#eönwë

[that-angry-noldo]

Eönwë!!

[cilil]

Eru: Behold, children! I created the first of the Maiar!

Manwë: Oh! How cute!😍 (taps Eönwë's crib)

Eönwë: (starts chirping, full hungry baby bird mode)

Ossë: (starts violently shaking his crib while imitating storm noises)

Mairon: (signature look of superiority)

[welcomingdisaster]

tfw when your elf falls asleep on you mid poetry discussion & chill and now you can't get up to do your important maia business

[myceliumelium]

Eönwë during the years of the trees, before anything too shitty happens!

[cyraes]

Indeed for a while mishap fell even upon bright Urwendi (Arien), that she wandered the dark grots and endless passages of Ulmo's realm until Fionwë (Eönwë) found her and brought her back to Valinor - but the full tale is called the Tale of Qorinómi and may not be here told.

Book of Lost Tales - The Hiding of Valinor

aka Eönwë's epic self-insert 200k friends to lover epic fantasy

Illustration for an oncoming Eönwë x Arien fanfiction (Vairë said she could not tell the tale and I took it personally)

[eonweweek]

Hello everyone,

we are pleased to announce the coming of Eönwë Week, a fandom event dedicated to our favourite Herald.

The event will run from August 12th to 18th 2024, so save the date!

[verecunda]

We all really need to spare a thought for Eönwë's stress-levels by the end of the War of Wrath, because they must have been off the charts. To wit: 1. Okay, so we've overthrown Morgoth and put an end to his vile reign. Cool. But now there's the logistical problems of keeping him bound and quiet for the duration of the trip back to Aman, and I highly doubt he's a passive, subdued kind of prisoner. Also he can't walk by himself any more, so there's that. (Probably should've thought twice about that hewing the feet from under him thing, but hey-ho.) 2. Due to the epic, apocalyptic nature of the WoW, Beleriand appears to have sprung a leak. Actually, a few leaks. Actually, quite a lot of leaks. Shitshitshit, time to organise the evacuation efforts! Also need to round up the Edain so they can be gifted that new island. 3. Got back the last two of Fëanor's problem gems (see point 1), but now his sons are still agitating to get them back. NO. No, you can't bloody well have them. And now, oh dear god, now they've decided they're going to commit Kinslaying... #4? #3.5? in order to get them back. Ugh. You know what? Have them. Fucking HAVE THEM. You'll get no fucking joy out of them but that's your look-out. .....Yeah, stings a bit, don't it? Well, I did try and warn you. 4. If that's not enough to be going on with, here comes bloody Sauron crawling out of the woodwork, batting his eyelashes and twirling his hair all like "oh I'm so sorry, I've been so naughty but if you forgive me, I promise I'll never, ever do it again." (Shit, forgot how pretty Mairon could be when he put his mind to it oh no oh no.) Oh God, this is so not my job description. Um... well, why don't you come back to Valinor and submit yourself to the Valar's judgme— oh, he's gone. Oh no.

[wormedeye]

my new favorite art genre called eönwë covered in blood

sorry for the art being too dark👉👈

[urwendii]

It is time to reward the bravery of the Ring Bearers and Bilbo is summoned to the Forges of Aulë.

A little tribute to the @fellowshipofthefics discord, I'm not exactly a Hobbit girlie but writing Bilbo is always a delight and you guys are always so kind.

Some Bagginshield flavours. Taking some liberties with canon because I can.

Bilbo had a very confusing day. If one could say so. It all started after his second breakfast when the Lady Galadriel came to visit him and Frodo- oh and what a breakfast it had been, Bilbo could not prove it but the quality of food in the Undying Lands really was outstanding. Frodo had even said so last time when they had taken a stroll in their garden. It had been a beautiful day with a blue sky and a crisp autumn wind. Bilbo loved the golden trees so very much.

But he was saying, ah yes. A very confusing day indeed. The Lady Galadriel had been accompanied by her husband the Lord Celeborn, a kind fella who answered a lot of Bilbo's questions about the technicalities of one of his Sindarin translation of a poem he had found in the library in Rivendell. Bilbo might even finish his work on this before the moon came full again. The Lord and his Lady had drank tea with them but refused any food - elves were strange like that, even so he might have to clarify they were indeed less strange than the others inhabitants of said mystical Lands. And indeed Bilbo had met some of them, as strange as they were. Looking like Elves or Men for most but Bilbo was no fool and could see the very much established otherness shining through their raiments.

Oh he was very fond of Gandalf indeed, and so glad his friend was there even though he was called Olórin here and that sounded too strange to Bilbo and so he kept calling him Gandalf because that was what his friend's name was for him.

So well today he was meeting another ! Ah yes for it was the purpose of the Lady Galadriel's visit. He was told to meet in Valmar - the city of many bells! Oh Bilbo was very excited indeed, Tírion he had visited often and often remained in the Palace's library - so many books ! So much knowledge. He felt a young hobbit again. Looked like one for that purpose too. Strange Lands indeed.

It had been peculiar that Frodo's presence was - if welcomed - not strictly mandatory and his nephew informed he would not mind staying home. Sometimes Frodo would simply stay and sleep. Ah, Bilbo could not blame him.

So he had gone. With the Lady and the Lord. To Valmar. The city of Maiar. The beings that were like Gandalf. And like another one whose name was not to be said too much because it seemed to greatly vexed many. Bilbo still had questions about his ring though. Ah well. He had packed a healthy elevenses and lunch (as well as other snacks, one could not be too cautious after all.)

Valmar stood proud and glorious, even outshining his most anticipated imaginings. The Lady and her husband seemed to know their way and up they went to a hill where a large building stood, decorated with many banners Bilbo recognised as Manwë's heraldry. The Elder King. Bilbo had never met him in person.

But it had not been the King awaiting him but his Herald. Standing tall and proud, Eönwë always seemed vexed, to Bilbo's humble opinion, there was a solemn expression on his face but the corners of his eyes had that tightness that Gandalf sometimes had with him in their younger years, when he seemed particularly exasperated by something Bilbo would do or say. Which was unfair because Bilbo had always been a delight. According to his good opinion of himself at least.

Eönwë was slightly intimidating though, in the way Ainur were - well aside Gandalf, but he was weird. He had been the one welcoming Frodo and Bilbo when they had reached the White Shores, making a grand speech with fancy words Bilbo had tried to pay attention too - he had been very hungry at that time! Now Bilbo wanted to ask him all sorts of questions.

This time and because he had been chewing on one of his snacks just before, he heard the words said and nodded when he was asked if he understood.

Well Bilbo was not stupid thank you very much. He was told to go with Eönwë to Aulë's forges - the Elder King had ruled on a decree, it was to be a formal thank you to the Ring Bearers, Frodo and Bilbo and Bilbo's award was different than his nephew and so he had to go to the Forges.

Why? He asked and asked again but every answer was similar to the way Gandalf would sometimes answer his queries, riddles that only made sense if you were a strange wizard.

Eönwë said not much actually, he monotously told Bilbo he would fly them here, the Lady and Lord were met with a polite bow and to pass his greeting to the Lady's father. And then off they went.

Flying! Oh Bilbo had once flew on the back of a Great Eagle! How amazing it had been. Ah. He missed these times. Now gone with the long years of his life but never regretted once.

He inquired on the method of transportation, to which the Herald wordlessly replied by opening large silver wings attached to his back. Bilbo had seen many wonders in his life but being carried by a winged person - not a great Eagle! Oh what a joy to be alive! The trip did not take long but it certainly made Bilbo hungry again and he told Eönwë so when they landed in front of a towering building where a cacophony of hammers hiting metal could he heard.

That seemed to confuse the Maia as he stood awkwardly by Bilbo's side while he sat down on the stair to unpack a loaf of bread, some honey, nuts, cheese and berries.

All better he decided after finishing eating. The polite thing to do had been to offer some to Eönwë but that seemed to make the Maia even less at ease. Strange strange creatures indeed. Ah well. More for him then.

Eönwë informed him they didn't eat - there was no need apparently and Bilbo thought that maybe that was why he looked not exactly really happy. Maybe Sauron would have been less evil if he too had some food once in a while. Bilbo could not imagine living his life without and would have certainly shared some of his snacks in exchange for seeing his ring once more.

The Halls were immense, even by a tall person standard but Bilbo could not help but stare at everything, there were wonders hung on the walls, resplendent armours exhibited, swords of ancient times, mundane objects, fountains, ingenious mechanism, clocks. What a lively place!

An imposing shape came to them, bushy red beard and golden eyes, a sturdy leather apron tied around his waist. Aulë welcomed both of them, his voice booming in the high ceiling.

"Welcome!" And said other things to them to Eönwë in what he learned to be Valarin. What a delightful language to try learning! So complicated and challenging. The Lady Galadriel had told him only one Elve ever mastered it and Bilbo was confused to learn he was not there. Oh yes he needed to finish the records of the First Age about the House of Fëanor and his sons.

That reminded him Frodo had mentioned something interesting the other evening during dinner. They had had a delicious potage from the gardens' vegetables - carrots, butternut, potatoes and garlic.

Oh, but he should focus on the conversation.

He asked Lord Aulë - or Lord Mahal if he knew the engineering behind Sting, his and Frodo's beloved sword.

"It grew blue when orcs were near."

Aulë seemed delighted with Bilbo's following questions, so many new things to learn that Bilbo did not immediately register when they entered a smithy, and another person was standing there.

A discreet cough had been what refocused him on his surroundings, finding Eönwë standing near...a dwarf.

Bilbo blinked. Once. Twice. Oh. Almost swoon.

Oh.

"I see you haven't lost your constant chatter." Thorin remarked and Bilbo would possibly need a seat soon if he could have one, yes thank you, ah.

"A prerogative of mine own creations." Aulë said. Eönwë explained this was Bilbo's gift. From the King.

Bilbo possibly would have said something if he had not been busy gaping and then sniffling and then- ah a hug felt nice, very nice indeed. He hadn't had such a nice hug in so long.

"You need to meet Frodo." He said amongst other things and "Oh Gandalf will be joyful to see you again." And "I need to tell you about the Ring I found." And "I'm so happy." And so many words that would take too long to record in pages for some feelings could only be felt. He would write them down though.

There and back again. Ah yes, very nice indeed.

[that-angry-noldo]

The raven ponders if he enjoys the gore, while he takes the frontal lobe and eats some more

the king and the herald having a late night chat... or a hunt, maybe.

[naarisz]

I doodled some Maiar again! <3

Eönwë, Mairon and Ilmarë, Curumo and Mairon again, Olórin and Curumo again

[cilil]

𝐏𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞!𝐌𝐚𝐢𝐚𝐫 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 - 𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓀𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓎ℴ𝓊 𝒶𝓈 𝓉𝒽ℯ𝒾𝓇𝓈

Characters: Mairon, Gothmog, Eönwë, Tilion & Ossë; reader's gender is unspecified - all up to your imagination~

Featuring: 2nd person POV, vampire!Mairon, werewolf!Mairon, monsterfucking, Balrog anatomy, avian Ainu, merman, some Dom/sub dynamics, bit of predator/prey and other kinks, penetrative sex, intercrural sex, dirty talk

Warnings: Possessive themes, smut, tiny bit of degradation branding/burn marks, blood drinking/vampirism, mentions of impact play (whipping, spanking), swords/blades, bit of blood, biting, scratching

AN: Thanks to everyone who voted on my poll (back in the day). Sorry for the delay and here are your top choices plus our favorite birdy boy - hope you enjoy!

Mairon

𓂀 Once your heart is his, Mairon makes sure to live up to his reputation as the Lord of Gifts and the Lord of the Rings. Whether it is to seal a bond of marriage, asking for your hand or a promise of love and courtship, he crafts a beautiful ring just for you - showing everyone that you are now his and possibly also enhancing said ring with a few spells so he can watch over you.

𓂀 Yet gold is not the only way for him to mark your body; he also loves to use his fire to ensure neither you nor anyone else will ever forget where you belong. Mairon's preferred symbol to draw on your skin is The Eye, and he loves to place it right on your neck or chest so he can see it every time he takes you.

𓂀 His love and desire for you take many forms, as does he; when in the shape of a vampire, he enjoys biting you and drinking your blood while he makes love to you, strengthening the bond between you. He may sing to you to keep you calm while he feeds, and his song causes the wound and the vein he drank from to appear golden for a time until it slowly fades. Mairon expects you to wear those marks with pride and not cover them up.

𓂀 Whenever his form has more wolfish attributes, he also likes leaving bite marks, but his favorite feature is his knot. He loves how it swells inside you and stretches you out while he breeds you and how it keeps his seed inside until he decides he's done with you for the night.

. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭

"Do you think you can take it?" 

Mairon slams into you with the full strength of his fána, making sure you can feel every inch of his hot, hard cock stretching you out without mercy. 

"Do you think you can take my knot, my precious little slut?" 

You barely manage to nod before a searing hot sensation makes you cry out in pain and pleasure alike. The eye symbol, proudly adorning your chest, glows in response to his words, like on the day when you were first marked by his hand. 

Satisfied with your obedience, Mairon stops moving and allows his seed to fill you. His knot swells proudly, binding you to him, and you try to muffle another scream — only for him to deter you with a quick slap on your thigh. 

"No," he says firmly, "let me hear it. I want to hear how much you love this, and you will not deny me."

Gothmog

☄ Contrary to popular belief, Gothmog can be affectionate and isn't afraid to show it. He likes to keep you close in public and holds you like a pretty little doll, making it clear to everyone that you belong to him and no one else may come close to you, let alone touch you. Even when he isn't around, the scent of fire and heat of his touch seems to surround you everywhere you go.

☄ Yet make no mistake: The Lord of Balrogs is incredibly strong and likes it rough. He may use his claws and fangs to as part of passionate love making and leave bite and scratch marks in strategic spots to ensure that everyone knows he has claimed you. Carry your marks with pride: To Balrogs, they are a symbol of strength and a sign that you belong.

☄ Gothmog's favorite way to claim and mark you, however, is fire - but he won't use his whip unless you ask him to. Instead, he may opt to simply use his hands to leave a nice and warm hand print on your skin; the same applies to any sort of impact play where he uses his hands instead of any tools. The touch of a Balrog leaves a lingering feeling of either cosy warmth or searing heat, and which one it will be is his choice to make.

☄ Aside from horns that you can hold on to, Gothmog also has a tail - and yes, he can and will use it. Not only is it a convenient as an additional limb to wrap around you and pull you close when his hands and arms are occupied and to keep others away from you, but he can also use it to fuck you if he so chooses, be it to tease you or for double penetration. He loves to test your limits.

. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭

"What a pretty little thing you are." Gothmog pats your head with his large hand while he continues to effortlessly bounce you on his lap as if you weigh nothing. 

You would have cried out from the intensity of his massive cock thrusting in and out of you rapidly, but all you manage is a muffled moan; your mouth is currently occupied by the tip of his tail. 

"We don't need the entire fortress to hear you," Gothmog said beforehand, and you agreed. 

He is — for his standards — gentle with you, but you also know that there isn't much mercy to be had in Angband. You consider yourself lucky to be with him. 

Your thoughts are interrupted when Gothmog rakes the claws of his free hand down your back and chuckles when he feels your throat vibrate with muted screams. 

"And so good for me too," he adds to his previous statement. "Keep taking me so nicely and I might even let you rest after this round."

Eönwë

⚔ As sweet and affectionate as Eönwë is with you in private, he's not exactly fond of others trying to compete, particularly during avian mating season. He stays with you whenever he can, guarding you like a precious treasure, and watches the people who approach you, both when's nearby and when he's somewhere else. Should another suitor be so foolish as to approach you anyway, they will soon notice a very irate Maia glaring at them and posturing aggressively, every single feather fluffed up.

⚔ While you two are still courting and not quite ready for marriage yet, Eönwë presents you with a lovely promise bracelet or anklet (your choice), made of his favorite materials that he gathered himself. Nothing makes him happier than seeing you wear it, and conveniently enough it also serves as a reminder to other suitors that you are very much taken - by the chief of the Maiar, no less.

⚔ When Eönwë makes love to you, he can be gentle, but he can also be feral. Sometimes his desire simply overwhelms him. Depending on his current form, he has talons on his hands and will make use of them to mark you, even drawing ancient patterns on you to show everyone who claimed you. You can also expect to find yourself covered in love bites, with his favorite area being your neck.

⚔ If you enjoy rough sex and agree to try out some more "extreme" kinks, Eönwë would love to make use of his sword - the song of steel and battle is ingrained in his very being, after all. As much as the rational part of him hates to see you hurt, the feral part of him is fascinated by the way you shiver when a cold blade is pressed against you or when it leaves beautiful lines of red on your skin and draws a few droplets of blood.

. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭

Cold steel bites into your skin as the blade touches your throat, but you only have eyes for Eönwë. He's breathing heavily, and his fána glows with barely contained lust. 

"I want you," he breathes. 

You spread your legs in silent invitation. Surely he must know that you are already his; even if you decided to fight back now, which is the last thing on your mind, he would be too strong for you. 

"Exactly like this," Eönwë says then, and you understand. He wants to take you with his sword at your throat, utterly at his mercy, and your skin prickles with excitement. 

The prospect of submitting to the greatest warrior of the Maiar so completely is thrilling. 

Eönwë enters you with one swift thrust, his free hand reaching for your hip. You make sure not to move, as you know he wants from you, and welcome him inside. The blade presses against your skin, but only lightly; his hold is steady, his posture impeccable, no blood is drawn. 

You surrender. 

Tilion

☽ Tilion loves antlers, his pride and joy when it comes to his fána, and wants to share that with you. If you yourself are an Ainu and grow your own pair, he will paint them silver with moonlight. If not, he will gladly hunt beasts of your choosing for you to claim their horns or antlers as a prize for you to wear and paint them as well. Nothing makes him more proud than everyone seeing that you belong to him.

☽ In order to make sure you are always safe, even when he isn't around, Tilion also crafts protective moon charms, infused with the light of Telperion's fruit. These are designed to keep creatures of darkness away, fearing his wrath, and may also glow to alert you to nearby danger. Not least of all they come with the additional benefit of letting everyone know that Tilion is only ever one call away.

☽ He loves to be intimate with you whenever he can, worshiping your body to his heart's content. Like his own hunt and war paint, Tilion enjoys painting your skin with matching patterns. These are expressions of love and companionship, glowing hymns to your beauty, but also marks of ownership and desire.

☽ For as hopelessly romantic as Tilion is, never forget that he's also a hunter. When lust overwhelms him, he is a passionate and wild lover, and sex with him can get rough. He enjoys chasing you, catching you and holding you down while he takes you, as well as leaving bite marks all over your body. Rest assured though that he will take good care of you after and do anything to ensure that you're comfortable and at ease.

. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭

"You are too beautiful for your own good," Tilion sighs, smiling as he kisses you on the lips. 

You are both naked, lying together on a bed of moss in the woods of Oromë, and panting heavily after a wild and lengthy chase. Of course your lover has caught you in the end and carried you to a comfortable hidden spot to enjoy his prey. 

Tilion trails his hand down your chest, your stomach, your lower body, and you spread your legs in anticipation. He wants you, you can see it; his midnight blue eyes darken with desire. 

"There you go, little deer," whispers gentle praise against your lips before pushing two fingers inside of you. "You will be all nice and wet for me soon, won't you?" 

You nod. Of course you will be; how could you not when you are with your beloved hunter, chasing your love and your pleasure with no less determination and ferocity than he chases his prey. 

Ossë

⚡︎ Ossë is a capricious and jealous lover. His feelings for you are strong and passionate, and he will fight anyone who wishes you ill - or comes closer than he would like. The storms he conjures are mighty, and even if Ulmo and Uinen stop him from giving in to his jealousy, Ossë is also a mischievous Maia who will find other ways to mess with those who have wronged you or him.

⚡︎ You will find yourself getting showered with gifts from him, various trinkets that he picks up in the oceans of Arda: Pearls, seashells, items and parts from sunken ships, bones, teeth and also all sorts of fish and sea creatures he caught for you. Ossë delights in swimming, diving and hunting to his heart's content, but most importantly coming home to you with something new to show you.

⚡︎ Just like he himself is wild and fierce, so is intimacy with him. You will find yourself completely soaked, regardless of whether he takes you in the water (as he prefers) or outside, and covered in bite and scratch marks; Ossë simply can't resist taking a bite out of something as beautiful as you are. He also loves the thought that everyone can tell what you two have done afterwards.

⚡︎ Ossë enjoys being on top of you, all around you and inside you, having his tail wrapped tightly around you. After he's done making love to you, he likes carrying you around like a precious little pearl and singing to you in ancient tongues until you fall asleep. You may also notice that, whenever you've been with him, the scent of seawater sticks with you for days.

. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭

The sand feels warm against your skin, but Ossë's form is cool and smooth. He rolls over so he's lying on top of you, his tail wrapping around your legs, and flashes you a toothy grin, like a hungry sea monster about to devour its unfortunate prey. 

"Should I take you here, marilla? Or should I drag you to the bottom of the ocean first?" he teases. 

Clawed, webbed fingers hold onto you possessively, and Ossë wastes no time nibbling on the side of your neck as you writhe underneath him. 

"Please have mercy, o lord of storms," you gasp, entertaining his little game to entice him to go on. 

You know your words had the intended effect when you feel something hard pressing against your thigh. 

"Perhaps I will," Ossë muses, a mischievous glint in his eyes. 

His tail keeps its grip on your legs, and he pushes his now-exposed cock between your thighs to rut against you.

"We will even start slowly," he whispers, "but worry not. You shall feel my full strength soon enough."

. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭

marilla (Quenya) - pearl

Thanks for reading! ♡

taglist: @angbangbaby @asianbutnotjapanese @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @bluezenzennie @edensrose @elanna-elrondiel @eunoiaastralwings @i-did-not-mean-to @just-little-human @saintstars @singleteapot @urwendii

[doodle-pops]

The Delicacy of a Dove

Eonwe x reader

Kinktober 2023: Corruption Kink

A/N: Not gonna lie, I struggled to stay on board with this kink. I just needed to perfect the dialogue in order to get the ball running.

Warnings: fem!reader, corruption kink, outdoor intimacy, fingering, making out, groping, a bit of Eӧnwё’s avian side appearing, innocent reader

Words: 3.1k

Synopsis: Tapped in a furry of desiring you the moment you became his devotee, Eönwë never lost sight of doing everything in his power to have you under his control, no matter the cost.

List of Requests

His two fingers lifted and beckoned you over to the stand at the edge of the pool where he sat, washing off after a vigorous tournament. Weariness sat in his eyes despite the darkened appearance it took the moment you walked through the glass doors after being summoned. Even his wings appeared wilder and frantic, frizzled and puffier than usual whenever he was committed to a match. You knew after the numerous occasions spent assisting him with washing his wings—the most delicate act and he chose you to aid. There wasn’t anything you took of the gestures besides him trusting your ability to ensure maximum care and affection to his most prized features.

Now you stood with your hands cupped before you, knees and feet touching together and an inch away from the edge of the pool. Your eyes were bright and cheery, eager to fulfil any of his requests with diligence and satisfaction. However, to Eӧnwё, those were not the first features he took in the moment you appeared before him; if it were not for the flustered appearance and the shift in your scent, he would have gone about his day like any ordinary person, but he wasn’t. Those were never the signs of an ordinary eager person willing to please their Lord; you were his exceptional devotee who did whatever it took to satisfy his needs. And he was sure you found the idea of being his servant thrilling just as he did, the only problem was the lack of visual gratitude.

“You called my Lord Eӧnwё,” you answered with readiness in your tone and slightly bouncing on the tip of your toes. He drank in the sight of everything you did, from the soft smile and eyes to the bouncing on your toes to the aroused state your body was left in. The roundness of your nipples was peeking through the thin material of your dress.

Satisfied with his observations, he rocked back against the wall and hitched his left foot upon the bench, his lower body still submerged beneath the water. His elbow rested upon his kneecap, allowing him to leisurely rest his head into the palm of his hand and gaze hungrily. He could feel his inner self snapping and chastising him for taking forever to make the move, though Eӧnwё was most reasonable and aware that coaxing was required to get you right where you should be for taking.

“I did, and I require something from you, little one,” he assured with the corners of his lips tugging upwards. “However, I am concerned this request may be too far–reaching for your lovely self to handle.”

“Too far–reaching, my Lord?” You were stunned at his assumption; never before has he ever doubted your capabilities. “Forgive me, but I find your statement a bit insulting given my dedication when it comes to ensuring satisfaction is achieved even if I must go to great lengths.”

The frown that formed was eye candy to Eӧnwё and only urged him to push you further. Arching his brow in contest to your frowning, his chin jutted outwards with the expectation of riling you further, and in gratification, he was successful. Following the frown, your eyes grew glossy with tears threatening to overflow as they were summoned rapidly. “Great length you say. Tell me,” he began, shifting his body so that he was now standing waist–deep in the shallow waters and giving you a view of his warrior’s appeal, “how far are you willing to go in order to prove your capabilities?”

His question once again stunned you. Your Lord had never been judgemental or sceptical of your devotedness, always a pleasing smile and warm ‘thank you’ being bequeathed. Had your most recent performance lacked passion and devotion? Perhaps this was his reason for summoning, a test of how far you were willing to prove your gratitude and appreciation.

“Permission to approach?” you requested and waited for his nod of approval before carefully shuffling over to the three threaders at the entrance to the pool. As your posture changed from hands before to attention, so did Eӧnwё. Facing you head–on, your eyes swiftly took in the droplets of water which clung to his skin like a fragrance, his semi–wet hair and gorgeously tanned body, though, it was the lack of the electrifying blue in his orbs that alerted you of his other avatar present. A message to be cautious with your response. “As your devoted follower My Lord, it pains me to learn of your disappointment towards my performance. It is my responsibility to ensure absolute happiness in my servitude. So, to answer your question—whatever I must do.”

You were smart to understand he was displeased, but not enough to be aware of his faux goading. You were dancing in the palm of his hands to his every word and tune.

Poking the tip of his tongue to kiss the corner of his mouth, he then ran it over his lips with his focus like a hawk on your expression. He was delighted such a casual interaction would ignite a wonderous outcome with the probabilities in his favour, and with the change in his disposition, his forefinger lifted to beckon you over.

“Come,” he commanded, voice laced with compulsion and honey and eyes full of seduction. They darkened further with a ring of gold and eyes becoming slits; features you had seen before and understood, yet the pronunciation of them in this predicament was strange. “Treat with me.”

Your body was compelled before your mind was able to react, foot in front of the other, you stepped down the threader until your feet were emersed in the water. The rest was easy as your dress became soaked the further you waded until you came to stand before your Lord, tall and magnificent as the dawn. His wings fluttered and flapped at your approach, more ruffled prior to the beginning of the night. There was the instinctive urge to reach out and brush your fingers across his plumage as you were normally granted, but your hands were tied, waiting patiently for his chain of command in order to prove your great lengths.

His right hand was the first to move between you both, sloshing through the water and collecting enough droplets to let them fall against your dress. The thinness of the material was no warrior to fight against the transparency the water provided to access your skin. More specifically, he doused the water over your bosom for a better view of your chest, ensuring that droplets fell directly onto your erected nipples. Listening to your astonished gasps and noticing the motions of your hands gripping the ends of your dress goaded him on.

His left hand soon joined him, however, instead of splashing more water, he gave a sudden tug to your body and pressed you against his chest. In an instant, both arms encircled your waist, followed by his wings cocooning you both. The proximity brought unhinged thoughts, being pressed against his bare body and feeling the outline of his manhood bumping against your thigh like another arm. Your indecorous thoughts were getting the better of you for you were unable to look him in his eyes.

“Are you alright?” he mused before dipping his head into the crook of your neck and ghosting your skin with his lips. “You’re trembling like a frightened little dove.”

“I do not believe—ah!” you gasped as your words were cut–off by the suddenness of his teeth sinking into your flesh before his tongue swiped over the area to soothe the ache. “My Lord!”

“Hmm,” he mumbled, deaf to whatever you were about to say while his lips worked their way across your neck, tasting your skin and groaning at the fulfilment of how sweet you tasted after longingly fantasising. His arms instinctively tightened around your waist eliciting a sharp gasp from you, but also allowed him to be closer and feel your warmth and erratic heartbeat. His favourite sound in the world, and he knew it from the soft lub–dub sounds it echoed—a melody that enticed him easily.

Lost for words on your end, you didn’t know where to place your hands as he ravished your neck in a litter of kisses. Were you permission to touch him while he donned great magnitudes to pleasure? But it should be the other way around?

“M–My Lord,” you managed to stutter out, yet unable to gain his attention. It wasn’t until your hands found the confidence to lift and press against his chest with as much force to capture his attention, that he stopped. However, his silence was questioning as he stood menacingly, waiting for your speech. “Should it not be I, who should be condoning the pleasure given the declaration to prove my great lengths?”

Suddenly, he laughed. He laughed an amused laughter at your innocence. Even his wings shook at the adorableness of the proposed inquiry.

Unravelling his hands around your waist, you were abruptly spun around, encouraging your back to collide with his chest. Once again, you were ensnared by him, left with no choice but to allow your Lord to have his way and remain obedient. Unfortunately for you, when his lips returned to your neck, they parted to answer your question. “Your great lengths of devotion will be proven by allowing me to have my way,” he groaned.

Finding his hands, you gripped his wrists as they glided upwards and over your bosom to tug against the sleeves of your dress. “But firstly, these must come off before we truly indulge.”

His words of confirmation triggered your ability to willingly serve without complaint, knowing that your form of satisfaction with the pleasure he condoned was all that mattered. It was appalling that your Lord wished to achieve pleasure through you when so many other followers governed the grounds. Truly, you must have done something astronomical to obtain such commendation. All that was required was your devotion towards showing him how diligently he performed.

The desire to get the show on the road surpassed the wait for your verbal response as you reached for your own sleeves and pushed the material over your shoulder. Though Eӧnwё was impatient and had no desire for a seductive undressing, he ripped the now tattered material apart and left it to float in the pool. Unable to contain himself any longer with the spectacular view of your naked body, his eyes and hands roamed in coordination, unsure of where to focus on first.

“Long have I waited for this moment,” he announced, hands finally finding purchase on your breast, tugging and rolling your nipples between his thumb and forefinger. “Long have I desired to have you, little dove.”

From his point of view, your body moved too naturally against his own as he groped your breast and rubbed his erection against your butt. The slip and slide of your sweaty and wet skin, fumbling to stay together and in rhythm pursued in the privacy of his domain. He groped and squeezed your chest while his lips created fresh designs across your shoulder and neck. There was barely any ability to contain himself, wanting nothing more than to bend you over the edge and take you until you could bear no more. To no longer watch from the distance and imagine himself all over you but having you in his arms like this was peak imagination.

When he had grown tired of touching your breast, he dropped his left hand to the most sacred place of yours while the other travelled to cup your neck. Teeth grazing your earlobe and breathing fervidly, your high–pitched cries were better than his groans as he rubbed your clit. You were so damn sensitive and soaked with every swipe of his fingers through your fold. He should have claimed you from the start instead of building the anticipation.

Barking instructions for you to carry out, curious to see whether or not his calculations were correct. In the end, he was. There wasn’t the faintest idea on your end of the spectrum when it came to the understanding behind the reasons for his actions. He felt partially horrible for taking advantage of you, but your eagerness to prove your worth and those honeyed words from your lips every time you smiled. He would have ripped his own wings out due to frustration instead of touching himself off every night to your sweet smiles and softness.

Placing a tighter grip around your neck and squeezing the sides, he tilted your neck backwards to meet your shut eyes and parted lips. “You touch yourself, don’t you dove?” Your reply was a whimper before your hips began rocking against his fingers as they slid in and out. “Do you think of me when you cum?”

“M–My Lord!” you yelped as his fingers grazed the tip of your sweet spot.

Contented with the responses, he leaned in to kiss your cheeks and then looked up to continue observing your expressions. Priceless is what he would classify them; no other follower, whether they be as innocent as you could make him feel so devoted to willingly serving and gaining pleasure for his and their benefit. You broke him into wanting you, however, when he was through, tonight would surely not be your last.

So focused on your pleasure, loving the sensation of you gripping him and the warmth encompassing, he was overcome with the urge to be merciful and unmerciful at the same time. Push you to see how far you could take pleasure like a good devotee.

“I want you to remember the feeling of me fucking you whenever I’m not there. Feel my touches and unravel yourself as though I was. Always come back for more because you’re my good little follower,” he chanted, bewitching your body, mind and soul with every whisper and enunciation. “Can you do that for me?”

Fighting for your life, you found it impossible to believe a godly like him could destroy the very fabric of your mentality with his words, body and actions. It was damn near impossible to squeeze out ‘yes’ the way you wanted to. The grip around your throat wasn’t even the cause of it, simply his presence suffocating yours and alluring you like bees to honey. God, you wanted more than your body could handle—it didn’t matter if he ruined you. You were pleased to have at least served him properly one last time.

“Good girl,” he praised and pushed his fingers with more fervour against your sweet spot. “Going to give me your sweetness? Come on, you’re almost there.”

The sheer volume of inconsequential power you felt against him as he took control of your orgasm and showed you who was in charge, humbled your view on how far his power reigned. This was what it felt like to be in the favour of an ethereal being, not just being praised and offered gifts, but having them serve you to show gratitude. The thought of never giving yourself like a sacrificial orifice to a being used to be your number one motto…until you began serving the Herald of Lord Manwë. His duty and sacrifices were worthy more than fetching water and preparing a meal of food. You now understood it meant warming his bed at night and keeping his stamina efficient.

With the release of your neck, Eӧnwё allowed for the violent thrashing of your body against his as your orgasm took over and consumed you. The high–pitched squeals you sang with broken syllables of his name were euphoric. He’d kill to hear you cry out his name again. Holding you in place while you shivered uncontrollably in his arms, his hands resumed their roaming, mapping out all your bodily features to remember for lonely times. From your thighs to your hips to your stomach and back to your breasts, he groped every inch of you. Long gone in his mind was his prominent erection weeping against your ass, but the time was coming to place him out of his misery, and you were the solution.

Therefore, turning you in his embrace and avoiding your body collapsing, there was the fluid shuffle of him throwing your arms around his neck and his arms hooking under your thighs. You weren’t aware of his body contorting about the place while you still suffered the effects of your climax, but you became when you suddenly felt airborne. Wading through the water and ignoring the confused looks you threw, he returned to his bench with you now resting in his lap.

With the gain in a new form of comfort, allowing him to move not only himself but you, he retracted his forearms from under your thighs to immediately cup your face for a kiss. He didn’t understand why it wasn’t the first thing he hadn’t done from the very start. But with the opportunity presented, he wasted not a moment to pry your lips apart and slip his tongue inside for a heated kiss. Filled with his visceral nature, the aggression was skyrocketing and snatching away your ability to keep up. It was he who led the kiss, and dictated its pacing. The catering of your noses and teeth colliding was the least of his worries as he pried moans and mewls, and the gentle rocking of your body against his erection.

Lust was in the air the deeper you gravitated towards him, allowing your very fibre to be consumed. From cupping your neck, his hands slithered to your waist to aid in your gyrating. You almost thought with the occupation of kissing you, he would forget about focusing on praising and guiding you. “Take your time, dove. Move nice and slowly for me—just like that,” he hissed as he broke the kiss to look down to where your lower lips were running over his cock and dribbling it in your arousal. The sight ceased to restrain the feral urge to become unapologetic and take you with aggression. Growling, the deep reverberations caught you off guard.

“I don’t think I can hold myself back any longer.” A warning was emitted once his hands ceased your grinding and one slipped in between to grip his member to run the tip through your folds. “I need you right now!”

Understanding the weight of his words and necessities, with an eager and obedient nod of your head, you gave him acceptance without hesitation. “Do as you please, My Lord, for my body belongs to you.”

Masterlist

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[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Little Prince

Day 1 for @manweweek

Prompts: Family | Breath & Air

Pairing: BoLT version of Manwë/Varda with baby Fionwë Úrion (Eönwë)

Themes: Soft

Warnings: None

Wordcount: 500+ words

Summary: Baby Fionwë is taken outside for the first time so the others could see him.

This is also available on AO3

A deep but welcomed hush settled within the lofty halls and vast chambers of Ilmarin. Heralds went forth to the furthest corners of the Almaren and beyond, carrying with them the words of their lord and lady to all who wished to hear them.

“Perfect in every way. And already strong,” Manwë declared heartily, cradling the still-amorphous spirit of his firstborn in his arms. His eyes filled with awe when his son stirred, alert and curious. “And I wager it would not be long before he could weave an earthly vessel for himself.”

His queen came to him, her star-speckled skin already holding a glow of renewed vitality. Varda found unspeakable joy in light for as long as she could remember, and the orbs that burned bright in the sky were once her greatest creation. Then she and her lord husband came together and created a new life—a little prince that would be their joy. The very notion of it was enough to leave her humbled and overawed.

“Little Fionwë,” she lilted, smiling when their son reached up and caressed her cheek. Warmth radiated from his touch, as did love. Varda believed he was smiling at her. “As brilliant as the stars and destined for great things, I can feel it in the very depths of my spirit. Come, my lord. It is time our child saw something of the world we all fashioned with our song.”

Her king agreed, following her onto a balcony open to the sky. Fionwë took his first breath of cool mountain air and laughed. It echoed sweetly across the still, star-filled night. Vivid, sparkling orbs of golden light—a visible sign of his delight—burst to life all around him when he laughed, floating in the air like great puffy heads of dandelions gone to seed. Then music flowed forth from all over Almaren and the Timeless Halls, all harps and lutes and viols, filling the star-filled night like Fionwë's laughter did before. The others of their kind sang to welcome the little prince, their voices arising as one and joining the music in a sound of interwoven melodies of indescribable beauty and harmony, and glory that filled the heavens and the earth to overflowing, and the echo of that music caused the very stars themselves to burn brighter, their light increasing and increasing until it seemed like a million brilliant lamps flickered against a never-ending field of indigo and violet and lilac. 

“Eru is pleased, my darling. And so are the others," the king remarked while the music of the others went on, filling him with great joy. "Our son has been blessed.”

“Indeed. Now we must go back in,” said Varda, “and prepare ourselves to receive the others.”

They returned to their chambers, and Fionwë began to fuss. He could not understand why they could not tarry a little longer. He wanted to see more of the stars and hear more of the others singing. And since he could not still form proper words, he made his displeasure known in another way, with short, breathy grunts and the tightening of little fists that had already begun to take form. Light burst into life again; this time, it showed itself as orbs of dark red. 

“I think we have a warrior in this one,” his father observed, laughing.

“We do indeed,” the queen replied indulgently. “Be patient, little one, and do not fret. Your father and I will take you out again.”

tags@asianbutnotjapanese @batsyforyou

[i-did-not-mean-to]

April - Eönwë x Arafinwë

Here's the last one I got sent in, for the moment, and it's another one my darling reader MoonLord has sent in :D

This turned a little darker and sadder than I wanted, so please heed the tags!

Lots of love!

Pairing: Eönwë x Arafinwë (Russingon, Fëanor & Fingolfin & Finarfin)

Prompts: Friendship, Dimension Travel, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Shapeshifting

Words: 2050

Warnings: sadness, self-mutilation, canonical death, despair, loss, bad news

“You came,” Arafinwë sobbed, his whole body slumping forward as if he was tempted to throw himself against the broad chest of his mighty friend. “I didn’t know who else to turn to.”

Eönwë steeled himself to keep from flinching back from the bleak despair radiating in violent waves from the frail frame of the esteemed Elven king; he never knew how to deal with the unbridled, often outright shamelessly emotional outbursts of the Children, and he was afraid of distressing his friend even further by reacting inappropriately.

“How can I be of service?” the herald thus asked cautiously, extending a gentling hand which Arafinwë instantly clutched like a lifeline.

“My brothers,” he whispered, tears staining his fair face. “My heart aches fiercely, and I’m filled with dread that some dark fate has befallen them.”

This time, Eönwë did take a step back—it was forbidden to quest in thought or feeling for those who’d callously deserted the Blessed Realm, and he felt the stern gaze of his Master on the back of his neck even now.

All the non-committal words of illusionary comfort he was expected to dispense, though, died on his tongue in the face of the unembellished misery contorting his friend’s handsome face.

“I know not,” Eönwë finally said. “They’ve chosen their own destiny by removing themselves from the goodwill and protection of the Valar.”

“But you could find out,” Arafinwë wailed and surged forward to dig his fingers into Eönwë’s tunic in a gesture so shockingly disrespectful and undeniably desperate that the benevolent Maia didn’t even have the heart to chide him for his presumptuous trespass. “You are not a prisoner of these lands.”

“Neither are you,” Eönwë reminded him kindly. “Neither were they.”

At that gentle remonstrance, Arafinwë’s face fell like a heap of ashes blown astray by Manwë’s mighty winds.

“I’ve tried to leave once before,” the King of what remained of the Ñoldor breathed mournfully. “I couldn’t do it—and I dare not provoke the wrath of those who’ve welcomed me back so graciously now. I ask this as a friend—could you not travel hither and assuage the fear devouring my very soul?”

It was a terrible idea, Eönwë knew, and he should have declined. By rights and custom, he should have relegated this matter to Nienna or Estë for they would have found the right words to pacify Arafinwë.

Instead, he felt his head dip in a silent, grave nod.

Arafinwë reminded him of a failing fledgling, left behind in a deserted nest by his foolhardier siblings, and Eönwë’s heart bled for the stark loneliness that enveloped the pitiful wretch like an acrid stench; the herald, after all, was a being made to follow and obey, and—in this—his heart commanded him to break the rules to bring peace to one who’d so bravely contained all notions of strife and war within his brittle soul to spare those around him.

Surely, those who lived in and on faith all their life deserved to be granted knowledge from time to time as a reward for their blind, unwavering, oft perilous belief.

“I cannot, I shall not intervene,” Eönwë reminded the sorrowful supplicant. “As a reward for your enduring love and diligence, I will grant you this boon, though—I’ll find out what happened to your brothers and tell you posthaste.”

He did not share the price and suffering he’d take upon himself to do so—these were no concerns for a mere incarnate, and his desire was not to place the burden of guilt onto Arafinwë’s frail shoulders.

“Thank you,” the Elf cried, sinking to his knees and making to kiss the hem of Eönwë’s garment.

“Desist,” Eönwë expostulated and joined the other on the cool, damp ground, cupping his pale cheek tenderly and brushing a rough thumb across the wet skin. “You have been a good, loyal friend to me, and I love you well, son of Finwë. I shall accept your amicable gratitude, but you shan’t abase yourself before me.”

Watery eyes were slowly lifted pleadingly, and Eönwë at once bent forward to press his lips soothingly to that pallid, sorrowful brow.

“Be careful,” Arafinwë said with such genuine fervour that the other couldn’t help but yearn to subdue the tremor in those full lips by moving his own down a shapely cheek to the source of so innocent and foolish an exclamation.

“Worry not about me, dear,” Eönwë cooed. “Go home and make peace with your wife. I shall seek you out as soon as I’m back!”

“Milord!” Arafinwë mumbled into that sweet, comforting kiss before bowing sharply. “I shall await you impatiently!”

As he watched his heartened friend slowly walk back to his splendid abode, Eönwë turned his radiant face to the dark ocean and took a shivering breath—he was undaunted by the cruel steps he’d have to undertake to fulfil his promise, yet he dreaded his master’s just wrath if his base betrayal would come to light.

There was no hiding the truth from Manwë’s far-seeing eyes, so his diligent, hopelessly optimistic herald had to make haste before the mighty Vala could intervene to prevent him from leaving.

Drawing his sword—glistening like the embodiment of solace and vengeance alike—he did what had to be done unflinchingly.

Upon setting foot on the defiled soil, churning with frantic anger and hurt, Eönwë froze.

He’d known Fëanáro’s essence since the time it had slowly poisoned and snuffed out his mother’s soul, and he was reeling with fatigue and shock as he realised that he could not sense it anywhere.

“No,” he whispered. “No, he should be here.”

Slowly and cautiously, he lifted his face into the fetid breeze.

He could sense Fëanáro’s sons, sullen, agonising, diminished, but the one he’d come for was not among them.

Shrugging uncomfortably, he set out in search of Nelyafinwë who, he hoped, would be able to tell him of the fate about which he sought knowledge and reassurance.

After a long, wearying walk, Eönwë finally reached the stark, grey walls surrounding that dour fortress over which ruled the firstborn son of the famed Spirit of Fire—conjuring up dignified equanimity from the depths of his nascent despair, he did neither flinch nor protest when he heard a soldier announce that there was a beggar at the door.

Instead, he schooled his face into a pleasant smile in joyous expectation of having gotten closer to his goal.

He was left waiting in cold, draughty rooms for a shocking amount of time before a shadow so dark it made his very soul shiver fell upon him.

“Herald,” Nelyafinwë rasped in surprise. “You’re bleeding.”

“How did you recognise me?” Eönwë gasped, his mind awhirl with thoughts and observations that made his stomach drop.

The once gloriously beautiful Elven prince had grown gaunt and hollow-eyed, and his snarl was more reminiscent of a bleeding wound than of the radiant smile Eönwë remembered so well.

“I’ve lived through too many unspeakable horrors to be deceived by so weak a glamour,” the Lord of the stronghold chuckled mirthlessly. “You did not have to mutilate yourself—your light gives you away.”

Eönwë flinched—if he’d still had his wings, they would have quivered in alarm, but, in his present form, he merely winced violently.

“Your uncle sends me,” he then explained. “I’ve come from the Blessed Realm, risking much as you can imagine, to supply news about Fëanáro and Ñolofinwë to my dear friend. What can you tell me?”

Shaking his head regretfully, Nelyafinwë gave a crooked shrug that revealed the heavily bandaged stump of his hand which gave Eönwë another painful jolt—Thorondor had declined to speak about what he’d seen on his daring, sanctioned rescue mission, and it was his tight-lipped refusal to impart any wisdom pertaining to the state of things that had eventually pushed poor Arafinwë into making such foolhardy demands and heart-wrenching pleas.

“You can tell Arafinwë that he shan’t worry about my father ever again; Fëanáro won’t come to wrench his precious crown off his golden head. He’s dead and, as per Námo’s dark declaration, will never be seen again.”

“Why, that cannot be true!” Eönwë exclaimed, feeling oddly betrayed by the cold words that buffetted him like a volley of sharp blades, inexorably piercing him to the core of his being.

Surely, if that was so, Manwë would have known and so would Vairë and Námo—undoubtedly, they would not have withheld so grievous a fact from Arafinwë.

“There’s nought here to learn, herald,” Nelyafinwë muttered. “We’re dispersed like bad seeds, unable to take root, doomed to never thrive. I suppose you’ll see High King Ñolofinwë next—extend my greetings to His Highness.”

He hesitated for a near-imperceptible moment before adding, “And express my warmest regards to Prince Findekáno. Tell him that I’m still devoted to my labour of mending the rift between us.”

An incongruous, frightening sense of urgency had slipped into his hoarse, monotone voice now.

“May you find better tidings at their camp,” Nelyafinwë said, not unkindly, and swept out of the room without turning back.

Eönwë cursed himself for having discarded his wings in an act of agonising folly for his progress through the war-torn lands was slow and arduous.

When he finally reached his destination, his heart was heavy and his soul so tense that he feared that it might break under the slightest additional strain or blow.

“Hail…” he exclaimed when he saw Prince Findekáno walk towards him, but the courteous words of greeting died on his tongue as he registered the tears running down those shockingly concave cheeks he’d remembered as round and perpetually set in motion by quick smiles and witty remarks.

“Eönwë,” Findekáno sighed, visibly trying to pull himself together. “Have you come to intercede in my father’s favour?”

Remembering his vow, Eönwë shook his head slowly. “Where is Ñolofinwë? His brother much desires to have news from him, and I’ve taken it upon me to procure them.”

“Ah, the losses, the madness,” the prince sighed in profound hopelessness. “My father, the High King, has ridden out on his own to challenge Morgoth to a fight.”

At that, Eönwë frowned. Level-headed and wise, the Ñolofinwë he’d watched grow from a steadfast, jolly elfling toddling behind his unbearably haughty half-brother would never have undertaken so stupidly temerarious and futile an enterprise as to goad a Vala into single combat.

He could not have imagined hearing anything more absurd and unlikely than Fëanáro bursting into flame and abandoning his sons to carry out his otiose plans—nevertheless, now he learned that Indis’s firstborn was moribund as well.

“Maybe we can stop him,” Eönwë cried, his voice echoing through the deserted courtyard like the screeching of a huge bird of prey caught in a vicious trap. “We must prevent such a senseless sacrifice!”

“It’s too late,” Findekáno declared in the shivering voice of one trying to contain more anguish and pain than his mind could even comprehend. “I’m sorry that you shan’t convey better news to my uncle. Have you heard about Fëanáro?”

All Eönwë could do was to nod. For some reason, which was absolutely mystifying to him, he couldn’t stop moving his head to and fro as if the rhythmical motion could dislodge the cutting splinters of terrible knowledge burrowing into his mind mercilessly.

“It’s not safe here,” Findekáno whispered urgently. “You must away before anyone can see you and get the wrong idea. There shall be enough disappointment and mourning without having a spy instead of a warrior in our midst. Go back and send my loving greetings to Arafinwë.”

Sputtering, Eönwë relayed Nelyafinwë’s message—prompting the first genuine reaction of joy in the soon-to-be High King of the Ñoldor—and went on his way once more.

As he threw himself into Ulmo’s arms, ready to accept whatever punishment the Valar saw fit for his devastating excursion, Eönwë couldn’t help thinking that he’d not only have to tell his dear friend that his brothers were dead, but that he’d also be the bearer of widowhood and maternal loss, quailing before the immense grief of excellent women he’d hitherto respected and liked.

He had left a hero, a bringer of hope, and he’d return as a dull, throbbing beacon of endless mourning.

-> Masterlist

@fellowshipofthefics Here's another one!

Thank you so much for being on this ride with me!

[fissart]

I rise from the dead and called back to my roots, I bare gifts of Mairon X Eöwnë for funsies 💖

I have missed this fandom and all the characters 😭