because no other reaction could express what I felt. Thranduilion laughed beside me; it was late, we were the only two still out after a hunt, and I still am not entirely sure why he took me up there. 

Whatever the reason, that instance changed many things for me. It sparked in me something older and fiercer than I knew, some desire for more than what I had there in the Greenwood, much as I loved it. Some yearning which prompted me to accompany my Prince along on this solemn venture, wherever it leads. 

I’ve tried not to admit it, but that night started changing the way I saw him as well. 

Someone approaches, passage no more than a whisper, only slightly less silent than one of my own people, and there is only one it could be. No guard is needed around one I’ve known since we were both children. 

“Estel.” 

“Mae govannen, Enelya.” He leans against my branch, supported on crossed arms. The others call him Strider, or Aragorn, but to me he will always be my Estel, the companion I spent a couple of decades with after my childhood, before my mother’s people sent for me to return to the Greenwood. Elrond looked after the both of us when our mothers died, and besides my Prince and hunting partner, Estel knows me better than any being in all of Arda. 

Silence hangs between us, draped across the strange stars, until he brushes it aside like a curtain of cobwebs. “What troubles you, Gwathel nín?” 

“Who said I was troubled, Gwador nín?” 

“Your face does, for one,” he replies, voice wry. 

“Manen?” 

“Well, you won’t look at me, Mellon nín. That’s usually a telling sign I’m right and you don’t want to admit it.” He gives no sign of letting up with his persistence. 

I sigh and glance down, taking in the familiar grizzled face and sharp gray eyes. “Mar bedithach, Estel?” 

“I’ll leave when you unburden yourself. I’m sure it’s nothing I haven’t already heard from anyone else on this journey. If you miss the Greenwood, or are having a difficult time restraining yourself from stabbing several members of this fine Fellowship, I assure you, you are not weak, nor are you alone.” White teeth flash in a crooked grin, and I can’t help returning it. 

“Those are both excellent guesses, and I admit to you that such thoughts have passed through my mind on multiple occasions. However,” I cast my gaze back up to the heavens, “I highly doubt that anyone else in this…most distinguished company is suffering from the same unrest of the soul that I am.” 

Oh Valar, don’t let my face be heating up…. 

Estel turns so his back rests against my branch, leaving his hands free to light his pipe. He does so and takes a few long draws without responding to my declaration. 

I wrinkle my nose. “You’re inviting an early death with such bad practices, Gwador nín.” 

“So Legolas has informed me several times over, but without such sisterly concern for my health.” He’s laughing at me on the inside, I can tell. “Speaking of, am I terribly far from the mark in assuming your fair Prince is the source of your ‘unrest of the soul’, Mellon nín?” 

He knows me too well. Even decades apart have done nothing to weaken the bond we shared as children, nor have I mastered any technique of hiding my thoughts that can escape his piercing gaze, it seems. 

“You don’t have to answer,” Estel murmurs. “Your silence speaks more clearly than anything you could say.” 

“I didn’t think I would fall in love with him,” I offer. 

A grunt is his disbelieving answer. “You spend every free minute together, and even the time that is required for patrolling, hunting, and so on and so forth. To be bluntly honest, I’m surprised it took you six decades. I owe my brothers some money, it would seem, if they still recall the wager we made upon your departure from Elrond’s house. Perhaps I won’t remind them.” 

I can’t decide whether to be astonished or angry. “You and the twins made a wager on me?” 

“Not on you,” Estel is quick to clarify. “On how long it would take you to develop an attraction towards Thranduilion.” 

“So you all just assumed I would, hmm?” 

“And rightly.” He sounds so insolent, as if all of a sudden he is once again the younger brother, and not the protective elder he made himself out to be as he reached maturity. “It was only a matter of time, Gwathel nín. You held out longer than I bet, of course, but Thranduilion is easy to like and perhaps even easier to love. My correspondence with you has been irregular, I will be the first to admit, but from the time I learned of your partnership on both the battlefield and hunting grounds, I thought you would find him a kindred spirit, and someone to admire.” 

I shake my head as if to protest, but what is there to protest? Estel sees truth. Far from being pampered royalty, Legolas it was who took it upon himself to teach me the ways of his father’s kingdom. He reawakened the Silvan part of my heritage that had long since been denied its native wildness in Imladris, and instilled in me that ferocious love for the Greenwood that keeps the Silvan people rooted there even now, as we have to scrape our very livelihoods out of the Dark Lord’s overhanging shadow. We get along as well as if we have walked side by side for an Age, not the paltry decades I have been in the employ of King Thranduil’s guard. The Prince chooses me for the majority of his hunts and orc raids, and we have reached an understanding so fine that words need not be exchanged for us to always know where the other is in the thick of combat. 

He is nearly as much a part of my identity as the Silvan and Noldor blood that runs mingled through my veins. 

Is it any wonder, then, that I want more? 

“Enelya.” Estel’s voice is soft as he blows smoke into the breeze. “You can talk to me, you know. I’ll die before I betray your trust.” 

“I know.” I sink to a sitting position and let one leg dangle into space, resting an arm across my other knee. “I’m not entirely sure what else to say, aside from what I’ve already said. I love him, Estel.” 

He nods thoughtfully and taps the end of his pipe against his teeth. “Your eyes betray you when we travel. Ever they seek him out, even as you watch the landscape for danger.” 

Estel almost seems about to say something else, but even minutes of waiting do not draw it out of him, so I go back to the protest I would have made. 

“He does not distract me. I am as deadly as ever.” 

“I did not accuse you of distraction. I only observed that you watch him.” His eyes flit upwards, to my face, before darting away into the darkness again. “As he does you.” 

I stare down into my sworn brother’s shadowed countenance, unsure of whether my ears are playing tricks on me. Estel wouldn’t lie about such things. Surely I heard wrong. 

“He does what?” 

A burst of smoke from between his lips could mean either amusement or irritation. With Estel, the two often travel hand in hand. “Thranduilion. His eyes follow where you go when we are on the move. Always his attention is on you, even as he stands watch over us. You mean a great deal to him, Mellon nín.” 

Trying to tamp down the surge of emotion rising inside me, I shrug, letting the wind run its cool, long fingers through my hair. “I should hope I do. We’ve been through much together, and saved each other’s lives many times.” 

Now I know he’s annoyed with me. “I meant more than that. I don’t have much with which to wager at the moment, but if I did, I might wager he feels similarly about you as you do him.” 

I stare down at Estel, but he’s looking away again. “Well. Even if that were the case….” I trail off, pulling my knees back up to my chest. “There are too many problems standing in our way.” 

“Such as…?” 

“By the Valar, you’ve become so nosy in your old age, Little Brother.” Despite my ribbing, I can tell by the set of his jaw that this ridiculous matter has become of utmost importance to him for some reason, and I know Estel too well to believe he would give up before we have talked this through. I sigh, resigning myself to discussing my nonexistent romance with him. 

“For one, he’s thousands of years older than I, Estel. I’m barely over a century old.” 

“Oh no,” he mutters dryly. “How scandalous, an age difference.” 

Realizing that he and Arwen are also thousands of years apart, I drop my forehead to my knees. “Well, maybe that wasn’t the best reason.” 

“No, it wasn’t.” Another long draw of his pipe sends a misty cloud drifting about his face. 

“His father would never approve of his son taking up with a Silvan and not a Sindar.” This is painfully true. Legolas told me of his father’s harsh objections to his interest in Tauriel quite some time ago. 

“Are you in love with Thranduil?” Estel asks in a monotone. 

I glare at him. “No! Mîbo orch, Estel.” 

He ignores my insult. “Then worry less about what Thranduil thinks and more about what Legolas thinks. He’s as loyal as one could ever be to those he chooses, and more than stubborn enough to stand up to his father.” 

There is wisdom in his words. However, the biggest reason that has kept me silent on this subject for so long still remains. 

“You know Elves only love once,” he murmurs, tone fading to gentle. “And they seldom err in their choice of soulmate.” 

“I know.” The words slip from my tongue, condensing in the cool air. “And he once thought he loved another.” 

Estel says nothing to this revelation, merely sending smoke rings floating up into the night sky. I can’t tell if he’s pondering what I’ve said, or if he truly has no rebuttal for it. 

“You never saw the way he looked at her, Estel. He talked about her many times when it was just he and I on a hunt. No one else was ever allowed to see how deeply he was hurt when she fell for the Dwarf. I can’t be sure, but I expect he’s never been the same since.” It feels freeing, to finally relate all of this to my sworn brother. I keep many secrets, probably the reason Legolas felt he could confide his heartbreak in me. Yet long has that particular burden hung heavy on my own heart, and I am relieved to bare it to the man beside me. 

His hand rests comfortingly on my back, once again the protector he thought I needed when we were young. “None of us are ever the same as we once were, Mellon nín. Much as you resemble the elleth I once knew, even you have been changed by your time in the Greenwood. Your people may not change as swiftly nor as dramatically as mine, and yet not even the eternal can live so long in Arda without being shaped. Six decades certainly influence a lot of things.” 

I nod, turning his argument over in my mind. “You say he watches for me?” 

The small smile that crosses Estel’s weather-worn face is this time not sarcastic nor teasing. “Indeed he does. Whenever the two of you are parted for a time, even if it is just that I sent you off to scout ahead, he is as tightly drawn as his own bowstring until you return. Who knows, perhaps even he hasn’t entirely recognized it yet. But something will come of it, Enelya. Of this I am sure.” 

“And if Elladan and Elrohir were along with us, am I to assume you would all place a wager on how soon?” 

He nudges me with his elbow. “There’s that sense of humor I’ve been missing. Now, I suppose I had better leave you, because as unobtrusive as he thinks he is being, someone else is waiting for you. I’ll take next watch. Losto mae, Gwathel nín.” 

“Nostad lín sui orch, Estel,” I snicker, referring both to the stench of his pipe and what I’ve been telling him since childhood. “And le hannon.” 

He waves as he returns to the light of the fire. “Carnen an gwend, Enelya.” 

I stare back at the stars above me, knowing that if who Estel implied is really waiting for me, he will approach at his own time and no amount of cajoling will bend him my way sooner. 

So I wait as well. 

No more than a sigh of the tree itself heralds his arrival beside me on the branch. 

“Do you wish to be alone with your thoughts, Mellon nín?” 

Gazing over my shoulder, I am met by Thranduilion’s piercing blue eyes as he leans against the trunk of my perch. 

“If so, I will gladly leave you to them.” There is the slightest wistful note beneath his tone; for all his politeness, he wishes to speak to me. 

Did he overhear my conversation with Estel? 

Heart starting to flutter like a sparrow’s wings, I shake my head. “Avo ‘osto, Hîr nín. Baren bar lin, as they say.” 

“What have I done to deserve such formal address, Mellon?” he asks lightly. Though he laughs, warm and cheerful, an undercurrent of hurt runs deep through the words. 

Does it hurt him, truly, to call him so? “Goheno nin, Thranduilion,” I murmur, unable to look away from that intense gaze. “My mind was not in the present moment, I fear.” 

“Ú-moe edaved, Enelya.” His reply is warm, and I cannot miss the affection that wreathes around my name as it falls from his lips. “I am only glad to learn I have not offended you.” 

“Rest assured, I would have let you know in no uncertain terms if you had,” I inform him saucily. 

His laughter at my cheek is bright now, all trace of concern gone. “This is true.” Nodding towards my view of the dark sky, he leans closer, bending so he can see what I am seeing. “Looking for old friends among the new?” 

“Indeed.” I stretch out my spine, careful not to knock him away from my shoulder. “I miss some of our constellations that you pointed out to me in the Greenwood.” 

Legolas stands upright again. “Aphado nin.” He reaches upward for a branch and swings to a higher level. 

I rise to my feet and stare up at him between the leaves. “Am man theled?” 

“To see the whole sky, of course. You’ll never gaze upon the greater picture if you do not climb higher, Mellon nín.” He holds out a hand. 

I take it, allowing him to pull me up to his level before continuing the climb. “You said those very words when you made me climb that tree the first time back home.” 

“I didn’t make you.” I can nearly hear the smirk in his voice. “You were given a choice.” 

It is my turn to laugh now. “Not when you say such poetic and inspiring things, Legolas. Although I was terrified of climbing to the crown of that tree, your way of putting it made me feel I should never be complete until I had seen the whole sky. I consider myself bewitched.” 

He shoves my shoulder as he easily passes me up. “No one is whole unless they have seen the entire sky. Estelio nin. It is truth.” 

“I do trust you. That’s why I climbed the tree with you that night, even though I was still frightened of falling. I knew you would catch me.” 

We remain in silence then until we break through the leaves, pushing through as if to the surface from underwater. I cannot count the amount of times I’ve done something similar with Thranduilion, those late nights after a hunt, but it still takes my breath away, to gaze upon the veil of stars and clouds that rolls ever on to the very edges of Arda. The sight makes the songs of my people flow through my veins, never failing to give me the gift of peace. 

I should thank him for introducing me to the sky more often. 

“I hope I never grow tired of this.” It takes me a moment to realize I’ve breathed the words aloud. 

Legolas is gazing out in the opposite direction, handsome face serene. “You will not.” 

I want to impertinently ask him how he would know, but I swallow the teasing words. He has walked these lands for nearly three millennia, and still finds such joy in it that he felt he needed to introduce me to that joy. He would know. 

“Enelya.” 

“Yes, Mellon nín?” I turn to face him. 

He drops down to sit on a branch that is old enough to serve as a seat. “Will you help me?” 

I know what he is asking for. He’s perfectly capable of doing it himself, but it has been a ritual of ours for years, and I enjoy it as much as he does. “Of course.” I make my way to his side and start to unwind his braids. 

“I’ll do the same for you,” he promises, relaxing into my touch. 

I weave my fingers through his silky hair as I release it to the mercies of the breeze, untangling any knots, minuscule as they are, and drawing out fronds of moss and bits of leaf that have found their way into his tresses. I can’t remember when we first started caring for each other’s hair at the end of the day, but it is always one of my favorite times spent with him. The few moments we have no responsibilities and can just talk about nothing, as friends are wont to. 

“What do you think the others would say, if they knew the truth?” I ask teasingly, moving to the tiny braids over his ear. 

His eyes flash to give me a sideways glance. “What do you mean?” 

I smirk. “Do you not hear them speak of you, in wondering whispers? They all ask how Thranduilion manages to stay so neat, how his hair, long and beautiful as it is, remains free of forest debris and untroubled by tangles. They have begun to speculate that it is some gift from Elbereth, that he looks fresh as the day we set off while the rest of them grow ever more unkempt. What would they say, if they knew it is simply because I re-braid your hair every night?” 

Wicked mischief flashes across his countenance for a brief instant. “They would all come running to you for your excellent services, I imagine. Do you want me to tell them, and so dispel the legends? I would prefer to keep your company in such matters to myself, but perhaps I shouldn’t be so selfish. After all,” he leans closer to whisper, “it might be worth it, to see you running your fingers through Aragorn’s oily mane.” 

I can’t stop the choking noise that comes from my throat. “I love that man, but there are some things I will never do for him, Legolas.” 

His quiet laughter floats into the night. “Nor should you have to.” 

Something pricks my fingertip and I yank my hand away from his hair. “Ai! Is this a burr, Thranduilion? Where on Arda did you find that?” 

He shrugs easily. “It could have been anywhere. Yet I assume it came from one of my solitary scouts. Had the halflings followed where I tread, surely they would have all come away full of them.” 

I try not to laugh at the thought of our four smallest companions drowning in burrs. “It is fortunate you only picked up one.” 

Once my Prince’s hair has been seen to, he turns so I can sit before him and begins the same process on mine. Much as I love the feeling of the wind running its fingers through my hair, it cannot compete with the gentle and nimble hands of Legolas. My eyes close as those hands begin their familiar path, and for some time all that I know is the warmth of his body next to mine and the soft melody of the well-loved song he hums next to my ear. 

Is it any wonder, that I have come to care for him as I do? 

“Mellon nín?” he murmurs suddenly. 

“Yes?” 

“What made you decide to accompany me on this quest? You know you could have returned to the Greenwood.” 

“That I do.” I sigh and let my eyes flutter open again. How much do I say? “But if this quest fails, it will not matter if I had returned to the Greenwood, for even Thranduil Elvenking cannot keep the shadows at bay forever if the Dark Lord triumphs.” 

He is silent for some time, and I let him remain so. I learned long ago that Legolas will not share what is on his mind except at a time of his own choosing. 

“I suppose you are right,” he finally concedes. His fingertips brush my ear, and I shiver at the contact. “It was no doubt my own desire to know you would be safer at home that clouded such truth from my mind.” His voice grows somber. “You do know, Enelya, that we may never see the Greenwood again.” 

“Of course, Mellon nín. Yet through all my time in my mother’s land I have been at your side, and the Valar themselves could not keep me from staying beside you. Even unto the Halls of Mandos, I would rather accompany you than be apart from you.” My breath catches on the last word. Have I said too much? 

His hands pause in their combing to rest upon my shoulders. “I am blessed, then, to have found such a companion as you.” 

“Le hannon, Legolas.” 

When next he speaks, there is a layer of hesitation resting over his tone that I rarely hear from him. “Do you know, I was quite angry when you first insisted on traveling with me.” 

“Oh, I remember. How could I not?” I sniff. “You didn’t speak to me the entire first day of our journey.” 

“I am not proud of my conduct,” he admits penitently. “However, I do realize, since that time has passed, that some good came of it.” 

I feel his long fingers trace my jawline, soft as a breath, turning my face slightly and prompting me to shift so I can meet his gaze. 

His eyes are deep and thoughtful, turned mithril silver by the moon as it breaks from behind a cloud. 

“Do you know, Enelya, how that one day without your company felt to me? Even the torture of seeing you walk at the perimeter of our Fellowship, yet kept from approaching you — by my own stubbornness — made my heart feel sundered from my chest. I realized that day that I could not have endured it if you had indeed returned home as I suggested. One day without your laugh, without your smile on me, was enough for a lifetime.” Legolas’s tone is raw with honesty, and a great many things seem to be making sense to me now. 

It would seem Estel may have been correct, after all, though I won’t tell him so. 

I remember how difficult that first day of the trek was, knowing all too well that Legolas was displeased with my choice. I have seen him angry, at his father, usually, and I knew all the signs too well. I can recall then how delighted and relieved I was when I awoke the following morning to the smell of my favorite fish baking over the fire; Legolas and I have had our fair share of tiffs over the long years, and that is his tried-and-true method of asking my forgiveness when he is at fault. 

We ate our morning meal sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, no one else the wiser of our wordless play of apologies and affirmations. 

Well, Estel probably was. But he doesn’t count. 

“What do you wish to say to me, Mellon nín?” I murmur, lifting my own fingers to brush against his cheek. 

He leans into my touch. “I have thought about you much during these uncertain days, even when we are not given much opportunity to talk. About how sorely I would have missed your presence, and grieved at not being able to feel you at my back whenever we face a threat. About how much I have missed times like this, when there is no one but you and I beneath the stars, sitting in the lap of the heavens.” 

“And what would you have done, without me to braid your hair? Become as scruffy as dear Estel?” I tease. 

He curls his lip in mock disgust. “Gerich faer vara, suggesting such a thing to me! I should certainly think not. I admire your Estel, Mellon nín, but I don’t believe the man has bathed once since we set out from Imladris. Yet he has had plenty of chances!” 

I laugh, leaning back against his chest and settling into my new position, comfortable from countless times of sitting like this. “Estel and his questionable hygiene aside, what were you saying?” 

His hands trail down my arms to my hands, where he weaves our fingers together. His hands are finer, more elegant than a mortal man’s, yet they are still wider than mine, surrounding my smaller ones with gentle fondness. This, too, is a much-practiced gesture between us, though there is a different flavor to it tonight. It feels more intimate, as if it means more than our mutual trust and respect this time. 

He smiles; I can hear it in his singsong words, close to my ear. “What I am trying to say, Enelya, is le annon veleth nín.” 

He gives his love to me? 

“Gerich veleth nín,” I answer simply. “It already belonged to you.” 

His lips brush my hair. “I used to wonder, when I was a much younger ellon, why I never felt the need to find a life partner when I came of age. Indeed, Ada certainly bothered me about it for several centuries, until other more pressing issues caught his attention.” 

I’ve never heard Legolas refer to Thranduil as Ada, and certainly not with the echo of a sigh beneath the endearment. It makes my heart ache strangely, to wonder what long-forgotten love once flowed freely between adar and iôn before they let their rift widen so far. 

But this moment is not to be sullied by mourning what has been lost. 

“Do you believe one can wait thousands of years to find their soulmate?” he asks. 

“I do. I know most can’t fathom such a wait, but for our people, it does not matter.” 

“Truly. I think I never pursued anyone with much seriousness because my heart knew it was waiting for yours.” Legolas turns me slightly, so our eyes can meet again. “I would make up for my blindness, Meleth nín, if you wish it.” 

I rest my forehead against his. “I wish it so, Meleth nín.” 

Then his lips are pressing into mine, and this kiss that I have awaited many years is a summer thunderstorm, warm and wild, washing away everything that came before and paving the way for love to bloom. 

Whatever our perilous path holds for us, I suddenly have all certainty that we can weather it. 

Together. 

Mae govannen = Well met

Gwathel/Gwador nín = Sworn sister/brother

Manen = How?

Mellon nín = My friend

Mar bedithach = When are you leaving?

Mîbo orch = Go kiss an orc

Losto mae = Sleep well

Nostad lín sui orch = You smell like an orc

Le hannon = Thank you

Carnen an gwend = For friendship

Avo ‘osto = Don't worry

Hîr nín = My Lord

Baren bar lin = My home is yours

Goheno nin = Forgive me

Ú-moe edaved = No need to forgive

Aphado nin = Follow me

Am man theled = Why?

Estelio nin = Trust me

Gerich faer vara = You have a fiery spirit

Le annon veleth nín = I give my love to you

Gerich veleth nín = You have my love

[dalliansss]

It was Círdan who said that they needed a gesture of good faith to the Valar. Then Maedhros and Maglor had another debate between themselves, and for the first time in many, many years, the younger brother prevailed over the elder. Maglor would sail West, with Eärendil, and the Silmaril. 

Eärendil leaves the half-dilapidated inn and his children to Gil-galad’s care. He must do this, and he must not turn back, for if he does— if he chances to look back, he knows he will waver and he will not want to leave, and they will all die here. Morgoth will have reclaimed the Silmaril, and all will be lost, then.

He finds Maglor and Círdan and Voronwë already waiting by the quayside. Maedhros Fëanorion was nowhere to be seen. Vingilot is ready to sail and Eärendil had especially handpicked from his mariners those who had no families and children. Those who can afford to die, or vanish off into the unknown, never to be seen again, like his own parents, Idril and Tuor. 

Maglor looks as if a wraith: sunken cheeks, limp dark hair. Deadened gray eyes. His cloak hung about him in tatters, and Eärendil knew underneath the thin layers, he would be holding the small lacquered box which contained the Silmaril. They exchange a long, silent look, and a nod.

Of course, Eärendil boards Vingilot first. Voronwë follows. Maglor visibly hesitates, until Círdan grips him by the left forearm. They look at each other, and Maglor finally boards the ship as well. Within the hour they push from the port, and all of Vingilot’s sails are dropped. They have the wind and weather in their favor. Still, Eärendil and his mariners begin singing the Prayer to Ulmo as they venture further out into open sea. 

It is not just Eärendil who refuses stubbornly to look back at the land. Maglor, who is sitting on a heap of coiled rope and protecting his precious little box, refuses to turn his head back as well. 

[the tides of defeat / part 11 of Blood in the Mouth / AO3]

@skaelds

[actual-bill-potts]

Finrod, upon being reembodied in Aman, feels lost. First Noldo to return, the only child left of the house of Finwë where once the streets of Tirion and the beaches of Alqualondë, the halls of the palace and the cozy walls of Arafinwë’s house, had rung with merry laughter.

His father had met him outside the Halls of Mandos, eyes alight with such terrible hope that Finrod had been almost afraid. Never had he seen such an expression upon his father’s face, not even when he had turned away from all his children and gone back to Tirion with head bowed. (But then, his father had not spent half a millennium without his children. Then, his father had not felt his sons fall to dragon and wolf, felt their pain and terror and confusion.)

But then Arafinwë had caught sight of him, and there was such joy upon his face that Finrod forgot the words that had passed between them when it became apparent that Arafinwë would not follow his brother into exile; forgot the years leading his House alone; forgot even, for a moment, the knowledge of how it felt to be ripped apart so wholly you could not understand the shape of your fëa. He forgot all, in the rush to fling his arms about his father and be embraced in turn. Atya was weeping into his shoulder, and Finrod was crying in turn, and he let himself be held as he had not since long before that terrible dark night in Tirion.

And when they returned to Tirion, and his mother embraced him in turn, arms strong about him and words of forgiveness spoken on both sides—still then he had felt nothing but joy.

But with the passing of time, some of that had—faded—and now Finrod wanders the hills about Tirion, lost and longing for something he cannot name.

Part of it is grief. Everyone in Aman knows grief, now; the Teleri cruelly slain had learned it well, and the Noldor forever sundered from their kin no less. But there is still the certainty, beneath the loss: no one is gone forever. The dead Teleri, killed for their ships, had marched home singing long ago. Finrod himself, Doomed and Returned, can see the hope dawning in the eyes of the Noldor who look at him. He is back! they seem to say, he is back, and if he is back why should not my beloved be returned?

But what of the Atani?

Finrod had known, in Endórë, that his fate was sundered from Men. He had felt it keenly as they died: slowly, one after another, in the long years of peace, then quickly and brutally, when their Leaguer was broken. Still he had had hope. He was Doomed, with little hope of mercy; why, after all, might he not see the Atani again, in whatever place he was sent after his ending?

Now he knows: they are gone. Gone beyond the world, and no hope of reunion. Balan, Baran, Barahir, Beren, even Lúthien: gone past recall. And there is no one else in Aman who knew them; no one else who loved them; no one with whom he can grieve as mortals grieve.

He sits, in the hills, and waits. He is weary. There is joy—of course there is joy!—but there is so much sorrow. So many gone, and none who can understand.

What is he waiting for?

I can understand, says a voice next to Finrod, and he looks up to see—

A hooded figure, garbed in gray, shoulders shaking, sorrow-cloaked—

This is the Lady Nienna.

Finrod kneels. "My Lady," he says, "what would you have of me?"

It is so rare, to see Nienna. Others among the Valar had visited often, Oromë and Ulmo, Vána and Estë, to rejoice at celebrations and wonder at children born. But Nienna was locked in grief, and would not venture forth.

Nienna’s voice comes again, haunted with sorrow. I would have you follow me. I grieve with you, for the Secondborn who are so bright and beautiful, and fade so soon. Perhaps you, in turn, may grieve with me, and give comfort to those who come to my dwelling.

You have walked long in sorrow, Friend of Men. You have loved mortals, and have not feared their loss as it breaks you. The Atani had much to teach you—and you in turn have much to teach us, if you are willing.

Finrod has begun to weep, though he hardly feels it. He does not hesitate. "My Lady of Sorrows, my Lady of Mercy," he says, "I will follow you. Through sorrow to joy."

I am sorrow, Nienna responds, her voice like the tolling of a great bell, but through me, to joy will you walk.

[cilil]

Day 6 ~ Loss & Betrayal

𓂃🖋 Characters/pairings: Melkor x Mairon 𓂃🖋 Synopsis: With Melkor trapped in the Void, Mairon can no longer reach him and resorts to addressing him in letters to cope with his situation on Númenor. 𓂃🖋 Warnings: References to/discussion of sexual assault. Also Mairon is a hater 𓂃🖋 Oneshot (~1.2k) | AO3

Beloved, 

I made it out of dungeons at last — in body, that is. 

In spirit I have long since been wandering and dreaming to distract myself from the miserable existence that I was subjected to. And subjected myself to; you know as well as I do that at times the long, twisted road of deception is a safer path to tread than brute force. 

I had to let them take me. Though it means little either way. 

The mortal king has, as was to be expected, grown fond of me already. He wants the divine secrets that only our kind has to offer, and more important yet, power and immortality. I promised him all of these things, of course, and he might well get at least a taste of some before I seize victory from his greedy, filthy hands. 

There will be a price to pay, however, that much I know already. Not only the shameful matter of allowing mortals to take me prisoner like a lowly incarnate, but also the realm in itself. 

I despise Númenórë, precious. I hate it. 

It is full of foul, indecent Men, crawling all over the island like the vermin they are. They consume lots of slimy seafood, presumably another "gift" from Ulmo and his ilk, and they audaciously serve me these abominations as well, expecting not only that I should eat them, but also praise their odious cuisine. They love the sea and venture out often, thinking themselves great explorers as if anything they could ever find has not been known for ages untold to us, the makers of this world. They worship our father and the vain Valar who in their eyes are nothing but strange gods they have never seen but bow to nevertheless, while they call us hateful names. 

And yet I must smile and gracefully endure the company of the king and those he surrounds himself with. He has named me his advisor now — a decision he will undoubtedly come to regret, though not a second before my designs for him come to pass and he faces his inevitable doom. 

The queen, it is said, was married to the king against her will, and I can certainly see the utter lack of charm that necessitated a forceful course of action. She does not lie with him willingly, and unfortunately his lust has fallen upon me instead. 

He leers at me when he asks me about our secrets. He corners me when I tell him about power. He touches me when I speak of you. He attempts to hold me when I praise your name. 

He has even had the audacity to call me a servant. 

Precious, 

the king has laid hands on me again. In fact he has only just now exited my chambers, satisfied with his detestable deeds, leaving me to bear the shame and impurity of a mortal's touch. 

I try not to see and not to feel when he comes near me. I try not to recoil or weep or destroy him for the crime of despoiling what belongs only to you. I try not to mourn the loss of our intimacy, long ago though it has been: This form was made for you, made for our love and our pleasure. 

Not for a mortal king.

He grows bolder now, having realised that I will not defend myself, and takes what he wants. And I have to let him. I could, perhaps should destroy him, burn down these chambers, the castle, the entire city with him and flee, but alas, I cannot and will not. For such petty revenge is not enough; the entire realm must fall. 

He does not even have the decency to humbly accept the grace that I show him. He treats me like a common whore, demeans and degrades me, handles me roughly, always takes and takes and takes and never asks. He claims I am nothing but a slave and a prostitute, yet it is him whose mind falls prey to my whispers and whose body cannot resist my beauty. 

I hate it. I hate him. He disgusts me, and no amount of gold or ships or crowns could change that. I need not tell you that only you are King of Kings, and no other could even hope to come close to your glory. I need not tell you that I never wanted any other. 

And yet... no matter how desperately I wish to burn those grasping, grimy, greedy hands whenever it comes into his foolish mind that a mortal could possess a Maia and he reaches for me, I must instead endure. I do not want it. I do not want any of this. But the plan must be executed, so that your enemies will be brought to ruin and returned to the doom you designed for them. 

Worst of all is the knowledge that the king will be back soon. I must admit now that the potency of my charms has become a double-edged sword: So very effective, so very strong is the desire I inspire within the hearts of weak mortal Men, yet being the object of such desire is a most undignified position to be in. 

He is insatiable, thoroughly ensnared, and I am... afraid. 

My love, 

I am distraught, more than I have ever been. I know not what to say. I wanted to cry out to you, but could not allow your name to be sullied by being spoken while another takes what is yours.

Beloved, I have committed the most unforgivable blasphemy against you and our sacred union. I saw it coming, knew it would happen, prayed for your forgiveness in advance, yet it did nothing to dispel the horror of such acts. 

I had to let a mere mortal violate my beautiful fána. I had to let a false king take me. I had to betray both you and myself for the sake of our perfect revenge. 

I want to burn my fána. I will burn it once I no longer need it. 

Even so, I weep. This is the very same fána that you touched, the one that bears the marks of your love. I desperately want to shed a skin so defiled, but the thought of losing what little I have left of you is unbearable. 

Forgive me, my love. Forgive me for letting a filthy mortal have me. Forgive me for sacrificing what is yours as well as mine. I swear that I did it only for you, for only the thought of you can keep me in this world — the thought of how you will smile when you behold the ruin of our enemies, how you will laugh, how pleased you will be with me. 

I have been trying to cleanse myself with water instead, but it is insufficient. I heated it until it was boiling, but it was not enough. 

I still feel his touch upon me, and it disgusts me. 

And if I shall burn to be rid of this filth upon me, so too shall the king and his entire realm. My flames shall feast upon mortal flesh as tribute for my sacrifice, and death shall claim all who remain until there is no one and nothing left of accursed Númenórë and its king. 

Thanks for reading! ♡

taglist: @angbangbaby @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @blauerregen @bluezenzennie @edensrose @i-did-not-mean-to @melkors-big-tits @melkors-defense-attorney @sauron-kraut @singleteapot @urwendii

[apoloadonisandnarcissus]

Curiosity took the best of me and I ventured on Reddit in the aftermath of Charlotte Brändström’s revelation that Galadriel was really in love with Halbrand, only to find the most weird kind of mental gymnastics: “Galadriel fell in love with Halbrand, not Sauron!”

I’ll just let Season 2 answer to that:

Yeah, babes, she fell in love with Sauron.

And Galadriel was both heartbroken and furious (all seven stages of grief) in Season 2 because she thought Sauron deceived her all along, and that the connection they shared was another one of his illusions. In 2x08, Sauron tried to prove that she’s wrong, because the connection they felt was real, and not a deception on his part (it was badly executed but that’s not the point here).

The question here is: did Galadriel believed him?

This evil b*tch forced them to bind together using Morgoth’s crown to unite their bloods. They merged souls, and Melkor officiated the ceremony from the Void. Yup, are pretty much married, now. And this is exactly what I’ve talked about in my post about the possibility of Saurondriel on Tolkien’s lore. Elvil Barbie doesn’t need to ask the Valar for permission to do this, because he doesn’t follow them, nor does he care.

This means Galadriel and Sauron now have an open door into each others’ souls, minds and pretty much everything else.

How will this come into the play in Season 3? Will Galadriel reconcile with the fact that she, actually, fell in love with Sauron himself? Will this be part of her character arc conflict? Probably not explicitly stated but symbolically embodied on her spiraling down into darkness due to her wound (a wound that will never heal, mind you)? I hope they go there.

[putrid-tongue]

— STARTER FOR @menelvagor (⤻ ER-MÛRAZÔR)

𝕺nce,  the  scents  of  brine  and  spindrift  had  been  so  very  familiar,  lodged  into  a  now  lost  part  of  his  heart,  a  part  that  had  also  housed  a  LOVE  for  the  wondrous  sights  of  westernesse.  all  it  serves  to  do  now  is  turn  his  stomach  &&  he  knows  that  something  foul  would  arise  and  pluck  the  yarn  of  his  life  if  he  were  to  venture  ashore—  into  the  deep  waters.  and  where  once  love  and  pride  have  resided,  a  lingering  HATRED  now  takes  root.  hatred  for  the  elves  and  the  valar,  their  lofty  designs  that  heed  not  the  fate  of  men.  their  ingenuity,  and  their  burning  spirit.  they  have  been  spited  and  belittled,  treated  as  a  bastard  son  in  a  noble  lord's  household.  but  ne'er  would  he  bow  his  head  to  those  sprites  wrought  of  STARLIGHT—  rather  he  would  see  them  burn  in  a  cold  and  dark  flame,  wiped  from  the  face  of  the  earth.

these  thoughts  his  mind  returns  to  often,  like  a  discordant  song  where  one  has  forgotten  all  but  a  single  verse.  it  CONSUMES  him,  though  it  would  not  cripple  him.  rather  these  wretched  musings  serve  as  a  hearth  by  which  to  warm  himself,  lending  strength  to  do  what  must  be  done.  the  one  they  call  ZIGÛR  spoke  many  truths,  and  many  lies.  and  though  mordú  does  not  trust  him  and  fears  the  terror  of  his  dark  spirit,  he  yet  swore  to  follow.  BELIEVES  their  hatred  to  come  from  the  same  pit,  directed  at  a  common  enemy.  thus  he  may  yet  suffer  one  who  is  not  of  his  own  to  call  himself  king  of  men.

umbar  is  thus  not  truly  a  welcome  sight  to  the  gúrzyul,  it's  painted  roofs  and  white  plaster  a  stark  reminder  of  a  HOME  now  lost.  but  it  is  a  free  city,  a  city  of  corsairs,  and  all  trade  that  comes  to  or  from  haradwaith  passes  through  umbar.  it  must  be  seized  and  brought  into  the  fold  of  FAITHFUL,  willing  to  swear  fealty  to  mordor—  and  to  sauron.  no  small  task  by  any  amount,  as  the  peoples  of  umbar  rejoice  in  governing  themselves  now  that  númenor  is  no  more.  ah,  but  this  is  no  feat  he  will  accomplish  alone—  nay.  he  is  to  meet  another  here,  one  who  has  his  trust.

measured  steps  carry  mordú  across  colorful,  cobbled  streets.  the  hewn  stones  are  polished  by  thousands  of  feet,  though  the  designs  upon  them  still  greet  every  traveller  clearly.  depictions  of  seafarers  and  kings,  queens  and  battles  of  eld.  monsters  and  drakes,  held  off  the  bay  of  belfalas  by  benevolent  gods.  by  the  abad  tar  calion  he  would  spy  his  quarry.

❛  ne'er  would  i  have  guessed  the  truth  about  benish  armon,  but  i  found  myself  drawn  from  the  harad  road  and  closer  to  ethir  anduin—  despite  my  better  judgement.  a  faint  whisper  'neath  the  boughs,  enough  to  chill  the  blood.  do  you  know  aught  about  it?  ❜

mordú  says  by  way  of  greeting,  a  half  smile  upon  his  lips  that  does  not  reach  the  cold  blue  of  kohl  rimmed  eyes.  even  faced  with  the  midday  sun,  their  pupils  remain  pinpricks  of  HATEFUL  INCLINATION.  he  does  incline  his  head  however,  a  polite  yet  understated  bow  before  er-mûrazôr.  his  better,  certainly.

❛  when  i  look  upon  the  city,  i  see  a  fat  cat  lounging  amidst  the  most  benevolent  rays  of  the  sun.  our  task  is  not  an  easy  one.  the  people  are  glad  for  their  freedom  and  will  not  give  it  freely.  our  time  here  will  not  be  short,  my  lord.  ❜

[to-fall-or-not-to-fall]

trop s2 spoilers abound, venture ahead at ye own peril

ok finally started and im like 18 min in

adar... good better than last season *sauron explodes* NOOO THE ORCS brief existential crisis over why i want the orcs to live that badly but i guess between adar and the opening i should have expected as much adar still looks average though :/ sorry

blood go drip... what was backup plan if not stabbed first?? everything else vaporized

look a mouse friend will he die yes he will

look a centip- oh bye i guess look a random woman also bye??

quick question y'all how exactly did that work sauron is a maia yes to put it in good omens term sort of if a valar discorporates (literally can they even do that) its fine bc they cant die

maiar can to my knowledge (please correct me if im wrong)

so how did sauron just

eat things

and get a new body

like to my knowledge gandalf was an exception with the whole resurrection thing

help

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Happy Birthday, my dear

It's @cilil's birthday!!!! 🎂🎂🎂🎂

So, here is a little gift for you. Done by the incomparable @neldeathstar!!!

And, in the name of friendship, I've also written a very tiny thing! It's under the cut :)

Enjoy!

𝔚𝔬𝔯𝔡𝔰: 1.1 k ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔯𝔞𝔠𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔰: Mairon, Aiwendil, Eönwë 𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: Sexual innuendo, Mairon is mean...

Mairon rolled his eyes—Eönwë and Aiwendil were not the audience he had expected or desired, but he needed to share his amazing experience with someone before he could burst with self-satisfied smugness, and he was too sated and content to ferret out Curumo or Ossë.

“Hello Mairon, how are you? You look…” Aiwendil faltered in his cheery greeting, his annoyingly huge, innocent eyes clouding over with something akin to dread and distrust. “You look different. Are you unwell?”

Look at that little fool, Mairon thought impatiently; he despised his fellow Maia for his sickening naïveté that was erroneously misconstrued and excused as genuine “sweetness” by most. Mairon knew the truth though, Aiwendil was nothing but a stupid dreamer who would never amount to much if he didn’t stop aimlessly horsing around with the most feeble and neglectable of Yavanna’s creations.

“Do we go to the library then?” Eönwë asked hopefully, his usually so placid face lighting up with anticipation.

Why that one wanted to go to the library didn’t make sense to Mairon either—Eönwë was a good fighter and a disgustingly faithful servant, but he’d never be the one to pen anything of importance. No, it was clear that he was destined to merely carry, defend, and deliver messages—not to write them.

“Ah, I am so sorry,” Mairon said softly, schooling his face into a convincing expression of contrition and prudish embarrassment that would be shattered only too soon by his carefully planned and rehearsed revelation.

Indeed, their vacant faces fell in disappointment and unveiled worry almost instantly.

Mairon drew himself up to his full height, ready to strike, and promptly informed them of his exciting and illicit meeting with Melkor in the forge in melting, sensual accents.

He had expected outrage, shock, envy, or even anger, but all he got were two blank stares of incomprehension. They even had the gall to cock their heads like puzzled birds—how Mairon wanted to wring their necks for having ruined his moment of breath-taking triumph by their profound and utterly maddening stupidity.

One, two, three—Mairon counted the moments in his wickedly sharp mind until any of the two would finally fully comprehend what he had just told them.

“Oh no,” Eönwë cried out in what seemed to be genuine alarm; he expressed his sincere commiseration and even gave special emphasis to the undeniable evil inherent to all of Melkor’s doings. Maybe, Mairon reflected, he only said so because of Aiwendil who kept staring at him with questioning cow eyes.

Ire—hot and punitive—flared within Mairon’s chest; he was named “the Admirable” but that alone wasn’t worth much when there was nobody around who was sensible and enlightened enough to actually admire him for his daring and cunning.

Indeed, he himself was rather proud of the way he had ventured into a passionate, mind-altering, and world-shattering relationship with the mightiest of the Valar—after all, their seduction had been mutual and all-encompassing. Mairon relished the lingering burning sensation rippling through his fána with every move, and he certainly would not accept pity when he had expected awe!

Letting his smile melt like warm honey, he turned his sweetest, most innocent face to the two woeful imbeciles who were still waiting for him to accept their well-wishes and expressions of foolish sympathy.

“Oh yeah…” Mairon sighed mellifluously. “His dick is evil…big.”

This time, Eönwë was quicker to catch on—he gasped audibly and sputtered his peer’s name in a forbidding, scolding tone that was but a cheap imitation and a pathetic echo of Manwë’s thundering eloquence.

“What?” Aiwendil looked back and forth between the other two, his vague gaze sharpening into an expression of bewildered distress.

Mairon made a rather crude gesture at the height of his own shapely behind that had Eönwë choking on his own tongue but only served to perplex Aiwendil even further.

“A dick? He has a tail?” Aiwendil asked, evidently just as eager to understand as he was incapable of grasping even the most essential mechanics of what they were so circuitously discussing—at least, Ossë would have challenged or even mocked him! Nothing was worse than the benign but utterly fatuous and vacant gleam of the insipidly handsome faces turned towards him like beacons of purity.

“Ugh, I wanted it. I welcomed his attentions!” Mairon groaned; he could hardly believe that he had to spell it out for them.

Silence fell like a stifling blanket over the bright meadow they had convened in.

“What exactly?” Aiwendil inquired shyly, his eyes darting nervously between Eönwë and Mairon—he could tell that he was a nuisance and was visibly afraid of being reprimanded or sent away.

“I am not going to draw you a graphic,” Mairon hissed, tossing back his hair and glowering at the young Maia with unadulterated loathing. “Suffice it to say that the forges were not the only thing that was burning bright. Oh, the things he does to me and I to him. We are so well matched—you can’t even imagine the pleasures we share.”

He held up his hand before Aiwendil could stutter some nonsense about walks in nature or tending to some foul-smelling beast; his body moved in suggestive undulation, mimicking the throes of lascivious passion he had engaged in before joining these two knuckleheads.

“They were dancing?” Aiwendil asked Eönwë in a muted voice.

“No, little one,” Eönwë sighed. “Mairon here has let himself be corrupted and tainted by the power of evil.”

“Ah, don’t be such a hypocrite!” Fire flared within Mairon’s eyes, and he wished that he had brought any of his tools to put Eönwë’s famed prowess in battle to the test. “He’s no better and no worse than his brother. Only because you have not had the guts or the charm to get anywhere with Manwë, you don’t need to take your envies and frustrations out on me.”

That accusation was so outrageous that it knocked the wind clean out of Eönwë’s mighty lungs—he merely stared, mouth agape, at the vision of flickering light and unbridled anger in front of him. More than ever, Mairon wanted to batter him senseless, but he held back and only bared his sharp teeth to give vent to his sombre, dangerous feelings.

“I would never…” Eönwë stammered, his cheeks colouring with the heat of embarrassment and something darker and much more shameful.

“Yes,” Mairon grinned sharply, “and that might just be your problem. Either way, I am too wrung out to go to the library and look at dusty tomes with the likes of you. See you later.”

“Why doesn’t he go to Estë if he’s in pain?” Aiwendil muttered, confused, as they saw Mairon limping away from them with as much dignity as he could muster.

“I am afraid,” Eönwë replied, settling a heavy but comforting hand on the slender shoulder of his companion, “that he has grown to like the burn.”

Once again, I wish you only the best for your birthday and good luck for tonight!!!

Lots of love from me, as always!!!

Hoch sollst du leben...an der Decke kleben and so on and so forth! Love you!!!

[fingolfinwiththesteelchair]

Mightiest Elf Fight Club - ROUND 2, SIDE A

See Side B for more elf options!

THINGOL IS OUT

These elves are competing in a tournament! We're speeding things up, so the two elves who get last place in each poll - for a total of four elves - will be eliminated in this round.Select the elf in this group that you think would come in LAST, I repeat, vote for the elf in LAST PLACE. The elf you vote for will be ELIMINATED from fight club.

There was some confusion in the last round, so I want to clarify that magic is 100% allowed. Taking magic away from an elf seems a bit like removing a person's liver and kidney before putting them in a fight club; magic and Songs of Power are cannot be untangled from the Eldar, especially those born in Aman who have it oozing out of their pores. Steel and arrow and magic and song are all allowed in fight club; the crowd wants blood. If someone wants to dance their opponent to sleep or rapbattle them into submission, more power to them

Propaganda and mighty deeds below the cut

Feanor: You love him! You hate him! It's Feanor, one of the biggest driving forces behind the entire Silmarillion! Feanor invented weapons before anyone else in Aman had done it. He called Actually-demigod-Satan a bitch to his face, and then slammed a door in it. Feanor left Elf-Heaven, took the ships of the Teleri by force, and fought against the armies of Morgoth before the sun and moon even existed, falling only to a large group of Balrogs! Weaknesses: Silmarils, oaths

Finarfin: A High King of the Noldor, Finarfin was smart enough to stay in elf-heaven, but brave enough to venture into middle earth to fight in the War of Wrath at the end of the first age, leading the Ñoldor from Valinor, helping to put an end to Morgoth's time in Middle Earth for good. Weaknesses: common sense kept him out of most of the Silmarillion

Finwë: The First King of the Ñoldor, and among the first of the elves to heed the call from the Valar and arrive in Valinor. When Melkor attacked, Finwë was the only one brave enough to stand his ground and fight one on one against Melkor. Weaknesses: Prophecies

Luthien: Luthien, fairest to have ever lived, used her powers to free herself from her father and gain the help of Huan the Hound. She passed through the gates of Angband, avoided the great wolf Carcharoth, and then used magic in a dance to put Morgoth himself, and his court, into a deep, enchanted sleep. She then rescued her boyfriend, stole Morgoth's crown, and fled Angband with her love. Weaknesses: Beren

Mablung: One of the greatest captains of the Sindar, Mablung helped hunt down the wolf Carcharoth to retrieve the Silmaril the wolf had swallowed; Mablung was the one who cut the jewel - and Beren's hand - from the werewolf's stomach. Weaknesses: Heavy hands

Ecthelion: Ecthelion fought in, and survived, the Nirnaeth Arnoediad. Not only was he one of the few named characters to slay a Balrog, he was the one who slayed Gothmog, the Lord of the Balrogs. Weaknesses: Being too sexy to live, wearing armor in water

Fingon: He walked into Morgoth's domain, rescued Maedhros, and then flew right back out with an injured Maedhros, leaving Morgoth wondering what the hell happened to the elf had chained to a rock for thirty years. Fingon fought in many battles against the forces of Morgoth. When Morgoth sent Orcs to attack Hithlum, Fingon beat the tar out of them so thoroughly that Morgoth invented dragons. Weaknesses: Gothmog