#Azaghal

[pentagrammon]

Azaghal

[fickleartdump]

that one present that keeps getting regifted

[child-of-hurin]

Tolkien character 30 day challenge # 5-8 Bombur/Nienor/Ecthelion/Azaghâl. 22 more to go 😂😂😂 pic.twitter.com/t4vcEXCxJW

— Jing (@_S_shanshan)

August 1, 2019

source: pic.twitter.com/t4vcEXCxJW

[stacytea]

With the ~ local elvish dads horrified when their kids fall in love with a person of another species, 100% worse than anything if it's a dwarf~ poplular thread in mind, may I propose an inversion that would include: - Azaghal of Belegost with a well known super-embarassing crush on Lord Maedhros (Mae doesn't mind bro was literally teh local jessica rabbit of valinor, he's quite used to this) -the idea of dwarves spending their afterlives in some halls made by Aule for them instead of going off into the void like other mortals and most importantly- post rebirth Feanor who keeps asking his eldest son if he considered giving that nice dwarf a chance at almost every dinner he's invited to (bonus points if it's right in front of Fingon's salad because I LOVE TEH mean-parent-in-law (wredna teściowa XDDDD) Feanor)

[arofili]

Lover’s Token

for @gaycodedvillainy​!

[ao3] - rated M; 967 words; Maedhros/Fingon/Azaghâl and a lot of gender talk

~

“So you’re the one he gave my helm to,” Azaghâl said, sizing Fingon up. “Pardon my saying so, Majesty, but if it didn’t fit Lord Fire Giant over there, it can’t have fit you!”

“It was a political gift,” Maedhros drawled from where he had draped himself across no less than three dwarven-sized chairs. “Symbolic. You know.”

“Symbolic? Hardly!” Fingon laughed. “’Twas a lover’s token, Majesty. A high calling for a mighty helm!”

“Well, you can be excused for giving your wife a gift, I suppose,” Azaghâl said magnanimously. “It makes me wonder, though, what you thought I gave it to you for!”

“Fingon is not my wife,” Maedhros corrected, perhaps a little more sternly than necessary.

“My apologies,” Azaghâl said. “I should not have assumed you were wed. I only thought, by the wire in her hair—”

“What Maedhros means to say is that I am his husband,” Fingon explained. “As for my wire, ’tis another lover’s gift, but it is our rings that show we are married.”

“Ah!” Azaghâl nodded. “I see!”

“In any case, the helm is no longer mine,” FIngon admitted. “I gave it to my father’s vassal, Hador Lord of Men. Now there was a head great enough to wear it!”

“Though if it was a lover’s token that time, then your father was the lover in question,” Maedhros said drily.

“He needed a push, or Hador would have pined for all his mortal days,” Fingon agreed. “I said it was my father’s idea, and they were in bed together within a year. May both their souls rest in peace!”

“So, Azaghâl, what did you mean by your gift, then?” Maedhros asked, quirking an eyebrow. “Was it an attempt to court me, after all?”

“Not unless you want it to be,” Azaghâl laughed.

Fingon smirked at his husband, who rolled his eyes. “I would not be opposed,” he teased.

Azaghâl blushed. “Majesty—!”

“The Noldor in Exile are not so prudish as our kin in the West,” Fingon said. “Russo and I have many times taken a third to our bed.”

“I am not elven-fair,” Azaghâl protested, but blushed.

“Nay, you are dwarven-handsome,” Maedhros said, sliding down to his knees with glinting eyes.

“You are seducing me,” Azaghâl realized.

“Guilty,” Fingon said, grinning wickedly. “What say you, Majesty?”

“I must warn you, first, that I am no dwarf-man,” Azaghâl said. “Elves and Men are strange about such things, I know, but—”

“Worry not,” Fingon assured. “Russo has enough cock for the three of us! I may be a nér—a male—but it was I who bore our son and heir.”

“Then—” Azaghâl frowned. “We Khazad let outsiders think what they will of us. We all have beards, where you have none, so you see us all as male—but I myself am quite feminine for my people! I am King, but in our tongue I am Uzbad, which has no gender, not like your Aran... But am I wrong in thinking your folk determine such things at birth?”

“If you mean gender, yes,” Fingon said. “But I corrected my family when I was old enough to tell them the truth of my spirit: that I am a nér, and not a nís.”

“We—yes, like that.” Azaghâl nodded. “But there is no guessing at birth, among the Khazad. The shape Mahal made us, that is not related to our gender.”

“Then—you are a woman?” Maedhros asked. “But you do you have a cock?”

“Crudely put, but—yes,” Azaghâl said, scratching her beard. The talk of gender and culture had banished her blush, but it returned now with a vengeance.

 “And I am a male with a cunt,” Fingon exclaimed. “We make a good pair!”

“Finno,” Maedhros grumbled.

“You’re just jealous,” Fingon teased. “You have the misfortune of being ‘normal’—a male with a cock, that is. How boring!”

“Enough talking!” Maedhros declared. “Azaghâl, my lady—”

“Stick with ‘King’ and ‘Majesty,’ if you will,” Azaghâl said firmly.

“Then from one King to another,” Fingon said, unbuttoning his robes, “if you are willing, I would quite like to ride that womanly cock of yours.”

“Could we both fit in you, Finno, do you think?” Maedhros growled, crawling to tug at his husband’s kingly robes.

Accepting the surprising turn this “diplomatic meeting” had taken, Azaghâl cast down her crown, and her own robes with it. “First I would like our Fire Giant to put his mouth to good use,” she decided, taking out her cock and stroking herself to hardness. It was easy, watching Maedhros and Fingon touch each other like that.

“Gladly,” Maedhros rasped. He turned to face her, and his eyes widened. “Azaghâl! By the Valar!”

She hesitated. Had she done something wrong...?

“Are all dwarves so—textured?” Fingon wondered, staring at her with just as much intense hunger as his husband.

Azaghâl looked down at herself. She had the normal grooves and ridges, she thought. “Yes?”

“You shall ruin me for elf cock,” Fingon sighed, dipping his hand down to finger himself. “Smooth! Hairless! Why in Arda would I prefer that when I could have this?”

“Finno,” Maedhros pouted.

“Smooth?” Azaghâl could not help but laugh. “You must show me, Fire Giant.”

Maedhros did—and now it was Azaghâl who stared. He was—Mahal’s stones, he was as massive there as he was everywhere else! And—looking between the two, for Fingon was now completely bare as well—they were both hairless, everywhere but their heads. How strange! And yet—how exciting!

“Well, suck her, Russo!” Fingon exclaimed. “I must feel her inside me, and if she says you must do that first...”

Maedhros knelt, eyes half-lidded, and opened his scarred mouth. “Let me serve you, my Kings,” he rasped.

Azaghâl grinned, and gave him what he asked for without delay.

[tolkienosaurus]

Only children of Ilúvatar count, including adopted ones.

[pastelsugar6w6]

imagine Azaghâl losing his entire shit when Maedhros casually mentions 'Mahal? oh you mean Aulë. I remember him. He and my haru Mahtan were actually really close. He used to hold me on his shoulders sometimes while haru worked the forge'

[arlenianchronicles]

I feel as though Dwarves in particular would be especially unnerved by the fleshless, woody, eyeless immortal beings that are 6+ feet tall (assuming the Dwarves are still regular Dwarves in your AU). I think of all the Dwarf/Elf interactions like Maedhros/Azaghal, Celebrimbor/Narvi, and Legolas/Gimli and how the Dwarves get that awful sense of uncanny valley. Adds another layer to the feud between Elves and Dwarves

Oh I definitely agree! In fact, your ask actually reminded me about another ask I got, back when I first started the AU: someone sent an idea about what the Dwarves might look like! If I remember right, it was like they were made of stone - so now I've finally drawn them! Would this change the feelings/feud between them and the Elves? Certainly not XD

Here is their relaxed, "not in battle" form loll The little ones are the Dwarf children, very cute, very Ipod-shaped XD The Dwarves are generally made of different types of stone, much like the Elves are made of different types of trees! And for their beards, I thought it'd be sweet if they were made of moss, so the Dwarves could "cultivate" their beard-gardens with all sorts of colourful moss types and different designs, whatever they like!

When it comes to battle, I imagine they enter their second phase, which is kinda like a miniature form of the stone giants from the Hobbit movies lmaoo Like, they break out into muscled arms and legs like stone mechas, and start swinging!

As for those Elf/Dwarf relations, I think your idea still fits with the Dwarves being eldritch, since they'd view the Elves as being pretty unnerving and uncanny regardless, especially with those creepy masks and all the extra "unnatural" layers they wear (whereas the Dwarves just cultivate the moss gardens on their bodies and that's it hahaa)

Here's Maedros getting a Dwarven welcome as he goes to visit Azaghal:

Thanks for the ask, anon!! I'm so glad I got to draw the eldritch Dwarves after all these years hahaa Thus the AU develops! XD

[whosthatsilmcharacter]

(All art used with EXPRESS permission from the artist)

[abomination-unto-nuggan]

Fingon: What’s it like being tall? Is it nice? Can you reach comfortably for the cupboards?

Maedhros: We live in constant fear of the short ones who, in my experience, will climb 4 chairs, 2 boxes, a small coffee table and 6 oddly placed stools to get what they want.

Azaghal: It was one time!

[3cosmicfrogs]

i think the Silmarillion would have been even cooler if tolkien let Glorfindel and Azaghâl fuck nasty.

[seventhwall7]

"Death of Lord Azaghal"

A prequel to my other painting called "Dwarven Retreat". It depicts dwarves of Belegost fighting against dragon Glaurung and death of their lord Azaghal. This was one of the pivotal moments of Battle of Unnumbered Tears, which won them great renown, because their bravery saved the rest of aligned forces from total destruction.

[elronds-library]

As the Falling Leaves

by sallysavestheday (@sallysavestheday)

A collection of Tolkien drabbles and double drabbles.

2. Adornment (Finrod/Edrahil) 3. Twilight (Aredhel) 4. To Catch the Light (Maedhros) 5. Tenderness (Sam and Frodo) 6. Staff of Life (Finrod/Beor) 7. Vivre Ensemble (Maglor and Finrod) 8. Monumental (Maedhros/Himring) 9. Recognition (Legolas and Gimli) 10. Birds (Findis and Fingon) 11. Bright Souls (Aegnor and Angrod) 12. Lingering (Beleg/Turin) 13. Bend (Fingon/Maedhros) 14. Flight (Elwing and Maedhros) 15. Art! (Telchar, Azaghal, Maedhros, Fingon, and Hador) 16. Stained (Nerdanel) 17. When Words Will Not Suffice (Argon and Anairë) 18. Moulting (Éowyn, Faramir and Legolas) 19. Mightier than the Sword (Dírhaval) 20. Withywindle (Goldberry and Maglor and Tom Bombadil)

Teen, No Archive Warnings

Words: 2,699

[mossy-thing]

Building a sandcastle close to the shore

Ao3

Gen

Characters: Azaghâl, Maedhros

Tags: Humor, Alcohol, Cultural Differences, mild blasphemy, Mood Swings, mentioned Russingon, reluctant friendship

Summary: Azaghâl and Maedhros meet to discuss their alliance and get... Carried away.

“There there,” Azaghâl huffed awkwardly, patting one of the long, gangly limbs the first born son of the late High King had buried his face in. He was not quite sure how to handle this… situation. What had begun as diplomatic meetings a few decades prior, when he had first started the alliance between his people and Maedhros’, had now – He blinked, trying to find the best word to describe it. Evolved? Devolved? With a shrug, he settled for turned. It had turned, then, into… Into…

He groaned. First he lacked verbs, now the nouns and adjectives had abandoned him too! Doubtfully, he eyed the finely carved bottle of liquor in front of him. Just how much of this had he drunken?

Maedhros lifted his head, not without some effort, to stare at Azaghâl blearily. “I know”, he croaked, misinterpreting the dwarf’s groan. “I’ve also no clue what he wants from me.”

As he dropped his head back onto the table, Azaghâl leaned back to stare at the ceiling of the council room they were now alone in. Were they in his own halls, beautiful shapes would have been carved into it, carefully and artfully framing runes of friendship and protection of Mahal, helping the councilors meet wise decisions. Here, they were also not left undecorated, but not with carvings in the ceiling itself but with skillfully woven tapestries, showing many things in many colours that Azaghâl was too drunk to focus on, wound in a swirling spiral around the Emblem of Maedhros’ house, an eight pointed star. One image, though, seemed to pull him in, two pale, long fingered hands clasping together firmly, one clothed in a blue sleeve, the other in a red one, and both wrists and fingers finely jeweled. That rang a bell. A distant one, for sure, but a bell indeed.

Red and blue, clasping hands in unison, only to betray their promise later on. An… interesting choice, for a council room.

“He’s just so, so brilliant,” Maedhros mumbled into his sleeves and the table, desperation mingling into despairing love, and Azaghâl decided, right then and there, that it did not truly matter how much he himself had drunk. However many glasses or bottles he had emptied, it must have been far less than the amount of wine flowing through Maedhros' veins, and that, in some way, filled him with a sense of smug pride.

“And he is so strong,” Maedhros was saying, pushing himself back up and carding his long, bony hand through his thin, red hair, ruining the last remnants of the impressive braids he had worn when greeting Azaghâl in the morning. “But so reckless with it, and whenever he rides off, I…” his voice faltered, broke, and he reset it with a lot of effort, “I’ve no clue if I’ll ever see him again.”

He turned his eyes back towards Azaghâl, who realized with a start that they were glittering with tears. He drummed his fingers against the dark wood of the council table, the alcohol weighing down his tongue as he searched for proper words of reassurance. “If Mahal wills it,” he settled on at last, “then you and he will surely find peace, after the war.”

Maedhros' expression turned sour, suddenly, and he snarled, or tried to, it turned into more of a lall, “Too often have I hoped for aid from the Valar. It’s come to me but once, and I’m not foolish enough to think it will do so again.”

In a way, Azaghâl was almost relieved to find his… to find Maedhros' face twist into a scowl, to have some of his usual eloquence returned. He was used to that side of him far more than he was to whatever he became when drunk. He nodded, solemnly, before realizing he should probably say something. “Then you’ll find that end in spite of the Gods!”

He was actually quite proud of that idea. But Maedhros only shook his head sadly. “Vairë weaves my every deed before I even think of it,” he sighed, dragging a finger over the polished surface of the table. Azaghâl frowned, trying to remember who Vairë was. The dwarves did not care for many Gods other than Mahal, unlike the elves did, and he was struggling to find the name of said Goddess in Khuzdul, if she even had one there. If she did, he gave up searching before he could find it, and decided based on context clues that she must be a Goddess of Destiny or something or another. He made a brief mental note to ask experts on elven culture for more on it once he returned home, a note he would forget less than three minutes later.

“Didn’t you leave Valinor to get away from the Gods? Why should they still control you, if you’ve wrestled it back?”

Maedhros sighed wearily and Azaghâl resisted the urge to roll his eyes, lest he made the poor sod feel he did not wish to support him in whatever crisis of faith he was going through. “That is just it, isn't it?” he groaned. “Why do they still have a say over what I do and don't do?”

Azaghâl leaned closer as some spark of clarity returned to Maedhros' glowing eyes and he furrowed his brows. “Why would they?” he whispered. “How dare they!” he exclaimed, suddenly leaping from his chair, swaying dangerously and holding himself up only by gripping the edge of the table – Good, Azaghâl thought, he doubted he could have saved him from a fall in the state he himself was in. Maedhros winced at some pain fierce enough to push through to his drunken mind and wiped hair from his face, going back another few times, his movement growing increasingly more exasperated before the bothersome strand was put into its place, or at least into a less infuriating position.

“Do they believe I owe them?” he asked into Azaghâl’s general direction – he shrugged helplessly, but Maedhros had already moved on – “Do they think sending that eagle to my rescue was enough to get them back into my good graces?”

He sounded so offended by this notion that Azaghâl had to suppress a smile.

“And after all the evil they have caused!” The dwarf took another sip from his far too longly abandoned drink, nodding in silent agreement. “After causing the death of my grandmother, my grandfather, my father – after their mindlessness has caused the Two Trees to die?”

“After they put the Sun in the sky!” Azaghâl added, glad to not be completely lost in the conversation and grasping at any and all strands he could. He might have been born after the Sun had risen, but he had relatives who were older than him, who had cursed the thing throughout his childhood, and so, since he was a noble dwarf, he had taken up the dislike as well. Maedhros seemed to agree.

“The Sun!” he shrieked, waving his long index finger so abruptly at Azaghâl he had to duck to avoid being poked by a far too sharp nail. “Can you even fathom how hard that gigantic thing has made negotiations with the Avari and Sindar?” He took a big sip from his own drink, leaning over the table to set it back and putting a long since discarded map into risk of getting soaked with wine when he slammed the cup back down. Azaghâl quickly pushed it off the table and away from the slowly spreading puddle.

“I put on my best clothes, convince my brothers not to kill anyone, which is already a considerable feat, mind you, then I am kind! Considerate!” He slammed his fist down to accentuate every word, and now Azaghâl had to save his own drink – “I listen to every single one of their concerns, I offer protection! Alliance! Trade! And they waste my time by listening like they want those things before they say Oh but what about the sun – What about the damn thing?! Do they think it’s my fault it is up there burning their eyes? Do you think that?”

“Certainly not!”

“Of course not! Why would that have anything to do with me?!”

He abruptly deflated, pulled the chair away from the table and sat back down. He slowly put his head back into his arms, suddenly reminding Azaghâl very vaguely of a soaked dog. A very tired, overgrown soaked dog with far too thin limbs and far too long ears.

Left with no other options, he hesitantly reached out once more to pat his shoulder, swaying a bit as he leaned forward.

And then, Maedhros lifted his glazed eyes, blinked slowly, and whispered hoarsely, “Th’art a true friend, Azaghâl. I thank thee.”

The dwarf choked, suddenly found himself thrown into a coughing fit. Some of the alcohol was pushed up through his nose, and his eyes watered at the burn. Why would Maedhros slip into the informal like that? And without even the hint of a warning!

He heard Maedhros gasp, and then he was being slapped in the back by a being who had lived for millenia, who had witnessed more horror than Azaghâl could imagine and who fought so fiercly that Azaghâl did not want to imagine how their enemies felt when coming across him.

“Art thou alright?” Maedhros asked, and there was concern in his voice, care, and – by his Maker, Azaghâl was not drunk enough for this.

I hope you enjoyed this one, it was certainly a lot of fun to write. If you did, consider leaving a comment! Those mean the world to me.

[gilgalahad]

Azaghâl, Dwarven Lord of Belegost, 472 First Age

-Tang Wen Xi

[eleneressea]

☮️ for Maedhros and Azaghal or/and any dwarf-elf friendship you like (bc I am a sucker for tall-short people friendship)

Maedhros & Azaghâl

Azaghâl loved giving gifts, and his gifts to Maedhros included the Dragon-helm, Narsil, and several pieces of armor; they joked that Azaghâl was going to outfit him entirely as a dwarven warrior. Maedhros sent him gifts in return, which initially caused some miscommunication about what sort of relationship they were having. Maedhros visited Belegost a few times as well, though usually Azaghâl visited Himring instead, because Maedhros disliked leaving the March during the Long Siege.

Celebrimbor & Narvi

Elrond introduced them, since as Gil-galad's herald he would be doing a lot of his diplomacy; Narvi was not expecting to have more than a working relationship with him, but then it turned out that they got along really quite well, and one thing led to another between them until they were living practically in each other's back pockets until Narvi's death. Celebrimbor designed her tomb and largely stopped working with stone after that.