#Manweweek

[suriquesse]

for @manweweek. ⤷ day one: family | breath & air

[aureentuluva70]

-Unfinished Tales pg 278

Many of the Faithful believing Gandalf to straight up be Manwë in disguise really makes me rethink the kinds of interactions Gandalf would have had with a majority of the Faithful. It would certainly make for some interesting (and potentially very comedic) interactions between the two if a lot of the Faithful actually believed that Gandalf was literally Manwë in the flesh.

Gandalf: *walking by, just minding his own business*

The Faithful, staring in awe: omg its MANWË 😲😯 WE'RE SAVED

Gandalf, spinning around: Manwe?! Where?!

[the-red-butterfly]

The Oldest Of Friends

Day 2: Friends & Love | Rain & Clouds

Second day of @manweweek AND IT'S STILL TUESDAY, I'M ON TIME! I love their friendship so much (@cilil baby girl, I know you wanna ship them, you have my permission go ahead, go ham, green light means go) so so much, I think it was one of the things that first stuck with me when I read the silm. I mean, unless I imagined the whole thing. Wasn't there something about them working together?? Correct me if I'm wrong XD

Anyway, I REALLY wanted to draw Manwë under the rain, I'm doing everything on a time crunch but I would love to try again with more time and mind to put into it.

.

Open for Commissions

[manweweek]

Introduction/About

Hello and welcome to Manwë Week!

Manwë Week is a week-long fandom event dedicated to Manwë Súlimo from J.R.R. Tolkien’s Silmarillion, planned for March 11th - 17th 2024. The month of March is known as Súlimë, so it seemed only fitting to create an event to celebrate the Lord of Winds!

All sorts of fanworks are welcome, including but not limited to art (digital or traditional), fanfiction, moodboards, headcanons or playlists.

Here is a brief overview of this year's prompts:

Day 1: Family | Breath & Air Day 2: Friends & Love | Rain & Clouds Day 3: The Children | Whispering Breeze Day 4: Poetry & Birdsong | Taniquetil Day 5: Free of Evil | Opposition Day 6: Fallen | Storm Day 7: Freeform

For more details, please have a look at the prompt list.

Any questions, suggestions or concerns? Check out the FAQ or send an ask! You can also reach out on @cilil's blog.

ʚ Mod @cilil

A big thank you and shout out to @glorf1ndel and @arofili for providing advice, inspiration and resources for setting up and managing fandom events.

[cilil]

There could be a beautiful narrative irony in the fact that Manwë as King of Arda and Lord of Winds and Air appears to be very free and sovereign, yet if you consider how Eru making him unable to comprehend evil is messing with his free will quite a bit - and perhaps even add in possessive and overprotective Varda - he may have the least amount of freedom among the Ainur actually

[nyarnamaitar]

Just a brief thought for today’s topic of Manwë Week, Free of Evil: I don’t believe Manwë is as ignorant about “evil” (for lack of a better word) as he’s often portrayed to be. He’s innocent, sure, but not dumb. In fact, I think he understands a great many “negative” emotions. He’s no stranger to anger; he recognises envy; he may not be prideful himself, but he doesn’t condemn pride in others. He can even grasp why certain circumstances might push people to commit evil deeds. (Which is why he, even after the First Kinslaying and everything that comes after, still empathises with the Exiled Noldor.) But willful evil? Destruction for destruction’s sake? Hurting others just because you can? That, he cannot — and does not want — to comprehend. Why would his brother, whom he loves and does his best to support, continue down his ruinous path? Melkor had all the chances in the world to be better. And he just chose not to — a fact that Manwë will forever grapple with.

[overlord-of-fantasy]

Day 7: Freeform

I keep thinking about how weird it was, that Gandalf landed in that fireball in RoP an I wondered how that worked. Well the answer obviously is Manwe with a granade/Maiar launcher!

(Manwe: Are you ready, Olorin?

Olorin, in the granade launcher: Yup!)

@manweweek

[elentarial]

"Lo, Manwë Súlimo clad in sapphires, ruler of the airs and wind, is held lord of Gods and Elves and Men, and the greatest bulwark against the evil of Melko

@manweweek

[polutrope]

Mightiest of the Children

G, Fëanor & Manwë. Pulled from the archive for @manweweek.

The stars fall, pummeling the foundations of Taniquetil like blazing hailstones. The mountain trembles. Varda, my partner through all the long ages of Earth, takes the stars back into herself. She is light, and song, and she is young again. The fires sear her bodily raiment; it collects like silver ash about the feet of our throne.

Light of Sun and Moon and stars drifts through the seas of heaven like so much dust.

Arda breaks. My fallen brother is defeated forever. But I can find no hope in the End. Somewhere amid this confusion, the Light that will illumine Arda Healed remains locked in three Jewels. Ilúvatar has placed the fate of the World in the hands of his mightiest Child, and Fëanor does not come.

‘Where is he, Father?’ I ask. ‘The Spirit of Fire, whose marring lies at my feet? Yea, Father, do you deny it? ‘Tis I who is King of Arda, ‘twas I who failed your greatest creation.’

The One does not answer. All the sorrow contained in the Oceans of the World crests and looms above me. I, the Elder King, am afraid.

But ere the last light fades forever, Fëanor comes. In the shape of a white flame, every hue of light contained within him, he comes before my throne. I am laid bare before the naked power of his spirit, until I am naught but wind, and his heat sucks in all the airs that are my lifebreath. His fire feeds upon me, growing, growing so great that he might draw the last of me into himself. I surrender. There is utter stillness, a balancing, in the joining of my soul with his.

He releases me. I am clothed again as a King of the Valar, and he in the form he once possessed in the Noontide of the World. Nay – more beautiful, for his expression is at peace. He wears a smile.

‘So be it,’ he says, his voice like music. ‘By this reconciliation may Arda be Healed.’

He turns from me, and as he descends the mountain the land stills beneath his feet. The looming Ocean recedes and settles back into the deep basins and veins of the remade world.

From the mound of Ezellohar a great light spills out over the earth, and I know that the Jewels have been broken at last.

But by the mark he has left upon me, I know that alone among the countless reborn spirits rejoicing in the new world, Fëanor grieves.

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

A brother's instructions

Day 5 for @manweweek

Rating: E

Prompts: Free of Evil | Opposition

Pairing: Manwë/Melkor for Sofie (nyarnamaitar)

Themes: Dead Dove | Smut

Warnings: Dub-con | Manipulation | Incest | Kissing | Marking | Handjob | Mild choking | Penetrative sex | First time

Wordcount: 2.7k words

Summary: Prior to his wedding to Varda, Manwë’s brother calls on him, offering to teach him how to satisfy his bride in a way he does not expect.

Minors DNI | 18+

This fic is also available on AO3

“I hear you are to be wed.” Melkor leaned against the doorpost, the dark pools of his eyes glinting in the starlight that spilled freely into his brother’s chambers. “And I have come to offer my felicitations, brother mine.”

Manwë turned to face him, his lips forming a bashful smile. His brother’s visits were always welcomed, especially now that an occasion of great significance loomed large before him.

“My thanks, brother,” he returned warmly. “Lady Varda’s wish to be wed to me was wondrous for me to hear.”

“Indeed, brother mine. Indeed.” Melkor was perfectly calm, perfectly amiable. Deep within him, however, anger rose like a tumultuous storm that would have stripped everything around him to its bones had he allowed it. His brother was to be married to another, and the notion distressed Melkor deeply. 

Look at him, he thought, while his brother kept up a lively chatter about his upcoming nuptials. Varda is unworthy of him. He is so radiant. So beautiful. So innocent and unsuspecting of the true motives and desires of others. 

Dark lips curled into a twisted smile. Manwë was beautiful and radiant, as any of the Valar should be. He was also an innocent who was free of evil and pure of heart, a being who could not truly fathom the secret notions and desires hiding within the dark recesses of the minds of others. And he had not seen the desires that dwelled in his brother’s mind, for they had always been concealed from him. Melkor was besotted with him. It had been this way since the moment his younger brother came of age and Melkor found himself smitten by Manwë after he made himself known to him. This feeling grew with the passing of the ages, and Melkor did little to dampen it.  

Innocent and unsuspecting, he repeated to himself. Too innocent and unsuspecting for his own good. Perhaps there is a way yet for me to achieve a sliver, at least, of what I desire, he realized, if I speak the right words. And if I am successful, I may yet have a taste of him before he places himself in the arms of another for all time.

“What you have said is all good,” Melkor began and set his plan into motion. “But it will not be enough. A marriage is more than just a pledging of vows, brother. There are times when a marriage needs more than just tender companionship to keep itself alive. Have you given any thought to the other aspects as well?”

“You mean pleasures of both the spirit and the flesh?” His brother flushed, wringing his hands. Manwë had indeed given the notion much thought, and he found himself praying that he would not fail to please his new bride in any way, for he had abstained from such acts despite the many invitations from others to do so. Oh, he saw nothing wrong with such invitations; he simply desired to wait until he found the companion of his life. “Yes. I know of this brother.”

“Do you desire it?” Melkor asked with feigned indifference. “Does your lady desire it?”

Manwë flushed again, unable to look his brother in the eye. “Yes. To both. Varda is said to be a most passionate woman, and I… I hope that I will be able to please her in every way.”

“I understand completely,” Melkor replied solemnly, pacing his brother’s chamber, his eyes darting to the wide featherbed and its silk sheets. The bed was barely slept in, for they, the Valar, did not require rest and true sleep unless their earthly vessels were weary. And Manwë was rarely weary. 

Perhaps it is time that featherbed was put to some proper use. Melkor stopped by the foot of it before turning to face his brother.

“Do you wish to know how best to please your future queen and keep her content?”

“I do. More than anything.” 

“Then will you allow me to teach you? I have some experience in this sphere. I could guide you.”

His brother—who had been gazing out the windows—snapped around to look at him, startled by this most unusual offer. “You mean I should listen to what you have to say?”

“Not just say,” his brother answered, laughing. “I will show you by allowing you to take liberties with my body. Come now, brother,” he added when Manwë grew pale. “Have you lost your courage?” 

“I… I do not think it is wise, brother,” Manwë said, puzzled. His brother sought to show him how to please his queen instead of just counseling him about what took place in the marriage bed. He did not know what to make of it. What he did know was that such acts were forbidden, not just for the Children, the Eldar and the yet-to-be-discovered Edain, but for the Valar as well. “And it is an abomination, brother, for you and I to cleave to each other in such a way even in the flesh.”

“It is far from an abomination,” Melkor sighed as if in defeat. “But I will leave if you do not desire my guidance.”

“So soon?” His brother cried when he walked past him, comporting himself in the manner of an aggrieved soul. “Please stay, brother; I cannot bear to see you leave so soon.”

Melkor paused by the door, his hand already around its golden handle. The key has found its way into its lock, he thought, pleased with himself, and pleased with how easy it was to bring his brother around. Now all I need to do is to turn it into its proper place. 

“You do not wish me to leave?” he murmured, his back to his brother the entire time. “But why must I stay, brother mine, when you call my offer to help a vile and monstrous act?”  

“Please stay, brother,” his brother beseeched him. “Please. I… I did not mean to insult you.”

“You will trust me and willingly do what I ask of you?” Melkor turned around to face him, his countenance grave. Deep within, however, he was rejoicing. “All of what I ask of you?”

“I…” Manwë paused and hesitated. Melkor invited him to do something that would go against everything they were taught by their creator. However, he wanted to trust his brother. He wanted Melkor to see that he did not doubt his intentions, and he yearned to know how best to satisfy his future queen. “Yes. But just in the flesh, yes?”

“Of course, of course,” Melkor agreed. “Just in the flesh, and not in the spirit. Too much harm can come to us if our spirits are bonded. Now stay here. There is something I must procure for us first.”

That something turned out to be a clear, crystal bottle of oil that Melkor obtained after some discrete searching. It gleamed atop the little table it was placed on, and Manwë regarded it, wondering how it would be used. Then he turned to face his brother, mustering the courage that threatened to desert him at that moment.

“I… I am ready,” he declared softly. His brother smiled.

“First,” said Melkor, “we must kiss. Come here, brother mine. Place your arms around my neck and close your eyes. I will show you how it is done.” 

Manwë obeyed, albeit reluctantly, gasping when he was kissed violently and his brother’s hand tangled in his hair. He willed his mind to open, more than a little frightened by the savagery of his brother’s embrace.

“It hurts,” he exclaimed when his brother tightened his other arm around his waist in a vise-like hold. “It hurts, brother.”

“Tis how it is, brother,” Melkor growled, savoring the warmth lingering in his brother’s mouth. And oh! The sweetness he found lingering within it, the cravings it gave rise to! “Varda will desire this, even act in this manner as well. Listen to me, brother, when I say this is the only way to keep a being like her content.” 

“I… very well, brother.” Manwë yielded, whimpering when he felt the sting of his brother’s teeth against his lips and when the heaviness of his brother’s arousal pressed against his lower belly. Melkor wasted little time, ripping the robes off his brother’s person in his greed to feel flesh against flesh. He was not disappointed in any regard, for when he freed himself of his robes and drew his brother close, he found himself sighing wistfully. 

He feels so good. His brother’s fair skin was uncommonly soft and smelled faintly of cool mountain air. And it was perfect, devoid of any flaw. Melkor had often dreamed of it—his brother’s pale skin pressing against his own and his soft, windblown hair spreading around him like silk. 

And for once, I get to make my vision of us real. Melkor tumbled Manwë onto his bed and sat astride him, marking his throat and arms and torso with his tongue and his lips and his teeth. Manwë—despite the arousal that had already gathered deep within the pit of his stomach—thought this was all too much. Surely the pleasures of the flesh were supposed to be gentler than this?

“Too much, brother. Please.” He tried to resist, to push himself away. His nails inadvertently dug into his brother’s thighs during his attempts to break free. Melkor growled, inflamed, and wrapped his hand around his brother’s throat, pinning him to the featherbed. “Tis too much for me.” 

“It is far from too much,” he lilted, bracing his other hand by his brother’s shoulder. Manwë hissed softly when the pressure applied against his flesh increased slightly, and when the weight of his brother came to settle against the cradle of his hips. He could have used his mastery over wind and air to free himself, but he could not bring himself to do so. He could not bear the notion of wounding his brother in any way. “And it is how your lady would desire it—all heat and flames and passion. Do you wish to stop now, brother mine, when you are so close to discovering how to truly pleasure her?

“I… I do not know.”

“Precisely. You do not know. Which is why I intend to teach you. Now stop resisting my embraces, and let me show you the rest.”

His brother looked at him, his eyes wide and full of confusion. And Melkor, thinking an inducement was needed, released his hold and reached down to wrap his hand around his brother’s cock instead. It produced a much-sought-after effect. Manwë arched his back and let out a transported whine, his hands fisting against the sheets, when he felt himself being stroked for the first time.

“Is that a yes, brother mine?” Melkor asked, masking his elation with innocent warmth, when his brother thrust up his hips. 

“Yes, yes, brother,” Manwë—unable to stop himself—cried out, when yet another flash of pleasure tore through him. 

Melkor groaned when he was addressed so. He did not dwell on it, thinking it would undo him and drive him mad if he did. He set his eyes on the task at hand instead, turning his brother onto his belly, bidding him to wait, and telling him that he had to be prepared for what came next. Manwë waited, ashamed of the want that bloomed and surged through his being, and ashamed for wanting to know more of what his brother had in store for him. 

His brother had a great deal in store for him, though, at the time, he knew little of it. The first thing he felt after the weight of the featherbed shifted again was his brother’s legs forcing his own apart. He turned to look over his shoulder, but his brother commanded him to turn back with a heated thought. The next thing he felt was his brother’s hand, large and cool and slick with oil, caressing the small of his back. Manwë closed his eyes.

What will come next? He wondered. 

Pain came next. Pain like he had never felt before was searing through his insides. Manwë tried to look over his shoulder again when the finger that had breached him sank deeper. 

“What are you doing to me?” He demanded, his words feeble.

“Preparing you, just as I said.” Melkor thrust deeply, pressing his finger against a particular place that made his brother dig his nails into the sheets, tearing at them. His quiet moan was sweet and golden, like music to Melkor’s ears. He pressed his finger against that place again, and his name spilled off his brother’s swollen lips in a whisper. “For Varda may do it as well. There are even special implements that she could use for her pleasure as well as for yours. Would you like to know how she could do this?”

“I… that is yes, brother.” Manwë, still full of shame and self-disgust, moaned again when a second finger joined the first, opening him up even more. Melkor used a generous hand with the oil. He applied it along his length and pushed more inside his brother. Then, when he was more than ready, he gripped his brother’s hips and lifted them just high enough to breach him again without too much trouble. And without warning, he did so, pushing himself inside with one long thrust. 

Manwë cried out: from shock, from pain, unable to comprehend how he could accept such an intrusion, and unable to comprehend how he could accept so much of it. Melkor was big—uncomfortably, painfully so. Manwë felt him grunt against the back of his neck and heard him whisper “Finally,” when he sank home. Then he began to move, his shallow thrusts deepening as his pleasure grew.

This is wrong, thought Manwë, even as hunger for more flared through him, white-hot and blinding. This is wrong. This should not be happening. We must stop. I must put a stop to this. I must…

“Enjoying yourself, brother mine?”

Too late did Manwë realize that his moans joined the euphony Melkor had created with his own. Humiliated, he dropped his head, muffling his cries against his arm. His brother did not mind. He took his pleasure as and how he found it, striking the place he found before, bringing both himself and his brother to the very brink by chasing his own release. 

“You are close.” Melkor tightened his grip with one hand while the other moved to tangle itself once more in the pale silver of his brother’s hair. He grabbed onto it and tugged hard, delighting in the little whine he heard. “Your release is almost upon you. I can feel it in the tightening of your body. Do you want me to show you what that would feel like, brother? When your queen takes you over the edge while sharing pleasures?”

“I… that is yes, yes, brother.” Manwë was starting to think there was more to these lessons, something that Melkor kept hidden from his sight. Still, he could not dwell on any suspicion. Not at that moment. Not when golden light kept bursting to life behind his eyes. He whispered his brother’s name and chased after it, giddy and lightheaded, forgetting his shame, unable and unwilling to linger on his brother’s motives. He whispered brother’s name again, this time when he found that light. He let it wash over him and drown him in its brilliance, his body trembling and trembling while he spilled across the sheets, his brother’s name parting his lips in wild little cries. He was still shaking when he heard his brother’s deep cry, and when he felt the warmth of his brother’s spend flood his insides. Then his brother went still, and a hush settled over his chambers. It was everywhere, as all-consuming as the light that washed over him before. Manwë slowly opened his eyes.

Is it now over? He made a faint noise when his brother finally slipped out of him and collapsed onto his side. Has my brother’s lesson come to an end?

“Are your instructions over, brother?” Manwë murmured when he could finally lift his head and speak. He regarded his brother discretely, drinking in the shimmering, slate-gray skin and the hair that fell around him like a dark waterfall. Then he turned away, mortified for admiring him so. Melkor had seen him looking and did well to hide the triumphant smirk that threatened to burst forth. 

So trusting. So innocent. And finally, mine. Varda will never be able to claim all of him now. My mark will forever be etched on his spirit. 

“Our lessons are far from over,” Melkor began after he gathered his breath. “Rest, brother mine. I have so much more to teach you. They too will serve you well, I think, where your new queen is concerned.”  

[suriquesse]

for @manweweek. ⤷ day three: the children | whispering breeze

[aureentuluva70]

Manwë finally seeing Melkor again after so long only to find him so terrifyingly weak and hollow compared to his past self and Melkor coming to the same horrifying realization at the same time is spinning around in my brain at breakneck speeds.

[the-red-butterfly]

Day 1: Family | Breath & Air @manweweek

First day of Manwë week ya'll! My favourite boy ever <3 I am SO under prepared but you bet your ass I'm going to do every single day of this thing. Lets be honest though, I probably wont post or finish anything on time ✨

Breath and Air as my inspiration for the soft redesign I'm attempting to do here. Is it very different from how I usually draw him? Not really? Do I care? Heck no, look at how gorgeous he is!!

Now. Someone plis tell me if they like this the design more than the one I usually do 👁

.

Open for Commissions

[manweweek]

1 day left until Manwë Week!

For more information, have a look at

About Prompt list FAQ

See you there and happy creating!

[cilil]

Manwë Week Day 1

"Brother, where are you going?"

Day 1: Family | Breath & Air Relationship(s): Manwë & Melkor Synopsis: Despite many rejections, Manwë tries to connect with his brother Warnings: / AO3

To Manwë, his brother was nothing short of a miracle. Older, greater and so intelligent and wise in his innocent eyes, he was the light of his life and the very first being he had ever perceived right after his birth, even before he had heard his father's voice for the first time. 

To Melkor, his brother was a nuisance, and his callous willingness to express such sentiments caused Manwë a lot of grief and hurt. 

Whenever he wasn't cradled in the arms of his father or instructed in the ways of music and the making of things, the young Vala followed him around the Timeless Halls like an ethereal, cloud-like duckling. He soon began to mimic the way his older brother shaped his spirit as well, assuming a form with arms, legs and a head; one he would one day recognise as reminiscent of his father's yet unborn children and the appearance He Himself took while handling them, from which he assumed Melkor's inspiration had come. 

Manwë's form, still small and clumsy, was shrouded in a gentle white and blue glow and covered by fluffy clouds he had breathed into existence all by himself, a feat that had made his father proud and Melkor laugh at him with something he not yet understood as contempt. He only knew it was bad because Eru had scolded the older Vala for it. 

"Brother, where are you going?"

Melkor was once again leaving him behind after singing together for their father, abandoning him in front of the throne, and Manwë hurried after him, hoping that maybe he would feel inclined to play with him this time. His optimism and faith in the ultimate triumph of good, undying and eternal like he himself was, had already led to many rejections, at times even being pushed away and thrown around by his mightier brother, but his innate desire to love and please those around him was ever stronger. 

When Manwë reached out with his spirit, he was instantly met with a wall of a strong, distinctly unfriendly emotion he didn't understand; one that he would one day learn was called anger. 

"Go away." 

"But why?" 

He approached Melkor without fear, opening his heart freely to show him his love and admiration. 

"Can I come with you?" 

"No. I don't want you to."

"Can we maybe play together?" 

"No. I don't want to play with you."

"Can we sing together?"

"I need no other voices. Only you do." 

Manwë's spirit shrunk a little. He was not so young and naive anymore as to not grasp the concept of being unwelcome, but he still didn't understand why, and his brother had never bothered to explain. His best guess was that he was simply too small and unimpressive for someone as amazing as Melkor, even though his father often told him how lovely he was. 

"But why, brother? Have I done anything wrong?" Manwë asked; while he was willing to leave if it made his brother happy, he felt a strong need to at least understand his mistake. 

"Because I need no others by my side." 

Melkor turned to leave him behind once more, as he always did.

"You don't have to need me. We can just... be together?" Manwë tried. Yet instead of placating his brother, it only resulted in their exchange being cut short and him being pushed back, blown away like a feather in the wind. 

All he could do was float in place and watch Melkor vanish into the ethereal light of their father's realm. 

— — — 

Manwë had considered returning to Eru to be with him instead, yet his spirit felt heavy and burdened with an unknown emotion he would one day understand as shame. He wanted to make his father and brother happy, not to have them be upset with him or on his behalf, so he hid himself and searched his ëala for whichever shortcomings prevented him from connecting to his beloved sibling. 

Alas, his search was — as it had always been before — unsuccessful, for Manwë in his youth and innocence couldn't grasp the concepts and emotions that Melkor's heart had begun to conceive ever since others were born beside him, most notably the ability to hate and envy; and ever and anon would these things elude him, as Eru had designed him to be free of what would one day be called evil. 

Thus Manwë eventually wandered the Timeless Halls alone, repeating all the melodies he remembered and making more little clouds that he shaped to his heart's content, moving them around by summoning his element. His father had told him that he would one day be the Breath of Arda, the world that was to come; and whereas his understanding of such a destiny was as of yet limited, he nevertheless felt that it was good to practice. 

There was a shape he loved in particular, one born and growing from the slowly awakening seeds of inspiration he carried within him. Manwë imagined creatures he was going to make in the future, beings of wind and air like him, with wings and feathers and other features he would devise together with Yavanna. 

He had shown Melkor his ideas, proud that he had finally been inspired like his great brother was all the time, and had been told that his designs were silly and stupid. Still, Manwë held on to his winged creatures and played with them when he was by himself, shaping their likeness with his element and carrying them around like the Children would one day have their stuffed toys. 

It was then that he came upon his brother again by accident, holding on to the biggest cuddle-cloud he had made yet. Melkor was curled up in a corner and unusually still and silent, seemingly resting from whatever he had been up to in the meantime. 

Surely it must have been a great and miraculous deed if it could exhaust his strong sibling so, Manwë thought in awe, and approached him as quietly as he could. Perhaps Melkor hadn't meant to hurt him earlier and merely thought his little brother was too young to join him. Perhaps he was protecting him like his father always did. 

Lighting up with joy, Manwë wanted to curl up beside him and snuggle up to him, but something inside him told him not to. As great as his optimism and love for his brother were, he had on some level understood that his presence might still be unwelcome; yet even so, he wanted to do something to show Melkor just how much he loved him, to give him a part of himself to nurture their bond. 

Tenderly and carefully, Manwë nudged the older Vala's ëala until its limb-like appendages opened up and placed his cuddle-cloud in its embrace. Melkor shifted then, seemingly sensing that something was nearby, but remained in his state of meditative rest. Instead he embraced his brother's creation, and a few soft notes of contentment emanated from him. 

He likes it! Manwë thought to himself, glowing brightly with pride and joy, and continued to watch his brother for a while longer until he left him alone again. 

Maybe Melkor didn't need his company and thought he didn't want it either, but there was a part of his ëala that liked when a part of his brother was with him and sought comfort in the closeness of another; and if Manwë was going to return to his father's loving embrace, he should get some cuddles as well. 

Thanks for reading! ♡

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

[nyarnamaitar]

For today’s topic of Manwë Week, Family, I’ve been thinking about Melkor and Manwë’s brotherhood and what it would've looked like if Melkor hadn't fallen. I’m particularly interested in this citation from Morgoth's Ring: "He (i.e. Melkor) was to make / devise / begin; Manwë (a little less great) was to improve, carry out, complete."

I like this image a lot, because it reveals a great deal about their respective personalities. Both are interested in creation, but they go about it differently. Melkor takes the lead, as is usual for him. He has big dreams and big ideas, but he lacks focus, and finds it difficult to complete what he started. Manwë, on the other hand, has a mind just as keen as his brother, but he is content to let Melkor lead. He finds peace in seeing a work fulfilled, in seeing things come to fruition. Or, Melkor plants the seed and Manwë makes it grow. 

Going back to the citation, however, I can’t help but think it contradicts The Silmarillion a bit — or nuances it, at least. If Melkor shares in each of his brethren’s powers, then Manwë should too, (albeit in a smaller capacity). If Manwë is to complete and even improve Melkor's work, then he has to be able to create outside of his own domain.