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cilil · 8 days

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𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐠 | 𝐐𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐧

AN: These are coming up a bit slower, but I'm making progress :) @feast-of-horns @lvsifer here's the Manwë x Varda piece I promised!

𓄌 Characters/pairings: Manwë x Varda 𓄌 Synopsis: The queen hunts her king at the first Feast of Horns, and a decree is issued. 𓄌 Warnings: Some violence, blood, feral!Varda (she's a space monster after all), predator/prey, smut, dirty talk 𓄌 Oneshot (~1.7k words) | AO3

"Fly freely today and run fast, beloved. I wish to claim a hard-won prize, not be placated with an easy catch."

These had been Varda's words to Manwë before Oromë's feast, the first of its kind. The king and queen were in attendance as well, though out of curiosity and for their own enjoyment rather than duty.

"Your wish is my command," he had said to her before joining the Hunted.

It seemed as though he had truly taken her words to heart, Varda thought now, racing across the fields of Arda and through mighty forests in hot pursuit of her majestic prey. Manwë, that much was clear, would not be caught by anyone else, regardless of whether another Hunter had the courage to interfere with the queen or not. Too swift was he who was air and wind itself and gracefully flew around, evading any who were lucky enough to even see him come and go as he pleased.

Yet Varda knew where he was at all times, even when he disappeared from her field of vision. Her hearing was sharp and keen, and she knew Manwë too well, easily recognizing the sounds he made among thousands of others. The way his wind rushed through hair and feathers and brushed over skin, his steady breath, the beating of his wings and heart alike.

With the speed of starlight, she followed him. He knew she was there as well, had long since seen and sensed her. Knowing how fast his wife could catch up, Manwë was wise enough to change directions frequently, even flying into mountains and forests where he could vanish from her sight.

Laughing to herself, Varda skipped between patches of light filtering through the leafage of Yavanna's trees to hide herself as well. It was a fun game, though challenging for the Lady of Light who already had trouble keeping her fána dim enough to be gazed upon safely.

They were alone now, far away from the others. It suited her well enough; she much desired to catch and enjoy her elusive prey in peace.

It was time to complete her hunt.

On her back rested the mighty bow of winds, belonging to none other than Manwë himself, though Varda had taken it before the feast since he wasn't going to need it. He was currently flitting between leaves and branches, skillfully dodging any and all obstacles, and thought himself safe; and he would be, if not for his wife's infallible senses and deadly precision.

Focusing all of her attention on him to become one and mirror his movements, Varda readied a single arrow of light, one of her famed star-shots. What would be a devastating, if not lethal projectile for lesser beings would not permanently injure her husband, she knew, yet something stronger than a normal arrow would be needed to throw the Elder King down from his throne of winds.

Once she was certain where his path would lead, she rushed in, bringing herself close enough and in line to aim and shoot. As much as Varda loved him and would bring down the very firmament onto any and all who would hurt her beloved, her mien nevertheless lit up with a smile of satisfaction when a flash of light, an inhuman, bird-like shriek and a soft thud confirmed that her star-shot had found its mark.

There he was, the King of Arda, lying on the forest ground in a heap of miraculously pristine robes and white feathers. Manwë managed to unfurl his crumpled wings and spread them out before rolling on his back in defeat, blue eyes still dazed from his fall, and revealing a glittering arrow stuck in his shoulder.

Varda approached him slowly and with leisurely grace, savouring her moment of triumph. Tiny stars twinkled where she went and were soon joined by the bow as she dropped it next to her husband.

"I have come to claim my catch," she announced.

Manwë exhaled, and his mien relaxed as if the pain had already left him. And perhaps it had indeed, for it was said that the Elder King was gifted with the ability to heal, as would be the other rightful kings among Ilúvatar's Children in the future.

"I yield, my lady, and shall be all yours henceforth," he said.

"Indeed, you are."

Unable to resist any longer, Varda was on him within a split second and tore his robes to shreds like a wild beast from the outer regions of Arda until her nails and teeth dug into soft, sweet-smelling skin instead.

"Such delicious prey," she purred, "however shall I devour you?"

"In body and spirit," Manwë replied, demure but fearless.

He spread his legs for her, knowing what was expected of him, and Varda was pleased. Her beloved was always so good and obedient. She might yet consider letting him be inside her, but as always, he would have to earn such a boon from his queen first.

Manwë appeared to have eagerly anticipated his capture, Varda noted with a content smile. The heady smell of his arousal had permeated the air even before she saw the wetness glistening on the insides of his thighs, leaking out of his fána as it impatiently yearned to be completed by its other half.

She focused on her own and willed her flesh to form a phallus worthy of a king. It rose proudly between her legs, ready to penetrate her beloved's body like her arrow had, and Varda wasted no time doing just that.

There was no cry of pain, only muted Valarin mumbling and melodious moans. Manwë had prepared himself well and knew to yield to his queen. Brows furrowed, eyelids fluttering, he was perfect in her eyes.

Inevitably, Varda's gaze was drawn to the arrow again. A rivulet of blood, fresh and so wonderfully red, contrasting pale skin and white feathers, had trickled down Manwë's arm and torso, and her thrusts slowly but surely coaxed more out of him.

Yes. Varda placed a hand on his chest. She wanted to hold him down and possess him, willing gravity to seize his fána and keep it in place. Mine.

Her fingers, splayed wide as if she wished to grasp his entire rib cage in one hand, dipped into the idly flowing red rivulet. Oh, how she had longed for this — to see her loyal, loving husband bleed for her. And of course Manwë hadn't disappointed her. He took what she gave him and loved it.

For a brief moment, Varda envisioned her fist closing around the arrow's shaft to yank it out and watch more blood flow, but she admonished herself not to be cruel to one who didn't deserve it; she felt that, if faced with such delicious earthly delights, she might make good on her word and devour him after all.

Inside her beloved the arrow would stay, as did she.

Yet her primal instincts could not fully be constrained, especially not when pure desire coursed through her veins and lust dissolved her self-control. Varda placed her free hand on Manwë's throat and tightened her grip, futile though it was — the Lord of the Breath of Arda would never find himself lacking his own element. Even so, the sensation of soft flesh constrained in her grasp and the lovely view of lips parting to gasp for air was delightful.

More arms broke out of her shoulders, summoned by impulse rather than conscious choice, and she scratched and clawed at every bit of flesh and skin she could reach, bringing their fánar closer and closer together. Thus the Elder King himself became her willing, helpless prey, and Varda's delight caused the veins beneath her skin to glow and her very fána to nearly break apart, held together by the gravity of her single-minded purpose.

Finally, mercifully, she brought their lips together in a searing kiss and felt Manwë arching underneath her as he found his release. His passion made her grin, showing a row of sharp teeth, but no less loving; it touched her that out of all the things she was doing to him, a kiss was what pushed him over the edge.

Her heart filled with love and fondness in tandem with her light filling him, a reward for his loyalty and bravery. One by one her many arms released him and retreated back into her flesh, and Varda gracefully rose to her knees and withdrew from her beloved.

Manwë was a mess, his robes torn to shreds that barely clung to his form, his fána covered in patterns of red, the arrow still sticking out of him. The smaller scratches she had left were already healing, and his expression was serene, showing no signs of pain.

"You will forgive me for carrying you home like this," Varda said, her voice quiet and even now that she was satisfied.

"If you worry that I am ashamed, I assure you that I feel no such thing," Manwë responded with a content sigh. "There is no shame in being caught by my queen and bearing the marks of her desire."

"You should be careful with being such a sweet little bird, or I might eat you after all," Varda teased gently and lifted him up with both arms. As usual, Manwë was pleasantly light and tucked his head under her chin in complete disregard of his current shoulder injury.

And so the King and Queen of Arda returned to Almaren, sparking many whispers and countless rumours among the other Ainur, though they cared little about that and enjoyed the feast once Estë had seen to removing the arrow.

Yet as great as their enjoyment had been, both Manwë and Varda bowed their heads in agreement when the Lady of Healing came before them and Oromë and Varda after the festivities to suggest limiting the use of force and weapons.

"Mighty you are indeed, and I worry not that you shall heal swiftly from this hunt," Estë said, "but let us not forget that in time the Children shall walk upon Arda alongside us, and their bodies will be more susceptible to injury. I would prefer not to find out what a star-shot or any of our other weapons and powers could do to them."

She inclined her head towards Varda and Oromë. "Not that I doubt your aim, but I am certain you understand."

Thanks for reading! ♡

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