#Silm fanfic

[sandmoer]

“Sorry… my city can no longer provide shelter for a creature as beautiful as you. ”

A rare respite from two years of torture.

[sotwk]

My Community got approved!!

Gonna be honest, I didn't give the concept of this community a whole lot of thought before I created it, so I need to sit and think about it for a while before I start inviting people.

At the core of it, I want this community to be a space where fic writers can receive extra support and love from a Justice League style-team of the best and kindest Tolkien Fic Readers out there.

If you have what it takes to be that kind of Super Reader and you're interested in joining a Super Team, please let me know. :)

[potatoobsessed999]

Finrod Felagund. "Philosophic discourse regarding the enmity of Orcs with Elves." The Philosophy of Finrod Felagund. 2nd ed., edited and translated by Vardamir Nólimon, Armenelos, S.A. 130.

[Ed. note: Private papers of Finrod Felagund. Written in his own hand. Dated to the season of Firith in the year 455, shortly before the Dagor Bragollach.]

Fact: According to the lore of our people from the days of Cuiviénen, the Enemy fashioned Orc-kind by his torture and slow corruption of Elven captives.

Question: How did our people learn this lore? Can it be that any ever escaped from the depths of Utumno to serve as witness?

Fact: In the lore we got of the Valar there is to my knowledge no teaching regarding the origins of Orc-kind.

Conjecture: It may be that our lore is not reliable on this point.

Fact: There are a few among us who dwelt at Cuiviénen, and others of their number abide yet in Aman; none of them have to my knowledge disputed the accuracy of our lore on this matter.

Fact: The fëar of Elves and Men have their differences from one another, but none so fundamental as the distinction between the fëar of the Eruhíni and the spirits of the non-speaking creatures. The spirits of non-speaking creatures cannot properly be called fëar, as the distinction in question is one of kind and not of degree. (Indeed fëar cannot be spoken of at all in terms of degree or size, as each fëa is itself indivisible.)

Fact: The lore we got of the Valar tells us that the fëa cannot be destroyed by any means.

Fact: Also of that lore, we know that the Enemy cannot truly create, only twist in mockery what has been created.

Fact: Also of that lore, we know that the Dwarves have their fëar of Ilúvatar alone, and not of Aulë. Before the granting of their fëar they could not speak, nor had they any will of their own, but could only obey the will of Aulë.

Fact: Orcs speak, and there is sense behind their words.

[continued on Ao3]

[dalliansss]

“We need to dispose of this creature,” Curufin says, mirroring Celegorm’s sentiment.

“Do you think we can eat it?” Finrod wonders out-loud. “Steaks.”

Curufin rolls his silver eyes so hard, Turko briefly worried they might pop out of his head. “Ingoldo, do you remember when you first encountered potatoes? Yes? You ate them raw and food poisoned yourself. We are not eating anything wrought by Morgoth’s foul sorcery. Away with the idea!”

Finrod pouts mightily and harrumphs. Then Edrahil calls the King for an urgent matter, and the golden one flounces away to follow his captain. Turko shakes his head.

“Only one elf mad enough to suggest to try eating a godsdamn dragon,” Turko says, bemusement in his tone.

Curufin crosses his arms. “I’m dumbfounded you hadn’t suggested it first, hanno.”

“Are you shitting me? With the stink this creature has? Not even my most rabid dogs will want a piece of it.”

[Dragonsmoke / AO3]

[sillysistersusi]

Because they loved us so

Fandom: The Silmarillion

Celebrimbor & Elrond

Summary: Elrond and Celebrimbor braid each others hair and talk about the family they have lost.

Celebrimbor laughed as he continued to braid Elrond's hair. "Uncle Maglor did what?"

Elrond wiped a tear away from under his eye, for he had laughed so hard that his eyes had begun to water. "Yes, Maedhros was anything but enthusiastic about it, but in the end even he could not help but grin."

"I really did not think Maglor would be so bad at baking, because he is not bad at cooking at all," Celebrimbor said gently. "Atya was actually marvellous at baking, even if he did not do it often." He fell silent.

Celebrimbor hadn't wanted to talk about Curufin at all. It was the one subject that was taboo in his mind. He almost never spoke of his father anymore, as much as he felt the need to. Not after everything that had happened.

His hands became still in Elrond's hair.

Like every time he thought of his father, Celebrimbor was overcome by this incredible surge of emotion.

His mind always thought briefly of the beautiful moments. How Curufin had taught him how to forge, how he had cuddled him in the evening until he fell asleep or how he had put a protective arm around his shoulders.

But then his thoughts always drifted to another time. A time when his father was under so much pressure to please Fëanor that he only worked and hardly had any time left for his family. Then came the memories of the battles and how his father had sometimes returned covered in blood and just sat there staring at the ground for a while. Once Celebrimbor had gone to Curufin at such a moment, hoping to help him, and Curufin had pressed his face into the side of Celebrimbor's hair and cried. Celebrimbor had never seen his father cry before.

After that came the memories where Curufin was... was different. Meaner. Celebrimbor had decided then to stop blindly trusting and following him.

But to this day, he wondered if that had been the right decision.

"It is all right." said Elrond, who was still sitting with his back to him, obviously to give him some privacy, something Celebrimbor was very grateful for, because as always when he only thought about Curufin, he had started to cry.

Carefully, he leaned against Elrond's shoulder from behind and buried his face in his neck. "Sorry. I- I should have known not to mention him, and now I have ruined everything."

"No, my friend. It is all good. "Elrond gently placed a hand on Celebrimbor's knee. "If you want to talk about it, that is fine. He was your father and you loved him incredibly. And I am sure he loved you too, always."

"I just miss him so much, you know?" Celebrimbor stammered softly and Elrond nodded. He understood all too well. He also missed Maglor and Maedhros. Sometimes, when he lay in bed at night and couldn't sleep, he thought he could hear Maedhros' rough voice saying goodnight and Maglor singing a lullaby. He always fell asleep immediately afterwards, with a smile on his lips and tears in his eyes.

But he also missed Elwing and Eärendil, even if his memories of them were few and hazy, he felt a longing in his chest for them.

"Sometimes I think about whether I could have saved him if I had gone with him," Celebrimbor whispered softly and sniffled. "Maybe it would have been all right then."

But Elrond knew that probably wouldn't have happened. "I have seen the effects of the oath on Maedhros and Maglor. No matter how much Curufin loved you, the pressure of the oath would have destroyed him sooner or later. And I am sure he would have pushed you away before that happened, precisely because he loved you so much."

"But if it is so clearly the truth, why does it hurt so much?" Celebrimbor pressed himself tighter against Elrond, because whenever he felt so helpless, all he wanted was to be surrounded by the warmth of someone he cared about.

"I guess it hurts because you loved him as much as he loved you," Elrond replied softly. He wished he could do more to help his friend.

"I am really sorry for crying all over you." Celebrimbor said quietly and full of shame. He lifted his head slightly.

"As long as you need me, I will be here to catch you, just like you do for me and all our other friends. You cannot always be strong, Tyelpë," Elrond whispered. "I am the last person who would tell you not to cry."

So Celebrimbor pressed his face back into Elrond's neck and wrapped his arms around his waist to press himself even closer to him.

[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

[eloquentsisyphianturmoil]

Was looking through my drafts and. SOUTHERN KIDNAP FAM

[lvsifer]

the sweet & talented @cilil tagged me on WIP Wednesday, so have a lil snipped from the next chapter of my Paul x Feyd fic <3

Feyd-Rautha lies down on the bed, closes his eyes and thinks of the boy. Reflected red light slashes the tenebrous room in half, a laceration that cuts Feyd-Rautha off by the chest. He touches where the light warms his skin just above his seventh rib and dips his fingers between his costal arches. Here. He imagines Paul’s blade push inside. He moans. “Come to me, Atreides,” Feyd-Rautha murmurs into the empty room, then throws an arm over his face, bites at his own skin enough to bruise while his free hand sinks between his legs. What if the secret door opened and the boy came to him now? Feyd-Rautha imagines Paul’s lesser weight on top of him, spreading Feyd-Rautha’s thighs.

And ALSO, this super old angbang wip from...2016..........that I will finish...some day:

Yet in gloaming Melkor had once more returned, gargantuan and of-augury. A light had shone in his eyes, both fiery and frore. Naught of offering or promises foul, only this: his hand extended, and crackling along the whiteness of his skin, power. And Mairon had taken it. For what Mairon wants is not to serve. He wants to make. Suddenly he needs not pledge himself. Nil binds him, but his own will to power. Torn from slumber, he for the first time sees, and stares into the depths of the world. And deeper than woe or servitude, cradled in igneous rock, lie his own blackening desires, clamouring for eternity. And eternal shall they be.

tagging: @sauron-kraut (i know cilil also tagged you but still <3), @jamlocked, @liesmyth, @saintstars, @crackinthecup, @curufiin @theskeletonprior

[ettelenethelien]

During his lifetime, Isildur had always been hailed as a hero. It started very early, that, with the theft of the sapling, and this was never forgotten. And later, after his death, legend added to legend; his prowess in battle, the bravery of his youth, the kingship he wielded, merging into one foundational myth. The Isildur who had once lived might have been glad rather than embarrassed at the statues and songs, but he might have wondered at the long lasting of legend. He might have felt unease at how his failures were all but forgotten. But the dead do not worry about their legacies, though they might know of them.

Near the end of the Third Age, one of his failures was brought out from the depths of history, and suddenly, learned men begun to wonder and rewrite their histories. They did not forget the White Tree, they did not forget the Dagorlad, but the tale they now told became a cautionary tragedy of pride. Not merciless, pitying rather, in most of their mouths, but with the center of weight firmly fixed on that one decision no mortal man could have avoided.

They never painted Isildur as he was, child of the land of mortal dreams that turned to nightmares before his eyes, almost rashly daring youth, leader and king in exile, and all the same man. One who could be obnoxiously proud, but who would have overcome this fault had he not had the misfortune to find the Ring; one who sought to amend this at last -- and who would not have, likely, succeeded in giving the Ring up, but who died with the wish to do so. One who, unlike other characters of legend, regretted the dragging of his own into his mistakes; one who had a lucky end and died terribly, and ignobly, and well. But a king must resign himself to becoming a legend, and he was a king who was a man.

[isilwhore]

For @maedhrosmaglorweek Day 6, an AU that fixes nothing and makes everything worse (sorry)

****

“…but less evil shall we do in the breaking.”

Maglor knows his argument has been lost. Still, one final plea is cast upon the night’s wind:

“Please.”

But Maedhros does not stop, nor look back. He only answers, “I need you.”

Maglor swallows back a response. His brother has seen the Darkness. He carries a piece of it with him. It usually lies just beneath the surface, under his control; lately it has shown itself more frequently, more fiercely than ever.

And Maglor understands. He pities him, defends him, loves him. He always has. But he can no longer follow him. It pains him to think it and now to speak it, and it only comes forth with every bit of courage and strength he can muster.

“I cannot do it.”

He collapses to the ground, weeping. His cries are not deep and piercing like his singing, but weak and pitiful, barely registering in the silence.

Maedhros turns to him with a fiery stare. Maglor recoils from this wretched, familiar flame. He has seen it many times; it takes them all, eventually.

“You are bound by our oath. Our brothers died for this.” His voice is powerful yet empty.

“Then let me fail, as I failed to save them.” Maglor chokes over these words; he will never forgive himself for it, even though they were doomed to their fates. “I am ready to face judgment. I want to go back.”

When he feels the blade press against his neck, Maglor knows his brother is gone. The madness has finally claimed him, and soon he too may become no more than ash in the wind.

“Please, Nelyo,” he shivers. He thinks briefly of their father and shakes the memories away. Then he recalls the boys he raised as sons; how he loved them and sent them out into the world with everything he could teach them, sent them far away from his weary heart. That is how he saved them. But saving Maedhros may be beyond Maglor’s power.

Maedhros lowers his sword and stands completely still, save for the rise and fall of his broad chest. His eyes are ablaze. And empty.

“Nelyo, you are broken, we are broken. Nothing may mend you now but I love you still. Come with me, or let me go. I beg you.”

He reaches out to touch him, to graze his scarred cheek or smooth back his hair, which has grown wild during their roaming. But Maedhros pulls away in agony, as if his brother’s hand is a torch.

“It will be over soon. We shall end this! Together.”

“No, please no! Come back to me, Nelyo!” Maglor fears the madness will overcome him now too. He wishes for it to come quickly; perhaps this would be easier if he had already lost his mind. He lets out a wail and leaps at his brother. He grabs for his once fine cloak, now weather worn and ragged, a last desperate effort to shake sense into him, or hold him or…

It is a mistake, for Maedhros has quick reflexes and the flame sparks and overtakes him. A flash of silver, a flash of red.

And now it is too late to save either of them.

Although it takes no time for Maglor to fall, it feels like centuries. An indescribable sound escapes Maedhros, like a terrible roar, deeper than the ocean and darker than the Void.

Maglor realizes he is dying and it is a strange relief. His mouth moves quickly, silently, one last song upon his lips.

“Thank you.”

His eyes open wide and catch their final sight: his brother, his Nelyo as he once was. Maglor had pitied him, defended him, loved him. He always had.

“I never meant to hurt you. Some peace for you now, I hope.” Maedhros holds him and sobs and it feels like centuries.

“But no peace do I deserve. Now you will meet your judgment, and I shall never face mine.”

[sauron-kraut]

As you know I ship Mairon with almost anything that (in this case: still) breathes.

This exists because @cilil and I talk. ;)

Calling the Witch-King witch is another wink to @lvsifer 's glorious fic Night Moth.

The description of Khamûl as pretty is entirely the fault of this incredible piece of art which won't leave my mind.

Summary: Nine Kings of Men worship their lord.

Warnings: sexual content (not very explicit), it's an orgy?!

Not beta'd!

Tagging @a-world-of-whimsy-5 as promised.

Reverence

Nine mouths to kiss.

They kneel before him one by one, lips find his ring. Mairon kisses each of them. They taste of fear and want and warmth.

The one he's kissed and held before; the witch. The pretty Easterling.

Nine rings to bind. He feels them all.

He is an eternal sun and they are meagre crows. They feast on poisoned seeds, scattered across fields scorched by his blaze.

Reverence thickens the air.

He lays himself bare before them. Why would he not. They descend upon Mairon like vultures. May they find aliment in him.

Their mouths are everywhere, their hands are too. Mairon’s fingers all adorned in gold clutch raven robes, hard, he wraps his arm around another, warm tongues and lips on his and teeth. His legs fall open. Mairon moans.

They're on his skin, inside him and around him.

The pretty one, the boy from Rhûn, has draped himself all over him. Mairon holds him close and smells his hair, his mortal flesh ephemeral. He will not need it, soon.

When it is over, Mairon’s smile is generous. He walks away bearing their marks of lust, of worship. Shame he bears not. He walks with pride.

[furious-haste-of-malice]

❝ "Come, Mulkhêrînim, and do not be shy. The Elf-prince is yours to use tonight, for this is how the Lord rewards his loyal subjects." ❞

⊱ Prompt: Pillory/stocks, free use ⊱ Pairing: Númenórean cultists x Maglor, Mairon ⊱ Synopsis: Mairon captures Maglor and brings him to the Temple of Melkor as a gift to his loyal followers. ⊱ Featuring: The Cult of Melkor is also a deranged sex cult now because Mairon said so, references to past Angbang ⊱ Warnings: Non-con, ritualistic gang rape, sadism & voyeurism (on Mairon's part in particular), the prompts by themselves

𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆: Another one for @tolkienpinupcalendar's Dead Dove December; we're nearing the end (one more regular chapter that I have already written plus a bonus fic I'm currently working on).

Mulkhêrînim - (Adûnaic) - Children of Melkor. Thought it would be a lovely way for Mairon to address them like that as an ultimate affront against Eru. Translation by me with the help of this dictionary (because in the Tolkien fandom even the nasty porn needs linguistics!)

"I have a special gift for you today, oh faithful Mulkhêrînim." 

His loyal cultists mumbled among themselves when Mairon presented them with the exquisite treat he had captured. 

At first glance, it appeared to be yet another captive, like the innumerable amount he had caught in the service of his lord – a dark-haired man, albeit handsome by incarnate standards, was kneeling on the dais in front of the altar, his head and hands secured by a hastily erected pillory, naked save for a flimsy loin cloth. 

The more perceptive among Mairon's followers, however, had already noticed what made this one special: The pair of pointed ears sticking out from the mess that was his hair, almost defiantly announcing his identity as one of Ilúvatar's immortal children. 

"Is that an Elf?" one of the cultists gasped, pointing at the helpless prisoner. 

"Indeed it is, very good," Mairon purred and stood next to the Elf in question to almost tenderly pull his hair out of the way to show them off. "But not any Elf; I have captured one of royal blood." 

The whispering among his followers intensified, and he savoured the tension before the anxiously awaited revelation. 

"Meet Prince Makalaurë, also known as Maglor, the last living son of Fëanor!"

Laughing and jeering erupted from the crowd, their faces changing from curious to ravenous within seconds. Maglor, however, remained quiet, merely pressing his lips together and hardening his gaze. 

I suppose his dear brother told him what happens to those who talk back, Mairon thought with a pleased smirk. 

"Our minstrel's lonely wanderings have finally come to an end, so that he may grace us with his presence instead," he declared with a grand gesture, smugness bleeding into his tone like black ink dripping into water. 

"Will he be a sacrifice to the Lord?" a younger cultist asked. 

Mairon laughed. Oh, Melkor would be delighted to witness this scene; he could practically hear his gleeful laughter echoing through the temple from beyond the circles of the world, could see his eyes gleaming with dark amusement, could feel his joy – but he swiftly tore himself away from his memories and imagination, lest he be distracted for too long. 

"Perhaps he will be in time," he drawled, "though for now he shall serve you." 

His mortal followers, while loyal and so very eager to attain the immortality he had promised, didn't seem to grasp the meaning of his words, looking up at him expectantly. None had the courage to ask. Mairon suppressed a sigh of exasperation and the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose and stepped aside so they could properly admire Maglor's scantily clad form.

"Have you never dreamed of getting a taste of what we will conquer? Of enjoying the pleasures of immortal flesh?" He chuckled. "Such rare blood is too precious to spill with haste, would you not agree? After all..." 

In one swift movement, Mairon raked his claw-like golden nails down Maglor's back, drawing blood and eliciting a piercing scream. 

"He has such a beautiful voice, for which he is renowned to this day. What a waste it would be to not enjoy his illustrious company..." 

Murmurs of agreement rose within the crowd, and a few cultists came closer, looking up at their high priest as they waited for permission. Mairon stepped back to make space for his followers and beckoned them with an elegant wave of his hands, causing the golden bangles on his arm to clink and tinkle. 

"Come, Mulkhêrînim, and do not be shy. The Elf-prince is yours to use tonight, for this is how the Lord rewards his loyal subjects." 

A heady mix of lust and greed filled the room, and he inhaled it eagerly, a warm shudder going through him. He was going to enjoy this spectacle greatly. 

Had he caught any other Elf, he would have to be worried that their fëa would all too soon flee to Mandos, unable to endure such violation, but the Fëanorion's ill-fated oath would keep him chained to his hröa. 

Robes billowing behind him as if moved by an unseen tempest of malice, Mairon strutted around the altar and leapt onto the lap of Melkor's statue with feline grace, taking a seat like a king would sit on a throne. 

"Do you see that, precious? Almost like home," he whispered to the statue and pressed a reverent kiss onto the cold marble hand, exactly where his ring would have been. 

Maglor didn't scream when his loin cloth was torn off him, nor when greedy hands explored his body and fondled him like a common whore. He didn't grace his captors with any pleas or protests. Only when one cultist knelt behind him and forced his cock inside, he finally cried out. 

Mairon smiled. Awaken their lust, and they are reduced to mere animals, as you taught me yourself. 

The scene unfolding in front of him was chaotic, erratic and filthy, just like Melkor would have loved it. The Man's coupling with their Elven captive was frenzied and hasty, gripping his hips with his knuckles white, chasing his pleasure. Maglor himself was soon silenced – in spite of his wonderful voice and the lovely sound of his screams – by another cultist forcing his mouth open to shove his cock down his throat.

"Let's see what else he can do with that talented tongue of his," another commented on the act, followed by raucous laughter. 

Mairon considered chastising them for not appreciating the beauty of a voice trembling with pain and despair, but instead kept a serene expression as if it had been an amusing statement. He couldn't quite fault them for it; after all, mortals were ever so impatient, and their new toy had many of them to satisfy. 

Whenever one finished inside of him, another would take their place. A young initiate was sent to retrieve some oil for additional lubrication and returned with a pitcher containing the very same sacred oil that was used in their ritual sacrifices – another thing too entertaining to be irked by, and thus Mairon remained silent, smiling and nodding along whenever one of his followers looked up at him for encouragement. 

"Let us see if they can break him, precious," he whispered to the statue. 

Maglor's head hung low whenever no one held it in place, though he had little room to move. The pillory kept him upright even as knees gave in, and seed had begun leaking out of him and down his thighs. Mairon was delighted to see droplets of red marring creamy white and caught the distinct scent of blood. Still, it didn't stop his followers from using their new toy like wild beasts mounting one another during mating season. Some also opted to help themselves before or after their turn, spilling onto whichever part of Maglor they could reach. 

Mairon hadn't paid attention to the passage of time, but he estimated a few hours had passed when they were finally done with the Noldorin prince, readjusting their robes and withdrawing from him while glancing up at their master. Abandoning his comfortable seat on the statue – though most unwillingly – he stepped closer to survey the results. 

Despite no longer being gagged, Maglor was eerily silent. His entire form was stained with viscous white, his face in particular, his lips were swollen, his legs trembling, his hole loose and leaking. 

Mairon graced his followers with a bright, pleased smile as if they had done him a great kindness and placed his fingertips together. 

"Well done, Mulkhêrînim. Our Lord shall look down upon you with benevolence and grant his favour to those who stand against his enemies." 

Maglor let out a small snort, yet the spark of rebellion was short-lived when Mairon backhanded him across the face with graceful elegance that belied the force of his blow. 

"Now take our guest to the King's dungeons and make accommodations worthy of a prince." 

The sweet smile on his face then twisted, showing sharp teeth, and his voice darkened as he added, "And make sure he cannot escape, lest you wish to invoke our Lord's wrath." 

Thanks for reading! ♡

[sotwk]

About This Recommended Fics List:

All the Tolkien fanfics in this list meet the following qualifications:

Fandom: All-inclusive Tolkien (LotR, Hobbit, Silm, RoP) Type: One-shot Length: approx. 1,000-6,000 words Ship/Pairing: Any, including OCs and Reader Inserts Rating: G or PG-13 Content: No excessive angst, violence, or death. No unresolved stress. Happy endings only!

Disclaimer: I (@sotwk) have not personally screened all of these fics for their content. There may be triggers. Please read descriptions, take responsibility for your own media consumption, and observe the Golden Rule: Don't Like, Don't Read!

Link sources are either Tumblr or Ao3. Some Ao3 works are locked to registered users only.

This list of comfort fics is a collaboration and compiled through the recommendations of Readers. Thank you to everyone who contributed!

This remains a work in progress, and I will continue to accept recommendations. Please send them via DM, Ask, or Reblog. We need more, please!

Last updated: 1/23/2024

THE LORD OF THE RINGS

Aragorn

Hush Now by @entishramblings

Mirage @sileastral

Boromir

You’re the one who’s calling me to heaven by @cauliflowertree

A Shield Against the Snow by @scyllas-revenge

A Thief in the Night by @scyllas-revenge

The Floor Is Molasses by @scyllas-revenge

Anything But This by @minaturefics

Elrohir

Just a Little Longer by @theelvenhaven 

Elrond

The Weft Between the World by Antarctica_or_bust

Eomer

Alive and Alight by @minaturefics

Fair Enough by @middleearthpixie

Wildest Dreams by @scyllas-revenge

Blue Moon by @epilogue-and-prologue/@absentmindeduniverse

Eowyn

An Idiot's Guide to Gift-Giving by @scyllas-revenge

Faramir

Wrong Conclusions by @minaturefics

Frodo

Arda University by @lady-of-imladris

Over Joy by PurpleProsaist

Gandalf

Days for which they sit and wait by BloodwingBlackbird

Gimli

Mahal's Gift by @lemonsprite

Haldir

Unfairness by @errruvande

Serenade by @glassgulls

Three Weeks on the Nimrodel by @from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras

Legolas

Sending Memes by @ironmandeficiency

Elucidative by @shrubdaddy

Winter Forest by @wordbunch

The Cruel Nature of the World by @entishramblings

What Haunts Your Heart by @entishramblings

Lindir

Bottled Up by @heilith

Merry [Seeking recommendations!]

Pippin [Seeking recommendations!]

Samwise

Better Company by @wordbunch

Let Met Take You Dancing by RaisingCaiin

THE HOBBIT

Bilbo

Primary Sources by bunn (@cycas)

Why Hobbits Eat So much by Madkat89

Fili 

Sweets by @blairsanne

Lost My Way by @lathalea

Kili

Sapphires by @lathalea

Catch Her by a_daydreaming_writer

Porridge by @fili-urzudel

Insecurities by @bookworm-with-coffee

Tauriel 

Royal Jar Opener, Reporting for Duty by @unendingwanderlust

Heavenly Inferno by midearthwritings

The Pairing Ceremony by dumbassunderthemountain

You Are My Happy Place by SmartassUndertheMountain

Liantë by WritingsOfAHobbit

Thorin

In The Woods of Ered Luin by @enchantzz

A Long Lost Home by @babe-bombadil

Dead End by @fizzyxcustard

The Arrival by @lathalea

Strong by @lathalea

Thranduil

Nothing by @entishramblings

Goodnight by @heilith

Under A Starless Sky by My_Marvel_Musings and RinzlersGhost

THE SILMARILLION

Finrod 

here, at the end of all things by Dalliansss

Glorfindel 

Warmth by @on-a-hill-by-the-sea

Stay the Night by @theelvenhaven

Golden by molerein 

THE RINGS OF POWER

Elrond

My shadows by @thesolarangel

Dating shy Elrond by @thesolarangel

Perfectly Proper by @wordbunch

Haladriel 

Stay by @scriberated

Covered in Colours by myfavouritelunatic

It’s the Last Thing I Wanted (It’s the First Thing I Do) by Helholden

Stay by @scriberated

Covered in Colours by myfavouritelunatic

It’s the Last Thing I Wanted (It’s the First Thing I Do) by Helholden

Divider credit: @saradika-graphics

Please remember to Support Your Writers and consider leaving a kudos/like or comment/reblog!

[dalliansss]

From behind them stepped out three elves, all of them looking worse for wear than her Beren, but their individual beauty remained undimmed despite their matted, tangled and bloodied hair. There is her kinsman Finrod, who beamed in recognition upon seeing her. A brown-haired and green-eyed Noldo behind Finrod looked at her in awe, but then offered a bow. Then, behind the two of them stood a very tall Noldo with fiery red hair the likes of which Luthien had never seen before. He was bloodied all over: his face, his chest, his hands and arms. But Luthien knew the blood was not his own, but that of a werewolf, or perhaps a vampire. This Noldo was scarred everywhere: shoulders, on his middle, by the sides of his hips. Luthien knew then that this must be Maedhros, eldest son of Feanor, whose fury against the Enemy and the enemy’s forces were sung by minstrels, even Daeron. All the elves were as naked as Beren, but they were unbothered by it.

“My lords,” Luthien briefly touched her right hand over her chest, then held it out to them in a gesture of greeting and friendship. “My heart sings that Huan and I reached this place before it was too late, and though I mourn those whom we can no longer help, I sing for them also, for they will suffer no more. I am glad you are alive with Beren, and that you have aided him. I am Luthien of Doriath.”

“Princess Luthien,” Finrod returned her greeting. “I would be embarrassed meeting you like this, but we make do.” He laughs. “This is Edrahil mine captain—” here he gestures toward the brown-haired and green-eyed Noldo. “And this is mine cousin, the former Lord of Himring, Lord Maedhros Feanorion.” Maedhros simply bowed at her, avoiding looking her in the eye.

-- There and Back Again || available on [AO3] Or, an AU take on the Quest for Silmaril, where Maedhros joins Finrod and Beren -- and against all odds (with the help of mutant sorcery that confounds even Gorthaur the Cruel), they manage to rescue one of the gems, and Finrod survives all the way until the Nirnaeth Arnoediad. High King Fingon, in turn, reigns well until the War of Wrath and possibly well into the Second Age.

--

Super gorgeous artwork I commissioned from the lovely @sauroff. I adore their design! Look how beautiful Luthien is!  They have commissions OPEN, so do check them out! ✨❤️

[sillysistersusi]

Warmth and Love

Fandom: The Silmarillion

Glorfindel x Erestor

Summary: Erestor's father once told him what it was like to fall in love but Erestor always thought he would never find the one. When he falls in love with Glorfindel, he is unsure if this is right. Shouldn't he fall in love with an elleth? And even if it was right, didn't Glorfindel deserve someone better than him?

A/N: I went with the popular headcanon here that Erestor is Caranthir's son.

Hope you like it!

Erestor's father had always told him that being in love was nice. Caranthir had seemed cold and unpredictable to outsiders, but he had actually been a really gentle father.

He had told Erestor what it felt like to fall in love. That excitement that rose up in you whenever you saw the person you liked. The slight tingling, the will to suddenly pay attention to your appearance so that that someone would look at you. The red cheeks (although, as Erestor noted with a gentle smile, Caranthir's cheeks had always been red), the sudden stutter when you tried to speak.

It had always frightened Erestor. But it had also made him excited. Because even if people thought otherwise of him, he longed to be loved. He sometimes looked at Celebrían and Elrond, who seemed so happy and carefree together. And he wanted that too.

They could always rely on each other, got through everything together and showered each other with affection. And Erestor felt this longing in his heart. He wanted that too. He wanted to be loved and cherished and in return wanted to give all his being to another person. Like the people do in books all the time.

But not like this.

Because all of a sudden he felt all those things Caranthir had told him about so long ago, only these feelings were even stronger than he had ever imagined.

The only problem was the person he had fallen in love with. It was Glorfindel.

However, Glorfindel wasn't the problem at all, no, it was Erestor himself.

Why had he fallen in love with another ellon and not with an elleth? That couldn't be normal. He had never heard of such a thing.

But as much as he wanted to ignore these feelings, he couldn't. Glorfindel and he worked together all the time and Glorfindel liked to put an arm around Erestor, although Erestor always had to restrain himself from simply leaning against Glorfindel.

He hadn't been able to sleep for a few days now and his work was getting worse by the minute.

And slowly he was no longer sure what he was supposed to be doing.

"Erestor? "Elrond eyed him anxiously. He had asked Erestor to talk to him about something, but because of the lack of sleep, Erestor was finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate, no matter how hard he tried.

"Yes, Lord Elrond," he said, trying to stifle a yawn.

Elrond sighed and leant back a little in the chair behind his desk. "I have  noticed that you have been... different lately. You do not seem to be sleeping well. Are bad dreams haunting you, my friend? If yes, we can talk about it, I have my own fair share of nightmares."

Erestor could barely bear Elrond's worried look. If only he knew how wrong everything was Erestor felt. If only he knew how abnormal he was. "Everything is alright thank you." Erestor said and his heart tightened. How much he would have liked to confide his worries to someone. But he couldn't.

Elrond rubbed his forehead. "You are almost as stubborn as Maedhros." he muttered before continuing louder. "I know something is wrong. Everyone realised it. Glorfindel spoke to me about it yesterday."

"Glorfindel? "Erestor asked, hating how high his voice was suddenly. He tried to keep the heat out of his face, but it only made his cheeks go even warmer.

Elrond nodded slowly and frowned briefly at the strange look on Erestor's face. "Yes, Glorfindel. He is worried."

"Then please tell him he does not have to, I am fine," Erestor said.

Glorfindel was worried about him? Why did that thought alone give him goose bumps?

Why did it have to be like this? Why Glorfindel? He was everything Erestor could never be. Everything he could never have. Even if one of them was a woman, it wouldn't change the fact that Glorfindel was far too good for Erestor. Erestor had been trying to push the other elf away for days, but Glorfindel still cared about him.

Elrond had now stood up and stepped around his desk. "Are you sure you are all right? You are so pale," he said gently. "Please, my friend, take the day off."

"That is really not necessary, my lord, I can- "

But Elrond obviously didn't accept any protests, because he took the pile of papers Erestor was carrying in his arms from him.

Erestor knew when a fight was lost and he knew Elrond too well to expect him to give in after all.

"I will ask Lindir to complete some of your tasks. I am sure he will be happy to help, as he has also noticed that you are not well." he said and left the pile on his desk before returning to Erestor. He put an arm around him and led him to the door.

Before they reached the door, however, it suddenly swung open and Glorfindel practically stumbled in.

Erestor's heart leapt as he looked at him. The golden hair fell elegantly over Glorfindel's shoulders as always, the corners of his lips were curved into a gentle smile as usual and his cheeks were slightly flushed from running. This last point made Erestor feel quite warm. Had it been this stuffy in Elrond's office?

"I was wondering where you were. I thought we were supposed to meet in the library," Glorfindel said to Erestor, who didn't answer directly but stared at Glorfindel for a moment as if he were speaking another language.

His cheeks were as red as his father's had always been when he said: "I am sorry, I had forgotten- no, not forgotten, but I had- so- "

He normally never stuttered. Elrond also seemed to notice this strange behaviour, for he said, "That was my fault. I had to discuss something quickly with Erestor."

And then he grabbed Erestor's arm and pulled him back into his office. "We need to-" he seemed to think for a moment, "go through a few documents. Why do you not just wait outside for a moment?"

Glorfindel nodded and disappeared.

Erestor looked at the spot where he had just been standing for a few seconds and then turned to Elrond. He frowned at him. "What exactly- "

"You like Glorfindel." Elrond interrupted him. "That is what is going on!"

Erestor swallowed. "We all like Glorfindel, do we not?"

"But you LIKE Glorfindel. I am not blind, Erestor." Elrond said.

But somehow he was still smiling and didn't look like Elrond was disgusted of him, so Erestor plucked up his courage and asked nervously, "You do not think it is qrong or strange? You do not think I should be in love with an elleth?"

Now Elrond looked worried again. "No, not at all. Why do you think I would?"

"Is it not unnatural to feel something like that?" Erestor asked cautiously. "Should I not love a person of the opposite sex, Lord Elrond?"

"No." Elrond replied. His voice sounded so determined and firm that it almost struck Erestor. He could see how sure Elrond was and that he really meant it. Erestor had worked under Elrond long enough now to know when he really meant something, and now he did. "You know who Maedhros is?"

"My uncle, the son of Fëanor, one of your adoptive fathers," said Erestor, who had become a little dizzy. Elrond's face kept blurring before his eyes.

He nodded. "Exactly. "Erestor was unsure what that meant until Elrond said, "Fingon and he loved each other."

Fingon? "You mean Fingolfin's firstborn?" Erestor asked in amazement, his heart beating faster at the idea that there was someone like him.

"Yes." Elrond confirmed. "As far as I know, they never tied their fëa together, but that only out of fear. Fear that it would hurt even more if they lost each other. Maedhros told me they were sure that sooner or later one of them would leave Middle-earth and go to the halls of Mandos. But Maedhros also told me he would marry Fingon, if he also still wanted to, as soon as he saw him again, no matter how long it would take."

"So it is - so it is not," Erestor fell silent.

"Wrong?" Elrond finished the sentence questioningly, to which Erestor nodded. "No, I do not think so. In the end, it is not the hröa but the fëa of a person that you fall for. It has not happened often, but I think there are even rumours that Lalwen, Fëanor's sister, has bound herself to another elleth. So I do not think you need to worry about that, my friend."

Erestor nodded slightly. Just the thought that Elrond thought it was normal seemed to reassure him. And the knowledge that Uncle Maedhros was so much like him, even if Erestor had never met him, made him happy. At least no one in the family would think him mad, if he would ever meet them.

When Elrond had said that two elleths could also bond, a thought that had somehow never occurred to him before, Erestor had almost felt as if he might be normal after all.

The fact that Caranthir had fallen in love with a mortal had also struck some as odd, as had the rumours of Aegnor and Andreth, but in the end they had accepted it with a simple shrug of the shoulders. At least the elves around his father did.

Erestor exhaled slowly. "I think I understand. I am not unnatural."

"Well, some would say that you work unnaturally hard, but no. There is nothing wrong with you." Elrond smiled gently and then walked slowly back towards the door. "I think there is someone we need to convince that you are fine. I also want you to rest anyway, alright?"

Erestor sighed, but nodded.

"Good." Elrond opened the door.

Glorfindel stood on the other side of the corridor and took a closer look at the new blossoms on a nearby tree.

When he heard the door open, he immediately turned his head.

Elrond smiled and said, "You really do not need to worry Glorfindel, there is nothing wrong with Erestor, he just needs some sleep. Your job today is to make sure he gets it. Do not leave his side until he has slept for at least four hours. I would even prefer more hours, but we should start with small steps."

Do.

Not.

Leave.

His.

Side.

Erestor had just heard that right, hadn't he? Glorfindel was not allowed to leave his side. What- ?

Erestor saw Elrond wink at him out of the corner of his eye.

Meanwhile, Glorfindel's face had turned the colour of cranberries and his mouth was caught in a strange combination of a smile and a scowl.

"Yes, Lord Elrond. With pleasure. Well, I mean, it will be my pleasure to watch Erestor sleep- no, to make sure he actually sleeps."

Erestor felt his cheeks grow even warmer. He must be redder by now than the red robes Fëanor had worn in the potraits Caranthir had had of him.

But Glorfindel had probably just said this by accident. After all, he often stumbled over his own words, so Erestor was not surprised by this behaviour.

He was also a little more concerned with taking deep, long breaths to prevent his heart from pounding too hard, because he had the feeling that it was beating so loudly that Elrond and Glorfindel should have been able to hear it.

It took a while for Erestor to realise that Glorfindel was staring at him. His eyes lit up when he met Erestor's eyes and he smiled.

Erestor felt the corners of his mouth turn up to smile back, but he stopped them at the last moment and shook himself.

Only now did he realise that he and Glorfindel were now standing alone in the corridor. Elrond had obviously withdrawn quietly and secretly to his office.

Erestor swallowed.

Glorfindel sighed.

"I- I can go first, unless you want to- "

"No, no, go on," said Erestor and pushed Glorfindel along the corridor. When he was sure that the other elf wasn't looking, he put the cool backs of his hands on his burning cheeks.

They walked side by side in awkward silence for a while and Erestor tried to look everywhere but at Glorfindel.

But when they reached the door to Erestor's rooms, Glorfindel felt it necessary to break the silence. "Why has it become so strange between us Erestor?"

Because I'm strange.

Because I push you away from me so that it hurts less when you hate me.

Because I'm not worth you treating me so gently.

Because I love you and know that I can never have you.

But Erestor said none of this.

Instead he opened the door and stared at the handle for a few seconds before saying. "I have no idea what you are talking about." Then he stepped through the door and tried to pull it shut, but Glorfindel held it.

"Should I just wait outside the door?" he asked.

"What?"

"I am not supposed to leave your side, remember?" Glorfindel said gently, but any smile had left his face. It looked more like he was going to start crying at any moment.

Erestor had indeed completely forgotten Elrond's order. He let go of the door and beckoned Glorfindel in.

"You can read a book while I sleep," he said and didn't look in Glorfindel's direction again as he lay down in bed and pulled the blanket up to his chin, because it was the only way he could suppress the urge to hug Glorfindel.

Not only because Glorfindel had been sad, but also because Erestor simply longed so much for physical contact. For so long he had imagined what it would be like to exchange gentle touches with another person. And now the person from whom Erestor wanted such a touch was in his room, reading a book next to his bed.

And it wasn't just the physical contact but also the neglect of his fëa that made Erestor feel cold all the time. Especially when he should be sleeping. As if he was sinking in the middle of an icy lake and couldn't make it back to the surface where the sun could warm his skin.

He wished he could stretch out his fëa and touch Glorfindel's with it. Maybe then he would be able to sleep. Maybe then he would know what it was like to be loved. But he would never do that without Glorfindel's consent.

"I can hear you thinking," Glorfindel said softly.

Erestor sat up. "Then I could better go back to work, right? If I do not get any sleep anyway."

"No!" Glorfindel had jumped up and pushed Erestor back into his pillow. "You need to sleep."

"Let go of me!" roared Erestor and tried to push Glorfindel away from him, but with little success as Glorfindel lost his balance and fell onto Erestor.

It took him a moment to realise what had just happened.

He felt Glorfindel's chest rise and fall, pressed directly against his. The warmth from his body seeped into him and his scent gave Erestor, whose skin had begun to tingle pleasantly, the feeling of hope.

He had already forgotten all about his frustration.

He hadn't felt this warm since his Atar had cuddled him as a small child. Erestor had never believed that he would ever feel this warm again. So secure, as if he was really safe. As if everything was fine for the first time in a long while.

It was only when Glorfindel said softly, "Erestor?" that he realised he had started to cry.

A few silent tears rolled down his cheeks. There weren't many, but Glorfindel had never seen Erestor cry before, so it must have been quite a shock for him.

"Did I hurt you? I am so sorry!" Glorfindel tried to get up, but Erestor reacted in panic and clutched his fingers in Glorfindel's clothes to pull him close again. "Erestor? Is everything- "

"Don't go." was all Erestor could whimper softly. "Please don't go."

"O- okay." Glorfindel whispered before he could catch himself. He reached out a hand hesitantly and stroked a few tears from Erestor's cheek. "I am not going. I'm staying. Do not worry. I am staying."

And that was all it took for Erestor to fall asleep.

~•~

In his dreams, Erestor had repeatedly relived the moment when Glorfindel's warmth had suddenly enveloped him.

It had been a dream he did not wish to be woken up from for a long time, which is why he kept his eyes closed when he woke up.

It was so wonderfully warm that he could barely register what was happening around him. All he could sense was the warmth and that wonderful smell. He couldn't say exactly what he smelled, but Erestor associated some feelings with it. Safety, warmth, love and excitement.

But there was something even warmer. He could barely feel its presence, but it was there and he thought he could reach it with his mere thoughts.

Something in the back of his mind told him not to try to reach it, but why not?

So he reached for it. For this other, greater warmth.

A startled cry tore him from his half-sleep and it took him a moment to realise where he was.

He sat up and stared at an extremely shocked Glorfindel. "Your fëa- "

And that was when Erestor realised. He had reached out his fëa to Glorfindel's. That had been the warmth he had so desperately wanted to get to.

Erestor turned his gaze away from Glorfindel's very quickly. There was no way he wanted to see the look in Glorfindel's eyes when he realised everything. If he had touched Glorfindel with his fëa, it meant that Glorfindel had been able to sense some of his innermost feelings.

"Erestor- "

"Leave it alone. Go. You do not have to ever- "Erestor's fingers tightened in his duvet and he tried in vain to swallow his rising tears. He had never felt so incredibly naked and bare. He had never wanted to reveal his innermost self to anyone. He had always hoped that there might be someone who would love it, but he had always known that it would never happen. "If you wish, we never have to speak again. If that is what you want, I can go, you do not have to leave because of me- "

"Erestor no." Glorfindel's voice clearly indicated that he was crying, and that threw Erestor so much off track that he turned and looked at him in amazement.

Glorfindel had moved a little closer to him and they were now sitting almost shoulder to shoulder. Through the net of his tears, Erestor could only see his face blurred, but it was clear that Glorfindel was crying.

"You feel so lonely," Glorfindel whispered softly and placed one of his hands, palm up, between them on the duvet. An invitation. "But you have so much love to give."

"Did you feel that I- " But Erestor's voice died away. He simply didn't have enough strength. He longed so much for Glorfindel's warmth and the feeling of no longer being alone.

"Yes." Glorfindel said in a weak voice. "Yes, I felt it. But it might be interesting for you to know, Erestor, that I feel the same way about you. I, too, have long taken you to my heart and wish for your warmth next to me at night when I sleep so that I can dream of better days instead of the cold ones of the past. Of days that I spend with you."

"Why?" Erestor asked, crying softly. "Why do you want me by your side? I am just old and bitter."

"Oh, but Erestor, I am even older than you," whispered Glorfindel and he lifted his other hand to place it gently on Erestor's cheek and stroked him gently over his cheek with his thumb. "And you are not bitter. You are afraid. Afraid that you would never be loved. But you are. I love you so much."

Erestor had the feeling that something had exploded inside him and now he didn't know what to do with all his emotions.

He slowly let himself fall forwards and nestled his forehead against Glorfindel's shoulder. Then he reached for his hand, which was still stretched out between them, and squeezed it tightly. "But what if I do everything wrong? I do not want to lose you."

"Then let us make mistakes together and learn from them." Glrofindel wrapped an arm around Erestor's shoulders and rubbed him gently between the shoulder blades.

"But- but I have no experience with this at all." Erestor whispered softly.

"That is okay. Let us learn together." Glorfindel replied and Erestor's heart beat faster with every word. "Please let me love you, Erestor."

Erestor felt his body tremble, so unaccustomed was he to physical contact and affection. He pulled his legs to his chest and pressed himself tightly against Glorfindel, who practically wrapped his whole body around Erestor.

"All right," Erestor said and closed his eyes, surrounded by nothing but warmth and love.

[cilil]

𝐂𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐬 | 𝐍𝐞𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐬

𓄌 Characters/pairings: Caranthir & Fëanor, hints at potential Caranthir x Turgon 𓄌 Synopsis: Fëanor offers to craft accessories for his sons to wear at the next Feast of Horns. Caranthir has what he believes to be an unusual request. 𓄌 Warnings: / 𓄌 Oneshot (~1.2k words) | AO3

Carnistir had both dreaded and looked forward to this moment, though the former outweighed the latter. 

His father had announced that he would be crafting accessories for all of his sons for the next Feast of Horns, celebrating that the entire family would be in attendance for the first time, and promised that each of them could pick whatever they wanted and he would make it. 

For most, if not all of his brothers, it was an easy choice and they knew exactly what they wanted, or so Carnistir believed at least, but for him, it was more difficult. Not the choice itself, if he was honest with himself — he had an idea what he wanted — but he grappled with it regardless and disliked the idea of having to explain himself to his father. 

It wasn't Carnistir's first time participating in the Hunt. His brothers had dragged him along once before, with Tyelkormo in particular claiming that he couldn't miss it, and as was tradition for debutants, he had been among the Hunted. The greater battle had been with himself rather than the Hunters, finding himself strangely enchanted by the idea of being desired and pursued, while unable to admit it to anyone else and acting aloof to hide his inner turmoil. 

In the end Carnistir had successfully hidden in the woods of Oromë — no small feat as he liked to think, especially with Ainur participating in the Hunt as well — and rejoined his brothers at the end of the night. Nobody had bothered to inquire about his whereabouts after his declaration that everything had gone well, and he preferred it that way. Even so, the aftermath had left him with a sour taste in his mouth, his mind ever wandering to all the possibilities he had denied himself out of pride, shame and, as much as he hated to admit it, cowardice. 

But this Feast of Horns would be different. Carnistir had promised himself that it would. 

And then he had also learned that Turukáno would be a Hunter. 

I could hunt as well. Maybe alongside him, if he agrees to it.

Though perhaps I should be hunted instead to rectify my mistake. Any other choice would only be further cowardice.

Turukáno could hunt me. I think I would like it if he did. 

But why would he? Especially if Findaráto joins in as well. And he most likely will.

Such was the back and forth between the two warring forces in Carnistir's mind, unfulfilled desire raging against what he believed was his better judgement, yet his perceived lack of courage and bravery was what eventually tipped the scales in favour of the former. He was a son of Fëanáro after all, he couldn't hide in a corner while his brothers participated in the Hunt. 

Even so, choosing the Hunted meant that he would have to ask his father for a necklace or even a collar instead of horns or antlers, and Carnistir dreaded having such a conversation. 

Thus he made his way to Fëanáro's forge reluctantly when Nerdanel told him that it was his turn. He announced himself with a short, sharp knock and entered in tandem with his father's invitation to come in. 

Fëanáro was sitting at his workbench and bent over an elaborate sketch he was working on. A quick look confirmed that it was most likely Tyelkormo's gift, and Carnistir tried not to let his mien sour too much. Of course he's still busy with someone else. 

"Ah, Moryo," his father greeted him and looked up with a smile. "Do you already know what you would like or do you want to take a few more minutes to think?"

"I am ready," Carnistir replied curtly. It hadn't escaped his notice that Fëanáro appeared to be in good spirits, and he was about to ruin it all; but it was too late for second guessing himself. A plan of action had been made, and he would stick to it, come what may. 

"Very well. What are your ideas?" Fëanáro asked and finally reached for an empty sheet of paper to place on top of the sketch, ready to take notes. 

"I want a collar and I don't want gold."

Silence fell between them for a brief moment. 

"So you wish to join the Hunted?" 

"Yes." Carnistir pressed his lips together, ready to defend his choice, but his father took notes without further inquiry.

"Do you know which materials you want instead if gold is not to your liking?" he then asked conversationally. 

Carnistir gave a light shrug. He had thought of everything, every complaint or counterargument that might be brought against him for making what could be considered a strange choice for a Noldorin prince, but not the gift itself. 

"Something practical," he said eventually. 

Fëanáro smiled. "I hope you will allow me to craft a silver one then. I think it would look lovely on you." 

"Fine by me." 

More notes were added. 

"And what kind of details and ornaments do you want? Maybe some jewels or gemstones?"

Another shrug. "Plain." 

"You know you can choose freely, Moryo?" 

"Yes." Picking up on the hint, Carnistir thought about it again. "Lots of people have little charms attached to their collars, like antlers or spear-tips or arrowheads. I think I would like that too."

"Anything in particular?"

"A dagger." Inspiration came spontaneously, but for once Carnistir allowed himself not to overthink it. 

"And what about the gems?" 

"No gems. They sparkle too much." 

Fëanáro grinned at him. "Ah, I see. You don't want to make it too easy for the Hunters to spot you."

"Of course not."

"And you are right. A favour from one of the princes of the Noldor should not be won too easily after all." He wrote down more notes. "Anything else?" 

"No." Carnistir paused for a moment, then added, "I leave the rest to you, Father." 

"I shan't disappoint. If you like, you can have a look at my sketch in a few days — I will take some time to think about it." 

He nodded. "Thank you." 

They fell silent again, but no further words were needed. An unspoken understanding that the conversation had concluded hung between them, and Carnistir turned to leave. 

On his way out, he spotted another sketch at the very edge of the workbench, slightly crumpled as if it had been hastily swept aside in favour of Fëanáro's tools and the other notes and sketches he had made. To his surprise, this one depicted a collar as well, not too dissimilar from what he had asked for and imagined for himself. 

Unable to resist, he stopped and pointed at the sketch. "Someone else is joining the Hunted as well?" 

Fëanáro looked up to meet his inquisitive gaze, and his eyes sparkled with the same sort of mischief Carnistir would normally see in Tyelkormo and the Ambarussar. 

"That one is for me," he said, lips twitching as if he had to suppress a bout of laughter when he saw his son's shocked expression. 

Carnistir left the forge without another word, his cheeks flushing bright red. He needed a moment to process what he had just learned, only to decide that he neither needed nor wanted to know the implications of Fëanáro's words regarding his parents' relationship.

Well, he thought to himself, if I was wrong about Father, maybe I was wrong about Turukáno as well and he may hunt me after all. 

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