#Valinor snippets

[sandwichmustbetasty]

i'm crying

whattt 😭😭😭

he's like what the hell, no way

trying very hard not to be tempted

his gossip girl scholar's soul could not let that rest, he just needs to know

cirdan knows how to pique his interest

elrond's mad and doesn't really want to talk to you?

*holds out a piece of juicy information*

elrond has been summoned

you may talk in the exchage of juicy gossip

screaming

it just keeps getting better and better

daeron an insufferable whiny bitch confirmed

[cats-spilled-wine-foolery]

Alright, so... this is my first ever fic, and it's honestly so broad; I love writing it, but honestly have no idea how I'm going to complete it😅 I will, but it'll take time. Especially taking into consideration that I posted it on FanFictionNet first, and the time between posting the second and third chapter was I think over six months. But I am, well and truly, active; even if you cannot see it. I actually wrote many chapters ahead, though it's still unorganised.

Here's a snippet from the first chapter:

"Let us review your report once more." The voice was calm and collected, with a cool edge that made the uncertain eyes snap to the dark and imposing form. "Tol-in-Gaurhoth is lost to us, and as such, it is highly improbable for that failure of a lieutenant to be in its vicinity… sensible. Its surroundings being a poor hiding spot–"

"We searched them nonetheless," murmured the lesser of the Ainur.

"Do not interrupt me, Ulundo." The Maia sealed his lips at being rebuked, and the Lord of Darkness continued. "So you searched and found nothing: plausible. You sensed a shadow cast over Taur-nu-fuin, and went to investigate. Intelligent, competent; exactly what would have been needed." Here the Vala paused and his back straightened, while the voice raised to what Angband's residents referred to as the 'danger register'." Were it not for the fact that you saw yourself as being entirely capable of taking on my lieutenant – who was once among the most powerful Maiar – ALONE!" here Melkor found it perfectly justifiable to whirl around and point Grond at his quivering servant, eyes now resembling endless pits of furiously swirling shadows. "You were but one Maia, and not the most powerful at that. I assigned you to this task because of your stealth, not power! Flames alone would easily render you helpless! ARE YOU TRULY SO UTTERLY BRAINLESS?!"

"My Lord, I–"

"Silence!" The command was loud and sharp, but otherwise spoken in a normal voice. Which Ulundo did not like one bit; truthfully, he preferred when his lord yelled. Keeping his composure… this meant everything was well thought through and very much intended. Which more often than not heralded a punishment crueller than if it were made on the whim – which the Vala tended to do on a regular basis. But this… The Úmaia did his best to conceal a shiver, and managed to remain perfectly still.

"You walked into a forest that was plainly his hiding spot, extended your mind to find him, which virtually meant you announced your presence to him, and performed your best impression of a bear just awoken from its winter slumber when you ineptly headed to his hiding spot."

"But I found–"

"NEGLIGENCE!" Melkor roared, finally glaring directly at his Maia to pierce him with blazing eyes, body language reminding the cowering Ulundo of a volcano nearing eruption. "Irresponsibility, recklessness, DERELICTION!"

The servant surprised even himself when he succeeded in remaining glued to the spot, despite his brain screaming at him to run as the enraged Vala marched towards him, seizing his chin harshly and forcing him to look up, nearly snapping his neck in the process. Brown eyes locked with ones resembling dark rubies, unable to look away as his lord searched his face and mind. "Was there something you wished to add, Ambarincë?" The sudden change in demeanour was not nearly as unexpected as it would seem, as Melkor's mood could go from one extreme to another in a matter of milliseconds, and it often did. But the soft, almost fond purr that came from the mocking lips caught Ulundo off guard.

"I…" When he hesitated, the dark lord stroked his cheek with his thumb, rubbing soothing circles on the skin. One of the thick, dark eyebrows rose, the scarred face now softened by faint amusement.

"Yes?"

‘It's fake,’ the Maia reminded himself desperately. Yet his body, even his ëala, proved to be treacherous when they skillfully persuaded him to accept the touch. Despite knowing full well where this was heading, he leaned into it, briefly remembering how caring his first lord had been to his Maiar.

Melkor crouched gracefully, his gaze still fixed on Ulundo, nearly making it seem as if the intent eyes were burning away his own, melting the flesh, drilling holes in his very soul. It took every ounce of willpower not to recoil.

"I… I found a cat," he finally revealed, and only now, when his voice sounded rather raspy, he noticed his throat had gone completely dry.

"A cat."

The kneeling servant couldn't suppress his shudder this time, caused by the growing mirth and gentleness in the Vala's actions as he repeated his Maia's statement with a hint of incredulity and amusement, pausing slightly mid-sentence.

"Yes, my Lord."

"How interesting."

"My Lord, it hissed and scratched, and thrashed in my hold."

"An extraordinarily abnormal behaviour for a cat, yes. Is this how you obtained these?" the Vala asked, the fingers of his unoccupied hand ghosting over the scratches on his subordinate's face.

"Yes, my Lord," Ulundo whispered, sensing the dryness in his master's response that seeped through the gentle mask.

"And what did you find so peculiar about this cat that made you share these news with me?"

The Maia licked his lips and tried to force a response from his dry throat. "I recalled that lord Gorthaur once seemed to be particularly fond of cats, so I thought he perhaps took on the form of one as a ruse, since his regular choice of form apart from..." He trailed off, noting that Melkor was now looking at him with some amount of incredulousness and honest interest. And then, as suddenly and violently as only he was wont to, the Vala roughly shoved Ulundo backwards while he started pacing to and fro, his fingers supporting his chin as he mumbled to himself.

"What colour and size was it? How did it behave?" he finally asked, his eyes boring into his Maia's. When Ulundo was done with the description, including how he noticed the cat, Melkor was – for the first time in what could just as well be forever – frozen in spot, and his fingers absentmindedly drummed against his crossed arms. The Maia winced visibly and nearly jumped when a gale of maniacal, wild laughter shook the room, and his eyes snapped upwards, only to widen when he saw the Vala almost doubling over. "A cat?!" he finally gasped out in a very unlordly manner, though the mocking undertone didn't escape Ulundo's notice. "Oh, how low you have fallen, Sauron. No better form to run away from Oröme's hound!"

[thescrapwitch]

Tolkien Reading Day 2025

Happy Tolkien Reading Day! Since the theme for this year is Fellowship and Community, I thought I would recommend a few fics that I feel reflect it:

Tend to the Flame by @maglor-my-beloved

The Fëanorians, returned at last, move to Formenos and turn the ruined fortress into a city of crafts and creation, a place of second chances and a home for those who do not know where they belong. Their family grows over the centuries, and Míriel's last work is in time completed. (Or, what if all my blorbos were friends and lived in a cool city together and bonded over an arts&crafts project)

Department of Song and Craft Safety, Review, and Approval by @icryyoumercy

there is a plan to prevent the re-embodied Fëanorians from once again engaging in questionable behaviour or craft. strangely, it doesn't work

White Water Flowing by @starspray

In Valinor and homesick for Imladris, Celebrían decides to build a new one.

The Last Spring by @clothonono

"Perhaps they've had another baby," said Lalwen. "How many are they up to now, five?" "They cannot possibly have had another baby," said Findis. "Can they?" "Perhaps he's coming to visit," said Finarfin. His siblings all glared at him.

to speak, to scream and laugh with the echo by @clockworkcrabofea

In which Maedhros once told Maglor that Angband’s government was very might-to-right so, upon waking up in the past after haunting the shores through the Fourth Age, he decides that he could probably beat up a balrog or two and marches his ass across the Ice to bitch slap Sauron. Sauron finds himself unexpectedly okay with this.

Songbird by @tanoraqui

It was not with heavy heart that Paladin Took approached the Bird's Nest. But his ribs might've been weighty and his liver positively annoyed, and not just from the many fine ales and finer wines he'd consumed throughout his life. It was that damn Lotho again, Lotho Sacksville-Baggins from up Hobbiton way with his air and his Big Men—well, two could play at that game! And if anyone was going to be calling themselves "Chief" in this day and age, it would be the right and proper Thain of the Shire! His blood up, he knocked rather hard on the oversized door. "Maggie! Are you in there? Open up!"

To Live in the Undying Lands by @tathrin

A smattering of snippets set throughout the (im)mortal lives of the remaining members of the Fellowship on the other side of the Sundering Sea.

Anastasis by @chthonion

"Forgive me,” Frodo says in his accented Quenya, the syllables strange in his ears. “I—I have an old wound. It troubles me still, sometimes." "It is I who must ask your forgiveness," says the stranger. "I believe I may be the one who put it there." In Aman, Frodo and Celebrimbor and Finrod forge a friendship, talk about trauma, and deal with the fact that Sauron's ghost is haunting Celebrimbor.

Old bonds remade by @deadqueernoldor

“When the flower blooms, the bees come uninvited” Or Maglor is in banishment as decreed by the Valar, but it seems he is the only one who remembers that ‘banishment from elven society’ means that he is supposed to be alone

I forced myself to stick to nine recommendations (to match our favourite Fellowship) but PLEASE add more fics to this list! There are so many amazing Tolkien fics so make sure to reblog this with your own favourites.

Have a lovely day!

[conundrumoftime]

My fellow Haladriels I do not know who has told you that according to The Lore elves can only love once, but a) this is not The Lore, and b) also in Tolkien 'The Lore' does not really work like that anyway.

In the words of Galadriel's grandfather Finwë:

It is unlawful to have two wives, but one may love two women, each differently, and without diminishing one love by another. Love of Indis did not drive out love of Míriel, so now pity for Míriel doth not lessen my heart's care for Indis.

What is rare is elf remarriage, and this is partly because of the absolute drama that Finwë's led to.

Also: the law on when remarriage is and isn't allowed is set down by the Valar in Valinor to the elves living there. What the elves living in Middle-earth made of this - if they even heard of it, and how would they? - is unrecorded. Many of us have written fanfic that plays around with a culture clash on this issue!

Also also: the Noldor do not always do what the Valar explicitly tell them to do Or Else, which is how come Galadriel and many of her extended family are back in Middle-earth anyway.

Also also also, and (for me!) most importantly: there is no The Lore anyway, in the sense that people citing it in that sense mean (i.e. a rulebook for this fictional universe setting out what is true and what isn't and how everything works). There is a massive collection of notes, thoughts, essays, letters, stories finished and unfinished and drastically revised, much of it contradicting other bits earlier or later, some of it managing to contradict itself.

Also also also also, much of what is there is in this posthumously published material is presented (explicitly or by implication) within a framing narrative of something reported by a fictional character - as indeed are LOTR and The Hobbit. For example, there's an essay on how elf marriage works as part of 'Laws and Customs among the Eldar' in the History of Middle-earth; it's very unclear whose perspective this is written from; it's associated with a narrator called 'Ælfwine', who in some versions of some Tolkien things is a human who wrote about what an elf called Pengolodh told him about the history of Arda. Also there are Vikings but they're not important.

None of this means 'The Lore' is not important - it's fascinating, I recommend it to everyone, there's some amazing stuff in there - but it's not 'important' in the sense of being like a list of what is and isn't True. It's important in the sense of being mythology, being a collection of texts we can write stories about and frown at and go "I feel like Melian is getting away with far too much nonsense here" about and occasionally send each other snippets of saying things like "fyi there's a version where Maedhros and Earendil and Elwing all end up in the flying ship together, thought you'd appreciate this one" and so on.

[willowaus]

Will I ever post this? IDK but I'm 18K into it so probably. Its just nice to have a WIP again. But a snippet from a 'after Galadriel goes to Valinor in the 3rd age, her and Sauron are sent back by the Valar to prevent Morgoth from coming to power again' idea that my brain won't let go of.

[silmarillisms]

Orcs in Rings of Power

There are no fewer than eight different origin stories for the Uruk in Middle-Earth from the collected writings of Tolkien in stories, letters, and published works. In his various writings, we are told all of the following at one point or another:

Orcs were created out of stone.

Orcs were made of heat and slime.

Orcs were talking beasts.

Orcs were made by Melkor dispersing his power.

Orcs were children of the earth, a race of their own taken by Melkor and twisted, corrupted over time.

Orcs were fallen Maiar.

Orcs were bred from corrupted Men.

Orcs were bred from fallen and corrupted Elves.

Today, we will discuss that final explanation.

Tolkien originally writes in the "Annals of Aman":

"But indeed a darker tale some yet tell in Eressëa, saying that the Orcs were verily in their beginning of the Quendi themselves, a kindred of the Avari unhappy whom Morgoth cozened, and then made captive, and so enslaved them, and so brought them utterly to ruin. For, saith Pengolod, Melkor could never since the Ainulindalë' make of his own aught that had life or the semblance of life, and still less might he do so after his treachery in Valinor and the fullness of his own corruption. But indeed a darker tale some yet tell in Eressëa, saying that the Orcs were verily in their beginning of the Quendi themselves, a kindred of the Avari unhappy whom Morgoth cozened, and then made captive, and so enslaved them, and so brought them utterly to ruin. For, saith Pengolod, Melkor could never since the Ainulindalë' make of his own aught that had life or the semblance of life, and still less might he do so after his treachery in Valinor and the fullness of his own corruption."

Out of all of the available explanations, Christopher Tolkien chose the one given above when he was transcribing his father's work into what would become the published Silmarillion.

In the Silmarillion, Christopher writes:

"Yet this is held true by the wise of Eressëa, that all those of the Quendi who came into the hands of Melkor, ere Utumno was broken, were put there in prison, and by slow arts of cruelty were corrupted and enslaved; and thus did Melkor breed the hideous race of the Orcs in envy and mockery of the Elves, of whom they were afterwards the bitterest foes.

We will set aside for now the fact that Tolkien, after finishing the Annals, scribbled a note to himself stating "Alter this. Orcs are not Elvish." There are also notes in Volume X of The History of Middle-Earth regarding whether or not Melkor could utterly corrupt the work of Eru. Tolkien seems to struggle with himself in those paragraphs regarding the answer.

At some point, an explanation must be chosen and the above explanation is the one that was selected by both Christopher Tolkien for the Silmarillion and the writers for The Rings of Power.

So, let's move forward with some other things we know about the various subtypes of Orcs from the published texts. We do get some interesting snippets of them in the published Lord of the Rings trilogy.

Some people seem to think that orcs are mindless slaves, wholly tied to the will of Sauron and the other forces that have historically enslaved them and that the depiction of them in Rings of Power as willful and conniving, with families and social units of their own, is counter to Tolkien's written canon.

I would argue that nothing could be further from the truth. If anything, the portrayal of Orcs in Rings of Power is far closer to both JRR and Christopher Tolkien's interpretation of canon than any of the Peter Jackson movies. Let's look at some of what we're given by the text:

"For the Orcs had life and multiplied after the manner of the Children of Ilúvatar; and naught that had life of its own, nor the semblance of life, could ever Melkor make since his rebellion in the Ainulindalë before the Beginning: so say the wise. And deep in their dark hearts the Orcs loathed the Master whom they served in fear, the maker only of their misery. This it may be was the vilest deed of Melkor, and the most hateful to Ilúvatar. The Silmarillion, Illustrated by Ted Nasmith Edition, pg. 65

There are a couple key takeaways from this passage:

Orcs breed with themselves to multiply, like Elves and Men.

Orcs might have reveled in their evil deeds, but they also loathed Melkor, who had created them only to serve as slaves.

This, then, begins to make sense of the choices made by the writers of The Rings of Power regarding the orcs already. If they were originally bred of corrupted Quendi, it makes sense that they see Adar, one of the original corrupted Quendi from whom their race would have sprung, as their true Father.

If the Orcs loathed being enslaved by Melkor, who they were terrified of, of course they would initially take a great deal of umbridge with being re-enslaved by Sauron, for whom they had no respect.

We are told directly in "The Nature of Middle-Earth" that when Sauron first attempted to bring the Orcs of the east beneath his command, who had scattered long ago, that they laughed at him and rejected him until he left his fair form and cowed them forcibly into submission.

So then the scene where the Orcs choose to follow Adar instead of Sauron begins to make a great deal of sense as well.

Regarding Orc family units and social structures, we receive the following directly from Tolkien in a letter written to Mrs. Mundy:

"There must have been orc-women."

Again, if Orcs reproduce in the manner of Men and Elves, that is the only thing that makes any sort of sense. It's not like they produce by budding, in the interpretation of canon that both Christopher Tolkien and The Rings of Power are going with. Notably, Peter Jackson seems to eschew this as close to canon as we can get because it follows the published Silmarillion explanation in The Two Towers, where Orcs emerge fully formed from what appear to be slime sacs in the ground.

While reading the published Lord of the Rings trilogy, we can also be certain of the following:

Orcs feel fear. They specifically fear the Nazgul.

Orcs become tired and grouchy on long marches.

War is not the ideal state of the Orcs, just as it is not the ideal state of any of the "more civilized" races.

Orcs are capable of friendship and even have good memories with their friends.

Consider this excerpt from The Two Towers:

‘No, I don’t know,’ said Gorbag’s voice. ‘The messages go through quicker than anything could fly, as a rule. But I don’t enquire how it’s done. Safest not to. Grr! Those Nazgul give me the creeps. And they skin the body off you as soon as look at you, and leave you all cold in the dark on the other side. But He likes ’em; they’re His favourites nowadays, so it’s no use grumbling. I tell you, it’s no game serving down in the city.’ ‘You should try being up here with Shelob for company,’ said Shagrat. ‘I’d like to try somewhere where there’s none of ’em. But the war’s on now, and when that’s over things may be easier.’ ‘It’s going well, they say.’ ‘They would,’ grunted Gorbag. ‘We’ll see. But anyway, if it does go well, there should be a lot more room. What d’you say? – if we get a chance, you and me’ll slip off and set up somewhere on our own with a few trusty lads, somewhere where there’s good loot nice and handy, and no big bosses.’ ‘Ah!’ said Shagrat. ‘Like old times.’ ‘Yes,’ said Gorbag. ‘But don’t count on it. I’m not easy in my mind. As I said, the Big Bosses, ay,’ his voice sank almost to a whisper, ‘ay, even the Biggest, can make mistakes. Something nearly slipped, you say. I say, something has slipped. And we’ve got to look out. Always the poor Uruks to put slips right, and small thanks. But don’t forget: the enemies don’t love us any more than they love Him, and if they get topsides on Him, we’re done too. But see here: when were you ordered out?’ The Two Towers, pg. 444

It seems obvious to me, just in this paragraph penned by JRR himself, that Orcs were not intended to be entirely mindless rabble. Shagrat and Gorbag reminisce about better times when they weren't bound to the will of Sauron or Saruman. They talk about running away, going somewhere quieter and (perhaps) more peaceful (aside from the aforementioned looting) after the war.

They mention that they're afraid. They mention that Elves and Men hate them as much as they hate Sauron and how difficult that will make doing anything of their own accord.

All this to say, the interpretation of Orcs in Rings of Power is absolutely lore-appropriate. I think Glug's point of view will be fascinating. The scene with the female and baby orc are much closer to the version of Orcs laid out by the Silmarillion and the trilogy than PJ's orc sacs in his movie trilogy - which doesn't make his film trilogy bad, it's just using one of the alternative explanations for orc reproduction despite Saruman asserting that orcs were once Elves, which seems... odd, but alright.

The Rings of Power isn't being revisionist. It isn't whitewashing Orcs or going beyond canon to make them seem more relatable or more sympathetic. It's following the Silmarillion in some regards with pretty astounding accuracy.

[chaos-of-the-abyss]

Sorry if this seems like a random question, but what's your take on Sauron's alleged repentance during the First Age after Morgoth's fall? Do you think it was genuine?

don't apologize anon! i might not talk about sauron as much as i do other characters but i am happy to talk about him. actually i'm glad you sent me this ask because i've been meaning to make a post like this, and you just gave me the perfect excuse <3

i first want to say that i am not a sauron "expert", so to speak. i have read only snippets of the supplementary material on him, and while i love him, he and the periods he's most active in are not my main focus when engaging with the verse. that said, i think his repentance was more genuine than he's given credit for. which is still not very genuine -- but i don't think it was wholly predicated on only his fear of the consequences of his actions and nothing more, which from my experience is... a common enough take, i guess i should call it?

we get this passage in the silm:

When Thangorodrim was broken and Morgoth overthrown, Sauron put on his fair hue again and did obeisance to Eönwë, the herald of Manwë, and abjured all his evil deeds. And some hold that this was not at first falsely done, but that Sauron in truth repented, if only out of fear, being dismayed by the fall of Morgoth and the great wrath of the Lords of the West. But it was not within the power of Eönwë to pardon those of his own order, and he commanded Sauron to return to Aman and there receive the judgement of Manwë. Then Sauron was ashamed, and he was unwilling to return in humiliation and to receive from the Valar a sentence, it might be, of long servitude in proof of his good faith; for under Morgoth his power had been great. Therefore when Eönwë departed he hid himself in Middle-earth; and he fell back into evil, for the bonds that Morgoth had laid upon him were very strong.

and then in letter 131, tolkien writes:

[Sauron] repents in fear when the First Enemy is utterly defeated, but in the end does not do as was commanded, return to the judgement of the gods. He lingers in Middle-earth. Very slowly, beginning with fair motives: the reorganising and rehabilitation of the ruin of Middle-earth, ‘neglected by the gods’, he becomes a reincarnation of Evil, and a thing lusting for Complete Power – and so consumed ever more fiercely with hate (especially of gods and Elves). Sauron was of course not 'evil' in origin. He was a 'spirit' corrupted by the Prime Dark Lord (the Prime sub-creative Rebel) Morgoth. He was given an opportunity of repentance, when Morgoth was overcome, but could not face the humiliation of recantation, and suing for pardon; and so his temporary turn to good and 'benevolence' ended in a greater relapse, until he became the main representative of Evil of later ages.

lots of interesting things going on here. first of all, sauron does repent, but tolkien head-on asserts that he does so out of fear. and, crucially, despite perhaps feeling bad for his actions, he is too proud to return to valinor and receive a sentence; he is too proud to cast himself into the mercy of someone else. which is one of the most important parts of genuine repentance imo -- the "i was wrong, i'm sorry, and i'm willing and prepared to receive your sentence for me." so in that vein, sauron's repentance isn't sincere. it most certainly isn't the kind of wholehearted remorse that would strongly motivate him to work on becoming a better person.

however, it is also explicitly stated in the letter that he did have some good intentions when he stayed in middle earth. he does have a "temporary turn to good and 'benevolence'", and judging from the phrasing "reorganising and rehabilitation of the ruin of middle-earth," my conclusion is that he seems to have thought that the place was a mess and he could fix it up, which is in line with what we know about his personality. in other words, at this point he genuinely wanted to make the world better. that, to me, demonstrates that while he doesn't go all the way in his repentance, he does have some qualms about his previous actions. now whether these qualms are moral -- i.e. he hurt a lot of people, he feels bad and he's going to stop -- or practical -- i.e. this did not give him the results he wanted, he's quitting -- i'll get into a bit later. for now suffice to repeat that i believe his renouncement of his actions in front of eonwe is not only out of fear and nothing else. he's not thinking "i stand by everything i did, but i don't want to get in more trouble so i'll act sorry," he's thinking "okay, i recognize that what i've been doing up until now was a poor way of going about things."

so. imo sauron at this point between the first and second ages was caught in an in-between of sorts of: while he's not willing to bear himself to another person's judgment, he does see that morgoth's actions were harmful and not as in-line with what he wanted as he thought they would be. and i do think, once having realized that, sauron casts off morgoth completely. hereafter he no longer considers himself to be in his service. off the top of my head, sauron's invocation of morgoth when establishing the cult of melkor during his tenure in numenor was explicitly done out of pragmatism, not out of any continued reverence and fealty to the man. regarding it, tolkien says this:

His cunning motive is probably best expressed thus. To wean one of the God-fearing from their allegiances it is best to propound another unseen object of allegiance and another hope of benefits; propound to him a Lord who will sanction what he desires and not forbid it. Sauron, apparently a defeated rival for world-power, now a mere hostage, can hardly propound himself; but as the former servant and disciple of Melkor, the worship of Melkor will raise him from hostage to high priest.

in other words, sauron founded a cult to melkor of all people specifically to elevate his own status in the eyes of the numenoreans as melkor's right hand during the first age, wherein melkor tenured as the ruling dark lord. he does not do it because he still reveres morgoth and wants people to worship him. granted, those things aren't mutually exclusive, but with the way tolkien phrases sauron's intentions here, as a "cunning motive," i'm inclined to think his aim to elevate himself in the eyes of the numenoreans was far and away his driving motivation.

this separation from his former position as morgoth's servant is why i say i think his recantation at the end of the first age was genuine, but it was always more practical than moral in terms of motivations. he does renounce his past actions as morgoth's servant, and he does so with sincerity -- but this is not because he repents them in the purest sense, but rather because he's determined that morgoth's mode of operation was incompatible with his own aims of efficiency and organization. and these aims, mind you, are the very reason he followed morgoth in the first place:

[Sauron] still had the relics of positive purposes, that descended from the good of the nature in which he began: it had been his virtue (and therefore also the cause of his fall, and of his relapse) that he loved order and coordination, and disliked all confusion and wasteful friction. (It was the apparent will and power of Melkor to effect his designs quickly and masterfully that had first attracted Sauron to him.)

sauron was attracted to morgoth because he perceived how morgoth's power enabled him to enforce the "order and coordination" that he loved, and eliminate the "confusion and wasteful friction" that he disliked. but morgoth by the end of the first age is in what tolkien described as a "stage of nihilistic madness" -- he hates the existence of the world itself and wants to destroy it. that is not what sauron initially and for much of his story wants; in fact it's quite incompatible with what sauron initially and for much of his story wants. and i think after seeing morgoth's second defeat, sauron becomes fully cognizant of just how contradictory to his goals following morgoth was, and that's the crux that drives his repentance. so there's more to it than just fear of what the armies of valinor will do to him if he acts otherwise, but it's not true remorse or regret. he does genuinely repent his servitude to morgoth, but only because he believes it ultimately hindered his own ends.

also, if you'll let me go on a tanget here, anon -- referring to the quote from letter 131, i find it fascinating that tolkien puts emphasis on sauron's greater wickedness after his failed chance at repentance. initially sauron serves morgoth and in doing so is deemed less evil than him, if only for the sole reason that he is in service to somebody else and not himself. the statement with "his temporary turn to good and 'benevolence' ended in a greater relapse, until he became the main representative of Evil of later ages" is that he becomes worse. he becomes even more evil than he was previously under morgoth, because he's taken on the attitude that morgoth had when he rebelled against eru: the attitude "i know best, and i can do whatever i want with the world, because the world would be at its greatest under me." and at that point he's no longer subservient to morgoth; whatever he's doing, he's doing it now for himself and himself only. this is another thing that makes me believe that sauron after the first age ceases to consider himself morgoth's servant, ceases to consider morgoth his lord, and instead considers himself an ultimate authority unto himself, the same way morgoth was before his defeat and banishment to the void. tolkien believed that one of the worst things you can do is impose your will on other people because you believe that your vision, your direction, your knowledge, your worth, is superior to everyone else's. in doing precisely that, sauron becomes an ultimate evil in his own right, not an instrument of morgoth's. which again goes back to my perspective on his split with morgoth and how it informs the sincerity of his repentance.

tldr: sauron's repentance was far from genuine, but not entirely insincere either. he has a redemption arc imo, but it's a failed one. which i think is unique! it's probably one of the most engaging things about his character to me

[hobbitwrangler]

Throwback Thuesday

Thank you @queerofthedagger for tagging me to share a snippet of something that feels worth revisiting. Here's a snippet from my Galadriel & Saruman fic At the Death of a Friend. I had so much fun writing Saruman's POV (I miss him and his delusions of grandeur) and working out his dynamic with both Galadriel and Gandalf.

I wonder if, when I gain the One, she will stay to fight me. Or whether she will drain away to the sea, with the rest of her kin. He was tempted to ask her, but he did not dare speak of his plans, not until he held the One in his grasp. His gaze drifted to her hand, but he could not see the white stone of Nenya. He wondered if she would know, when he held it in his grasp. If fear or anger would take the better part in her.  For some reason, the thought of her fearing him did not bring him any joy. A part of him hoped that she would not stay. Not because he was afraid, he assured himself, but because he did not want to face her in the flesh, to hear her shouts of outrage reaching him through the smogged air.  She had not been paying him mind, her attention still fixed on the view below them. “You used to love the trees,” she said, an edge of reproach in her voice. He shrugged, ignoring the knot of discomfort in his shoulders. “They only have so many uses.” Her gaze drifted east and her brow furrowed slightly. Then a faint smile, so faint, a ghost really, tugged at her lips. He frowned, following her gaze east. He could see only mountains, rising, maybe the faint shadow of Fangorn.  He heard a rustling beside him and to his surprise, Galadriel hitched up her robes and sat, her legs hanging off the edge of the great tower. She looked up at him, apparently unfazed at having conceded any high ground. I suppose it does not matter when you are free of your fleshly form. “Will you not sit? I bear heavy news.” He could not think what news she bore that he would consider ill. She surely could not expect him to find sorrow in his own triumphs. Yet he sat, slowly and carefully, cursing this body for its aches and frailty. He did not dangle his legs over the edge, however, instead sitting cross legged, his staff at hand. “Do you wish to lure me to the edge?” he prodded. Galadriel looked down, taking in the long fall down to the valley floor. “It is a marvellous structure, I will grant the Dúnedain that,” she said, ignoring his question. “They were great,” he agreed. “As Men go.” “Yes,” Galadriel sighed. Her gaze drifted south, almost listless. He wondered when he had ever seen her so sad. He had not been there when her daughter was taken, but he remembered the heaviness in Gandalf’s eyes when he spoke to him of it, how he seemed older, aged. Yet Gandalf always did look older than the rest of us. Middle Earth had latched itself onto him and dug in deep, carving itself into his flesh. Saruman frowned, discomforted by the way his thoughts meandered, directionless and without purpose. He glanced sideways at Galadriel, wondering if this was her doing. She was watching him, an unreadable expression on her face. When his gaze met hers she turned away, then shifted position, bending her knee and resting her chin upon it, her hands clasped about her ankle. He wondered if this had been how she used to sit when she was small, all those thousands of years ago. He tried to imagine her, an elven child, crouched by the banks of a river or perched in a rising tree in the bright daylight of Valinor. He wondered if such a vision was as far away for her as it was for him.   “Mithrandir is dead.”

tagging @imakemywings @emyn-arnens @from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras @dilettantefeminist if you'd like to do this!

[just-an-elf-with-the-socks]

A little snippet slightly based off @admirably-abhorrent headcanon that Mairon still calls Melkor “my lord” as a term of endearment. Not to mention Mórul causing chaos mere hours after he’s born, we love to see it

xxxxxx

Melkor couldn’t stop staring. Feanor could show up on his doorstep ready to hand the Silmarils over on a silver platter and Melkor couldn’t care less.

In the room he shared with Mairon, his little flame was lying in their bed exhausted and proud, the result of forty-eight hours of labor resting on his chest. The minute Melkor had gotten the okay, he had gently climbed into bed next to them.

A small, tiny baby with pointed ears nursed eagerly at Mairon’s chest, only stopping for a few moments to breathe. Mairon was covered in sweat, afterbirth, and blood, and Melkor still saw him as the most beautiful being in Arda. Especially now after seeing him give birth to something so precious.

“You’re staring, my lord.”

Melkor started a bit, luckily not enough to wake their son. He used one hand to gently stroke Mairon’s arm. “I don’t think I could ever stop, my little flame.”

Mairon’s eyes shone as Melkor kissed his forehead, soothing their baby when he whined to change positions. Once again, Melkor was enraptured.

“Did you know?”

Mairon looked up. “What?”

“Did you know our child would be a boy?”

Melkor grinned at the teasing glint in Mairon’s eyes. “I had a bit of an inkling from the start. I was more sure of it the bigger he grew, and the fact that he was late, as his other father so often is.”

Melkor ignored the jab in favor of watching Mórul let out a tiny yawn before going back to Mairon’s breast.

“However, Maia aren’t born with a gender in mind. We come into the world as our souls first picture our physical bodies to be, and we change our fanas to represent who we feel we are inside at the time. This is how Mórul chose to make his entrance. He may very well change his mind as he grows.”

Melkor was just filled with utter wonderment and joy as he whispered. “Fantastic.”

“Did you hear a word I just said?”

“Of course, precious. And I am happy for him.”

Melkor frowned suddenly as he gazed at Mórul.

“What is it, my lord?”

“I suppose I wonder what I have given him. Suppose I gave him nothing to claim his power with.”

Mairon sighed with fond exasperation. “My lord. I’m perfectly sure our son will-“

At that moment, Mórul’s little face scrunched up uncomfortably. He stopped nursing for a moment to raise his head and let out a tiny sneeze. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to frighten someone who had never sneezed before. Mórul whimpered once and then let out a piercing cry.

Mairon began to gather him close when the entire fortress suddenly shook, trembling all over and knocking things off the tables and walls. Melkor tensed, immediately reaching for his family. “Mairon, I believe we’re under attack.”

Worried, Mairon guided Mórul back to his breast, cooing and whispering as calmly as his fear allowed him. Mórul’s crying gradually faded into whining as his red cheeks made contact with his father’s bare chest. As he latched on, Melkor had already headed to the door and prepared himself to slaughter whoever dared to disturb them.

The moment he pulled his armor on the shaking slowly came to a stop. So, Valinor planned to play dirty with multiple siege strikes? Melkor wouldn’t dare let them, they—

“My lord.”

Melkor turned to see his family still safe in their bed. “Do not worry, precious. Their forces will not live to see tomorrow. I will send Thuringwethil to be your guard, and perhaps Draugluin, too, to be safe.”

“My lord.”

“Our outward defenses might be damaged after their brutality, but I promise you it will be repaired before the next full moon. Perhaps I should send you with our personal guard to Angband in the meantime. Yes, that would be the best course of action-“

“Melkor.”

Melkor stopped at Mairon’s insistent tone, only one foot covered with a boot. Mairon was staring at him fondly. “Come here and take off your armor.”

“Little flame-“

“I believe I have discovered the cause of our little “disturbance” just now.”

Melkor looked where Mairon had angled his head and was shocked to find himself staring into icy, blue eyes. Mórul. They were cold as night and so shrewd for one so young. “You don’t mean-“

Mairon smirked as Mórul returned to feeding. “It seems our little one has a flair for the dramatics. After all, there is only one Vala I know of that could rend Arda in two with a single cry.”

Melkor let the rest of his armor fall to the ground, returning their bed with utter amazement in his eyes. “He has the voice of the Valar inside him.”

Mairon nodded. “And the fana of the Maiar.”

There was truly nothing Mórul wasn’t capable of.

[beatles4ever65]

WIP Snippet!

I realized it can't exactly be called WIP Wednesday if it's posted on a Friday, but either way, I wanted to share a short snippet from the latest upcoming chapter (Chapter 15) of Courage of Stars!

     Celebrimbor looks so small in that chair, so lost. His demeanor takes Maedhros back to days in Valinor, time spent holding Celebrimbor to his chest after a nightmare or the numerous times when Celebrimbor, thumb in mouth and big eyes welled with tears, toddled over after losing his favorite stuffed bear. Maedhros’s expression softens as he opens his arms, willing to withstand the pain of his broken ribs if it means he can brighten Celebrimbor’s big, forlorn eyes. Tyelpë looks up in surprise and moves to sit beside Maedhros, hugging him back just as tightly.      When they part, tears hang in Celebrimbor’s lashes. “Thank you,” Celebrimbor mumbles, wiping his eyes with the heel of his hand. “The fact that it happened is so…embarrassing. Shameful. My entire kingdom was utterly destroyed and for what? Hubris? Love? How many people died because I wanted to live? How many will continue to die because of my work?” He shakes his head, biting his quivering lip. “I didn’t give in to his demands. He found out I sent the rings away and he…”      “You don’t have to say anything,” Maedhros says. His heart hurts. “I know.”

Courage of Stars is part of a time travel eldritch alternate universe about family, hope, grief, healing, and redemption. This chapter is shaping up to be a doozy, and I can't wait until I can post the entire thing!

If you want to read more and are new to the series To Begin Again, you can find the link to the beginning of the full series here. I highly recommend reading that way!

[starsofarda]

Hi, this is the second of the bazillion prompts I was given (btw you are still very welcome to fill out my list :D)

@jiangwanyeehaw ha detto: What I recently thought about: Melkor and Maedhros body swap au. There is no explanation, just pure chaos

I hope you like this snippet <3

AO3 Link

The first thing Maedhros noticed was that he was feeling lighter, somehow he wasn't feeling the chains around his body anymore.

The second thing he noticed was that his body seemed healthier, powerful even - an unlikely scenario, considering that he had been indeed a tortured prisoner in that horrible place called Angband for quite some time now and that his strength had dwindled down considerably.

The third and maybe first thing he noticed that made him think that something was horribly wrong was that he heard himself being referred as "Morgoth" by none other than Sauron himself.

That had to be the worst joke in existence.

He looked up - or better, down - and saw the Maia with an unnerved expression. "What did you just call me." His voice was different too, lower, darker. The tone came out more threatening than surpised. "Forgive me, Sire, Melkor. I should have watched my tongue." Sauron's mellifluous tone gave Maedhros a slight shiver he hoped had gone unnoticed.

At that point he looked better at himself head to toe in the faint reflecton of the gold of the lamps that adorned what now he had understood was the throne room. At that point he let out a series of insults worth of his late father.

He was now in Morgoth's body. How? He had no idea. Definitely someone out there was the worst jester in all Arda and as soon as he was out of that ordeal he was going to hunt the culprit for sport, be it Elda or Vala, or Maia or Man yet unborn.

In the meantime, however, he had to come to terms quickly with the fact that he was in Morgoth's body and that made him feel unclean in a way he did not think was possible.

But if he was in Morgoth's body, did it mean that Morgoth was in his body?

He had to stop thinking about it to avoid being sick to the bone. On hindsight, however, this brought up quite a lot of interesting ways to turn the tables.

And Sauron was still there.

"My Lord, are you al-"

"I am. Bring me to the prisoner." He acted out. Acting had been one of his skills after all, back in Valinor. Never he would have thought that he would need them at all. However, if he could fool everyone in Angband long enough, then he had the chance of turning this whole mess around.

And getting back the Silmarils, as he noticed them embedded in Morgoth's crown, shiny as he remembered them in Feanor's hands.

As Sauron lead him through the dark corridors towards a very familiar cell, he saw his body clearly possessed by Morgoth. Maedhros, in Morgoth's body, felt like smirking. "Leave me alone with the prisoner." He ordered. "But Sire, he is not deserving of your attention!" Sauron rebated in the same earlier tone. A simple look was enough to shush him.

"Of course, Sire. I shall take my leave."

As Sauron completely disappeared, Maedhros dropped the act. "Was it you?" "Do you think I would swap body for a ragged Elf barely able to hold himself up? No. Of course not." "You do realize I am now up." "As if you would hurt your own body." "You are bold to assume I would not be above that." "You must hate yourself so so much."

Maedhros, in Morgoth's body, did not dignify that last statement with a reply. Only Morgoth's laughter, jarring through Maedhros' clearly younger and higher voice, echoed through the corridor. "You are going to regret this, Son of the wretched Elf." "It will depend on whether you will regret this first, filth."

And with that he considered the conversation closed. It was going to be a long period, but he had plans. Morgoth too, unfortunately, but Maedhros loved a challenge.

And he was now in for the biggest challenge of all.

[thescrapwitch]

I am still working on fics so here is a snippet from the latest upcoming chapter of From Ruins We Grow to prove it:

“Fingon has returned to life,” said Mahtan.

The two of them sat by the fireplace, sharing a pot of tea as the snow fell outside. Necel was curled up beneath the bed, having stuffed herself on the sardine treats Mahtan had brought with him. The conversation had been pleasant enough beforehand, moving from project ideas to harmless news from Tirion. Mahtan’s words chilled Fëanor’s heart.

“Has he?” Fëanor tried to swallow down the bitter envy that rose up in his throat. “I suppose Nolofinwë is pleased.”

“Your half-brother is still in the Halls,” said Mahtan. There was a weariness to him, as though expecting a familiar argument to start, but also a strange gentleness. An understanding of how deeply Fëanor missed his sons. “As are the rest of his children and Arafinwë’s, save Finrod. Fingon is the second of Finwë’s grandchildren to come back.”

“I see.”

What else could Fëanor say to that?

He’d seen the tapestry of Maedhros’ capture and torture, of those damn cliffs and Fingon’s rescue. What parent wouldn’t be haunted by the sight of their child’s broken, dangling body? What parent wouldn’t be grateful to whoever saved them from such horror?

Though he wasn't surprised by the depth of Fingon’s devotion. It was almost laughable how everyone thought him unaware of the truth. Of course he knew Maedhros and Fingon loved one another. All of Valinor knew. A love that burned as bright as theirs was not subtle. But Fëanor had been upset by it and didn’t want to be - didn’t want his son to charge forth into a relationship out of spite, or worse, to limit his heart in an effort to appease his father - and so bit his tongue to ribbons and faked ignorance.

He assumed one of them - probably Fingon, who hated secrets and preferred honesty, even when lies would have made life smoother - would broach the topic sooner and later. In preparation for what seemed like the inevitable, Fëanor had planned out what to say when Fingon finally knocked on his door and asked for Maedhros’ hand. A whole speech, written out and memorized, with a series of questions and demands ending in acceptance.

Never, no matter his feelings towards Nolofinwë, did Fëanor want to stand in the way of Maedhros’ happiness.

But then Morgoth’s lies had dripped poison into his ears and everyone - brash, gold-hearted nephews included - became enemies. Spies, liars, wolves in sheep’s clothing threatening to tear apart all Fëanor held dear. All his good intentions to support his eldest son were forgotten as he ripped apart any chance of that love blooming into a peaceful union between their two families.

The silence stretched on in the cottage, turning uncomfortable. Fëanor forced himself to speak. “Has he adjusted to returning to life?”

“Not yet,” said Mahtan. “From what I have heard, Finrod is doing his best to help, but Valinor is much different than Beleriand. It shall take time. A long time.”

Fëanor stared into the fire. The flames were as red as his son’s hair. The flames had burnt his bright boy into ashes. “Has he asked about Maedhros?”

“Yes,” said Mahtan. “Every single day.”

[whovianofmidgard]

WIP Wednesday

I know I haven't posted a fic in some time, but that's because I'm working on Maedhros & Maglor week prompts. And to prove that I have been writing indeed, here are some snippets of what I've been working on:

For Day 1: Children, using the prompts Valinor and Innocence

Maitimo sang adorably to his sibling inside Nerdanel, his voice as pretty as an untrained elfing's. And just as an untrained elfing, he was not perfect at hitting all the notes. He struggled especially at a particularly high note, sounding off, coming out more as a breathless squeak. The baby, making sure their opinion was known of their brother's ability to sing, kicked her mother in the side. "Oof," Nerdanel grunted, just as Maitimo hopped up from her lap and excitedly shouted to the whole room his delight over the event. "Someone is a music critic," she muttered, rubbing her belly. All the while Maitimo ran up to Fëanáro, tugging on his father's sleeve in delight and bouncing on his tippy-toes. "Atya, Atya! I felt the baby! The baby moved!"

For Day 4: Strategists, using the prompt Mereth Aderthad

Maedhros watched as his younger brother padded over to his pack, humming a little tune all the way, and unfurled three different outfits, spreading them over his bed. Maglor surveyed all three with a careful eye, the carefree mood of the air shifting as he let the last bars of his melody trail off. “So, what’s the plan?” he asked Maedhros. “I know you have been plotting all throughout the ride here.” He did not dispute Maglor’s words, for he did indeed spend most of their journey to their uncle’s feast making plans of the diplomatic and reconnaissance kind. “I shall stay close to Uncle Nolo and ascertain his future plans. I will also approach the other elven ambassadors in the hopes of initiating further diplomatic relations, perhaps make some alliances, and I will prod around to see what the general opinion among the lords are,” Maedhros outlined. “You, Káno, should make nice with our Arafinwëan cousins and listen out for the usual things.” “Rumour, gossip, our current reputation, news of the Enemy, and any secrets that pass drunken loose lips,” Maglor listed by rote and discarded the stuffiest, most stately ensemble from his three clothing options, narrowing his eyes at the other two.

For the Day 6 prompt Reputation and Legend

Subject: Itemised Record of the Elven Relics Sold from the Elrond Peredhel Collection Date: Fourth Age 2100, the 7th of Nárië Location: The Restored Halls of the historical sight known as The Last Homely House, Rivendell, Eriador Auctioneer: Master Eadric, son of Wermund, representative of the Royal Preservation and Storage Houses Attendance: A total of 53 persons, of which 11 were representatives of cultural establishments, and 42 private collectors About the Collection: Entrusted in the keeping of King Elessar Telcontar by Lord Elrond Peredhel at the turning of the Ages (FO 1.), these elven relics were kept and preserved as per Lord Elrond Peredhel’s last will made upon the shores of Middle-earth (Royal Archive, sect. 15, E.01.). As outlined by said will, the Elrond Peredhel Collection was to be held within the King’s Storage Houses for the minimum of 2000 years, and the maximum of an additional century, or if within that timeframe should such an event come to pass that an elf of black hair and shining silver eyes with a hand possessing a burn scar, and may possibly give any combination of the names: Kanafinwë, Makalaurë, Maglor, or Fëanorion, should he seek out the Collection, any and all items of his choosing must be released into his care. Since no elf of such description has come forward to claim these relics in the past 2100 years, the Royal Preservation and Storage Houses put the items of the Elrond Peredhel Collection up for auction for the display of both public establishments and private collectors for historical and educational consumption as per the wishes of Lord Elrond Peredhel’s will. Note: In the past several centuries there has been no sighting of any elvish presence in Middle-earth, and their continued existence are put to question and is largely debated. However, in light of the myths and superstitions surrounding elvish contracts and oaths, experts of both the Royal Historians and the foremost scholarly circles in Eriador, Rhovanion and Gondor have agreed to honour the maximum deadline appointed in the will for fear of invoking some curse or Doom for accidentally breaking the terms early.

And finally for Day 7: Partners

Maitimo started small and simple with his first gift, if it could be even called one. He timed it right and came upon Makalaurë in the woodworking shed from behind, where his brother worked on mending the snapped neck of a broken lute, and tapping him on the shoulder Maitimo played his hand.  The minstrel looked up from his project, all covered in dust and wood shavings, frazzled dark curls escaping his braid. It was an endearing look that Maitimo had caught him in, and he greatly regretted not bringing paper and charcoal to capture his brother's image to keep.  Then Makalaurë noticed the gift in Maitimo's hand and all but pounced on it.  "Yes, this is exactly what I need," he cried and took the bundle of silver strings, immediately restringing the newly fixed lute. He just as soon all but forgot about his elder brother's presence, turning the pegs with a single-minded focus, until Maitimo pointedly cleared his throat.  Makalaurë's gaze snapped up at Maitimo's face and aimed him a crooked smile, slightly embarrassed for being so absorbed in his project.   "Thank you, Nelyo. I do appreciate the strings." 

[nerdanelparmandil]

Silmarillion WIP

Thank you @antlered-vixen for the tag. I should be working on my fics for Russingong Week, but I'm too busy to write anything atm, so I take the opportunity to dust off another snippet of my big unposted WIP that will, at some point (I swear) see the light :').

He picks up the crown from the bloodied floor. It gleams in the light of the torches’ fire and sits heavy in his hand. The blood makes it slippery, and he wonders if it’s still warm, but he doesn’t take off the glove. Gold and silver are threaded delicately around a smattering of diamonds, zephirs and emeralds. Red blood is smeared by his touch, it drips quietly on the floor and on his boots. He knows, deep down, that no Silmaril will be gained today. The king and queen are dead, their two twins lost in the woods, if Celegrom’s men are to be believed, and Elwing… Elwing has vanished too. Maedhros could order a searching expedition, could set hounds and trackers on her heels - so soon after the attack she could not be far. Yet, he knows he cannot. Soon this place will crawl with orcs, or brigants looking for loot, his men are tired and mourning, their loss grievous. He will not hunt down a child, even if in possession of a Silmaril. Dior has mocked his attempts at a diplomatic solution, Dior has challenged him, has humiliated his name–  It won’t matter. Maedhros knows these are excuses to assuage his guilt. History will not remember his deeds as justified by his multiple requests and humiliation. Historians will paint him as the monster.  Maedhros has known monsters, has seen their glee in inflicting pain, their pleasure in misery. Maedhros feels no joy now, no sense of vindication. Now that the Silmaril is lost again, he sees no meaning in this campaign. Useless. A useless prince, like Dior, who could not hold his reign for more than a handful of years, a useless alliance, squashed and suffocated by hordes of bones. A useless King, like he has been, captive and then maimed, incapable of leading a fractured people. A useless son. Maedhros turns the crown and raises his hand, bringing it in front of his eyes. Red and silver, a marred face. He places the crown on his head, and the blood seeps into his hair, trickles down his face. The king of nothing.

This is the very incipit of this story, which is about Maedhros' return to life in Valinor. I posted another snippet here.

[thelordofgifs]

Multiple Words Monday

Tagged by @eilinelsghost to share a snippet of a WIP! Here's some more russingon:

The next time the question came up was at the Mereth Aderthad, late into the third night of the feast. Maedhros was in Fingon’s tent, and they were both very drunk on the last reserves of sweet strong berry-wine that had been brought from Valinor on the swan-ships of the Teleri. How sweet and familiar Fingon’s mouth had tasted, with the remnants of it staining his mouth maroon; Maedhros thought it a drug yet more potent than any liquor. Here was Fingon straddling his hips, one of his strong sure hands tangling in Maedhros’ braids, the other slipped down to the place where Maedhros’ tunic had ridden up and his bare skin was exposed to Fingon’s warm fingers, and he too was kissing Maedhros over and over again, as hungrily as though the past two nights had not been enough to sate him, and oh, it was a lovely thing, to be wanted— “Marry me,” Fingon gasped against his lips. “We could do it now — ‘twill be a Feast of Uniting by anyone’s measure then—” The fire was up in Maedhros’ blood, too hot for him to think clearly, for the words that should have made him gasp and break away elicited only a little exhilarated gasp. “Finno,” he managed; and clearly Fingon took the name, or else the reverence with which Maedhros said it, as encouragement, for he broke their kiss to better concentrate on peeling off Maedhros’ fine formal clothes, running both his hands appreciatively down Maedhros’ scarred and muscled torso.

tagging in @welcomingdisaster, @polutrope, @thescrapwitch, @sallysavestheday and anyone else who'd like to share! <3

[thephoenixandthecrocodile]

WIP Ask Game

tagged by @greenleaf4stuff and @erulasse23

Rules: Make a new post with the names of all the files in your wip folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Tag as many people as you have wips. people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, then post a little snippet or tell them something about it!

Here's my list!

Do Uruks Dream of Valinor

How to Solve a Problem like a Balrog

Breaking into Mandos’ Hall

Matchmaking in Eregion

Weddings